Las Hembras

In all honesty, I didn't give it a good deal of serious thought when I initially discovered it. Sometimes people pull pranks, occasionally a little girl will have a mean older brother, and once in a while some warped youth will do something macabre as a means of gaining attention. As it was, my job as a parole officer already attracted the attention of various miscreants, although I'd yet to encounter an individual savvy enough to locate my home address. That, seemingly, had changed, at least for the time being.

On my doorstep next to the morning paper was a shoebox with a single long stemmed black rose and a male doll in it. It was a "Ken" doll, wearing a long, white wedding dress (presumably from Barbie's wardrobe) and impaled with a large nail. The nail had been pounded directly into the area where Ken's rectum would be if the doll were anatomically correct, and was large enough to cause a split up his backside. The box had also been sprinkled with perfume, an expensive scent, whose odor commingled most pleasantly with that of the rose. There was no note and no other clues by which one might be able to ascertain the identity of the sender. I placed the box into a paper bag and decided to have it checked for fingerprints at work, hoping to get lucky with an identity for the prankster.

Another long day loomed ahead. I'd first joined the corrections department with the optimism and zeal typical of a raw employee, fully expecting that I'd be able to help wayward offenders lacking direction to get their lives back on track. Cynicism had set in with the realization that most parolees didn't really want help. I spent the majority of my time keeping dangerous criminals on a short leash, looking for any excuse I could find to have them arrested and incarcerated for the duration of their sentences. I still held a good deal of pride in my job, but stayed focused on protecting the public at large rather than holding out any real hope that the overwhelming majority of inmates passing through my office were capable of any sort of meaningful change.

I sat pondering these issues as my 9:00 appointment with Detective Gloria Chavez approached. She was one of the police department's most highly respected experts on gangs and gang activity, having herself grown up in a less than wholesome inner-city environment. She was 28 years old and single. Gloria was tall and kept herself in excellent physical condition, with long, black wavy hair cascading just past her shoulders. I'd made preliminary overtures to her in the past indicating my desire to date her, which she hadn't dismissed out of hand. She did, however, let me know that she had placed her preference for a successful career ahead of having an active social life. During the course of working together towards the common goal of making inner city neighborhoods livable again, we'd discovered that we had much in common, although our relationship remained one strictly of a professional friendship rooted in mutual respect.

Gloria smiled, greeting me with a light hug and some small talk as she sat in my office to brief me on possible gang affiliations held by certain clients of mine. When I showed her the shoebox she examined the contents briefly, and then swallowed hard. I noted her hands shaking slightly.

"Dan, where did you get this?" She seemed genuinely concerned.

"It was on my doorstep this morning when I left for work. Does it set off any light bulbs in your head, Gloria?"

"Las Hembras," she said, slowly, deliberately. "Definitely." She turned to me. "Do you know any of them?"

"Who or what is Las Hembras?" I'd never heard of them. Gloria took a deep breath.

"Las Hembras controls approximately 85% of the drug, prostitution, gambling, and protection rackets on the lower east side," she said. "They're an all-female gang, primarily Hispanic, mostly aged 18 to about 25 years of age."

"All female?" I was incredulous. I knew of most of the gangs in town, having dealt with a high percentage of their members during the course of my work. "I don't know any of them. I've never even heard of them." Gloria smiled.

"They have successfully wrested control of most of the major rackets from the male gangs," she said. "They operate behind the scenes for the most part, pulling the strings and reaping the profits while the guys do all the dirty work and wind up dead or behind bars. They represent the real power on the streets of our city." I smirked just a bit, examining the doll and rose again.

"That doesn't seem possible." Gloria chuckled to herself.

"The women are a lot smarter and better at organization than the males are." She began. "They are better at keeping a low profile, they don't fight amongst themselves as much, they don't turn on one another when they're in custody, they see their enterprise in business terms and refrain from using unnecessary violence, and know how to turn their adversaries against one another. Don't underestimate them."

"Well then," I began. "Seeing as how you're the expert, can you tell me what exactly this means?" She smiled, and then looked me squarely in the eyes.

"Are you sure you want me to tell you? You may not like it."

