Chapter 2
The slender, dark-haired, teen-ager awoke that morning feeling guilty.
Brooke lay there on her bed in the little house that she had found on the island, the house where she lived with Gabriel and Ernesto, and she knew that she had been dreaming of riches again.
She could still remember that dream. She had dreamed that she was lying out by her swimming pool behind her father's mansion and that Luis, the young boy who helped the gardener, was rubbing the sun-tan lotion into her back. That dream had come from her memory. She had spent many summer afternoons letting Luis rub her when she was sixteen years old. She would feel his hands on her back and she smelled the aroma of earth and growing things that he always seemed to have on his body, and she would think that Luis would make an excellent fuck. But she had not fucked him, even though he was sixteen too and handsome and willing. She could see from the way that he looked at her that he was even eager to fuck her hot pussy. She had not fucked him because he had been a Chicano, a boy from the lower classes, a boy who was not as polished in the ways of society as the other boys she knew—the boys that she did date and fuck at sixteen too.
Now that she was a radical, Brooke felt guilty about Luis. He had wanted her so badly, she remembered. And she had not given herself to him out of some snooty attitude. She had thought that she was too good for him. Now she realized that, when she had been sixteen, Luis was really too good for her. He had already been thinking about the political process and its rotten depravity. He was already making plans to do his bit to overthrow the system. But she had not known that about Luis at the time, and she would not have appreciated it even if she had known. In fact, she would have hated him if she had known that Luis was really a young revolutionary then. She would have had him fired. She would have tried to have him arrested. She had been so silly, so much a part of the system then.
She moved off the bed and stood naked beside it. She reached down and touched the mattress to steady herself as she stood there because she was a little dizzy with the guilt that she felt.
She saw her reflection in the cracked mirror that the boys had found on the island and had presented to her as a gift in their special rebel way. When she looked at her naked body, she felt even more guilty. She had no right, she thought. She had no right to be so beautiful. When she was just fourteen years old people were already telling her that she could be a model in the fashion magazines. Her long, dark hair and her tan were set off by her dark, flashing eyes and her wide, red lips.
And, in the cracked mirror, her beauty seemed to come apart. That made it a bit more bearable for her now, she thought. She had thought often in the last year of taking a knife to her face and scaring herself just so that she would not look so pure and beautiful, just so that she would seem to have something under that face except emptiness. But she did not have the courage to scar herself. In truth, she loved her looks as much as she hated them, and that confusion added to her sense of guilt.
She looked around for the boys, the two men who kept her happy out there on the island. They were not in the little house, and she walked out onto the rickety porch naked. She saw them down by the ocean. She needed them that morning. She was feeling guilty and there was only one way that she could cleanse herself of that guilt. She needed Gabriel and Ernesto to help her cleanse her guilt.
"Gabriel!" she called. "Ernesto! Come to me! I need you!"
The two young Spanish men turned and looked at her. Then they dashed up from the beach toward the house. They knew what it meant when Brooke needed them, and they enjoyed doing their bit to help her get rid of her early-morning guilt.
They came toward her and stopped in front of the porch and looked up on her as if she were their goddess.
She looked down on them and she had to smile when she studied them.
Gabriel and Ernesto were both dark and slim and strong. They both wore ragged jeans. Their chests and their feet were bare and Gabriel had a rifle slung over his shoulder.
Brooke had to admit that she liked Gabriel even more than Ernesto. He was the silent one, the deadly one. He was only eighteen and he had already killed five island policemen. But he could not speak at all. He could just smile and kill.
"I feel guilty," the girl said softly, letting her smile die away. "Come in and help me, please."
"Of course," Ernesto said.
And Brooke turned and walked back into the little house. The two, young, dark men followed her.
Brooke walked into the bedroom and stood by the bed and looked at Ernesto. He was the one who could talk, and he considered himself the brains of the gang. But Brooke knew that he was really not very smart at all. If their little band of rebels had any thinking member at all, it was the girl. But Brooke could give Ernesto ideas and make the youth think that he had come up with them himself. She did not like to take too much credit for their work together. She liked to think of herself as just a foot-soldier in the rebellion against the forces of tyranny. If she thought of herself as a leader, she just felt guilty again.
Ernesto claimed that he had killed many men too, but Brooke knew that that was all bravado, the special Latin male bravado that the young men on the islands had. Gabriel, the silent one, was the killer. She had seen that young man kill coldly without batting an eye.
