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.
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.
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….