It should go without saying: "Don't try this at home." 






                     MEXICAN HOLIDAY

                           by

                       C. Lakewood


    Prof. Louise Greenstreet and her daughter, Cindy, were on 
the last days of a trip into Mexico that was half holiday and 
half expedition.  Louise was engaged in some research on the 
major Olmec sites and had thought this trip might be a good 
opportunity for her and Cindy to become close again.  It 
seemed to have been only partially successful, however.  The 
18-year-old girl alternated between smiles and enthusiasm on 
one hand, and pouts and complaints on the other. 

    The two were now driving back north, however.  As usual, 
Cindy wore a t-shirt, denim shorts, and flip-flops -- whereas 
Louise was just as comfortably -- and rather more stylishly 
-- dressed in tan culottes, white knit sleeveless top, peds, 
and sneakers.  Unlike her daughter, she also wore a bra.

    Louise had always been what is generally known as a "good 
girl" -- not quite a certified Goody-Two-Shoes prude, but near 
enough...vanilla upbringing, A-student, teacher's pet, academic 
scholarship, Phi Beta Kappa, graduate assistantship, no drugs, no 
pre-marital sex, no extra-marital sex, a bland and conventional 
marriage ending in a bland, no-fault divorce, and, meanwhile, an 
unblemished tenure-track career at a distinguished (but distinctly 
toffee-nosed) private university. 

    Louise always took some care with her appearance, aware that 
she had a certain position to maintain.  To Cindy, she looked 
good, but also rather "uptight."  Indeed, her feelings toward 
her 42-year-old mother in general were similarly ambivalent -- 
which was common enough at her age.  She admired her for what 
she was: a sophisticated and well-respected academic...and yet 
despised her for the same reasons: her tendency to over-analyze 
and over-intellectualize, to live an ivory tower life quite apart 
from "real" people.  Cindy did have a well-enough developed sense 
of irony to realize that, after three weeks in Mexico, she herself 
was a little tired of having to mingle with so many "real" people 
so often.    

    They were passing through yet another village of sun-dried 
brick and feeble sanitation when they came upon a battered white 
Packard blocking their way.  

    Cindy, happy to get a break, slid out of the car and looked 
around disdainfully at the parched adobe village and its 
scattering of backward people.  "Latino red-necks," she thought.  
She had what she'd come for and was tired of Mexico.

    Louise, who didn't like the look of things, stayed in the 
car, but gazed about, hoping for assistance -- or at least 
some explanation of the improvised roadblock -- relaxed a bit 
to see a man in a tailored uniform exit a nearby building and 
strut in her direction.  He was followed by a lanky, Mexican 
version of Cletus Spuckler in ill-fitting fatigues. 

    The leader halted a few feet from the car and beckoned to 
Louise.  He was smiling, but not very sincerely, it seemed to 
her.  Nevertheless, she hurriedly obeyed.  After the car's A/C
(as primitive as that was), the unpaved, sun-baked street was 
inhospitable.  Moreover, standing in front of the official, she 
realized with some dismay that they were almost exactly the same 
height -- 5'6".

    He clicked his heels, bowed very slightly, and saluted.  
"Teniente Tito Carajo at your service...."  He glanced at her 
left hand and added, "Señora.  Welcome to Lago Perdido.  I am 
the police commandant here and mus' ask you for your papers."

    "Is there a problem?" Louise asked, as she handed over 
their passports.

    "A mere formality, Señora.  We mus' be vigilant.  Drug 
esmuggling, you know," he said, casually, as he leafed through 
the two documents.  "Driving license, por favor."  At the same 
time, he gestured to his gangly underling and nodded toward 
the car.  "My cabo -- corporal -- will search your auto, con 
permiso."

    Louise knew that this last phrase was strictly pro forma, 
like the "por favor."  The lieutenant was suave and dapper, 
and that might have been reassuring in a taller man.  But she 
was aware that, in a short one (particularly a short official), 
these characteristics were often the mark of a would-be Caesar....

    Meanwhile, Cindy was drifting in their direction, and her 
bored expression changed abruptly when she caught sight of the 
corporal at work.  Louise didn't notice...but the lieutenant 
did.  And then, moments later, the corporal let out a satisfied 
noise and trotted back to Lt. Carajo with two rather large 
plastic bottles and a foil-wrapped package.

