Caution: This Fiction Sex Story contains strong sexual content, including Ma/Fa, NonConsensual, Reluctant, Coercion, Blackmail, Heterosexual, Humiliation, White Couple, Black Male, Oral Sex, Cream Pie, Exhibitionism, Voyeurism, Size, .
Desc: Fiction Sex Story: Chapter 1 - Jenny accompanies her husband on what she thinks is an exotic trip to South America only to find out that he is smuggling priceless Orchids to very wealthy clients. They are caught and she must make a deal to free herself.
Jenny Marie Jenkins was rushing around to get all of her last minute chores done. She had watered all of the house plants, canceled the paper and notified the post office to forward her mail to her sister. She was excited about the first trip she was taking with her husband, Joe.
He had been a mid level government employee for twenty years, and had accrued quite a bit of time off. They were going to Peru, to explore the Andes Mountains. He had made the trip many times himself, but this was the first time she was going to get to go along.
Joe had been an expert with the Homeland Security Department and had a fanatical interest in plants; orchids to be exact. He had written many papers on exotic plants that had been published internationally.
Unknown to many people, Joe had an online business of selling orchids. He had a small space he leased in the outskirts of Kansas City in the underground caves. He had a constant temperature of at least 50° year round, so the energy to keep it at a tropical temperature with controlled lighting was minimal. He had grown exotic orchids for years and sold them on the internet.
Through the years he had a very select clientele who were also experts and buyers of exotic orchids. They had developed buzzwords for select rare and illegally importable flowers. One of the most exotic and rare orchids was the Ghost Orchid (Polyrrhiza Lindenii); also called Palm Polly and White Frog Orchid from the fame with the non-fiction book called "The Orchid Thief" and the movie based on the book, "Adaptation."
It had been believed to exist only in an old cypress tree in Corkscrew Swamp Sanctuary in Naples (southwest Florida). Joe had been able to conceal some spores and roots and take them to a spot in the Peruvian Andes, where the climate, sunlight and humidity were almost identical. It was also much easier to move these plants if they were outside the country, where oversight was much less restrictive. If he were ever caught, it was easier to bribe your way out of it.
All Jenny knew was that her geeky husband had a fanatical interest in plants, and was pretty secretive about it. She had a vague idea that he had been squirreling away money in several obscure bank accounts. She had seen letters from banks in Antigua. She had not seen any opened statements, so she did not know how much was in them. She did not know that most of the banks in Antigua were fronts for money laundering of drugs.
With the money transactions and illegal transfer of flowers being outside of the country, Joe was fairly immune to the laws of the United States. He had been pretty adamant about keeping his wife out of all of this, but he could not continually turn down her requests to go with him without raising her suspicions. He had reluctantly allowed her to go along with him just this once.
He should have told her that it was part of his job; that he was tracking other illegal smugglers and she would not be allowed to go along. Maybe he would use that the next time she asked. Maybe the mosquitoes and bad water would cure her of wanting to go anyway.
Both of them packed very lightly. They had mostly hiking clothes. Jenny was unable to get her husband to let her pack any nice clothes for going out. Her sister dropped them off at MCI. It was a short walk from the curb to the security checkpoint. They were through the scanners in minutes.
Jenny was wearing a dark blue Chicago Bulls baseball cap; a blue button-down collar oxford cloth men's dress shirt with the long sleeves rolled up and the shirt tails tucked into her cut-off blue denim Levi's. Her grey wool socks were folded back down over her dark brown logging boots that were laced up to just below her knees. Her long reddish brown hair was done in a French braid that cascaded down her back to just beyond her wide brown leather belt. Her golden brown complexion made her impossible to ignore. Heads turned; men and women. Her wire frame glasses made her look like a college professor in shorts. Her medium sized breasts pushed against the oxford cloth through the almost transparent panty hose material of her bra. Her long-stem pink nipples were easy to locate.
Joe walked about a half step behind her to enjoy the stares she was getting. It was a good thing she had shorts, because with her narrow hips she might otherwise pass for a boy. Anybody who might have missed her soon turned to see what everybody else was starring at.
When they finally landed at Jorge Chavez International Airport, in Lima, Jenny was getting excited. The smells, sounds, the climate gave her the Goosebumps. They booked a medium priced hotel and made provisions to leave with a rented jeep the next day. Jenny was able to coax Joe into going out for supper that night. Since they did not have any good clothes, they went down to the hotel dress shop to find something.