"Yes, I'm sure. What does it mean?" Gloria looked away for a moment, gathering her wits. Then she resumed eye contact, idly touching her foot against mine under the table.

"It means, Dan," she measured her words carefully. "That somebody wants to bitch you."

"Bitch me?" I blinked. "Whatever does that"""?

"It's a figure of speech," she began. "It's used on the street a lot. It means that a member of Las Hembras wants to initiate a relationship with you, with you assuming a female, or 'bitch' role." I laughed. She continued. "You can see the symbolism here ... the male doll is in a wedding dress, symbolic of both a union and of his submission. The rose is symbolic of Las Hembras, and the nail may either be symbolic of some sort of pressure applied to enforce submission or of an actual sexual act." I shook my head. "All members of Las Hembras wear a tattoo behind their left ear. The women wear a small black rose showing a purple stem and exaggerated thorns, with the number of thorns indicative of their rank within the gang. Presumably as a male member, you'd be tattooed as well, although I think it might be a different sort of symbol." She reached over and

stroked the skin behind my ear. This irritated me a bit, and I jerked away.

"That's absurd. I'm an adult, a parole officer, a grown man in a position of authority. These are just kids. Are you sure it's not just a prank?" Gloria shook her head.

"These ladies may be young, but they're wise beyond their years ... and they play for keeps." she warned. "I'd be careful if I were you, Dan. Leaders of male gangs have left town after receiving such a package on their doorsteps. I'm telling you as someone who cares about what happens to you."

"Well, what would happen if I were, say, 'Bitched'"? I asked. I was suddenly intrigued.

"You would be forced to join the gang," she said. "In a lesser role, of course. You would become the de facto property of whomever it was that 'bitched' you. You would be expected to support the goals of the gang, with severe penalties dispensed if you failed to comply. Of course, such cooperation with Las Hembras would gravely conflict with your job in this office. If I thought you'd been 'bitched,' it would be my duty to inform your supervisor, which would most likely lead to your dismissal and the filing of charges against you, depending on how you'd used your position to benefit the gang."

"Well," I muttered smugly, "that's not going to happen anytime soon." Gloria smiled.

"Just you be careful and don't underestimate the girls," she said. "Otherwise, you may just get what's coming to you." Gloria tossed a folder on my desk, leaving the room with an infectious smile. It was for the briefing we'd never actually discussed, that is, an overview of prisoners up for parole who may shortly wind up under my supervision, along with any details I should know about their specific situations.

One name that stood out among the profiles listed was that of Linda Carrillo. She was 26 years of age, convicted of burglary, drug possession and auto theft. Gloria told me that she was actually a founding member of Las Hembras who had expressed to her a desire to leave the group. She'd been placed in the protective custody wing of the women's prison, as her cooperation with police hadn't set well with other incarcerated gang members. Although she'd initially been handed a fifteen-year mandatory minimum sentence, she had made parole after just two years because of her exemplary behavior while incarcerated. There was also some hope, according to Gloria's notes in her file, that intelligence gleaned from her could be used to infiltrate and disrupt the gang. She had her initial intake interview in my office that afternoon to discuss conditions she'd have to follow to remain free.

The conditions were strict. No alcohol or drugs, with random testing required. Linda was not allowed to wear the Las Hembras gang colors (black and purple) at any time. She could not associate with any gang members, had to maintain gainful employment for the duration of her parole, and was required to wear a monitoring device about her ankle, which would keep our office abreast of her movements at all times. She was, essentially, under house arrest and work release. Any movements outside of work and her home had to be cleared with me before she stepped outside. Unauthorized movements triggered an alarm, and would likely result in her being arrested and incarcerated, with parole being immediately revoked.

Linda arrived for her interview at 10:00 AM sharp. She was genuinely beautiful, with shoulder length jet-black naturally wavy hair, full lips, and piercing almond colored eyes. Her well-proportioned 5'11" frame was dressed in a conservative white dress and powder blue blouse, hardly revealing of her past as a hardened gang member. Her demeanor was ingratiating and deferential, and she seemed a bit intimidated, almost shy. She nodded quietly and whispered "yes, sir" as I explained each condition to her, and broke into a big smile when I explained that I'd arranged for her to work a regular job at a fast food restaurant. "Thank you," she said. "That will allow me to send money back to my family in Mexico without having to resort to breaking the law." While my position required that I keep a professional distance, I smiled inside. I was happy that I was able to help someone that genuinely seemed to want it, and had a strong feeling that this woman indeed was going to make it.

