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CENTRAL AMERICAN DRUG BUST – Chapter 2
In a country populated by the descendants of Indians known for their human sacrifices and ruled by the descendants of the Spaniards who perfected subjugation and cruelty, humiliation and sadism, practiced in a variety of forms, seemingly by instinct, were the glue that held everything together.
As the enforcers, the police and paramilitary members supplemented their paltry salaries with bribery and crumbs swept off the tables of the overlords, who made sure they lived reasonably well. They had nearly unchallenged authority over ordinary people, most of whom were careful to avoid even the hint of opposition lest they find themselves in a police station or barracks, or worse.
But there was also an unspoken bargain: deference and blindness ensured survival. The police and paramilitary forces were strictly forbidden from random abuses against compliant citizens. Vices were regulated behind the scenes. The drug trade, a major source of funds from both the traffickers and the American anti-drug enforcers who, in addition to their cash, supplied the government with uniforms, weapons, and training, was allowed on the condition that, apart from token amounts consumed discreetly by visitors, the bulk was transshiped through the country to America and Europe.
Prostitution was allowed in tourist areas; the whores, including the homosexual putos, remanded part of their fees to the taverns, whose owners then shared the proceeds with police in return for protection. The result was a surface stability, with the reality invisible to casual tourists who saw only a humble and friendly local population, not a subjugated one.
The elites were well aware of the sadistic nature of their enforcers, and as Castillians, they sometimes shared a taste for inflicting pain and humiliation on those who were reckless or foolish enough to rebel against the structure; on the naive tourists who were enticed into the drug trade to please the Americans; and on the occasional idealistic Americans who stupidly ventured there to promote foreign concepts of equality and democracy.
Jason and Cindy were aware of much of it, aside from the drug trap they'd fallen into. In fact, the country's historic brutality was part of its appeal to them. Arrogant, immature, and from wealthy families, they imagined themselves as rulers. They would play a sex game in which he was the "Conquistdor" and she was the helpless victim, bound to satisfy his whims, which usually ended with him screwing her ass while wearing the uniform of a policeman and laughing and insulting her.
"I give the puta what she needs," he would say, as she faked being in pain. "Look at how the gringa puta smiles. Listen to the sound of her pleasure."
Somewhere along the line, she had betrayed him, and now she was laughing with the rest of them.
After it was over, he was making breakfast for Cindy and the four Men, clad in nothing but a T-shirt. At least it would end today, he told himself, recalling that the Castillian had told him that Americans in his position were customarily deported as long as they cooperated with the authorities.
The first thing that Americans visiting that tropical country noticed was their libido going into overdrive. It took about a month to kick in, and it became a running joke among expatriates.
"I don't know what's in your bananas, or maybe it's the water," the blond Marine said after the meal, chuckling. "I think I've cum about four times since last night, and I'm ready for more. When are they coming for her? Do we have more time?"
They didn't, the Castillian replied, and in the early afternoon there was a knock on the door. The Americans in suits had returned to pick her up. Jason, expecting to go with her to the airport, was in for another surprise when they told him that the plans had changed.
"These Men will take you back to your apartment, and your father will call you after dinner tonight," one of them said, his face betraying no details or emotion. "Be sure to be there at 8 p.m. to take the call."
"I told you not to become involved with the drug trade," his father snapped. "How foolish could you be?"
"The leader told me that Americans are deported," he replied, deeply worried.
"Look, idiot," his father replied, "this bust will be on every front page up here. Even if you wanted to come back and face life in prison, I wouldn't allow it. The publicity would ruin my company, and that's not simply going to happen. You will be staying down there for the next two years until this blows over."
Crestfallen and terrified, he struggled for breath as the full reality of his predicament sank in.
"Didn't I tell you that the policy has changed?" his father said. "Didn't I?"
"Yes, you did," Jason replied, his voice trembling. "But isn't there anything you can do? Please, dad?"
"As a matter of fact, I have done something," his father said, coldly. "But it does not include bringing you back in the next two years. What I've done is arranged for your protection there. If you hope to get back here alive and in one piece, you will do precisely what you are told."
