The bright sun filtered in through the broad louvered shutters that covered the floor-to-ceiling window doors in the guest bedroom where the beautiful young artist slept, unaware that a man walked silently across the room, his footsteps drowned in the lush pile carpeting. The entire room was white, or shades of white. An elaborate wrought iron headboard and two tall spires of iron at the foot showed dramatically against the plastered walls. A long high chest of carved pine stood on a low bench at the foot of the bed. The hasp and hinges were rusted, denoting antiquity. A few tall tropical plants provided dramatic highlights in the stark room which was, though sparsely furnished with Spanish antiques, the quintessence of understated good taste.
The few paintings on the walls were by contrast, boldly contemporary, with bright streaks and dots of color. It all worked to create a restful yet stimulating ambiance.
The man placed a breakfast tray on the round table next to the bed. He looked down at the sleeping girl for several moments, then he turned and went silently out of the room, closing the door behind him. Seconds later, the phone on the broad bedside table jangled noisily.
The persistent ringing jolted Jill Conklin out of her dreamless sleep. She wasn't quite awake, however, when she dazedly reached for the nagging instrument. She thought she was back in San Francisco, at Josephine's…
"H-hel-lo?" she said dreamily.
"Good morning, Jill," came the deep and resonant voice of her benefactor. "How are you feeling this fine day?"
Slowly, slowly, she was regaining consciousness, but there was still confusion in her mind. She felt woozy – a drug hangover – and she tried very hard to shake the cobwebs out of her head.
"Don Ernesto? Where are you? Where am I?"
He laughed sympathetically. "Look out your window, Jill, and you will see where you are. If you squint your eyes and look far into the distance, you will note the flat-topped structures on the horizon. They are the Pyramids of Teotihuacan…"
Jill's brain sprang to alertness. She sat bolt upright and clambered out of bed, pulling back the louvers and opening the doors onto the tiled verandah. Leaning forward, she squinted into the horizon as Garcia had suggested. Wow! The dim shapes in the distance were unmistakable. She had seen pictures before. The air smelled dry; the chirrups of exotic birds suddenly caught her attention.
"I'm here! I'm really in Mexico City! I can't believe it – how could I sleep through the whole thing… the flight, and getting here… how did that happen?"
Garcia laughed again. "You had a long day, and a most fatiguing evening, Jill – I can see that you are not accustomed to liquor…"
"I guess not," she said sheepishly, suddenly remembering the nightmare of her being raped by Dawson only to confront Ernesto moments later after his "discovery". Oh, God, she was still so embarrassed, so humiliated!
"I'll see to it that that doesn't happen again," he assured her. What was he referring to… the drinking… the scene in the motel room? Jill was still confused. And she was suddenly aware of a terrible taste in her mouth, a thick bitter taste which she attributed to the Pernod or maybe the Turkish coffee.
"In the meantime," he continued, "I hope you won't object to my taking charge of your introduction to Mexico City. I want you to enjoy the breakfast Julio brought you a little while ago. It is typical of what we take in the morning – with perhaps a few embellishments. Then, when you are ready to make a public appearance, I shall show you around the place. The pool is very inviting at this time of day… I hope you'll join me for a swim. Are you agreeable, Jill?"
"That sounds terrific. I'd love to!" she answered breathlessly.
"Good. Hasta luego. Ciao."
