("`-''-/").___..--''"`-._ `6_ 6 ) `-. ( ).`-.__.`) (_Y_.)' ._ ) `._ `. ``-..-' _..`--'_..-_/ /--'_.' ,' (((' (((-((('' (((( K R I S T E N' S C O L L E C T I O N _________________________________________ WARNING! This text file contains sexually explicit material. If you do not wish to read this type of literature, or you are under age, PLEASE DELETE THIS FILE NOW!!!! _________________________________________ Scroll down to view text -------------------------------------------------------- Copyright 2005 - All correspondence is welcome at elguaton7@hotmail.com. The usual copyright applies, please do not repost this story without the author’s permission. Thank you, and enjoy. -------------------------------------------------------- Santiago Sins by El Guaton (elguaton7@hotmail.com) *** Follow Johnny as he enters a world of organized crime, revenge, and abundant sex. (M/F/f, ped, exh, inc, nc) *** _Chapter 1_ Santiago is a huge city with a public transportation problem. Getting from one side of town to the other during any peak hour is practically impossible, the only option to rely on huge yellow buses ironically called "micros," all of them crammed indiscriminately with people eager to get home, with hardly enough space to breathe let alone move, and a lot of pushing and meek "con permisos." The particular micro I was on was crowded even by normal standards. I was standing, one arm loose and the other clinging to a handlebar as our driver maneuvered around close corners seemingly without touching his brakes, cursing the fortune that had brought me back to this town, looking out the window and wondering when we’d get near my stop, with people around me so close I was feeling a little claustrophobic. On my left, a middle aged man, dozing off, no matter how impossible it would seem, and his presumed wife, equally clutching for dear life. On my right, a young college kid, listening to headphones, and a young suit, staring forlornly out the window. Behind me, lucky enough to get seats, two nondescript women. In front of me, back to me, a youngish girl, maybe 15 or 16, but wearing the catholic uniform indicative of high school in Chile. Over her shoulder, more nondescript people, a man with a shopping bag, a woman with a baby. We went over a particularly good bump and then slammed to a halt as our micro driver laid on the horn in a protest against the micro that had stopped in front of him. Whether he was actually mad or if this was just routine for him I’ll never know; micro drivers are a breed of their own. We all went flying a little bit, the girl ended up sort of catching herself on my arm. She righted herself as we got underway again and turned over her shoulder to say thank you. Cute face. Still in braces, but a good smile, and that uncommon combination of mocha skin and light eyes that is quintessentially Chilean. Black hair pulled back in a pony tail, nice small-to-medium breasts, and a flat stomach and lean legs that had not quite developed the curves of a woman. All enhanced, of course, by that Chilean school girl uniform -- black knee-high socks, plaid skirt (delightfully short on this girl), and the jumper -- evidence enough that is must be quite lucky to be a high school boy in this string-bean country. In all honesty, I suppose it wasn’t half bad having her crash into me. I don’t consider myself a pedophile, but I’ll admit that while I’d never try to actually make it with one, there is nonetheless something enchanting about a girl who is no longer a kid and not quite a woman. Suddenly instead of dwelling on the travails of my journey, I was having very reprehensible thoughts, wondering about this young vixen who had so clearly entered only recently into the bloom of her womanhood. Questions, all non sequiturs, popped off in my mind with rapid succession like machine-gun fire. Does she masturbate? Has she let some daring young Chileno explore her treasures yet? What kind of panties does she wear? I tried to flush the thoughts out, knowing it was wrong to fantasize about a girl so young and the picture of innocence, but not before there was a certain swelling in my pants. Suddenly I started to panic a little. There was literally nowhere for me to go and almost no way for me to hide my erection. I tried to lean my torso forward and curve my legs back so that my pelvis was as far away from her as possible, but I knew she had to be feeling something. Would she notice? Would she react? The last thing I needed was to be accused of molesting a young girl in a public place in Chile. My business required a low profile, not to mention how inconvenient it would have to been to be the cause of an international incident. Oh my god, was she pushing back? She had curved to follow me, so that now her back was arched and her pert little butt was directly planted on my cock. I tried to tell myself it was just a crowded micro, her back wasn’t arched, she just had nowhere else to put her body, when I started to feel a gentle rubbing sensation and more pressure. Was this little girl teasing me? The possibility made my cock swell to a full erection. The pleats of her skirt rustled ever so slightly. She was definitely rotating her ass into me with barely perceptible little half turns. Was it possible this was some sort of unconscious reaction? The close quarters were probably hiding my predicament from the people around us, but it was impossible that she could not feel me. She turned around and smiled. Elfish. An "I’m-getting- away-with-something" grin. Maybe even flirtatious, or maybe I was just telling myself that, projecting it. At 15, she might be biologically developed, but she would not have developed socially to a point where this was anything more than a game to her. In a woman of 25, sure, that look might mean, "I have a need, you have a need, let’s help each other," but 25 she definitely was not. Deliciously was not. Quit while you’re ahead, man. Or so I told myself. But all I did was flash a smile in return. She pulled forward a little bit. My animalistic part was sad to lose contact, my rational part was hoping the swelling in my cock might now subside and I could get on with my life. Suddenly I felt a hand where there had been a body just a few moments before. My eyes bolted open and my body tingled. The hand held there for a few seconds, but then slowly, hesitantly (teasingly?) began to move a bit, tracing the outline of my cock, rubbing over the tip with fore and index finger, stopping to clutch the entire bulge in the palm of her hand, tugging on it and then moving down to tug on my balls, and then gliding back up to repeat the process, almost randomly, absent-mindedly feeling up my entire cock. But there was no way this was an accident. Without even thinking, I leaned in, letting out a small growl. This girl was exciting ancient nerves in my body, awakening a need so primal I couldn’t remember having felt it with other women. If we had been Neanderthals, I would have dragged her back to my cave. I wasn’t even paying attention to the voice of reason in my head repeating "international incident" over and over. I had to be closer to this girl, to get a piece of her essence. I inhaled deeply, reveling in her scent. It was clean, fresh. No perfume, but maybe soap. My face hovered near her ear, but I hesitated in speaking, or in kissing her. Some part of me still realized that we were in a very public place, and while very few could have seen what was passing on the low level of our waists, there were too many who could see my face. I briefly thought about turning around, facing the seats and the other window, but I definitely did not want to present my raging erection in the face of the nondescript woman seated behind me, and what this little minx was doing did feel so good. I stopped trying to distance myself from her, unarched my back, and settled into her, the whole length of our bodies now in contact. She giggled a little at my move, but didn’t stop. Her grip was firm, too firm even, but her hand motions were slow. It was a marvelous kind of painful pleasure. I think if she had actually been masturbating me I would have come already. She looked over her shoulder again and caught my eye. I did my best to look completely uninterested. She grinned, dimpling her cheeks, and in one deft motion turned around, putting her back to the seats and window, so that we were now facing each other and practically molded together, like a close couple during a slow song. Her hand still didn’t move. I did some quick reconnaissance. Everyone still seemed relatively distracted. The girl, too, was doing her best to act like she had barely even noticed me and like it was the most normal thing in the world for us to be intertwined like this. Not that everyone else was not also in close quarters, just