    "Hmmm...."  The lieutenant raised an eyebrow at the labels.  
"Drugs.  I reco'nize the names from official papers, but I do 
no' remember wha' the effects migh' be...."

    "Regardless, it's nothing to do with us.  The car's a 
rental...," Louise began, but was interrupted by the corporal 
reporting in rapid fire Spanish and being answered by the 
lieutenant. 

    Carajo grimaced and looked hard at Louise.  "Be careful, 
Señora.  Hector, my corporal, discovered these bottles in a 
suitcase bearing the name of your daughter.  Better to say 
nothing than to lie."  

    "Lie!  But I assure y...."  Louise could see that the 
lieutenant had stopped listening.

    He turned on his heel and said, over his shoulder, "Come 
along to la cárcel -- the...estation -- and I will esplain 
the situation...."

    Accordingly, they all followed him -- bewildered Louise, 
apprehensive Cindy, and smug Hector.

		******************************                       

    The "station" was not air conditioned, but cooler than the 
street, thanks to its thick adobe walls.  It reeked, however, 
of garlic, tobacco, cheap red wine, and B.O.  Carajo's office 
was tidy, but only superficially better than the rest of the 
primitive establishment.

    "Please to stand there, on the line," Carajo said, gesturing at 
the floor where a crudely-painted yellow stripe crossed the room 
from side to side.  Simply assuming he'd be obeyed, he immediately 
turned to his corporal and began volubly issuing what was obviously 
a set of commands.  Louise (who could speak text book Spanish, 
more or less) couldn't understand much of what was being said in 
what she imagined was local dialect.  She was glad that Carajo 
spoke such good English.   

    Cindy cleared her throat.  "Surely we aren't under ar...."  
She was silenced by the lieutenant's throat-slitting gesture.

    A moment later, Hector saluted (after a fashion) and hurried 
from the room, leaving the drugs on the lieutenant's desk.  

    "I have sen' for el boticario -- the village apothecary -- 
Señor Áspero, who can tell me more abou' this...contraband."  He 
leaned back comfortably in his worn desk chair, lit a cigarillo, 
and contemplated the two nervous Americanas.

		****************************** 

    The three spent a while sunk in their own thoughts, until at 
last Hector returned with a 50-ish man in tow -- tall and gaunt, 
in pince-nez glasses and a cliché scruffy white suit.  The 
village apothecary, Louise surmised. 

    The newcomer examined the contraband and commented (at some 
length and with considerable animation), while Carajo took notes.  
Hector's attention, meanwhile, turned to Louise and Cindy, at whom 
he gazed appraisingly, through heavy-lidded eyes. 

    Eventually, the apothecary subsided, frowned at Louise and 
Cindy, and retired to a chair against the back wall.  Carajo 
sighed and returned his pencil to its improvised caddy, a 
chipped commemorative mug from the 1968 Olympics.

    "As I feared."  He picked up one of the bottles.  "This is 
Tri-Chloro...something, something...."  He consulted his notes, 
scowled, and shrugged.  "Better known as 'Trike.'  A female 
aphrodisiac."  He tapped the other bottle.  "This is called 
'Equis' (in English, 'Ex')."  He looked at his notes again.  
Which 'increases emotional responsiveness, lowers inhibitions and 
discretion, and induces euphoria....'"  He prodded the package.  
"'Dixie' inhalers.  Another aphrodisiac, which also...'increases 
the power of the orgasm in women.'  All of these drugs can be 
legally bought here -- by adults -- for personal use, but no' 
for re-sale, an' are completely illegal in the United States."  
He grimaced.  "An' this amount is what your police call  
'sale-weight.'  I am afraid I mus' inform the Federales."  

    "But...but...I've had no connection with any of it," Louise 
protested.  "Please!  My reputation...my career...."

    "I regret, Señora.  Even if your daughter bought the drugs (as 
is likely), you are a...an accessory.  You both will be considered 
drug dealers...and dealt with...harshly."  He reached for a 1930s 
candlestick telephone.

    Louise stiffened, her mind racing.  "Wait!" she exclaimed.  
"Wait....  It's the beginning of July.  We could stay here 
another two months, and-and if we -- Cindy and I -- consumed 
all of it....  Well, wouldn't that prove it was only for 
'personal use'?  Wouldn't it?"

