Chapter 3
Claudine Brooks, Raul Herrera thought, looked like a bouquet of fresh white roses. Better.
Long, slim legs supported a sleek-hipped, slender-waisted body set off by the sharply concave lines of her breasts. Even late at night, when she had obviously not been expecting visitors and wore a flowing, all-covering negligee, she retained her look and bearing of haughty superiority.
There were both true beauty and a regal aspect in her fine-boned, very fair-skinned face. It was capped by coiled, soft-looking hair, like a moving flash of sunlight.
She made his mouth go dry. How he'd like to have this long-limbed, haughty beauty naked and at his disposal! How magnificent she would be sprawled on a bed, his bed, deliciously disheveled! He tried to picture the unclothed whiteness of her gently rounded hips, the smooth, muscularly taut expanse of her creamy belly. What did her breasts look like? Were they spherical or oval? High and firm or long and soft? And her cunt; how pretty, what a cock teaser it must be, lightly furred with the silken strands of pale hair, the lips like pink blossoms.
He almost smiled. If only the over proud bitch knew what he was thinking! She might show passion then! Her well-known icy cool might be broken then!
In a way, it was now. Her large blue eyes were like sapphires, with the same scintillating stars in their deeps-and just as cold as she stared at him.
"Is that all you have to tell me, Senor Herrera? Is that absolutely it? This is what brought you out on such a rainy night in New Madrid?"
He had to work to maintain the hooded gaze of his narrowed eyes. How intimidating beauty was, when it was aware of itself and its power! "I . . . have told you nothing, Senora Brooks," he said. "I merely asked, Do you know where your husband is?"
She heaved a contemptuous sigh and wrinkles and stress lines rushed up and down her quilted, loose white peignoir. But it was too loose; he still could not make out the shape of her tits beneath. Because of the careful-and expensive -way she dressed, no one knew what her breasts looked like. Except Ambassador David Brooks, Raul thought. But he wondered if even Brooks, the husband of this woman called the Princess, knew what she looked like naked. Beautiful or not, it was significant that this woman's husband kept a big dusky mistress of mixed Spanish and Espanian Indian stock.
"Of course I know where my husband is, Senor Herrera!" Claudine Brooks said. "Do I look such a fool? Do you think that the United States ambassador and his wife would leave themselves open to this sort of visit from the head of Espania's Communist party ... an obvious prelude to blackmail? Come, Senor Herrera, how naive you are! Of course, I know where my husband is. He is in an apartment on Cortez Street, the apartment of his Espanian mistress."
Herrera sat there and stared at her, astonished and feeling totally stupid.
"Dolfo!" she called. "Come and show Senor Herrera out-he is just leaving!"
Dolfo came in to show Raul Herrera out. The head of Espania's Communist party was quite incapable of speech. And he had driven over here and entered with such arrogant confidence, thinking he had at last gained a hold on the American ambassador, and his high-nosed wife.
Then Dolfo returned to the living room, a short, thick man who looked just a bit out of place wearing a black suit and necktie, with his black hair slicked back like a movie actor of the 1930s.
The tall, ethereally beautiful wife of his employer had poured herself a cognac with her own white, slim, long-fingered hands.
"A regrettable interruption, Dolfo," she said with perfect control. "We should never have let him in!" And swirling her brandy, with her long white gown swishing about her, she left the room and seemed to drift up the stairwell.
Dolfo stood at the foot of the steps and licked his lips. Then he hurried off to the pantry. Even Estrelita would do, in a pinch. He'd ram his cock so far up her unwashed snatch she'd taste her own urine in her throat!
Claudine carefully locked the door of her large, white and pale blue bedroom. She warmed her lips with a small sip of cognac, then went to her big closet, opening her peignoir. She peeled it from her shoulders and hung it away amid thousands and thousands of dollars worth of clothing. Beneath the negligee she wore a sleeveless gown of white satin, full length. It gleamed on the high, firm cheeks of her rump and fell in long ripples and folds from the silken firmness of her haunches.
Opening the shoulder closures, she let the gown slither from her pink and white body. After putting it away, she spent several minutes massaging her stomach and then her breasts, smoothing upward. Next she took down her ever-piled hair, and its shimmering blond length would most probably have astounded even people who saw her every day, such as Dolfo and Estrelita.
She occupied herself for fifteen minutes, brushing that beautiful cape of spun gold hair.
From a shoe box in the floor of her closet she withdrew a novel. Its presence there, along with several others, would have been a further source of astonishment for those who thought they knew the Princess. Even her husband, who was terribly busy as well as occupied with his mistress, did not suspect the contents of that shoe box, nor was he aware of his wife's private reading habits.
