Blanco y Negro

by

W. L. Telford

1        

       No one can judge a marriage from the outside.

       We all do.  Societies.  Courts.  The intrusive ‘Media.’

       We judge the marriages of our friends.  Our neighbors.  Co-workers.  Casual acquaintances.  Celebrities we don’t even know.

And we are always wrong.

       Even when we’re right, we’re wrong, because our opinions are based on inadequate information.  Marriages are too complicated and too subtle.  They turn over the years on words said and unsaid, tones, pauses, touches gentle or rough, welcomed or shunned, sex or lack of it, money or lack of it, gestures, expressions, a face turned toward or away.  Thousands and thousands of bonding or eroding moments.

       Everyone who knew Mary and Jeffery Healy thought they were happily married.  And everyone was wrong.  One morning Jeff decided to do something about it.

       In itself the cause was nothing.  At the breakfast table, where Mary was surfing the web on her iPad, Jeff asked her to pass him the jam.  Without even raising her eyes, she did so and scowled, fleetingly, at the interruption.  That, said Jeff to himself, is it.

       They had been married nine years.

       He was thirty-five.  She thirty and still as physically beautiful, he thought, as the day they met.  Dark brown hair, green eyes,   A voluptuous mouth that for years had only seemed to sneer.  A great body, long legs, firm breasts, not huge, but big enough.  A body that she never gave willingly any more.  For a while he wondered if she was having an affair, but concluded that she wasn’t.  She just didn’t like sex.  She had in the beginning, or pretended to.  It didn’t take the famed scene from WHEN HARRY MET SALLY to convince Jeff that a woman could successfully fake it.

       Jeff studied his wife as he sipped his coffee.  I loved you, he thought.  At least I think I did.  So why did you have to become such a bitch?

       He did not consider himself a cruel man.  But perhaps he was.  Perhaps he had become one during the long years in which the woman he loved, tried to love, became ever more distant, did less and less to please him, until at last she did nothing.  He wanted her to be punished.  He wanted her to suffer.  What she would no longer willingly do for him, he wanted her to be forced, endlessly, to do for others. 

       The day, or more likely night, would come when she would beg him to use her, beg to serve only his cock.  But it would be too late.

       That he was an attorney and knew what a divorce would cost him only re-enforced his decision.

       Jeff Healy sipped the last of his coffee and looked across the breakfast table at the top of his wife’s head, still bend over her iPad, and smiled.

2

       Most people do not know that the Panama Canal is east of Miami, Florida, or that it runs north/south rather than east/west.  Neither did Jeff Healy until a construction company his firm represented became involved in the Panama Canal Expansion Project. 

       After almost one hundred years, the old locks still work perfectly, but they are too small.  1050’ long and 110’ wide is not enough for modern container ships; so Panama, which now owns and runs the canal, is building a new set of locks 1400’ long and 180’ wide.  For the past two years Jeff Healy had been flying to Panama City every other month to handle the construction company’s legal affairs.  He had come to know the country well, from corporate conference rooms in high rise towers overlooking the Pacific Ocean to the slums of one of the toughest towns in the world, Colon, at the Caribbean canal entrance; from pristine, almost impenetrable jungles, to resorts on beautiful offshore islands.

       Panama is a better place to do business now than before the United States invaded in 1989 and captured Manuel Noriega in what has been called the most expensive drug bust in history; but there are still drugs, corruption, and some of the most depraved brothels in the world, catering to clients of all classes, rich and poor, and all tastes.  If you want it, if you can imagine it, you can find it in Panama.

       His business completed, Jeff Healy checked out of the Trump International and took a taxi to the Miramar, where he did not check in but caught another taxi to The Bristol, where he had never before stayed.  He registered as Tom Wolfe, after slipping the desk clerk five twenty dollar bills and telling him that his passport was at the Brazilian Embassy being processed for a visa.  Jeff knew that $100 was too much for this slight discretion and he had another request,  a driver “who can show me the night life and bring me back safely.”

       “Of course, Mr. Wolfe.  I know several such men.  What time do you want to be picked up?”

       “10:00 p.m.”

       The clerk, a middle aged man with a furrowed forehead, furrowed further.  “That is early, sir.  Often, I am told, clubs are more... interesting after midnight.”

       “Thanks for the advice.  But I’ll start at 10 and do the rounds.  I may need to visit several places to find exactly what I want.”

       The clerk smiled with understanding.  “Very good, sir.”

----------

       “This is the place, Mister Wolfe,” said Jorge, the driver of the old, but immaculate Mercedes.  “You will find anything you want here.”  His brother, Manny, nodded.  Jeff Healey had been surprised to find two men when he was picked up at The Bristol.  Jorge was small.  Manny was not.  Jorge explained, “You pay nothing extra.  But we are going places where I do not want to sit in the car alone.”

       They had already been to three clubs.  Jeff Healey had told Jorge to save the worst, or best depending on your perspective, for last.  Now  they were down near the docks, just beyond the container facility, outside a converted warehouse illuminated by a flickering neon sign that read, Blanco y Negro.  Cars and trucks filled the parking lot, which was patrolled by two men in khaki uniforms.

       “It is safe here,” continued Jorge.  “Just not on the streets around.”

       Jeff Healey got out of the Mercedes.  Even at 2:00 a.m. the night was hot and the air sticky.  Sweat darkened the back of his shirt.

       As he neared the entrance, the door opened from within and sounds poured out:  music with a hard beat; voices; a shriek.  A Manny-size man stood just inside the doorway.  He started to speak in Spanish, but when he saw Jeff he partially switched to English.

       “Welcome, amigo.”  And the door closed on the night.

       The room took up only a small part of the warehouse.  Half was brightly and garishly lit, almost floodlit.  The other half dark, with only a few flickering lights, glowing tips of cigarettes amid deep shadows.  A bar, a low stage, a dozen small tables and a dozen or so booths along the walls  were visible on the lighted side.  The tables were mismatched:  some wood scared with scratches and cigarette burns; some of cracked and chipped fake marble.  The seats and backs of the booths were covered with red vinyl, whose interior foam poked through cracks.   Despite  a ceiling lost far above the reach of the lights, the room was thick with cigarette and cigar smoke.  ‘Good,’ thought Jeff.  Neither of them smoked and Mary hated cigarette smoke.

       “Take a seat,” the big man said.  “At the bar, a table, a booth.  If you prefer the dark, it is the same as what you see here.  I will take you.”  And he held up a small flashlight.

       “No.  This will do.  Gracias.”  And he handed the man a ten dollar bill before wending his way to a center table, where he could see most of the room.  At least the lighted half.

       Several of the other tables were occupied by men, singly or in groups, as were most of the booths, and the bar stools were almost all filled.  The men were a mix.  Some were dressed in suits and ties or expensive shirts and slacks.  Others had obviously just come from the docks or ships or driving a truck.  Blacks, whites, and a scattering of Asians.  Cologne and stale sweat mingled with smoke.

       Fifteen or twenty women sat with or moved between the men, circling, seeking attention, emerged from or disappeared into the dark side.  They, too, were a mix of races and ages.  Some in their late teens.  Some old enough to be their mothers.  About half, Jeff thought, were fuckable.  Three were Anglos; the rest Latin or black.  Two of the women, in addition to the young one and the old one sixty-nining on the stage, were naked except for high heels.  None of the others was fully dressed.  Those sitting with men were all being mauled.  Hands were between spread thighs or squeezing exposed breasts.  As he watched a small man pushed the head of a fat girl into his lap.  Jeff watched the head move up and down.  He did not turn, but wet sounds from one of the booths behind him must be fucking.  He heard a grunt.

       An olive-skinned woman, who looked about thirty in the harsh light, but might have been much younger, approached.  She was wearing only a red silk blouse that fell to just below her cunt, held together by one button, black stilettos, and a pasted-on smile.

       “Buy a girl a drink, mister?” she asked as her fingers undid the button and the blouse opened to expose large dark nippled breasts and a thick thatch of black public hair.  Jeff noted with satisfaction a large yellow bruise on her left thigh and another on her upper arm.  They would look good on Mary.

       “Not now.  Send your boss over.”

       Eyes suddenly frightened.  “Did I do something wrong?  Please?”

       Jeff enjoyed her fear.  That, too, would look good on Mary.

       “No.  Just send him over.”

       “Si.  Of course.”  And she clip-clopped hurriedly into darkness.

       Another woman approached.  This one wearing a black butt floss thong and heels.  Jeff noted with satisfaction that she, too, had a few bruises, but hers were black and blue not yellow.  “Something to drink?”

       “Tequila.  Straight.  No ice.” 

       He wasn’t about to drink anything here, but had to order.

       While she was gone, he watched the two women lying on the stage almost within arms reach.  The older one was now on her back and the younger kneeling, licking her cunt.   In their exertions, they had lost their shoes.  The older one’s feet were up in the air; the younger’s turned toward him.  The soles of both women’s feet black with grime.  The older one’s eyes were open, but unfocused, vague beyond whatever pleasure the other’s tongue and fingers, two of which were now plunging in and out of her pink cunt, were bringing.  Drugs or booze or too much experience?  Jeff wondered.

       “Senor?”

       Jeff turned.  A slim man, his own age or a bit older, trim, pencil thin mustache, wearing a dark perfectly cut suit whose elegance contrasted with the surroundings.

       “Are you the owner?”

       “One of them.”  The man smiled.  “Is there a problem?”

       “No.  I just want a few words.  A proposition.”

       “A proposition?  I am skeptical about propositions, senor.”

       “Please sit.  Just a few minutes.”

       The slim man studied Jeff Healey, then pulled back a chair, “I am Neptuno,  And what do I call you?”

       “Tom...No.  My real name is Jeff.  The men driving me know me as Tom.”