    Carajo sat back.  After a pause, he went into conference with 
the apothecary.  A few minutes later, he looked up.  "Perhaps.  
Both of you would have to be in custody so tha' we could be sure 
there was no cheating.  If you plead guilty to something minor -- 
say 'disorderly conduct' -- that would suffice, and we could then 
proceed.  Yes?" 

    "Yes!  I plead guilty to...disorderly conduct!"

    "And you, chica?" Carajo asked Cindy.

    "I suppose so," she muttered.

    "No.  That is not sufficient, either in words or tone.  Try 
again."

    "Yes, okay, whatever."  Wilting under Carajo's unblinking 
stare, Cindy hung her head.  "Yes, I plead guilty.  I'm sorry."  

    "Satisfactory," Carajo said.  "I sentence you both to two 
months in our jail for this offense.  Now we must...process you."  
He said something to Hector, who sat down behind an ancient 
upright Smith-Corona, inserted a blank form, cracked his 
knuckles, and nodded.

    The preliminary processing took some time, since Carajo had 
to ask all the standard questions, translate the women's replies 
into a version of Spanish, then wait while Hector laboriously 
typed in the information.

    After a while, Carajo leaned back and stretched.  "This is 
mos'...tedious.  I hope you two are grateful for the efforts we 
are making on your behalf."  He said something to Hector, who got 
up stiffly and slouched over to the women.  "Now we mus' search 
you.  Please to take off your clothes...all of them."

    "But...," Louise began.

    "No!"  Carajo banged his fist on the desk.  "I will tolerate no 
arguments or refusals...or even hesitations.  Cooperate, and you 
will be...inconvenienced; do no' cooperate, and I will give you to 
the Federales.  And I will not warn you again.  Now...take off your 
clothes.  Hand them, piece by piece, to Hector, who will inspect 
them."

    "We have rights!" Cindy sputtered.

    "Shut up, Cindy, and do as he says," Louise hissed.  

    Cindy sulked, but obeyed.  Kicking off her flip-flops, she 
began to pull down her shorts, very slowly.  Meanwhile, balancing 
awkwardly first on one foot and then the other, Louise removed 
her shoes and socks and passed them to Hector (who sniffed them 
noisily, much to Louise's embarrassment and dismay.

    "Maduro," Hector grinned.  Louise understood that word: 
"ripe," and she wondered uneasily whether it was a compliment 
or a criticism. 

    She pulled off her top, handed it to Hector, and dropped her 
culottes.  When she bent to pick them up, her daughter's shorts 
had descended no farther than knee-level.

    "A small momen', Señora.  The girl does no' seem to have 
understood.  ¡Ayuda la chica, Hector!" 

    Obediently, Hector stepped behind Cindy and, with one motion, 
"helped" her by yanking her shorts down to her ankles.  Her panties 
followed a heart-beat later.  Reflexively, Cindy squealed, clamped 
her thighs together, and covered her crotch with her hands.

    "Estand oop estraight, gurrl!" Carajo commanded, his annoyance 
momentarily corrupting his command of English.  Recovering himself 
somewhat, he added, "Arms up in the air an' legs apart.  Keep still 
while Hector attends to you."  He glanced at Louise, who had frozen 
in place.  "Carry on, Señora."  His attention, however, was focused 
on Cindy, who was standing as ordered when Hector peeled her 
t-shirt up and off, leaving her totally naked.  Carajo admired her 
bikini tan-lines, in particular -- the top set emphasizing her 
well-formed tits and the bottom framing her hairless crotch.  
Carajo licked his lips, but he imagined himself tasting something 
else.

    Louise took advantage of the distraction to quickly remove her 
bra and panties and stood, slightly hunched over, waiting to pass 
them to Hector.  She wondered if he would smell her panties, too, 
which were damp from the long drive.  (Merely sweat, she hoped.)  
There was a large lump in Hector's pants that was growing larger 
as she watched it.  She was embarrassed to find herself squirming 
and breathing more rapidly.

    And she wondered about the size of Carajo's lump.

    As if on cue, he turned his attention to her.  "Your daughter 
has the right idea abou' pubic hair, and you should -- you WILL 
-- follow her example and ge' rid of yours; it is both unsightly 
AND unsanitary, a collector of filth an' a breeding ground for 
disease...."  He paused.  "Moreover, its color is so very 
different from that of the hair on your head."  