Jenny came out of the dress shop wearing some grey high heeled boots that stopped just below her knees. About the only dress that would fit her was a dark grey silk button front sheath that fit like a glove. The dress had long sleeves and stopped at about mid thigh. It must have been designed for a teenager, but Jenny looked great in it. She did not like the fact that the buttons stopped about a button and a half from the hem at the bottom and the top was open to the bottom of her breasts.
"You can't wear a bra with that dress, Senora. The fabric will show." The young sales girl said in decent English. Reluctantly, Jenny removed the garment and tucked it in her little clutch purse. Shyly, Jenny clip clopped out of the changing room to get her husband's reaction. "Wow. You look like the twenty-year old I married twenty four years ago. Why have you waited until now to dress like this?" Joe said with an astonished expression.
Jenny smiled sheepishly. It was some small comfort that he liked it even though she thought it was scandalous. This far from home, who would recognize her? She felt a little less self conscious, knowing they were anonymous this far from home.
Jenny wrapped her arm around her husband's as she picked her way nervously down the cobblestone sidewalk as they both window shopped and looked for a place to eat. They stopped at a very small restaurant that served food out of a window. It had two tables outside, bordered by a short wrought iron fence. The gnarled old man came out to take their order. They had heard of Paella; a saffron-flavored dish containing rice, meat, seafood and vegetables.
Jenny sat there, with her legs crossed. Her already ridiculously short dress was hard to keep in place. Jenny took solace in the fact that they were thousands of miles away from home. Joe reveled in the glances of appreciation from the men that walked by. "You are having a good time, aren't you?" Jenny whispered in half-hearted indignation.
"What are you talking about?"
"Those men are staring at me in this short dress, and you are enjoying it."
"I don't know what you're talking about." Joe answered with whatever indignation he could muster.
"I can tell you're excited." Jenny answered, looking furtively down at the rise in his jeans.
"Nobody knows us here. You are the best looking 44-year-old woman on the planet. Put your fucking arms down at your sides and take that god damned cloth napkin off of your lap."
Jenny was surprised at his sudden vulgar language. On the other hand, they were thousands of miles from home. Nobody knew them. Both of them were acting a little out of character.
Jenny blushed as she placed her napkin on the glass top table. She leaned back in her wrought-iron chair and forced herself to rest her elbows on the cold steel arms. The flaps of her dress at the hem seemed to have a mind of their own as they promptly unfolded and lay themselves on the sides of her thighs. Jenny was now bare from the top of her high heel boots to the last button above her crotch. Her cheeks burned as she struggled to hold her pose.
"Why am I shaking? Why am I blushing?" the middle-aged woman asked herself. Down deep, she had to know that she was about as beautiful as a woman her age could be, but her modest upbringing was hard to overcome.
By the time they were almost finished, one of the street performers came by and began some violin music for the couple. This began to attract a crowd. Beautiful music being played to a beautiful woman was more than enough excuse to form a crowd.
A tall black man stepped up to the metal fence. "Could I have this dance; please?" he said as he extended his hand to Jenny. He was easily over six and a half feet tall. He had western boots, boot cut Levis, and a brightly colored western shirt. His head had been shaved but he had a thick mustache and goatee. His English had a French accent to it; unusual for South America.
Jenny's hear almost stopped as she meekly and slowly turned her head to indicate "No." She forced a smile as she said "No, thank you" to him as she turned to her husband for support.
"What the hell, Jenny. We're away from home; remember?" Joe nodded and extended his hand with his palm up towards the black man. "I'll be right here. What can go wrong, Mrs. Jenkins.?" Joe smiled.
Reluctantly, Jenny allowed the man to help her stand. He guided her outside of the gated seating area and wrapped his arms around her. The violin started again. It was the "Blue Danube." Jenny was embarrassed by the attention.
"My name is Marcel; and yours?"
"Jenny; I mean Mrs. Jenkins. Jenny Jenkins," she replied nervously. The man put his right arm around her and lifted up her right with his left. He felt like a giant bowling ball under his flowered shirt. She could tell he was all muscle. She was mesmerized by his strength and agility as they moved slightly on the worn cobblestone walk.
Marcel held her firmly so she wouldn't stumble on the uneven pavers. With her right arm extended outward and upward; with Marcel's right arm around her, she was unable to keep her dress down. The pressure of his arm against the small of her back raised her dress dangerously close to the edge of her crotch. She tried to pull away, but was trapped.
