Chapter 2

Gwen was getting more and antsier about being in one place too long. Her daughter, Stephanie was always looking for something to do. Their house was small, but adequate. They had three bedrooms, a small kitchen, dining room and living room. They sat at the end of the road, so there was no through traffic. Stephanie had come home with a man on a small Volkswagen pickup. She had found a couple of picnic tables with umbrellas that came out of the middle of them. He helped them set the tables up. Stephanie thought it looked homier.

One day, they were outside in the early morning, having breakfast when some tourists wandered by. They sat down at the adjoining table and began to look annoyed. Stephanie walked over and offered them some water. "Thanks. Do you have a menu?" Stephanie suddenly realized they had mistaken their house for a café.

"No we don't have a menu. I can make you some eggs; cooked any style; potatoes, cooked any style; and bacon cooked any style. We have sourdough that can be served with butter, jelly or sour cream. We can toast it if you want."

"I only have one question, young lady, the older man asked. That is how many ways are there to prepare bacon?" They all laughed. Stephanie had never been a waitress and just got carried away. Gwen slowly realized what was going on. She went inside, put on an apron and got the kitchen ready, somewhat amused at the fortuitous accident that had just occurred.

Stephanie went into the kitchen with the order. When she came back out, both she and her mother came out with two plates apiece for the grandparents, mother and young boy, who seemed to be a little older than Stephanie. Gwen and Stephanie had been sitting at the other table never expecting any company, so they were not dressed for it. Both were wearing blue, oxford cloth dress shirts rolled up at the sleeves, cut-off blue jeans, and sandals. They were dressed for comfort, but inadvertently looked like they could be serving food.

There was no bill. Stephanie shyly explained what had happened, and the old man left about $70.00 to include the food, drinks and tip. Stephanie was ecstatic. "Mom, we can make some money. Let's put up a sign. There are quite a few tourists that come through here."

Reluctantly Gwen didn't object. To Stephanie, a lack of objection implies a reluctant "Yes." The next day, Stephanie had a sign put up over their house that said "Stephie's Café." She stood at the main entrance to the city with a tray of samples; Biscotti, Cranberry Muffins, Banana Scones, and an assortment of puff pastries and chocolate covered strawberries. She was lucky that the stream of customers started out small, because they were not that well prepared.

Stephanie came back with the old man in the Volkswagen truck. They had three more picnic tables and umbrellas. They set them up right in the cobble stone street, because there were no cars. They set their two Vespas out in front to indicate the limits of any parking. Traffic was never heavy, but it was all that Stephanie could take care of. It was all that Gwen could cook for.

Most of the traffic was tourists that came by only a couple of times; a little more if they stayed overnight. There were no hotels. People would have to drive from Marbella, which was some distance away. There was one middle aged man who seemed to come by regularly. He was tall, graying, athletic and rather aloof. He would come by, eat and check the news on his small computer. He had some sort of iphone or something that he hooked up to it to get the internet.

Finally, one day he was sitting there and a black Mercedes pulled up. Two men dressed in black slacks, black silk European styled Armani short sleeved shirt, and alligator shoes. They sat down and ordered iced tea. Stephanie came out in her short apron, tight short denim shorts and oxford cloth dress shirt with sleeves folded above her elbows. Her hair had been braided into a fishtail braid down her right side. Her arms, legs and face were tanned by the pleasant Italian summer sun.

The men tried not to stare at her as they compared her in person to a series of pictures on the man's computer. "Senora, when you come back with our tea, could you ask your mother to come over please?"

"No problem." Stephanie smiled as she turned back to the house. It was nice, really. Quite a number of older men were pleasant to her forty year old mother. Everybody liked and flirted with her, but she liked it when her mother got some attention too. Stephanie whispered something to her. She was wiping her hands on her short apron as she walked over to the strange men. She was dressed the same as her daughter.

Her hair was done up in a long reddish brown French braid down the back of her head that stopped just above her waist. She did not look much older than her daughter. Her early morning jogs through the surrounding mountains helped to maintain her high school figure.