not generally with quite so full one-on-one contact. Thankfully everyone else was so preoccupied with their own worries or at least had their vision blocked that no one seemed too interested in us. My hand reached out, seemingly of its own accord, and brushed the inside of her thigh. She breathed in sharply. I had definitely just crossed a boundary of deniability, to my own conscience and to an international tribunal. But her skin was so soft and almost burned to the touch. I let one finger linger, playing a little, moving back and forth, but confined to the area between the end of her stockings and the beginning of her skirt. It’s a sensitive area, personal, and hovering your attention there is like letting your body acclimate for a night at a base camp before climbing a mountain. I didn’t want to scare her. She looked at me with an appraising glance, as if this were a poker game and I had just raised her, but she seemed to take this as a cue that we had upped the odds in general and started working on my zipper. I was surprised again but controlled my facial expression. I had stopped thinking about consequences. There was now only my cock and this girl in my world. As she started to move my zipper down, I moved my hand up. Her legs relaxed, and she spread her stance a little bit, freeing up more room for my hand. Oh god, the trail up her thigh was a trail to heaven. Her skin and muscle tone were of a quality lost in older age, almost bouncing to the touch, screaming for more attention. Again I wondered if maybe mine were the first hands to make this expedition. Slowly, slowly. Suddenly I felt silk. This girl was wearing silk underwear. Is that part of the normal Catholic uniform? My zipper was completely undone. My fingers trembled, hesitating at the boundary where her leg met her panties. A few more centimeters and my fingers would actually be touching her pussy. Simultaneously, her hand sneaked into my pants as I came to rest at the peak of her legs, the goal of my fingers’ arduous trek. It was soft. And practically radiating heat. And oh so wet. I almost fainted with excitement. The girl’s hand paused as it got the feel of my cock through my boxers, but almost immediately she kept digging and held my cock in her hand. It was as if this contact had completed some sort of circuit. Little sparks of energy shoot between my cock and her hand. She caressed her thumb across the head a little bit, smearing the pre-cum. She traced one finger along the shaft. Is this the first cock you’ve touched, little girl? Oh, some sick part of me longed for a private room and all the time in the world, to teach her everything she seemed so eager to explore, but instead here I was with my zipper down in a very public place, our actions clumsily concealed between our two bodies. Not that it mattered, I suppose, I would have let everyone on that bus see me in all my flopping glory if it meant this girl continued to touch me. I let one finger rub in her crease for a little bit, pushing her panties into the sopping wetness. This girl was definitely turned on. I pushed her panties to the side, and let my fingers come to rest, skin to skin, with her pussy. Absolutely no hair. Surely she wasn’t that young? No, for some reason, this girl shaved. Was she not as innocent as I thought? A flood of possibilities entered my head, each more craven than the next. At that moment, I probably would have happily started fucking her, right there, on a micro, in full view, until someone forcibly pulled me off. That’s how hot she was. She started pulling on my cock. Slow, even strokes, but short. She was moving her wrist, not her arm, to make it less obvious. I started to rub her pussy. I moved my fingers up and down, brushing against her clit, cruising between her lips, and coming to rest just barely lodged inside her, and then back up again to repeat the adventure, in a rhythm which matched hers evenly. Every time I brushed her clit, her face pinched a little. I paused a little longer on her clit, pushing aside the hood and just barely stroking the little nub inside. She bit her lip. Maybe I wasn’t the only one wishing for a private room and all the time in the world. She sped up her pace on my cock. I don’t know how she had room through the confines of my pants and her body pressed to mine, but she her hand was moving up and down the entire length of my cock, twisting slightly on all of her upstrokes. Where had this girl learned to give a handjob like that? My heart raced, blood pounding in my ears. Wildly my eyes darted around. Man was still dozing, college kid was still listening to music, suit was still looking out the window. I was ready to scream with animal lust and nobody else even seemed alive. I glanced back down at the girl. Her eyes were looking up at me glazed over in pleasure, but her jaw was clenched in concentration. She was going to make me cum, the determination was evident. I started plunging a little deeper into her pussy. Her pussy was practically sucking on my finger it was so tight. If she wasn’t a virgin, then some Chileno was very lucky. My eyes roamed up and down her body. Slender neck, perfect skin. Perky breasts, just about a handful, and just a little bit of cleavage barely visible from my perspective, her top few buttons undone. I wanted to throw my arms around her, to let loose her pony tail and lose my hands in her mane of hair, to feel those tits and tear off that jumper. To kiss her, to bite her, to devour her, consume her completely. Rip off those panties and jam my hard, pulsing cock up into her pussy and fuck her relentlessly until a big torrent of my cum washed over her, claimed her, in the primordial tradition of the jungle. I moved my index finger along inside her pussy while my thumb massaged her clit. She gently moved back and forth, rocking a little bit. Her pussy was almost like sandpaper, or maybe velvet. Definitely a texture that all of her slickness could not hide. All of a sudden, she grabbed my arm with her free hand and clenched, and I felt a tremor move through her body. Her pussy sealed tighter around my finger. She was cumming. She leaned in closer and let a little moan reach my ears, and then a long sigh. Her breath touched my face, vaguely scented of strawberries, and that was it. I couldn’t take it anymore. I started spurting cum, every blast feeling like it was originating from my very core. My body shook with the force of it. If I hadn’t still been in pants and boxers, I think my cum would have shot fifteen feet. She continued to milk me until no more cum came out and I started to deflate a little. And then that was that. She moved back a little and sort of shushed my arm out from under her skirt. She pulled her hand out of my pants, took one quick lick to clean off some cum that gathered on her finger, smiled one more time at me, and then pushed the timbre requesting a stop and was off, pushing her way through the multitudes to the door. I turned after her, wanting a name or a word or anything, but all I caught was one fleeting glance, a little flair of skirt, and all I had of her was some stickiness on my fingers. "Welcome to Santiago," I said to myself, slowly sucking my fingers clean. The taste was excellent. "If only," I sighed, rehoisting my zipper. The old man seemed to wake up a little at the sound of my English, a sound that was interesting and out of place, but he was completely unaware that he has already missed the most interesting thing on the micro today. If this were any portent for things to come, I thought to myself, my stay in Santiago could be quite interesting indeed. _Chapter 2_ Not only had I been dragged all the way around to the world to a place I had sworn I would never return, but now I was being made to wait. I was pissed. Latin Americans aren’t known for being punctual, but an hour was too long. Especially when it came to business. "Caballero, how about a few pesos?" A woman’s voice, probably Peruvian from the trill in her accent. I turned around. Dark skin, dark eyes, dark hair, kind of a flat face. Definitely Peruvian. I had left Chile when I was 13, but the instant I laid my eyes on this woman I felt the old, learned prejudices swell up. Dirty Indian. Lazy. Coming here to steal our jobs. I shook my head. Can’t fault people for wanting a better life. I flipped her a 100 piece. About a quarter by US standards, but money goes farther down here. Her eyes glittered as the gold landed in her hand. She said thank you, and started to move away, when something made her stop. She looked me up and down. "You know, I’m waiting out here to go into the Conga." This was the club a few meters down the road. "It’s pretty cold out here. I’m only short another 100 pesos, if maybe you wanted to go in with me." I looked a little closer. That’s