As the months passed, I found my faith in Linda strengthening. She seemed to have a good home life, a strong faith in God, and a commitment to her own personal success. It became evident that Linda was serious about disassociating herself from Las Hembras as well. She never missed a day at work. Her random drug and alcohol tests always came back negative, and nothing was irregular about her movements. In addition, Gloria Chavez told me that she had provided information vital to understanding the inner workings of the gang itself.

I was so impressed with Linda's rehabilitation that I interceded on her behalf to have her sentence reduced. Although reluctant at first, the judge respected my judgment and eventually agreed to end Linda's house arrest and allow her greater freedom of movement. We also arranged to protect her from her former gang associates, as it was the general consensus among us that her life was potentially in danger. I called Linda, leaving a message with her mother, hastily arranging a meeting with her so that I could inform her of the good news.

She arrived for this meeting as she had for all the others: conservatively dressed in a tasteful pink one-piece dress, with flesh toned pantyhose and red pumps. She smelled of roses, the scent understated, yet somehow familiar, and all the more powerful when our eyes met. Linda smiled, taking her seat in front of me. I blinked, clearing my throat, which prompted just the slightest hint of a giggle. I smiled back, caught off guard, and began my speech.

"Ms. Carrillo," I said, "due to your cooperation with efforts to undermine and dismantle the Las Hembras crime syndicate, as well as your behavior and general attitude while on parole, the state has decided to release you from house arrest." She brushed her hair from her face, licking her lips. I continued. " In addition, we are prepared to meet with federal authorities to discuss your eligibility for the witness protection program." Linda scooted closer, her perfume clouding my senses slightly, her smile cracking my concentration. I took a deep breath, remaining aloof and businesslike. My lungs filled with her perfume, so intoxicating, so sensual. "Your continued cooperation will likely result in an early release from parole, although no guarantees can be made at this time. Your cooperation is appreciated, and this office wishes you the best." I smiled at her. She hung her head for just a moment, appearing to sob just a bit, then stood up and came around to the other side of the desk. I was just a bit startled when she wrapped her arms around me as I sat, tenderly pulling my face into her bosom.

"I want to thank you," she spoke softly, barely audibly. Her voice cracked with emotion. "I've spent most of my life in and out of the criminal justice system, and you're the first authority figure ever to give me a chance." She wiped a tear from her face and looked me straight in the eye. I ignored a slight stirring between my legs and rose to my feet to return the hug.

"Don't thank me, Linda. Give credit where credit is due. Credit yourself for the effort you put forth and for your positive attitude-"

She silenced me with a finger on my lower lip. For a long moment, she started deeply into my eyes. Then she cupped my cheeks in her hand and kissed me. She kissed me softly, tenderly at first, and then deeply. Linda pushed her tongue past my lips and into my mouth, exploring the contours of my cheeks, pressing her face hard against mine. She broke off the kiss and pecked my neck, ears and cheeks, chin and nose lightly as I muttered a feeble protest about how inappropriate her actions were.

"Hush," she said, smiling. She walked her hand slowly down my chest, past my stomach, and finally between my legs. She fondled my cock, stiffening it so that it jutted straight out from my pants. Her strong perfume surrounded us, and her scent commingling with it drove me to lose control. I staggered, my knees buckling, my eyes glazing over as my body was racked with pleasure. She whispered in my ear again.

"You have been good to me," she said. "I want to be good to you. I want you to go home tonight. Go home and think about how good I can be to you." Linda abruptly pulled away, kissed me on the cheek and admired her handiwork as my fully engorged penis pushed my pants up in a tent shape. Then she bent over again, whispering once again into my ear.

"Good boy. I see you're doing it already. You're such a good boy, that's why I know you do good things to please the women in your life." Linda ran her fingers over my shaft beneath my jeans. "You do want to please me, don't you honey?"