She stood there and said it again.
"I feel guilty. I am guilty of something that is very deep in me. Help me, Ernesto. Help me, Gabriel."
The silent, dark youth put his rifle against the wall of the bedroom and approached her.
Then he hit her quickly, slapped her hard across the face and knocked her back onto the bed.
He never ceased to surprise her, she thought, as she touched the tingling, stinging part of her face. Even when she knew that it was coming and was eager to receive his slap, the hand seemed to come up so quickly and give her pain that she was always surprised.
And there was also something so clean about the way that Gabriel punished her, she thought, looking up at the young man. He never seemed to hit her in wrath. He just hit her, as coldly and as calmly as he killed.
Gabriel opened his jeans and pushed them down and stepped out them. Brooke looked at that long, dark, meaty cock and she knew so well. When he was naked, he moved onto the bed with her and lay next to her. She looked down as his feet and saw the bits of sand that stuck to his flesh, the sand from the beach. Then he slapped her again.
The silent, dark youth pulled her up on the bed and Brooke and Gabriel knelt, facing each other.
He did not even seem to notice his own movements as he slapped first one side of her face and then the other.
He continued to slap her again and again until the pain was like a heat in her brain. She knelt there and took that pain and that slapping and she sighed as she felt the cleaning power of the slaps begin to wash her guilt away.
Then Ernesto moved toward the bed and Gabriel turned. This was the way that they always worked together. Brooke had started to think of Ernesto as Gabriel's assistant, like the nurse is an assistant to a surgeon in the operating room.
Ernesto handed Gabriel the little pliers and then stepped back to watch and wait until he was needed again.
The silent, calm youth lifted the pliers and held them in front of Brooke's face so that she could see them through the tears in her eyes. He always showed them to her in this way before he used them on her. He opened the pliers and then let them spring shut like teeth. When she saw that, she jerked, as she always did. But Brooke knew that she needed the pliers too. She needed the pain that they would give her. It was the only thing that could keep her from feeling guilty.
Then the silent, dark youth lowered the pliers to one of the girl's pink, round nipples.
He could not speak, so Ernesto, standing nearby, snarled out the words to Brooke.
"Rich bitch. Cunt filled with money. Pussy filled with snobbish gold."
As Ernesto said those words that Brooke had actually taught him to say, Gabriel moved the pliers over her nipple and let them clamp down hard on her sensitive skin.
When he did that, the girl jerked and sighed and tensed her body. He kept the pliers on her nipple and just looked at her, with that dead, calm expression on his face.
"Thank you," she whimpered as the pain flooded her body and made her feel alive again. "Thank you both so much."
But Brooke knew that it was not over yet. Gabriel loosened the pliers and pulled them off that nipple and then tossed the pliers to his other hand as if it were a baseball.
As he moved those tight things to that other, pink, sweet nipple, Ernesto said the words again.
The torture would not cleanse her without the words, and Brooke and the two young men all knew that.
"Rich bitch. Cunt filled with money. Pussy filled with snobbish gold."
And the silent, naked youth clamped the pliers down on the other nipple too.
Again, the beautiful, American girl jerked and sighed. She felt the pain rush through her body and she noticed that her long, dark hair, falling down her back, seemed to tickle that pain and make it even more wonderful.
"Thank you," she sighed. "Thank you so much. Thank you both."
And, when she had offered her thanks like a good pilgrim in the islands, Gabriel loosened the pliers again and took them off that nipple.
Then Ernesto stepped forward and took the pliers from the naked, young surgeon who was cutting the guilt out of Brooke Hutchinson.
And the girl fell back on the bed. She put her hands on her breasts and worked her fingers around her nipples and felt more of that pain, that leftover pain that was sweet and long-lasting and kept her clean for sometimes two or three days at a time—clean and without her rich-bitch guilt.
Then she moved her hands down her slim, tanned body and she spread her legs. She slipped her fingers over her pussy-lips and sighed.
Those lips were wet and warm with juices, juices caused by the good pain that she had endured once again.
She worked two of her fingers into her snatch. She moved her hips up and bent her legs and drove those fingers deep into her sweet cunt as the island youths looked down at her.
Brooke felt her own warmth and her own wetness. She tried not to be proud of her cunt, but it was almost impossible. She knew that it was an exciting, sexy cunt, tight and sexy.
She wanted to fight the guilt of her cunt-pride too.