Jason recognized the tone of voice. The matter was settled.
"P-p-p-protection?" he stammered.
"I understand that you are being supervised by a team of four," his father said. "The leader, Jorge Cervantes, comes recommended by the embassy. The senior American is a Marine officer, a Captain Thomas Hardesty, and they have a good relationship. He will listen to you and explain things, and can keep you from the worst, but he cannot protect you from your own stupidity. So you'd better wise up."
The Marine who made me lick his balls while he screwed my girlfriend is going to protect me from the guy who made me suck his dick and then held me down while I got fucked, he thought. Dejected and broken, his fall complete, he did not mention what they had done to him, and what he figured they would keep doing. It was unspeakable, so he did not speak of it and struggled to find other words.
"Can I reach you?" he asked, finally.
"Captain Hardesty can get through, but not fast," his father said. "Make friends with him, and listen to what he says. That Man is all that stands between life and death, and don't ever forget it."
The next night, Hardesty stopped in at Jason's rented house to discuss the terms of his indenture, the first being that nothing would change on the surface.
"You're going to help us catch other Americans in the drug trade," he said. "You will go to the same bars and hang out with the same people, just like you were doing. Cervantes is going to set you up with a girlfriend, or at least one who'll look like one. But since you're a queer, you won't even think of fucking her."
The Marine worked as a guard in the consulate in the town, and had worn his dress blue uniform to Jason's place, located in a secluded spot at the edge of the town center.
"But I'm not queer," Jason protested.
"That would be 'I'm not queer, sir,' the Marine replied. "Nothing will change in public, but in private you will call myself and Staff Sergeant Rodriquez 'sir' and you will call Jorge and Pedro 'senor.' Oh, and you're right, you're not a queer. You're not gonna be a queer for the next two years, so you'd best get used to that."
Hardesty smiled and spread his legs, showing a stiff log in his blue uniform pants.
"Now show me just how not queer you are and suck my dick," he said, chuckling. "Undo my belt buckle and get that not-queer mouth of your to work, buddy boy. Nope, not a queer at all. Just a dick sucker."
Humiliated again, he moved to follow the order, fishing out the thick, stiff dick and putting his mouth on it.
"Look me in the eye, not-queer dicksucker," the captain said, his voice overly tender, mocking and sarcastic. "Get it good and slick with that tongue that ain't queer, and then use your hand on it while you go. And when it squirts, you will swallow with that throat that's not queer."
Now timid and servile, Jason complied, hoping to bring the Marine to orgasm as quickly as he could. In a few minutes, he felt his mouth fill up while the captain grinned downward. Near the end, the Marine pulled out abruptly and aimed the last two squirts at his head, added some spit, and worked it into his hair.
"Now that you're finished not being a queer, put everything back where you found it," Hardesty said, his voice turning cold. "And thank me. That's another rule. You will always thank the Man. In English for me and Luis, and in Spanish for Jorge and Pedro."
"Thank you, sir," Jason said, weakly.
"It's a good thing for you that I'm on the team," Hardesty said to Jason, who sat on the floor between the Marine's legs as the captain used a couple fingers to play lazily with one of his ears while the spit-cum mixture dried in his hair. "The other three are dangerous, and my job is to keep them from killing you."
The hapless, housebroken American, once swaggering and smug but now very much the tame and timorous opposite, sat silent and subjugated, listening as the officer described the others one by one.
"If I wasn't around, Luis would probably kill you where you stand," he said, referring to the bearded comrade who had ordered Jason to lick not just his balls but the shaft of his thick dick as he fucked Cindy. "He's from southern California and has seen what the drugs do there. He hates the traffickers, and he especially hates the Americans who work for them. It doesn't exactly help you that your father is richer than God and you never needed the money."
The fortunate part, Hardesty said, is that the staff sergeant really wasn't interested in screwing him or even having his dick sucked.
"I can go either way on the screwing, and I do like getting my dick sucked," the captain said. "But Luis? All you'll get out of his dick is a load of piss in your throat."
Jason did a double take.