She sprawled her naked body on the bed and opened her book to the marked place. As always, she read partially aloud, in a faint murmur that was for her ears only. She felt and saw what she was reading more that way.
She had last ceased reading in midscene, because she was already . . . sufficiently aroused by the book.
"She tried to move, to escape. But sharply severe pain singed into her dangling tits. Helpless, forced into her utterly servile role as a vessel for his driving, rutting lust, she could only stand where she was, impaled in both shoulder and rectum, and suffer herself to be skewered in pain and crushing degradation.
"She stood in the open, naked and quivering, with her ass in the air, while he stood straddle-legged behind her and brutally caressed himself in the depths of her quavering, stuffed ass. The rough bark of the tree he'd secured her to, abraded the top of her head."
Claudine's long, slender but nicely rounded thighs drifted farther apart, opening the milky-white cheeks of her upturned rump. The delicate amber-pink hole in its center crease flexed, squeezing convulsively as she read of the vicious ass rape of a helplessly bound girl named Peggy. Holding the book open with one hand, she slid the other beneath her, sliding her fingers over her lightly haired, fleshily thrusting and spongelike mound.
"Her muscles gave way before his driving power. Her internal tissues relaxed. Despite her cries and feeling of horrified humiliation and pain, a glow of pleasure began to warm her belly. She hated it. It infuriated her. Could her body like anything, everything? The glow expanded. Her body quaked. Her breasts shook and slapped wetly together, sweating rubbing beneath her. She moaned steadily, emitting an unending unh-unh-unh-unh noise that served to fire his lust.
"To her horror, the straining girl began to sigh as rapturous feelings built inside her. Realization of her growing pleasure in this defilement was a hateful new pain in her mind.
" 'Unh-unh-uhhgghhhhh! Yeessssss! . . . Ahhhh . . . oohhh! . . . ungh! Ungh!'
"Fuck me! she thought. I am your whore make me a whore fuck me-e-e-e. Fuck ME!"
Downstairs in the Brooks house, the heavy-hipped cook, Estrelita, threw her fleshy thighs apart in complete surrender when Dolfo's fingers reached down to cup her bulging vulva.
The black-tufted triangle tickled at his palm as he rubbed it. She sighed and moaned and urged it up to his hand.
"Unh . . . unh ... ah, fuck me, fuck me!"
Dolfo grinned, parted her juicy cunt lips. One hairy finger tickled its teasing way in between the moist dark-fleshed flanges, seeking the treasure-trove of her musky sex. She grunted when it slithered up her cunt, grunted again and sagged back on the kitchen table when he began to move that finger vigorously in and out.
She was secreting vaginal fluid in streamlets, and he thrust a second finger into her with slithering ease. Then a third. Lying back on the table, she flexed her hips against his palm, sighing in libidinous pleasure and need as she sucked his questing fingers strongly, down inside the hot wet passage they explored.
"Get it in me! Put your cock in me, Dolfo, damn it! I'm so hot my pussy's sizzling! Drop it in and fuck me dead!"
Her big buttocks caught and squeaked as he pulled her toward him, along the table. Her fleshy legs dangled. Within their shielding mass of hair, the moist red flesh of her cunt's puckered lips gasped, just at the table's edge.
She came up into a sitting position and grabbed at his big broad-headed cock. Her tugging hand dragged the foreskin back over that fat glans, even as he shoved it at her.
The pressuring lobes of her open cunt pushed it back and again bared the shining cock head as he shoved it into her. She trembled when she felt that fat silky crown of his big cock poker wedging into the pink-red furrow between the glowing lips of her lower belly.
"Ah! Christ-it feels so good!" She groaned, and fell back onto her elbows. She grinned delightedly at him. All that beautiful big life-giving pussy-reaming cock coming into her needy hole!
She groaned and lifted her big soft buttocks clear of the table, shoving her capacious pussy up the hard flesh of his cock. It went deep, and she felt it all. She strained hard, quivering with effort, to cram herself all the way up the belly.
Dolfo endeared himself to her by having a big, unusually thick cock. The thick root of his cock caressed her elongated clitoral budlet and dilated petal soft vulvar lips even more than they had been forced to part for his strong humping entry.
She groaned aloud. Hot stabs of flame were beseiging her throbbing clit.
While he continued plowing recklessly in and out of her flooding vaginal swamp, she responded in an unreserved abandon.
He was fucking her good and hard, in the grip of an imperious lust that smashed all resistance and opened her cunt wide and made her weak with desire and blind need.
Raising his hips, he drew far back until she frowned and whimpered at being bereft of good hard cock. Then he lashed into her again, driving and driving, seeking her womb, probing for the very center of her. She fell back on the table and her head banged. She didn't care. She hunched hard to her standing fucker. The table rocked and wavered and its legs moved slightly along the floor with the force of his fierce spasmodic thrusts.
