"Rancho Paloma Blanca"
by
Chapter 1
I was on a hunt. My clients tended to have very specific tastes
and finding the women that met their requirements was often a lengthy
process. This time I'd been lucky and struck pay dirt on the third day
of my prowl. I had spotted them having lunch on the hotel terrace and
they were exactly what I was looking for.
She was a youngish blonde mother with an even blonder daughter. I
overheard the waiter address her as Senora Benson. All the rooms opened
onto the pool area so when they left the table it was easy for my
binoculars to follow them as they made their way to room 112.
That evening I was able to rent the room next door to them. After
putting the "Do not disturb" tag on the door I never went near it. I
spent a further two days discretely observing them until I was sure
that they were indeed in the Yucatan on vacation and, most importantly,
were alone.
They were having breakfast at the same table when I finally made
my approach. I wore aviator sunglasses and my tabbed tropical uniform
shirt with a self-designed Mayan Air Charter logo prominent above the
breast pocket. I sat at a table beside them. I am not a bad looking
guy and I have my share of charm. It wasn't hard to engage the mother
in casual conversation. It didn't take me long to glean the information
I wanted. They were from Ohio. She was Rebecca and her daughter's name
was Erica. The girl had just graduated from high school and was still
trying to talk her mother into letting her enroll at a college in
Florida. Yes, they were on vacation. No, her husband was not with them.
She had been widowed due to an auto accident. I expressed my sympathies
and then steered the conversation to a pleasanter vein. I waxed
enthusiastic over the beauty of the ancient Indian ruins in the area.
The daughter chewed gum and stared off into space but I had gotten the
mother's interest.
I had pre-set the alarm on my cell phone and when it went off, I
pretended it was an incoming call. I made sure they overheard a one
sided conversation by which they learned that two fictitious passengers
for a fly-over of the Mayan temple at Palenque were canceling out. I
explained that because of the late notice there could be no refund and
hung up.
Rebecca volunteered that they were looking forward to touring the
ruins before they left and asked if a flight would be expensive. In my
most offhand manner, I mentioned that since two empty seats for the
afternoon flight were already paid for they were welcome to fill them
and take the tour at no charge. The girl, who had been so bored by our
small talk, suddenly came alive. Her enthusiasm for a plane ride soon
wore down her mother's hesitation. I let them think there would be
other passengers along. Once Mom had gratefully agreed to accept my
kind offer I excused myself, telling them that the company would
provide their transportation to and from the airstrip.
They were waiting for me in front of the hotel after lunch. I had
magnetic Mayan Air Charter logos on the sides of the rental car and
when I held the rear door for them they smilingly got in. On the drive
to the small airport, I left the AC off, explaining that it had just
gone on the blink. Within five minutes I had them hot, sweating and
thirsty. They slipped into blackness shortly after accepting doctored
bottles of fruit juice from my cooler.
I managed to get my trophies bundled into the plane unobtrusively.
I covered the windows with sunscreens and locked the cabin. I pulled
the magnetic logos off the car and headed back to the hotel.
I went through the mother's purse and saw from the receipt that
their room was paid up. I took their key and transferred all of the
stuff from their room to one I had rented next door. I left their
door open with the key in it as if they had checked out.
Satisfied that nobody had observed me, I used the privacy of my room to
get their bags all packed. The luggage was unremarkable so I was sure I
would arouse no suspicion pretending it was mine. After a final look
and a bit of wiping, I rang for a bellboy.
The drive out to the airstrip was uneventful. I found them still
sleeping blissfully and they missed my little Welcome to Mayan Air
Charters take off speech. I was humming quietly to my self as we
crossed south out of Mexican air space into Guatemala and headed for
the rancho I had named Paloma Blanca.
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Chapter 2
I taxied the Cessna to a standstill in front of the Quonset hut I
used for a hanger. A glance back at my passengers assured me that they
were still completely immobilized. I bent them forward from the waist
and threw a blanket over them. Carlos had heard the plane land and
pulled up in my Land Rover as always to slide open the big double
doors. Together we rolled the plane inside. I dismissed Carlos, telling
him I would inspect the rancho the following day. He pulled the doors
closed and departed for the compound where he and the other hired hands
lived.