"W-w-w-what, sir?"
"Get the biggest glass you can find," Hardesty said. "Drink out of it for 45 seconds without stopping to breathe. That's your practice. You don't want to know what will happen if you don't swallow his piss. And you'd better make damn sure to thank him after you've used that mouth of yours to drink a Man's piss. Not because you are queer, but because you are obedient."
Pedro was next on the list.
"The only danger there is that he fucks you to death," the Marine said with a laugh. "But he knows he can't do that with you, so just take it. And as far as he's concerned, you're nothing but a girl whore, so you can rest easy about being a queer."
Jason looked at the floor, remaining silent.
"Now, Jorge is by far the most dangerous of all, but he won't be sudden," Hardesty said. "My job there is to keep him from calling that Bolivian doctor up here to take off your dick and your balls. The way to keep that from happening is to never argue with him about anything, and to deliver us some more Cindys."
He nodded, promising to cooperate.
"Jorge is twisted as hell," the Marine added. "I have been down here for three years, and he is the most vicious, cold-hearted sadist I've met. That guy will stick his dick into anything that moves. If it's a queer like you, it's all about who's boss. Keep in mind that he wants you to fuck it up, because he really likes a castrated boy. The one you met was one of two that I know of, and I'm sure he'd add you to the list if he could."
He'd already figured that the Castillian was a deeply menacing figure, but this was even scarier.
"Buddy boy, you never had a chance," Hardesty explained. "He likes a certain kind of fella and I'm afraid you fit like a glove. The minute you got involved with the coke, it was only a matter of time. You are not the first."
The Marine explained that Jorge regarded the overtly feminine homosexuals that made up a segment of the tourist trade as nothing more than a steady trickle of payoffs from the bars.
"He doesn't give a shit about them," Hardesty said. "When it comes to guys, he looks for an American who thinks he can come down here and do anything he wants, and then he turns 'em into maricons if they're his type."
"What's his type?" Jason asked.
"That would be 'What's his type, sir?" the captain snapped, his voice irritated.
"S-s-s-sorry sir," he replied. "What's his type, sir?"
"That's better," the captain said. "Now remember that kid without the dick and balls? He came here with some left-wing political group that wanted to save everyone. Cervantes personally murdered all of them except for that kid, who looked a lot like you did before he called in the doctor."
The Marine continued.
"To Cervantes, you're a tool in the drug enforcement game, and a plaything to get it over on," he said. "It's a head game with him. He really likes it when a maricon has a beard. He told the kid that, and when the kid shaved it off, that's when Cervantes called in the doctor.
"So you'd better not shave yours unless you want to lose the balls that make it grow, along with your dick. And you'd better do anything he wants. Never argue with him, always thank him, and never fuck with that girl he's setting you up with."
"What am I to you, sir?" Jason asked.
"As far as I'm concerned, you're a job," the captain replied, fixing a thousand-yard stare directly into Jason's eyes. "I'm supposed to try to keep you alive and in one piece. I don't care what you were before you got here, and I don't care what will be two years from now. But between now and then, you're here to do what you are told."
Hardesty smiled and chuckled while he continued.
"Which includes swinging on my dick, taking their dicks, and knowing your place," he said. "But you're not a queer, right? You just know who's boss."
"I am Maria," the girl said, smiling and touching his arm lightly. "Jorge told me I would find you here."
Jason was into his third drink, and gasped. She was the picture of Latin beauty, her jet black hair, dark eyes, and light brown skin drawing him instantly. Her satin blouse stretched over her breasts; a crucifix hung from a silver necklace, pointing toward cleavage made visible by the two buttons undone at the top.
She wasn't wearing a bra, and as they talked he could see that her nipples were erect, and he felt an erection stirring when she pressed against him and suggested that they find a booth for more privacy.
"So we will be catching cocaine mules together for senor Cervantes," he said. "I won't even ask what he has on you."
Maria smiled at the remark.
"Jorge has something on everyone," she replied. "But he doesn't control as much as he thinks, as long as he gets what he wants."
