Path: newshost.williams.edu!news2.near.net!noc.near.net!howland.reston.ans.net!vixen.cso.uiuc.edu!uwm.edu!chi-news.cic.net!newsfeed.internetmci.com!in2.uu.net!news.leonardo.net!n1.wdc.net!pp7.westdat.com!user From: grobert@westdat.com (TheEditor) Newsgroups: alt.sex.stories Subject: AnmlAct (10/10) "Her Animal Act" Date: 5 Nov 1995 16:54:56 GMT Organization: Western Datacom Lines: 397 Message-ID: NNTP-Posting-Host: pp7.westdat.com your lady." "Yes. Of course," Elliott said, recalling that Garza had only tentatively identified her from the snapshot he'd given him. "Let her in, please." Garza opened the door and she walked sensually into the room, smiling seductively and laughing a throaty little laugh as her hand reached boldly to his crotch and gave his genitals a promising caress. For the first time since Elliott had hired him, Garza seemed ill at ease. He cleared his throat and pushed her hand away, motioning with his head to where Elliott was sitting. She threw Elliott a puzzled glance, then turned back to Garza. "What are you guys trying to pull?" she demanded. "There was only supposed to be one. If I'm going to take you both on, the price is double." Elliott still wasn't sure. As Garza closed the door and began explaining to her in his unhurried way why she was there, Elliott looked her up and down carefully. She was blonde, all right, but taller, and her body was much more shapely than he remembered. She looked older too, but it had been over a year and it was hard to guess her age because of the heavy make-up she wore. But she did resemble Paula, and when he heard her voice for the second time he knew. "Paula," he called, unable to wait for Garza to finish his explanation. "Paula!" Her head snapped around, her eyes growing large as she stared at him. "Who are you?" she asked fearfully. "How did you know my name?" Elliott could see the partial recognition in her eyes, as if she realized she should know him but couldn't quite place him. He got to his feet, holding out his arms, limping toward her, fighting to see through the veil of tears forming over his eyes. "It's your father," Garza said. "No," she gasped. "He can't be. My father is dead! " "Don't you recognize me, sweetie?" "He was badly hurt when he jumped from the plane," Garza said. "He's had plastic surgery." Her mouth hanging open, she stared unblinkingly as he came closer. His face was different, more youthful than she remembered it, and slightly misshapen, but finally she realized he was her father. She rushed into his arms, sobbing happily as she hugged him fiercely. "Daddy ... oh, Daddy!" "It's all right, sweetie," he soothed, patting her back. "Everything's going to be all right now." "Oh, my God," she moaned between sobs. "Oh, my God!" Elliott held her until she stopped crying, talking soothingly to her and stroking her back. Then he led her to the couch and sat holding her hand, nervously patting it and squeezing it. "Your mother," he asked. "How is she?" His innocent question brought a fresh flood of tears. Paula clenched her eyelids tightly shut and lowered her head. "She's not dead?" Elliott gasped. Paula shook her head. "Then what? Is she sick? Tell me, Paula ... I've got to know!" "Oh, Daddy," she groaned mournfully. "You should have stayed away." "I couldn't. For God's sake, sweetie! I couldn't just leave you and Ruth in that evil monster's clutches! I had to find you! And now that I have, I'm going to take you home. Tell me about your mother ... how sick is she? Can she travel?" Paula shook her head. "She isn't sick like you think. We're both sick, Daddy. Mother and I are addicts." "What?" "Pico forced us to take heroin. He had us held down to give it to us at first." She laughed, but it sounded more like a fit of sobbing. "He doesn't have to hold us down any more. We'll both do anything for it now .... anything!" "Oh, good Lord!" "I was afraid of this," Garza said. "It complicates matters." "You wouldn't believe some of the things, Daddy," Paula said in a tired voice -- little more than a whisper. "Let's go, Garza," Elliott urged. "Let's get the police and get my wife out of that awful place right now." Paula glanced at her father, her young eyes showing surprise at his naivete. "Don't count on help from the police." "She's right," Garza told him. "Too many of them profit from such establishments. Even if we were fortunate enough to tell our story to an honest police official, by the time any action was taken it would probably be too late. Word of the raid would have