A minor orgasm rippled through her; one of several cumlets she usually enjoyed while being fucked. She didn't always get the big one. Dolfo fucked fast and hard and deep, and he had a thick cock that pressured her clit as it steamed in and out of her. But that was the only touch he vouchsafed to her sex button. Macho and machismo meant being male, and in Espania that meant not worrying about the female sex partner. She should be grateful to get herself plumbed and her womb tickled by macho meat.
Estrelita was grateful. Estrelita was overweight, everywhere but in the chest, and she loved to fuck.
Sensations jerked her luscious body and inflaming lust throbbed through her as he writhed against her lush, sweating curves. The thickness of his burning pole split the anxious mouth of her cunt like a knifed melon.
She wriggled, undulating, squeezing his engulfed prick within her boiling cunt.
Panting, he plunged himself up her dilated cunt as deeply as he could spear into it. She moaned, feeling and loving the truncheon of hard muscle caught in her soft encircling labia and their warm grip.
She sighed, grooving on a bellyful of hot cock.
Another cunt-clutching orgasm flashed through her and her up-mounded belly rippled.
Then, closing his eyes tightly and trying to imagine that this was not heavy, sweating Estrelita but her blond mistress, Dolfo crammed his dick deep and started coming.
A spurting flood of hot sperm slammed into her already gaping cunt as he spunked off hard and deep into her. Semen began dribbling out of her angry-looking cunt lips, overflowing and oozing down between her buttocks, from one dark crease into another. It formed a shining coating on the tabletop.
Upstairs, Claudine Brooks' hand was raking viciously at the little bud at the top of her firm, pink-tinted cunt lips. Her cunt was wet and drooling and already her clitoris was sore. But she went on rubbing and squeezing and jerking desperately at it as she continued reading in a low but excited voice: "'That thing slipped right into you, huh?' And he chuckled.
"She stared horrified, then started to move forward, to draw her stinging, smarting broadly expanded anus off the ham-smeared branch stub impaling her. But his hand slapped her hip, holding her firmly in place against the tree.
"She stood, shifting her feet and trembling in agony and horror. She could feel the rough bark of the tree against her buttocks. That meant the stub of the broken branch, which he'd said was six or seven inches long, was all the way into her.
" 'God! Oh, Go-o-o-o-o-od! How could you do this to me?'"
Claudine read on, rubbing hard at her sore clitoris, while Peggy's callous captor called her a "goddam naked drool-cunted whore" and slapped her hip, "which rammed her another half-inch or so onto the impaling stake, as her resilient buttocks flattened against the tree."
Shuddering, full of fire in her excitement-laden belly, Claudine let the book riffle closed. She wallowed naked on her bed, working at her reluctant love bud and the thirsty orifice of her cunt with both hands.
It wouldn't come. Tears formed in her eyes, tears of both frustration and pain. Her clit felt like a tiny piece of raw hamburger. She knew fear, too.
She was beautiful. She was desired by everyone. But her own attitudes and unconquerably cool hauteur made it impossible for her to let herself go in the embrace of her own husband. She could only lie there on those steadily decreasing occasions when he screwed her, wishing, wishing; wishing that she could let go, that he'd make her let go, that he'd make her come.
She sobbed uncontrollably at the realization of her complete helplessness. She could not respond to him as a loving, sex-needing woman, and she could not bring herself off either. The pressure of her urgently rubbing fingers on her quivering vulval flesh was an agony that did nothing for her tormenting state of extreme senusal arousal.
Her clitoris was terribly sore, a bright red button peeping frustrated up out of her pretty pussy. She was tired and her arms ached from the constant rubbing.
But when David came home and knocked softly on her door, she pretended to be asleep.
She heard him go down the hall to what had been one of two guest bedrooms. They still called it that. But now it was his bedroom, as this one was hers.
Then she turned over, wincing at the harsh feeling of the sheet against her genitals-the sheet was satin-and she cried herself to sleep.
Edmunto knew that Raul Herrera's visit to Claudine Brooks had gone far from well. But he dared not ask what had happened.
Herrera slammed open the door of the liquor cabinet and jerked out a bottle of cognac.
"Tomorrow is the eighteenth birthday of George Buchanan's daughter," he said through clinched teeth. "You and Gaston and Caballo are to give her a birthday present."
"A . . . birthday present."
Herrera poured, drank, poured again. "A seminal gift, Edmunto. My name is not to be mentioned. But she is to know, 'Munto, enough to tell her father to stay out of politics."
"No more?"
"She is not to be hurt, Edmunto. Just . . . fuck hell out of the little Yanqwi bitch!"