       “And what is this proposition?”

       “Your girls take it in the ass?”

       Neptuno turned and followed Jeff’s eyes to the stage where the younger woman had half her hand up the older one’s rectum.  He turned back.  “That is not a proposition.  But yes, my girls take it up the ass.  They take it any where you want it.  Any way you want it.  And they will moan and beg for more; or scream and beg you to stop.  Whichever you want.  For as along as you want.

       “As you can see,” encompassing the room with a gesture of his head.  “We have a varied clientele.  Poor working men, rich business men, and a few tourists, who find us as you must have done.  We let the poor use the women very cheaply and make our profit from the wealthy, who like knowing how debased and helpless these whores are, who want the most sordid.  Some of them, both rich and poor, like to do things to women that most women don’t like.  And here they find women who can’t say ‘no.’  The poor are hard used by life.  Here they find someone they can use even harder.  And some rich men find a thrill in fucking such a used women.  There are no limits.  None.  My partners and I are, shall we say, very well connected.  If a man goes too far and a girl can’t work for a while--or forever--he pays extra.  Naturally.  For the lost business.  But there are no problems.

Isn’t that what you are looking for?”

       “Yes.  But that’s not my proposition.  Here.”  And he took two photos from his shirt pocket and slid them across the table.

       Neptuno reached out an arm.  White shirt cuff.  Black pearl cuff-link.  He looked down at the photos--one was of Mary in a bikini lying on a beach taken during a vacation at St. Barts five years earlier; the other of her with bare shoulders in a strapless black sheath at his  firm’s last Christmas party--then back at Jeff and smiled.  “Beautiful.  Your wife.  Or mistress  Past or present.”

       “Wife.  Present.”

       “And?”

       “I will give her to you.”

       Eyebrows arched in mock surprise.  “Give?”

       “Give.”

       From the dark side of the room came the sound of a hand slap, a cry, breaking glass, chair legs scraping the floor.  From the stage the older woman’s gasped as the younger licked and thrust.

       Neptuno nodded with understanding.  “We have done this, Jeff.  Local men send me a woman for a while, to be punished, to learn a lesson.  And she is always better behaved when we send her back.”

       “I don’t want her back.  You keep her until she is so diseased and used up that no one wants her, and then dispose of her as you wish.”

       A slow whistle came from between Neptuno’s lips.  “You really do not like this woman.  What is her name?”

       “Mary.”

       “And how do you propose to ‘give’ her to me?  Surely you have a plan.”

       “I come here often on business.  I’ll bring her along for a mini-vacation.  Then before we are scheduled to return to the U.S., I’ll be called back unexpectedly, convincing her to stay the few extra days. She’ll be glad to be rid of me.  She’ll stay.  I’ll let you know the hotel and the time she will be going to the airport.  You have a taxi driver there to pick her up.  He brings her to you instead.  I become concerned when she isn’t on the flight.  There is a brief investigation that leads no where.  I make a fuss for a while, but not a big one.  Finito.”

       “And you want nothing in return?  No money.  A woman with those looks, an Anglo, will bring in lots.”

       “No money.  All I want is to come back from time to time when she is working and use her as the other men do.  Without charge.”

       “Ha!  You have an evil mind, Mister Jeff.”

       “She will not be willing.  You will have to break her.”

       Neptuno waved one long-fingered hand dismissively.  “That is nothing.  Do you think any of these women are willing?  They are here because of drugs or a debt or a crime.  We have an arrangement with the police.  Given a choice between being arrested, convicted and imprisoned--our prisons are not so pleasant as yours--they prefer to work here, at least in the beginning, and then it is too late.  Those two on stage, mother and daughter, do you think they willingly lick each other’s cunts?  The father/husband owes a friend of mine a lot of money.  They work to pay it off, but,” he chuckled, “they barely cover the interest.  They will be with us for a long, long time  At least the young one.

       “We do get a woman every once in a while from the upper class, who works an occasional night, who wants to fuck on the wild side, and who is excited to know that once she comes through the club door, she is just another whore who can refuse no one, not the lowest whom she would normally not even spit upon, and nothing. 

       “Those women are good business,too, for the novelty.  But mostly my customers prefer unwilling women.  And I do, too.”

       Jeff Healy’s eyes were unnaturally bright.  His heart racing.  “Then we have a deal?”

       “No.”

       “No?  But..”

       Neptuno held up a hand.  “Not in Panama.  Friends of mine would not want an investigation of an American disappearing in Panama.  Take your vacation in Costa Rica.  We will do it there.  I know people.  No problem getting her across the border.”

       Jeff had not realized that he was holding his breath, which now came out in one whoosh.

       “All right!”

       Neptuno extended his hand.  Jeff shook it.

       “This calls for a drink.  Not that.”  Neptuno said of what was in Jeff’s glass.  “I have better in my office.  On the way, I can show you more of Maria’s new home.

       “When we first opened,” he continued, “This was very different.  Furnishings.  Decor.  The finest.  Business was good for a while, then dropped off.  We had only affluent clients then and they quickly become bored.  So we threw out all the fine stuff and brought in this crap and gave them something no one else does.  They wanted a dump, a dive.  But a safe one, where they wouldn’t get beaten up or stabbed by some truck driver or dock worker; but where they’d be fucking the same women just after.  Come.”  And he stood.

       Just as Jeff Healey stood, too, the lights reversed, and, startled, he froze as the formerly dark side became bright, the bright dark.

       “A computer program.  Random.” said Neptuno.

       Ahead in the previous darkness, Jeff saw a woman bent over a table, her green dress bunched around her waist.  Head of long blond dyed hair with black roots sucking on a black cock on one side of the table; while another black man fucked her from behind on the other.  Calloused fingers dug deep into her hips. Her dangling naked breasts scraped back and forth across the splintered table.

       In a booth, pale naked legs spread wide, almost into a split.  Grinning men held opposite feet with purple painted toenails as though they were pulling on a wishbone.

       The rank smell of stale sweat grew stronger.  Nauseating as Jeff and Neptuno passed a booth in which sat a man of skin and bones who had his shirt off.  Obviously he had not bathed for days.  Or weeks.  Perhaps preparing to enjoy this moment.   How much worse, Jeff thought, it must be for the pretty Anglo girl who was licking his armpit?

       On the far side of the room, the smell of sweat was overpowered by a stronger stench.

       Inside a clear plastic cylinder, two and a half feet in diameter and five feet high, open at the top, a naked woman with sticky hair knelt in a couple of inches of yellow liquid.  Four holes were cut at 90º intervals  in the cylinder at waist level.

       “Every girl does a shift in turn.  Or sooner if I want to punish her.  A dollar to come or piss on her. Or both.  The inside has a mirror  coating.  We can see in, but she cannot see out.  Only her increasingly drenched reflection.  There is a drain, but just for cleaning.  After several hours on a busy night the level gets quite high.  But no one has drowned yet.”

       Jeff paused.  The woman had a bull tattooed on her back.  Most of the women in the place had tattoos.  Many had piercings:  lips, tongues, navels, nipples, eyebrows.  Mary despised tattoos and piercings.

       A gray-haired man in a gray business suit, white shirt, loosened tie, walked up, unzipped and stuck his wizened cock through one of the holes and spoke a single word.  The kneeling woman opened her mouth. 

       Neptuno said, “They understand “open” in thirty different languages.  Or not.  What else is a man going to be telling them while they are in there?”

       A dark yellow stream arched out.  Found its target.  A throat swallowed.

       Jeff turned and looked back.  Women on their knees beneath tables, bent over, spread open, this one being pissed on.  Mary.  Mary.  Mary.  Mary.

       “We have private rooms, too,” said Neptuno.  “But most of our patrons prefer being part of the show.

       Maria’s new home is perfect, thought Jeff Healey.

----------

       An hour later.

       After the clinching drink in Neptuno’s office, he had offered Jeff the use of any of the women.  For the novelty Jeff had chosen the mother and daughter who had been on stage when he first arrived.

       “They do not speak English.  Any special instructions they need to be given?”

       “Tell them that whoever’s mouth I come in, she is not to swallow, but kiss the other and share my come.”

       Neptuno smiled.

       “And I will need some rope.” 

       The mother and daughter knelt facing one another a foot apart.  Jeff Healey stood between them.  All  were naked.  His hands were buried in the mother’s hair, squeezing her skull as he forced his cock down her throat.  The daughter’s tongue was buried in his ass.  He could see all three in a mirror on the wall.  Mary, he thought.  And Mary.  When he turned and shoved his cock past the daughter’s lips, the mother’s tongue obediently entered his ass.  They understood the routine.  They’d been at it a while.  He was about to come, but couldn’t decide where.  It didn’t matter.  They’d both taste his come.  A strangled sound from the daughter as he held her to him, suffocating her, shooting a huge load into her mouth.  “Don’t swallow,” he warned.  She understood the tone, if not the words.

       When he was though, he turned and wiped the last drops oozing from the end of his cock on the mother’s face, then put a hand behind each of their heads, pushing their faces together.  They kissed, lips opened.  Saliva and come were exchanged.  Eyes looked up at him questioningly. 

       “All right.  Si.” 

       He watched throats swallow.

       Mary.

       After a while he had them kneel again facing one another, but this time with no space between them.  Breast--the daughter’s larger, firmer, higher--pressed to breast.  Pelvic bone to pelvic bone.  Thigh to thigh.

       He took their hands and raised them over their heads.  Then made a loop in one end of the rope, wrapped it around them at the waist and cinched it tight.  Flesh bulged around fiber.  The women moaned.  He pulled even tighter, welding their bodies together.     Tied a knot.  Stood back.  Studied his handiwork.  Stuck out a bare foot and pushed them over, onto their sides.  Dark fearful eyes followed him as he went to the chair on which his clothes were draped and pulled his belt from his pants.

