Chapter 3
Carmela stirred in sleep, feeling the warm wet mouth sucking the nipple of her breast. "Ummm," she said, smiling but not opening her eyes. Her arms moved up to encircle Ramirez's neck as his hands closed on the firm soft mound of flesh, squeezing gently, ballooning the tit into his mouth. Stretching languorously, her chest writhed harder into his face. "Oohh, bueno!" she whispered. "It feels good." His tongue flicked around the areola, his mouth still sucking. His hands moved down her body, down her waist, over her hips, across her flat belly. Teasingly he skipped over the rising mound of hair to her knees, tracing his fingers up the insides of her thighs. Instinctively her legs spread wide, her pelvis reached to meet his hand.
Then suddenly she went rigid. "No!" She pushed him away. "No, I can't!" she told him, rolling over on her stomach.
"Melita," Ramirez's mouth grazed the curve of her shoulder into her neck, "I need you."
She could feel his penis, stiff and hard, pressing against her buttock. Stiff and hard and tiny. A little-man prick. She was sore, her poor fucking pussy was damned sore-for more than a month, twice, three times, a couple of weekends six times a day she'd balled Querido, balled a fucking horse-size dick that chopped her insides out, that drove her clawing up the goddamned walls, it felt so good. Her cunt stayed sore, all the time, but it was worth it for Querido, worth it for that gigantic dream-size priapus, worth it if she were ten times more sore-but it wasn't worth it with a man, not any man, not even Rico. She'd have the pain without the pleasure; not anywhere near the pain she'd have with Querido in just another few hours, but with no pleasure at all. No man would ever stick his toy dick in her fucking cunt again. Not if she could help it.
Still-He was Rico. He was good to her. She turned over, her arms folding once again around him, feeling his mouth at her neck, his hands moving up automatically to the slope of her breasts. Her fingers snaked down his torso, over the hair on his chest, down his lean body into the hair of his crotch, to curl themselves around his ready manhood. He moaned at the touch, his mouth moving for hers, his tongue darting between her lips. She shifted her body and he rolled with her, over on his back.
It was her mouth this time, moving down his neck, her tongue teasing the tiny male teats on his chest, her hand rubbing over his prick, snaking gently around his balls, into the crack of his ass and back up again. She glided down in the bed, across him, supporting herself on an elbow between his knees, one hand cupping the sac of his testicles, teasing in his crotch, at his asshole, her other hand grabbing his dick and squeezing, pulsing, her eyes watching her hands as if they belonged to somebody else. Slowly the hand raised the foreskin up and over the head and back again. Her tongue licked out across her lips. As if hypnotized, her head was drawn to his penis, her mouth open wide, her tongue poised, shining wet with saliva, drawing closer. Her eyelids dropped closed sensually and rolled open again as her tongue touched the head of it, seeming to curl around it, licking it, tasting it.
"Chupa, Melita! Suck it!"
His voice was so low Carmela almost missed it-not that she needed instructions. Her mouth closed over the head of it, her lips protecting it from her teeth. Using her lips, her hand riding just below her mouth, her tongue keeping it wet, she sucked and jacked it, feeling his body quivering beneath her, feeling the life in the sac of his balls, drawing, tightening, and shrinking, withdrawing into the ecstasy she was bestowing upon him. One hand still following the mouth on his prick, her other on his balls, a finger extended, rimming his asshole.
She smiled to herself around his prick, feeling his ass squirming from her finger, feeling him dodging it, moving from it, his ass shifting around like the eyes of a cornered cat. His groans turned into grunts, into words, her name, over and over, then back to grunts, louder this time, more urgent. She knew he was coming. Faster she sucked and jacked and bobbed on his man-prick, tasting it rich, in her mouth, feeing her cunt wet from his passion, her nipples hard and erect to match the strength of his dick.
Then, in a long grinding grunt, the veins in his prick straining to burst loose, he was coming, shooting off in her mouth! The teasing finger, toying at his asshole, waited for that instant-she rammed it straight up his ass, hard, stabbing at him! His hips leaped a foot off the bed, his hands on her head, holding it on his prick, there was nowhere for his prick to go but in, straight into her throat, shooting come straight down her esophagus into her belly! She gagged but held on, taking it for him, feeling the come backing up in her throat all the way to her lips, swallowing furiously, trying to keep up, sucking even harder than before, her finger still rammed into his ass, wriggling for his prostate.
She felt his body straining, straining, and then the strain subsiding, all his strength draining from his body, as if his very manhood had drained out of his cock with his semen. Even the sphincter muscles relaxed around her finger and she withdrew it slowly, withdrew her mouth from his now limp penis. A trail of fluid followed her mouth and then broke as she licked her lips to form a line from the red head of his penis across his abdomen.
Grinning, she kissed him on his cheek and leaped out of bed. "Juana!" she called, opening the door into the hallway. "Jua-"
Startled, the young girl, on her knees, fell backward, her long black pigtails flying. Her coal-black eyes were wide with fear, her hand snatched out from beneath her multi-colored skirt. "Lo-senorita," Her tiny voice cracked. "Lo siento, senorita-"the color rose red beneath the dark bronze of her Indian complexion.
Carmela stared a moment, then shook her head back to reality. "Juana, desayuno, ahora, por favor-tocino y huevos." She waited as the girl-child scrambled to her feet-"Si, si, senorita"-and scrambled toward the kitchen to fix breakfast.