    He nodded, staring at Louise.

    She felt he was reading her mind, and she shivered.  

    He gave a further order to Hector, who promptly gathered up 
the women's clothes and left the room.  

    "Come closer, ladies; I wan' to get a better look a' you.  
Bueno.  Now run in place.  Faster!  Ah...you both bounce verr' 
nicely...."  He emptied out their purses onto his desk and 
picked up a pack of birth control pills.  "These, I think, 
belong to you," he said to Cindy.

    "Yes...sir...," the girl gasped.

    "And you, Señora?"

    "No, sir," Louise answered.  "I'm not...well...I'm no longer 
f-fertile...."  

    Just then, Hector returned with a pitcher of water and two 
glasses.  Carajo shook two tablets out onto the desk.  "Time 
for your medicine, ladies," he said.

    Hector presented a pill and a glass of water to mother and 
daughter.  Louise, breathing heavily, eyed her glass dubiously.  
Carajo laughed.  "Do not worry, Señora.  That water is the best 
you'll find in all of Mexico.  The village's name may be 'Lago 
Perdido,' bu' the lake is not truly 'lost.'  It retreated deep 
under ground many years ago and supplies us with any amount of 
pure, cold water.  Drink up!"

    Once again, Louise had the weird feeling that he could read 
her thoughts -- and so could see into her secret fantasies.  She 
cowered and swallowed the pill...and the water.  Cindy morosely 
followed suit.  Then Carajo served up pills from the other bottle.  
He flicked the package of inhalers with a manicured nail.  "We will 
save these...for especial occasions."  He smiled in anticipation.  

    "Hands on head, ladies, both of you," Carajo ordered.  Two more 
men, dressed in fatigues, had meanwhile come in, rolled and lit 
cigarettes, and leaned casually against the wall.  One was a plump 
and pimply teenager, and the other was smaller, 40-something, and 
rat-like.  (They were in fact the rest of the local police force.)   

    Louise knew that they would soon be removing her pubic hair.  
The idea excited her.  When she was growing up, only a slut shaved 
her crotch.  She could smell Hector's manly odor, and that excited 
her, too.  She wondered what that lump in his pants looked like 
out in the open.  Uncircumcised, probably....      

    She licked her lips.

    Carajo shifted in his chair and said something else to Hector, 
who grinned and hastened to lay out some shaving things.

    There was no exam table per se.  But, at a word from Carajo, 
a library table was dragged into the center of the room, and 
Louise was ordered to lie down on it.  The two junior policemen 
grasped her ankles, doubled her up so her knees were by her ears, 
and held her firmly, feet up and legs spread.

    Hector fetched some hot water and poured a little into an 
old-fashioned porcelain shaving mug.  He added a jigger of pale 
green liquid and a dollop of soap and slowly worked up a thick 
lather.  He snipped the hair close with scissors and then brushed 
on the lather...which he proceeded to rub well in with his thumbs.
He and his two assistants were grinning broadly as Louise 
whimpered, "It-it t-tingles....  Oh, god!  Oh...oh...."  

    Hector, taking his time, lovingly spread the soap up into her 
butt-crack....  Louise found it unbelievably thrilling when his 
thick peasant thumb invaded her virgin asshole...in and out...in 
and out...with everyone WATCHING....  

    Then he flourished his straight razor and whisked all the hair 
from her crotch.

    After wiping off the last traces of lather, they had to help 
her to her feet and back to her place in front of the lieutenant's 
desk.  She was trembling.

    Carajo gestured to Hector.  "Las impresiones digitales, por 
favor."  The fingerprinting went smoothly enough and, afterward, 
the photographing and the measuring and weighing-in -- though 
Louise was chagrined when she was recorded as 5'6" and 142 lbs 
and 35B-26½-36, compared to Cindy at 5'5" and 122 and 35C-24-35.  
Initially, standing next her naked daughter, she felt depressingly 
middle-aged and pudgy.  She sneaked a peek at Cindy, who looked 
quite spacey, eyes shut and mouth open, fitfully rubbing her 
thighs together.  Louise failed to repress a smirk.
 
    Carajo got up from his chair, and Louise's eyes involuntarily 
focused on his groin.  (His lump was smaller than Hector's.)  

