Jill was numb and dazed as they drove across the Bay Bridge to the Oakland International Airport. She sat in the back seat of the sleek, black Coupe de Ville with Ernesto, wondering where the car came from and who it belonged to. The man at the wheel drove swiftly and expertly. From time to time, Jill studied his head and the back of his neck, and she could see a portion of his face in reflected in the rear view mirror. Garcia, ever the gentleman, had not introduced him to her, realizing her acute embarrassment and distress, and Julio – called "Hulio" – was sensitive enough and discreet enough not to look at her directly. Fortunately, Jack Dawson rode in the front seat with him. Julio was not wearing a chauffeur's uniform. He was dressed in sports jacket, slacks and a turtle neck sweater, a good looking young man of perhaps twenty-six or seven, with a dark, curly beard and a full shock of brown curls. His eyes were a startling blue, which surprised Jill. Naive as she was, she expected all Mexicans to have black hair and eyes.
Julio never spoke unless addressed. Yet, he was in no way servile. Indeed, he seemed to have a great deal of pride and a natural intelligence that one could sense rather than experience. Once or twice during the ride, Ernesto would lean forward and speak to him sotto voce in Spanish. The garrulous printer would rattle on about sports or politics, making embarrassed small talk. Julio's replies and comments were spare and to the point. He seemed to tolerate Jack Dawson even less than did Garcia.
It was almost midnight when the big black Cadillac pulled into a hangar at a far end of the air field. Three men were awaiting them, two in mechanics' jumpsuits, another in street clothes. Only the man in street clothes spoke in Spanish as she was whisked into a waiting Lear jet. Drugged and confused as she was, she noted the exterior design as one of Alexander Calder's whimsical abstracts, not unlike those he had done for Braniff Airlines.
The interior was something out of a James Bond movie – more like a luxurious hotel room than a plane, with a bar, plush arm chairs that swiveled and – a small bedroom with its own bath containing a stall shower! Jill thought at that moment that seeing the plane was recompense enough for deciding to make the trip.
The unidentified man in street clothes, who had stringy black hair and bad teeth (which showed under a thin, clipped mustache) assumed the position of co-pilot, as Julio took the controls and ushered the aircraft into the midnight sky.
Despite two cups of coffee, which Ernesto offered to her as soon as they were airborne, Jill found herself becoming sleepier and sleepier. At Garcia's suggestion, she went into the "bedroom" and was soon fast asleep on the double bed…
The two partners in crime talked intently in another part of the streamlined plane. They sipped rare cognac from Baccarat snifters as they discussed their "ward".
"I tellya, Ernesto, the kid's dynamite. Hell, if you hadn't got antsy, I'd have gotten a blow job out of it, too! For Chrissakes, why'dja have to break it up so soon? You said you'd wait for my call!"
"Sorry, Jack, but it became obvious that you were all set to make a night of it. You tend to forget yourself at times, and drugging her the way you did, you knew she was in no position to refuse – particularly under fear of pain and disfigurement…"
"Hell, I just wanted to scare her a little bit; adds to the excitement, know what I mean? I didn't have no intention of hurtin' the kid."
"I do not care for violence of any sort, Dawson – you know that. You don't seem to realize that this one has to be handled with kid gloves. I told you I had something slightly different in mind for her."
"Yeah? Well I think you're bein' more kid glovey than you need to be, Ernesto. Gimme another crack at her and she'll get on her back for burros!" Dawson chuckled evilly at his intended witticism, but the laugh petered out when Garcia reacted with an icy, penetrating stare.
Leaning forward, the refined Colombian spoke in level, measured cadence. "Listen, amigo," he said, stressing each syllable of the Spanish word for "friend", "if you have one more 'crack' at her, she'll bolt back to San Francisco and spill everything to the police! You have already behaved stupidly – you could have waited until she had been seasoned under the Mexican sun. I'll have to do that much more for her now before she is right to exhibit."
"The hell you will! Drug or no drug, this little cunt has everything in her to be your fuckin' star performer! You ought to thank me for gettin' rid of her Goddamned virginity and the hang-ups that went with it. The loaf's been sliced once now, and from now on, it'll be slice-heaven for everybody!"
