I guess I can confess at this point in the story that my perception of Chinga was almost entirely determined by my sexual and romantic attraction to him. Not being an experienced law-breaker, it took me perhaps longer than it would have a more objective person to realize that Chinga was not exactly a master criminal.
His intentions, of course, were always appropriately antisocial; however, his execution frequently left a lot to be desired. He was a hell of a stud, but a clumsy crook.
The main problem was that, whenever anything went wrong, Chinga put all his faith in his gun. This, needless to say, led to the most extreme kinds of situations.
All of which is by way of explaining how I crossed over the line from being a hostage to being a kidnapper myself. It happened as soon in my career of crime as my first bank job.
For the heist Chinga had suggested after our roadside ass-fuck, he selected a small branch office in a shopping center he found after miles of driving. We were in the suburbs somewhere it looked depressingly familiar to me, but what city we were on the outskirts of I did not know.
Chinga assured me that a shopping center bank was exactly what we wanted for our first job. "The only time it'll be crowded is on Friday when people get paid," he explained. "This is Wednesday."
It sounded like a good enough plan to me. Even though I now realize that, crime-wise, Chinga was closer to Billy the Kid than Willie Sutton, even a master-criminal could not have anticipated the misfortune we ran into.
I mean, who could have possibly anticipated that the Goddamn bank would be full of a bunch of school kids on a field trip? The little bastards were all over the place.
"What are we going to do now?" I hissed to Chinga as we stood incredulously at the front of the bank.
Immediately I wished I hadn't asked. Knowing Chinga's propensity for resorting to violence in times of stress, I shouldn't have applied any verbal pressure.
"All right, you little mother fuckers, up against the wall!" he suddenly shouted. In his twitching hand was the big gun he'd pulled from under his leather jacket. "No fucking class of dumb kids is gonna stop me from robbing this bank!"
At this point, there was nothing to do but go along with him. Any resistance I made would only cause further trouble. My lover had turned into a murderous beast right before my eyes.
Meanwhile, the kids were milling around all over the place, too frightened to follow Chinga's orders. Realizing that if I didn't do something quickly there was going to be terrible bloodshed, I took a chance and intervened.
"Come on, kids," I said gently, taking over for their teacher who was cowering over in the corner, "let's do what the nice man says. He loves children – it's just adults he has a little trouble getting along with."
Fortunately, that did it. Drawing on my experience mothering my own two, pretty soon I had all the kids rounded up and leaning with their palms against the wall, having turned the whole thing into a game for them. Some of them were actually giggling.
Chinga wasn't, though. He seemed miffed that I had stolen his thunder. Apparently he planned to compensate for the perceived loss of prestige by being especially obnoxious.
"Get me the money, baldy," he snarled to the whimpering tub of a man who was apparently the bank manager, "or I'll shoot your balls off – if you've got any."
The manager had made enough loans to be able to read a person's eyes. He was smart enough to know that Chinga's meant business, and quickly and efficiently excused himself into the vault. Once he had realized he could give up the bank's money in lieu of his life, his spirits had improved remarkably.
Chinga, however, remained the same. While the manager was in the vault scooping up the loot, Chinga was busy terrorizing the school teacher. First he made her come out of her hiding place; then, at gunpoint, he forced her to strip.
It was a grotesque scene. The children couldn't stop tittering as their teacher became nude. The novelty of her nakedness made them oblivious to her degrading and desperate plight forced to strip in public by a madman with a gun.
She was a real beauty, too. She hadn't looked like much when she was dressed, but with her clothes off all that changed. To keep such a gorgeous body under wraps, I reasoned she must be a terribly modest, possibly religious, woman. This had to be a terribly excruciating experience for her.
"Look, Scott," I overheard one kid say to another, "you can see Miss Turner's bush."
"You mean her cunt?"
"Yes!"
"I don't believe it."
"Look over your shoulder."
When he did he was joined by about ten other kids who had over heard the conversation. All of them looked straight at their teacher's sleek beaver being probed by the barrel of a pistol. Yes, Chinga was sticking his gun into the frightened woman's pussy.