Jenny looked over bewilderingly to her husband for some sign of indignation or support. All she saw was a big smile on his face and a noticeable rise in his jeans.
Jenny was done. She wanted out. "Thank You." She managed to whisper up at him as she tried to pull away. His arms were like a steel cage around her. If she tried to duck down or spin away from him, she would have pushed the dress up around her waist. She just prayed for the music to end. When it did, she managed to escape without insulting the smiling stranger.
Marcel guided her back to her seat. Joe pulled up an empty seat from an adjacent table. Jenny looked over at her husband with a "how could you?" expression. Jenny sat, crossed her legs and arms in front of herself in indignation.
Joe looked at her. Their eyes locked in a sort of mental telepathy. Joe looked down at her dress, and then at her arms. Without any words, she knew he was telling her to assume her previous position. Silently, the embarrassed woman leaned back in her chair. She placed her elbows on the arms of the chair and let the dress slide open to the view of the silent giant and surrounding crowd.
She was too embarrassed to really follow much of the conversation. The men chatted. Marcel did not try to conceal his observations of the beautiful woman beside him. Joe you are an extremely fortunate man to have a wife who looks like Jenny. In this country, they would mistake her for being about twenty years old. The women here age pretty fast. Joe thanked him for the compliment.
"Joe, I have to go attend to some business; unless I could be so lucky as to spend some more time with your wife. This is a dangerous country. Lots of things could happen to tourists here. I could offer protection to you and even make your visit very profitable." He said as he opened his wallet and placed several American hundred dollar bills on the table.
Jenny's heart stopped. He was propositioning them. He was offering to pay for sex with Jenny. "Kill this fucker." Her expression seemed to be screaming at her husband. Joe just sat there; expressionless. It was quiet for a long time.
"We are both flattered by your offer, Marcel. Maybe some other time. My wife has not had time to think about this. Maybe we'll run into you later." Marcel sat there for a while making small talk like neither of the men had considered this a big deal.
"You fuck head. Why didn't you kick his ass?" Jenny whispered in indignation after the man had left.
"Relax, honey. We are strangers; tourists here. You never know who you might need for help sometime. We can't afford to alienate anybody before we leave."
Jenny was furious. "Would her husband have actually considered sharing her? What would he really do in a pinch?" Her mind was racing. Joe gave her time to cool off before they walked back to the hotel.
By the next morning, Jenny had forced herself to cool off about the incident. They packed the few things they had into the rental jeep and took off. Joe knew where he was going. He had rope, climbing gear and lots of camping equipment. They drove for about a day and a half and made camp. Joe had already targeted a particular forest in the Andes with his GPS. He knew where it was. Finally he pulled out his binoculars and peered into the tops of the gigantic Cinchona; the South American source of Quinine. There in the top were several of the White Frog Orchids he had come for. They were worth thousands of dollars to collectors around the world. Joe had successfully been able to transfer them out of Peru many times and today would be no different.
Jenny watched, dumfounded, as her husband climbed up the massive tree. She did not understand much of what was going on. She was not able to see up in the tree as Joe cut many roots off of the White Frog and put them into his backpack.
The tiny roots would be almost un-recognizable in his backpack. It was amazing how much a few roots were worth to the Japanese businessmen. All he had to do was get them out of the country. Joe collected several other orchids while he was up there, to conceal the real object of his climb.
Once he was down, he took Jenny through several parts of the mountains. They took videos of the Vicuna, Guanaco and Alpaca that were living in the Altiplano region.
After a few days more of travel, the couple went back to Lima to return their car and board a plane back home.
Before they left, Joe told Jenny he had to go out for a little while and would be right back. Jenny jumped in the shower, thinking they would go out for dinner that night. She just hoped they would not run into Marcel again. While she was in the shower, there was a knock on their hotel door. Without thinking, Jenny hurried over to let her husband in. He must have misplaced his access card. Thinking she would surprise him, she slipped a skimpy t-shirt on without drying completely. I'll give him an eyeful, she thought as she tugged the hem over her crotch. With her body just out of the shower, the t-shirt might have been cellophane. The water soaked the front. Her long-stem coral pink nipples fought to bore their way through the wet shirt. Her shaven labia stuck to the bottom of the shirt. Her golden tanned legs and abdomen framed the alabaster triangle that surrounded her pouty cleft. She made no effort to hide anything as she innocently opened the door for anybody to see.
