Dangerous Games Ch. 02

"I'm going to suuuck your juicy cuuunt."

"Then what are you waiting for?" I stood up and gathered my jacket and purse.

He held on to the stool to balance himself and staggered to the elevator.

"Deck 16, the top suuuite."

>>>>>

Suite 1601

Suite 1601 had a separate living and kitchen area. There were two bedrooms, each with its own attached bathroom. It was clear Sabrina had left in a hurry. Her shoes and clothes were all over the living room and the larger bedroom. The smaller bedroom appeared to be unused.

I excused myself to the bathroom again. Using the sound of the flush to camouflage, I purged myself again. I washed my face, released and brushed my hair. When I emerged, Miguel was snoring.

He made it so easy there was no challenge. I stripped to my waist and placed my jacket and top neatly in the living room. The metal hairclips that had held up my held were in both my palms as I neared the king-sized bed.

I climbed up the bed and sat on him before he woke.

"Hi baby," he said lazily when he saw that I was topless.

"Hey," I purred as I removed his belt, then pulled his pants to his knees. My lips touched his balls gently, arousing his cock, which slowly grew larger and sprang upward until it pointed at the popcorn ceiling like a flagpole. I let it grow inside my mouth, supporting my weight by balling my fists. My stomach pressed down on his toes and my legs were solidly planted on the thick carpet.

"Ready?" I removed his cock and asked for the last time.

"For what?" He was puzzled and narrowed his eyes, his fingers interlaced and both hands behind his head, which was supported by three pillows.

I put his cock back in my mouth and sunk my teeth on it, with the force of pit bull bite.

"What the fuck?" He grabbed my hair with one hand and was about to slap me with the other. But I was faster. I stabbed his left eye with the metal hairclip. Blood shot out of his blinded eye, the metal sticking out. I muffled his scream by suffocating him with a pillow.

He struggled but the alcohol slowed him. His lack of oxygen weakened his grip. I bit on the hand holding my hair to free myself. Then I sat on the pillow pinning down his head. When his oxygen deprivation was at a maximum, I released the pillow so he took a deep breath. He was so focused on oxygen intake he did not see that I had aimed the other metal clip directly at his remaining eye.

He was now totally blinded and helpless. All I had to do was to flip him over, knee squad on his back, then jerk and twist his neck hard to break the spinal cord.

I washed off the blood on my chest and put on my top and jacket. Then I hung the "do-not-disturb" sign on the knob when I left the room. I went to the bathroom to retrieve my gun taped under the sink.

Later, Victor would arrange for someone to enter the room and clean up. The body would be thrown overboard and never found. The job was done.

>>>>>

Victor and I were having breakfast the next morning as the ship approached Cozumel. The night before, I'd checked my accounts in Grand Cayman and had confirmed the wire payment. But the non-monetary reward was what kept me going.

"What do you have for me this time?" I speared the sausage link and inserted it halfway in my open mouth, my tongue licking it.

"Did you not like to be tied to the pool table?"

"The four-man gangbang was nice." I pushed the sausage to one side of my mouth, my upper lip rubbing the lower lip as I chewed slowly.

"So why the questioning tone?"

"You need to step it up each time or it gets old."

"You mean the element of danger needs to be more extreme to raise the temperature?"

"I want it to be reckless. More pain equals more pleasure."

"With fear thrown in to spice it up."

"Exactly, Victor."

"Don't worry. This time you will have a nightmarish experience." He wiped his lips with the napkin, signaling he's ready to debark.

"I hope not to be disappointed."

Together with a few crew members, we were among the first to walk through customs and the duty-free store to get to downtown San Miguel. Oddly, everyone spoke English. Victor's phone vibrated. A picture and the two words Punta Morena appeared on the screen.

"Memorize the face," He passed his phone to me.

"Am I to meet him at Punta Morena beach?" I handed back the phone.

"Yes."

Victor hailed a taxi and sent me to collect my non-financial reward.

