They were driving through Chiapas in southern Mexico, the open air jeep kicking
up a cloud of dust as Christy drove too fast for the road. They were lost.
After driving for about three hours, Christy made a wrong turn and now it looked
like they were going farther and farther into a dense jungle. Each time Christy
made a turn, thinking they would be heading back, they always seemed to go
deeper into the lush forest. It had started out as a chance for her and Angela,
her eighteen year old daughter to spend some time together. Since they arrived
in Mexico two days ago, they were on a non-stop ride of tours, so many places
that they lost count. They finally had enough, renting the jeep for the day,
filling a picnic basket with a wide assortment of food and two bottles of wine.
The concierge at the hotel had told them of a secluded waterfall, reserving
the jeep, giving them a map and even arranging for the food. They left early,
hoping to get to the waterfall, a three-hour ride from the hotel, by ten.
“They are gone,” the concierge spoke into the telephone. “I took their
luggage from the room and did a quick checkout and slipped a duplicate key into
the checkout box. No one will even miss them. You should see them around ten.
They are driving a black jeep, top down, two beautiful gringa, mother and
daughter. The mother must be in her late thirties, but a very beautiful body.
The daughter just graduated high school, so she must be eighteen. Nice, young,
tight body. I’m glad the General will be pleased. I know how much he hates the
American gringos. Yes, the Zapatista rebels will rid our land of them soon
enough. Is the General going to interrogate them? I wish I could be there to
see it. I could be there this weekend; will he keep them that long? It will
probably take at least two weeks for anyone to find out when and where they went
missing. No, the Chiapas state officials won’t do anything. They are too
scared of us. Yes, see you Saturday. Bye.” The concierge went to work, but
his mind kept drifting to the gringas and they fun he would have with them this
weekend.
“Shit,” Christy swearing as they saw nothing familiar. They should have been
there by now.
“Are we lost, Mom?” Angela began to get a little nervous. They hadn’t seen
any other houses or people for over an hour, the road getting skinnier, dustier
and looking less traveled.
Christy looked over at her daughter, seeing the worried look on her face.
“It’ll be all right, I think it is just around the next bend,” she lied. Shit,
shit, shit. Why did she listen to the stupid kid at the hotel and rent this
jeep and drive out into the middle of nowhere?
Christy slammed on the brakes, the tires grabbing tightly, skidding in the
sand, almost running off the road. “What the fuck…?”
Four black-clad Zapatista rebels were spread across the road ahead, a truck
turned sideways, blocking passage. Each of the rebels wore a black bandana
around his face, their rifle or machine gun loosely hanging at the ready. It
was almost as if they had been waiting for them.
“I thought they would never get here,” one rebel spoke. “Damn gringas must
have gotten lost. We are lucky they finally got back on the right road.”
“Who are they, Mom?” Angela was scared, they looked like bandits.
“Don’t worry, honey, they are Zapatista rebels. They don’t care about us.
They must be looking for spies. I read about them in the paper. Spies are
always trying to infiltrate them so they can raid the rebel communities.
They’ll just let us go. Let me do the talking,” letting the jeep slowly inch up
to the blockade. At least they could get directions, relief coming over her,
not worrying about the rebels. Things like that don’t happen to Americans.
“Do you speak English?” Christy spoke slowly, hoping they did, her Spanish
was limited to gracias.
“Sí, Señora, we speak very good English. Do you think we are ignorant
farmers?”
She felt a little scared now. The mask and now his harsh tone sending a
shiver up her spine. Be nice. Use your charm on him.
“Of course not, I didn’t mean to insult you. My daughter and I are lost. We
are looking for the El Caer waterfalls. We been driving for hours now and seem
to have gotten turned around somehow.”
“Americanos ignorantes. El conseguir perdido hacia fuera aquí,” he said to
the others. “El Caer waterfall is over one hundred miles from here, Señora.
What are you doing out here?” He became more adamant now.
“We were giving directions to here.” She reached down between the seats to
get the map.”
“Keep your hands where they are!” The rebels raising their weapons at them,
Angela screaming as a gun was pointed at her for the first time, almost peeing
in her pants.