So she pulled her fingers out of her cunt and lowered her legs and raised up on the bed. She rested on her arms as the silent surgeon of her guilt moved over her on his knees, straddling her and lifted his dark, long cock up to her red, full lips.
She opened her mouth and took that cock into her and started to suck on it. She pressed her soft, red lips tightly around that cock and she worked her face back and forth as she felt the cock gaining strength in her mouth and getting longer and harder.
There were more words that she had trained Ernesto to say when she was sucking a cock like this.
And the dark, island youth said those words now, said them with vigor. Brooke knew that, as always, Ernesto was getting excited as he watched her suck on his silent friend's prick.
"Suck it, you rich whore. Suck that cock, you filthy bitch."
The words came out in long gasps of excited, male air. Ernesto would wait his turn and then he would really have a reason to be excited. She heard the assistant to the guilt surgeon moving and she knew that he was taking off his tattered trousers too. He was probably also groping his cock and playing with himself as he watched her suck on that cock in such a sexy way. But she did not look at him. She closed her eyes and she concentrated on the meat that was in her mouth.
She could feel the tip of the fat island meat at the back of her throat. She did not use her hands on the cock. She had made up the rules to this torture herself, and now she abided by those rules. She would use only her mouth, her red lips and her warm mouth to get the boys hard.
And she knew that her mouth was enough. She worked back and forth on the strengthening rod and then, when Gabriel put his hand on her dark hair, she knew that that was a sign that he was ready, ready to fuck her pussy and get that cunt-guilt out of her.
Gabriel moved down slowly, dragging his hard, wet cock over her tits and her stomach.
Brooke shivered and sighed when he did that and she spread her legs wide.
Ernesto said some more words, said them with excitement and tension and lust.
"You are going to be fucked hard, you rich bitch. You are going to be fucked with a good cock."
And then Gabriel was positioned over her. Brooke looked into his eyes and sought out some kindness there. But there was no kindness. And there was not hatred. There was nothing but a calm and cold stare, as if the dark, young man was just staring out to sea, thinking about nothing, preparing to do nothing.
But he was preparing to fuck her!
And Brooke felt the dark youth's hands under her firm, young buns. He was squeezing her there.
She lifted her legs and held them out wide and offered that dark surgeon of guilt her opened, pink pussy.
Gabriel moved the cock to the pink opening and slipped the head of it in. Then Brooke closed her eyes and waited for the slamming. She knew that she needed the slamming of his cock into her cunt, the slamming that would help her get rid of her cunt-guilt. She knew that that slamming would make her feel like something was tearing away at her insides, but she needed that tearing, that brutal fucking, that pain. She needed this to keep her from having the cunt-pride that always led to cunt-guilt for her.
"Fucking bitch," Ernesto snarled at her. "Fucking cunt. Fucking whore."
And Gabriel gave the beautiful girl the slamming that she yearned for.
She gasped with the pain and the delight that flooded over her and she looked up to see the dark, silent surgeon move over her and stare down at her with those calm, dark eyes. And then he started to fuck her roughly. He grabbed her legs and pressed them back and he fucked her tightness and her sweetness as if he hated it.
And the girl twisted on the bed and moaned and yelped with the passion and the pain that the fucking was giving to her.
"Fucking whore," Ernesto growled, stroking his own cock and waiting his turn. "Fucking rich bitch. Fucking beauty. Fucking beautiful whore."
And the thin, beautiful, American girl was bent back almost double as Gabriel leaned over her and fucked her with that ruthless and calm passion. She opened her red lips and she sighed to him.
"Yes, fuck me. Fuck that guilt right out of me, Gabriel. Fuck me because I am nothing but a rich bitch."
And he did not react at all to her words. He just kept fucking her hard and quickly. He rammed and slammed into her and he started to sweat with his work. Some of that sweat landed on her body and she sighed and twisted as if that perspiration was scalding her.
"Fuck me. Fuck me, Gabriel," she sighed. "Fuck my worthless, shitty cunt."
And he slammed into her and stared down at her and then he rammed his cock deep into her and kept it there.
She knew the silent surgeon-boy well. She knew what that movement meant.
It meant that he was coming.
"Yes, come in me," she whimpered. "Come in my worthless cunt. Fill me up with your come. I am nothing but a rich bitch and I want to drown in your fucking come."
And the dark youth held his cock in her and jerked a couple of times and Brooke felt the warmth of his come, his cleansing cream, spread through her. She lay there and took that warmth and sighed and whimpered with joy.