Under the shower Carmela adjusted the stream to a fine prickling hot spray, feeling her pores opening, her skin glowing, the lethargy consuming her. Remembering the look on Juana's round face, she smiled lazily. Peeking through a keyhole, playing with herself! Carmela laughed aloud. Unhurriedly she began to soap her arms, her breasts lingering over the nipples, seeing again the look on Juana's face. But she's fifteen. Two months before, she had her "quinceanos"-her coming-out party-a holdover fertility rite, really, like a society debut, or a "sweet-sixteen" party, except in the villages it is the .official proclamation by the family that the girl is fifteen and ready, officially a woman and on the auction block.
Juana was Oaxacan, like Carmela's mother, from Telixtlahuaca, her mother's village. Beleaguered by the lack of available men as husband material, Juana's mother had sent her to Toluca, to Carmela's mother, a cousin, and asked her to help. Carmela had taken the girl with her when she left Toluca as a criada, a maid.
"But she's just a child!" Carmela suddenly said aloud. A nina. A nina of fifteen, with plums of breasts. Still, Carmela at sixteen had been not only a woman but a whore. She shook that thought out of her head; no point in dwelling on that. Vigorously she soaped between her legs, at the crack that ran from her spine over her asshole to her clitoris, as if to wash off accumulative layers of invisible dirt.
By the time Carmela finished her bacon and eggs it was past six-the sun had already sunk beyond the plaza de toros. Ramirez had dressed quickly and left, to begin lining up the suckers for the evening's entertainment. The first show would be at ten. Carmela groaned just thinking about it. Not one day off-except for the first two days of her period-not one day's rest since she arrived in Tijuana a month before. She gulped the last of the coffee and descended the steps to the garage which housed Querido.
"Buenos noches, mi amante," Carmela whispered.
The pony swished his tail excitedly, more like a friendly dog than an equine. Immediately, as it always did when Carmela appeared, his prick stuck its head out of its sac.
Carmela ran her hand down his back. Juana had curried him well this morning. His coat shone like a high lacquer from the brushing. Turning, the long hairy face nuzzled into the top of Carmela's robe. She laughed. "My horny friend. You're more goat than pony. A satyr, verdad?" She opened her robe for him, letting his mouth suck first one breast then another, feeling his coarse tongue on the nipples. She drew away from him then, and fed him the cubes of sugar she'd brought. "Rest, mi querido. Our loins will meet each other soon enough." She kissed him on the wide flat between his eyes, and left him until time to leave for La Casa de Cola-the house of tail.
At nine-thirty, Carmela, carrying her vanity case, looped the rope halter loosely around Querido's neck and led him out the small rear door of the garage into the alleyway. It was dark now, but the heat of the sun rose with the dust around her ankles. It was less than a block to the back cellar door of the casa, but the night was hot, the alley dusty. Carmela could feel the sweat oozing from her pores.
The door was open for her as usual. She led the pony down the rickety ramp to the cement floor, the pony's hooves sounding abnormally loud after the soft clumps in the dusty earth of the alley.
One overhead bulb, shaded to spot its beam directly onto the thick blanket of hay, gave the only light in the room. Folding chairs were arranged in rows three-quarters around the spot of light. Forty chairs. On two different nights-the last two Saturday nights-she had seen them all filled, with other spectators standing, leering, shouting obscenities from behind the seated ones.
At the fourth side of the makeshift stage was a draped archway. A cheap portable stereo sat on the floor beside it. Behind the drape was a narrow room containing a rusty shower stall, a commode, a chair, and a wall mirror so distorted with age it was virtually impossible to use. At the end of the room, opposite the shower, a fresh pile of hay was placed once a day for Querido to wait out his performances. A bucket stood next to a half-empty sack of oats. Carmela scooped a handful from the sack into the bucket, leaving Querido to munch lazily as she prepared herself.
She undressed casually, folding her clothes and laying them on the chair. She stepped under the dismally cold spray of the shower to rinse off the dust of the alley, drying herself with a towel from her vanity case, then rubbing rose oil over her legs and body. She stepped into the sheer scanty pink panties, the elastic snapping with finality just above the soft black mound of pubic hair. She fluffed out the ruffles of the pink peignoir, drawing it together with a sash around her waist, and donned the small pink mule bedroom slippers. After brushing out her hair, arranging it to fall softly about her shoulders, cascading down her back, she was ready. She stood silently for a moment, returning the gaze of Querido, who watched her leisurely. "Un momentito, Querido," she whispered. She pushed the drapes aside, and climbed the stairs to the main level of the casa.
Coming out of the quiet semidarkness of the basement, the light was glaring, the sounds deafening. Several of the girls were standing in the hallway, chatting together, before the large bulk of customers would arrive over the next two to four hours. A couple of them nodded warmly at Carmela, a couple looked at her with awe-most of the others glared at her, resentment smoldering, aware of the greater dinero Carmela earned with her act than they could earn on their backs. She smiled shyly, returning smiles, glared back at those who glared, squeezing her way through them down the corridor toward the living room, the reception area.