“Put your guns down!” Christy cried out, raising her hands. “We’re
Americans.”
“Crazy bitch,” he said, moving next to the jeep, looking at both of them with
their hands raised. Carlos was right, both had great bodies, the General would
be pleased. “Keep your hands up,” reaching over her, letting his hand brush her
breasts, as he moved toward the console in the middle. He found the crude
hand-drawn map that Carlos had given them. A map drawn precisely to their rebel
village. “Is this it?” He drew the map out, his arm rubbing against her breast
again, this time harder. She kept her hands raised up.
“Yes, that’s it,” growing more uncomfortable as he accidentally brushed
against her breast, but the second time she knew was on purpose, his arms
pushing against her breast far too long to be an accident.
“This is a map to our village of Nuevo Jerusalem. It is a rebel stronghold,
not on any map. Are you a spy for the Mexican soldiers, Señora?” He raised his
rifle again, pointing it at her.
“No, No! The concierge at the hotel drew the map. He said it was to El Caer
waterfall. We don’t know anything about the rebels. Please, let us go. We are
Americans.”
“You are going to have to explain to the General, Señora. We have had many
gringa tourists that are spies. They are always helping the Mexican soldiers
research plans to attack our rebel communities. He will probably let you go,
but I would be shot if I didn’t bring you to him. You wouldn’t want that to
happen to me, would you, Señora?” He didn’t want any trouble until he could get
them bound. Then he could do what he pleased.
“Where is the General?” A General would be more civilized, he would
understand that this was just an accident. She hoped that he was close, so they
could quickly get out of here and immediately head back to the hotel.
“Not far, Señora. I can’t tell you exactly, just in case you are a spy. Now
get out of the jeep. And your daughter, too.” His gun aimed at Christy,
another rebel moving to the other side of the jeep, his rifle trained on
Angela.
“Mom, Mom,” Angela wined, “I’m scared. He has a gun pointed at me. What‘s
going to happen to us?”
“It will be okay, honey, just do what they say. We’ll be back at the hotel
soon. Don’t hurt my daughter. She’s just a little girl,” she begged.
The rebel looked at Angela as she got out of the jeep. He loved blonde
Americans. She was wearing a pair of shorts, hip huggers that left her navel
naked, a diamond stud in the center of it. The shorts clung to her body,
especially to her ass, molding to the cute cheeks. Her tee shirt barely covered
her midriff; he could make out her bra underneath, positive it encased a lovely,
pert set of tits. Her tanned legs perching high on a pair of platform sandals
that added at least three inches to her height and made the muscles of her legs
tighten nicely. “She doesn’t look like a little girl to me, Señora.”
“What is your name Señora?”
“Christy,” she said stepping out of the jeep.
“And, the little one?” .
“Angela. Just please, leave her alone. She’s only a child.”
“She looks like a woman to me, Christy. A very beautiful woman, such as
yourself.” looking at Christy. She was wearing a top that buttoned down the
front, tucked neatly into a pair of jeans that clung to her ass. How do women
get into such tight jeans? She didn’t look old enough to have an
eighteen-year-old daughter.
“Mom, I’m scared,” Angela cried to her mother, the rebel sticking his rifle in
her back, forcing her to walk over to the large truck blocking the road.
“You too, Christy. Move over to the truck.”
“Face the vehicle and lean against it, both of you. Put your hands on the
sides and spread your legs. Like you Americans do on the cop shows,” teasing,
the other rebels laughing.
“No, we won’t do it.” Christy had to end this. She couldn’t let them search
them. She already saw what one had tried to do to her and now he would have
more of a chance, especially with Angela. She had to call their bluff; they
wouldn’t dare hurt American tourists.
The rebel next to her moved over to Angela, pulling his pistol from his pocket
and placing it square in the center of Angela’s forehead. “Either do as I say
or I will pull the trigger and blow your little girl’s brains out.” He pulled
the hammer back, the loud click frightening Angela, her body trembling in fear.
“Mom, help me. Help me.” Angela fought the urge to pee in her pants. She
had never been as scared as she was now, a loaded pistol pointed at her head,
the hammer cocked, ready to kill her.
