Message-ID: <7861eli$9801271544@qz.little-neck.ny.us> X-Archived-At: From: Spoonbender Subject: Cantina (bd, nc, slavery) Newsgroups: alt.sex.stories.moderated,alt.sex.stories Followup-To: alt.sex.stories.d Reply-To: "Theodore Spoonbender"@spoonbender.demon.co.uk Path: qz!not-for-mail Organization: The Committee To Thwart Spam Approved: X-Moderator-Contact: Eli the Bearded X-Story-Submission: X-Original-Message-ID: <34cd4749.202999025@post.demon.co.uk> Cantina (M+/f, nc, Slavery) ******************************************************************** I'm trying different writing styles. Whaddya think? Email me please. My address is thoedore@spoonbender.demon.co.uk. This story is copyright (c) 1996 by Spoonbender. It contains scenes of sex and bondage so if you ain't old enough then don't read it. It may be copied and distributed freely and non commercially, as long as there are no changes made to it. If you want to do something commercial with it then please email me. This is pure fantasy, if you think anyone in it resembles you then you're wrong! Positive criticism is encouraged, so feel free to email. ********************************************************************* Cantina 1 - The taking of Catherine. The mining town is in the Amazonian jungle. A wild, lawless sort of place where the knife or the machete settled most disputes. Men came from all over South America to mine for gold, wresting precious crumbs from a pitiless environment. There were Police, but they were at once both frightened and corrupt. So the town was ruled by the local gangsters. There were various tumbledown shacks masquerading as bars, usually with a compliment of hard working whores mainly taken from amongst the itinerant street children of Brazil's major cities. Girls as young as 12 were regularly snatched and were made to serve the hard, angry men of the town. It was a hellhole and I loved it. I'm not what you'd call a nice man, you wouldn't expect me to sit drinking tea with your maiden aunt. No, you probably think that I'm more likely to have my hand up her skirt. Hell I don't care, I've long given up worrying about what people think of me. I'd come here as a geologist in the days when the government held out hopes of running this place on commercial lines. Yeah the gold was there alright it was just that you had the slight obstacle of 1,000 miles of stinking jungle to get through before you could get to it, so heavy machines were out. You couldn't even chopper the stuff in as the place was in a narrow gorge which could hardly be seen from the air never mind flown into. I'd met a few crazies, mainly ex vietnam yankees who could drop small choppers in, but the big commercial guys wouldn't touch it. The other problem was getting the stuff out. You had to cross a war zone of feuding gangsters, cocaine barons and really pissed off Indians before you could get back to anything remotely like civilisation. The army tried it a couple of times but they lost so many men, plus the shipments, that even they gave up. So it was abandoned to the peons. The government having long sussed out that it was easier to get them to do the hard work and then just tax the shit out of them if they made it back with their hoard intact. I was brought here under a government contract. A crazy gringo who had just finished his doctorate in Geology and who was wishing he'd studied micropaleantology so he could be working in a nice sane place like Iran or Libya. I love politicians, especially South American ones. These guys make Hitler look like a more benevolent form of mother Teresa. I'd been promised the earth, backup, support, laboratory, good pay and a team of dedicated workers. So I ended up with Pedro and Juan, a stud hand of pack mules and a pickaxe. Pedro was a villianous rogue if ever you've seen one. He had a face that looked like a relief map of the Rockies, all jagged scars and cuts from various bar brawls. He had one eye that was milky from a cataract and he was short, thin and wiry, streetwise and amazingly strong. He had only tooth, a large yellow tombstone that made him look like the devils version of bugs bunny. Juan on the other hand was like a road digger, big, powerful, slow and yellow. I swear to god the man is yellow, not brown like most of the folk from around these parts but a good old honest to goodness buttercup yellow. You didn't like to mention it to him though, he was a trifle touchy about it. I've seen one man who tried, he had trouble getting around afterwards due to his foot having been twisted around to face the wrong way. So there we were, the mad doc, a crazy toon and a demented Simpson, the total government investment in a multi-million dollar gold mining complex. The IMF had stumped up the money. Hey those guys are so far out of it. They think that all projects in the developing world are managed like AT&T. Some crackpot politician comes up with a new scam, promises a million jobs and vows, hand on heart, to help out with the cocaine problem and bingo the good old IMF, goaded on by Uncle Sam, is shovelling money around like it has gone out of fashion. The IMF dudes don't actually get their feet dirty by actually seeing the project, hell no! Rio is as close as they want to get. So a little money is top sliced, by each sticky hand