Peruvians for you, they will hit you up for a hand-out just to go out on the town, but I should have known she looked a little too well made-up to be a beggar. Tight jeans, although they hugged an almost non-existent ass. Sweater and a few more layers under that, but still obvious she was pretty thin. Well, maybe she did need that hand-out after all. Now I was faced with a choice. Continue waiting out here in the cold with my only company an imposing old cathedral, or go with this girl to the club. Let her take some money from me, maybe buy her some drinks. Maybe even fuck her. I was still so worked up from my encounter with the girl on the micro that I was willing to fuck even this poor, dirty Indian girl. I flipped her another 100 piece and smiled. "Let’s see what we can get into." She smiled back and took my arm. The Conga was everything that can be expected in a dive. A live salsa band, sweaty couples dancing in close contact on a dark floor, and a little bar section with some tables where hassled waiters served beer and cigarettes. The kind of place only found off the beaten track. The tourist council of Santiago would be appalled to know that someone with a US passport had ended up in a place like this. "Should we get a table, or do you want to dance?" the Peruana asked me. "You look thirsty," I replied. She smiled and moved over to a table, maybe wiggling a little extra just for me, though it was hard to tell she had so little to wiggle. I bought us some beers from the bar and sat down. "What’s your name?" "Flavia." She gulped her beer down, holding it protectively, as if someone were about to steal it from her. "Are you hungry?" The hint was obvious enough in any language. I flagged a waiter down. All the food was Peruvian. Either this was a Peruvian club, or the immigrants were taking over. I ordered some aji de gallina. It’s a spicy dish, good for sharing. Flavia’s eyes were shining. She had already gotten more than she had bargained for, but I was planning to really give it to her before the night was over. "You must be hot in all that clothing," I commented. Another hint obvious enough in any language. She unzipped her jacket and then pulled off a sweater to reveal a cute little tank top. No tits, just as I had thought, and a definite flash of rib. I preferred my girls softer and more buxom, but if I was going to slum it up, I had may as well slum it up. Our food came. She did most of the devouring, while I just picked at it. It was good. Typical conversation, typical story. She had come to Chile hoping to find work and to escape a dominating father. She’d found work where most Peruvian girls do, as a nana for a middle class family. Horror story there, too. She was restricted in what she could eat, and when she could leave. One night the husband came home, barged into her little room, and raped her. He then tore up her passport and told her that if she told anyone what had happened or tried to leave, he would accuse of her stealing. That night she sneaked away. Now, almost three years later at the tender age of 21, she found herself renting a little tiny floor space in a room shared by 6 people, in a house that had one bathroom for 40, finding work where she could and trying to avoid being deported. All the more tragic of a story for being so typical. Flavia stared at me, almost vacantly. She had laid it all out on the table, and now it was my turn, I suppose. Maybe she wanted me to be her white knight or her meal ticket, but I was there to fuck her, not to rescue her. I leaned in over the table. "Would you like to dance?" Without responding, she stood up and moved to the dance floor. I followed close behind, and soon we settled into a nice rhythm. She was a pretty good dancer, Peruvians usually are. Her hips, even so small, had a nice rise and fall. And her waist was so small, with my hands on either side my fingers could almost touch. But she responded nicely to my leads, sometimes spinning out, sometimes coming in close, and always on the beat. And with a girl that small, especially during a dance, sometimes it’s nice to feel so in control. Half an hour later, we were both sweaty and taking a pause on the sidelines. She was leaning in to me, her chest rising and falling. I could see the outlines of both her nipples and her ribs through her shirt. I straightened up and turned to her, almost towering over her. I looked at her very calmly, trying to muster everything I could of my presence. "Would you like to go somewhere a little quieter?" I asked. She stared back at me and pursed her lips a little bit. I don’t know what she was thinking, but she must have reached a decision, for she decisively took my hand and started leading me out, past the bar, through a little dark hallway, and then into what must have been a storeroom. She pushed the door shut behind us, shoved me against the wall, and then was on me, like an animal pouncing on prey. Her lips didn’t just meet mine, they practically attacked mine. She was kissing and biting all at once, her hands ripping at my shirt, her tongue darting into my mouth whenever it could get past her teeth. I cupped her ass and pulled her into me. She was livelier than I had expected. She had my shirt off, though she had ripped a few buttons, and was working frantically on my belt. I had maneuvered through the barrage of her hands to get my own under her shirt. I pushed it up. Perfectly outlined ribs, but with a stomach that actually had a little pooch to it. No bra. Tiny breasts, just little bumps, but with bright pink nipples that contrasted beautifully with her dark Peruvian skin. I physically pushed her off long enough so that I could pull her shirt off. She paused, her head bent, glowering at me as if she was unsure whether she wanted to kill me or fuck me. She lunged at me again, scratching and biting and at the same time dry humping me through our jeans. She scratched my shoulder at the same time as she bit my ear. I grabbed her by the throat, not enough to choke her, but enough to mean business, and pushed her back against the opposite wall. She paused, glaring at me, out of breath. I leaned in slowly, relaxing the pressure in my hand, but not moving it. I kissed her cheek. I kissed her neck. I kissed her ear. And then I bit it. She went off again, bucking and writhing. Both of her hands descended to my belt again, this time managing the buckle. I kept one hand around her neck, and with the other I grabbed a tit, rolling the nipple around with my palm, and then quickly pinching it, yanking it, almost cruelly. She suddenly dropped her legs out from under her and fell out from my grip, landing on her knees in front of me. With both her hands, she tugged on the waist of my pants, bringing them and my boxers down at once. My cock wagged in the air, staring her in the face and begging for attention. She never even looked at me or hesitated for a moment, she just wrapped one hand around the base, and shoved the rest in her mouth. Her cheeks were caved in as she sucked as hard as she could, this delicious slurping sound every time she pulled back a little bit and let my cockhead reach her lips. This Peruvian bitch was hot. She rocked her entire face back and forth, pumping with her hand at the same time. It was less a blowjob and more an entire face-fuck. Almost as quickly as she had begun, she stopped. She looked up at me, a little string of pre-cum dangling from her lips. She smiled seductively, licked it off, and spoke in a low tone, "This isn’t what you really want is it?" and then laughed ever so lightly. She stood up and looked at me, whatever was left of her meekness gone, her wild lust now more smoldering heat then out of control blaze. She started to walk away. I grabbed her shoulder, whirled her around, and pulled her into me. She laughed again. That laugh was driving me wild. I shoved her to the ground and then followed her down, pinning her beneath me, her legs spread and only her jeans keeping my cock from fucking her. "Are you not even man enough to handle one little Peruvian whore?" she said, "Take me, you son-of-a-bitch." I don’t know exactly why, but she had touched a nerve, and I slapped her. Her face jerked from side to side, a little trickle of blood started from her nose. Her eyes looked a little more moist than they had before, but she stared back defiantly. I sat up a little and with one momentous tug pulled off her jeans. I grabbed her panties and ripped. She quivered a little beneath me, completely defenseless, just staring into my eyes. Her chest heaving, nipples hard atop tiny tits, her stomach now completely concave. Legs as straight as sticks pinioned out to either side of me, framing a glistening pussy covered in a thick snatch of curly hair. I threw myself back on her and mercilessly stabbed