No more than eight or ten customers had arrived as yet, brought in by several pimps who stood around drinking the tea Luis supplied them from the kitchen, but there were already eighteen or twenty girls in the room. Fat ones, tall ones, redheads, black-haired ones, girls who looked too young to menustrate, much less turn tricks, others who were probably grandmothers with daughters on the street. Some wore street clothes, others wore no more than panties and bra; one girl in a sheer shorty nightie with see-through panties; another in a hip-length micro-mini who bent over at regular intervals, showing coarse wiry black hairs and limply dangling cuntlips, to show she wore no panties at all; some with bulging mammoth tits choked together in black lace uplifts, while one girl with no bra had no breasts to match and was seemingly proud of the two huge nipples bulging under a sheer blouse.
It was early now, the smell of a half-dozen perfumes mixing with stale smoke and many bodies was still relatively breathable; later, when the sweat stink and undouched cunt smell and the staler smoke and rancid breaths of drunken mouths reached their peak the stench could drive you from the room retching and gasping for air. God, Carmela hated it! But she hated poverty more.
"Mela?" Carmela turned to the voice. Luis, his tattooed chest peering through the hair in the open neck of his shirt, steered a well-dressed distinguished-looking man and woman into the room. "Mela, I presente you Senor y Seriora Mike and Barbara. From Arizona in las Estados Unites."
"Mucho gusto," Carmela replied automatically. Barbara's suit, the flashing glint of the stones in the rings on her fingers, even the carriage of her head said mucho dinero to Carmela; the man, Mike, dressed casually but expensively, was probably the source of it.
Luis droned on in his heavy broken English: "Rico sent them. They come to see-who you call it?"
"Andromache," Mike replied, taking Carmela's hand and kissing it gently, his eyes not rising above the clear glow of her nipples through the sheer pink peignoir.
"Who is this ... 'Andromache'?" Luis asked.
Mike drew slowly on his cigar, his eyes roving over Carmela's body. "A Greek girl. Used to fuck around with a fellow named Hector. Until she fell in love with his horse."
Barbara's smile was chilling, directed at her husband. "She found out undoubtedly that between the two of them the horse was a better man."
Mike's eyes reflected a slur, but they remained on Carmela.
Luis motioned a girl over to take their order for drinks. "Well, I got one Greek girl working for me but her name is Gloria."
Mike and Barbara both laughed delightedly at a joke shared only between themselves.
Carmela accepted a drink-a real one, the one before each show she permitted herself.
Moments later Rico arrived. The group he had in tow was half drunk, a happy seeming, joking drunk. Seven of them. Rico introduced them with a flourish, pretending to match their unsteadiness with a drunk act of his own. "Senorita Mela, may I introduce to you the United States Navy!"
A tall one with blond red-streaked hair bowed. "Happy to meet you, Miss Navy."
"No, no, stupid," a short kid in a Hawaiian-print shirt said, "You're the navy, she's a girl."
"Oh, yes," the blond noted weaving. "I stand connected."
"Not yet you ain't!"
A harsh-eyed blackbeard in a turtleneck put his arm around her, reaching up under her armpit to cup her breast. "You make it with animals, honeybun, I got a dick like a bull myself. How "bout you and me balling a little-let them guys fuck the horse."
Hawaiian-print sneered. "Built like a bull and filled with the same kind of shit."
"Get off my back, mother fucker, I'm talking to the chick."
Carmela twisted away. "Show time in five minutes, boys." She turned and elbowed her way back toward the door to the cellar, leaving Rico to line up the others, collect the money for admission, and lead them down.
Flipping the switch on the stereo, Carmela hummed with the music. She moved behind the drape and sat down to wait. Querido walked slowly to where she sat. His nose explored her hair, her cheek. He was familiar with the routine now. He too waited. He knew it would not be for long.
In little more than seconds, footsteps clomped down the stairway. Many of them. Voices chattered and made obscene remarks, some of them called out to Mela, others commented about the twenty-dollar door charge. "A hell of a price to pay without even getting screwed."
"At that price we are getting screwed!" Chairs scraped on the cement floor as the spectators were seated.
At the sound of a low whistle-Rico's signal that all were there who would be-Carmela rose and slipped off the panties. She had given those up as part of the act the first week: the suckers paid their money not for an animal act but to see her fuck a horse. She inserted a dab of lubricating gel just inside her vagina, smoothing it over her labia. She pushed the drape aside and went out smiling, moving to the music, strutting around the hay like an exotic, flipping the bottom of the peignoir to expose her long curvaceous legs. The catcalls, the jeers, and Whistles she ignored, her teeth flashing as if she really enjoyed it. Hardly seconds behind her entrance, the pony's head appeared through the drapes. Cries of "Get a horse!" and "She's got one!" met with "Whoo-whoo's" and other appropriate noises in a deafening response.
As the strains of one number on the album ended, Carmela moved directly under the light, onto the hay. Querido moved casually around until he faced her, his nose reaching tentatively out to touch her face. She untied the sash at her waist and stood perfectly still. As the music began again, the pony nudged at the opening of the robe and it parted. Dipping his head, he seemed to be running his mouth down her torso and back up again, pushing one side of the fabric up and off her shoulder-then he moved to the other side. The peignoir dropped down Carmela's arms and off.
She stood there in the light, her skin golden hued, glistening from the rose oil. Her breasts stood out firm, the nipples hotly protruding, the areola dark against shimmering highlights of bronze. The flat stomach above the black mound of hair, the legs contoured almost caricature perfect, the cheeks of her butt curving wide but delicately to form the lower part of the base of her spine.