preceded us and your wife wouldn't be there." "Then, what can we do? For God's sake, Garza, now that I know where she is, you don't think I'm going to let her stay there, do you?" "No, Mr. Strickland. We will act tonight, you and I. I have a plan. But we can't do it alone. We will need your daughter's help. Will you help us, Miss Strickland?" "Miss Strickland," she breathed. "Oh, it sounds good to be called that, after so long! Yes, Mr. Garza, I'll help you. What do you want me to do?" "Can you get some heroin?" he asked hopefully. "Enough to hold you and your mother until you get home and under a doctor's care?" "No. There's no way." "Then I'd better see if I can find a pusher and get it that way. We can do nothing until we have enough to tide you over." Paula nodded. "I wouldn't dare try to make the trip without it. Once, when I refused to do as Pico ordered, he withheld it from me until I was wishing for death. Oh, God ... I never want to go through that again!" "Methadone," Elliott said. "I read an article about methadone once. If I rememb --" "Later, Mr. Strickland. We must act fast if we are to take your wife and daughter out tonight. Now, here is my plan. I know you're not going to like part of it, Mr. Strickland. But I've thought it out carefully and can see no other way to free your loved ones safely. Hear me through without interrupting, please." Elliott nodded. Garza turned his attention to Paula. "Do you and your mother have free run of the place?" "I do," she said. "But not mother. She's tried to escape so often that Pico keeps her locked in her room upstairs except for her performances on stage." Paula looked uneasy as she mentioned her mother's stage performances. "I feared as much," Garza said. "I got that impression when I watched her being led on and off the stage." "You've seen the show?" Paula gasped, blushing as she glanced quickly at her father. "I've seen a hundred such shows in at least a dozen cities while I was searching for you and your mother. What time is the place the quietest? When is everyone asleep? And I mean everyone!" "Not until about five in the morning." "Then that's when we'll take you out." "That'll mean another performance for both Mother and myself," Paula said. "We're both on tonight. " "There must be another way!" Elliott snapped. "I don't want Paula going back to that place." "Hush, Daddy. I'm beginning to see what Mr. Garza has in mind." "The windows in your mother's room?" Garza asked. "There's just one, and it's got steel bars." "The door?" "Thick and sturdy, padlocked on the hall side." Garza smiled. "I've yet to find a lock which could resist opening for me. Good. Do you sleep with your mother?" Paula glanced at her father, "Sometimes." "Can you arrange to sleep with her tonight?" "I don't know. After my performance I have to ..." "I understand," Garza said. "But later?" "I think I can manage." "You must, Miss Strickland. When your father and I enter that room, you will have to be in it." He got up and went to his suitcase to get out a cigarette lighter. Handing the lighter to Paula, he asked, "Do you smoke?" She nodded. "Good. But be sure it's this lighter you take with you into your mother's room. It's more than a lighter. It gives off an FM signal. That's how we'll locate the room." "All right," she said, gulping. "You'll come at five?" "Precisely at five." "What if I can't manage to be in the room? You could hide in the wine cellar and I could come down to the basement and take you to Mother's room a few minutes before five." "There's a wine cellar?" "Yes. A large one. It's a very old building." "That's where your father and I will hide," Garza said, his voice becoming more and more confident. "We'll slip down to it while the show is in progress. Where are the stairs?" "To the left of the bar," Paula answered, her face beaming with hope. "Come for us at ten minutes to five, but only if you can't manage to be in the room with your mother. It'll be safer for all of us if you're in the room with her. Do you understand?" "Yes. I'll try to sleep with her tonight. After the performance I'll pretend I'm sick. I'm rarely sick, so it should work." "Damn the performance," Elliott hissed. "Be sick before it!" "No, Mr. Strickland. They mustn't suspect anything. Your daughter will have to go on as planned. And Miss Strickland ... don't tell your mother anything about all this. If for some reason we should fail, I think it best she not know of our attempt. " "I agree," Paula answered quickly. "Give your