When she opened the door, a mountain of a man, Marcel, filled the doorway. He stood there. Jenny backed away in shock, and tried modestly to cover herself. Marcel walked in. Behind him, were two more black men with Joe between them. He was in handcuffs and looked like he had been roughed up quite a bit. His clothes had been torn, his face was bloodied, and his hair was messed up.
"What is going on?" Jenny gasped as she raised her hands to cover her mouth and pull the wet shirt away from her for some sort of cover.
"You don't know?"
Jenny shook her head slowly.
"Your husband has been selling the Ghost Orchid. It is almost extinct. It is forbidden to be transported out of the country. We have suspected him for years of selling them to collectors around the world. Only somebody who worked for an agency like your husband does could have figured out how to get things in and out of different countries without getting caught. Now we have him. His career is ruined. You are going to lose your house; the bank accounts in Antigua and the Bahamas. You will probably go to jail with him. You were in on this or you wouldn't be here." Marcel said as he walked behind her and pulled out another pair of handcuffs.
Jenny couldn't do much more than shake her head in disbelief. It was too much to comprehend all at once. She stood there numbly, as Marcel snapped the handcuffs on her wrists behind her. She was almost too numb to realize how naked she looked.
Finally, realizing how the men were starring at her transparent front, she started stammering. "P ... p ... p ... please let me put something on. Can't you allow me the dignity of putting on some clothes?" she said as she forced the words out.
With her hands cuffed behind her, she was unable to keep the wet shirt from sticking to her front. With her arms pinned behind her, her proud breasts were thrust even higher than normal. Her nipples shuddered up and down to reflect her trembling. She was unable to keep her shirt from riding up. She knew they could see everything as she felt the water dripping off of her wet shirt and down off of her alabaster vagina.
The room was quiet except for Jenny's weeping. The men shut the door and locked it. They sat Joe down in the middle of the leather couch and one man on each side of him. Jenny was backed up against the leather wingback chair facing the couch. As the back of her knees hit the edge, she collapsed into it, further raising her shirt. With her hands cuffed behind her, she couldn't straighten up or pull the shirt down. The best she could do was pull her knees together and turn her legs sideways to keep everybody from getting a straight on shot of her vagina. "P ... p ... please don't do this to us. Please let me get dressed. I beg you." She said unable to look up at anybody.
"Young lady, your husband is going to spend some time in a Peruvian prison. Do you know what they are going to do with this pansy white-assed prick?" Jenny sobbed; not so much for the fate of her husband, but the thought of losing everything they had. "And what would they do to her?" her mind screamed.
"Young lady, you are too beautiful to be locked up in a horrible prison. You can be sold to some enterprising group in one of the suburbs of Lima. You can make a lot of money for somebody. We will start out with you sitting on a curb in that shirt selling pencils out of a paper cup. When it gets dark, you can go inside and serve drinks. I think you have a good idea what else will be sold." He said as he picked up her grey short dress that had been laid out on the bed for her to wear to dinner that night.
"If your face is cut and disfigured, you will bring lots of money as a beggar because people will have sympathy for you."
Jenny sobbed, as her mind raced with mental pictures of what he was saying.
"I'm not sure she is going to co-operate Joe. What do you think?" Joe was silent. His mind was racing; thinking of some way out of this.
"You might both get out of this sooner; like time off for good behavior, if she is more cooperative, Joe."
Joe looked up out of desperation. He looked into Marcel's eyes; then over at his beautiful wife. He watched her sobbing; her breasts bobbing in the wet t-shirt. He watched as she struggled to keep her legs together and turned in some feeble attempt at modesty.
"Tell her what to do Joe." Joe looked silently at Marcel and then finally at his wife again.
His eyes seemed to be imploring Jenny to take some kind of action.
"Tell her Joe."
"H ... h ... h ... honey? C ... c ... can y ... y ... you please help us out?"
"That's not enough, Joe. Tell her what to do."
"H ... h ... honey; you've got to ... to ... to do ... you know ... what he says."
"Joe, I think my friends and I would like to have a blowjob as a sign of her commitment. Can she do that? Is she a good cocksucker Joe?"
Joe blanched. In all their years of marriage, she had refused to do this. The only blight on his marriage was this one thing. Joe would not respond to the cruel taunts from Marcel.
"Tell her what to do Joe."