    "Now is time for the SEARCH," he announced, in melodramatic 
fashion.  He smoothly dismissed the apothecary and the two junior 
policemen.  The former left with a shrug, the latter more 
reluctantly. 

    Carajo moved over to Cindy, leaving Hector to search Louise.  
The corporal began by massaging Louise's breasts and tugging on 
her nipples in a way that left her weak and moaning.  He drifted 
his right hand down over her belly and, with an insolent 
expression, inserted two fingers into her inflamed and already 
dripping cunt.  "Tu coño," he said. 

    "Mi coño," she murmured.  "Mi coño...es su coño."

    He touched her asshole with his left forefinger.  "Tu culito."

    "Mi culito es suyo también...."

    "¿Y tu boca?"

    ("My mouth, too?" she thought.  "Well, I've already given him 
ownership of my...my coño and my culito.  Oh, god!  Why did I do 
that?)  "Sí.  Mi boca también...para siempre."  ("Forever?  Geez! 
Why can't I hold my tongue?  I used to be so discreet.")

    Hector looked thoughtful for a moment.  "¿Y quién soy?"

    ("Who is he?  I must answer...and answer truthfully.")  "Usted 
es mi patrón...mi dueño...."  (Yes, I guess he IS my Master....")

    He pushed down on her shoulders.  "Dame tu boca," he commanded. 
   
    She sank to her knees and reached for his fly.  Her eyes slid 
over to the left, and she was disappointed to see that Carajo had 
Cindy bent over his desk and was fucking her furiously.  Neither 
was paying the slightest attention to her.  So she pulled out 
Hector's large cock and began licking and sucking and slobbering, 
accompanied by frenzied moans and loving whimpers.  At the same 
time, she started finger-fucking herself with abandon.

    She did succeed in attracting attention, but not exactly what 
what she'd hoped for.  Carajo glanced over, scowled, and snarled, 
"¡La masturbación está prohibida!" 

    Even Cindy understood THAT.  She looked at her mother, 
wide-eyed, in time to see Hector reach down and smoothly 
cuff Louise's hands behind her back, then stuff his cock 
into her mouth again and order her to get back to work.

    Louise regretted not being able to finger herself, but Cindy's 
witnessing her humiliation made up for it (temporarily, at least).  
She concentrated on servicing Hector's cock and particularly 
savored its strong flavor and aroma -- so different from her 
ex-husband's (which, besides being smallish and pallid, was 
clean and practically tasteless).  A few minutes later, she was 
also to discover that Hector shot a much bigger load of cum 
(which she dutifully swallowed -- something she'd never done 
before).

    Without being told, she licked his cock clean, then she sat 
back on her heels and began to imagine what it might be like to 
feel his bloated cock fucking her virgin asshole...her culito.  

    "Lame mis cojones...con amor."

    She'd been lost in a fantasy, but Hector's order to lick his 
balls (with love) brought her back to a reality, she realized, 
that was every bit as exciting as her darkest day-dreams.  She 
did her duty with gusto.

		******************************

    At noon, lunch was served.  The policemen were given chicken 
fricassee, biscuits, strawberries, and beer; the prisoners got 
beans, coarse cornbread, prunes, and chicory "coffee."

    Carajo belched softly and stretched.  He passed out the second 
doses of "medicine," and Louise's cunt gave a lurch when she 
thought about what those pills were likely to do.  Carajo said 
something to Hector, who nodded and left.  The lieutenant then 
turned his attention to the prisoners.  "Ladies, now the siesta.  
But before you can enter one of our nice cells, we mus' clean 
you up.  Come."  He led them through the station and out the 
back into a little flagstoned courtyard, whose low walls were 
lined with villagers (males and females, teens and adults). 
     
    In the center of the courtyard was an old-fashioned 
hand-cranked water pump, to which Hector was attaching a 
length of ordinary garden hose.  Near the pump a large 
grate was set in the ground -- a drain, Louise surmised.  
  
    Carajo called over a couple of the teen-aged girls and had 
a word with them, after which they ran off, giggling.  Moments 
later they were back, bearing whippy switches (each about as 
thick as a pinky).  Neither of the prisoners was very happy to 
see that...though the villagers applauded.  Louise noticed that 
the two junior policemen (whom she'd nicknamed "Gordo" and 
"Grasoso" -- "Fat" and "Greasy") had joined the crowd, and she 
wondered how long it would be before they had her, too. 

