Open House: By Appointment Only

Finally, the men were done with me – or bored. Either way, they drifted off, forming little pockets of conversation. Another pool game started up, while someone else clicked the television back on and began channel surfing. I was left like a piece of flotsam, washed up on the couch and forgotten. The room tilted crazily, making me thankful for the sweaty leather pressed to my cheek – it became my anchor, the one point of stillness around which the universe revolved. Even the undignified position in which I had been left – skirt hiked up, upturned ass and pussy shamefully displayed – seemed unimportant. I was simply too exhausted to attempt to rectify the situation and eventually I fell asleep.

I awoke to the scent of orange blossoms wafting in through the open front door. The party was breaking up and Blake and Andrew were bidding their guests goodbye. I had been left unattended, presenting what was probably my best chance for escape. Painfully, I dragged myself off the couch and staggered toward the patio door. If I could slip outside, I could hide among the citrus trees until after the men had gone. The moonless night would be my ally, concealing me in its welcoming shadows. Just a few more steps…

"And where do you think you're going, young lady?" a mocking voice asked. "You weren't planning on sneaking out without saying goodbye, were you?"

Defeated, I turned to face Blake. "Please…" I whimpered. "I just want to go home."

"Home? I don't think so. You're in no condition to drive." As if to prove this assertion, he planted his hand in the center of my chest and gave a little shove. I reeled backward, catching my high heels in the carpet, and collapsed to the floor.

"You see? You're much better off spending the night here," he said, scooping me up and carrying me upstairs. "You just need a nice hot bath and a good night's sleep." With that, he dropped me on the bed in one of the smaller rooms, then stepped into the adjoining bath. A moment later, I heard water rushing into the tub. He returned to the room and carefully undressed me, folding the soiled garments neatly on top of the dresser. When I was totally nude, he picked me up again and carried me into the bathroom as easily as if I was a child, depositing me gently into an antique clawfoot tub. Hot, soapy water – so hot that I could scarcely sit still – swirled around my breasts and thighs, washing away the accumulated filth. Although it burned, I wanted the water to be hotter still – hot enough to sear the past evening from both my body and my mind. Sighing, I closed my eyes and lay back in the tub, letting the scalding water lap over my chin. I didn't even try to move as Blake shampooed my hair and scrubbed me all over with a soapy washcloth. When he had finished, he drained the water and lifted me from the tub, wrapping a thick, soft towel around me. Still handling me as if I was a child or perhaps a doll, he combed my hair and briskly dried my flushed skin.

"Now… I'll give you a few minutes to… take care of business…" he said, depositing me on the commode and stepping back. Appalled, I glared up at him. Surely, he didn't mean to watch even this? But he showed no sign of leaving and I could not deny the needs of my body. Though I cringed with shame, I was forced to relieve myself under his watchful eye. When I had finished, he again lifted me and carried me into the bedroom. The towel was whisked away, leaving me nude and shivering in the breeze that came from the open window.

"Now, let's get you tucked in. Wouldn't want you wandering off in the night, would we?" Blake chuckled, pulling a length of heavy chain from one of the bureau drawers. He wrapped one end around my neck, snug enough that I could not escape, but not so tightly as to restrict breathing. The sharp snick of a padlock secured the chain in place. "That should be long enough to reach the bathroom, if you need to go again during the night," he said, locking the other end around the heavy iron bedframe. "Sweet dreams."

With that, he turned and left the room, taking my towel and soiled costume with him. The loud grating of a key in the lock let me know that he had locked the door from the outside. Frantic, I scrambled about the room, searching for anything that could help me – but met with no success. The bureau drawers were empty, as was the closet. The locked door would not budge, nor would the padlocks keeping me leashed to the bed. In the bathroom, a drawer by the sink yielded a toothbrush and toothpaste – which I used gratefully – but nothing to help me out of my predicament. Despairing, I collapsed onto the bed, pulling the sheet over me to protect me from the night's chill. I sobbed bitterly into the pillow until sleep overtook me and I drifted into dark and troubled dreams.

. . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . .

I awoke, feeling slightly groggy, to the familiar drone of a lawnmower. My head was pounding. From the position of the sun, it appeared to be mid-morning. For a moment, I lay still and silent in my bed, desperately willing the previous night to have been a dream – but no. A brief touch confirmed the chain still padlocked securely around my throat. I closed my eyes in defeat. If only I had a phone, an Internet connection, or anything that would allow me to call for help. I could scream, but no one would hear me. No one, except…

Wrapping a sheet around my nude body, I ran to the open window – and there it was. A pickup truck with the logo of a landscaping company painted on its side. It was hitched to a flatbed trailer loaded with garden equipment and large plastic waste bins. I laughed aloud. How foolish of my captors to forget about the landscapers! If I could just get their attention, they would certainly set me free – or at least call for help. I waited breathlessly as the mower grew louder and louder, bringing my freedom closer with every step. At last, my deliverer stepped around the side of the house and into view: a short, stout Mexican man wearing a broad-brimmed hat, his long-sleeved blue work shirt flapping in the breeze.

"Excuse me!" I shouted. "Please, can you help me?" But of course, he couldn't hear me over the mower. Frustrated, I waited, watching him cut smooth swaths across the lawn. Finally, he had to stop to empty the grass catcher. Again I shouted from the window. "Hello! Can you hear me? Please, help me!"

He looked up toward my window, shading his eyes with his hand. "¿Que?" he called back.

Damn. Racking my brain, I tried to dredge up the few Spanish words I'd learned in school. Why couldn't they have taught something a little more useful than "¿Dónde está la biblioteca?" Who cares where the damn library is? I needed to know how to say, "Help! Some crazy bastard kidnapped me and chained me to a bed!"

"Ay…ayudar… Ayúdame!" I shouted, fumbling for the correct word. "Ayúdame, por favor! Help me, please!" For a moment, he just stood there, staring up at me – but then he turned and ran toward the front door. Finally! I turned to face the bedroom door, awaiting rescue. Footsteps pounded up the stairs, the lock rattled, the door burst open – and there he was, slightly out of breath, dripping with sweat. "Please… Por Favor… Ayúdame," I pleaded, gesturing at the chain around my throat. "Ayúdame…"

He grinned and a leaden chill settled over me. I suddenly realized that I was totally naked underneath the sheet – a fact of which he seemed all too aware from the way he raked his eyes over my body. I realized then that he was not alone – two younger men stood behind him in the doorway. He said something to them – a stream of rapid-fire Spanish that I could not begin to understand – and they chuckled appreciatively. Frightened now, I began to back away from them – but there was nowhere for me to go. At a word from their leader, the two younger men seized my arms and dragged me backward to the bed, throwing me onto it and holding me there. I kicked and struggled futilely, but was hopelessly outmatched. Still smiling, the older man pulled several pieces of heavy, scratchy twine from his pockets, with which he tied first my ankles and then my wrists to the bedframe. He spoke again, another incomprehensible torrent of Spanish – but this time, I caught a few words that I recognized - "puta" and "chingar" – which filled me with dread, though the others appeared pleased with what they heard.

"No… Please, don't…" I begged, but he tore the sheet away. A breeze from the open window rifled the curtains and danced around the room, tickling my exposed sex. It carried with it the strong aroma of the men: perspiration, fresh-cut grass, and gasoline. Masculine smells - potent, but not unpleasant. For the first time, he addressed me in heavily accented English.

"I want to taste your coño," he rasped, lowering his face to my exposed crotch. Mortified, I fought to close my legs – but could do little more than wriggle, scratching my thighs painfully with the stubble on his unshaven cheeks. "Sí, chica," he sneered, lapping at my cunt, "Show me how much you like it." And to my great shame, I realized that I did like it. His persistent licking, nibbling and suckling was having the desired effect, and I soon found myself arching to meet his touch rather than evade it.

"Oh… Oh, God…" I moaned breathlessly as he thrust his tongue deep into my pussy. Despite my humiliation, I writhed beneath him, grinding into his face. He was fucking me with his tongue now, hard and fast. My body tensed with impending orgasm – and then he stopped.