Carlos was my foreman and a loyal servant. Even had he been aware
of my activities I had no doubt he would have unquestioningly served my
wishes, but a slaver is secretive by nature. I made sure that even he
had no idea that each time he rolled those doors closed behind the
Cessna, identities disappeared forever.
I unlocked the heavy door to the sound proofed area that made up
the rear half of the hanger and then went to unload my cargo. I pulled
Mom out of the plane first and shoulder carried her into her new home.
Lowering her to the floor I locked lined cuffs with rings onto each of
her wrists. These I tied with cord to an electric wench overhead and
with a quiet whirring noise she was soon hoisted onto her tiptoes.
I went back out to fetch the slight figure of the girl. I laid
her face down on the padded examination table. Once her wrists and
ankles were secured, I pressed a floor petal and the hinged parts the
table fanned out until her body was widely spread-eagled. I gathered
her long blond hair in a vise clamp attached to a line which was
threaded through a suspended pulley. I pulled the line until her head
was up and hard back, exposing her lovely throat, and then tied it off
to a cleat.
I strolled to the head end of the table for my first leisurely
look at her face. I had to laugh out loud. Even with her mouth hanging
open she was attractive. Her features still had that unformed juvenile
quality but it was obvious that they would refine themselves into a
face of stunning beauty. I reached down and removed the small gold
studs from her cute little ears and flipped them into the trashcan.
It was time to unwrap my first present. When the mother regained
consciousness the first thing I wanted he to see was her daughter's
naked body, stretched out, helpless and vulnerable. I removed the
tennis shoes and bobby sox she was wearing and dropped them into the
trashcan too. Her feet were well cared for. Dainty and high arched
with small, delicious looking toes. Next I took a heavy pair of
scissors and snipped my way up the back of her white, cotton sweater
and then down the back of each arm. I tugged it from under her and
added it to the trash. I cut loose a rather plain white bra and tossed
it with the rest. Her back was long and smooth. I ran a finger along
the valley of her spine. Leaning over her, I reached down under the
table and found the two round openings in it. I groped up through these
and searched out her nipples. Locking on each of them with a thumb and
forefinger I tugged until her apple sized breasts settled into the
openings and hung free.
I was pleased to note that both mother and daughter were wearing
matching plaid, ankle length skirts. It was a touching little detail,
indicative of a close relationship. That should prove quite useful to
me during their conditioning. My trusty scissors made short work of the
daughter's half of the ensemble. Her long coltish legs were now
revealed. I slowly stroked a hand over a well-muscled calf and up the
inside of a thigh. I cupped the warmth of her pantied crotch and then
allowed my splayed hand to squeeze one of the cheeks of her firm,
rounded rump. I moved around between her widely parted thighs and a
couple of snips at the sides of her panties completed my work. The
remnants of these were also discarded. The brownish pucker of her anus
was exposed and I prodded it, testing the elasticity of her sphincter.
It was tight and tiny. Below, crinkly cunt lips were slightly parted
with a hint of her slick, pink core showing. I curled a finger up into
her and twirled it. The hymen was intact. A bonus I had hardly dared
hope for. I brought a taste of that moisture up to my tongue. She was
delicious and slightly salty. I trailed the tips of my fingers through
her sparse bush, fluffing the silky blond curls there. Yes, I was
thoroughly happy with the younger half of my catch. I gave her tight
little ass a satisfied slap and turned away.
I brought the rest of their belongings from the plane and went
through them. All of it, purses, clothes, I.D.'s, jewelry, along with
the contents of my trashcan would be burned tomorrow. Their old selves
would cease to exist. Rebecca and Erica had vanished without a trace.
Having the godlike power to do this was intoxicating. Almost as
addicting as the astounding profit involved.
