Rancho Paloma Blanca

The French doors onto the balcony had been left open through the mild summer night. A morning breeze carrying the mixed scents of bougainvillea and frangipani wafted in and brought me up out of the musk of my huge bed. Beside me the naked, black-haired beauty still slumbered. I touched a pair of inconspicuous switches and a split screen image of the two occupied cells flickered onto a large plasma screen in the wall. They were both awake. Cowcunt was making slow inspection of her cell. Obviously some faint hope of escape still remained in her head. I sighed, seeing that she would require remedial programming before she would be fully trainable. Baby Pussy on the other hand was merely curled in a fetal position staring at her cell door. Seeing nothing requiring my immediate attention I shut off the TV. I slid my feet into a pair of huraches, donned a thick terry robe and went out onto the balcony for some deep breathing.

For the most part the coastal plains and lowland jungles of Guatemala are hot, humid, bug-infested hells. I had chosen the highlands of the Sierra de los Cuchumatanes for a much pleasanter climate. Rancho Paloma Blanca was nestled in a mountain defile outside the picturesque little city of Huehuetenango. I had found this remote and beautiful geographic non-entity to be the perfect redoubt from which to launch my endeavors. A discriminate distribution of U.S. dollars had assured me not only immunity from inquiry but had also gained me a social entrée to the local elite. As an economic necessity almost all of the landed gentry were involved in agricultural pursuits of a questionable nature. There were large poppy crops in the area for instance. Guatemala was well known as a primary staging area for the U.S. bound drug traffic through Mexico.

The woman in my bed, Amparo de Recalde, was the daughter of one of these Hacendados. Ordinarily, any indiscretion with a female from one of these families would have constituted a grave insult. Her two bloodthirsty brothers could easily have trussed me up and presented me to the father for castration. Amparo, however, was even wilder than her brothers were. She had the males in her family wrapped tightly around her little finger and anything she wanted they gave her. If the gringo at Paloma Blanca made her happy, then so be it.

It may have been my initial feigned indifference that drew her to me. Last night I had watched a woman, who had been catered to by servants her entire life, wait on me as if she were a lowly peasant. She had padded, barefoot, about my kitchen cooking and had then hand fed me the delicious results of her efforts. It was obvious that despite her wildness and a streak of cruelty I had occasionally observed she craved a figure of authority. I'd begun to wonder if this woman might not be the perfect mate. I wondered if she might even prove able to take over the training program. Such a development would free up an enormous amount of my time. I filed the thought away for further consideration.

I strolled back to the bed and gazed down at Amparo as she slept. She had thrown aside the sheet and rolled onto her back with arms and legs asprawl. Her lips hinted at a smile. Her creamy complexion had the olive tint of Spanish blood as opposed to the brown of the local Ladinos. There was a long lean look to her in spite of a fullness of breast and thigh. Her tan nipples had awakened ahead of her in response to the slight breeze. In the European fashion she retained the tufts of hair at her underarms and a luxuriant pelt of crotch hair. It was the same jet black as her mane and of the same silken texture. It spread up from her mons to just below the rounded hipbones and a fine trail of it climbed to the deep navel of a flat belly. A splendid creature, even in sleep. Awake, she often put me in mind of a spirited Andalusian mare I had once owned. I reached down and playfully tweaked her nipples.

" Mirada, el sonolienta se levanta!

" Ahhh si, mi hombre querido." she sleepily replied.

I leaned down and burrowed my nose in her sex. I inhaled the leftover aroma of our stale spendings. It was at once faintly disgusting and strangely arousing. Once I had her giggling, I arose and tossed a matching white terry robe at her.

" Come on! Up you lazy putana. I am having the houseboy bring food. I'll be on the

balcony."

We breakfasted on melons and plantains. Enjoying the mountain vista in silence. It was a tireless feast for the eyes. As much as I would have enjoyed a lazy day with her, I knew there was work to be done. She pouted so prettily when told her I must send her packing for the day that I agreed to take her out dancing that evening. I thought again that it would be much more convenient if she were complicit in my activities. This juggling of our time together was bound to become tiresome. Perhaps I would arrange a little test of her proclivities in this area. I waited until I heard the roar of her BMW leaving and then sent for Carlos.

Soon we were bouncing our way around the rancho in the Land Rover. The stock all looked sleek and well cared for as opposed to the scrawny, tick-laden beasts that wandered much of the countryside. The barn was layered with fresh shavings and my two prize bulls glistened in their stalls. All was in order in the stables as well. The tack was polished and buffed and my Brogini riding boots stood shining with a high gloss. I was well satisfied with my tour and complimented Carlos.

"Pozo hecho muy estoy satisfecho."

"Gracias, Jefe."

I had him line the men up in the compound so I could hand them their wages personally. It reinforced their fealty to me as 'El Patron'. I paid them in cash with quetzals. Each in turn thanked me obsequiously for money he had sweated for anyway and backed away. It was so feudal! I loved it. I had long felt that I had been born into the wrong century. As a final gesture of munificence, I had Carlos pull out a case of El Presidente brandy. They had earned a party.

"Las bebidas estan mi! Usted ha Ganado un partido!" I shouted.