Nostrils quivering, the pony's lips nuzzled at the nipples of her breast. The prick under his belly stiffened and grew, swelling to its monstrous proportions.
"She's going to take that cock?"
"Man, will you look at that horse!"
"I'm too busy looking at the chick!"
"Oh, get it, honeybun!"
"What an ass!"
"The girl or the horse?"
"Suck that tit, pony buddy, I'm with you!"
The jibes and jeers were thrown banteringly, but now they were slowing, the sounds of breathing in the audience heavier.
Carmela's eyes dropped slowly with the sensation rising in her nipples. Her hands moved up to cup her breasts, squeezing them, feeding them to the hairy mouth that sucked at them. Her head fell limply back on her shoulders, her hair falling back. She was not pretending. She didn't have to. "Querido!" she murmured, sensuality thick in her voice.
Her hands moved nervously up around his head, shifting her weight to his neck as she inched her feet forward, her body stiff, sliding forward between his forelegs as his head gradually lowered her to the hay mattress. She could see it now, that dick hanging like a weapon under him, that big goddamn motherfucking dick-he wouldn't fail her, her querido, her amante, her fucking fucklover. And she was ready, goddamn she-was ready!
His mouth sucked at her tits as she clutched at them, squeezed them into his mouth. Her thighs spread open unconsciously until they were stopped by his hooves, as his mouth nibbled from her breasts down her torso, down between her thighs. Her pelvis lifted off the floor, meeting the mouth. She moaned, gritting her teeth as the wet mouth seemed to swallow her whole cunt, lips, ass, and all. Her fingers dug into the insides of her thighs, thrusting herself at the mouth, the sucking, nibbling, licking mouth.
The only sounds in the room now were the music and Carmela's moans and whimpers. Every face was still, every eye wide with the sight of the girl's uncontrolled passion for her beast, her lover, every expression totally engrossed.
Carmela's foot lifted, reaching for the head of her lover's prick, her whole body straining for it. A short cry of frustration broke through her lips as she saw she couldn't make it. Her body writhing, she twisted further along the hay between the pony's forelegs until her foot rested along the head of it, stroking gently, lifting it, nudging at it.
Querido's head straightened. His whole body went rigid, his loins pushed slightly forward as if he were meeting the touch of her.
Carmela moved further, sitting up beneath the pony, edging her shoulders, her breasts, between his forelegs, grabbing for the prick with both hands, kissing it. Without letting go of it, she whispered a command, moving from beneath, rising, "Down, Querido," touching his rear legs at the joint. Instantly the pony lumbered to the floor, getting down on his forelegs, then his rear ones, dropping to his belly, and-like a dog playing dead-rolled over on his back.
Before the pony had stopped moving, Carmela was on him, nervously, wildly anxious, her full breasts swaying, quivering. Quickly she guided the long fat roll of a prick to her cunt, her ass lowering toward it. Her fat tits heaving with her gasping breaths, she got it started in the hole. Lowering her body, the head of it disappeared inside her, and then half the shaft followed it in.
Her face relaxed for an instant, her eyes closed with relief, her lungs heaved a tremendous sigh, as if she were aflame and a drenching of water had just put out the blaze. It was always like that now, the first time each night. She dreamed of that prick in her cunt, she couldn't stand being away from it, she had to have it, she could never be without it again now that she'd found it.
Ass stroking, her tits bouncing with her strokes, she pounded her vagina with that prick, leaping on it until she bounced off with the force of her ass's drive at it. Her breath coming in gasps and cries and sobs, Carmela pumped, fucking it, fucking it. The rising crescendo of her voice, her heaving tits, the speeding tempo of her cunt slurping on its beloved tool, she was coming, it was pouring out of her body like heat waves off desert sands. The low hoarse scream came ripping out of her, choking out of her lungs as she climaxed, her teeth bared in a grimace of inconceivable ecstasy. She came. Her voice choked off, her pounding pelvis strokes on the prick slowed jerkingly, spastically, her head drooping to her breast.
The entire audience had been made to feel some of what she felt-knew precisely her sensations and almost matched them, or longed to match them, in their own hot crotches. But she hadn't stopped, not completely, and now she was moving again, more regularly, picking up speed. She was going again.
Several of the males had brought girls from upstairs down with them-the hookers got a cut for enticing their tricks to first see the show-but for the most part, until now, they'd been al most completely forgotten, so great was the fascination for Carmela with the pony. Now they were hot, goaded with the heat of their own loins-even the girls, even the ones who had seen Carmela before, were hot as hell; nobody could watch Carmela without getting aroused.
One short, red-faced balding man had his hand up the skirt of the hard-faced young Indian whore next to him, his arm moving like a rod on a cam as he finger-fucked her; another, a frailish-looking man in his fifties, had the girl he was with-only the red bobbed wig she was wearing could be seen of her-down on her knees between his legs, her head bobbing in his lap as she sucked his joint, his breaths chasing each other as his eyes chased after every movement of Carmela's ass rising and falling atop the pony's prick. Another had his girl sitting in his lap, bare to the waist, his hands and mouth working ferociously at her flabby sagging tits as she watched bug-eyed the action under the lamp, her hand down inside her panties obviously fondling her cunt. Mike and Barbara, sitting in the front row: she'd unzipped his pants, her hand held onto his dick as if she was afraid she'd lose it, while his hand over hers moved it on the shaft, jacking it with bursts of fury, his other hand around her neck, inside her bra, digging, mashing into the fat soft globes of tits.