Christy hurriedly put her hands against the truck, arms up high like she had
seen on television. “I’m doing what you want, leave her alone.” She was
panicking, the situation getting worse and worse.
‘You too, Angela, up against the truck like a good little gringa,” letting the
hammer go back down, putting the weapon back in the holster. They would be good
from now on.
Standing behind Christy, he looked down at her jeans, her ass tightly packed
in them. “Legs back a little now, Christy. Yes, that’s good; now stick your
ass out as they do on American television. I’m going to have to pat you down.
I have to make sure your not carrying a gun.” He looked over at one of his men
making Angela assume the same position, Angela obeying much quicker, the gun at
her head making her very obedient.
He pressed his body up against Christy, firmly against her ass, using his hard
cock to assure she fully understood her position and what she would have to do.
He reached around her, sliding his hands down to her stomach before moving up
cup her breasts from beneath as she grumbled beneath him, protesting his
handling of her body, but still keeping the position, the pistol having the
desired effect. He squeezed, hearing her groan, he murmured, “such lovely tits,
Christy,” fingers digging into them, squeezing the flesh harshly. He found her
nipples with his fingertips, pinching them until she jerked in pain. “You have
sensitive nipples, Christy. You can’t even take a little pinch on them.”
She kept quiet as he felt her up, his cock rubbing up and down her ass,
humping her like a stray dog. No, please, no. His hands moving down to grip
her between her legs, luckily her heavy jeans protected her sex from his groping
hands pushing her back onto his cock, goosing her with his hand each time she
humped back on his cock. She felt relief when he pulled away from her, relieved
that he was finished. She would tell the General, he would make sure that he
was punished for molesting her.
“Hands behind your back,” pulling her arms back, seeing the surprised look on
her face as he clamped her wrists into the shiny, metal cuffs before she could
even protest. “Just to keep you still.” He pulled a black cloth sack over her
face, making sure that her nose and mouth matched up with the holes in it,
before tightening the string around her neck, effectively blinding her. “We
don’t want you to see where we are taking you. Now just stand there and be a
good girl, we will leave in a few minutes.”
She tried to pull on the cuffs, the metal binds unyielding. She stood in
darkness, hearing muffled sounds of talking, unable to hear what was being
said.
The rebel went over to Angela. “Turn around, Angela. Now I want you to be
real quiet and don’t say a word or your mother is going to get hurt. Can you be
a good girl and obey?” seeing the fright in her eyes.
“What are you going to do?” She trembled, but remembered the pistol in his
holster.
“I’m going to have to frisk you for any weapons.” His cock throbbed in his
pants at the thought of touching such a beautiful, young, American girl.
“I don’t have anything, promise,” she begged, but she saw in his eyes he would
not take no for an answer.
“Now you have to be quiet, I don’t want your mother to hear anything. Can you
do that, Angela?”
“Yes, sir,” afraid of what was going to happen.
“Now keep your hands at your side.” The other rebels moved closer, wanting to
catch a glimpse of this pretty girl. His hands slid across her naked stomach,
feeling her flinch. “Such silky skin,” he whispered to her, his hands sliding
up under her tee shirt, seeing her fists clench at her side, knowing that she
was unhappily enduring this. He pulled her tee shirt up, uncovering her bra,
her young breasts pushed up high, a generous amount of cleavage showing at the
top of her bra. “Hold this up for me,” he whispered to her again, seeing her
hesitate then move up and grip the tee shirt, holding it out of the way, her bra
uncovered, the four rebels gazing as the cleavage of her tanned globes.
“What are you doing?” She protested as his hands moved to her bra, gripping
her young pert breasts in his grubby hands, squeezing them, her face and chest
turning red in embarrassment as the others watched her slowly being fondled.
She could smell his stale breath, his eyes staring at hers as he grabbed her
bra-encased breasts harshly.
The rebel was too eager, unwilling to wait long enough to get back to the
village. His hands slid under her bra, pulling it up harshly, her tender
breasts squeezed tight before the bra slipped free, her breasts now naked for
all of the men to see.
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