Chapter 13
Now it was their second day In Yucatan, and they were all driving in Uxmal, 50 miles south of Merida, capital city of Yucatan. Yesterday, they had driven 80 miles east to ChichSn Itza, where they climbed the crumbling ruins of the cementgray pyramid and wandered over the small area that the ruin city had provided. Which was small indeed; besides the large pyramid and one smaller edifice, and a few cracked walls, Chichen Itza was not much.
Uxmal, though, the Senor assured them, would be different. And much better, much more spacious an area to explore, much more interesting buildings to inspect. He was driving, too, driving the car that they had rented. Senor Sanchez had his reasons for driving himself; among them, he wanted no witnesses, in case he had to do some thing drastic. He was, as always, taking no chances.
Neither was Richard Waywright, who sat next to him in the front seat. He had noticed the reticence of the Senor to hire a driver with the car, a gray Volkswagen that was ideally suited to the narrow roads of interior Mexico. He had ascertained, and correctly, that a man of Senor Sanchez's means was rarely to be seen doing his own driving, and that there must be a goddamn good reason for what he was now doing. He had, therefore, made his own counter-preparations in case El Senor had some specific plans that might not be to his liking.
In the back seat were the Brinkmans-sitting on opposite sides of the vehicle, she sulking, he musing.
What was interesting was that while the Brinkmans and Waywright were wearing Bermuda shorts-as befits the climate, in disregard of local customs and prejudices-the Senor was dressed in suit and tie as if he were going out for an evening at a theater or restaurant. That was, however, his way; he was just naturally a dress-up kind of person.
It was hot, but fairly dry, though dusty on the road to Uxmal. The Senor drove carefully, concentrating all his attention on the wheel and the road ahead. Waywright stared out the window, watching the flat fields of Yucatan stretch before him, remembering some forgotten bit of folklore about the Mayans and their magnificent civilization, now of course long dead. It had to do with sacrifices to their gods, human sacrifices as he remembered ... there was quite an elaborate ritual about it.
The Brinkmans continued to ignore the existence of each other.
Then they reached Uxmal.
It sits on several acres, and though most of the buildings are crumbling ruins, there is much courtyard and open space in which to wander and get an idea of their particular civilization. The buildings are smaller, with only one pyramid that was almost covered with moss and other jungle vegetation. Unlike Chichen Itza, the color of the buildings was an attractive, dark-beige sandstone, which added color and contrast to the green carpeting the city now stood on. In addition, there were some exquisite murals on a few walls that were quite well preserved, and while not of the level of exotic and erotic Indian carvings, they were nevertheless interesting in depicting Mayan life.
They parked the car, got out, gave the guard their tickets (Waywright wondered about the guard, thinking that that could be a hindrance to Senor Sanchez's plans, for Waywright assumed that the Senor had some kind of plan or he wouldn't have taken them there in the first place) and entered the central area of the ruined city. Angela, recovering from her blue funk of a mood, sauntered along happily, her hair blowing in the breeze-but she walked next to Ricardo, not her husband. Her husband made no objection; at this juncture, he didn't much care. He just wanted to get the whole Mexican scene over with, get back to New York with his wife if she would go back voluntarily. If she wouldn't, he'd take her back anyway if he had to stuff her inside a trunk and have her shipped by Railway Express.
Even so, his countenance was mournful, downcast as a basset hound. Even his mustache seemed to be drooping.
Richard was his sophisticated self, as was Ricardo. Richard had let out a brief laugh when he had first met Senor Sanchez, recognizing their similar natures, manners of thinking, level of sophistication ... and exactly the same interest in Angela and getting her into their machismo syndrome. The Senor had similarly recognized Waywright for the dangerous opponent he was. The odd bit of the whole thing was ... Ricardo is Spanish for Richard.
Ricardo versus Richard ... Richard versus Ricardo.
Ricardo led the way, showing them the pyramid and several of the buildings, the murals, a few other points of interest ... and then, conveniently steered them to the last building on his list, the Nunnery. Richard noticed that, conveniently or otherwise, they were the only visitors in the area that afternoon. He wondered about that....
Ricardo said, almost solemnly, "This building is called the Nunnery. Not that the Mayans had nuns, no, not at all. This was simply the building where the Virgins who were to be sacrificed were kept until their time had come."
Richard said, drily, "I'm surprised that the Mayans let them remain virgins. If they were such a superior race and civilization as you claim, Senor Sanchez, they would have made love to them first and then killed them. Otherwise they were simply wasted by being put to death without being properly utilized."