"Querido, querido!" Carmela sobbed, her muscles fighting, the passions building, screaming inside her to be let loose, to roam alive in her brain, to touch every breadth and depth of consciousness with untold beauties and pleasures of her ecstatic deliverance. Again the noises, the words, the sobs, and grimaces told of her approaching climax. In a loud cry it was on her again, shuddering through her frame like a hot chill, touching every pore and lifting it into orgastic delights.
Querido, his head shifting, his nose and throat combining in a weird, eerie sound of tortuous pleasure, his loins haunching in a rhythm of his own, haunching, quivering, shuddering with the feeling he was experiencing as his mistress came for the second time-and then, even as her body jerked slower and slower on his dick, his haunches stilled, straining upward, straining, straining, and in a sudden flashing gush of animal joy he too reached the peak, his semen shooting like a geyser, lifting the girl impaled on him inches with the force of it.
Carmela really screamed then, hysterically, screaming and laughing at the same time, totally oblivious to everyone and everything except for the pleasures streaming into her womb and soul and flushing out again and down her legs like the sudden bursting of a dam.
The frail, fiftyish man groaned, slipping down in his seat, pushing down on the girl's head in his lap, holding her head on his prick as he came, shooting into her mouth as she tried to fight him off. Other moans in the audience said others were involved in their own pleasures. Mike seemed drained of every emotion as Barbara's hand jacking his prick speeded and the semen came spurting out of the head of his cock in a six-foot stream, while she herself was hardly aware of it, her eyes glassy, her attentions never wavering from Carmela's body and the pony's phallus.
Carmela fell forward, resting her head on Querido's belly for a moment, and then rolled off him, to lay on the hay on her back, her firm breasts heaving with her filling lungs, her body shining from sweat and rose oil. Querido rolled the opposite way, and first his rear legs and then his front ones lifted him to a standing position. He stood quietly, looking contentedly at his audience, his tail swishing back and forth across his haunches, his now limp priapus dangling more than a foot, the thick syrupy come still dripping out of the end of it. Long moments passed, and then Carmela got to her feet. Without a backward glance she strode to the archway, lifted the arm off the record-nobody had noticed that the music had stopped long ago, the only sound from the machine the scratching static-and disappeared behind the drapes. As if in, reply to a summons, Querido followed her, his tail still swinging heartily until it passed behind the heavy drapes.
In the shower Carmela soaped herself down, and mixing douche powder with water in the bulb of a douching syringe, inserted it into her vagina and flushed out the orifice, filling the bulb again and repeating the measure. Even over the sound of the spray she could hear the usual hassle Rico was having as he cleared the room of their "clients." When she turned the water off there was only the low distant murmur from upstairs and the steady munching of Querido at his oats. She dried herself off, tossed the towel aside, and lighted a cigarette.
Thinking herself alone in the basement, the sudden sound of a chair scraping across the floor startled her. "Quienes?"
Barbara's voice answered, "It's ... us! Sorry if we scared you!"
Carmela walked through the drapes, unmindful of her nudity. Mike and Barbara sat in the same chairs they had been in for the performance. "How much did you slip Rico to stay here?"
Mike rose. "Don't be angry with him. Ten bucks for two minutes-not a bad price." His eyes seemed unable to rise above the level of her nipples. "Just to talk. A business proposition."
Carmela spoke with smoke coming out of her lungs. "What kind of business?"
Barbara's eyes were still glassy, as if she were seeing a performance of her own. "We want to buy your pony."
Carmela grinned at her, shaking her head. "He's not for sale."
"We'll give you two-thousand dollars for it." The svelte woman tried hard to hide the anxiousness in her voice.
Leering, Carmela suggested, "Why don't you save your money and try it with a Coke bottle?"
"Five thousand!" Barbara's voice did crack that time.
Carmela laughed. "Did you see the suckers in here tonight? After paying the house cut, after Rico gets his, after all the. expenses, Querido earns for me a thousand dollars American every week! You think I give him up? Bet your sweet pussy, baby, I don't sell him. Not for ten thousand, not for twenty." She cocked her head to one side. "Maybe twenty-five. Maybe I sell him then. You want to pay twenty-five?"
Barbara looked at Mike, questioning.
"You must be joking!" he said astounded-to Barbara, not Carmela.
Carmela dragged deep from her cigarette. "Okay. Then go get a fucking horse some other place. This one is mine."
Barbara stood up, her purse falling to the floor. "Please! You can get another one, train it just as you did this one!"
Carmela sighed. "I got another show to do, and I want to rest. Get out of here. Por favor."
Slowly, Barbara turned and with Mike grabbing her purse and pushing her along, the two of them climbed the stairs and went through the doorway, the din from the upper level crashing down the stairs as the door opened, shutting off again as it closed with finality.
Carmela lowered herself to the hay beneath the spotlight, shading her eyes from the glare. Laying flat on her back, she finished her cigarette and flipped the butt aside. She lay quietly, not moving, dreaming, resting. Dreaming about the pleasures of a gigantic animal prick gouging at her insides, ravaging her mind, resting up for the second moment that night when she would realize that dream.