it passes through, as it works its tortuous way through the political system until what is left is enough to buy me and my two stooges. That money didn't last long either, they stopped the field money virtually as soon as they'd called the departure of the IMF guy's flight home. So, after one month of hiking around a sweaty, disease ridden jungle we found ourselves unceremoniously dumped and told to find our own way back. In short we were unemployed. I was now cast in the role of a caring employer with a loyal staff who wouldn't think twice about slitting my face open if I didn't come up with a scheme, or a scam, to make us a few Reals. I was in the same prediciment as millions of my fellow small businessmen the world over. We needed a new product and we needed it fast. It had to be the right sort of product too as my workforce were not exactly adept at reproduction antique furniture or basket weaving and there weren't much call for that sort of stuff around here anyway. So I had to find something that suited my men's perculiar talents. Another slight worry was that I had the main mobster on my back, for a little bit of 'special work'. It was around about this time that my thoughts turned to christianity. Chapter 2 I love christians. Hell some of my best friends at College were holy joes, all beards, roll necked sweaters and bright shining eyes. I love the girls too, wholesome and fresh, midcalf skirts and ankle socks. I especially love the girls. They have some wonderful ideas too. Like sending earnest young men and women thousands of miles from home to civilise the savages. We had one such compound about 40 kilometres away. It was built like fort apache with a wooden stockade and all mod cons. It was about as civilised as you get down this end of the world. I wonder if the hard tithing congregations back home in Nothingsville Iowa would make of the luxury that these people have down here. Air conditioning, refrigeration, luxurious bungalows and their own private airfield. They had a plan too! They just set down and waited for the savages to come to them to have their pagan ways thrown off. Savage they may be, but stupid theyre not. So they turned up to see what was on offer, stayed awhile and then just slunk off when the hymns for supper became too much for them. I say teach them practical christianity like how to grow food, or how to organise themselves so they don't get ripped off by the government or rapacious landowners, stuff like that. Not bible bashing. Shit these guys had enough of that, 4 centuries of armed priests, conquistedores and smallpox had given them a somewhat jaundiced view of the benefits of christianity. Anyway back to the plot. I'd hatched a plan. It wasn't exactly a brilliant plan, in fact truth be told it wasn't exactly my idea. It was sort of explained to me by Mario the local mobster. Mario was a cutie, he'd obviously been watching too many badly dubbed Edward G Robinson movies. He thought he was a south american Al Capone. All false bonhomie, my friend and all that stuff. God! the hairs stood up on the back of your neck if he patted you on the back 'cause you knew he was just figgering out where to shove the knife. Now Mario owned a couple of cantinas where you could get something resembling moonshine, if you could cope with blindness, but where at least the poontang was real enough, if somewhat overused if you know what I mean. Mario was a bit different to the other bosses around here, you see Mario had ambition. He liked the idea of a multi-national corporation. Well multi- national workers at least. Blond ones with blue eyes. Now when it came to women I was more a spectator, occaisionally a consumer, but hardly a supplier. So I was a little coy when he explained what he wanted me to do. It wasn't exactly my line of work, where do I get the merchandise from? problems with capital etc. You know the sort of thing. I'll say this for Mario, man that guy is straight. He told me straight away that either I'd do it or he'd rip my head off and then piss down my throat. As a worker incentive it had a wonderfully rejuvinating effect on me and suddenly all the petty little business problems seemed to fade away. Especially when he offered me 2,000 Reals and an active interest in the merchandise. Now I was really beginning to warm to the idea. Pedro loved it, I could tell that this was his kind of work as he explained it patiently to Juan. Rape and Plunder all in one package, it was like a dream to him. He was born in the wrong time and the wrong place, he would have made a great viking. It took us nearly a week to get to the Christian compound. A week of hacking our way through an uncharted, primeval jungle. I was glad that Pedro was with us, he had the homing instincts of a racing pigeon when it came to cunt and he could smell those fresh christian cherries from a 100 klicks away. I had a little bit of a discipline problem when we arrived. My workforce were all in favour of rushing in and grabbing the first girl they saw. My authority was at risk so I used some of those tried and tested management techniques that they teach you on your MBA at Harvard and which are practised so devastatingly effectively on Wall Street. So, while Pedro nursed his newly won knife scar and Juan tended to his aching