I jolted when she said that, the blood draining from my face. I looked at her, shocked and upset; yet all the more aroused. I nodded to her, almost absentmindedly. She giggled and blew me a kiss. "Remember, go home and think about me." And then she was gone.

I stared into space for a few moments collecting my thoughts, trying desperately to distract myself and focus on something work related. I had to get this under control. I couldn't allow myself to become compromised by an attractive parolee. I took several deep breaths and even pinched the head of my stiff cock in an effort to force it to go flaccid.

In spite of my efforts, my erection refused to subside and did, in fact, become harder. Fearing an embarrassing situation, I scurried off to the men's room to masturbate. I had just about made it to the door when I heard the characteristic click of a woman's high heels behind me.

"Oh, there you are, Dan." It was Gloria. "Can I show you something real quick?"

"Well, uhm." I muttered. "Actually, I really have to go to the bathroom, and-" my cock strained hard against my pants. I felt her hand on my shoulder and smelled her perfume, which caused my erection to stiffen anew rather than subside.

"This will only take a second. Here, tell me what you think about this.." I sighed, reaching behind me to take the piece of paper she wanted me to see. Gloria pulled it back abruptly.

"Dan, is something the matter? That's awfully rude. Why don't you turn around and face me?"

"Well, I really have to go to ... " my cock strained conspicuously against my pants. I tried to slip past the door into the men's room, but Gloria stepped around in front of me. She noticed my erection and glared at me.

"So ... you have to go to the bathroom, do you?" I swallowed hard as she faced me, nose-to-nose, our heads mere centimeters apart. She was at eye level, her scent and bodily presence more intense than I ever remember them being. She whispered into my ear. "What for? Is it number one or number two?"

"Please, Gloria, let me go inside-," I gasped as she casually felt my erection through my pants, stiffening it even more. Her expression was unsmiling. She squeezed me slightly.

"Or is it number three?" Her fingers deftly unzipped my fly and slipped inside my pants, then found the edge of my underwear. Gloria's dark eyes bored a hole through my head when her cold hand encircled my balls. I gasped.

"Gloria, please ... "

"Daniel, I saw Linda Carrillo inside your office just a few moments ago. Do you deny that?"

"No, Ma'am." She finally smiled slightly when I called her "Ma'am."

"I warned you about these women, didn't I?" She squeezed harder for emphasis.

"Yes, Ma'am, you did" Gloria pulled us away from the men's room, hand encircling my balls inside my pants, and forcibly shuffled us over to the entrance to the ladies' room, just a few feet down the hall.

"Inside."

"Gloria, I can't-" She opened the door, pulling me into the women's bathroom. Gloria opened a stall, seating me on a toilet and then shutting the door, finally releasing my cock. I sat in the tiny space as she stood over me, one foot on the toilet, giving me a clear view up her dress.

"Take it out, Daniel." I trembled, embarrassed and intimidated, slowly reaching inside my pants and showing her my fully engorged cock and balls. She smiled.

"Not bad. Could be better, but not bad. Now tell me, are you her bitch?"

"No!" I was defiant. Gloria put a finger to her lip to remind me to keep my voice down. "I'm nobody's bitch." She reached down, fondling my cock and balls again.

"Then what happened just now between you two, little boy?"

"Nothing happened! I mean-" Gloria smirked at me. "She ... she came on to me a little bit. I'm not sure why, I think she was just grateful that she was being released from house arrest or something." Gloria smiled, running a fingernail up the underside of my erect cock.

"Some gratitude." She watched as my cock tensed, pointing back towards my face. "Looks like she really did a number on you. I'd say you were profoundly affected by her little 'come on,' wouldn't you, Daniel?"

"Well, I was aroused sexually, but I can't really help that." Gloria laughed.

"What did she say to you? What did she do to you to make you so ... ardent?" I breathed deeply and swallowed, stifling a sigh. A stiff fingernail poked my tender cock head as I winced in pain. "Well? Spit it out, Daniel."

"She kissed and fondled me, then told me to go home and think about her." Gloria smiled knowingly.