The Senor's eyes became cloudy, shifty; his face grew stiffer, almost as if he was personally insulted, as he said, with great dignity, "Senor Waywright, the ritual calls for the sacrifice of virgins, not whores."
"Screwing them once wouldn't make them whores any more than driving a new car around the block makes it used," Richard replied. "But then, sometimes I forget ... we're in Mexico now...."
"Yes, Senor Waywright ... sometimes you do forget ... that you are in Mexico now...."
A sudden, abrupt "click" called their attention to Senor Sanchez ... and to his right hand.
In his right hand, looking as natural as his fingers, was a Luger. It was pointing at the three Americans. The Senor said, "I brought all of you to the Nunnery for a particular reason, so, as you say in America, let the show go on."
The Americans stared at him ... Ben sort of shoulder-shrugging as if nothing could faze him anymore ... Angela with a mixture of pleasure and pain expressed on her lovely face, waiting with expectation for his next move ... Richard, his expression cautious, his eyes watching Senor Sanchez like a mongoose checks out his bitter enemy the cobra, waiting for the proper moment to strike....
The Nunnery was closed on three sides, one side open but now in shadow, and against the far wall was a long altar-like ledge in fair condition. The Senor motioned them to stand by the ledge.
Richard said, "The guard has a gun too, Senor Sanchez."
Ricardo replied, "The guard also has a family to feed and an empty wallet ... the latter until yesterday, when I made certain both his belly and wallet were filled."
"That's ... bribery...." Ben muttered.
"That's Mexico," Angela laughed, her tone mocking. She looked directly at Ricardo, her eyes zeroing in on him like a bombsight. "Do I have anything to do with this sudden Humphrey Bogart escapade of yours, Senor Sanchez?"
"You, my dear Angela, are both the cause and the result," Ricardo smiled, bowed his reply, the gun never leaving his hand, the direction never changing. "And now, my dear Angela, if you will be so kind ... as to strip...."
"What?" from Ben, with indignation.
"Well," from Richard, with irony.
"Why not?" from Angela, with laughter.
She was wearing a simple, pullover sweater, and it took no more than a few seconds for her to remove it. Her bra was Mexican lace, a new addition to her lingerie, and, as she unsnapped it, she waved it in her hand in a tantalizing manner. She made a playful pass at Ricardo, as if she were the matador and he the bull-which Ben noticed and disliked immediately-and her breasts, their nipples taut with teasing excitement, beckoned like witch's fingers at Ricardo. Now shifting her hips, she dropped her shorts, stepped out of her shoes, and left just her panties hanging on. She looked at them all, from Ricardo to Richard to Ben-again, Ben was the last to be looked at-as if to say, "Are you sure you want me to go all the way?"
No one said anything. But the gun of Senor Sanchez continued to point at the other two men.
With exaggerated energy, Angela slipped the fingers of both hands inside her elastic waistband. Slowly so as to prolong the suspense, she slipped her panties down around her hips ... her thighs ... her ankles ... and finally, off!
One did not have to have one's nose in her bush to tell that those delightful blonde curls were damp with desire. Her clit was stiff for touching, her vaginal lips slyly open for entrance, and she was prancing like a colt in heat. She took a couple of end strands of her hair and draped them over her breasts, so that only the nipples showed through, making her own sort of peep show. She laughed, a throaty tantalizing laugh, pushed herself on the altar, where she sat on her haunches with hands on hips, her breasts thrust forward like Buick bumper guards, her tongue sexily slipping out from between her lips, her eyes mocking and mischievous.
"What's next?" she said, very matter-of-factly. "We are going to have a virgin sacrifice," said Ricardo.
"That doesn't bother me," replied Angela, laughing. "I haven't been a virgin for the longest time...."
"I can name two places where you are still a virgin, Senora Brinkman."
"So ... name them, Senor Sanchez."
"In the ears ... and under the armpits."
"Now wait just a minute...." Ben started to protest, but Ricardo waved his gun in Ben's direction to silence him. Richard said nothing ... watching ... waiting ... for the Senor to make one false move.
Angela's composure was slightly shattered. Her eyes watched Ricardo warily. In his eyes gleamed the expectancy of fulfilled desire, soon to occur. He said, "Senora Brinkman, that does not mean that you will only be fucked in the ears and under the armpits, of course. No sacrifice is complete without full obeisance to the gods. In this case, I am going to allow your husband and your husband's employer to fuck you simultaneously, on the altar, of course. And then...."
