How reassuring were his smooth and promising statements. Ernesto would protect her! He was offering her so much and asking nothing in return – just the way Chris had done, but in a different way! Chris – fuck him! And Wendy, too! Just wait till the two of them found out where she was headed! Jill Conklin, the famous artist, discovered at eighteen!
'Oh, Ernesto, it all sounds too good to be true. How can I ever thank you?' she breathed huskily. She wanted to kiss him on the cheek, but she didn't dare – the way she felt then, she wouldn't be able to leave it at that!
'Jill, I'm delighted that you have accepted. Now we must compose a note for Josephine. We are leaving tonight, you know.' He withdrew a leather case from his inside breast pocket and opened it before her on the table. There was a slim gold pen inside, and some blank paper. Jill took it shakily and began to write, having difficulty as she slowly scrawled the letters in less than her normally meticulous hand.
'Dear Josephine – Guess what? I'm going off to Mexico for a while to work and study – a terrific opportunity to learn from some of the finest artists there. Will explain more later in a long letter. Don't worry about me – I'll be fine. Enclosed is some money for the next couple weeks, in case I'm not back before then. Will let you know. Fondly, Jill. P.S. Will notify school and folks back home.'
Garcia discreetly placed two twenties inside the folded paper and directed it to his breast pocket. 'I'll give this to Jack; he can help you pack.' Seconds later, the printer appeared and Garcia helped Jill up before the big man reached the table. 'Good news, Jack. Jill has decided to join us on the flight back tonight. I told her you'd get her things – here's the note for the landlady. Phone me when you're all set. I'll see that Julio is here with the car and we'll pick you up at your motel.'
'Wonnerful, Ernesto!' Dawson enthused. 'Little lady, you certainly made the right decision!' And to himself, Yessiree, God bless your sweet pussy if you didn't. And God bless the sonofabitch that came up, with that ever lovin' love potion, too…!
CHAPTER SEVEN
Jill was becoming drowsy. She was having increasing difficulty keeping her eyes open. She sat with her legs tightly crossed, squeezing the inflamed lips of her pussy against her distended clit – it would have been so easy to cum right there on the back seat of the cab! Dawson kept asking her if she were all right, kept leaning against her, patting her hand as they drove from Nob Hill to the pink stucco house on Bay Street. 'Merle'll fix you up, honey. She's a darn good nurse, if nothin' else,' he assured her.
The printer insisted that she wait in the taxi while he gathered her things together. At first she protested, but she felt so weak when she tried to get out of the cab that at last she gratefully conceded that he could pack as easily – and certainly, faster – than she. She took advantage of his absence to sink back into the seat and close her eyes… for just a moment…
Again Chris came into her befogged mind. She tried in vain to shake away his image, but she couldn't deny the longing that she felt for him now. What was she doing, going off to Mexico in the middle of the night with men she barely knew? If only she had given in to Chris, had let him make love to her completely – the way he was doing to Wendy – it could all have been so different. She would have known the satisfaction, the delight of having a man fucking deep up inside her; his beautiful cock sliding right inside her pussy the way he was doing to Wendy… I love you, Chris… I want you… she moaned softly in the back seat. The driver watched her in the rear view mirror.
A half-hard cock motivated Jack Dawson to tear dresses off their hangars and pull sweaters out of a drawer with nervous dispatch. Jill had told him where to find things, but he hadn't expected it to be that easy. The kid didn't have a lot of gear, still, he was surprised to find a suitcase in plain view with some cosmetics and paint supplies already in it. Things seemed to have been laid out efficiently, as though by prearrangement. Well, I'll be damned, he muttered, the kid had somethin' in her head an along! And she was comin' on with the sweet-and- innocent-routine! This little doll's a helluva actress, too! Bee-oootiful… jus' gives me that much more bangin' time!
Dawson shut out the light and cautiously opened the door, checking for sounds from across the hall before venturing out of the room. There was no light under Josephine's door, and the TV was silent. He started down the hall, when he suddenly remembered the note. Shit! he swore under his breath. Carefully putting the bags down, he tiptoed back to Jill's bedroom and, without turning on the light again, placed the note containing the forty dollars in the middle of the bed. Then he eased his way down the stairs, his heart beating fast, to join his luscious and very drugged young companion, who was only minutes away from losing her virginity…
Jill was out cold when he got into the cab. The cabbie gave him a knowing look. 'Sure got a live one there,' he wisecracked.
'Can't hold her booze; typical, ain't it? Better pull up in the garage, huh buddy?'
'Gotcha!' the driver answered, his face creasing into a fraternal smile. He gunned the Yellow Cab towards the Holiday Inn at the Wharf.
The watery eyes in the wrinkled face at the living room window watched the taxi disappear from view, then Josephine let the dusty drapery fall back into place before she switched on a small metal flashlight and walked down the hall to Jill's room. Turning on the light, she went straight to the bed, picked up the note and opened it. A dark smile came across her craggy face as she saw the money. Quickly then, she went to her own bedroom and picked up the phone.
Dawson made two trips in the garage elevator – one to deposit Jill's bags, the second to deposit his beautiful half-slumbering 'baggage'. Jill leaned against the big man heavily, her body limp as a rag doll's. She moaned softly and mumbled unintelligibly as they went to the room.
'Now you jus' lie down right here, honey,' he said as he deposited the drugged artist on his bed. Jill attempted a weak protest, but she was too far gone to muster any strength towards getting up on her own power.
Dawson went to the bathroom, leaving her in the darkened motel suite. When he appeared a few minutes later, he was stark naked! The light from the bathroom illumined the supine art student, whose long glossy hair was spread out on the pillow and whose red dress was raised above her knees, showing her firmly molded thighs. Dawson's hardening cock twitched violently and grew into upright rigidity. He went to her and began slipping off her shoes.
'Might as well get comfortable, honey,' he said, leering at her salaciously. He placed a beefy hand under her and rolled her over onto her stomach. With one deft 'zii-iip' he had the zipper down. His hot hands began to force the fabric over her arms.
A warning bell was sounding in Jill's half-conscious brain. She was beginning to regain a small portion of awareness, though it required every effort she could muster to force herself out of the pleasant stupor she languished in. She also felt dizzy, and a bit giddy, and as her consciousness increased, so did the hotly flooding yearning in her pussy.
'Wha… nooo… don't do that… noooooo,' she mumbled as Dawson lifted her up slightly to yank the dress off her shoulders. 'Nooo… NOOOOOO!' she said more vehemently, her survival instinct beckoning her to self-defense. She began to flail and kick her legs, punching the air in an effort to escape her attacker. But her arms were like lead, and her blows fell on the soft mattress ineffectually.
'Now, now… honey, no use makin' a fuss. You ain't got a snowball's chance of gettin' away from the fuck ole Jack's gonna give you. Might as well relax and enjoy it, as the Chinks say,' he told her, pulling the dress on down over her rounded buttocks and smooth legs.
Jill began a scream (she was on her back again, with Dawson clawing at her panty hose, the only thing left to keep her from complete nudity) but his big hand came down tightly over her mouth. 'I wouldn't do that, honey,' he told her, leaning close to her face, his breath reeking of cigars, 'you're liable to get laryngitis! Then too, you wouldn't want Uncle Jack to get rough, would you? Huh?' He chuckled cruelly and continued to peel down her new pantyhose. God, he'll ruin them! she thought paradoxically.