       “No!”  They both cried as his arm raised.  And again louder when it came down.

       Jeff beat them both equally.  Enjoyed watching red welts appear.  Enjoyed the screams.  Enjoyed imaging that this was happening to Mary.  But, although still difficult to believe, that wasn’t imagination.  Soon it would.  The daughter was the first to break.  She sought escape by rolling onto her back, which exposed her mother’s body.

       Jeff beat the older woman’s back and buttock’s and thighs harder, until the mother could endure no more and tried to twist out of the way.  The two women fought, each trying to avoid the blows, to cause them to rain down on the other.

       Mary,

       When his arm finally tired, he dropped the belt and rolled the women onto their sides.

       Lying down behind the daughter, he pulled her ass apart--the skin was angry red and purple from the blows and hot to his touch--and shoved his cock up her ass.  It hung for a moment at the sphincter.  He shoved harder.  The tip broke through the barrier and slid to the hilt.  He grunted with satisfaction at the tight warmth.  Mary had only let him in her ass a few times and not for years.  She said it hurt too much.  He hoped it still did.

       As he plunged in and out, he reached across and pulled the mother’s tear stained face to him and kissed her.  She tasted of salt.

----------

       Playas del Coco, Costa Rica. 

       A month later.

       A tall, beautiful woman walked out of the Hotel Pilar to a waiting taxi.  Shoulder length brown hair rustling in sea breeze.  Long honey tanned legs disappearing beneath a white linen dress.

       A small man, wearing a white short-sleeved shirt and dark trousers, got out on the driver’s side and took her two bags, which he placed in the truck, before opening the back seat door for the woman.

       “You go to the airport?”

       “Yes.”

       “There is no one else, senora?”

       “No.  My husband had to fly back early.  I decided to stay on.”

       The woman was surprised to see a man sitting on the passenger side of the front seat.

       As the driver got in, he said, “My cousin, Manny. Visiting from Panama.  He is going to the airport, too.”

3

       Shreds of white linen, concealing nothing, hung from smooth tan shoulders bunched by arms pulled taut, Manila rope cutting deep into wrists held by an industrial crane hook.  Certified for forty tons when the building was a warehouse, it had no difficulty stretching a 126 pound woman’s body to tip-toes, or lifting it all the way to the distant roof.  Hands bright red with trapped blood.  Unpainted toes that just touched stained concrete bloodless white.  Torn blue bra and panties, flat leather sandals tossed aside.  The woman’s beautiful face was distorted, cheeks bulging with the large scrap of what had been a dress shoved in her mouth as a gag.  Green eyes cycling through anger, shock, terror, disbelief.

       Shafts of light fell from broken panes of glass in the roof and high in the walls.

       Five men surrounded the essentially naked woman’s body.  One of them moved close.  His fingers traced the line left by her bikini top:  honey tan skin above; pale white below.

       “You are too modest,”  he said.  “Such beauty should not be concealed, but shared.  A gift to be enjoyed by many.”  Turning to the men, “Don’t you agree?”

       A chuckling chorus of “Of course.”  “Si.”  “Absolutely.”

       His hand moved lower, cupping a breast, which though flattened by her upraised arms, still curved, and squeezed.  A muffled squawk from the woman’s stuffed mouth.  “And it will be,” he said.

       The long fingered hand moved lower, passed the woman’s navel, grasped brown public hair.  “This must go.  I let some of the bitches keep their bushes, but not, I think, you.”   Toes scrambled to keep contact with concrete as he pulled.  Naked body bowed.  Hips went forward.   Eyes avidly watched skin stretched by hair roots.  “Mummph.  Mummph!”  Tiny spots of blood appeared.  Fingers opened.  Brown public hairs drifted to the floor.

       “When you learn to behave yourself, we’ll let you shave instead of pulling it out.”

       His tone became business-like.  “It is understandable that you are in shock.  Your life has just taken an unexpected and cataclysmic change.  It will take time to adapt, but essentially this is an I.Q. test.  I will explain it to you.

       “Your name is Mary Healy.  Or was.  From now on you are ‘Maria Puta.’  Jeff, your husband, has given you to me.   Now.  Now,” he warned.  “I can see in your outraged eyes that he can’t do that.  But,” and he gestured toward where she hung helpless, “consider and you will see that he has.  He said to tell you that you have not tried to please him for a long time, so now you will please others.”  He held up his hand, palm toward her, to stifle noises of indignation and when they persisted, said, “Manny.”

       A big hand slapped the woman’s left check hard enough to spin her head to the right, then backhanded her right cheek on the backswing.  Muffled sounds changed to choking.

       “That is what I mean by an I.Q. test.  You will suffer here.  You will be hurt.  Your sole purpose in life now, your only function is to bring pleasure to men, and a few women, too, and some will find that pleasure in hurting you.  But how much you suffer will in part be up to you.  How quickly you learn to accept your new situation--and to spell it out in case your Spanish is limited:  t will improve--you are now a whore, or will be in a few hours when we continue this in another part of the building where customers will pay to watch and participate. You are tonight’s floor shore.  And will be often.  Breaking a new girl is always a crowd-pleaser.   And, though I don’t want to make you vain, it has been a long time since we have had one as beautiful as you.

       “So here is what is going to happen.  We are going to beat you for a while with these.”  One of the men held up a length of rubber hose.  “We don’t want to scar you.  Yet.  And then we are going to rape you.  And then we are going to beat you again for a while.  And then we are going to rape you.  You get the picture.

       “From time to time we are going to stop and ask you your name.  If you answer, “Maria Puta,” we will give you a chance to assume the position, which I’m sure you can figure out, and ask us politely to fuck you in the ass.  Jeff told us you hate that.  We won’t fuck your ass until you beg us to.  I’m sure you are thinking that will never happen.  But, of course, it will.  You are going to do many, many things that you cannot even imagine.  If you answer “Mary” or don’t answer at all, the beatings and rapes will continue.

       “But first I am going to demonstrate the futility of resistance, that we could have you begging us to shove a cactus up your ass in five minutes if I wanted to.  But I don’t.  We have lots of time and can stretch this out for days or weeks.  Your choice.  In addition to the entertainment we will find from breaking you, I also am seeking true behavior modification.  I want you to become a good whore.  When you do, you might even enjoy it.  Occasionally.  With all the cocks that are going to be in you, some will make you come.

       “And one other thing.  When we use your mouth today and tonight, until we pierce your tongue for a stud so you have a constant reminder of your new status and have to let you heal, we will use this.  It is a dentist’s mouth retainer.  After your tongue heals, we won’t use it.  If you ever bite anyone, we will knock out all the teeth we can reach with a hammer and pull the rest with a pair of pliers and pry out whatever broken stumps are left with a screwdriver.  Do you understand?”

       Defiant eyes did not see the hand that clenched into a fist and slammed into her belly, knocking her back, her toes lifting off

concrete, unable to breath.  “UMMMPH!”

       “I said, Do you understand?”

       Eyes no longer defiant.  Tear filled.  Head bobbed desperately.

       “Good.

       “My name, by the way, is Neptuno.  You already know Manny.  The others are Ibar, Jesus, and Little Joe.”  He moved close to the woman again, glanced down at her unpainted toe nails.  Stepped on them with a highly polished black shoe.  “You really have a lot to learn.  This won’t do.  Bright red so men can enjoy seeing them wave in the air around their ears.  Or yours.  And your fingernails wrapped around their cocks.  And lipstick for the same reason.”  He stepped back.   “Manny.  Jesus.”

       The two men bent and each grabbed a trim ankle.  Raised and pulled them apart into a split, while a third man rolled a cart from near the wall.  The woman tried to struggle, but had no leverage and, realizing that her efforts were futile, hung limply suspended by her wrists and their hold on her ankles.

       The woman had never seen a butt plug, but the shape was obvious.  This one was cold metal and had an electric wire running from it.  The third man tried to force it up her ass, pulled back, spit and shoved hard past resisting muscle, accompanied by a grunt of pain from the woman.  When a second plug had more easily gone into her cunt, her ankles were released and her toes again found concrete.  But only for a moment.  A button was pressed and the ceiling crane lifted her six inches into the air.

       “I am going to give you two jolts, with time to recover between them.   I’m told the pain is unendurable;  but you have no choice and must endure it.  You may lose consciousness.  You may piss and shit yourself.  I hope not, but we will hose you off if you do.  The lesson is that everyone can be broken and there is no point resisting.  If you try my patience too long, know that this is in store.”

       A finger pressed a button.  A naked body spasmed, legs flailed and bent unnaturally.  Flesh seemed to be trying to turn inside out.  “ARRGHH--”  ended in abrupt silence, broken only by the harsh breathing of five aroused men.

4

       The bed was enormous.  A barren desert.   A Sahara of white sheets rumpled like dunes stretching endlessly to the horizon.  Their bodies had seldom touched accidentally in sleep and even less frequently when awake; but there had been another body there.  Warmth.   Sounds of breathing.  Movement.  In ways comforting, even if ungiving.  And now that body was gone.         

       The grieving husband of a vanished wife--there were differing views as to whether she had left him or been killed or abducted--he could not be seen with other women.  Every night he lay fitfully alone, a part of his mind even while asleep aware of what she must be doing and experiencing.

       Panama is in the same time zone as the Eastern United States.  Midnight for him in that empty bed was midnight for her at Blanco y Negro.  Noon was noon. 

       Often during the day when he was in his office reading some legal document or in a boring meeting, he would think that she was probably sleeping, or in late afternoon waking to the reality that she would soon be spending another night in the loud, smoky club, another night swallowing come and piss, hands grabbing and twisting, flesh penetrated and plundered, another whore night to be followed by a few hours troubled sleep and another whore night and another without end.