"I won't have it!" Ben shouted angrily, taking a step or two toward Ricardo, who thrust his weapon forward several inches and said, his voice hard as hell, "Senor Brinkman, do you not observe the silencer on the end of my weapon. No one will hear the shot, the guard is in my employ ... and what will you gain by forcing me to shoot you before the show begins? You can only lose ... your life. Now, I must insist on my will being carried out ... or all of you will be carried out, feet first. No one will be harmed if all of you do as you are instructed. Is that clear?"
Richard nodded, and Ben fought back the raging desire to jump Ricardo, before he too gritted his teeth and nodded his acquiescence. Angela still sat on the altar, her mood now slightly pensive, but not morose. She brightened up considerably when Ricardo said, "Of course, after you gentlemen are through with the lady, it will then be my turn...." Again, he had to wave his gun in Ben's direction to keep the angry husband from a second confrontation. "And I will demonstrate why we Mexican men are superior in every way to anyone else in the world."
"Excuse me," Angela said. "But before we begin, I'd like something to lie down on. I can't see having my bare butt dragged around this stone...."
"What else but your bare butt, fair lady, is now reclining on the bare stone of the altar?"
"Well, really...."
"If you insist."
Ricardo removed a silk pocket handkerchief with the other hand, and handed it to Angela with a flourish, still keeping the gun trained on the other two men. She placed the handkerchief beneath her buttocks ... and waited.
"Now," said Ricardo. "If you gentlemen will be so kind as to strip...."
This time, there were no angry denunciations by Ben, and Richard simply said nothing, as he had been doing. The two men stripped as ordered.
Neither of them had an erection.
"I believe that an erection is necessary for intercourse, do you not, gentlemen?" joked Ricardo. "If you cannot get your equipment erect by any other means, I suggest that you beat it...."
"Why don't you beat it yourself, and leave us alone?" Ben shouted angrily.
In reply, Ricardo pulled the trigger, and a bullet passed but a few inches from Ben's nose, burying itself in the sandstone wall just beyond him. Ricardo gestured with the gun.
"Wait a minute," Angela hopped off the altar. "As long as I'm the one who's going to get fucked, I'm going to have something to say about how these guys get it up for me." She smiled at her husband, then turned to Richard. "Let's see what I can do for you ... oh, wow, you are well hung, aren't you?"
She dropped to her knees, cupping Richard's balls in her hands and began to lick his dick. Her tongue darted over the tip, meandered along the foreskin, ended up at the base, tangled with his bush and balls for awhile, then began its return journey, reversing its course. She licked and licked, and slowly Richard's cock began to grow stiffer and harder, while her tongue continued along its chosen route. When his cock was half-erect, she pulled it into her mouth, inch by inch, and softly sucking sounds were heard emanating from her throat. It was not long before Richard's cock was ... long and strong, and ready for action. Yet, throughout the exercise, Richard maintained a curious detachment ... which, naturally, only aroused Angela that much more.
While Ben, burning with jealousy and hatred, was hard put to conceal his feelings. His teeth were gritted, his hands clenched into fists, and his feet were pawing the ground like an angry stallion.
When Richard's prick was in its fullest bloom, Angela turned to her husband, a mischievous look in her eyes, and said, "Well, dear, I guess it's your turn...." She almost laughed when she saw that Ben's cock was about one-quarter erect ... not so much from sex as from rage. She bent over, taking her husband's cock in her hand.
And then, she pulled it like plucking a flower from the earth, dragging her startled husband next to the altar, where she slammed his cock again and again against the unyielding stone. He was too surprised to do anything but stand there while she beat his meat against the hard stone altar until his cock was as hard as Richard's. It must be said of Ben, however, that he took his medicine like a man ... he didn't even flinch.
Richard, however, was laughing ... laughing loudly, the first time any of them had ever seen him laugh. Between chuckles, he blurted, "Well ... in America ... I guess that is what is called ... beating your meat ... is it not?"
When Angela was finished, she released her husband, his cock now swollen red and bruised but still erect enough to do a proper job. She climbed up on the altar again, lay down with her juicy ass on the handkerchief, and said, "The lady in waiting is waiting ... who'll be the first to satisfy my thirst?"
Ricardo laughed again. "Now you are suddenly a poet, Senora ... I mean, a poetess. I shall make a poem too. It shall go like this ... one will suck, and the other will fuck; the one who does worse, is a no-good schmuck. Ha ha!" He beckoned the two men with his gun. "Now, gentlemen, you may begin ... by fucking the dear lady in the ears. I shall use my Luger to direct you, as a conductor uses his baton to direct the orchestra. Let us begin!"