    Duties were quickly assigned: Cindy was given a bar of coarse 
soap and designated the first to shower; Hector was to handle the 
hose; Louise was the initial pumper; the two girls with switches 
were to "encourage" the pumper; and Carajo was the stage manager.  

    Ankle shackles anchored Cindy in place on the drain, with the 
soap in her hand and an apprehensive expression on her face.  
Louise began working the pump handle vigorously...and the two 
girls started flicking Louise's pale ass with their switches.  
Hector waited until the water pressure had built up sufficiently, 
then twisted the hose nozzle, sending a stream of icy water at 
Cindy, from point blank range.

    Cindy let out a strangled shriek and stood transfixed, as the 
frigid spray played over her body.  As she partially acclimated 
to the temperature, she fitfully rubbed herself with the soap, 
though any lather it produced was instantly sluiced away.

    Eventually Carajo called for the two prisoners to trade places, 
and Hector closed the nozzle on the hose.  By this time, Cindy was 
pale and shivering, and Louise's butt was quite pink.

    Louise actually found the cold shower sexually stimulating -- 
or perhaps that was because she had to endure it in front of an 
audience of Mexican peasants.  When it was over, she had to prance 
around the perimeter of the courtyard so that the sun could dry her 
off.

    She enjoyed performing for the townspeople, but was very much 
looking forward to her siesta, playing with herself in the steamy 
darkness of her cell.  (The second dose of "medicine" was kicking 
in and ratcheting up her arousal to an almost unbearable degree, 
so she was giddy at the prospect of finger-fucking her throbbing 
cunt for a couple of hours.)

    She was therefore stunned when they laid Cindy on her back on 
the cell's lower bunk...and cuffed her wrists and ankles to the 
corners of the bed frame.  She could only whimper when they 
secured her the same way in the upper bunk and left, chuckling.

    She and Cindy mainly spent the next two hours humping the air 
in a vain attempt to cum.

    (During the few quieter moments, however, Louise was able to 
question her daughter and discover that she had been, indeed, 
intending to sell the drugs to friends from school.) 

		****************************** 
 
    When the prisoners were brought back to the office after their 
sleepless siesta, they both had a hollow-eyed, haggard look.  
Louise was trembling, Cindy actually twitching.  Louise knelt in 
front of the lieutenant.  "Please, Señor Tenente, por favor.  We 
need some...some relief....  Oh, god!  We need to CUM!  I beg you 
not to chain us down like that again tonight."

    "You may no' masturbate in your cell.  Tha' is a sin." 

    "Th-there's an alternative, Señor.  Cindy and I could...we 
could...um...." 

    "Sssixty-nine," Cindy hissed.

    "Yes," Louise continued.  "Sesenta y nueve...."

    There was a pause, and a gleam appeared in Carajo's eye.  
"Demonstrate," he said.

    Cindy lay down on her back, and, after only the briefest 
hesitation, Louise got on top of her, mouth to cunt, and they 
both began "demonstrating" with manic enthusiasm.  As the room 
filled with passionate moans and loud slurping noises, Carajo 
and Hector lit a slim cigarillo and a fat black cigar 
respectively, uncapped a couple of beers, leaned back 
comfortably, and enjoyed the show.

    Cindy's hips began thrusting upward, slowly at first, then 
faster as her orgasm neared.  She gave a muffled scream into 
Louise's cunt, whereupon Louise grabbed her daughter's ass with 
both hands and pulled her close, so that she could bury her 
tongue deep in Cindy's juicy teenaged cunt.  Louise orgasmed, 
too, an instant later.  

    After a momentary rest, they both began again, with as much 
gusto as before, and were soon nearing the next of a long-delayed 
string of orgasms.    

    All in all, the four of them spent a very satisfying two hours 
-- climaxed (as it were) by lieutenant and corporal fucking mother 
and daughter dog-style.

		******************************

    It was late afternoon.  Cindy was stretched out on the office 
floor, asleep with a contented smile on her face.  Louise was 
delicately lapping at Hector's depleted balls, hoping to coax 
his heavy cock into life one more time.