"H ... h ... honey ... can you do this for both of us?"
"H ... h ... hon ... Jenny, honey; please do what he says. Please ... please give him; and the others a blowjob. Please suck him off." The words came out as a stammering whisper and then grew stronger with his desperation.
Jenny was in a different country. She had no friends. She faced horrible consequences; no matter what. So far, they were just words. The concept had not actually sunk in completely yet. Jenny knew she had to do something.
"W ... w ... w ... will you let us go if I ... I'm good to you?" Hearing her own words made her almost gag. Jenny sobbed, and couldn't bear to look up at anybody.
"You have no choice but to listen to your husband and find out." Marcel whispered. The room was silent except for her sobbing.
Jenny heard the "click" and felt the handcuffs loosen. She brought her hands around in front of her and covered her face with them as she dropped her face down on her knees to hide her wet front.
Marcel glared over at Joe. Without a word, he knew he was being ordered to tell Jenny what to do. Not only was it humiliating for Jenny to be doing what she had refused the man she loved this act so many did in the middle of the night, she was being asked to perform this on this room full of savages; ordered by her husband who would be watching.
"S ... s ... sit up Jenny, honey." There seemed to be some sort of telepathy between Marcel and Joe. He knew what Marcel wanted. Not wanting to see his wife (or him) get hurt, he blurted out the words he knew Marcel wanted to hear.
Jenny was ready to gag upon hearing the words coming from her husband. The man she had spent the last twenty four years with was ordering her to do things with these savages.
Jenny sat up and kept her hands in front of her. She kept them in front of her breasts, but rubbed them together to get the circulation back. She tugged embarrassingly at the hem of her t-shirt to get it over her shaved vagina.
"I ... I ... I'm afraid he wants your shirt off, honey. P ... please take off the shirt."
Jenny's face blanched. Numbly, she crossed her arms in front of her and grabbed the hem of the shirt at the edges. As she slowly struggled to pull the shirt over her head, she laid her head back down on her knees to hide her front. She was humiliated. Although the wet shirt left nothing to the imagination, there was some psychological comfort in having a garment of some sort for cover. Now, she had nothing. Her back was heaving as she sobbed. She tried to cover her face with the wet garment.
"Y ... you ... you've got to sit up, honey."
Jenny went numb. She had no allies in the room. Her husband, who she had done so much for over the years was humiliating her by (in her mind) siding with the enemy. Jenny struggled to obey her husband. She closed her eyes as she sat straight up. She kept her head down and had her arms crossed in front of her; one palm over her vagina; the other arm across her breasts. Her elbow shielded most of her right breast, but her left pink nipple seemed to be peeking through the opening between her thumb and forefinger like a puppy looking inquisitively out a car window.
"I want to be gracious and offer to take you out to dinner, but first I need some sign from you about your willingness to bargain for you and your husband's freedom. Jenny shuddered at the possibilities of those words.
With all the dignity she could summon, she tried to force a smile she did not feel. She uncovered herself and reached out for Marcel's hand as she stood. The hotel room was a suite. It had a bedroom, living room; bathroom, dining room and a double sink between the bathroom and bedroom.
She forced herself to summon the most coquettish expression she could come up with as she looked into his eyes and tried to lead him into the bedroom. "Can't we please do this in the bedroom with some amount of dignity and privacy, Marcel?" She used his name, trying to form some kind of bond with him.
"Surely you don't intend to sneak around and do things your husband doesn't know about. Do you Mrs. Jenkins? I think for the sake of openness and honesty, it would be a shame for you to hide something like this from your husband. What's your feeling, Joe?" Joe was in turmoil. He was devastated that his wife was being humiliated like this, and it was even more devastating that he was being forced to be seen as one of the villains.
Marcel glared at Joe; waiting for him to respond to his wife. Joe knew what Marcel wanted. Reluctantly, Joe almost whispered: "Jenny, honey; I'm afraid you are going to have to do it right here. You are going to have to do it in front of all of us.
Joe struggled with the mental image of Jenny being forced to lay on the couch; across his lap, with her head in the lap of the man to his right, and the man on his left helping to prop her leg in the air as Marcel mounted her.
Instead, Marcel backed up to the dark leather wing chair and pulled her up against him. He looked over at Joe, glaring at him to give her the next command.