A voice came over the intercom. "Don Ernesto, the time ees come now?"
Garcia sighed heavily. "Si, Martinez, si," he answered impatiently. The tall man rose from his chair and looked at his watch, addressing Dawson. "We'll be landing in Burbank in twenty-five minutes. I promised Martinez – he doesn't mind fucking a woman who's not awake." Garcia grimaced at the thought. Some men settle for so little when there was so much more!
"Neither do I!" Dawson answered. "Maybe I'll give him a hand – though I'd rather do it all by myself," Dawson chuckled again.
"Undoubtedly, so would Martinez!" came the unsympathetic reply.
The knockout drops in Jill's coffee would insure her sleep for the next seven or eight hours. The unsuspecting girl would awaken in the luxurious hacienda that was the principal resident of her Colombian benefactor. Meanwhile, she would be preyed on once again by not one but two coarse men – both of whom she would have rejected under conditions of undrugged consciousness. Now she was at their mercy, as she lay on the bed in the Lear jet, being whisked to her grim destination at more than 400 miles per hour!
The two lusting males undressed her as though she were a lifesize mannequin, leaving her beautiful young body totally naked to their lascivious stares and caresses. They were naked, too, and they mauled her with their hands and mouths, unable to get enough of her unblemished baby-soft flesh.
While Dawson sucked and mouthed her breasts, Martinez, the co-pilot, lifted her legs up and spread them wide apart, staring with a lewd, debasing expression at her helplessly exposed pussy.
"Smooth as silk, ain't she?" Dawson remarked, as he began to rub his beefy hands down her body and around the insides of her thighs, feeling their tender softness… down to her pussy, where he inserted a finger and stirred it around obscenely in her vagina. Jill started involuntarily in her drugged sleep, and her pussy muscles contracted around the printer's large stiff finger. "See that? Even sleepin' she's hot to trot!" he chuckled. Martinez grinned back, showing what was left of a row of yellowed, chipped teeth. He was sporting a wet erection, and his oozing cock stood, like a long, thin pole, from the base of his sparse black pubic pyramid.
"Get a taste of that sweet meat 'fore you fuck it," Dawson encouraged him. "That's some taco, I'll tellya!"
Martinez shook his head enthusiastically and buried his head in Jill's pussy furrow, licking and sucking at her tender slit like a dog lapping at a succulent piece of meat. He rolled his eyes upward as he ate her, in silent agreement with Dawson.
Even in sleep, Jill's body involuntarily responded to the lewd pussy licking she was getting, and the lips of her pussy began to puff up with excitement, and her clitoral bud sprang to erectness. She began to moan and toss slightly on the bed, delighting both men with her motor response.
"Look at that!" Dawson exclaimed. "Even loaded with nappers she's hot as a firecracker!"
Encouraged, the Mexican co-pilot sucked with more fervor at Jill's defenseless pussy. It wasn't long before he felt her stiffen. Her moans grew louder, and she suddenly spasmed violently. She was cumming in her sleep!
"Well, I'll be damned!" Dawson exclaimed. "You better plug this hot box fast – I'm goin' for broke right now!" And he kneeled beside her head and placed the moist head of his huge cudgel against her open mouth. He rubbed the head of it back and forth across her soft lips and glistening teeth, sucking in his breath excitedly as Martinez withdrew his head from her pussy and wiped his mouth on the sheet.
"Let's change the poseetion, ameego," Martinez said. "Turn her over."
Together, they rolled Jill over on her stomach and placed her crosswise on the bed, so that her arms and head hung limply over the side. Martinez then took the pillows and doubled them in half, placing them under her pelvis, so that her buttocks were raised high in the air, exposing the entire track of secret anatomy between the cheeks of her ripely rounded asscheeks. Her puckered little anus was in full view in the center of her forbidden furrow, along with the moist ring of her vaginal entrance. He spread her legs wide apart as he knelt behind her, holding his long pole in one hand. Dawson was kneeling on the floor in front of the comatose artist, his upright cock only centimeters away from her flaccid lips.
"Ready, senor?" Martinez grinned, his prick poised at the entrance of Jill's vagina.
"After you, Alphonse!" Dawson quipped.