daughter a hundred dollars instead of fifty, Mr. Strickland. And Miss Strickland ... when you give the money to this Pico animal, try to act very pleased and tell him the extra fifty was a tip because your customer was so delighted with you." "Yes," she said, smiling. "That should put him off guard so far as I'm concerned." Elliott gave her the money and she tucked it into her purse. "I have to get busy," Garza sighed. "I must get the heroin or we might as well forget it for tonight. Stay with your father for the usual length of time. I don't want you to get back too early. It would arouse suspicions." "We've got a million things to talk about," Elliott said, taking Paula's hand again as Garza put on his coat and walked toward the door. "I'll be back as soon as I can, Mr. Strickland. You won't do anything foolish, will you?" "I won't let him," Paula assured. "Your plan sounds like our only hope. We'll stick to it." Garza allowed a grin to cross his face. "You've got a very intelligent daughter there, Mr. Strickland," he said as he went out the door. * * * Huddled in a corner of the dank wine cellar, Elliott sat trying to calm himself. Though his blood was racing through his veins, his mind was in a state of near shock from watching his wife and daughter go through their degrading performances on the stage. The vulgar shouts of the men, many of them American servicemen, still rang obscenely in his ears. He'd had to sit beside Garza, helpless as he watched the huge Negro fuck his daughter until they both shuddered through orgasm. It had looked like an actual rape, and Elliott couldn't really believe it was happening. The American men there should have jumped up to stop the lewd act rather than shouting their vile encouragements. But they didn't offer to help Paula, not one of them, and of course Elliott couldn't, because it would have ruined his and Garza's chances to slip Ruth and Paula out of the wicked sin palace once and for all. When Paula had finally thrown her arms and legs around the pumping black man, shuddering and holding tightly to him as she screamed shrilly in orgasm, Elliott had nearly fainted. He realized her climax was not faked in any way, because the expression of total lust on her beautiful face was entirely too intense to have been merely acting. Then the unbelievable cock had slid from her sweat-soaked body, long and shiny black with her juices, and she and the Negro were holding hands and smiling as they took their bows. A few moments later Ruth had been led onto the stage nude and apparently drugged out of her mind. He'd wanted to rush to his wife and take her in his arms, to cover her body and lead her off the stage. But the men in the audience were clapping and stamping their feet, impatient for Ruth's performance to begin. Full of righteous indignation, Elliott had jumped to his feet only to be jerked back into his chair by Garza. "No, Mr. Strickland," Garza had said. "You'll spoil everything." And of course Garza was right, so Elliott had sat numb and dazed as a donkey was led onto the stage. They'd made her masturbate and lick the animal, and Elliott reeled at the sight. But he hadn't been forced to witness her actual copulation with the shaggy beast. Garza had punched him and motioned for him to follow, saying the time was right because all eyes were on the stage. But as they'd made their way to the stairs leading down to the wine cellar, Elliott had involuntarily glanced back at the stage. The sight had made him want to kill Pico. He'd seen the flattened, thick glans of the donkey's cock pushing into his wife, had heard her choking and groaning. Then the animal had hunched forward and sent his cock deep into her, and the scream she'd uttered had made Elliott's blood run cold. And now as he sat waiting for five a.m., thinking it would never come, he realized that he was going to kill Pico. He knew he would never draw another peaceful breath as long as the man responsible for his wife's and daughter's misery was alive. It was wrong and he knew it full well, but every nerve in him cried out for revenge. If he roasted in hell through all eternity for killing the vicious man, so be it; he had to do it anyway. He had to! Holding his knees to his chest, hiding behind a wine cask, Elliott dozed off again and again. Each time his tired mind allowed a few seconds of slumber he dreamed of the sordid acts he'd seen Ruth and Paula in and hated Pico all the more. He would jerk awake for a few minutes, gritting his teeth, then would