       He hoped they made her sleep on the same semen stained mattress on which she worked.   He hoped they didn’t let her bathe before going to sleep.  That the smells of the men remained on her body.  Sweat--hers and theirs.  Come.  Piss.  Always there in her nose and mind while she tired to sleep, he hoped, as fitfully as he.

       He had taken some pictures of the club with his cell phone.

       In his empty bed he stared at them, at the women serving men in various ways and imagined--no, knew--that Mary was there at that very moment, doing those very things.  Perhaps on her knees with a stranger’s cock down her throat or up her ass.  Or filled with two or three.  And when they emptied in her, she would have to look for more.  He masturbated furiously and frequently.   Each time he woke.  Often three or four times a night. It was the only way to release the constant tension.

       He had not heard from Neptuno.  There was no reason he should have.  So all he had were his assumptions and imagination.  She could be dead, for all he knew.  Neptuno might have killed her,  He was certainly capable of it.  But Jeff didn’t think he had.

       He waited as long as he could, wanting to see her fully broken into her new life.  A month passed.  Six weeks.  Eight.  Finally he could wait no longer and had his personal assistant make a reservation for Panama.

       

5

       In a conference room high above Panama City, the meeting dragged.  The problems he dealt with were essential to his client’s business, but never very interesting, and this afternoon his mind wandered.

       He could see out over the Pacific Ocean and a few small islands scattered to the west.  North to the Canal.  The high span of the Bridge of the Americas, until recently the only bridge over the Canal, provided a reference point.  At that distance he could not distinguish the building housing Blanco y Negro, but he knew where it was.  Where she was.  So close.  And in a few hours...He willed the sun to speed up, to fast forward into the ocean.  For bright sky to turn black.

----------

       Beyond the stifling, humid night, he was sweating as he walked across the parking lot.  He wiped his wet palms on his trousers. 

       As before the door opened as he neared, and the same big man said, “Hello, señor.” 

       The same noises rushed out at him, and the room was the same as he stepped in.  And it wasn’t.

       His eyes darted uncontrollably around, seeking that first sight of her, wondering what she would be doing or having done to her.

       She was not there.  At least not on the illuminated side.  He peered toward the darkness, but could see nothing beyond the glowing ends of cigarettes and cigars.

       “Light or dark, señor?”

       “What?  Oh, light, I guess.”

       “Booth or table?”

       “Booth.”

       When he was seated on cracked red vinyl, he handed the bouncer a ten dollar bill and said, “Will you tell Neptuno that Jeff is here?  Jeff of Jeff and Mary.  Maria.”

       “Maria?”  The man stared at him appraisingly and laughed.  “So you are that man.  I will tell him.  Maria, I think, will be busy tonight.  Even more than…”  His last words were lost as he turned away.

       Across the heads of men sitting at tables and the naked  bodies of women walking past, a tiny Asian woman, not Japanese or Chinese, probably Thai or Philippine, he thought, with a slim, hard, small breasted, black nippled, smooth shaven body, glistening with sweat, was lasciviously licking a baseball bat on the raised stage.  From the imprint it was an authentic Louisville Slugger, more than half as long as she was tall. As he watched she took the knob at the narrow end into her pretty mouth and began to suck.

       “Hello, Jeff.  I was wondering when we would see you.”

       Neptuno was dressed as impeccably as ever.  Tonight in a white dinner jacket.  He slipped into the booth opposite Jeff Healy.

       “I trust you have been well.”

       “Ye..yes.”  Jeff heard his voice break, and although the last thing he wanted was small talk,  “And you.”

       The Panamanian laughed.  “Never better.  Partially thanks to you.  Maria is a huge success.  My biggest money maker.  Newness is part.  But also class.  In that, she is in a class by herself.”

       “You had no trouble with her, then?”

       Again he laughed.  “None I couldn’t handle.  She is not stupid.”

       Jeff could not wait.  “Where is she?”

       “You may not recognize her.  At first.  Many changes.  Permanent changes.”

       “Like what?”

       “You’ll see.  But not just yet.  And tonight you will have to wait.  We must keep the police happy in many ways, and Colonel Linares has taken a special interest in your wife--odd to think that she still is.  His people called.  When they do, I keep her for him first.”

       “How long?”

       White jacketed shoulders shrugged.  “It varies.  A few hours usually.  Sometimes all night--but rarely.   The other girls will keep you amused until Maria is free.  And you can watch.  Better though to do that from one of the tables.  The Colonel sits in the corner booth.  He is due soon.”

       The slim Panamanian stood, and Jeff slipped from the half circle booth cushion and followed him to a table at the end of the room, where one of the girls hastened toward his negligently raised finger.  A few low words, then Neptuno turned to Jeff.  “She will bring you whatever you want.  You see a girl, tell her you are my special friend.  She’ll understand.” 

       A momentary wave seemed to move across the crowded room as the entrance door opened and  a loud voice laughed.  “There is the Colonel.  I must greet him.  I’ll see you later.”

       The bar girl hovered.

       “Tequila and tonic,” said Jeff, eager to turn and see the man who would be soon be using his wife.

       “Yes, sir.”

       Whores and patrons moved aside as a five man procession made its way to the corner booth, four were in two-toned brown police uniforms, two ahead, two behind a coal black man of average height whose wide breadth made him seem shorter, wearing a black pin-striped double-breasted suit, a white shirt, a brightly patterned tie, gleaming black shoes, and a wide smile of equally gleaming white teeth.   A completely bald head glistened with beads of sweat and seemed to grow directly from thick shoulders.  The man had almost no neck.  Jowls rested on shirt collar.   As he walked, his body strained against the fabric of the well-cut suit.  Shoulders, thighs.  A solid rectangular slab.  Only when he slid into the booth, did noise and movement return to the room. 

       Not wanting to stare, Jeff glanced at the stage and saw that the Asian woman was now on her back fucking herself with the big end of the baseball bat.   Her cunt lips were stretched around wood.  He could hear Neptuno at the Colonel’s table.  The four uniformed men remained standing.  Two on either side. 

       A girl hurried over with a tray on which were four bottles of beer and a martini glass.  For a moment Jeff thought...then no, it wasn’t Mary.         She set the martini glass on the circular booth table for the Colonel and handed each of the uniformed men a beer.

       Jeff had not noticed the girl return with his drink, but found a glass on his table.  Taking a sip, he shifted his chair slightly, so he could see the corner booth without turning his head.

       “Of course I have saved her for you, Colonel.  She’ll be right out.  Enjoy yourself.”

       Thick lips opened wide to white teeth, purple gums and a tongue like a slice of liver.  The black man gave a big laugh.  He liked to laugh.  And why not?  Life was good.  “I always do.   Ah, there you are, my gringa slut.”

       “Hello, Colonel.”

       And there she was.  Close enough to touch.  Her back to him.  Jeff Healey knew that voice, but as Neptuno had said, at first glance he would not have known the woman.

       A mane of hair, several inches longer than he remembered, wilder and more crudely cut--no more $300 sessions at a salon--had been died silver.  Not blond or even platinum, but silver.  It fell to the middle of a bare back, obscuring something like the handle of a pitchfork tattooed on her skin.  The lower part of a sea-green backless halter top dress clung to her ass, transparent enough so that he could distinguish the crack between her cheeks.  It ended just below her crotch, exposing long, long bare legs.  Thin soled shoes, 5‘ stiletto heels, the uppers composed of narrow imitation lizard skin laces that crisscrossed her foot and halfway up her calfs.

       “Here, bitch,” the black man smiled and patted the cushion next to him.

       As she slid into the booth, her dress momentarily rose to her waist, and Jeff saw a yellow bruise on her ass, before she nonchalantly pushed it down.  Although her head was turned toward the Colonel, now that she was more or less facing him, Jeff saw that her throat was circled by a tattooed thick-linked chain.  Another tattoo  

a half inch wide of small intwined flowers ran around her fine left ankle.  The chain was black; the flowers blue and red. One giant gold hoop earring dangled from her right earlobe; two from her left.

       A thick black finger traced bright red lipsticked lips.

       “And how many cocks have been in your whore mouth tonight?”

       “None, Colonel.  You know that Neptuno keeps me for you.”

       The finger pushed between the lips, which obediently opened, then closed and sucked.  Before they did Jeff caught a brief glimpse of a silver barbell stud piercing her tongue.  He wondered what that will feel like against his cock? 

       “Then how many last night?”

       A now glistening wet finger withdrew so she could answer.

       “I don’t know.”

       Laughter from the Colonel, followed after a moment by that from the four body guards.

       “You don’t know how many cocks were in your mouth?  How can a woman not know that?  Even a slut like you?  Guess, then.”

       “How many were in my mouth or how many came?        More laughter.

       “Both.”

       “Thirty.  Maybe more.  Maybe half came.”

       “That’s a lot of come.  I’m surprised you don’t get fat.  But then we do exercise you.  Since you’re clean now..”  Broad fingers buried themselves in silver hair and pulled her face toward his.  Thick purple-black lips opened, finer red lips opened, tongues met in a long sloppy kiss, during which a strong, stub fingered black hand closed on a breast and squeezed.  Mary’s--no, Maria’s, Jeff realized.  Modest Mary, who closed the bathroom door and lowered the blinds whenever she undressed was gone.  Forever.  As he had intended and caused.  Maria’s body jerked with pain; but she could not free herself from the Colonel’s grip or lips, and through experience she knew that the quickest way to end pain was to accept it and be still, and she willed herself motionless.

       Black hand opened.  Black face pulled back.  Maria gasped for air.