into her, shoving my entire cock into her with one thrust. She cried out and threw her arms around me. I started fucking in earnest, no concern for technique or her pleasure. This little whore was only there to receive my cum. I pistoned in and out, and every time I drove it in she let out a little cry again. Her hands traced up my arms to my shoulders on to my back. A sharp stab of pain, she had raked her nails across my back, hard enough to break skin it felt like. I gritted my teeth and bit my lip. "You little Peruvian whore," I grunted, "I’m going to enjoy filling you with my cum." I started fucking even harder and faster. There was a loud slapping sound every time I brought it home, and she was bouncing so hard she might have been hitting her head. Not that I cared at that moment. "Do you like that? Huh? Do you like being a hole for my cock? Do you? Do you want to feel me cum inside you? Yeah, I know how to treat bitches like you." Her eyes were tightly closed, her breath coming in gasps. But she was pushing back. Desperation, anger, or whatever, this woman liked it rough. She took my hand and guided it to her neck again. She squeezed down on my fingers. I took the hint and started squeezing, too. Not enough to do serious damage, but if that’s what she wanted, that’s what she would get. I started kissing her randomly, her stomach, her chest, everywhere, then started using teeth, hard enough to leave marks. I got one nipple and yanked. I didn’t care if I pulled it off. This fuck was half sex and half a fight, anger and violence and lust all mingling into one. I couldn’t decide if I wanted to kill her or marry her, punch her or make her cum. Her pussy was wet and getting tighter. Her legs and feet were waving in the air. Little cries were rising from beneath me in a crescendo. And suddenly it all let go, wave after wave of pleasure from my toes to the crown of my head. I came and I came inside that Peruana, stopping my thrusting and just letting my cock rest, fully inserted inside her, her pussy milking whatever it could from me. I collapsed on top of her, trying to catch my breath and my sanity. She absent- mindedly ran her fingers through my hair a little bit, then smiling, pushed me off and stood up. She started rummaging through her clothes "Not interested in round two?" I said, lying on my back and just enjoying the afterglow. Her pussy was puffy and my cum was starting to leak a little down her leg. I wondered if maybe she would let me cum on those little tits. "We can take it slower." In a flash she was in her jeans. She pocketed her torn panties, picked up her t-shirt, and smiled at me. Without another word, she darted out of the room. I jumped up and ran to the door. I looked both ways, but she was already gone. I looked down at my flaccid cock, hanging between my legs, "What is it about us that makes girls vanish without a trace as soon as you’re done?" I asked it. _Chapter 3_ "Johnny?" I had just left the storage room and reentered the bar. I was startled to hear my name. Suit. Sunglasses. Stocky and probably packing heat. Somebody’s hired goon. Possibly trouble. "May I help you?" "El Gordo will see you now." An hour-plus late and his hired goon managed to find me coming out of the backroom of a random bar? It was unsettling. The goon didn’t look like he had had a particularly exasperating search, either. I remembered hearing El Gordo say that nothing went on in this city without him knowing it. Maybe there was more truth to it than I had ever given him credit for. He was certainly connected, that’s for sure. One of the reasons I had agreed to come at all was the knowledge that he could have made my life uncomfortable if I refused. And maybe I owed him a debt. But whether it was one of gratitude or revenge, I hadn’t decided yet. The goon frisked me over. I expected it, though with the way my day was going, I was almost surprised that his attention to my crotch was kept all business. He took the gun I wear on my ankle, didn’t notice the knife stitched into my belt. More’s the pity for El Gringo. The goon took me by the arm, but instead of leading me outside to a waiting car as I had expected, he led me deeper into the Conga. Strange days keep getting stranger. We ended up in a back corner, all the tables abandoned, except for one with a lone woman. The bar was darker back here, and she was hunched over some papers. I couldn’t make much of her. The goon gave me a little shove so that I narrowly avoided knocking over the table, then he moved out of earshot, though presumably he was still guarding us. I glowered at him, then looked down at the woman questioningly. The woman glanced up at me. "Hello, Juanito." Of all the people I expected to see in this town, she was low on the list. Of all the people I wanted to see, she was even lower. "Hello, sis." "You look terrible, Juanito. Can’t afford a shirt with buttons?" "It’s Johnny, now." She wasn’t going to get me groveling right off the bat. I gave her a big smile. Eat shit, sis. "Where’s El Gordo?" I looked around, as if maybe he were hiding behind a curtain, or about to jump out of a cake. "You’re looking at him." She returned my smile, just as big and just as fake. "You haven’t seen me for almost ten years, Juanito. You haven’t even deigned to try and talk to me in eight. I don’t even get a ‘how are you’ or a ‘good to see you?’ Or do you wish I had died here after you left me to rot?" My resolve faltered. No witty remark, no asshole reaction. A million responses surged in my head, about how much I’d tried to distance myself from everything that had happened, about how I’d never actually forgotten about her, about how much I wished things had been different. But of course nothing good enough. So I said nothing. She stared back at me as her smile turned more into a sneer. Her eyes were cold. Somehow I felt I’d done exactly what she had expected. She nodded as the moment seemed to pass. First blood to Maria. "Why don’t you take a seat, Juanito, we’ve got some things we need to talk about." That was abundantly true enough. I took a seat, but I wasn’t sure just how many of the things we needed to talk about we were actually going to touch upon. "As you may or may not know, after you left us behind, I continued to work for El Gordo. Small jobs at first. But eventually he figured out that I had a sharp mind and tight lips," a subtle pause here, as if she realized her own pun, "and put me in control of more and more. By the age of 16, I was his right hand. By 19, I was running the whole racket. Prostitution. Gambling. Drug trafficking. Money laundering. Everything. El Gordo was the titular head, but I kept the books balanced and the trains running on time. I was good at it. And nobody ever expected that a young mestiza like me was the brains behind it all. I think El Gordo liked that. At any rate, three months ago, when he was killed it just made sense for me to continue running things as I always had." She stopped. El Gordo was dead. I didn’t know whether to cry or cheer. Just another chapter closed, I suppose. A chapter better left behind, at that. "No reaction? El Gordo was a father to us. Don’t you feel anything?" I kept my gaze steady and my voice firm. "El Gordo was not our father. We have a father. He died, but he is our father." "And when he was killed, you know as well as I do that it was El Gordo who saved us. Took us in off the streets. Kept us safe from Father’s killers. Fed us. Clothed us. Took care of us. Not all of us had the chance to escape to the States." She spit the last part out, a direct attack on me. "Some of us would have perished without the protection of El Gordo." Maria and I were only half-siblings. Maria’s mother was some poor peasant. Mine turned out to be a made-woman from the States, widow of an old business associate of our father’s. We had both lived together with Father, but after his death, I was only with El Gordo for a few months before my mother heard word of what had happened and went through the paperwork to have me come live with her. "I can’t apologize for having a different Mother than you. You won’t believe me, but you should know that I wished then just as much as I wish now that it had been you and not me who had gotten the chance to get out of here." Her face scrunched up as she prepared to launch another barb for me. "But what I can say I’m sorry for is El Gordo’s death. He took us in when we had nowhere else to go." This seemed to appease her. She continued her exposition. "I’m sorry to have called you here under a false name, but only a select few know that El Gordo is no longer alive. It’s safer just to pretend he is. No vacuum, no power struggle. Everything continues smoothly. And I do have a job for you." She licked her lips. "And I have a feeling you’ll take it." She