"Not so fast, puta," he laughed, turning to his companions. "Míralo. Le gusta." Look. She likes it. "Esta muy mojada." She's very wet. It gradually dawned on me that the others did not speak English. Although he was talking to them, he was staring directly at me, speaking slowly and deliberately, using simple words. I realized that he wanted me to understand him, to know what he was saying to the other men, which made my shame burn hotter. "Puede a ver tú mismo." You can see for yourself. At his invitation, they approached the bed tentatively. "¡Sigue! ¡Esta perra blanca le gusta!" he encouraged them. Go on! This white bitch likes it!

One of the men grasped my breasts, squeezing them, while the other trailed a fingertip across my wet pussy. "Sí, le gusta," they agreed, running callused hands greedily over my body now. I closed my eyes, blocking out their leering faces, but could not ignore the increasingly invasive explorations. A warm mouth engulfed one of my nipples, causing the flesh to pucker and stiffen in response. Fingers plucked at the other nipple, teasing it erect as well. Someone stroked my clit – a delicate, flickering touch that made me squirm. They grew bolder, and a fingertip insinuated itself gently between my legs. A second finger joined it, then a third and fourth, stretching me painfully as they probed my most intimate depths.

"No…" I sobbed, willing my body to be still, to deny them the satisfaction of seeing my arousal – to no avail. Though my body flushed with shame, I writhed beneath their touches like a cat in heat.

"Ella esta listo," the first man said at last. She's ready. His words frightened me. Ready? For what? Then I felt the bed shift under his weight, felt him straddling my body, and I knew. My eyes flew open when he mashed his mouth to mine, crushing my lips, bruising them against my teeth. His breath, redolent of onions, peppers, and the scent of my own arousal filled my lungs. He thrust his tongue lewdly into my mouth, and I tasted myself on him. When he seized my breasts, kneading them between his powerful fingers so roughly that I was certain he would leave bruises, I screamed into his mouth. The agony seemed unbearable – but there was no escape.

"¡Cállate!" He barked. Shut up! He slapped me, snapping my head back against the sheets. Blood trickled from my lip and down the side of my face. Despite the ringing in my ears, I forced myself to nod acquiescence. With a triumphant smile, he unbuttoned his grimy Levis, pulling them down sufficiently to free the fat cock that strained against its denim prison. His eyes locked with mine as he slowly lowered himself onto me, the buttons on his jeans digging into my inner thigh and the stiff fabric aggravating the abrasions left by his stubbled cheeks. His hot shaft rubbed against my belly, leaving a sticky trail of seminal fluid.

I had nearly forgotten the other men, but a few words from him brought them rushing over. They did not speak, but grasped my ankles and swiftly untied them. Though I tried to kick free, they were able to control me easily, drawing my legs up until my knees pressed against my chest. My ankles were again secured to the bedframe - this time overhead - and the men retreated. I was peripherally aware of them still – standing near the foot of the bed, watching us and stroking themselves through their pants – but my attention remained focused on my captor. He fumbled, one-handed, between my legs, sliding the head of his penis back and forth to coat it with my own copious lubrication. For a moment, he paused – his cock nudging tantalizingly at the entrance to my cunt – while I battled my body's need to engulf him. From his smirk, I knew that he could see my own rising hunger – and that it amused him. Then he thrust into me, impaling me with a single stroke. Again and again he pounded into me, driving the breath from my body with the force of each blow. My ignominious position allowed him to penetrate me more deeply than I'd ever thought possible, and I was unable to stifle screams of both lust and pain.

"¡Míralo!" he grunted. "¡Esta puta le gusta!" This slut likes it. I cringed at his words, but could not deny the waves of pleasure rising through my body. Closing my eyes, I succumbed at last to the powerful contractions that rippled through my cunt, grasping his cock and milking it until I felt him throbbing, pulsing, filling me with his seed.