Just when things really could have gotten ugly, the bank manager fortunately appeared with a dolly piled high with numerous canvas sacks of money. "There's no more where this came from," he cheerfully announced. "I'm afraid your withdrawal just about wipes us out."
Although he sounded like a cowardly jerk, the little guy was really doing everybody else a big favor. The manager's eagerness to turn over the bank's money was the only thing keeping Chinga from going nuts and shooting up the place.
"All right, Angie," he called to me, stupidly blurting my name in public, "you take the money out to the car."
"What are you going to do?" I asked suspiciously.
"Listen, bitch," he suddenly exploded, "who do you think is running this caper?"
When I saw his trigger finger twitch and the gun was still pointed at the school teacher's snatch I shut up and did what he said. Anything could set him off now.
I tried to lift the sacks manually from the dolly, but couldn't budge them. When Chinga hissed impatiently at me to hurry, I decided to steal the dolly along with the money and began wheeling our plunder toward the door. The last I looked, before I left the building, Chinga had the barrel of his gun back in the teacher's crotch.
I had a tough time trying to get the money into the car. I couldn't seem to budge a single sack without a great deal of effort.
Finally I got interested enough to look inside of one of them. It was filled with money all right, but it was made of copper and packaged fifty at a time in red wrappers instead of printed on green paper.
"Jesus, pennies!" I heedlessly blurted in the center of the parking lot. "We just stole the bank's supply of pennies!"
Nobody heard me anyway. Because just as I finished speaking all attention in the shopping center was abruptly riveted to the gunfire reverberating from the bank.
I closed my eyes, imagining the potential carnage of innocent people. When I opened them here came Chinga, pushing in front of him a couple of the kids and the naked schoolteacher.
"Hostages!" he proudly informed me as his entourage reached the Camaro. "If we don't get a clean getaway, we blow their fucking heads off. Got any objections?"
I wasn't about to argue with him. I just hoped he didn't ask me about the money.
He did, though. After he'd herded his captives into the back seat at prodding gunpoint, he noticed that the bank sacks were still piled on the dolly.
"What the hell is going on?" he thundered, actually pointing the gun at me in the blindness of frustration. "Why isn't this shit in the car?"
"It's pennies, Chinga, pennies," I woefully informed him. "We robbed the bank of all its pennies."
"I don't believe you!" he shrieked. However, when he furiously kicked one, of the sacks, he changed his mind. He acknowledged over and over again, that they were "Goddamn fuckin' pennies" all right, as he hopped in pain from his stubbed toe.
"Come on, let's get out of here," I finally took charge. "We can't go back to the bank, and the pennies aren't worth the trouble of loading into the car. The cops are probably already on their way, and they don't care if we robbed pennies or millions."
So he'd get the point, I got in behind the wheel and started the motor running. When he still hadn't come, I gunned the engine like I was going to leave him hopping and swearing in the parking lot.
That brought him around, and he slipped into the passenger's side just before the rubber of the rear tires bit into the pavement and we took off. As we careened onto the freeway at over 70, he protested that he wanted to drive, but I paid no attention to him. I wanted to see if I could hit a hundred.
The law enforcement in that area must have been even more inept than we were as crooks, because, with an inexperienced woman at the wheel, we completely eluded them. I didn't even know in which direction we were headed – and didn't care as long as I didn't see any cops.
Our hostages had done a lot of screaming at first, but had finally settled down. The teacher put on some of the cum-stained jeans and an equally crusty sweater, and the concealment of her body seemed to improve her spirits from hysteria to merely glum. The kids – a boy and a girl about ten – had begun to play license plate games with the passing cars.
Finally, when everybody had to piss and was starving to death, we had to stop. Still rejecting Chinga's advice, I decided on a nice, clean, out-of-the-way motel. "Even if we are on the run," I told him, "I'm tired of sleeping on the ground."