Their driver's licenses told me that mom was 36 years old and the
girl had just turned eighteen. What cash they had went into my pocket,
the traveler's cheques, camera and other traceable valuables I trashed.
I gleaned what information I could from a few letters and post cards. I
entertained myself perusing the immature musings contained in the girl's
diary.
I boxed up the lot and set it aside for the incinerator. Out of
curiosity I padded over to where the mother hung suspended. Her arms
and shoulder joints would be killing her when she came around. I wiped
a thin string of drool from her chin and pushed it back between her
slack lips. I reached up under the long, plaid skirt and palmed her
pussy through her panties. I felt the springiness of an abundant pelt
covering her mound. Withdrawing my hand, I reached up under her sweater
and weighed an ample breast. Her dark blond hair was made up in a
French twist. I took a handful of it and lifted her head to study her
face. She had a generous, full-lipped mouth, high cheekbones and a
nicely shaped nose with delicate nostrils. A classic Scandinavian face.
With my left hand I peeled back an eyelid; a vacant pupil surrounded by
a beautiful, Nordic blue iris stared back at me until I let the long
lashed lid slide back down. Using both hands I shifted my grip to her
shell like ears and kissed her. My tongue plundered her unconscious
mouth, savoring the taste of her saliva. I captured her lower lip and
bit it lightly, then let her head drop forward again and walked away,
licking my lips.
I slipped Mozart's Divertimento in D into the CD player, opened a
bottle of Monte Xanic and settled into a deep, Italian leather
recliner. I sipped at my wine and allowed the music to relax me. I let
my eyes appreciate my new acquisitions while I waited for the drug to
wear off.
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Chapter 3
The music had played itself out and I was enjoying my second glass
of wine when Mom's eyelids began to flutter. Instinctively her feet
came together and she pushed up onto her toes in an attempt to relieve
the strain on her arms and shoulders. With a groan she came fully
awake. It was always entertaining to watch the expressions that played
over their faces as they became aware of their situation.
The mere fact of finding oneself bound and defenseless is
terrifying. First her eyes traveled up to where her wrists were
suspended. She jerked and flopped about in an effort to free herself,
but finding that this only served to increase the pain, she soon
desisted. She let out a little sob of frustration as she was forced to
pick her weight back up onto her toes.
Suddenly her head came up with her eyes wide open. I knew she had
just noticed her daughter. I watched as she registered the scene that I
had so carefully arranged for her. There was her little girl, splayed
out on her belly. She was naked and bound and completely helpless with
her beautiful head drawn brutally back by her long, golden mane. The
whole tableau harshly spotlighted in the otherwise dim interior.
"Erica? Are you hurt, Baby?"
In her mind the question was an urgent shout but the drug had left
her with a case of cottonmouth. It emerged as a croak.
"I'm afraid she is still out of it, Moms."
I spoke from the shadows, where I still lounged, enjoying her
discomfort. New alarm showed on her face as her eyes searched toward my
voice. She really was quite beautiful in her distress. As I sat down my
empty wine glass, I thought again how grand it was to be the king. I
arose and moved into the light to stand in front of her daughter's
upturned face.
"The pilot!" She said rather stupidly, as she recognized me.
I ignored her and reached out, tracing the girl's open lips with
my finger.
"Don't touch her!" she hissed.
With the back of my hand I tenderly stroked the unconscious girl's
cheek.
"Leave my daughter alone, you animal!" she demanded, protectively.
Abruptly, I gave the girl's cheek a small, sharp, backhanded slap.
The mother immediately began spewing obscenities and threats at me.
Methodically, I slapped the right cheek and then the left again. Slowly
picking up the pace, until the blond head was rhythmically rocking back
and forth with the SMACK, SMACK, SMACK of my hand. The mother gave up
on her threats and began begging me to stop. I only desisted when the
girl's eyes finally blinked open, having been shocked awake by the
jostling I had given her poor little brain. Gently, I resumed stroking
her now reddened cheek.