It was after three o'clock in the morning when Carmela douched and showered for the last time and dressed in the slacks, blouse, and sandals for the walk home. Rico stayed behind to settle with Luis; he drove the car home anyway, after using it all night to ferry the suckers from the clubs in the center of town. She tied the halter around Querido's neck and led him up the wooden ramp to the alley.
The pony stepped into the alleyway, and balked. His head lifted and fell between his forelegs, a front hoof clawed at the ground.
"Que pasa, mi querido?" What's the matter? Carmela peered up and down the passage into pitch-black darkness. The sky was lighted only by the stars, silhouetting roofs and fences and the electric wires and poles that marked the alley.
The first nights she'd made this walk she'd been deathly afraid; now she was just tired, anxious to get home. Still The air was cold. Chilly now. A slight breeze wandered in from the ocean a few miles away.
Carmela shivered.
Again the pony snorted and clawed at the ground. From behind a fence across the way a dog began to bark; another dog and still another picked it up, yapping and barking savagely further down the alley.
"Vamos, Queridol" Let's go. "Es solamente un perro." Only a dog. She started up the alley, the rope over her shoulder leading the pony who plodded along laggardly. Her eyes squinted into the darkness ahead. She could see nothing. But she could feel, feel ... something. The night itself, threatening. Eyes on her. Her steps hurried.
Oh, hell, she was just being silly. It had been a good night, her cut from Rico should be five or six hundred, U.S. To the side a sound, a viciously barking dog, set up a din almost in her ear, and the suddenness of it made her jump. She forced herself to stop. "Be cool, baby," she whispered aloud, in English, trying to quiet her heart pounding in her throat. "Be cool." She picked up the pace of her steps again, her sandals crunching quickly in the dust, followed by the pony's quick-plodding hoof beats.
Then from behind her the grind and whirr of a starting engine. Headlights lighted up the alley like a lonely floodlight from the stage of a darkened theater, stark and eerie. Carmela forced herself not to turn, to keep her eyes on the long grotesque shadows cast ahead of her and the pony.
It was danger, she knew it was danger! Querido had warned her and she had felt it herself but ignored it, passed it off, and now-oh, God! She lengthened her strides. Her legs moved faster, trying to keep pace with her racing pulse. The engine raced behind her and the lights moved closer, closer, the shadows shortening now, falling back toward her as a weight would fall from a cliff.
Laughter, more than one laugh; then a drunken voice: "Hey, honeybun! Wha's your hurry?"
And then another voice: "Yeah, baby, wait up, we want to talk to you." Yet another: "Yeah. Talk."
A car door opened and closed again. She heard a thud as if somebody had jumped from a high place. Two shadows, one on either side of her, moved up beside her own.
Fifty meters to the gate, fifty meters. She'd never be able to make it. She wouldn't be able to outrun them, she knew it, and she couldn't leave Querido, she couldn't. Bluff it, that was all she could do. She glanced back over her shoulder. The blackbeard in the turtleneck "Tank" they called him-grinned lopsidedly at her, moving casually up alongside the pony toward her. Beyond him, into the glare of lights, she saw it was a pickup truck. Appropriate, she thought, her face contorting wryly. Others were standing in the bed, looking over the cab at her-she could see three of them there, two more inside the truck. Another one was weaving on the opposite side of the pony from Tank, moving up on her.
She fought to make her voice calm. "Go home, amigos. It's late."
Tank, staggering, moved up beside her, sliding his arm around her waist, moving his hand up to her breast, cupping it and lifting. "Now, honeybun, you ain't leaving without saying good night, are you?"
The other one, tall and blond, snatched the rope out of her hands. " 'Sides. Wha's this sumbitch got that we ain't got?"
Carmela twisted out of Tank's grip, fear and anger boiling in her belly. "Give me that!" She reached for the rope.
The blond one dodged her, laughing boisterously. "She wants her fucking horse, man! Maybe she's sumbitching ready to go again, hot and bothered. She wants to get fucked, man!"
"Give me!" Arms grabbed her from behind, twisting her around. The bearded face went into hers, the open mouth moving on her cheek to her mouth as she squirmed, her head twisting. Her fingernails went up to the face, lashing out, slashing, going for his eyes but digging into flesh, her feet kicking out, her body squirming to get free.
"Eeyii!" His scream in her ears was choked off by the blinding flash of pain as he hit her in the face, her eyes seeing red, her ears ringing, blocking out all sounds except those inside her head. She felt her knees sagging. Again a flashing, blinding, stinging pain in her head as something collided with the other side of her face. She felt something catch her, as she fell numbly, and lift her up. Trying to shake it off, shake away the pain and the din in her ears, the red blindness in her eyes, trying to regain her sanity!
She was hurtling through space! Her head hit something and then her back, hard and flat, and then she was bouncing, swaying. Groggy, so groggy. They had her in the truck and it was moving. She could hear them talking but couldn't make out the words. She managed to get her head up, her eyes rolling around in her reeling mind-Querido, was all she could think of. And in that one spinning glimpse before she sank back down again she saw him, the halter tied to the back of the truck, his head and neck over the tailgate shining ghostly red in the glare of the taillights.
When her mind spun around again with a jerk she knew the truck had stopped. Hands that had been holding her grabbed at the blouse and ripped it open. Pain dug into her shoulders and back as hands ripped at her bra. Hands groped and squeezed and gouged at her breasts and pinched at her nipples. Other hands ripped at the waistband of her slacks, at the zipper, while others yanked at the legs, pulling them off her, letting her feet fall limply back to the bed of the truck. The panties were snatched away.