When we'd checked in, I sent Chinga out to a fast-food place I'd seen nearby for hamburgers and fries. He was still so stunned by the way I'd taken over that he was putty in my hands. "And bring back a lot of catsup," I sort of rubbed it in. "You know how I love it."
Alone in the motel room with the hostages, I tried to get acquainted with them so they'd be less likely to panic. "I'm Angie," I said, "and believe me, I don't want to hurt you. I'm your friend now, what are your names?"
There was a pause, and then the little girl went first. "My name is Robin and I'm ten." With a lithe, young body that had not yet turned into adolescent gawkiness, and an angelic fate, she was an adorable child.
"And I'm Chuck," the boy said. He was a rugged specimen, but still young enough to have a face full of freckles.
The teacher just stood there. Drooping in the baggy sweater and jeans, she was back to being homely again.
"And I already know your name, of course, Miss Turner," I tried to alleviate the damper she put on the situation.
It was no use. The sound of her name had apparently triggered a relapse, and she was back in hysteria. Without Chinga's gun monitoring everything, I responded to her grief by softly embracing her.
"Don't worry," I soothed her as I put her weeping head on my shoulder. "Everything's going to be all right."
"But that man is such a beast!" she wailed.
"Don't worry, I won't let him hurt you," I assured her.
"I feel so degraded," she sobbed. "So so ugly."
"No," I blurted. "You mustn't think that. You're beautiful. I've seen you."
Of course I immediately realized that I'd just reminded her in so many words of how I, and everyone else, had seen her naked. At once her body began to shake. Even through our clothing I could feel it moving against mine.
All of a sudden I felt like I was magnetized to her. Couldn't have gotten away if I'd wanted to.
And I didn't want to. Even under the baggy jeans and sweater and possessed by fright, Miss Turner's body was a total turn-on.
"Calm down," I urged. When she didn't I kissed her.
Since her mouth was open to begin with, it was a deep kiss. A soul kiss. My tongue hardened and shot all the way down her throat.
Below, my knee showed similar reflexes, and hoisted itself into the young school teacher's crotch. My right hand automatically slid under her sweater and clasped her warm, firm breasts.
"What are you doing?" she gasped when we broke the kiss for air.
"Calming you down," I smiled, trying to communicate as an aroused woman rather than as a sinister captor.
"Well, don't stop," she grinned back through her tears. "I'll take a gentle touch any place I can get it at this stage of the game, just so long as that animal isn't here."
As though we were waltzing, I guided her over to one of the double beds in the room. Laying her down, I smiled warmly, asking in my expression for an invitation to join her.
"Make love to me," she gave it. "Make me forget where I am and everything else that's happening."
"Are you going to undress Miss Turner, Angie?"
Robin asked.
The kids. In my concentration on their teacher I had forgotten all about them.
"Yes," I admitted, dumbfounded by the realization of their presence. They were of the age that they almost could have been my own children watching me behave this way.
"Can we watch?" Chuck asked.
I didn't know what to say or do. I'd been so apathetic to my own children recently, that I'd forgotten how to deal with pesky kids.
"I have an idea, children," the teacher said from the bed. "Why don't you two help Angie. We'll have fun."
Christ, she talked to them like she was trying to get them to stay after school and clean the erasers. One would hardly guess she was essentially inviting them to join an orgy of adults and children.
"Oh," squealed Robin, "you mean like we did at the fifth grade picnic with you and Miss Stewart?"
"Yes, dear," Miss Turner replied. "I'd hoped you hadn't forgotten."
So – things were not as innocent as they seemed. This had all happened before. The three R's weren't all this teacher taught her students.
The two kids were standing by the bed now, hurriedly stripping. Since they were both wearing jeans and t-shirts, just like my kids, it was impossible if you got your eyes crossed to remember which crotch was going to come up pronged and which one slitted.
Chuck's prick was the first to show. He had a hard-on, and even at ten he could get it to a full five inches.
Then Robin's pussy came into view. It was a hairless delight, with pouting, pink pussy lips oozing from her fully exposed vaginal, crack.