"Jenny, hon; you are going to have to take off his clothes first. Jenny was hoping to make some kind of emotional bond with her captor; thinking he might go easier on them if she could. Like a young girl on her wedding night, Jenny tried to softly peel his shirt off after she had unbuttoned it. She has stood against him in an intimate way. She could feel the intense heat from the black giant. She could feel the muscles of his abdomen that looked like black carved onyx. Marcel could feel her despair and anguish as she moved her fingers down his front.
Jenny folded his shirt and laid it across the arm of the wingchair. She knew what was next. Jenny helped Marcel sit down as she dropped down to her knees to untie his heavy combat boots. Like a numb robot, she slipped his shoes and socks off and placed them neatly beside the chair. She stopped for a few counts, knowing what the next step was.
Jenny could barely see what she was doing through her tears as she reached up and undid the military style buckle on his jeans. Joe couldn't believe what he was watching as he tried to close his eyes. Even with his eyes closed the noise of brass button being unsnapped; the lowering of a zipper sounded like boxcars rattling as they were being pulled to start.
He could close his eyes, and he could put his fingers in his ears, but the sound made it clear to him what was going on. He could hear the clothes rustling as Marcel braced himself on the arms of the chair and lifted his butt for Jenny to slide the garments down over his butt. He could not escape the despair in her breathing as the black mamba cleared the briefs and slapped Jenny in the side of her face as it swung free.
Joe couldn't help but open his eyes and see the despair in her eyes as she stared imploringly at him. "What do I have to do next?" her wide eyes seemed to be screaming at him. She was not looking for orders to proceed. She was looking for some way out of this.
Marcel's glare at Joe was like a mako shark circling a wounded seal. Without being told, Joe whispered: "Take a hold of it hon. You have to put it in your mouth." The stench was putrid. Risking untold retribution at not following orders, Jenny stood; turned towards the kitchen and padded over to the upper cabinets. She pulled out a large Tupperware bowl and a dish towel. She filled the bowl with warm/hot water. With her long stem pink coral nipples bouncing as she walked back, Jenny kneeled again back down between Marcel's knees.
Like Mary Magdalene washing her master's feet, Jenny moistened the washcloth and applied it daintily; almost spiritually to the flaccid anaconda in front of her. Each touch; each gesture from her added inches to the length and girth of the slowly aroused dark phallus in front of her. The nearness of her ruby lips made it jump. It swayed, like a cobra wanting to strike. Did it have eyes? It seemed to be slowly moving back and forth; searching for her lips. Was it a mouth? It seemed to be panting; drooling in expectation of being nestled between her soft tender lips.
Jenny tried to ignore it. Just like a woman with a bag of groceries tries to walk past a line of construction workers sitting on a beam during lunch. She knew it was there, but tried to pretend it wasn't.
Joe felt Marcel's glare again. "Jenny, honey. You are going to have to start." She looked up at him. "How could you?" her eyes seemed to say as she leaned back. Jenny looked at her husband. Her tears started again as she pulled her wedding ring off of her left hand and placed it on the arm of the wingchair.
Jenny tried to memorize the distance between her lips and the breathing, slobbering end of the monster in front of her. She tried to close her eyes as she reached up with her left hand. She tried to wrap her thumb and forefinger around the base of it. It seemed to spring out in length another inch or so in excitement and expectation. Jenny could feel the heat. At least it's clean now she tried to rationalize.
Jenny leaned her right elbow on his left thigh for support. She leaned forward. She turned her head to the right; struggling to get her mind into this humiliation. She moved her left hand from the base to the edge of the crown. She rubbed the tip against her left cheek from her ear to the tip of her nose. She could feel the girth of him growing more. She thought she heard Marcel groan. She thought she heard Joe groan.
Jenny tried to procrastinate further by rubbing the tip back and forth along her cheeks and forehead. She used the tip of her nose to fondle the tip. Anything to delay what she knew she had to do.
Joe could see Marcel's growing impatience. His cowardice and concerns about his own welfare seemed to override his despair about his wife as he told her: "Jenny, honey; it's time to start."
Jenny softened her lips. She held the crown and rubbed it back and forth between her unresisting lips against her shuttered teeth. The vibrations of the tender tip across her closed teeth sent Goosebumps up and down Marcel as he turned his head from side to side and groaned.