Over the next two months, Jason and Maria became a fixture. Together with Luis, they reeled in two American tourists, with Hardesty joining at a critical juncture to offer diplomatic protection for drug shipments. They were praised for their help, and Jason relaxed and began a torrid affair with Maria, his ingrained arrogance and privilege overridding the instruction he'd received at the start.
One evening, they were invited to the farmhouse, as they'd been since he agreed to work with them. They ate and drank together, while the castrated American served, clad only in a T-shirt to emphasize his condition.
"You have been fucking my Maria," Cervantes said, a wide and menacing smile on his face staring at Jason, who sat in shock on a couch between Hardesty and Luis while the castrated American looked on. Maria sat smiling next to Cervantes, who caressed one of her nipples through her tight blouse.
"I told you not to do that," the captain said. "I told you not to even think of fucking her, and you did it anyway."
Jason realized that Maria had betrayed him. Once again, he'd been set up.
"The doctor will be here from Bolivia next week," Cervantes said. "But tonight, we show you about being a maricon."
He was on his knees, sucking the Castillian's dick while he sat with Maria. Then he licked the staff sergeant's balls and shaft as screwed her, just as he'd done two months earlier. But now there was something else.
"Stay down there and put your mouth on my dick, faggot," the staff sergeant said, his voice cold. "Drink it, faggot."
Jason had practiced holding his breath and drinking water, but hadn't done so for a month and struggled to swallow as the American military Man pissed hard. But he managed it, and then it was time for him to be screwed by Hardesty, who grinned malevolently as he hammered and the castrated one licked his balls.
"You just couldn't obey," the captain said, his voice so gentle and tender that the mockery was clear. "That's going to have to be fixed."
That week, Jason was terrified thinking of what lay in store for him. Just before the weekend, when the doctor was due to arrive, he arrived at his spacious rental house and found Hardesty sitting in the living room. He was used to it, his privacy having disappeared as part of his arrangement.
"Sir, she seduced me," he said, pleading. "I lost my common sense, sir. Isn't there anything you can do, sir?"
He stared into the Marine officer's eyes, begging for relief.
"I told you that my job is to try to keep you alive and in one piece while you work for us," he said. "I told you all about Senor Cervantes, and to do exactly what you are told. Yeah, of course she seduced you, god damn it. He told her to, so he can cut off your balls and your dick just like that kid."
"Please, sir, anything!" Jason cried. "I'll never do it again."
The captain chuckled.
"Oh, I think we both know that you'll never do that again," he said, his tone gentle, tender, and mocking. "After Sunday, it won't be possible."
Then the Marine was inside him, staring downward as he pumped into Jason's rectum.
"Maybe I can have them make you a cunt," he said, his crooked smile and tender voice teasing and sadistic. "Then you can be just like the other putas, except no tits, but you'll have three holes."
The doctor had left the office – really just a room above the tavern – and Jason woke up and felt downward. His balls and his dick were still attached, and he was looking into the captain's eyes.
"I convinced Jorge to let you wear the cage," the officer said, similing and reaching down to gently shake the strange and unfamiliar metal apparatus that enclosed him. "You won't be screwing her, but at least you will leave with everything intact."
The cage consisted of an outer ring that attached tightly around the base of Jason's balls and dick. A second piece was actually two pieces: a plastic tube inside his piss slit, and a cage with a cap on the end, secured to the large ring and locked in place with a key attached to Hardesty's key ring.
"I tried to give you a break," Hardesty said. "A couple months ago, I convinced Cervantes that if you kept out of Maria's pants he'd have the control he likes. But that didn't work because you're a weak squirrel, so there'll be no more hardons for you until the end of next year. You can't be trusted with any of that, but at least I did keep you from being castrated. For now."
The captain's tone of voice made clear that he was expecting something.
"Thank you, sir," Jason said, his relief overwhelming and his gratitude genuine.
"The other part of the deal with Jorge was that if you didn't keep away from screwing Maria, we'd make sure you knew who's boss," the captain said. "He said that the only thing you understand is a conqueror and his stiff dick, and he was right. We're going to make sure you get a good understanding from now on."