was enjoying this. I had a feeling I wouldn’t. "Why’s that?" "A few reasons. The first, is that I know how much you respect it when people can make your life uncomfortable. And let’s just say that after I help traffic them across the border, sometimes I give jobs to promising young Peruvians who can’t pay their debt to me. Your new friend Flavia is being checked out right now at a hospital. Bruises, ripped panties, and a nice sperm sample. I’m not sure allegations would stick, but they could certainly... make your life uncomfortable. If it came to that." My heart stopped in my chest. I half stood up, sputtering, ready to speak, but she spoke over me, "But I don’t think it will come to that. Let’s also say that you owe me. Not just for leaving. Not just for never trying to rescue me." A pause. If she wasn’t actually choked up, she was an excellent actress. She picked her words carefully. She was seething, too. "I think you know for what. This won’t even the scales. But it will help." So there it was. Excuses didn’t even surface this time. She had me on that one. Sometimes there was no way to atone for your Santiago sins. I sat back down, completely calm. "So what’s the job?" "A murder." That seemed straight-forward enough. Why had I been dragged back to Santiago for a straight hit- man job? "Why couldn’t you hire a local boy?" "I need to know the job is going to get done right. And I need someone who can get close to the mark without arousing too much suspicion." "Who am I killing?" "Don Balmaceda. The man who killed El Gordo." _Chapter 4_ Standing in front of his looming house, getting out of his huge limo, staring at his armed guards and appreciating his lavish expenditure on art as I was escorted down one long hallway after another, it seemed strange that someone like Don Balmaceda would have ever bothered to go after small fry like El Gordo. Don Balmaceda was the Chilean mafia, compared to him, El Gordo was just a small-time racket. But according to Maria, Don Balmaceda had wanted to absorb El Gordo’s little operation into his empire. And circumvent any possible competition, of course. That’s just the way money is, I suppose, never content, always wanting more, and willing to step on anybody to get it. ‘What’s the plan?’ I had asked Maria. It seemed crazier the closer and closer I got to my meeting with the Don. ‘The Don is expecting the arrival of an associate, highly recommended through his US connections, to help make some money disappear, evaluate the Don, and possibly arrange an alliance’ she had told me. ‘We’ve arranged for this associate never to make it. You will show up in his place.’ Maria wasn’t the only one with a knack for our business, and I thought I might be able to sound intelligent when talking shop. But I had no idea how long I could bluff being an envoy of a larger mafia family. Or how I was going to kill Don Balmaceda surrounded by guards, in the middle of his fortress, without a gun on me. Half of me thought maybe Maria wanted me to fail. Show-time. "Mister Kevin Shields, very pleased to meet you." Like most Chileans, the Don enjoyed the chance to show off any English. I smiled, shook his hand, and repeated the greeting. The Don was seated in front of a small table. As with any man of great power, he wasn’t quite up to his image. He was short, and rather fat. His body rolled and bulged in odd ways, as if instead of a person, he were actually a pear with a human face. He was bald, and wore thick glasses. All in all, he looked the kind of man who would pick his own nose and eat what he found, or get a thrill out of copping a feel of brassieres in a department store. At least the room was nice. Well-upholstered chairs, dim lighting, artwork. The perfect den. A guard at either door. Three vacant chairs. A bunch of strewn papers on the desk, a calculator. "Now Mr. Shields, please excuse me if I come off gruff, but while my bodyguards have assured me that you have no weapons on your person, we must still be sure that you are who you say you are," barked the Don. His voice was gruff. He reminded me strongly of a bulldog. "As you surely know, my power and wealth frequently attract unsavory characters, and attempts on my life are not unheard of. But I have devised a little test that I think will be satisfactory to both of us." He clapped his hands. "Constanza!" Two seconds later, a woman appeared at the door. Blonde. Light skin. Big full breasts, nearly bursting out of a black lace teddy. Long tapered legs. Panty hose. The picture of the Chilean beauty ideal. Or at least of the ideal stripper. She stared straight at the ground, unmoving, unquestioning. Whoever she was, Don Balmaceda had trained her to be obedient and seen, not heard. A body like that, at least she was worth being seen. "Mr. Shields, if you will, please take a seat." He motioned to the vacant chair directly across from him. I sat down promptly. He waved his fingers. Suddenly both guards closed in on me, pinning my arms to the table. "What is this?" I shouted, trying to stand up again, but being forced down by the guards. Next he waved to Constanza. She veritably scampered over, then kneeled on the floor next to us, facing the table, her head still bowed reverentially. "Mr. Shields, I advise you to be cooperative. I would hate for any necessary unpleasantness to dampen the Latin American reputation for hospitality." A half smile and a pause for a laugh that never came. "Now, this may sound odd, but I’ve been informed that among the various and valued talents of Mr. Kevin Shields, whom you purport to be, is a highly analytical mind and an amazing aptitude for spatial reasoning. A man of your reputation I’m sure will have no trouble performing a simple trick for us with this relic." Here he produced a Rubik’s cube, the colored squares already jumbled, and placed it in front of me. My eyebrows widened, disbelief dawned on my face. "You’ve got to be kidding." "Oh no, Mr. Shields, I’m quite serious. Solve the Rubik’s cube or we will kill you. Oh, and two other things. To make it more interesting, you must do it while Constanza here is demonstrating one of her varied and valued talents which, while I’ve never sampled it myself, I’m assured places her among one of the world’s greatest cocksuckers. And you only have 60 seconds. You may begin, Mr. Shields." He set down a stop-watch. Suddenly my pants were pulled down. Constanza, obedient to the point of silence just a few moment before, found her voice, gasped a little bit and grabbed for my cock. "Ooh, this is a nice one you’ve got," she cooed, "I know just what to do with it." She started licking it, quick little darting motions, like a dog with peanut butter, starting with the head, then long but quick licks up the shaft with one side of her tongue and down with the other. Despite my terror, my cock responded. The guards released my arms but stayed near in case I thought about trying to interfere. Exposed, distracted, terrified and staring at an ugly fat man and a logic puzzle in front of me, already ten seconds down, I couldn’t help but think that this was possibly the worst sexual experience I had ever had. Not that it mattered, but my mind was roaring in all sorts of directions and everything in the room seemed to stand out in bold. I gulped and clumsily moved for the cube, putting my fingers in the right places and finding the diagonals. A few seconds of planning and I could do the rest on autopilot, I hoped. If I could plan. Constanza started slurping and I couldn’t see straight, let alone concentrate. Taking it between her lips like a dog with a bone, smacking her lips together. All the while continuing her hot little giggles and appreciative moans. Maybe it was all an act, but someday I hoped I could afford my own personal slut-slave, too. If I lived. Twenty seconds down. I blinked rapidly, shook my head. Time to start doing some turning. One twist, two, three. I was getting opposing colors, on the right track if I had more time. Her mouth descended on my cock in earnest, gobbling me. I stifled crying out and lunged forward a little bit. Every blowjob I had ever received was amateur in comparison. Her tongue caressed and flicked me, her mouth was warmer and tighter than any pussy, and oh god she took me all. Thirty seconds down. Her hand stroked as she pulled up, and I felt myself hitting the back of her throat as she went down. She hummed a little still, as if she could not stop singing the praises of my cock and her ministrations to it, and the vibrations tingled all the way down to my toes. It felt almost like she was nibbling, no teeth, but her lips moved over me and kneaded me. Forty seconds down. Oh god, had I backed myself into a corner? I couldn’t afford to back up and try a different solution. I kept twisting, blindly now, in