Of course one child's chest was as flat as the other, but what they had between their legs more than made up for any deficiency in secondary sexual characteristics. Their attitudes weren't bad either.
Leaping nakedly onto the bed, the two kids clawed at their teacher's clothing, baring her considerable charms within seconds. As a nice touch, Miss Turner had her legs spread apart so her gorgeous pussy was gaping by the time they finished.
"Oh, somebody eat my cunt while Chuck fucks me in the mouth," the spread eagled school teacher moaned excitedly. "I want it so bad!"
To my dismay, I lost the race to Miss Turner's honey-pot to the speed of youth. Robin's narrow little butt was poling up in my face almost before I had a chance to move.
Then, stepping back a couple of spaces for perspective, I realized that I may have come up a winner by losing. Why not give Robin her teacher's pussy when it put her in a position to offer her even more tender twat to me?
Yes, the succulent crevice was protruding from between the bottom of the splayed cheeks of her ass. A notch above, her anus winked at me like an impish rosebud.
"Go ahead and suck her cunt," Chuck said from Miss Turner's head, where he was expertly stuffing his young cock in her mouth. "Robin loves to have adults go down on her."
And a child shall lead them, I mentally recounted the old Biblical passage with appropriate irony. Then, the benediction aside, I got down to the business at hand. The delicious business at hand of a ten-year-old pussy.
Getting on my knees at the end of the bed, I shoved my face into Robin's spread ass. My lips found her labia immediately, and we began an oral-genital kiss.
I had eaten pussy more than once since my kidnapping, but sucking on a horny child's was something else. With no hair to get in the way, every taste was sweet and meaty.
And wet. The kid was producing as much juice from her cunt as a grown woman. I swallowed every drop I could.
Her clit was small but hard when I found it. In a few moments it was even harder more like a miniature spike than the bodily organ of a young girl.
Then, I moved my tongue up a notch to her sugary asshole. It was hard to believe that such a sweet hole had ever been used to transmit anything as disgusting as shit.
Penetrating her tight rectum was a tough assignment, but my tongue was more than up to it. Twisting like a screwdriver, it found her slot and swiveled inside. To my astonishment, her young ass was almost as wet as her pussy. I couldn't get enough of its succulent goo.
Meanwhile, I wasn't the only one in action by a long shot. All four of us were getting either our figurative or literal licks in.
Chuck was pumping away down the teacher's throat, fucking her mouth with all five inches of his ten-year-old cock. At the same time, he played with her boobs, eventually lowering his head and biting the long, stiff nipples.
Robin, between Miss Turner's wide-open legs, was noisily eating pussy. She went after it like normal kids her age went after ice-cream.
As the only passive member of our group, Miss Turner writhed and moaned in ecstasy. It was clear her two pupils already had her climaxing.
Chuck was getting especially active now, and soon proclaimed he was cumming. I left Robin's ass and cunt and went around to the side to see what ten-year-old boy-cum looked like.
I didn't have to wait long. His dick lurched in the teacher's mouth, her cheeks swelled, she gulped and then what wasn't swallowed came dribbling out.
It was gorgeous white gold. The liquid velvet from a pair of hairless balls.
I fell across Miss Turner, and kissed her to get at the cum. Plumbing the depths of her throat with my long tongue, I robbed her of glob after glob of her wet treasure.
Then, when I had sucked her dry, I broke the kiss and returned my attention to the boy's cock. I wondered if what they said was true about the sexual endurance of the young.
Yes, his prick was still up. Harder than ever, it actually seemed to have grown an extra inch. In addition, for the first time I noticed thick blue veins bulging along its shaft. The only thing that kept him from being a man was the lack of hair between his legs.
"Will you fuck me?" I put it to him directly. "My cunt is burning for your cock."
"Right on!" he whooped, and threw his strong young body toward me. The impetus threw me back until I landed against the second bed. There, I fell on my back, wriggled from my clothes, and spread my legs so my cunt was showing.