Jill hung up feeling happy and excited. She plumped up the pillows and sat back to enjoy a delicious breakfast of rich Mexican chocolate with hot milk, some unknown and savory sweet rolls and chilled papaya with lime. Afterwards she went into the bathroom – almost as large as her bedroom at Josephine's! – and filled the enormous tub, which was faced with hand painted tiles. The whole ceiling was mirrored, and there was another full-length mirror covering one wall. A silver vanity set and crystal jars sat on the large dressing table. It was rich and sensual, with a large, soft animal skin on the floor. After her bath, Jill was dusting herself with powder from an ornate silver bowl, watching herself in the mirror as she patted herself between the legs with the elder down puff, and she couldn't help admiring her body. She had always been a narcissist, and many times before, when she had been doing self-portraits while looking in a full-length mirror, she had gotten turned on sexually. She began to stroke, rather than pat, her skin with the downy puff, creating delicious feathery sensations in the wake of each languid caress. She encircled her firm, pink-nippled breasts, creating hard nubs at each tip as her nipples sprang to erectness. She moved the puff down the cleavage, down her high ribcage and past her tiny waist to her smooth flat belly. She was standing on the cushiony fur rug, unaware that under the rug was a "floating" tile, and under the tile a button connected to a buzzer that would sound upstairs whenever anyone stepped on the rug…
It was from this vantage point, in the room above her, that Don Ernesto and his trusted aide Julio observed the unsuspecting girl through a two-way mirror of the type common to any gambling casino. From the moment Jill entered the bathroom, they had been able to observe her every movement! Now, their eyes widened as they watched the young artist engaged in self-love play, her hands now caressing her firm, molded thighs and the soft dark triangle between them, holding the pink puff against her pubic mound as an adornment and smiling at her reflection in the mirror. How many times before had she taken her paint brush and parted the puffy lips of her cunt with the wooden tip, sliding it down the moist furrow to titillate her clitoris. Then she would use the soft bristles of the paint brush to "paint" her pussy slit, until she came and came against the tickling brush hairs.
Now the desire in her loins had increased to the point where she could not deny herself any longer. She got down on the rug and lay back, spreading her long legs languorously apart as she continued to lightly caress her pubic mound with the feathery powder puff. Upstairs, Garcia switched on a speaker so that the two men could hear the girl's heated breathing, her moans and sighs and whatever might issue from her lips. The handsome Colombian sipped coffee from a tall glass mug and smiled with prurient satisfaction. He was wearing black Continental swim trunks under a saffron yellow velour robe. The bearded young Julio was casually attired in chino's and a loose-fitting, white Mexican shirt, huaraches on his feet.
Jill was breathing faster now. God, she was hot. She had to cum! Looking at herself full length in the ceiling mirror was a fantastic turn-on, her luxuriant black hair spread out over the thick white fur, her black pubic mound contrasting against her creamy, alabaster skin, and the delicate pink of the powder puff highlighting everything. What a self-portrait that would make! She would do it against a somber background, like Sargent's Madame "X". Yes, she could entitle it, "Young Girl at Her Toilette". No… "A Virgin at Her Toilette"…
She remembered the motel room, and Dawson's heartless attack. Damn him! Sadly, she faced the fact that she was no longer a virgin. All right then, "Apres le Bain", very Degas! Oh… shit – she would call it, "After the Bath", and give it to Ernesto before she returned to San Francisco. Yes, it would be her surprise, her thank you to her benefactor.
But now… now she had to cum, and as her feverish fingers toyed with the soft hairs of her pussy and tweaked her turgid clitoral bud, she thought again of Chris, of the times he had eaten her so beautifully with his mouth. How she cursed herself for not letting him fuck her. "Ooooh, ooh Chris, oh baby, do it to me, baby. Stick your tongue in my cunt and lick me up and down…" she said aloud.
Upstairs, Garcia frowned as he said to Julio, "So, there is a boyfriend. I knew it! That could be trouble. Find out who he is, where he is, and just how serious the girl is about him. Get to know the girl, romance her a little bit – you know what to do."
It was Julio's turn to frown. "But Don Ernesto, there is so little time. What makes you think that she will willingly…"
Garcia stopped him short with a scoffing grin. "Compadre mio, por favor! They do not call you El Rey de Macho Cabrio for nothing!" he teased. "How I should like to have such an impressive title: The Billy Goat King! How are you at modeling, amigo?"
"Modeling?"
"I promised the girl a model. See to it."
In the bathroom, Jill was drawing closer and closer to the first of her self-induced orgasms, panting loud and squirming her buttocks on the floor. She held the powder puff in one hand as she massaged and cupped her taut breasts, tickling her flesh as she stroked her skin. The fingers of the other hand were busy at work in her pussy, massaging the entire furrow of her heated slit and burrowing up into her vagina, pumping in and out, in and out, moaning aloud, crying out for Chris: "Fuck me, Chris, oh yeeeees, fuuuuuck meeeee! You're going to make me cum, baby… you're making… me… CUUUUUUUMMMMMM!"