It was hard to tell who was more humiliated by Joe's orders; Joe for giving them or Jenny, thinking the man she loved was ordering her to suck this monster. "It is never going to fit." Her mind screamed. She could feel the vile fluid coating her cheeks as she rubbed the tip against her. "Maybe that will be enough. Maybe he can't control himself. Maybe he will climax before I have to do any more. Oh, shit! Is it going to get on my face?" her mind screamed.
"You have to do it, hon. Open your mouth." Jenny might as well have been bitch-slapped by Marcel. The words from her husband stung, but she knew she had no choice.
Jenny tried not to vomit as she opened her lips. She leaned forward a fraction of an inch. She felt the tip enter her. She felt the throbbing through the tender skin at the end of his tip. She felt the hands at the back of her head. Jenny instinctively shook her head without thinking. She had had hands on her before; in the same situation. It was a reflex. She tried to catch herself so she wouldn't insult the evil monster in front of her.
"P ... p ... please d ... d ... don't force me. I ... I ... I'm trying to do the best I can. Let me get used to this; please." She whispered as she held the tip under her chin and looked up to make eye contact with Marcel.
Marcel changed from applying pressure to force themselves together to caressing the sides of her temples. His stroking became tender.
Jenny turned her head and leaned back just enough to break the strands of spittle that connected her lips to the tip. Feeling some sort of token reprieve, she reluctantly leaned forward on her own. She closed her eyes and opened her mouth. Jenny wrapped her lips just over the edge of the purple hood. That was about all that would comfortably fit. She backed off a bit and kissed the tip like a mother kisses a baby good night.
Jenny put the tip between her teeth. Slowly, gradually she bit down. He felt the pressure coming. It was painful. It was exciting. It was ... climatic. Jenny had her thumb along the bottom of his shaft against the main canal. She felt the shuddering in his legs. She felt the stiffening of his body. She heard the groan in his stomach as his head shifted from side to side and arched back over the wingchair. She squeezed her thumb down against it; essentially shutting off the passage into her mouth as he shuddered, bucked and groaned.
"Open your fucking mouth.l Tip your head back. Stick your tongue out; farther." Marcel groaned as he squeezed her wrist; stopping her from closing him off. The unleashed onyx phallus sprang free and sent a guyser over her head that was arched back. It went into her hair. The next shot went into her eyes and up her nose. Marcel steadied her hand over his shaft so they both had it aimed back into her mouth. The rest of the eruptions went into her mouth. She had no other option with her nose clogged, but to swallow. Jenny puckered her lips around the tip and her lips hollowed as she struggled to swallow all the fluid so she could breathe.
Marcel was groaning like a stuck pig. Jenny was sobbing and choking in humiliation and despair. Not only had she never done this before, she had never been so humiliated with an audience of savages.
"Tell her to clean me off, Joe ... Tell her to lick me clean." He said looking over at the crushed expression on Joe's face.
"Y ... y ... y ... you're almost done, honey. You can finish him off. You can clean him with your tongue."
Jenny was sobbing and her stomach was roiling as she extended her tongue like a mother licking a newborn calf. When she was done, the humiliated woman sat with her butt on the ground between her splayed ankles. She let her head drop down to her knees as she tugged absentmindedly on what was left of the raging cobra between Marcel's legs.
When his raging erection limply popped out of her hand, Jenny knew she was done; at least for a while. "can I clean up and get dressed, please she whispered to the man above her.
"Go take a shower. Unbraid that beautiful hair of yours. Wash it and then braid it back up like you had it. Put on these boots and put on this wonderful grey dress. I am going to take my beautiful new lady out dancing tonight. I have some friends I want you to meet."
Jenny washed up. She re-braided her hair. Marcel wouldn't let her put on any panties or bra. She put her boots back on. She put her wire-frame glasses on. They let Joe get cleaned up too. They took off his handcuffs. Without their passports and papers, they had nowhere to run.
Jenny had no choice but to clutch Marcel's arm as he guided her over the uneven limestone cobblestone pavers to a popular dinner and dancing restaurant. They sat at a large table in the middle of the restaurant. This beautiful middle aged caucasion woman was too beautiful to ignore. She couldn't have escaped attention if she wanted to. Being led in with a huge black man and a self made audience of two more Peruvians flanking another Caucasian tourist was too hard to ignore.
Jenny was powerless to resist the instructions from the Caucasian sitting across from her. He seemed to be giving her instructions to dance with Marcel and many others. She did not show signs of resistance as her dress rode up. Most people felt she had no panties. They knew she had no bra.
But that as they say ... is another story.