"Come on and fuck me," I bit the words off with determination to get laid at all costs. "Fuck my big, old pussy with your ten-year-old cock."
Just under five feet tall, he inserted himself between my thighs and aimed his wonderful young prick at the dark slot of my gaping twat. "I might get lost in there," he giggled.
"Don't bet, on it, kiddo," I undauntedly rejoined. I may have been three times his age, but I still had a lot of faith in the essential tightness of my cunt. When it came time to give the little whippersnapper's cock a good squeezing, I'd make him know he was being fucked by a real woman.
"Okay, here goes," he said, and pitched forward. Like a dagger his slim, curving boner slipped between the folds of my snatch, and zipped up my greasy fuck-hole.
I waited until I could feel his pebbly balls burning against my crotch before I did anything rash. At that point, having him thoroughly trapped, I squeezed dawn with my pussy muscles with all my might. My cunt was turned into an erotic vise.
"Now do you think my pussy is loose?" I teased him, while he whimpered with pain.
He was too embarrassed to answer. Instead he did something better he just started fucking me. Even at ten, moving his hips in the classic motions came naturally to him. His technique seemed to add yet another inch to the length of his cock.
Feeling like I was in a sexual duel with his strange of effort, I retaliated by wrapping my legs around his slender waist. When I jerked him toward me, he whimpered with glee.
"Stick your finger up my asshole," he recovered his composure enough to request. "Miss Turner and her friends always do it to me when we fuck in the boiler room at school."
Lowering my hand to the meeting of our loins, I rubbed my fingers under his tight scrotum and then made a wedge up the crack of his ass. When my pinkie rubbed its cuticle against his anal ridges, I immediately poked it inside the adjacent orifice. He shuddered with appreciation.
Now there was nothing else to do but keep fucking and wait for my pre-teen lover to come. As he did the necessary stroking, he sucked my tits, blistering the tender nipples with his boyishly eager tongue.
Finally I could wait no longer. "Do it to me," I begged. "Fill my pussy with your beautiful cum!"
Like a hook, I pulled the crooked finger from his ass. When it popped I hoped I was pulling the plug on his balls.
"I've got cream!" he screamed and he did. My fuck hole was abruptly swamped by the boiling flood from his erupting cock. "Whoopee, I'm shootin' the jizz!"
He was so boyish, I just adored him. He couldn't help but remind me of my own son, Bobby, during some of our better moments.
When he was finally finished coming, I topped off the orgasm we had just shared by taking his head from my tits and giving him a big, wet, motherly kiss. "That was a wonderful fuck, Bobby – er, Chuck," I congratulated him with a revealing confusion of names.
"You're welcome," he said politely, proving he was a basically well-brought-up boy like my own son.
"Are you going to have sex with your sister?" I asked when he'd pull his prick out of my pussy and it was still rock hard.
"She's not my sister," he winced. "Robin's just in my class."
"I'm sorry," I said. "I was just thinking about my own kids."
"Do you have sex with them – when you're not out robbing banks?" he earnestly asked.
"No – never."
"Why not? You seem to like it well enough with us."
"Shhhhh," I said, before I could think of an answer to that one. "I think I hear somebody driving into the parking lot. It could be Chinga with the food. If he finds us like this, he'll go crazy with his gun."
"What should we do?" Miss Turner called from the other bed where she had been busily sixty-nining with ten-year-old Robin.
"Get under the covers and turn out the lights," I improvised. "We'll pretend we got tired waiting and went to sleep."
"What about the hamburgers?" Robin protested. "I'm starved!"
"Be quiet," her teacher said sharply. "Angie is right, we've got no time to lose. Quick, Chuck you get into bed with Angie, Robin with me. I'll turn out the lights."
Mission accomplished, we waited silently in the dark as Chinga entered the motel room. When he saw what had apparently happened, all he did was grumble, "Shit, now what the hell am I supposed to do with all these fucking burgers and fries? Not to mention Angie's fucking catsup." He'd been fooled.