desperation. I never really thought my life would depend on such a silly toy. Maybe I would have paid more attention to the solution. Fifty seconds down. It was now or never. I saw my mistake, quickly fixed it. The end was in sight. The Don was smirking, but attentive. Constanza was bobbing in earnest, letting out little cries every time my cock bounced against her throat, muffled by my cock filling her out. One hand tickled my balls, the other helped with my cock. And all the time sucking, sucking, as if my cock held the only disease for some terrible ailment she had. I couldn’t risk even glancing down into my lap. Sixty seconds gone. I placed the Rubik’s cube gently on the table. Each face was a solid color. The Don let out a barking laugh and started clapping. "Well done, Mr. Shields, well done! A very impressive show." His tone sharpened, "Constanza, leave us." She moved her mouth off my cock but did not stop her hands. "Ohhh, boss, please, he’s almost finished, and I need it," she whined. He glared at her and I saw fear fill her eyes, and suddenly she was scampering off, my cock almost springing from the recoil. I could feel the blood pumping in my cock and in my ears. I was out of breath. But I had made it. "Please, Mr. Shields, put yourself together. I apologize in earnest for this little show, but as I mentioned, you can appreciate the need for security, and I think you also appreciated the--" he paused, glancing at my cock and licking his lips, "inventive procedure we have around here." He stood up, signaling an end to the little episode. "Come, let’s get down to business." I could not help but agree, though I had a feeling we meant separate things. _Chapter 5_ I stared up at the ceiling, waiting for it to get a little later before I made my move. Already the house was settling down, but I needed as many people asleep and tired as possible if I wanted to get away with it and get out. I was under the blanket in case anyone checked on me, but fully clothed and with the knife I had concealed in my belt already in my hand. Not that I was in any danger of falling asleep I was so wound up, but still. Big jobs always make me nervous. Add to it the fact that I planned to carry out this one in enemy territory and through a lot of guards, and I was nearly dying. Maybe it was just Latin hospitality, or maybe it was just that Don Balmaceda thought he could handle potential threats best in his own fortress-mansion and tried to keep potential threats (like me) as close as possible, but either way I was damn lucky he insisted I sleep in his home before a big day of visiting his drug shipping operations. Tonight was my best chance to get the job done. My door creaked open a smidge and someone peeked around the corner. I feigned sleep, my eyes slits, ready to come up slashing if this turned dangerous. If they had somehow discovered that I did not match the description of the expected associate in any number of ways, I did not think they would give me a chance to explain myself before I was neutralized, but I planned to go out fighting. The door opened wider and something sneaked in. A white nightgown, something feminine. "Constanza?" I relaxed a little, but not completely. Sex was often an excellent way to destroy enemies or get information, and I knew his slut would do whatever he asked. Maybe I gave Don Balmaceda too much credit. But nervous men are paranoid men. And horny men after an interrupted blowjob are hopeful. A little giggle and the door shut behind her. "I didn’t think you saw me." "What?" I sat up, confused, and hit the bedside lamp. A little urchin, mocha skin and light eyes. Dark hair hanging loosely. Slender legs and small tits, both barely concealed by a too-small nightgown. Elfish smile, still in braces. The girl from the micro? "How did you get here?" I threw the covers off and stood up, concealing the knife, but prepared to use it, more confused then scared now. "Aren’t you happy to see me?" she pouted a little bit, suggestively, then broke into a sultry smile and swaggered a little bit toward me, stopping to chew on her finger as if pensive. Where had this little fifteen-year-old learned things like that? "I’m happy to see you." She looked at me levelly, making it clear what she meant. "Does Don Balmaceda know you’re in here?" All I could think was that the Don was somehow giving her to me, as a gift or proof that I had been watched or as I-don’t- know-what. "Of course not," she snickered. Her voice-tone dropped, at once deadly serious and a little mocking, "I never let Dad know when I fuck his business partners. Knowing him, he might demand a cut. Or just kill them." Her eyes glimmered, a danger-is-a-big-turn-on-I-could-get- you-killed-if-I-wanted-to stare. "You’re the Don’s daughter?" my voice was incredulous. "Yeah," she sucked on a finger suggestively, "the life of luxury, good living. I keep hoping he’ll give me that horse for my fourteenth birthday next month, but he might be afraid what I’ll do with it..." she trailed off into throaty laugher. Fourteenth? Next month? What had I done? "Do you always sleep in that?" she smirked, ambling closer to me. "It’s going to make difficult what we’re going to do tonight." She stopped right in front of me; the nightgown went right over her head. She stopped and posed right in front of me, one hand on her hip, the other hip splayed out a little bit. I thought thirteen year-olds were supposed to be awkward and gangly? This was a woman standing in front of me. Confident. "I don’t think this is such a good idea." I was drinking in the sight of her. Small, raised breasts, really no more than little peaches. Perfectly taut, smooth skin, athletic. Smooth pussy, lips slightly open. Long legs, though still without much curve. She was hard to resist, especially considering how intense our encounter had been on the micro. But thirteen was too young, even for me, even for Latin America. And sleeping with a mob boss’s daughter is never a good idea. Especially when you plan to kill him before the night is through. "Oh, come on," she started to lightly run her nails up and down my thighs, "You seemed completely willing on the micro a few days ago," she got closer, "and I don’t think you want me to run to Daddy and tell him about the big, bad scary man who raped his daughter, do you?" She was now right on top of me, as close as we had been in that micro, practically whispering in my ear. I could smell her intoxicating aroma, that same youthful clean smell, now with a hint of sex and woman underneath. "I don’t want to, but I will, unless you fuck me. And fuck me good." One hand had traced it’s way from my leg up to my chest and was undoing buttons, the other was curling itself in my hair. She pushed me back so that I was sitting on the bed and jumped into my lap, straddling me. She certainly knew how to put a guy into a tight position. "It will be good for you, too. Do you want me to tell you about the first time I ate out my best friend’s little pussy when we were only 11? Or how about the time I fucked three of my father’s servants at once, while he was one room away?" She was half whispering in my ear, half necking with me. She could feel my hard cock, now stuck between us. I suppose there was never any doubt about what I was going to do. "I’ll tell you anything. Do you want me to suck your cock? Or do you want to fuck me? My pussy tastes like heaven, if that interests you. I’ll even let you put it up my ass if you want. Tonight, I’m all yours." With that, the last of my resistance broke. One hand flew to her back, the other dived into her hair, and my mouth descended onto hers, like a dying man desperate for oxygen. Our tongues swirled in each other’s mouths, our lips played with each other, our breaths became one. Quickly she helped me wriggle out of my shirt, and then we fell back onto my bed. She straddled me, leaving a trail of kisses from my chin and down my chest, her hands rubbing my arms, my pecs, my stomach, everywhere. She undid my belt and pants and tugged, taking pants and boxers off together. I kicked off my shoes, and was as naked as she was, lying under her. Our bodies molded together, that delicious feeling of total-body contact overtaking us, feeling warm skin-to-skin everywhere. I rolled over, trapping her beneath me. She was so small, and simultaneously so innocent and so worldly. I started returning the favor and kissing down her body. Using my tongue to play with each nipple, moving my hands in small, kneading circles around each breast. One hand rubbed gently down toward her pussy, never quite giving her what she wanted, never quite touching anything, but getting closer and closer, diving in and then pulling back, enjoying the feel of her youthful skin and teasing her a little bit. I kissed lower, stopping