>>>>>

Punta Morena

The beach on the east coast of Cozumel was quiet and pounded by surfs. The taxi dropped me in front of the Mezcalito restaurant. The man that met me was dark skinned and a couple of inches shorter than me. His hair was jet black and curly. He had a tattoo of a gun on his neck.

"My name is Clinton. No kidding." He was cheerful but looked at me in a creepy way. I adjusted my white tube top.

"Megan." I shook his hand. His palm was sweaty.

He ordered tacos for both of us. "Enjoy your meal." He said it as if it would be my last good meal for a while. We washed it down with Tecate.

The meal cost only ten dollars. I reached for my purse on the table.

"Senorita, please do not touch your purse." He pushed aside his jacket to let me see his piece tucked into his waistband. "In case you don't know, the waiter behind you also has a gun."

Clinton was firm and no longer smiling. He paid the bill. The waiter took away my purse.

"Is he going to give it back?" I asked, pulling up my tube top again.

"Yes, after he removed the gun. You are a sneaky lady, senorita."

Like clockwork, the waiter returned with my purse in one hand and the Glock in another. He handed the purse to me and the Glock to Clinton. Clinton stuck the Glock in his waistband, next to the revolver.

"I don't like automatics," he continued. "They tend to jam and are unreliable just when one needs them."

"You mean automatics are as unreliable as men?"

My attempt at humor drew a blank stare.

"Alright, senorita. Are you ready to come with me?" He stood up and took out his revolver to make sure I knew he was not asking.

Clinton marched me to the back of the restaurant, where a white van waited. The driver stepped out as soon as he saw me. He was almost my height and had smooth brown skin. He wore a wife beater, with a tattoo of an Iguana on his shoulder. The sliding door of the van opened up at the same time. A shirtless man sprang out. His chest was inked with a large eagle holding a snake. Both men approached carefully, guns drawn, index fingers wrapped around the trigger guards.

"Relax, amigos. She's unarmed." The cheerful Clinton waved my Glock in the air. He removed the magazine and the round in the chamber. Then he handed the empty Glock to Iguana.

There were no chairs inside the van. I was made to sit cross legged on the metal floor, my back against the cold metal sidings. Eagle sat with his legs spread, his boots touching my knees, his right index finger fully extended outside the trigger guard. He was nervous and obviously not very experienced. I could have easily knock away his gun and drive an elbow into his nose. A sudden head butt in confined space would have knocked him unconscious. But I wanted to find out what these guys were up to. I wanted to know what Victor had planned.

I was taken to Punta Molas, the northern tip of the island. My wrists were tied behind me and I was ordered to kneel on the shallow waters of the beach until the boat was ready. Both my top and denim shorts when strong surf washed ashore. Iguana shook his head, indicating I was to remain kneeling and not try to stand up.

The boat was small. We sat single file. I sat in front, my legs unable to fully stretch against the V-shaped front of the boat. Iguana sat an inch behind me, his legs straddling mine, his hands holding my roped wrists. Eagle pushed out the boat until it was knee high. He pushed up to the boat and started the engine.

The engine was loud and powerful. The small but fast boat bounced on top of the waves of Cozumel Channel like a jet ski. Tourists on pleasure crafts and water taxis waved at us. Iguana sat tightly against me to hide my roped hands. If not because I wanted to see Victor's plan, I could have screamed for help. These clowns were unprofessional and had no idea how to execute a successful abduction. I was beginning to wonder if Victor's promise of a nightmare would really come to pass.

We headed south to an isolated area of the Yucatan Peninsula. I was half dragged out of the boat and made to kneel on the rocky beach. Iguana forced my elbows together until they touched and roped it tightly, pushing out my chest. Another rope tightened around my neck and I was led like a chained animal in the rain forest.

We trekked for three miles or so at a fast pace. Hands behind me, I could not see all the time, my hair tumbling across my face. I stumbled a few times, cutting my knees, thighs, and elbows on sharp rocks. Iguana showed no mercy and yanked me up by my hair or by my roped neck. The nightmare had begun. The heat had returned.