       It had just started, but Jeff Healey’s cock was so hard it hurt.  He could feel fluid leaking from the tip.  He reached out and grabbed the wrist of the first woman who walked by.  Perhaps harder than he meant.  The tall Latina, wearing only a long skirt that rode low on her hips squealed.  “You don’t need to be so rough.”

       Jeff leered up at her full, firm breasts.  “That’s not for you to say, is it?  I’m a special friend of Neptuno.”

       The woman smiled nervously. 

       Jeff pulled her toward him.  Her breasts were at eye level.  He flattened them against his face, then pulled back, licked the large dark aureole of the right breast, took it in his mouth and bit.   A low moan came from the woman’s throat, but she did not pull away.

       When he opened his mouth and moved back, both looked at the indented teeth marks.  The woman grateful that there was no blood.

       Jeff took the nipple between his thumb and forefinger and used it to put her to her knees.  She did not need to be told to open his pants.  Wetness.  Warmth.  A licking tongue.  Suction.  Jeff threw back his head.  He was about to come, but didn’t want to yet.  He reached down and grabbed black hair, held the whore’s head still.  “Slower.”

       She obeyed.

       He had not noticed before that there was a mirror behind the bar in which he could see the corner booth.  A reflected Maria was now standing on the table, unsteady on those too high heels.  The Colonel was leaning back, staring at her legs.  Jeff sensed her presence just behind him.  So close that if he turned he could reach out and circle an ankle with his hand.  And yet he couldn’t.

       “I like your shoes,” said the Colonel.  “But I think they are too loose.  Wouldn’t want them to fall off when you get more active.”  He laughed, and his bodyguards dutifully followed suit.  “I’ll help you.”

       In the mirror, while the Latino continued her slow head-bobbing ministrations, Jeff watched the black man lean forward and untie the laces at the back of Maria’s left calf, then pull hard.  Narrow strips of imitation lizard skin cut into elegant foot and leg.  Colonel Linares pulled harder and the strips cut deeper.  “That’s better,” he grunted and tied the laces, before reaching for the other leg.  White skin bulged between criss-crossed diamonds.

       “Lose the dress.”

       Jeff Healey turned.  For this a reflection was not enough.

6

       As soon as the hem of the green dress rose, Jeff saw jewels.  A jewel of an ass.  A jewel in an ass.  Ruby red, faceted glass an inch in diameter between taut cheeks.  His eyes and imagination lingered on that ruby, until discarded green dress fell onto the table, slid off onto the concrete floor.

       The pale white naked back was dominated by a black tattoo of what at first glance looked to be a three-pronged pitchfork.  Each prong ended in a barbed point.  The center prong extended lower than the other two, an arrow ending just above and pointing to the crack of Maria’s ass.  Then Jeff got it:  three.  Not a pitchfork but a trident.  Neptune’s/Neptuno’s trident.

       “Turn around.”

       Now she was facing him.  Facing the room full of men and other whores, many of whom had turned to watch the gringa beauty’s degradation, even though they had seen it many times before.  The Colonel always put on a good show.  Her eyes were open, but unseeing.  The crowd of leering faces was white noise.

       “Stop!”  Jeff gasped and held the whore’s head motionless.  His wife was there.  Standing.  Naked.  Obedient.  Helpless.  Incredibly desirable.  It was too much.  He willed himself not to come yet in the hot mouth.

       “Good.  You are wearing my gift,” said the police colonel.  “Kneel.”

       As Maria knelt, her breasts swayed forward.  Jeff saw words tattooed across her abdomen, but not long enough to read.  He pulled the whore’s mouth off his cock.  She looked up at him questioningly.   Maria’s eyes closed as the Colonel’s hand reached toward her ass and pulled.

       “Amazing you stay so tight,” the man said.  And pulled harder.  His black hand finally raised, displaying a shining tapered gray metal plug, 8” long and 2” wide at its maximum.  She had been walking with that in her, Jeff thought.  Sitting on it uncomfortably.  “You seem to be clean.”

       “You know I am.”

       “Then taste.” 

       He held out the plug and she turned her head, flicked silver mane to one side, opened red lips and sucked the entire shaft in without gagging.  Not for the last time that night, Jeff was surprised at his wife’s new talents.  Never had she taken his cock entirely in her mouth.

       For a minute Colonel Linares fucked her face with the glistening plug, pulling it out until only the tip remained between red lips, then plunging it all the way back in.

       “No,” said Jeff to the Latina whore at his feet, who was lightly stroking his balls.  “Not even that.  Just wait.”  He glanced down.  The shadow of the table fell across the woman’s face.  She could be anyone.  She could be Mary.  But Maria was kneeling naked on a table just beyond his reach.  Skin so pale in that glaring light.  Nipples so dark.  Perhaps she never gets outside, Jeff thought, erroneously as he was to learn.  Muscles so defined.  Legs.  Ass.  Back.  Arms.  Like a dancer.  She was toned.  Fucking all night long will do that.

       Colonel Linares placed the metal plug carefully on the table, point up.

       “Climb on.  No.  Face me.”

       Maria turned and squatted. Hesitated.

       The Colonel laughed.  “In your cunt.”

       Hobbling forward on the too high stiletto heels, she lowered her hips.  Jeff watched the plug disappear until her naked ass blocked all but the jeweled end.

       “You’re wet.  You must be looking forward to my stretching your whore holes.”

       “Of course I am, Colonel.”

       “No, you’re not.  Tell the truth.”

       “You’re too big.  You hurt.”

       The black man laughed again.  Louder.  His four bodyguards laughed as well.

       “Good.  Good.  Then we should help prepare you.”  Stretching out his left hand without looking, he ordered, “Your beer.”   The nearest uniformed bodyguard hurriedly placed a bottle in the thick hand.

       “Lift up.”

       White hips rose.  Metal plug within them.

       “Higher.”

       The Colonel slid the half full beer bottle beneath her.  Held it steady.

       “Now lower.  This one in your ass.”

       Arcs of white flesh descended.  Twitched as they touched cold glass.  Opened like a mouth, swallowed, stretched.  Wider as the bottle thickened.  “I can’t.  I’ll rip.”

       “No you won’t.  Fuck it and be grateful I’m not drinking champagne.  And don’t stop until your ass reaches my hand.”

       The white ass rose.  Jeff could see the pink sphincter contract, then expand tight around glass on the slower downward stroke.  He reached down and grabbed the Latina’s breasts, squeezing hard, twisting, hearing her whimper, but not attempt to pull away.

       Mesmerized he watched the ass, his wife’s ass that she had refused him for years, sink a little lower, stretch a little farther with each descent.  In front of a room full of strangers.  There were other sounds.  Music.  Conversations.  Other women being used.  But they seemed distant.  He saw only that ass stretching more than he would have thought possible.   How full she must feel with the plug in her cunt and half a bottle up her ass.  She was almost there.  Almost to the widest part of the bottle.  Almost to the side of the black hand.  With a grunt, she forced herself down.

       “See.  I told you you would not tear.  You can come down from there now and sit beside me.”

       He held the bottle as Maria’s ass rose, made a popping sound, gaped wide--Jeff had a momentary glimpse far inside her where the Colonel would soon be--before she slid from the table top, turned and sat.

       “Head back.”

       She knew what was coming.  Vulnerable bare chain tattooed throat toward Jeff.  Mouth open.

       The Colonel upended the bottle.  She swallowed, but the beer came too quickly.  She choked.  Beer and foam bubbled over her chin, flowed onto her breasts and belly, puddled on the warehouse floor.  The neck of the bottle entered her mouth.  “Close.”  Her lips did.  Throat convulsing. “Suck it clean.  Not, I think, the last thing you will drink tonight.  Or suck clean.”  Another popping sound when he finally pulled the empty bottle from her lips.

       “You are an amusing whore.”  Without warning he pushed her.  She fell heavily onto the wet floor, landing on her back, the breath knocked out of her.  Sprawled.  Long bare legs apart.  Jeff’s eyes were caught by the red jewel in her shaved cunt.  Moved to the indelible words tattooed just above in black script.  “I hate you!  Fuck me harder!”

       “You know the drill.”  The colonel didn’t even look down at her as he took a sip of his martini.

       Slowly the silver haired woman rolled onto her knees, crawled to the black man’s feet and began to unlace his shoes.  Carefully she put them to one side, then rolled down black silk socks.  Crawled beneath the table, between his legs.  Unbuckled belt.  Unzipped zipper.  Waited until the Colonel raised his beefy hips. Pulled down pin-striped suit pants and red silk boxers, which she folded neatly, before reaching up and placing them on the cushion beside him.

       Jeff’s view was slightly off to one side.  Past his wife’s back and buttocks, most of the black man’s naked lower body could be seen.  The Colonel was all of a piece.  Every part thick and solid.  Feet.  Legs.  Thighs.  Cock.  The cock was erect.  Not exceptionally long.  Eight inches.  But wide.  Almost as wide as the bottom half of the beer bottle.  Of course it would stretch her.  It would hurt any woman.  Jeff wanted to watch her eyes as it entered her.  A moan.  He looked down to his whore’s anguished face.  He had forgotten her.  His fingernails were cutting into her flesh.  She gave a momentary sigh of relief when he released his grip, interrupted by his pulling her head to his groin.  “Suck slowly.”

       Turning back, he was looking at the cracks of his wife’s raised naked ass and cunt.  Her head was lower.  Her lips sucking, too, wrapped around the big toe of the Colonel’s right foot.  Moving on to the next black toe.  Taking each carefully in her mouth.  Another whore stepped over her, replaced the Colonel’s empty glass with a full one.  The only sign he was aware of Maria was when, after she had sucked on his little toe, he raised his foot from the dirty floor, so she could lick the sole.  Pink tongue against pink skin.

       One foot cleaned, then the other.