"Hello everybody. I'm the cook here. How has the food and service been?" Gwen extended her hand in a gesture of greeting. As she did so her heart seemed to stop. She saw the open computer and the tiled images of herself and Stephanie. The pictures had been taken several years ago. "Oh, my God! I hope these are some secret service men from the states." She thought, too stunned to remember much of the conversation that followed.

"Hello, young lady. We are tourists who are new to the area. Your hospitality is wonderful. Your young daughter is spectacular. We are fascinated by her. She has an incredible body. Is she a virgin?"

"What is going on? How dare you talk to us like this?"

"My name is Gino. The last name doesn't matter. My friends here are Enzo and Amo. We are here from Barcelona. We had some calls, emails and text messages asking us to look into a curious situation. We think that you and your daughter look like the women in these pictures. Do you have anything to say about this?"

"I'm sorry. You must be mistaken. These women are from another country. We have lived here for some time. I can show you our passports, driver's license and birth certificates."

About that time Enzo was coming back from the house. He had a back pack he had found under the bed. "Oh my God. He found the bag with all of their ID's, bank records and fake documents."

Gwen's head dropped. She was beaten. What would happen now? Had these men been sent by her husband's associates to kill them? The setting Spanish sun did not show the faint tears starting to form in the corners of her eyes.

"I won't insult your intelligence. You obviously have done your research. I'm sure you have the documents to prove what your suspicions are. What are you going to do to us?

"Well, young lady. We couldn't help but notice how strikingly beautiful your young daughter is. Why don't you introduce her to us? I think she could be part of the negotiations.

"P ... p ... p ... please don't do this. Please don't do anything to her. She is just fourteen-years-old. Gwen dropped to her knees and grabbed Enzo's hand in desperation.

"I will do anything you want. Please leave her out of this. I'm begging you." Gwen began to shudder in panic. She was not in control. They were both at this man's mercy. She had to find a way to gain control of this situation.

"Why, young lady should we take a middle aged, beautiful as you are, instead of this succulent beautiful young woman instead?"

"She is so young, she has no experience. I can do whatever you want and I will be more enthusiastic about it than her. Please give me a chance. Let me try to convince you." Enzo took a long look at her in the setting summer sun. The reflections of the sea shimmered off of her beads of perspiration as she stood there trembling.

"Convince me."

"What do you want me to do?" Gwen's tears started down her face. No matter what he said, it would be more than she could bear.

"Go around and turn on the patio lights. The sun is going down. I want something to eat. What do you have? Relieved that the response was too good to be true, Gwen walked around the edge of the patio in the dimming evening light. She used a starter to light the gas lights that surrounded the patio. She went to the table and lit the candles at the center of their picnic table. She stood at their table, ready to recite the litany of more exotic food on their menu.

"I don't like the apron. It hides too much of you. Please take it off. Without a word, Gwen reached behind her back to untie the apron. She slipped the top up over her neck. She folded the apron and set it on the empty chair in front of her. She was afraid of the tone of the order. She was afraid of the progression it might lead to.

"I saw some high heeled boots in the closet last night when we went through your things." Numbly, Gwen turned and went back to the house. She was right. Something had not seemed right last night when they came back from the store. Something in her gut made her suspicious that somebody had been there. Now she knew.

"What's wrong, mom. Who are those men? What do they want?

"Get inside and stay here. Don't come out no matter what." Gwen whispered as she picked up her high heeled boots and shut the door behind her as she left.

Petrified in fear, Gwen walked over to the table of men. Enzo pulled the chair out for her to sit. Gwen sat, unlaced her sandals and crossed her legs. She slipped one boot on and zipped it up. She re-crossed her legs and zipped up the other.

"Stand up. I want to see how those beautiful Italian boots look on you. Gwen stood. She tried not to telegraph the trembling in her knees that she felt. She struggled to stand. She crossed her arms self-consciously in front of her.