Martinez leaned forward, pushing his penis in through her vaginal lips, which he had parted with his fingers. Jill's rounded asscheeks fitted down over his black pubic hairs as he slowly advanced into her vaginal passage. The silky softness of her skin seemed to caress his advancing pelvis. Without warning, he forced his surging shaft deep up inside her cunt. Jill let out a reflexive grunt, and Dawson chose that moment to plant his rigid penis inside the poor girl's mouth. She frowned in her sleep and moaned some more. She moved her drooping head from side to side in an unwitting effort to spit out the invading organ, but Dawson followed her every movement, taking advantage of whatever response she offered to pleasure his lusting cock.
Her movements were also beneficial to the lanky Mexican, who thrust harder into her as he held tightly to her upper thighs and pushed and pulled her onto his fucking weapon. She was being see-sawed back and forth on the bed, and her mouth drew back over Dawson's cock, then slid down over it again. The printer took her jaw in his hand and placed his thumb and forefinger in her soft cheeks, manipulating her lips over his prick, which oozed lubricating juices from the glans slit at the head. He looked up at Martinez with a smile of triumph. "Not bad for twofer's, eh?" he drawled.
"Fantastico!" panted Martinez, who was grunting with satisfaction, his slapping balls filled to bursting with semen as he rode up high over the luscious buttock mounds of the sleeping American girl.
Jill was being rocked steadily between the two men, one fucking her from behind, doggie fashion, the other trying his best to fuck her mouth. Jill was breathing coarsely, and if she hadn't been so thoroughly drugged, she would have awakened instantly, gagging as the printer's bludgeoning cock hit the back of her throat.
The thick penis withdrew a little way through the copious saliva in her mouth but was shoved back again, bulging her cheeks obscenely. Dawson kept working her slack mouth over his cock, grunting as he knelt on the floor, his paunchy midsection shaking above the head of the unconscious girl, sweat pooling in the fissures of his belly.
Martinez ground his loins against her soft white asscheeks, feeling the building heat of her beautiful pink-seamed crack and the building tension in his own taut balls. He was going to cum… he was… going to… going to… CUM! Aeeiieee! Martinez tensed for an instant, then fucked into her like a bunny, his greasy hair hanging down in his eyes as his balls gave out their load and he filled Jill's ravaged pussy with a fiery jet of milky semen. And as the Mexican's pistoning cock buffeted Jill's pussy, the violent pushing and pulling gave the excited horny printer enough additional cock massage to bring him to his climax.
"Uuuuoohhh! Suuuuccckkk! Baby, suuuccckkk iiittt!" he gasped as he shot his wad deep into her warm throat. He had a vice-like grip on her head, pulling her into his loins so that she could not escape the full torrent of his sticky white issue. Dawson grunted in animal satisfaction in time to the emptying of his large hairy balls.
His cum splashed against the back of her throat and against the sides of her cheeks and melded with her saliva. Moments later, both trickled out of her mouth and onto the printer's spent cock.
A red light flashed on the wall, and Garcia's voice came over the intercom. "We'll be landing in approximately ten minutes. Get back to your seat, Jack – if you can make it! Martinez, take over for me up front."
Dawson weakly reached behind him and pressed a switch on the wall. "Dammit, Ernesto, you got the worst Goddamned timing!" he growled into the speaker.
"Sorry, amigo – regulations, you know. How was it this time?" came the impersonal voice over the intercom.
"I'll tell you all about it right after I finish cumming!" Dawson snapped and switched off the speaker. Martinez was up and wiping off his cock. He was dressed in a flash. It took some effort on Dawson's part to rise from his knees – he was still weak from his orgasm. He had the decency to take a towel and wipe the slumbering artist's mouth off and get some of the sweat off her body. God, how he loved to feel her buttery skin! He carefully rolled her over on her back and hoisted her lengthwise on the bed. Then he stuck the towel between her legs and wiped her cum-filled pussy.
"Ain't she somethin'?" he said to the co-pilot, who was combing his greasy black hair in front of the bathroom mirror. Martinez finished his grooming by patting the sides of his head with his hand as he stuffed the comb into a breast pocket.
"Fantastico!" Martinez enthused, raising his eyebrows and grinning broadly. "Don Ernesto has heet the hyackpot dees time!"