       Her lips and tongue worked their way up.  Calfs.  Knees.  Muscular thighs.  Balls.  Slowly.  Tasting the man fully.          

       The table top divided him.  Above, pin-striped suit jacket.  White shirt.  Tie.  A slightly bored business man, sipping a martini.  Below, a powerful naked ebony animal being serviced by a beautiful, unwilling, helpless white whore, whom her husband had put there.  That husband watched as her now smeared red lips opened, then closed around thick black flesh.

       Silver hair bobbed up and down.  A black hand pressed down and held.  All that flesh filling her mouth, Jeff thought.  Pushing into her throat.  Her lips stretched white.  Her body convulsed, gagged. She struggled, but couldn’t overcome the Colonel’s strong hand, until he decided        to let her breath, gasping, before pressing her head down again.

       The lights went out.

       What? Jeff thought, and then they came on in the other half of Blanco y Negro.  He had forgotten.  His wife was the merest vague pale shape.  He groaned with frustration.

       Only sounds.  Too many sounds.  Was that her gagging?  Colonel Linares breathing more heavily?  Glasses clinking.  Flesh slapping flesh.  Laughter.  Hard rock music.  Conversations.

       He glanced at the lighted side of the club.  Two women, one with bleached blond hair with dark roots, the other long black hair, both naked but for high heels, were dancing together, breast pressed to breast, mouths kissing, tongues dueling, putting on a show for a circle of men.  Other naked flesh at tables, in booths. 

       Beside him, in the direction of the Colonel’s booth, bodies moved.  Light and dark forms shifted, but he could not tell how.  Warm wetness continued to engulf his cock.  A tongue licked. 

       Mercifully, the lights came back on.

       Jeff jerked back.

       A thick dripping black cock was almost in his face.

       Maria was now lying on her back on the table, her head hanging over the edge.  Her upside down mouth open, fish-like, her tongue extended. 

       Colonel Linares backed onto it.  A white hand reached around and circled his cock, stroked as tongue licked.  Colonel Linares smiled.  Life was good.

       He stood there, letting the gringa whore lick his asshole for a while, before he bent his knees slightly and moved up and down, wiping his ass all over her face.

       When the Colonel turned, Jeff momentarily saw his wife’s face glistening with juices.  Massive black buttocks blocked it as the Colonel plunged his cock all the way into the inverted mouth.  Jeff watched black gluteus maximus bunch and flex as the Colonel slowly fucked Maria’s face, forcing her to taste every inch.

       “Enough.” 

       The Colonel pulled out, reached down, flipped Maria over onto her stomach, her feet falling to the concrete floor, and pulled her ass around until it was in front of him.  Still slightly to one side, Jeff saw her full breasts flatten against the table top.  Her face turned away from him.  He wanted to see her eyes.

       “Take those shoes off,” growled Colonel Linares.  “Your legs are too damn long.”

       Mary/Maria straightened, then bent.  With a sigh of relief, she untied the cutting laces, and stepped from the too high heels.  Turned and pressed her upper body onto the table agin.  Red criss-crossed grooves were etched into her calves and feet.  And this time, her face was toward him.

       “Reach back and spread it.”

       Jeff’s already rock hard cock hardened further as the wife he had turned into a whore assumed the obscene position without hesitation.

       The Colonel let her stay that way, displaying her asshole to the room, enjoying her humiliation--although, Jeff realized, perhaps she is already beyond humiliation--until, “Beg me for it.”

       “Please fuck me.”

       “Do you hate me?”

       “Yes...No...I don’t know.”

       “Let’s see if we can make up your mind.”

       Jeff clearly saw the thick black shaft move toward his wife’s tender anus.  Saw the tip touch, pierce, push puckered ring aside, enter.   Her fingers clenched the far side of the table top.  Jeff’s eyes darted to her eyes.  They were squeezed shut, then opened wide with pain as the shaft slowly, inexorably filled her. 

       Balls deep, the Colonel deliberately lowered the full weight of his massive upper body onto her, business suit jacket on naked back, crushing the breath from her, mashing her naked flesh against cigarette burned and knife scarred table top, forcing a groan of anguish from streaked lips.

       Black hips pulled back, then slammed his cock all the way in again.  A cry.  Green eyes closed.  Opened.  Filled with tears.

       “Do you hate me now?”

       “What answer do you want?”

       Black ass pulled back, slammed forward.

       “The honest one.”

       “Yes.”

       “Say it.”

       “I hate you.”

       “Good.  Good.  You should.”

       The Colonel raised his upper body, stood straight.  Grabbed the gringa whore’s ass with both hands and began to fuck in and out with a deliberate rhythm, white shirt tail flapping against his own ass.

       “Reach back and finger your clit.  I want you to make yourself come while my cock is up your ass.  Don’t try to fake it.  I want to feel that sphincter spasm.”

       Her breath increased to match his pounding rhythm and her stroking fingers.

       Green eyes closed.  Red smeared mouth opened.  Gasping.  From pleasure and pain.  Jeff had never really thought about what the men must make her feel.

       “Now!”  commanded the Colonel.

       “AgggGGHH!!”  Came from three throats.

       Naked white body spasmed and twitched.

       Half naked black body, head back, remained motionless, as deep up white ass it spewed.

       Jeff’s head flew back as he shot spurt after spurt, overflowing the Latina’s mouth.

       Colonel Linares was first to move.  Shuffling his flat feet back, he slowly withdrew from the white ass.  Maria remained bent over the table, crushed, exhausted.  And the long night had just begun.  Her asshole was still stretched into a big, gaping ‘O’, from which a rivulet of come began to seep.

       Colonel Linares sat down and slid around the booth cushion.

       “You can fuck her now,” he told his bodyguards.  “But take her out to the alley.  Have her piss on herself.  Pile-driver position.  Then you fuck her.  Ass or cunt, I don’t care.  But have her hold it inside until you bring her back here.”

       One of the guards, a big brown skinned man with a pockmarked face, asked hesitantly, “Pile-driver?”

       “Stand her on her head, hold her legs apart.  Cunt above face so she pisses into her own mouth.  Then bend her legs and fuck her that way.  Both holes are accessible.”

       A calloused hand circled delicate wrist and pulled the American woman upright.  Maria groaned.  Straightened, walked awkwardly.

       Jeff watched her naked back, the rhythmic rotation of her ass, as she and the four uniformed men made their way across the crowded floor until they vanished into the dark side of the room.

       A movement caused his eyes to look down at the whore between his knees.  Come coated her lips and chin.  Her eyes were questioning.

       “That’s all.  You can go.”

       She got to her feet slowly.  Legs numb.  Limped away.

       Jeff took a sip of his drink.  He had forgotten what he was drinking.  Tequila and tonic.  Now flat.  He glanced around, caught the eye of a woman by the bar and held up his glass.  She nodded and turned to the bartender.  Behind him he heard the Colonel say, “You.  Clean my cock and dress me.”

       Reflected in the mirror behind the bar, he saw a small black girl, wearing only a g-string and clear plastic high heels with inch-thick soles, disappear under the Colonel’s table.  He watched her head in the Colonel’s lap, and then a small black hand reach for neatly folded clothes.

       Their drinks came at the same time:  a new martini for the Colonel; a new tequila and tonic for Jeff.  Their eyes met.  The Colonel raised his glass.  Jeff raised his.

       “You are from the U.S.A.?”

       “Yes.”

       “Here on business?”

       “I’m an attorney.  One of my client’s is working on the canal expansion.”

       The Colonel nodded.

       “So you are here often?”

       “Every other month.”

       “It is a good project.  Good for the country.  Good for me.”  And the smiling Colonel smiled.

       Jeff did too.

       “Have you been to this place before?”

       “Twice.”

       “Then you know.”  He paused to sip his drink.  “You should fuck the whore I just used.  After she gets cleaned up, of course.”  The laughing Colonel laughed.  “She is one of yours.  A country woman.  Beautiful.  As enthusiastic as you want her to be.  I stretch her some; but she is still tight.”  He paused and raised his right foot so the girl beneath the table could pull on his silk sock.  “None of them,” he encompassed all the women in the room with a gesture of his right hand, “want to be here; but they can leave when their shift is over.  They can hope that in time they will pay their debts or serve their time and be free.  She, Maria, is here forever.  Did you notice that she wears a wedding ring?  Her own husband did this to her.”  He shook his head in disbelief.  “I can’t see how a man could get rid of such a good fuck.  But then maybe she didn’t fuck him so good.”  His eyes brightened.  “You saw what I had tattooed on her belly?” 

       Jeff nodded.

       “She really does hate it.  Hates all of us.  Every man who uses her.  There is no greater pleasure than making a woman who hates you come.  To make her own body betray her.  To force her pleasure she does not want.  To feel her helplessly spasm against your cock in her ass.  Nothing like it.  The power.  Really, you should try her.”

       “I will.”

       “They were quick,” said the Colonel.  “Turned on by watching me use her, knowing that I would probably let them fuck her after.   Like dogs.”

       Jeff turned and saw his wife duckwalking in front of the bodyguards, one hand over her cunt, the other behind her covering her asshole.  Soaked silver hair hung down in wet strands.  Drops of what he knew was her own piss on her face and shoulders.  As he watched one drop fell from a brown nipple.

       “Climb up here.”  The colonel pointed at the table top.

       Awkwardly, hands still in place, one of the bodyguards assisting her, Mary did, squatted, facing the Colonel, her trident covered back toward Jeff.

       The Colonel smiled.  “Not so beautiful now, are you?  Answer me!”

       “No.”

       “A piss stinking mess.”

       “Yes.”

       “Not, I think, the last you will drink tonight.”

       “No.”

       “Squeeze it out:  the come.”