He lay atop me for a few minutes, then withdrew his now flaccid penis and sat up. I dared to hope that perhaps he was done with me, but was quickly cured of that notion when he climbed onto my chest, straddling my raised legs, and grasped my hair, forcing my head up. "Limpia mi pito," he ordered, pressing his cock against my mouth. I grimaced, overpowered by the musky odors of sweat, semen, and my own fluids. The sticky concoction smeared across my lips and cheeks. "¡Chupalo!" he snarled, yanking at my hair. Suck it. Too frightened to disobey, I reluctantly parted my lips, battling the urge to gag as he forced his soft organ into my mouth. It didn't stay that way for long, swelling while I obediently cleaned him with my tongue. "¿Quiere más?" he asked, pumping deeper into my mouth. Want more? I tried to shake my head – no – while tears streamed from my eyes, but he only laughed. "Tómelo, perra," he sneered. Take it, bitch. I had no choice but to endure the relentless assault on my throat, pinned beneath his weight, scarcely able to breathe. Black spots danced behind my eyelids and my ears buzzed as if they were filled with a swarm of bees. My jaws ached and I choked with every thrust - violent spasms that racked my raw throat. I began to fear that he would never finish – or that I would suffocate before he did – when finally, he wrapped both his fists in my hair, pulling me close to him and holding me there. The hair of his belly prickled my nose and cheeks; his cock filled my mouth and the back of my throat. I couldn't breathe, couldn't move, while his penis convulsed, spilling gouts of hot fluid that dribbled from my open mouth and trickled down my neck. At last he withdrew, wiping his cock on my hair while I gulped for air.

"Tus turnos," he said, standing and buttoning himself back into his Levis. Your turn. The others exchanged eager glances, unbuttoning their pants as they approached the bed. One positioned himself above me, his knees straddling my head, while the other knelt between my legs. Almost simultaneously, they thrust into me – one filling my mouth, while the other slammed into my aching pussy. It felt as if I was being pummeled between them, but at last they fell into a steady rhythm, alternating strokes. My own passion was long spent, and I could do nothing now but endure their brutal assault, praying silently that they would finish quickly. In this, at least, I was fortunate – having masturbated while watching the first man have his way with me, they were ready to explode. After only a few minutes – though it felt like much longer – the one in my mouth climaxed with a strangled shout. I began to gag, fighting to suppress a rising surge of nausea. The convulsions that racked my body were enough to push his companion over the brink, and he pulled out, shooting hot cum over my belly, breasts, thighs and ass. Those gouts of sticky fluid spattering my body, the raw scent filling my nostrils, were more than I could bear. Helplessly, I turned my head to the side, a trickle of semen and vomit pooling on the sheet beneath me.

"Puta." One of the men muttered, disgust evident on his face. Following the lead of their companion, both men cleaned themselves on my hair before redressing.

"Vamos," the leader said. "Tenemos más trabajo que hacer." Let's go. We have more work to do. Laughing, the younger men left the room. I heard their footsteps on the stairs, and a few moments later, the sound of the mower starting up again. The remaining man smirked at me. "Díselo Señor Blake dije gracias," he said. Then, to be sure I understood him, he repeated it in heavily accented English: "Tell Señor Blake I said Thank you." He started out the door, then turned back, a cruel smile lighting his face. "Maybe I should leave him a note." Reaching into his pocket, he withdrew a ballpoint pen and a small slip of paper – a business card for the landscaping company. He scribbled something on the card, then showed it to me – two words, "Muchas Gracias." With a contemptuous laugh, he rolled the card into a tube and stuffed it halfway into my dripping cunt, then left.

With my wrists and ankles still secured to the bedposts, I could do nothing to alleviate the slow burn that crawled up my lower back, spreading to my neck and shoulders. Every muscle in my body quivered with fatigue and I could feel that humiliating note protruding from my upturned cunt. Worst of all, though, were the flies that took advantage of the open window. They buzzed around my face, lighting on my lips, my nose, my eyelids. These I could at least dislodge by tossing my head or blowing at them. Others, however, landed out of reach. I could feel their tiny feet tickling my belly, my thighs, my ass – exploring my ravaged body, sampling its sticky coating of sweat and semen – but could only scream in frustration. After a while, though, I was too exhausted for even that and could only lie there helplessly, waiting.

Finally, after what seemed like hours, I heard footsteps on the stairs. With a combination of dread and hope, I turned my face toward the door. The step seemed too light to be the landscapers returning, and while I didn't dare hope for rescue, surely anything would be better than remaining as I was. A short bark of familiar laughter sounded as the footsteps approached, and a moment later the door opened, revealing Blake. "That fucking Carlos…" he chuckled, stepping into the room. "Christ… Hilarious, man." Still laughing, he removed something from the doorknob and held it for me to see, letting me in on the joke. It was a hotel door-sign, reading "No Molestar. Do Not Disturb."