testicles, I vocalised my thoughts. As a piece of management strategy it was excellent, even though I say so myself. I patiently explained my ideas, winning them over with my bold initiatives, my daring plans and my colt 45, with which I promised to blow their heads off with if they fucked me about. The result was Catherine. Slim, blond, pretty and excrutiatingly pure and wholesome. I've got a name for this type of girl, a nut tightener, you know what I mean? You see her and your balls sort of tighten up. The girl next door. 21 years old from some place in Idaho, a soft spoken, smiling, nice tits sort of girl. She wasn't smiling now though, when your wrists are tied together and roped to the pommel of a packmule you probably get the feeling that something ain't quite right. I'd spent a couple of days spying up the camp through my fieldglasses. I didn't want to be seen hanging around, a gringo would attract too much attention, but I wanted to select a target. My boys were like kids in a candystore as the smogasbord of beautiful white flesh was arrayed before our eyes. They jabbered and pointed to various females, choose that one, no that one, what about taking 2? If there was one thing I've learnt about business it is that you always supply the customer with exactly what they wanted. That was the way to get repeat business and I was starting to warm to this new profession of mine. My customer had insisted on a blond and that was just what he was going to get. I'd seen her briefly on the first day and I thought she was worthy of a second look. I saw a lot more of her on the second day. She was working in a kind of field clinic and an endless supply of the halt and the lame found their way to her door. Now all I had to do was to convince her to make housecalls. I sent Pedro in to say that his daughter was ill and she was on a litter just outside the compound and could she please take a look. It was nearly dusk and the clinic was finished for the day and Pedro must have been at his dramatic best because she came, complete with a medicine bag. She even brought her own pennecilin, now that was handy. Two hours later she was tied to a tree over two kilometres away as we settled down for the night. To say Mario was pleased would have been an understatement. He even got a real bottle of scotch out as she nervously surveyed the roach ridden cantina and the collection of hard eyed whores coldly regarding her from the shadows. After a round of toasts to our new venture he asked me to come with him to see his newly constructed premises. It was a fine example of period architecture, 14th century penal architecture that is. It was just a long corridor which had steel doors at regular intervals along each side, around 20 in all. Each door led to a room, in which there was a mattress, a table and two rickety chairs. At the rear of the room there was a concrete shower cubicle in which the occupant both washed and relieved herself. It was a marvel of functionality. I entered one of the rooms and was immeadiately struck by the shackles and chains set at convenient intervals around the bed and the table. So this is where Catherine was going to work I thought. Suddenly I had another thought, all of Mario's other girls had rooms above the Cantina, reached by a set of stairs on the outside of the building. So why was there a need for so many rooms? Then it hit me, Mario wasn't just thinking about just one white girl, as I said he had plans. It was time to introduce Catherine to her new line of work, bringing comfort and relief to the natives of this blighted land. On second thoughts maybe it was the same type of work, just a different methodology. Her hands were still tied together so it was easy to pull her along the corridor and selecting a room at random I pulled her in and locked the door. Alone at last. I untied her and invited her to stand in the middle of the room. She stood looking at me nervously licking her lips as I surveyed her. She was wearing a khaki bush shirt and khaki shorts with knee length socks and jungle boots. A modern day Dr Livingstone. In the glare of the naked bulb she looked more beautiful than ever. Her hair was straight and long, to her shoulders, and her face was sort of oval. She had bright blue eyes, a snub nose and a rosebud mouth. Her body was slim and athletic, 5' 6" I reckoned and, even though they were scratched from the journey, her legs looked sturdy and beautifully curved. Now I'm not one for art but I knows what I like as the old saying goes and this one is ART! I can hardly wait to get started but first I wanted to savour my moment. After a long minute I told her to get undressed. Her eyes flew open like blinds and she mewled and protested. I told her again and again she did nothing, except weep. So I struck. The room was small and all it took was one bound before I reached her. I grabbed one wrist and before she could even register a protest I'd pulled her over the table and snapped her wrist into a conveniently placed shackle. She flailed away with the other arm, but I soon grabbed it and it too joined its twin. Her khaki covered ass was bent invitingly towards me and I paused for a second to admire it before I got to work. My she was a screamer! I thrashed that girl's defenceless ass like