drop off again to hear Ruth scream as the donkey slammed into her defenseless body. "Mr. Strickland. Wake up, Mr. Strickland." Elliott shook his head to clear it, hooking his fingers over the rim of the wine cask and getting to his feet. "It's time to go, sir. Five minutes to five." "I'm ready." "We'll have to be very quiet." "I'm going to cut Pico's throat." Garza smiled. "I'll do it for you." "No. I want him to know who and why before he dies." Garza nodded, pulling a switchblade from his pocket and handing it to Elliott. "It's very sharp. I bought it while I was out getting the heroin." "Let's go," Elliott said, putting the ugly knife in his pocket. They went cautiously up the stairs, stopping each time their feet brought a squeak from the aged timber, listening for sounds in the main room above before they moved on. No one was in the barroom when they finally entered it. Dawn was just beginning to break, sending enough light through the frosted-glass windows for them to pick their way silently through the tables and chairs scattered about. The stairs leading to the second floor were carpeted. Elliott fought back the fear rising inside him and followed Garza up. It was very dangerous. The burly bouncers and bartenders probably lived in the building along with the girls, and from what Elliott had seen of them he felt sure they wouldn't hesitate to shoot intruders on sight, especially at such an unlikely hour. But his own safety wasn't important. The force driving him on was stronger than his fear -- much stronger! He would never be able to live with himself if he failed Ruth and Paula after getting this close to rescuing them. "Oh, stop it! Go to sleep!" Garza put his finger to his lips as they crept past the room the tired female voice had come from. All the doors were closed, the sounds of snoring drifted into the hall through several of them. Garza had his compact radio out, the earplug stuck in his ear, stopping at the few doors which were padlocked, shaking his head and going on. Finally, after they'd rounded a corner and come near the end of the hall, Garza smiled and jerked out the earplug, pointing to the padlocked door as he put his radio into his pocket. "This one's easy," he whispered. "I have a master that should take care of it." Elliott stood by nervously, looking up and down the hall as Garza selected one key from the many he carried on his special key ring. It slipped into the lock. Garza crossed himself with his free hand, then took hold of the lock and turned the key. He let out a sigh of relief when the lock snapped open. Her eyes dancing with excitement and hope, Paula rushed into Elliott's arms when he entered the room. "Oh, thank God!" she breathed. "I didn't really think you'd make it." "What's the matter with your mother?" Elliott asked, alarmed at seeing Ruth stretched out on the bed fully dressed and sleeping soundly. "I brought some sleeping pills before I came back here," Paula said. "I thought it would be best. Mother's given up all hope. There's no telling what kind of a commotion she would have made when she saw you. I thought it would be better for her to wake up in your hotel room." "Good thinking," Garza said softly. "I'll carry her out to the car." "Where's Pico's room?" Elliott asked. Paula shivered at the expression on her father's face. "Why? What do you want to know that for, Daddy?" "He has personal business with him," Garza said. "Tell your father where Pico is." "I'll show you," she said. "Just tell me," Elliott insisted, and when she had told him, he said, "Don't wait for me, Garza. Take my darlings out to the car right now. If I'm not there in ten minutes, leave without me, understand?" "Si, Senor. Vaya con Dios, hombre." Garza's answer startled Elliott. It was the first time he had spoken a word of Spanish to him, and he realized from his voice that he was doing so now purely out of respect for him. He nodded, waiting until Garza had Ruth in his arms and was carrying her from the room. Then he kissed Paula's cheek and pushed her after Garza and her mother. Paula turned back, her eyes pleading with him. "Don't, Daddy. Don't do it. He isn't worth it." Elliott put his finger to his lips and motioned for her to get moving. He watched until they went around the corner, then he went to the end of the hall and pushed open the door Paula had said was Pico's. The shades were drawn, making the room darker than the hall, but Elliott recognized the piece of shit that could walk and talk like a man. He moved silently