Tank's voice again, "I'll show you, you horse-fucking bitch!" His breath in her nostrils stank with stale whiskey and then his mouth was on hers, his beard coarse around her lips. Hands pulled her legs apart. A hand groped between her naked thighs, into her dry vulva, fumbling for the hole. A finger drove inside the hole, gouging, the nail ripping flesh. Her cunt was dry, blisteringly sore from three times with the pony, and it hurt. Her legs were spread wider, her thighs rending as if they were coming out of their joints. Then a prick replaced the finger.
Even with the pain, even with the threat of more in the madness of a nightmare, Carmela had a strong impulse to laugh, to laugh out loud. This man, with his puny man-prick-he would show her? Shit.
Her head, her back from the weight on her, his body banging into her-she ached all over, no consciousness beyond the pain. His dick rammed hard into the tender raw flesh of her cunt, it screamed in her brain in pain. She felt it all right. She felt pain. But even the pain from her raw cunt was no more than that in her pounding temples. It was a surprise feeling his silly attempts at all. Banging her, his sour breath coming in gusts, squashing her ass into the hard boards of the flooring, he poked her, banging, fucking. She could feel him tightening, getting more rigid with each stroke, and all she could think of was having him off her, out of her.
The others chanted to their buddy. "Give it to her, Tank!"
"Fuck her good, boy!" All of them drunk, weaving as they passed a bottle. Her eyes failed to register a difference between them, they were silhouettes, maddening dark, blank puppets of hell. Somebody poured some of the whiskey down her throat, spilling it over her face to run down in her hair. Even as their buddy fucked her, their hands roved her body, digging between them at her tits, gouging into the flesh. "You sons of bitches!" she murmured in Spanish, without strength to make herself heard.
Tank grunted, heaving on her, pounding harder into the soft meat of her ravaged pussy-and then he was through.
"I'm next!"
"No you ain't, man, I'm next!" Somebody climbed on her, repeating the movements of the one before him; Carmela didn't bother even opening her eyes. At least it was easier now. Tank's semen had lubricated her vagina, it was no longer quite so painful. She could hardly even feel it. Again whoever was on her came, and somebody else took his place, to run through the same routine. It was going to be all right.
But then: "Turn her over, Jake, I'm getting mine in her ass, I ain't taking that sloppy horse-stretched cavern of a cunt." Hands, turning her over, hands grabbing her hips, lifting her ass in the air until she was poised painfully on her knees. "Hold it right there, pig!" A prick, into the semen-drenched lips of her labia but only wiping through, up across the sensitive membrane, poking at her asshole! Then thrusting!
She wanted to stay quiet-knowing that the more her involvement the greater the encouragement-but she whimpered, she couldn't help it, and then, when his dick rammed through, stuck up her ass, she screamed. Sobs choked in her throat, uncontrollable sobs, and between her racking lungs she cursed them, "You bastards! You rotten mother-fucking sons of bitches!" The sudden jab in her virgin hole: it hurt, ripping, tearing, flesh, blazing fire going in, almost as bad as the first time with the pony.
"Whee-ee, Gus, you must have got her where it hurts!"
"'At's right, honeybun, you jis cuss up a storm!"
Her knees hurt, her face, her belly, her cunt, the rim of her ass where that thing had-the prick in her asshole, stroking, going deep a weird sensation, touching her as if it were not in just her ass but her pussy as well, she could feel it inside her pussy, through the membrane, and the idea of it, the forbidden hole, the sensitive rim, the size of it pressuring through as if nothing divided her ass from her cunt. Tears streamed down her face; she hadn't wanted to acknowledge it, any feeling at all, but she couldn't help it-and not only did she feel it, it felt good! A moan choked-out of her throat, her ass wiggled as if by itself, settling further on his prick, settling into it, meeting its strokes, wanting it, but in wanting it was the humiliation. Her cry was a forlorn wail, "Oh, God! Madre de Dios!"
"Look a here, bastards, this pig is digging it, digging it!" Laughs followed the words, and other words, "Get it!"
"Fuck her, man!"
Hands pulled at her arms which supported her head. "No use letting this other end go to waste." A hand grabbing in her hair, lifting her head. A penis, rubbery stiff, plopped against her face, rubbed down the length of her nose, probing for her mouth. The hand tightened in her hair. Carmela groaned. A voice low and threatening: "Listen, pig, you bite me and I'll cut you. You unnerstand? I'll cut up your face, I'll carve my initials in your belly, I'll slice your heart out, and I'll hang you on a hook to bleed dry, you hear me?"
Carmela nodded, the sobs choking in her throat.
The head of the prick slid along her lip. "Open up, bitch!" She opened her lips, the prick gliding inside. "Suck it, goddamn you!" A hand slapped at the side of her face, stinging. "I said suck it, you fucking slut!"
Her mouth went to work automatically, going down on it, sucking it, her tongue lapping around the head, tasting it, her head bobbing now-and all the while the prick in her asshole unrelenting, melting her insides with the strokes. Sobbing, moaning, sucking, her mouth slobbering around the prick in her mouth-two pricks, the one in one end, the second in the other, the idea of it! Goddamn them, goddamn them, she was liking it! Liking it I The bastards were raping her, beating her, she hated them, she wished she could kill them, see their guts spilling out of their bleeding bellies, see them with their pricks and balls cut off and stuffed in their dead mouths and their heads on a spike at her front door-what they were doing to her, but worst of all she was liking it! Enjoying it, getting her own.