a madman with the cane I had picked up from the corner of the room (Mario had thought of everything). Her feet at first kicked out then started the dance of a well caned woman as the pain centres in her rear started to meld together. All the time she screamed and pleaded. After about 15 strokes I stopped and picked her head up by her hair and asked her whether she was ready to cooperate. "Yes, Yes oh God Yes. No more please no more I'll do what you want but no more please". I could go on but I think you get the drift. I let her up and her hands flew to her rear as she danced prettily in front of me as she rubbed her burning rump. Again I told her to undress, she hesitated for a second but as I moved towards her she screeched no and started to undo the buttons on her shirt. She pulled her shirt off to reveal an industrial strength bra that looked like it would need a mechanical engineering workshop to get it off. Her boots and socks were next closely followed by her shorts. She stood in her bra and panties (sensible white cotton with little pink roses for crying out loud) looking at me. I asked her if I'd told her to stop and she shook her head. Well carry on then. I said swishing my cane against my boot for emphasis. Her tits were a marvel once she'd struggled the bra off. They were the most breathtaking pair of mammaries I'd ever seen. Perfectly round with a cheeky little tilt to her nipples, 36D I'd guess but without an millimetre of sag. They were milk white and I guessed they never got to go out much. She blushed furiously and tried to cover them. I explained that it was a bit pointless me getting her to take her bra off if she was going to immeadiately cover her tits up again. I'm a reasonable sort of guy and she saw the sense in what I was saying especially when I jerked the cane, so she dropped her hands to her sides. I pointed out that her hands might as well have something to do so they might as well busy themselves removing her panties. You could see the inner struggle as she stood there biting her lower lip then suddenly, in one smooth action, she pulled them down. I held my hand out and, humiliated, she handed them to me. I sniffed them, she'd been wearing them for a week and they were a bit strong but they helped to make me as horny as hell. Meanwhile my vision of loveliness stood before me. I could see her hands creeping across to hide her crotch so I ordered her to put her hands behind her head. I walked around her, as she stood there shaking visibly. I saw the results of my handiwork on her ass which looked angry and painful. I reached down and cupped a buttock, she started but a sharp intake of breath from me and she pushed her bottom back into my hand. I could feel the heat and her delicious tremours as I carressed her cheek. I let my finger stray down the crack of her ass and then invaded between her legs. She moaned and closed her eyes as my fingertip brushed her sex, but she didn't move. I smacked her left buttock and told her to lie on the bed. It was party time. Chapter 3 I've got this fantasy, well I've got quite a few actually but we'll leave the picture of Mario with a bullethole in his forehead out of it for the moment. Anyway, my fantasy. I'm a control freak. Not too bad eh? Better than a snuff freak or hanging weights from your dick or sniffing little girl's bicycle saddles sort of freak, don't you think? Well in my view it was more sort of family channel than a lot of things that go on out there. I have this sort of recurrent daydream about a beautiful girl all helpless and unwilling who gives in to my crude advances. Ok so true romance it ain't, but I like it. So as you can guess I'm pretty fired up by this time. Now I'm sorry to disapoint you but I'm not going to say that my dick is 12" long and twice that around. No I've got a doctorate and I've got an academic sort of dick. They say that the mind is the biggest erogenous zone well I've got more than my share of mind so I don't mind not being hung like a donkey. Oh fuck it! I do mind, but I can't do diddly about it so why worry. Catherine certainly won't. I had tied her spread eagled to the mattress. You know I've always wanted to do this, but the cantina girls won't let me, they don't trust the mad gringo I guess. Anyway I can never afford a long time poke as a rule so I would have just got my last granny knot tightened and I'd get the house pimp banging on the door to say my time was up. Now I had a bit of time so I thought I'd play a few head games. Us academics like head games. I stripped slowly, letting her savour the moment. She didn't look particularly thrilled she just lay there whispering, "no, no" to herself as I shed my togs. I'm not going to dwell on what I look like, you didn't tune in to read about me so I'll skip the strip scene, suffice to say Catherine wasn't overjoyed. Even if, as I suspected, she'd never had sex before it didn't take a degree in biology to suss out what I had planned for her. I lay longside her and nuzzled my nose into her hair. She smelled wonderful. In true courtroom style here is a transcript of that conversation. "You know whats going to happen to you don't you?" that's your hero speaking. "Uh huh" she replied "You know you are going to get fucked don't you?" "Please don't" "Not just by