at her navel. I treated it like it was a small pussy, as my hands journeyed lower and grabbed at her thighs. I could almost grip the entire thigh in my hand. I ran my nails down them, then started kneading my hands back up as I continued to lick and nibble at her belly-button. She kept bucking her pussy toward me, moaning. Finally she almost whined, "Oh god, touch me there, please, I need to feel you, I’m so turned on." I needed no further invitation. I practically dived onto her pussy, just kissing it, then opening my mouth a little bit to suck the entire thing into my mouth at once. The taste was akin to honey, the smell so intoxicating I would have murdered for that girl right then. I kept bringing my lips together and letting her pussy shoot out of my mouth, each whap making her cry out a little bit. I stuck my tongue out, tracing up and down her lips, parting them a little bit, searching for as much of her juice as possible. I brought my fingers back, and gently sent one exploring into her fuck canal. She was tight. Her body was covered in a light layer of sweat. I could feel her quivering beneath me. She let out a little "oh" each time I wiggled my finger. It was time to go for the gusto. I stopped licking her lips and dived for her clit, attacking it like a mad-man, licking, sucking, biting. She grabbed my hair and yanked and clamped her thighs around me. Blood pounded in my ears, her heartbeat and mine. She let out one long "ohhhh," and then relaxed, spent. She had cum. She pulled me up so that I was completely covering her again and started kissing, licking my face, cleaning her juices off me. We kissed, our tongues intermingling, me offering her a taste of herself. "Oh, it’s never been like that," she moaned, "Oh god, I need you now. Fuck me, please. Please fuck me. I need to feel you inside me, I need to have the cock of the man who made me feel like that, to be one with him for just a little bit." I reached down between us and aimed my cockhead at her pussy. I moved my hips forward and slid in, just an inch or two. She was so tight I didn’t know if I could get more in. She let out a long sigh, like she had been holding her breath. "Oh, that’s exactly it, that’s what I needed. Please, please put it all in me." I started a small rocking and twisting motion, each time getting a little more in her. I took it slowly, which was hard, looking at her sprawled out underneath me, a look of pure pleasure in her face. I hit harder resistance and her face scrunched up in pain, a sharp intake of breath. Was she lying about all of her sexual exploits? How could she still be so tight? Her mouth was hanging open, her eyes leering at me, her legs almost straight up in the air now. My cock still had about halfway to go, although I was not sure how much longer I could avoid cumming, between the pressure around my cock and the hot sight of this little teen underneath me. "Please," she begged, "please put it all in me. I promise not to scream, but please, I need to feel it, please," she trailed off, still begging, but muttering incomprehensibly. I put one hand on each hip and pulled at the same time my hips pushed. It was heaven. Think of the hottest, tightest, wettest pussy you’ve ever experienced, and then double it. Quadruple it. Quadruple it again. It felt like she was fucking me without me even moving, as I felt her pussy contracting on my cock, begging it for cum. Her face had moved from pain to pure pleasure. Her eyes were closed, her mouth agape, her tongue languidly moving over her lips. It looked almost like a drug stupor. She kept murmuring to herself, "Cum in me, cum in me, spray me with it, cum in me..." I pulled out and slammed into her. She cried out when I hit the hilt again and then returned to her gibbering. Again. Three times. And then I started pumping cum, like artillery fire that originated deep inside me, picked up terminal velocity, and then erupted into her. One burst. Two bursts. I didn’t want to pull out, it felt so good, but I love drenching girls in cum. Third burst on her stomach. A fourth on her tits. A fifth, small dribble landed on her thigh. I collapsed next to her. She absent-mindedly moved all her limbs as if she was just discovering them. She scooped up some of my cum and sucked on it, vacantly started rubbing the rest in. "That was amazing," she whispered, scooting over, nestling under my arm and into the crook of my shoulder. Coming down from my orgasm, I realized the insanity of what I had just done. Hopefully no one heard us. Even more hopefully I could manage to get rid of her and still kill her dad. "I do have one question before we do it again, though." Again? One hand was tugging on my flaccid cock, the other playing around in her pussy. Our goo was everywhere, but it did make for a nice feeling on my cock. And she had promised me some treasures I had yet to sample. She sat up. "What’s this knife for?" She held it, not menacingly, but securely, her eyes not accusing, but certainly intelligent, her face in mock-composure, the "mock" possibly only for my benefit. I reached for the knife. "A nice girl like you should be careful with knives, it would be a shame if something should scar that pretty skin of yours." Another throaty laugh, and then, "I think you know I’m not exactly a nice girl..." She twirled it in one hand, clearly knowing her way around a knife as much as she knew her way around a cock. This could be trouble. "Fuck me in the ass and you can have it back." A devilish grin. She kept her hand away, but leaned in close to my ear. "Eat me out again and you can have it back without the pointy end first." I grabbed and twisted her wrist in one motion, catching the knife, and pivoted so that I was pinning her underneath me, similar to how we had fucked, except her legs were trapped beneath me and my cock wrested on her belly- button. I held the knife to her throat. Her eyes were squeezed shut, her breath and her pulse were quick, but her mouth was still crooked in pleasure, and she was writhing beneath me. "Cut me, you bastard, rape me, take what you want," she moaned. I traced the edge along her collar bone, holding it to her chest. Goosebumps raised on her skin, she writhed underneath me. "You like this, don’t you? I could kill you right now, and you’ve never been wetter." So much pussy juice was leaking out there was a wet spot underneath her. I continued to move the knife in obscure little patterns on her chest and belly, holding her arms pinned in my free hand. She started rocking her hips underneath me. "Fuck me, cut me, cut me, fuck me, fuck, fuck me, cut me, cut me, fuck me, please, please, please!" it was like a mantra coming from her. I never did like to disappoint a lady. _Chapter 6_ Subduing a guard had been easier than I even would have hoped. He got out one sharp, "Is everything ok, sir?" then a knife to the lungs, a body in a closet, and a gun in my hand. I stood in front of Don Balmaceda’s personal chambers. "It’s now or never," I muttered to myself. I pushed slowly in, gun drawn, expecting guards, maybe a shoot-out, and finding only a dark room. For a mob boss, his security was not that tight. I creeped in and shut the door behind me. This appeared to be his bedroom, but I could only hope he was in here. And preferably asleep. A blow to the head, my world exploding into starbursts, and I hit the ground. The click of a bullet sliding into a chamber. Don Balmaceda’s voice. "Put the gun and knife down, Juanito. Very slowly." He had been waiting behind the door for me? How? But he had a shot on me and I was akimbo on the ground. The situation had definitely just gotten fucked up. I reached and placed them both slowly on the ground, then stood up, my hands in the air. And why did he call me Juanito? Don Balmaceda, impressive-looking gun in hand, covered me, a sneer on his face. "It’s almost sad that you thought this would work," his jowls flapped, his voice was almost a wheeze. "You have your father’s hubris, that’s part of it. But the plan worked perfectly. Your sister delivered you to me, just as she promised, proving her loyalty and assuring a smooth transition of her business into my empire. Now I’ll dispose of you, and then, with my own hands, perhaps I’ll strangle your sister, ending the Contreras line forever." "What? Why? She told me you killed El Gordo, she told me, she told me -- why would you do all this? Why would you go to all this trouble?" He chuckled, but there was no mirth. "I may have helped kill El Gordo, but it was she who pulled the trigger. And why? Well, as for your sister, she lusts after power, and knows I can offer her more than El Gordo ever could. And I suspect an element of revenge played into it, as well, against both of you." His eyes smoldered. "And maybe even love for me. It’s not a secret