and cautiously to the bed, seeing that Pico was not alone. The form beside him was that of a girl so young she had only the beginnings of breasts and a fine down covering her pubic mound. Both were asleep. Moving to the girl, wanting to get her out of the room, he put his hand over her mouth and shook her. She looked more Indian than anything else, though she was probably part Negro, judging from the color of her skin and her kinky hair. Her eyelids shot up, her large eyes staring up fearfully at him. He put his finger to his lips. The fear in the girl's eyes lessened. Still holding his hand over her mouth, Elliott helped her from the bed and led her into the hall. "You won't yell, will you?" he asked, praying the girl could understand English. She shook her head. He removed his hand, holding his breath. When she didn't make a sound, he asked, "Do you want to get out of here?" She nodded. "Go down to the main room," he whispered. "Wait for me there." She nodded again, smiling broadly as she went quietly but swiftly down the hall and around the corner. Getting out the switchblade, Elliott tiptoed back into the room. Pico hadn't moved once, nor did he stir when Elliott bent over him. He put his hand over the sleeping man's mouth, holding the switchblade close to his ear as he snapped it open. Pico stirred then, his body squirming as his eyes jerked open to gawk disbelievingly at Elliott's threatening face. But he said nothing and didn't try to pull away, for Elliott had the point of the knife pressed -- businesslike -- into the hollow of his throat. "One sound and you're dead!" Elliott hissed. Pico groaned softly, his body going limp as his eyes grew large with fear. "Do you know who I am?" Pico shook his head as best he could with the point of the knife gouging at his throat. "I'm Elliott Strickland. You abducted me along with my wife and daughter in Juarez more than a year ago." Elliott felt sick as he saw stark fear filling Pico's eyes. He pulled the knife point away, bringing the cutting edge of the long, wicked blade into position at the front of Pico's gulping throat. But he couldn't do it. It was cold-blooded murder, and no matter how much Pico deserved to die, Elliott couldn't bring himself to slit the worthless throat. He held the blade tightly against his moist skin, reaching down to the floor and picking up Pico's discarded shorts. "I don't want to kill you. Do as I say, and I'll turn you over to the police. But I will kill you if I have to. If you make one sound or resist me in any way, I'll cut your evil heart out! Do you understand?" Pico nodded, closing his eyes. "Open your mouth wide," Elliott ordered. When Pico did, he stuffed the soiled shorts in to prevent him from calling out. He grabbed his wrist and twisted his arm, forcing Pico out of bed with the pain he caused him, jerking his arm behind his back and shoving him from the room and down the hall. The pubescent girl was sitting at the bar, waiting patiently when Elliott came into the main room pushing Pico along in front of him. "Keel heem!" the girl shouted. "Keel heem!" "Be quiet!" "No! Pico mus' die! Keel heem!" To no avail, Elliott tried to calm the girl. She acted like a demon had suddenly taken possession of her, screaming at the top of her lungs as she darted behind the bar and came out brandishing a large butcher knife. She rushed them, clawing at Pico's chest as she slashed his throat from ear to ear with one deft whack. "Come on!" Elliott yelled, grabbing her wrist and letting Pico slump to the floor as he hurried her toward the exit. Footsteps sounded on the stairs, coming toward them fast and heavy. Elliott dragged the nude girl along, hurrying her toward the door which Garza had left standing open. They were in the doorway when the first shot rang out. Elliott cringed at the pain in his shoulder but kept running for all he was worth, limping as he always did now because of his jump from the plane. The girl crumpled as the second shot sounded, falling with a thud onto the concrete steps. Elliott lost his grip on her wrist, stopping immediately to bend down and pick her up. Another shot rang out, this time coming from outside. One of the bouncers grabbed his face and fell screaming in the doorway. "Come on, hombre!" Garza yelled. "Hurry!" Elliott scooped up the injured girl, the pain in his shoulder nearly blinding him as he staggered toward the idling car. Then he was inside and slamming the door shut, the car roaring and spinning rubber as it sped away. The End