They gave me the three cheers for the boss routine and by the time we drove out they had broken out the guitars. I could not help but laugh; they were such children. I had Carlos drop me at the hanger and then ordered him to get back to the party before his share of the brandy disappeared. He gave me a tobacco stained grin and parted his shirt to reveal a bottle he had already commandeered.

I went to Baby Pussy's cell first and I found her sitting up now. She watched me warily as walked over and sat beside her. She cringed but remained silent as I ran my hand possessively down her bare back.

"How are your little tootsies today, Baby Pussy?"

"My name is Erica." She replied sulkily.

"Not any more. I didn't like that name. From now on you are Baby Pussy."

"I am not. Where is my mother?"

Instead of answering I reached out and took hold of her ankle and twisted her around to where I could run my finger along the arch of her foot. I made a little clucking sound of disappointment.

" Baby Pussy has a very short memory. I guess these will need another taste of the whip, won't they?"

"No! Please! I'm sorry. Really, you can call me that if you want."

"That is much better, Baby Pussy. Now sit back up for me. Closer… so I can put my arm around you."

I reached over her shoulder and captured her right nipple. I could feel the tension radiating from her. I patiently explained the two rules she had to follow. I assured her that the amount of pain in store for her was hers to regulate. I informed her that her mother's new name was Cowcunt and I vividly described her ordeal of the previous day. I told that her mother was very stupid and had invited all that pain with her disobedience.

"Now, Baby Pussy….are you going to remember the two rules?"

"Yes." She whispered.

I mashed her nipple viciously and she squealed in agony.

"Yes Sir." I corrected her.

"Yes Sir." She sobbed back at me.

"What's your name now?"

"Baby Pussy, Sir."

I released her nipple and stood up. I dropped one of the self- locking collars I had brought with me into her lap.

"Put this around your neck and close it. Good. Now we are going for a little walk. At least I will be walking but I want you to crawl on your hands and knees. That's a good Baby Pussy. Now just follow me."

I led her back out to the classroom, as I liked to think of it. I had her lay on her back and then stooped and attached a pair of ankle cuffs and a spreader bar with a centered eyebolt. She was about to be startled and I was not in the mood for any noise so I added a ball gag. I clipped the moused hook from the hoist to the eyebolt. I picked up the gameboy and a wide-eyed Baby Pussy slowly rose until her long blond hair just cleared the floor.

As she slowly twisted before me I appraised the spectacle I had created for Cowcunt's benefit with a critical eye. Something was missing. I decided that a touch of the absurd was what was lacking. I went to the fridge and pondered what was available. There was a bottle of ketchup. A curled hunk of Chorizo. No, both were too extreme. I finally settled on a lovely looking banana and bottle of olive oil.

"Now, Baby Pussy, if you will just try and relax your little rectum this will be relatively painless."

I poured a generous dollop of oil into the crack of her ass and pushed some into her anus. As I prodded her virgin asshole it became apparent that she was not heeding my advice. Her clenched sphincter was as taut as a snapring. I gave the banana a liberal coating of oil and slowly but surely forced it into her to the accompaniment her muffled groans and some upside down twitching. I left a good length of bright yellow provocatively protruding. It was quite ornamental! As final, enlivening touch I added a pair of nipple clamps hung with merry sounding little bells.

I took down the buggy whip. It was time to fetch Cowcunt. Upon unlocking her door I found her sitting in a corner on the floor with her head in her hands. Apparently her careful inspection of the cell had dampened whatever glimmer of hope she had held on to.

"Good morning, Cowcunt!" I called out cheerily.

A beaten look of resignation was all I received in return. I was sure her responses would be more enthusiastic by day's end.

" My God, something stinks in here!" I exclaimed, "Is it you, you filthy, female beast?"

"Yes Sir. It must be me, Sir," she miserably agreed, taking her cue.

"Then we had best find a hose post-haste and give our nostrils some relief"

I tossed the other collar at her and let her fasten it around her neck. Using the whip to tickle her along, I herded her on all fours to the classroom. As intended, her daughter's upside down face greeted her. I allowed her arrested progress. Almost reluctantly, her eyes traveled up over the engorged nipples with their dangling bells, the distended rib cage and the hollowed tummy until they came to rest on the blond pubic curls. I jiggled one of her little breast apples with the tip of my whip and was rewarded with a cute ting-a-ling-ling. Cowcunt's big blue eyes began to tear up. Like a proud ringmaster I prodded a foot and her body gently revolved until the gaudy decoration lodged in her little girl's anus was revealed. Casually I plucked the banana from its nest and meticulously peeled it. I let her watch me eat it and then with the peel draped over my finger, I stuffed it partially back from whence it came.

"What do you think of my new invention, Cowcunt? It is a combination fruit bowl cum garbage can. No puns intended." I laughed.

"You despicable son of a bitch!" She blurted.

She regretted it. I could see her trying to suck the echo of her words back out of the air…but it was too late. I gave her ass a flurry and when she reached back to protect it, I lit into her tits. When she allocated one arm to shelter each of those, I belabored the inside of her thighs. While the daughter was forced to watch helplessly, I reduced her mother to a quivering thing at my feet.

(To be continued)