"This is a very small town. We do not have all the amenities of some of the big cities where you come from. I think it would be a much more intimate setting if you would take off your clothes." The words hit Gwen like a blacksmiths anvil. She staggered. How could they ask this? Reluctantly Gwen reminded herself about the situation she was in. She had promised to put herself out as a substitute for her daughter. She had to do it.

Gwen's fingers fumbled with her blouse. She tugged the shirt out of her shorts, fumbling for the lowest button. Her fingers were numb as she struggled to get the lowest one through the button hole. As she worked her way up, her shaking seemed compound her humiliation. Gwen turned slightly, enough to know that her daughter was watching in terror through the kitchen window and could see what was going on.

To her daughter, it looked like she was a willing participant standing in front of these strange men, taking off her shirt. It had been a sweltering summer. Gwen had been working in the kitchen, which was even hotter still. She had been wearing the apron, which had covered her front, so she thought she could get away without wearing a bra.

Gwen hung on to the two lapels of her shirt, fighting with the progression of commands that dictated it come off. Humiliated that she was baring herself; humiliated even more that her daughter was watching from the kitchen, she arched her back and slipped one side over one shoulder. Quickly she swung the shirt around in front of her to hide herself.

Enzo stared at her. Then he looked over to the house. That was enough for Gwen. She folded the shirt and placed it upon the folded apron. Their eyes met. There was no need for words. They seemed to have a telepathic frequency. She understood his position of control. He understood her desperation. She had no options and she knew it. She was desperate to divert attention from her daughter.

Gwen hesitated as long as she dared. She gulped. Her throat was so dry she couldn't swallow. With trembling hands, she reached up for her waistband. Her Levi cut-offs fit like a glove. They didn't need a belt. The freshly washed and faded denim had been stiff as a board from being dried in the Spanish sun. She put one hand on each side of the brass button. The sound of it coming apart seemed to explode in her ears. Could her daughter hear it? "What was her slut of a mother doing with these strangers?" she felt her daughter was wondering.

Gwen's heart pounded as she reached up to grab the tab of the zipper. She felt the whole town below her must have heard. In her mind, the whole town was rushing up to see what was going on.

From Stephanie's vantage point at the kitchen, she was horrified to see her mother slowly removing her clothes when she had come over to wait on the strangers. What was she doing?

Gwen put her thumbs against her waist and her fingers on the outside of the fabric. The stiff cardboard like faded shorts seemed groan as they scraped down her beautifully suntanned legs. They caught on her knees. Gwen crossed her arms across her bare breasts and lifted one leg against the other to free herself from the stiff denim. The faded denim puddled at her feet. She lifted her feet one at a time to be rid of them. Gwen bent over to pick them up. She folded them and placed them on her other garments. She was hoping to get them back.

Their eyes met. Gwen stood there with her arms crossed over her breasts. Her left nipple peeked out over the top of her left forearm like a tiny curious pink puppy trying to get a look at the new world. Enzo glared at the sheer powder blue panties. They didn't hide anything. The tops were high on her waist. The back panel covered her entire butt. The front had very high sides, with nothing but the elastic band connecting the front to the back.

Enzo could see through the fabric that her pubic hair had been shaved to the "runway" style above her slit. Below that her pouty lips were bare. It had been done reluctantly under orders from her husband. Now she looked like a wanton slut.

Enzo seemed to be using his telepathic stare. "You know what to do!" he seemed to be saying just by looking at her.

Afraid of what might happen if she didn't, Gwen reached up. Without a word, she tucked her fingers in the waistband and pushed. The weightless garment fluttered in the wind as it drifted down. She stepped out of them.

Gwen stood there in the flickering candlelight of the table and surrounding patio torches. Her golden tan, the flickering orange light of the candles and reflecting waves of the ocean radiated off of her beautiful completion.

"Stand the fuck still. Put your fucking hands down!" Enzo seemed to spit out. Humiliated, Gwen dropped her hands to her sides. Her grey high heel boots caused her tight flat tummy to stick forward a little. The un-tanned bikini hidden alabaster skin was accented by her freckled and beach tanned abs, legs and arms. Her medium sized melon breasts had long shadows where her long-stemmed pink nipples arched up and out away from her. They were easily three times the length of anything Enzo had ever seen. The cooling beach breeze seemed to stiffen them as the Goosebumps began to form in waves across her.