Now I watched the same series of dumb expressions pass across the
daughter's face as she struggled to understand her predicament. I saw
the recognition when she looked at me before her eyes moved to the
limits of her peripheral vision. She was trying to see what was
preventing her from moving. She attempted the same brief struggles her
mother had made. These were followed by an inevitable groan of defeat.
"Erica? Can you hear me? Are you alright?"
"Mom? Where are we? Why is he doing this to us?"
"Hush, Baby, it's going to be alright." Then to me, "You'll never get
away with this!"
Pretending not to hear her, I crossed to a wall rack and lifted
from it an old fashioned buggy whip. It was an elegant piece of
craftsmanship. Its thin, six-foot length of whalebone was encased in
finely braided leather with a tasseled tip. Originally sold by
Abercrombie & Fitch, circa 1800s, I had found it in an antique shop some
years back. It had kissed more than horseflesh since then. When I moved
back into the light, poor Mom's eyes flew wide with shock when she saw
what I was brandishing.
"You wouldn't dare! She is only a child. For God's sake, don't do this!"
The girl was futilely trying to look back to see what was
threatening her, panicked by her mother's obvious agitation. Unable to
turn her head, she could only imagine the worst. As dire as a
recognized danger may be, the unknown seems to conjure up even worse
terror.
I gave the whip a couple of experimental cuts. The SWISH of
displacement as it curled through the air produced a fresh babble of
powerless pleadings from Mom. Blithely, I took a wide stance and cocked
my arm fully back. I took a moment to admire the soft, pink bottom of
the helpless girl's small, well-shaped foot.
Then with all my considerable power and a roll of my hips, I
slashed forward and the very tip of the whip bit savagely into the
unsuspecting sole of the girl's right foot.
Instantly, it was as if all the demons in hell had been unleashed.
Every muscle in the poor girl's body tensed as she surged against her
restraints. The tendons in her throat stood out as the blood-curdling
howl of a wounded animal was torn from deep in her gut.
"OWWWWWWWW. OH GOD!"
Simultaneously, the mother began shrieking in empathy with her
daughter's pain, while tears of helpless frustration flowed from her
eyes.
Then the girl's body sagged. I watched the slats of her thin
ribcage heave as she sobbed raggedly.
"Ohhh. Mom. It hurts so badly, Mom. She cried repeatedly."
From the corner of my eye, I saw her mother's face contorted with
hate. It was truly a deranged woman who venomously cursed at me.
"You fucking bastard!"
I calmly stepped back a pace and extended the buggy whip again.
Immediately, the bitterness in
Mom's voice was replaced with a tone of abject terror as she pleaded
with me for mercy. Unfortunately, I was not quite finished with their
first object lesson.
"If you must torture someone, whip me instead! Please!"
I used the tasseled tip of the whip to tickle the sole of my young
captive's other foot. The moment she felt its touch she tensed again. I
saw her toes curl tight and her ass clench. Unable to move, she
nonetheless began trembling from head to toe as the terror of
anticipation seized her. I left off toying with her foot and drew back
the whip. I was waiting for her muscles to tire and relax again before
I gave her the second dose.
Then above the sound of her sobs and her mother's nagging
entreaties, I heard a liquid sound and realized she had released her
bladder. The little bitch had pissed herself in fear. I watched the
golden fluid stream from her flaxen haired cunt and puddle on the tile
floor. It slowed to a dribble and then stopped. I was surprised to feel
my cock swelling. For some reason I found this spontaneous display very
erotic.
I was tempted to fuck her but her virginity was just too valuable.
Frustrated, I let fly with the whip again and another symphony of
frenzied wailing filled the air. Using the whip, I parodied a conductor
waving his baton as I backed away from them and retreated once more
into the shadows. I poured another glass of wine and again settled
myself comfortably. I would wait until their tears were exhausted
before continuing my class.
To Be Continued....
[Note: this story is protected by international copyright law,
all rights not expressly waived are reserved by its author.]
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