that my preferences usually lie in the other direction, but business is business. I fucked Maria hard, Juanito. You may have been the first, but I was the best." He stopped to let the remark sink in, leveling his aim. "And as for me, the feud between our families goes way back. I suppose you were too young to really know. But I plan to kill you just like I killed your father, you begging for your life just like he did." I think that was when he had planned to pull the trigger, but what he said made me snap, and I did the one thing I don’t think he expected. I launched myself toward him, tackling him and knocking him into the wall. His gun went off, but a second too late, shooting harmlessly into the air. Nonetheless it would draw attention, guards would be upon us in moments. Not that I was worried about that at the moment. All I could feel was rage, all I could see was blood. I got him underneath me, biting his ear, ripping it off. The pain made him stop fighting for a bit, and I got my hands on either side of his head and started banging. Tears streamed down my face, blocking my vision, but soon the hard thumping sound was replaced by a wet thumping sound. I looked down on my hands, now sticky and hot with blood. I heard steps thundering down the hallway. I turned to look at him, tears mingling with sweat to obscure my vision even more. I could barely think, but reached for his gun. "My father was twice the man you are!" I fired point-blank into his chest, then took off running for the window, firing behind me as guards burst into the room. My life was probably forfeit now. But I had an appointment with my sister first. I was no longer the only one who had Santiago sins to answer for. _Chapter 7_ The girl still hadn’t stopped crying, but her tears were only a slow trickle. The boy had a stunned look on his face, as if he was not sure where he was, or why. El Gordo sat on the bed next to them. "Kids, I know you’re both very sad and probably still a little scared. It’s always hard to lose a father, especially when the pain is fresh." He paused, as if gathering his words. "But it’s time to think about your future for a little bit. "Your father’s killers are still out there and may be after you, too. And even if they’re not, you’re both young, a little too young to be out on your own. The city would be hard on you, might do terrible things to you." He bit his lip and looked forlornly at the floor, feigning empathy for their tight spot. "Could we... could we stay with you, Uncle Gordo?" The little girl’s voice was barely more than a whisper. El Gordo pretended to consider it for a bit. "I don’t know, my little Maria. If your father’s enemies do want you, it would be dangerous for me to protect you. And even if they don’t, it would still be dangerous for me. Your father and I were sometimes rivals, and now I would have his children close to me, members of my household? How would I know you would not slip into my room with a knife one night?" The little girl’s tears increased. "You know we wouldn’t, El Gordo. You’re all the family we have left now." "There’s also the expense. Times are rough all-over. How would I care for you?" "We could help out with whatever you needed. And we wouldn’t eat much. We’d do whatever you wanted." El Gordo let his face constrict a bit, as if he had reached an important turning point. "I’ll let you stay, on certain conditions. You will do whatever I say, whenever I say. I’ll provide for you and let you stay with me, and you’ll work in my business. But your devotion will be unquestioning. What do you say?" The little girl’s lip trembled, her resolve crumbling. She had nowhere else to go, but El Gordo was not acting like the sweet, playful man he had been around their father. He seemed hard, cruel. Even at her young age she sensed she should be wary. She turned to her brother. Through the entire conversation, he had seemed as if he were in another place. But now his gaze leveled and met El Gordo’s. "We’ll do it. We’ll be yours. We’ll do whatever you want. Just take care of my little sister." "Excellent, Juanito." El Gordo stood up, but instead of heading for the door, he turned to face them. "But words are cheap. You must prove your dedication to me. Tonight, right now. A little something to seal the deal, we might say." Her voice still trembled, but with the support of her brother her resolve had hardened. "We’ll do whatever you want." "Good. Take off your clothes. Both of you." His stern tone of voice brooked no disagreement. "What? What do you mean you sick fuck?" Juanito half- lunged toward him, shocked, his face steaming, ready to punch, despite the fact that El Gordo had 150 pounds on him. "Because you’re mine. I own you. And I intend to prove it. Now do you do exactly what I say, or do I throw you out on your asses?" His question hung in the air, the moment expanding, no one moving. The tension finally broke with little Maria. "It’s ok, Juanito." Her head was hanging down, but her hands had started to undo the buttons on her blouse. "Let’s just do what he wants." "That’s the right attitude, honey. You might even enjoy tonight." He pursed his lips at Juanito, who took the hint and slowly started to pull off his shirt. Her blouse unbuttoned, Maria pulled it over her head, and then in one quick motion pulled and stepped out of her panties. She stood very still, staring at the ground, her long black hair obscuring her face. Her body hadn’t even started to really develop yet. Her pussy was hairless, her tits just little nubs, her legs without any curves. Juanito moved in a trance, slipping off his pants, but pausing in his briefs, just staring at his sister. She was so small and so vulnerable, he knew this was not right, and yet part of him could not stop staring at her, entranced by the tiny slit between her legs. His cock started to swell without his permission. He was sickened and turned on and could not decide which feeling was stronger. "Maria," Gordo said, "help your brother with his underwear. He seems to have slowed down." Without looking up at either of them she turned to face him and using both hands tugged on his underwear. His cock popped out and bobbed in the air a few times, narrowly missing hitting her in the face as she dropped to her knees to negotiate the briefs off his legs. "Have you ever given a blowjob, Maria? It doesn’t really matter, I suppose. I want you to use your mouth on your brother, get him all nice and wet to make it easier for him to pop your cherry." El Gordo’s voice was getting thick and raspy as he absent-mindedly rubbed his cock through his pants. Maria darted out her tongue swiftly, lapping like a cat, then reached out and grabbed his cock to steady it. She may not have given a blowjob before, but Juanito could not tell the difference, his eyes bugged out with the stimulation. She started to give longer, slower licks all around his shaft, taking the advice to get him as wet as possible to heart. Without thinking about it, Juanito put his hands on her head to steady his own balance, tightening into fists, grabbing clumps of her raven-black hair, his breath stuttering. "Pretend it’s a popsicle. Suck on the tip," El Gordo rasped, afraid to break the moment, but also enjoying the control. Juanito cried out as the head of his cock disappeared into her mouth. Her cheeks caved-in ever so slightly as she gently, tentatively began to suck on him. Not sure what else to do, she let more of his cock slide into her mouth, sucking as if his cock were a straw and she were trying to get at a thick milkshake. El Gordo could not wait. "Fuck her, Juanito," he said. Maria finally glanced up, staring into her brother’s eyes. Looking at his sister, naked, kneeling in front of him with his cock in her mouth, was the single most erotic thing he had ever seen, and the most heart- breaking. In her glance he could read everything, how much his sister depended on him, and would do anything he asked, full of love and trust. "I love you, Maria," he said. Maria let his cock pop out of her mouth and laid back, spreading her legs in an invitation. "Take me, Juanito." Her pussy was not very moist, and resisted his intrusion, but to Johnny it was the most amazing thing he had ever felt. Chapter 8? The final confrontation between Johnny and his sister. Coming soon... Please direct all comments and questions regarding Chapter 8 to elguaton7@hotmail.com . *-*-*-*-*-*-*-*-*-*-*-*-*-*-*-*-*-*-*-*-*-*-*-*-*-*-*-* The author does not condone child abuse, this story is meant as an erotic fantasy not real life. Anyone acting out such scenarios in "real life" can look forward to many unproductive years getting it up the butt by a fellow convict in their local prison. *-*-*-*-*-*-*-*-*-*-*-*-*-*-*-*-*-*-*-*-*-*-*-*-*-*-*-* Kristen's collection - Directory 37