Amo got up and headed for the house. Gwen screamed. "Please ... please ... you promised to leave my daughter alone if I did whatever you wanted. Please leave her out of this."

Amo came back dragging Stephanie by one hand. By now, Stephanie had a good idea what was going on. She could see that her mother was reluctantly cooperating, and perhaps she should too ... As they got closer and she could see the terror in her mother's eyes, she quit struggling. Amo let go of her and she came over to stand by her mother. They put their arms around each other for comfort.

"Stephie, honey, your mother is trying to hide. We were hired to find you. Due to a fortuitous set of circumstances, we have found you. Nobody knows we have found you. We could turn you in and get a good reward. We could take some of the money you already have, not turn you in and still be ahead. However, we feel we need some kind of alternative compensation for the difference. If we turn you in, we will be rich and you will be dead. However, if we take a reduced rate and have some fun, we will not be part of any murder."

"How do you want to deal with this situation?" Bewildered, Stephanie looked from her mom back and forth to the strangers. She said nothing. She wasn't quite sure what everything meant.

"I'll do whatever my mom wants me to do." It was a generic statement. She had no idea what she was saying.

"Stephanie, honey, do you give a good blowjob?"

"No!" her mother screamed. P ... p ... p ... Please leave her out of this. You promised!" Stephanie bolted for the house. She had no chance of beating Enzo. He caught her before she could shut the door. He put his foot in the crack and pushed his way in. He came back out dragging the frightened young girl and about twenty feet of nylon rope.

Enzo sat her down in the chair in front of Geno. He held her arms behind her. Amo tied a loop around her arm above her elbow. He took the rest of the rope and looped it around both arms above the elbow. She could move her hands to some extend and use them by reaching around. The action of wrapping the rope around her arms had the cumulative effect of pulling her upper arms tighter behind her and raising her medium melon sized breasts up and out. She was dressed the same as her mother.

Amo pulled a long pearl handled "stick" out of his back pocket. It wasn't really a stick. The 12" long pearl handle had a button on it. When he pressed the button, a dull, matt finish 12" blade swung out. It only took a thousandth of a second, but in Gwen's terror filled mind she saw it in slow motion. She saw the button go down. She saw the blade swing out in a long sweeping arc. She heard the safety latch click and lock into place. Then she heard her scream; as though from somewhere else: "Noooooooo!!" she heard a voice cry out.

Somehow, Stephanie realized they were not going to kill her. She recognized what he was going to do. Stephie held her position as Amo moved in front of her. He raised her to a standing position. The knife reached around her and snipped the chord of the apron behind her neck. The bib part dropped to her waist. He reached over to her side and snipped the band around her waist. The white cloth drifted to the floor.

Amo pushed the point into the cloth at her waist. With the back of the knife pointing up, he pulled upward, drawing her shirt out of her shorts. He reached the tip into her shirt at the top button. A flip of his wrist sent the button dancing noisily across the granite cobblestone floor. He moved the knife down to her waistband. In a slow upward motion, he sent the remaining buttons skipping across the floor, chasing the first.

Her arms were bound behind her, preventing the garment from being removed. Amo reached up with the knife. He slit the garment from the inside of the sleeve to the shoulder and across to the neck. He repeated the slice on the other side.

The garment fell until it was trapped between her bound arms and back. Her breasts had been pulled back with the bindings. Her long-stemmed pink nipples seemed to be sticking out sideways from her body and straight up in the air. She was the spitting image of her mother, with the same hair, breasts and complexion.

Defiant in her humiliation, she refused to cry.

Amo turned the knife down. With the back of the blade against her hip, he slid it down into her shorts. As he moved the blade down, it cut the short distance from her waist to the bottom of her shorts like butter. The garment parted but refused to fall. Amo walked around to the other side and repeated. The garment fell, but caught at her knees.