       Hands moved.  Jeff could see her raw abused still gaping ass hole.   A thick viscous glob emerged and plopped onto the table top.  Other globs fell from her cunt.  Four loads from aroused men who had been watching and waiting.  Two puddles on the table top grew until they merged into one.

       “What do you think I want you to do now?”

       Jeff watched the naked back, followed the indentation of her spine, the center prong of the trident to the crack of the perfect ass, soles of bare feet balanced on bent toes, until answering by action rather than words, the body moved, went to its knees, shifted to one side, lowered its face, opened it’s mouth, extended it’s tongue and licked and sucked up the lake of come.

       “You are a good slut,” complimented the Colonel.  “Found your true calling.  Go now and shower your disgusting body.”  A grimace of pain flashed across her face as he took the butt plug which had fallen onto the seat cushion and in one motion shoved it up her ass.  “But don’t forget your jewelry.” 

       Sliding off the table, with bowed head she walked away.

       The Colonel’s eyes met Jeff’s again.  Jeff raised his glass in salute.

       Colonel Linares smiled.

----------

       “You can have her now,” said the immaculate Neptuno.

       Jeff had moved to the booth vacated by the departed police colonel.  The cracked red vinyl was still warm.

       “Not yet.  I want to watch her work.”

       A nod of the head.  A bemused smile.  A turn on the ball of a shining black shoe and Neptuno was gone.

       A few minutes later, Jeff saw her return to the floor.  Silver hair rinsed clean of her own piss hung straight to just below her shoulders.  Big gold hoop earrings, as before, one in one ear, two in the other.  But different shoes.  Red backless, toeless, high heeled sandals.  He had bought her a similar pair once, in black, but she had seldom worn them, claiming they were too “slutty.”  No longer.  Now the shoes fit.  A pasted on phony whore smile.  He liked that she not only had to endure whatever men wanted to do to her, but seem to enjoy it.  And nothing else.  Shoes.  Earrings.  Smile.   Otherwise she was naked.

       She took only three steps before a laborer in dirt streaked overalls and a grubby t-shirt grabbed her and pulled her onto his lap.  Or as much onto his lap as he could beyond a gut so round and hard that he looked pregnant.  Open mouthed he pressed his face to hers.  Gaps between blackened teeth.  Tobacco stained tongue probing between fresh lipstick.  Jeff imagined the breath she was breathing; the taste.  Hairy left hand, dirty fingernails, pushed between white thighs, which obediently opened, as the kiss continued.  Entered.  Flicked. 

       The fat man broke the kiss, pulled his head back and watched the beautiful green-eyed face, waiting for a response to his fucking fingers.  And when it came, when her mouth opened and her eyes closed, he moved his fingers faster.  Then, without warning, he spread his knees and let her fall unceremoniously, gasping, onto the floor.

       He reached around beach ball belly and felt for the zipper he could not see.  A comparatively small cock emerged.  Still breathing heavily from almost orgasming, Maria rolled onto her knees and sucked him in.

       Jeff watched her bobbing head, swaying breasts.  Saw one fine boned hand circle the shaft, the other cup and stroke balls.  Saw her pull off the cock, lick up and down, move her tongue to the balls, suck them in, one at a time, then both together, the entire scrotum, while one hand continued to pump cock.  Move back up, take the cock entirely in her mouth again.  Saw cheeks hollow as she sucked.  Marveled at how she sought to please.  Realized that she had learned that was the way of least resistance and pain.  Saw hairy hands entwined in silver hair, forcing her face into no doubt smelly groin, as balls emptied.  Saw throat swallow.  What had she told the colonel:  fifteen or twenty loads last night?  How much come would that be?  Coffee cups?  Glasses?  Bowls full?

       He own cock was painfully hard again.

       A tall girl with short blond hair, small nippled high firm breasts, wearing only a multicolored mini-skirt, slung low on her hips, far below a deep naval in a smooth flat abdomen, was passing.

       “Here,” Jeff said.

       She turned and he watched the whore smile instantly slide into place as she slid into the booth beside him.

       Jeff reached out and took her left nipple between his fingers, relishing the freedom to do anything he wanted to to her, to any of the women in the room, to his wife.  The fake smile remained unchanged as his finger rolled, squeezed hard enough to hurt, released.

       “What’s your name?  Or what do they call you here?”        

       “Nikki.”

       “You’re obviously not Panamanian.”

       She eyed him suspiciously.  Then, what did it matter?  If he wanted to talk at least he wasn’t hurting her.

       “Norwegian.”

       “And how did you make this career choice?”

       “I didn’t.  I was working on a cruise ship.  Activities director.  We had a night in port after passing through the canal.  I went to a club.  There was a raid.  The police found some Ecstasy in my purse.  I was tried the next day and sentenced to five years.  But then I was taken into the judge’s chambers and given a choice:  a blow job for him and a year working here instead.”  Lovely shoulders shrugged.  “In jail the guards and dykes would have used me harder and longer.”

       “How many more months?”

       A broken smile.  “Seven.  If they really let me go then.  Some of the girls say they won’t.”

       “You want a drink?”

       “Sure.  It helps.  Just gesture toward the bar. They know.  And you?  Here on business?”

       “Business and pleasure.”  Jeff’s eyes scanned the room until he found Mary/Maria, sitting on a cracked marble topped table, facing an old man in brown slacks and lavender silk shirt.  Her knees were apart, one red sandaled high-arched foot on either side of him, while she masturbated, one red finger nailed hand caressing her breasts, the other her clit almost at his eye level.  “And to see an old friend.  Lose the skirt.”  He heard himself mimicking the Colonel.

       A single clasp and the skirt fell open, revealing long elegant legs and a shaved pussy.  Skin a honey hue, no lines.

       “Where do you get your tan?”

       Breasts moved when she shrugged her shoulders.

       “I’m here only every other night.  It takes time to recover.  Only Maria--the one with silver hair”--and she gestured with her head toward where his wife was now sitting stride the old man, naked legs outside his, naked arms around his back, nipples brushing lavender silk, as she rode up and down, “works every night.  I don’t see how she does it.  But then she doesn’t have a choice. 

       “I live in the judge’s guest house.  He’s divorced and likes to see me lying around the swimming pool.  Thus the tan.”

       “I assume he avails himself of the facilities,” nodding toward her body.

       “Yes.  But that’s easy:  one man a day.  Not a roomful all night.”

       “Climb up on the table, facing me.  Spread your knees and play with yourself.”

       He watched her assume the position Mary had been in before the old man.  Long legs open, feet in black high heels on either side of him.  “Spread your lips.”

       Coral nail polished fingers obeyed, revealing coral inner flesh, and a deposit of gooey come.

       “How many men have you fucked so far tonight.”

       Her smooth forehead wrinkled as she tried to remember. 

       “I’m not sure.  Eight.  Nine.”

       Not even to know how cocks had penetrated her.  Just as Mary had not known how many she had sucked off last night.  Perfect.

       “Do you ever come?”

       “Sometimes.  Not often.  Though I usually fake it.  Most of them want that.”

       Jeff’s eyes moved beyond the lovely young Norwegian to where Maria was still riding.  He unzipped his pants.  “Come down here.  Onto my lap.”

       “Which hole?” she asked.

       “Your cunt.  For now.”

----------

       Jeff didn’t come in Nikki then.  He wanted to save it.  Just let her slowly ride him as Maria was riding the old man.  He ran his hands over her slim, tight body, enjoyed the feel of her nipples brushing his palms, the flexing muscles in her ass, until across the room the old man’s wrinkled face compressed, mouth opened, taloned fingers dug into Maria’s ass.

       When the black trousered legs stopped thrashing, Jeff watched Maria untwine herself, kneel and carefully lick the shriveled cock clean before gently tucking it in and zipping.  Liver-spotted hand patted her on the head.  Good dog.

       Standing, she turned and again took only a few steps before another hand reached out and grabbed her, spun her against the wall, her hands high and spread, the man kicked her feet apart into the classic police search position, unzipped his pants, shoved his cock up her ass, grabbed her hips and fucked fast and hard, while other men lined up.

       “Turn around,” said Jeff.  “I want it in your ass now.”

       The beautiful Nikki obeyed, reaching back to guide him in as she lowered.  His cock caught for a moment at the entrance.  She forced her flesh all the way down.  Cheeks against fabric. Tight.  Hot.  Before lifting, then falling, lifting and falling.

       Apparently the man fucking Maria came.  When he stepped back, she stood there panting, palms still against the wall, face covered by silver hair, head lowered in helpless resignation as she waited for the next.

       Five men fucked her, all in the ass as far as Jeff could tell, wresting animal cries from her.  Grunts.  Gasps.  Moans.  Whimpers.  A calloused brown hand grabbed silver hair, pulled her head back, changing her mindless chant, “Oh, God.  Oh, God.  Oh, God,”  on each inward thrust into, “I’m yours.  I’m yours.  I’m yours.” 

       Streaks of come ran from gaping hole down both thighs, before she realized there were no more, pushed herself from the wall, turned and was lassoed by a short, wiry Latino, wearing oil stained jeans and work shirt.  A truck driver or a mechanic. 

       Jeff had noticed that while standing watching her being serially butt-fucked, the small man had removed his wide leather belt and looped the end through the buckle.  Jeff almost came in Nikki’s ass at the thought of the man beating his wife.  But now he saw the man drop the loop over Maria’s head and draw it tight around her throat.

       “Stop,” he told Nikki and held her ass motionless with his full cock buried inside.

       The man stared up at the taller woman’s face with an evil grin, snarled something, then led her like a haltered animal across the smoky room.  Jeff again watched enslaved naked back, rolling ass disappear.  No one else had taken her from the floor.  What, he wondered, did the man want to do to her that required privacy.

       He lifted Nikki’s ass from his lap.

       “Not yet.”  His breath was ragged.  “Drink your drink.”