    Carajo discarded his last empty beer bottle, stubbed out his 
fifth cigarillo, straightened, to a degree, his disheveled uniform, 
and cleared his throat officiously.

    "Please to wake your daughter, Señora.  Now is time for your 
medicine again...then we have some business to discuss...then 
your dinner...and then back to your cell for the night."  After 
he dispensed the pills, he put on a serious expression.  "This 
is a poor village," he shrugged.  "And we canno' afford to feed 
criminals.  So you two will be required to pay your own way.  
Unfortunately, mos' of the cash you had wen' for your fine.  
Therefore, you must get jobs to pay for your...up-keep...."

    "But I have traveler's checks...credit cards," Louise countered.

    "As I said, Señora, we are a poor village -- even a backward 
one.  We barely have the basics -- church, school, jail, and 
cantina.  We have an open-air market.  I am police chief, 
magistrate, and post master.  Señor Áspero is doctor, dentist, 
and veterinarian, as well as apothecary.  We have no bank, no 
telegraph.  Our telephone system is primitive.  There is simply 
no way you can get more money other than by earning it...by doing 
jobs tha' suit the local economy.  I do no' think you would do 
well as a beast of burden or as a field hand.  In fact, the only 
thing you two seem qualified for is to be putas -- whores.

    Louise's professorial mind was outraged, but her dripping cunt 
was screaming, "Yes!"  She bowed her head.  "As you wish, Señor," 
she murmured.

    "Bueno!  Hector will serve as your chulo -- your...pimp -- bu' 
you mus' of course be officially registered."  He inserted a pink 
rectangle about the size of a credit card into the venerable 
typewriter and entered some information.  He did the same to a 
second card...and hesitated.  "'Cindy Greenstreet,'" he muttered.  
"That name is somehow familiar...."

    Cindy directed a dirty look at her mother.  "Don't blame me," 
Louise said.  "It was your father's idea."

    Carajo laid the two cards out on his desk, attached a mug shot 
to each -- one that showed full face, shoulders, and bare tits -- 
signed them, stamped them with the official seal, and laminated 
them.  Then he presented each prisoner with her own genuine 
"boleta de registro."  They were now certified whores...with the 
credentials to prove it.  "Congratulations, ladies.  You now have 
a real profession," he said, merrily.  "You are fortunate tha' we 
are such a backwater here and have few visitors.  As a result, the 
village is quite free of...sexually transmitted diseases.  And now 
that our business is concluded -- I will add the registration 
fee to your bill -- we mus' celebrate."

    He gave an order to Hector.  The corporal fetched a small 
canvas bag from a corner cupboard and took it and the two 
prisoners out to the courtyard.  There he wasted no time or 
motion in greasing up their assholes, positioning them over 
a big bucket, and giving them each three cold water enemas. 
When they were cleaned out, he brought them back inside, 
where Carajo was waiting.

    "Your daughter told me that her culito was no longer virgin, 
Señora, but I imagine yours is," Carajo said.  Louise nodded. 
"Then I will take you first.  Your daughter should be able to 
accommodate Hector's horse cock better than you.  You two will 
please to bend over opposite sides of my desk.  Hold hands and 
look each other in the face.  Verbalize your feelings...and no 
false modesty."

    As his greasy, probing fingers worked their way into 
Louise's asshole -- first one, then two, then three fingers 
-- Louise whimpered her readiness.  Indeed, she began by 
asking to be "sodomized," but soon transitioned into begging 
to be "butt-fucked."  

    In addition to reflecting her own acute arousal, Cindy's 
face showed considerable shock at how sluttish her mother was 
becoming.

    Carajo laughed and backed off, slapping her ass sharply.  
"Pardon me, Señora, while I wash my hands.  We may be Third 
World, bu' we do have some idea of hygiene.  I will return 
in a little momen' to satisfy your culito....  Aha!  It is 
winking at me.  You will make an excellent puta."

    He was true to his word.  Within a few minutes, Louise had 
enthusiastically lost her last virginity.  She orgasmed -- 
loudly -- when the lieutenant's cock entered her...and again 
as he was pounding her...and yet again when she felt his cum 
spurting into her bowels.  She babbled how much she LOVED it.

		******************************

    Supper for the prisoners was beans, cornbread, and "coffee" 
again, plus some chunks of "mystery meat" and a large, fresh 
orange.