"Worthless scum-bag bitch," Ernesto snarled at her as Gabriel pulled his prick out of her well-fucked pussy.
Gabriel moved off the bed and Brooke looked at Ernesto. She knew that she would have to fuck him now.
In truth, she preferred fucking the silent surgeon, Gabriel. But she did not want to make Ernesto feel like an outcast. And she knew that she could not refuse him. She saw the need in Ernesto's eyes and she remembered that she had seen the same kind of need in Luis's eyes, not so many years ago. She had not fucked Luis and that had caused the core of her guilt. She knew that, from now on, she would not be able to refuse any dark man who wanted her cunt, any dark man with a hard cock.
But she did prefer the silent one. He was the one who tortured her so well with the slapping and the pliers. If Gabriel had been able to speak, she thought, she really would not have needed Ernesto at all.
And then she knew that that was wrong.
She needed the words, but she also needed that second fucking, the one that did not last as long as her fucking with Gabriel, the one that did not thrill her as much. She needed that second fucking in order to really feel like the common whore that she was in the center of her being.
So she lay there and waited for Ernesto to move onto the bed.
The young man came to her eagerly and moved over her on his knees, in just the same way that his friend had moved over her. She lifted her face up and opened her mouth and took his already hard cock into her.
He really did not need the sucking, she thought. He was already hard enough to fuck her.
He had been playing with himself while he watched his friend fuck that girl.
But she sucked on his cock and got it wet with her mouth. She thrilled him in that way because she knew that Ernesto wanted it. And she knew too that she could not refuse any dark-skinned lad ever again.
She was nothing but a little whore anyway, a rich tart of a girl.
Whores did not refuse any man. She knew that and she sucked on the cock.
As she sucked, the dark-skinned, young man—the one who had the voice—snarled at her.
"Fucking bitch. Fucking rich bitch. Suck that cock, you scum-bag whore."
And he reached down and grabbed some of her long, dark hair and pulled on it. She winced, but she kept sucking. He always did that to her, gave her that kind of pain. She had to admit in her mind that Ernesto did have a few tricks of his own—like his hair-pulling—that she really did like.
And then he pulled his cock out of her mouth and moved down her body. Again, she spread her legs wide and waited for him to enter her.
But Ernesto had a strange look in his eye as he moved down over her body.
She seemed to sense that it would not be the same with him this morning as it had been on other mornings.
And she soon discovered that she had sensed his mood correctly. The talking boy had obviously been thinking of some way to make her think more of him as a master.
He moved down further over her body than he had ever moved before.
"Rich bitch," he snarled.
And then he lowered his mouth to one of her nipples and sucked that nipple into his lips.
He had never done that before, she thought. Ernesto had always been content with just the fucking and the sucking and the watching before now. But now he was sucking on her nipple. And then, quickly, forcefully, he clamped his teeth into that nipple and bit down hard.
"Oh, Jesus!" she cried, jerking under him and lifting her legs up around his body.
That pain was fantastic!
Ernesto let that nipple go and she sighed. The teeth seemed to have finished something that the pliers had started. Brooke glanced down at her nipple and saw that it was bleeding.
And then she felt a pain in the other nipple.
"God! Yes!" she yelled.
He had bitten that one too, and he seemed to be trying to tear that pink flesh off her body with his teeth. But he did not tear it off. He just moved his mouth away from the nipple and Brooke looked down and saw that that one was bleeding too.
She whimpered and gasped with the pain that was shooting through her and she looked up at Ernesto. He was grinning. He seemed to be very proud of himself at that moment, and the American girl knew that he had ever reason to be proud. He had done something on his own, something that she had not trained him to do, something that gave her passion and pain.
She sighed to Ernesto.
"Oh, thank you. That feels so good, so hot, so-"
And then she could not find the words to describe it. Her brain was too filled with the pain.
The only words that came to her were words that she yelled out at her dark-skinned lover.
"Oh, fuck me! Fuck me, Ernesto! Fuck me hard and strong with that cock of yours!"
"Rich whore," the smiling youth snarled at her.
And then he slammed his cock into her pussy and started to fuck her, just as she had asked him to do. And Brooke fucked back and thought that she might have underestimated Ernesto.
Any guy who could bite a nipple like that, she thought, must have some kind of brains.
She closed her eyes and sighed and felt happy—like a common, lower-class whore.