       When after fifteen minutes Maria returned, she was crying, though Jeff could not see any new marks on her body.

       Her tears excited a trio of Chinese businessmen sitting in the next booth, all dressed identically in gray suits, white shirts, black shoes.  Only their neckties differed.  One solid.  One a paisley pattern.  One stripped.  And one wore tortoise shell eyeglasses.  That one stood and was seen by one of the bouncers.  He gestured toward Maria. The bouncer nodded and took her away from a black man who had just claimed her, pointing across the room toward the Japanese.

       To reach them, she walked right past Jeff, but didn’t see him through eyes glazed with tears, exhaustion, alcohol.

       “Kneel,” ordered tortoise shell.

       Yellow hands took her head, one on each side and turned it toward him, studied the beautiful face.  Chinese tongue extended and licked salt tears.

       “Put your hands behind your back and stick out your tits.”

       Maria did.

       Black eyes narrowed with satisfaction.  A blurred yellow hand swung from right to left, slapping her left breast, then the right on the back swing.

       “Ohh.  Please.  Don’t.”

       Again, this time cracking against her face, spinning her head back and forth, leaving bright red marks.

       “You don’t tell me what to do.”

       The tears he sought flowed as he slapped breasts again.  “Do you?”

       “N..no.”

       In the next booth, Jeff’s fingers were white-knuckled around his glass.

       “Stand up, pig.  Turn around.  Face the room.  Let everyone watch you come.”

       When Mary/Maria had stood and turned, he got to his feet behind her, circled her body with one arm just below her breasts, forcing them upward.

       One of the other Chinese stood and undressed completely.  This was unusual.  Most of the men in the club remained mostly clothed, only taking out their cocks or lowering their pants; while most of the women were mostly naked, and looked even more so by contrast.

       This man was trim and shorter than tortoise shell, whose black haired head was even with Maria’s.  His cock was already hard and seeping. 

       Without instruction from the one who seemed the boss, he sat down in front of Maria, looked up at her exposed cunt, reached up with one hand and spread lips, inserted the fingers of the other.  Pulled them out glistening.  Pushed them in farther.  Shoes long lost, Maria grunted, arched up on bare red painted toes, held firmly by the arm around her chest.

       “Aggahumph!”  As the yellow hand vanished inside, bruised labia closing on hairy wrist.

       She remained balanced on her toes.  Juices ran down the Chinese forearm as the fist fucked.  In and out of clinging labia.  Sometimes twisting, causing green eyes to open wide.

       “Come for us slut.  Come for us!”  Demanded tortoise shell.

       Ragged breathing.  Her legs trembling.  Knees bending, unable to support her.  Jeff was afraid he was going to come in his pants.

       A yellow hand moved to her tattooed throat, grasped, tightened.

       “Do it,” she croaked.  “Do it! Kill me!  Kill me!”  And, shuddering on the edge of unconsciousness, came.        

       

       The night began to blur.

       The drinks kept coming and so did the men.  And Maria, too, at least twice more that Jeff observed.

       When the Chinese men had finally finished with her, she made her way, limping, to the raised platform stage, where a fully dressed Panamanian man was lying on his back. 

       Maria stepped over his head and lowered her leaking cunt and asshole onto his face.

       “What the hell is that all about?” Jeff asked Nikki.

       “He owes Neptuno money and pissed him off with lame excuses for not paying.  Now he cleans Maria on stage every night until he pays in full.”

       “Only her?”

       Nikki nodded.  “And if he doesn’t make her come, or at least a good fake, they both get whipped.”

       Maria shifted from squatting to kneeling.  Grimy upturned soles of bare feet.  Her hips rocked slowly back and forth over the Panamanian’s hidden face and tongue.  Her hands moved to her breasts, cupped, squeezed.  Head fell back.  Exposed bruised throat still bearing marks of Chinese fingers.  Face twisted into a rictus of hatred.  Not just for the man slavishly licking her.  But for them all, as the tattoo said.  For herself.  For her hopeless life.  “Suck it all out, you shit.  Swallow other men’s scum.  Lick.  Oh, God.  Shit god. Ohhh!”  Her body fell forward.  Silver haired head on the platform, as the crowd laughed and applauded.

       Some time later--Jeff glanced at his watch but the hands didn’t register--another man, a young blond American from his accent, made her come again on a bet from a group of friends.

       The blond man was strong and cocky in both senses, pulling a tube of flesh from his jeans almost as thick as Colonel Linares and longer. 

       He fucked Maria on her back on a table, her feet flat on the edge, knees parted.  Despite her inevitable soreness, his pounding force and fat shaft were not to be denied.  And finally her body arched up to meet his, bowed, supported only by the balls of her feet and her shoulders.

       It must become torture, Jeff thought with satisfaction:  the constant sex, like being hooked up to a fucking machine for hours, nerves in mouth and cunt and breasts and ass stimulated far beyond pleasure into pain.

       The crowd had changed.  Men came and went.  Only Jeff and one or two of the others who had arrived early were still present.  And the whores had changed.  Not different women, but they were now mostly glassy eyed with exhaustion and alcohol.

       “Our drinks aren’t watered,” Nikki told him.  “Neptuno knows that the early crowd wants us to feel what they do to us; but those who come late want us in a drunken stupor.  It gets rough toward dawn.”

       Nikki was kneeling, her head pressed against the red vinyl cushion while Jeff slowly fucked her ass and watched Maria sprawled, legs splayed, at a table halfway across the room  One bare foot was on the table, the other on the floor.  The man in the chair beside her, with heavily tattooed arms and the thick body of a laborer, was shoving three or four fingers into her cunt, then her mouth, up her ass, then to her mouth.  Alternating.  And from time to time upending a bottle of tequila into her mouth as well.

       While making his way across the floor, one of the bouncers stopped behind Maria and, disregarding the other man, took out his cock and turned her head. 

       Without even looking to see who it was, Maria opened her mouth.

       The big man shoved all the way in.  Made four deep strokes.  Only four.  Held her head steady on the fourth.  Jeff could see her throat swallowing. 

       When he was finished, the man pushed the whore’s head away, zipped up and continued across the room.

       Her acceptance.  The utter banality of the way her mouth was offered and used.  Pushed Jeff over the edge and he came in Nikki’s lovely ass.

       Jeff was tired.  Then what must she be feeling?

       He needed to take a piss, and the thought hit him.

       Neptuno was standing by the bar.

       Unsteadily Jeff stood and made his way there.

       “Will yo...you put her in that cylinder?”

       “I thought you’d want to fuck her?”

       “So did I; but I don’t.  Not now anyway.”

       “All right.”

       Jeff saw her face drop when the bouncer, who had so prosaically come in her mouth, took her elbow and spoke to her.

       At a distance he followed them to the back of the club, to the corner with the stench of an unwashed urinal.  A drenched plump black girl was pleased to be unexpectedly replaced.

       Deep shadows in the crack of Maria’s ass as she stepped into the cylinder, the clear door closed behind her, and she went to her knees in two inches of urine.

       She did not kneel long before the first cock appeared.  She opened her mouth.  A yellow stream arced out and hit its target.  She knew to swallow.  At least as much as she could.  Jeff saw the stream move up toward her eyes, which she quickly squeezed closed.  Slowly down.  Nose.  Mouth.  Chin.  Breasts.  Trickle to a stop.

       Maria leaned forward.  Licked the last drops from the tip.

       

       Jeff stood to one side and watched while a succession of men pissed on his wife or had her suck them off.  Or both. 

       The pool in which she was kneeling was at least an inch deeper.  Hair hung down sopping.  Body glistened.  Hard belly swelling.  A tube within a tube:  piss entering at one end; herself pissing at the other.

       He made his way to one of the openings in the cylinder and took out his cock, stuck it through, almost instantly felt warm obedient mouth enclose.  Felt studded tongue.  That was different.  Felt suction.  Smiled with satisfaction at whore mouth, his wife’s whore mouth, finally trying to please him. 

       Making her work hard for it, he stood pressed against the plastic, looking down at the top of her head, her shoulders, the upper slopes of her breasts, the half moons of her ass.

       When he finally let go, he felt her hold his cock in her mouth and swallow all his come as she hadn’t for years.  If you had, bitch, he thought, you wouldn’t be swallowing twenty loads a night now.  Not to mention gallons of piss.  I’ll bet you wish you had a second chance.

       “No,” he said when he felt her mouth start to pull away.  She understood and warmth remained.

       It always took him a while to piss after he came, internal valves shifting.

       One small trickle.  A pause before the full stream.

       Jeff Healy watched his beautiful unknowing wife swallow.  And swallow.  Some trickled between enclosing lips, but most went into her belly.

       Bladder empty, he withdrew from mouth and cylinder.  Zipped.          “Goodbye, Mary.”  Turned.

       Though veils of exhaustion and tequila, battered flesh, abused nerve endings, the words somehow reached.

       “Jeff?”  Tentatively.  Then a scream.  “JEFF?”

       Jeff Healy smiled as he stumbled away.

----------

Author’s Note

       This is as far as I plan to take this story, for now and probably forever; so you can provide your own ending.  I can imagine several, perhaps preferring the one in which Mary eventually convinces Jeff to take her back; but Neptuno refuses to free her, finding pleasure in the knowledge that her nightly abuse now tortures both Healys.         ‘Blanco y Negro’ was originally intended only as a brief interlude while I decided how to proceed with ‘meat’, several unrelated and unexpected events prevented me from working on it this year, and I apologize for taking so long.  Had I known how little time I would have, I would not have started.

       My thanks to those of you who have reviewed my stories and/or emailed your appreciation.

       I will complete ‘meat’ when I can, but I have no idea when that will be.

        

       Until then…

       

               WLT