    After being allowed to visit the bucket in the courtyard again, 
they were put to bed.  This time, however, they were both secured 
in the same bunk, mouth to cunt...as so spent a far more pleasant 
time than they had during the siesta.  Still, they also fantasized 
about what it was going to be like to be whores....  And Louise 
also dreamed of finally feeling Hector's meat up her ass.

		******************************

    The following morning, they had fried eggs, sausage, orange 
juice, and "coffee" -- in addition to their "medicine."  After 
they were butt-fucked again (and Louise realized her dream), 
they were given sandals and short, burlap smocks, and escorted 
to the cantina by Hector, who introduced them there as the new 
house whores.  Of course, the owner, Señor Oloroso, had to 
"audition" them and sampled Louise right away (reserving Cindy 
for siesta-time).  Both impressed him favorably.

    That evening, Carajo informed them that he had returned the 
rental car and had shipped Louise's research notes and film, along 
with other "personal valuables" back to her university address 
"for safe-keeping."  Their clothes and mundane possessions had 
been sold or given away.  Louise had an idea that there were 
questions she should be asking or issues she should be raising, 
but the last of the day's meds having kicked in, she was more 
interested in getting as much of Hector's cock as possible before 
lights-out.  Tomorrow, after all, would be another day....

    In fact, "tomorrow" would be weeks in coming.

		****************************** 

    Their libidos being fueled by the pills, which enslaved their 
bodies and liberated their minds, they became compulsive whores.  
They never lacked for customers, though Hector limited their 
activities until they acclimated to their new profession, gradually 
increasing their daily ration of tricks, which he eventually capped 
at twelve each -- not including the policemen, Gordo and Grasoso 
(each of whom got one freebie a day), Señor Oloroso (who claimed 
one occasionally), and, of course, Carajo and Hector himself (who 
got several).  Their pay was a meager 25 pesos a trick -- about 
$1.80, at the then-current rate of exchange.

    Their work was surprisingly pleasant.  Their clientele, though 
unlettered, was not uncivilized.  Their demanding cunts were kept 
satisfied...almost.  And, with their blood seething with 
aphrodisiacs, they were free to root around in their darkest 
fantasies (which they happily shared with each other) and actually 
to live them -- all without guilt.

    As it was, eight weeks passed easily enough, and one morning 
the lieutenant announced that they had proved to his satisfaction 
that the drugs had indeed been "only for personal use."  He 
presented them with cups of real coffee, their "papers" (passports 
and boletas de registro), their smocks and sandals, and a thousand 
pesos each (their earnings after deducting their upkeep) -- which, 
he pointed out, should more than pay for bus tickets home.  

    After a good-bye fucking, they were told they were free to 
go and that Hector would drive them to the nearest bus station.
  
    There was a passionate leave-taking with Hector while parked 
in an isolated arroyo, followed by an uncomfortable but uneventful 
trip home (during which they slept days and masturbated each other 
at night).  

    So ended their unexpectedly prolonged Mexican holiday. 

		******************************

Some nine months later:  

    "Lulu!" Cindy called.  "The taxi's just pulled up.  Let's go."  
She stuffed the last of their things into a small canvas tote as 
her mother shuffled downstairs.  

    "Could you nurse me...please?" Louise asked.

    "No.  If the bus is on time, we should barely make it.  You'll 
just have to bear it until later."  

    Louise picked up the tote and grimaced as her milk-heavy 
breasts jiggled, rasping her nipples across the coarse fabric 
of her garment.  Cindy artfully tugged on her mother's smock, 
causing more torment for the leaking nipples.  "I wish that 
lactogen therapy had worked on me, too," she said.

    Louise shook her head.  "No.  You're mainly jealous because 
now my boobies are bigger than yours.  But it isn't all peaches 
and cream...as it were.  In fact, it can be a damn pain.  As you 
well know, if I don't get milked enough...."

    Cindy smirked.  "So I'll still have the whip hand -- as it 
were -- for a while longer...."  She giggled.  "But Hector'll 
be pleased."

    "Yes, there is that."  Louise smiled weakly.

    The taxi honked again. 

    "Well, off on another extended holiday," Cindy said, airily, as 
they left the house, both cunts already dripping at the prospect.

    The door clicked behind them.  


 

    

   

  