With Ben on her right, Richard on her left, Angela felt the twin cocks drill into her ears. She could feel their cocks advancing and retreating, penetrating as deeply into her ears as they could get. The sensation was strange, yet very sexy, for her, and her hips began to gyrate slightly, her hands to pound upon the stone of the altar. Her vagina began to respond, letting its sweet juices flow and lubricate her inner membranes.
The two men worked away, careful not to come; they knew that they might have trouble getting it up again, and especially after Ben's bad experience, neither was willing to risk any more imponderables.
"Time!" said Ricardo.
They stopped, drawing back from Angela.
"That was very good, gentlemen," said Ricardo. "Now, I want you to move on, all over the lady, until you have fucked her from head to toe. Then, one of you will have the glorious pleasure of fucking her in the cunt ... and the other, in the ass ... all at the same time."
Neither man made any comment.
Angela giggled, then was quiet again.
Ben and Richard tried her armpits next, slipping their cocks between her arms and her body at the shoulder connections. She squeezed her arms against her body, deftly imprisoning their cocks, as they banged them against her body. The sensation for her was so weird, so unusual, that she began to have an orgasm, her liquid leaking and spreading over her already wet bush, with even a few drops dripping on the altar itself. The men worked away, silently, almost without emotion, each keeping his thoughts, if any, to himself.
When they had done this long enough for Angela to be twisting her entire body in passion, Ricardo moved them on, area by area, his gun always directing their movements. They pounded their cocks on her stomach for the longest time, rubbing their balls against her perspiring flesh. Then, it was at her knee joints, which she bent in such a way that their cocks were caught, as in a vise, as they had done with her armpits. She alternately opened and closed her knee muscles, and now she was really coming, a veritable waterfall of liquid roaring, geyser-like, from her vagina.
While the men did their duty, still holding their come on orders from Ricardo, and from their own minds too. Neither could afford to fuck up now ... not until Ricardo gave the order.
Finally, they got their cocks between her toes. She almost breaking her toes as she strained to accommodate them in this unusual place. Again, she was all sensation, all sex ... all woman, now moaning and mumbling with sexual agony. And frustration, from not having a man's cock in her vagina, where she really wanted it....
Ricardo watched, and observed.
He allowed himself a brief glance at his crotch.
Yes, his erection was beginning to come to life again, and he mentally fought it down for the moment. Later, he said to himself ... later, when my plans for the gringos are finally brought to fruition ... then, my friend, you and I will go wild with the Senora Brinkman.
He again turned his attention to the two men.
"Do not come yet, gentlemen. It will not be long now, but please finish with the toes of the lady, and then we shall get down to the best part of the business."
They gave her toes one final fling, then withdrew their cocks and stood, as if army privates, at attention awaiting further orders. Their cocks, of course, were still, as ordered, also standing at attention.
"Now, gentlemen, we are going to have some fun."
They said nothing ... watching, waiting...."Both of you are going to fuck the Senora, one in the cunt, the other in the, shall we say, rear en trance. I shall let the Senora choose which one she wishes in each orifice. Senora Brinkman ... what will you decide?"
Angela stirred, raised her head slightly, and looked at the two men. She pinched her forehead in thought, then said, "Well, I think rank has its privileges sometimes, so I believe that I shall allow Mr. Waywright entrance to my front door ... and to my dear husband who's had me there so many times, for a change he can use the servant's entrance. Is that all right with you?" For a brief second, Ben thought she was addressing him, but her eyes were focused elsewhere, " ... Senor Sanchez?"
Senor Sanchez could not have been happier. To him, this meant the final degradation, the cumulative downgrading, of her husband. The Senor Waywright was no problem, of course ... but now, with the Senor Brinkman so disgraced, so cuckolded by his own wife in front of all of us ... well, he was one of los muertes, the dead ... a pity, a shame, too bad ... but, that is life.
Ricardo bowed, saying, "Of course, my dear. This matter is your decision, and you have made it. And now, gentlemen, if you will please begin...."
Ben was too shocked to move, while Richard climbed on top of the altar and began to descend into Angela....
"Please, Senor Waywright ... wait for your companion to get into position." Ricardo waved the gun in Ben's direction. "Senor Brinkman ... if you please...."
Ben, almost shuddering with grief, slowly climbed on top of the altar. Angela moved so that she was lying on her side, while Richard positioned himself at her front, Ben at her back. Angela waited expectantly....
"Go!" said Ricardo, waving the gun.