me either, there are fifty guys out there wanting a chance at this pussy". By this time I'd moved my hand down and was tracing the lips of her vagina gently with my finger. She moaned and then the enormity of what I'd just said began to sink in. "Fifty! no please you can't. Not fifty! it will kill me, I can't, I've never...please no" Gabble, Gabble, god, women just gabble on if you let them. I touched my finger to her lips then asked. "Have you ever laid with a man?". It was so corny I could hardly believe I'd said it. It was like some 1950s bodice ripper movie. She nodded! I leaned up on one elbow, surprised. "You have?" I asked. Again she nodded. Well this was a turn up for the books. A good christian girl with no cherry. I was sorta disappointed, you know what I mean? You trust your instincts, work out your play then the fucking subject of your plans goes and pitches you a curve. I decided to try a different gameplan. I toned my voice down, all kinda social worker like and said. "Look, you seem like a nice girl" (I'll be asking her if she comes here often next - goddamn this was corny), "so I'll tell you what I'll do. If you can keep me entertained for a couple of hours then I'll stop the guys outside doing anything to you" Hope shines eternal I guess. There she was stark naked, thrashed, tied spread eagled to a filthy mattress and she was looking at me like I'd told her she'd just been put on the shortlist for the Billy Graham prize for advanced Piety. It didn't take her long to get to the nub of the matter though. "Keep you entertained? How?" pause "You mean you want to.." I wish I could screw solidly for two hours, but even a honeypot like this couldn't make my dick stand up to that sort of use. Anyway if I wanted that she was hardly in position to stop me is she? "No, no. Just tell me about yourself. You know your fantasies stuff like that" So she did. I must hand it to her she told a good story even if she seemed to be a little distracted at times. Well, I had to have something to do except just listen. So I played with her tits a little. Nice and gentle, rubbing softly, gently tweaking the nipples that kind of thing. Then I kissed her throat gently, gently. And all the time she talked. Her name was Catherine, well you knew that much already. She came from a place with a peculiar name in Idaho, hell all the places in Idaho have got weird names. Anyway she had lost her cherry a couple of years ago when she was at college. She'd gotten drunk and it just sorta happened. From what I could gather it wasn't much of a fuck, two minutes, game over, you know the kinda thing. When she came to the next day she was all sorta devastated, she'd not only lost her cherry but it wasn't even her boyfriend. So she sorta moped around the campus for a couple of days then she sees this sign for a christian meeting and she'd gone to it. She got the bug I guess, so she signed on to come here when the notice calling for volunteers appeared on the Christian Union notice board. She'd been here about two months. Oh yeah, since that day she ain't been touched, so she was nearly a virgin. I mean you can't really count two minutes as a real fuck can you? She was a bit flushed when she got to the last bit and her narrative was disrupted by the Aaahs and the little moans. I'd moved on from the tits and after a blazing a trail down her stomach I skirted her pubic bush and ran my fingers gently up and down the inside of her thighs. I then retraced my steps and my fingers brushed her sex. I didn't believe it at first so I went in a bit harder. Yes! this girl was actually wet. We never ever got to the fantasies. I slowly pushed my finger in and she sorta lost interest in her story. She just wriggled her hips a little and moaned. I pushed it knuckle deep and then withdrew and she closed her eyes and let the air out of her lungs in a short gasp. I diddled her clit for a bit and was rewarded with a series of moans. This girl was hot, I was beginning to think I'd saved her from herself. As I climbed on top she opened her eyes, which were all kind of dreamy and melted, and said. "Please be gentle with me." "Yeah, ok, if you give me a good time" So I was and she did. It was easily the best fuck I've ever had. Not exactly consensual but definately more erotic than one of Mario's bar girls. After I'd finished (she'd had two orgasms - amazing!). She said. "That was beautiful. Thank you" I'd heard of getting off with your captor, you know the Stockholm syndrome and all that, but this was ridiculous. I unlocked the door only to find Pedro and Juan waiting their turn. Plus a corridor full of other guys. The word had gotten around it seemed. She saw them too. "Please, please you promised, it was only going to be you..". She screamed. "I lied" I said. ********************************************************************* Comments etc? Do you think its worth pursuing this style of story? I've got some more ideas for further adventures of our academic hero if you think it is worth while carrying on. Email at theodore@spoonbender.demon.co.uk -- +--------------' Story submission `-+-' Moderator contact `------------+ | story-submit@qz.little-neck.ny.us | story-admin@qz.little-neck.ny.us | | Archive site +--------------------+------------------+ Newsgroup FAQ |