Hours later, we arrived at what looked like a farm protected by barbed wire. Men in uniform could be seen at the gate. I was glad we were now dealing with professionals, not the raw recruits jerking the rope on my neck.

"We're here." Iguana announced as if I was blind.

The gates opened to a dozen uniformed men in AR 15 semi-automatic weapons. Iguana and Eagle were greeted warmly like brothers, with hugs and back slaps.

"Who is this fucking cunt?" The captain of the group stepped forward when all the hugs ceased, after what seemed like an hour.

"She's a whore," a man shouted.

"As you can see, she dresses like a slut." Iguana spoke as if he was making a speech. "But she is not a whore, not even a cheap whore because she can be fucked for free."

The men roared in laughter. Some of them coughed. A few clapped.

"I am not fucking her unless she begs."

More laughter.

"Make her beg." A lone voice from the back.

Iguana nodded his head and kicked me behind my knees. I lost my balance. He twisted his hands in my hair and forced me into a high kneeling position.

Humiliated and surrounded by leering men, it was at the same time erotic to have that kind of power. These hardened men were hardening between their legs because of my presence. I was sweating and my top and shorts were soaking wet in the midday sun. I was also wet because of a different kind of heat inside me.

From then on, the nightmare cranked up a notch. My tube top and shorts were ripped away in everyone's presence. I was forced to crawl on my hands and knees to the brightly lit windowless cell. Four cameras, mounted high at each corner, recorded every minute of my shameful ordeal from every angle of my hurting body. The ropes holding my arms behind were removed and my wrists cuffed to chains that hung down from the high ceiling. Telephone wires were used to tie my ankles to my thighs so I could only kneel and could not sit or stand.

Time passed, hour after hour, total silence in the sound proof and dark cell. I was given plenty of water to drink. I was not given any food or allowed any bathroom breaks. Eventually, my arms aching and bladder full, I had to pee kneeling on the floor. Before long, the cell stank.

I was bone tired and tried to sleep. But each time I nodded off, speakers mounted on the ceiling would come alive and played foreign music at ear splitting volume.

At the end of the second day or maybe third day - I had lost track of time - I was hooded and led outside through rain forests, branches cutting my naked body. I was taken to another building and questioned for hours, by interrogators sitting behind one way mirrors and scrambled voices. Sometimes, I was questioned in a kneeling position arms tied behind. Sometimes, I was standing with my arms tied above me. If they liked the answers, I was allowed to sit down tied to the chair. If they think I'm lying, I was questioned hogtied with my face pressed against the cold concrete floor.

Between the sessions, I could never predict what would happen. Sometimes, I was given food. Other times, I was tied in stress positions. Many times, I was tied in sexually humiliating positions. Starved, sleep deprived and severely disoriented, I drafted into a trance and started to hallucinate. The boundaries between my senses blurred.

Every moment in naked captivity was terrifying. But the most degrading moments were when I was taken to the basketball court. Hundreds of men without shirts would chant as I was paraded naked. Four men from the crowd would be picked each time. The degrading games would be different each time. One time, I had to suck all their cocks and make them come within one minute. If I fail, I would be gang raped in front of the cheering and leering crowd. Another time, I had to suck a man while getting my pussy pounded from behind. I could rest only if both men came at the same time.

At first, I held on to some sense of myself and told them only things I wanted them to know. But eventually, I had nothing to hold on to, no sense of dignity, no pride, not even who I was. They make me say everything I had ever done.

But one thing they never asked was anything to do with the Disney cruise. There were never any waterboarding sessions. Victor must have had spelt out the limitations of the interrogations.

In one week, I had been bombarded with endless sexual assaults, subjected to unspeakable humiliations and degradations, and sleep deprived. I was physically and mentally very weak. But I was secretly enjoying the ability to survive what few would experience. Victor had totally delivered his promises of a nightmare.

The next morning, I was allowed to take a hot shower, given a nice dress and clean underwear, and taken to see Sabrina.

Sabrina wanted to know what happened to Miguel. He had been missing for one week and she had been searching for answers.

>>>>>

To be continued ...