Ben thought, Reduced to fucking my wife in the ass ... in the ass ... I'll make her pay for this ... she'll see ... she'll pay, and plenty ... I'll get out of this mess some way yet ... and Senor Sanchez will pay too.
Ben pushed his cock to the entrance of Angela's ass. He'd hurt her asshole a little, too; that, he would do for sure. He was beginning to feel more than a touch of machismo now.
As Richard shoved his cock inside Angela's vagina, Ben jabbed his prick at her asshole, getting inside a few inches. It was tight, and his cock hurt as he pushed it inside. But, he thought, Angela dear, it's going to hurt you more than it hurts me.
Angela was squirming like a butterfly on a pin, more in pain than delight. She had never had two men screwing her in both the vagina and the ass before and, while she thoroughly enjoyed the double attention she was getting, it was nevertheless painful to feel two cocks jabbing into her so roughly. For Richard was not particularly interested in being gentle with her, either; he had plans of his own to fulfill, and he was going to make sure that Angela was fucked as she had never been fucked before.
The pressure of Richard's cock was pushing Angela against her husband's prick, and Ben's prick was really hurting as it slowly moved its tortuous way up her asshole. It hurt him, but he gritted his teeth, thinking of, hopefully, better times ahead ... and hurt her so much she could feel him in her sphincter muscles, and she was trying to swivel her hips, move her haunches to ease the pain. But she could not ... not with Richard's cock ramming into her in front. Though she writhed and squirmed, she was held fast; while she was enjoying it, the pain was intense. But, that was what machismo was all about. She had asked for it; now, she was getting it, and good.
Yet, in the midst of all this searing physical pain, the pleasure was there also, for she was coming like a river that had burst its damn, her body convulsing like an insane person, her face contorted into an ecstatic mask, her eyes burning with desire.
"Come, come!" she cried. "What's the matter with you men? Aren't you men? Come on, come ... come with me before I run out of juice ... come ... fuckmefuckmefuckme...."
All right, Richard thought ... you are really going to get it now, Mrs. Brinkman ... your vagina is mine forever, cunt.
His cock was right at the edge of her womb, rammed deeply into her vagina, its tip scraping the edges of her vagina, its length so tightly pressed against her vaginal walls that if her vagina was her throat she would have been choked to death. She was in the middle of an uncountable number of orgasms, and Richard, waiting for the moment of maximum impact, decided that the time was now. His cock, in fact, decided for him, for it could no longer contain itself.
There, on the cold bare stone altar, Richard Waywright fucked Angela Brinkman.
Richard came like a jet from a fire hose, his sperm exploding inside her vagina, his cock driving like an express train inside her. He pushed hard against her, her breasts boring holes in his chest, his cock cutting into her like a knife. He had spasm after spasm, orgasm after orgasm, pushing her almost right off the altar. She felt his glorious cock detonating inside her, and her screams of pleasure became intense, almost loud enough to shatter eardrums, including her own. Richard kept driving, harder and harder, even after his cock began to grow limp, almost pushing the Brinkmans off the altar.
Until Ben finally came.
He came with a mixture of love and hate, love for his wife and hate for her recent attitude toward him ... and with a strange pleasure and thrill in discovering the power of machismo for himself and in transmitting that power into action, in transmitting that power into his wife in the roughest, toughest ways possible ... he was beginning to like hurting his wife ... why not, she was asking for it.
His cock blasted away like a machine-gun, firing round after round into her rump, her roasted rump ... he nearly split the cheeks of her ass open like a ripe melon, as his driving cock, charged with fire power, pushed deep inside her asshole, and pushed hard against both Richard and her ... Richard's foot slipped over the edge of the altar ... now his other foot ... Ben drove harder and harder inside Angela ... with a scream of intense pain, Angela wrenched herself loose from both of them.
And all three of them toppled off the altar, to fall into a squirming, tangled pile in front of Senor Sanchez. Arms and legs flailing wildly, each fought for support, found none, collapsed again.
Ben was the first to get up. His eyes seemed glazed, fuming. Then they cleared and a strange calm came over them.
"Gentlemen, I have learned a great deal in your Mexico. But I am tired of this game of Mexican roulette. Somewhere I will find something that at least resembles sanity. That somewhere certainly is not here. Good-bye, Angela. And good luck. I am sure you will all work it out very neatly." Then he turned and walked away, hearing Angela's screaming voice: "Ben! Where are you going? COME BACK HERE YOU SONOFABITCH!"
Ben never even looked back.