She bucked upward off the rug and flailed her head from side to side as the first throes of orgasm shook her body and she was filled with the incomparable fiery sizzles of rapture that emanated from her pussy and spread through every part of her lusting body.
"Dios!" Garcia exclaimed under his breath. He shifted in his leather chair. Julio cleared his throat but said nothing. Both men had hard cocks and each was imagining himself in a situation of mutual ecstasy with the American girl, though each also nurtured private thoughts relating to other very practical applications of the girl's "talents".
Jill barely relaxed from her first orgasm when she came again, her tweaking massaging fingers never leaving her pussy. Each climax only made her yearn for another one, and her mind dwelled on Chris, and on the events of the night before, which, in her moment of excitement, did not seem so repugnant now. In fact, she admitted to herself that she wanted cock,cock, and more cock. She wanted a man's cock, his balls, his lips, tongue and hands all over her. She wanted to be fucked and sucked again and again. God, what had come over her? With the loss of her virginity she had lost all her vows of chastity-until-marriage. Chris was thousands of miles away, fucking her twin, no doubt. And she was in Mexico. What was she going to do…?
Ernesto Garcia's hacienda was more a palace than a house; huge, white and sprawling, a structure almost futuristic in design. It sat high on a hill alone, overlooking the city, which was sadly shrouded in smog. Sitting around the enormous free-form pool with her host and Julio, Jill felt as though she were living in a dream. Dorothy in The Land of Oz. The sun was bright and hot. It caressed her oiled body as she sipped cold tea between refreshing dips in the pool, feeling relaxed and lazy and quietly horny again!
She assessed her two companions, who were different in physique. Garcia was tall and lean. Well-built but slender, with smooth dark skin, a hairless chest, and very little hair on his arms and legs. Julio was the shorter of the two and very muscular, with an ample crop of chest hair and hairy arms and legs. Each man was, in his own way, very good looking and very sexy. But that thing that stood out about Julio was the huge bulge in his trunks! Jill stole furtive glances at the young man's loins, fascinated and appalled at the same time. She couldn't imagine how any woman could possibly accommodate a weapon of that size – why, it must be ten inches long when erect!
He swam beautifully, gracefully, with long powerful strokes. I wonder if he fucks that way, she mused idly. She was a good swimmer too, and did her best to impress both men with her aquatic skills. But Julio barely seemed to notice her. This piqued the young artist, who was accustomed to the slavering attentions of all kinds of men wherever she went. She knew she looked stunning in her brief, emerald green nylon bikini as she stretched out catlike on a long chair. Her attempts to make conversation with the bearded "man Friday" had evoked barely more than monosyllabic replies. He seemed actually somewhat hostile to her, which both perplexed and angered the self-centered young girl; indifference was a thing she could not bear, and at one point she made a silent vow to herself that she would have him panting after her before long or she wasn't Jill Conklin, the prettiest girl in Kansas City! Chris' rejection had stung her to the quick, and she felt a spiteful need to get back at him, though he might not ever learn about it. Dirty old men like Jack Dawson didn't count – they were too easy. But Julio – that stuck-up Latino hired hand – there was simply no reason why he shouldn't fall madly in love with her!
As for Don Ernesto, the cultured art dealer was the kind of man she didn't know how to cope with. He was the perfect gentleman at all times, and he couldn't have been nicer or more hospitable. Yet she felt like an awkward little girl around him, all too aware of the gulf between them by virtue of both background and experience. Though she found him devastatingly appealing, she couldn't quite picture herself in bed with him. She realized then, that she felt inferior to the aristocratic Colombian.
"Have you ever been to the bullfights, Jill?" Garcia asked her.
"No… never," she shook her head.
"Good. We are going this afternoon. I have an interest in bull raising. It is my custom to go every Sunday during the season. In my youth I wanted to be a matador. But my family had very strict objections." He sighed deeply. "So I never got to wear a Suit of Lights. But as a breeder – it is a little sideline, a hobby, so to speak – I have professional justification for maintaining close contact with the corrida. Take along a wrap – nights are cool in Mexico City at this time of year. The altitude, you know. Afterwards we will meet some friends at the Cortijo La Morena. One of them will be the man who will give you a job at his club, so be sure to have your portraits along… Senor Valdez does not yet know you are to be his employee!"