She could feel the passion rising, rushing in as if the pricks controlled the valves. A gurgled wail of pain and humiliation sprayed out of her mouth around the dick she sucked, even as her naked buttocks writhed and squirmed and quivered, meeting the lunging prick, driving it deep in her ass, wanting it deeper, feeling it hard and wanting it harder, even as her mouth went crazy on the prick in it, her head bobbing furiously now, wanting the thing to come, wanting the taste of it, wanting to suck it off as if by some means the orgasm of its owner would be bringing on her own.
The fingers in her hair loosened, moving to the sides and grabbing her ears, ramming her head on the cock, forcing it deeper and deeper in her mouth until she was almost gagging but she didn't care, not now. The prick in her ass pounding as two pricks, one in her asshole, the other in her cunt, bringing her to a climax, the ecstasy building in her, she was coming, nothing could bother her now! She was coming, reaching for it as she never had before, in a way she'd never known it before and she was loving it, loving it, her body teeming with the god-awful strangeness of it, and then she was soaring, flying, soaring totally out of it, her head banged all the way down on the cock she was sucking, taking it all in, her mouth hitting hair-covered flesh at the bottom of the shaft, the head of it down in her esophagus cutting off her wind, feeling as if it had touched her womb, as if both pricks had converged in her middle, merging, joining, knowing too that both pricks, the one in her ass and the one in her throat, were coming-like her own tortured humiliated ravaged soul was coming, and she didn't care!
Gagging, choking, feeling the come backing up in her throat and not caring, totally numb to anything but ecstasy, the sweet goodness spreading like jam from her ass through her cunt to her womb and tingling electrically from there to every cell of her being. The gagging muffled spurts and wails and screams coming out of her lungs, the choking wheezing spray of come out of her throat, her windpipe, through her nose, out of her opened wailing mouth-a mottled barrage, a bombardment of pain and pleasure and humiliation and impassioned ecstasy, an ecstasy so consuming it was eating her completely, swallowing her up in its black womb of glorious warmth and peace. And with her last moment of consciousness, of sanity in the ecstasy, she gave herself over to it with love.
Gradually reviving, she was on her back again. Somebody else now, bending her legs up with his shoulders, bending her almost double, her hips off the bed of the truck, the pain in her back excruciating-but the prick in her cunt hammering deep in that position, and her cunt flesh was well lubed now. There was no pain at all in her pussy-only a warmth, and even as she felt it, it splayed into quivers of sensual pleasure. She might as well face it, it felt good. She was getting raped, she'd been raped. Nothing she could do about it. Nothing but-like an old joke-relax and enjoy it. Her arms went around her attacker, her hands, clutching at his buttocks-he hadn't even lowered his pants, just opened his fly. Her back was killing her but her clitoris, the sore-sensitivity of her comeladen vagina, so good, so fucking, fucking good!
Through it all Querido had strained at the halter, snorting and pawing skittishly, swinging his haunches around and kicking, trying to get his hooves into something. Carmela had been only vaguely aware of him at best. But now, as if by some change in the scents in the air, after she resigned herself to her circumstances and decided to try to enjoy them as best she could, Querido began to quiet down; still restless but not as frantically fearful or angry. As the sky began to brighten with the morning, he was almost calm.
But morning meant something else to the men in the truck. Carmela still lay on her back, but someone had let her use her clothes as a cushion against the severe harshness of the truck bed. She had stopped counting who or how many times she'd sucked and been fucked and sucked and fucked again. She was exhausted and sore, emotionally and physically satiated, almost unconscious. Dazed, she was lifted over the side of the truck, looking into eyes that now avoided hers. She was on a hill at the south of the city, on a little-used dirt road. But she'd make it back, she told herself, even if she had to walk. It never occurred to her that she would not have Querido with her. She was calm, not panicked. The blond one, not looking at her, threw her clothes to land at her feet.
She staggered to the corner of the pickup truck, to Querido. "Don't touch the horse, honey bun." Tank's eyes jeered at her. "That thing's worth a heap of money to us if we can get it to Diego. Some people made us an offer. Two-fifty apiece. That's a right nice little price for a damn pony." He laughed, a hoarse gritty sound. "You don't think we went to all this trouble just to gangbang your little chicana ass, do you, pig?"
Carmela panicked then. She grabbed at the rope, working at it furiously with her fingers, trying to untie it. She didn't see the blow coming-the fist hit her solidly in the temple. She sank to the ground, barely conscious.
"Okay, man, le's split!" Tank laughing, the others solemn but unaiding, the truck drove off, spitting dirt and pebbles back from under the tires. The rope stretched taut, the pony was half led, half dragged at a loping canter behind it, straining to be loose.
Carmela later remembered crying openly, forsakenly, before she passed out. She was still lying there nude, in a coma, when several hours later a cabdriver on his way to work spotted her and sped her to a hospital.
The next day a small item appeared in the local paper about a girl kidnapped and raped but resting comfortably in the hospital. The San Diego press carried another story: seven drunken sailors had tried to smuggle an Appaloosa pony across the border at Tijuana as a prank. After a chaotic chase by border guards the pony escaped into the desert hills north of the border. The sailors did not.