...continued from Part Three!
Thursday, September 26, 2013
Cholito and Mariela - Part Four
...continued from Part Three!
Danilo Gutierrez was almost a downfall for the girl, because he was handsome and athletic, a mature, manly creature for his age. But he was also studious and nearsighted, although the glasses somehow added to his visual appeal. At an early age he had become an activist, burying his nose in books about Nietzche and Marx, and joining up with rebel groups dedicated to bringing down the tyrannical dictator and his cohorts. His worst sin of all, however, was that he showed zero interest in lovely Mariela, absolutely oblivious to her repertoire of seductive manipulations.
It bugged the holy crap out of Mariela that what worked on even the most popular, most handsomely chiseled teen males on campus did not penetrate the steely shell of Danilo Gutierrez. She was, to him, a nonentity. One day in the school cafeteria, she turned on her sweetest smile and asked to sit with him. He lowered his glasses to look at her and simply nodded. She was inwardly furious at losing her accustomed total control, her sophisticated veneer, and instead babbled a lot of nonsense.
Suddenly, when she was telling about the latest romantic film at the Bijou Flamenco, he put his fork down, looked her in the eye and interrupted her frivolous chatter: “Would you join me tonight for a meeting of people who care about our country’s welfare, the future of [X]?”
Her silly smile drooped into a befuddled look and she replied, “Yes, I guess so, maybe. What do you do there?”
“We print leaflets to spread around the churches and schools, wake people up to the hell-on-earth they live in, and we talk about… let’s say, plans to overthr…, I mean, you know, implement progressive change. You should be one of us, Mariela.”
At his mention of her name, surprised that he knew it, a tiny light came on in her eyes. She asked him directly, “Do you go out and beat up people, Danilo? Because, if you do, I’d love to come along!”
Danilo simply stared at her as though she had turned into a frog. “Forget it,” he said, “sorry about the invitation, it is outside your realm.” Dismissively, he opened a book to read as he finished eating his gallo pinto.
After school that day, Mariela went home and, in her bedroom, felt a greater hurt than her father’s spankings. For the first time, she lost her superior, in-command mien and cried real tears.
A year went by, and after graduation from high school she was invited to a reception and introduced to the most powerful figure in the country, the great dictator, Osvaldo “Cholo” Solórzano hijo. It was soon after Cholo had lost his father by assassination, at a time when he was launching a reign of terror unprecedented in Central America.
Cholo was bizarre in many ways, most notably his inability to consummate with women. It was not erectile dysfunction, just that bang-up, fullblown erection occurred only when, not only watching, but personally inflicting torturous pain and humiliation on those he hated, which, believe me, were legion. Although incapable of full-service fucking, “Cholito” was a world-class fondler. When a punishment was about to be meted out, he ordered his loyal henchman to bring to him one or two of the prettiest girls they could find, preferably clean-cut high school or secretarial types, not hookers, to satisfy his perverse longing to have them share in his delight, and to touch the core of their sexual excitement by stroking, petting, and using his hands to feel every part of their bodies, as deeply as possible in every orifice.
A perfect example, the oddly named “drag races” that I was invited to share with Mariela. He would recruit a couple of girls to ride in the back of his Mercedes convertible with a prisoner tied to the rear bumper. He would order the driver to start slowly and then gradually increase the speed. He would ask the girls, “Shall we go faster?” hoping he could hear them say, “Yes, yes, faster!”
The three of them would be on their knees looking out over the trunk of the convertible, watching the clothes and skin shredding away from the screaming human body zipping and bouncing over pavement and gravel, the two girls scantily clad and moaning high-pitched girlish sounds as he groped and fondled while ordering the driver to go faster. He would also order a couple of rest stops to allow soldiers to beat the horribly road-scraped victim with bamboo sticks.
Or anyway, that’s the ideal way Cholo would have liked it to be. However, this scenario was not easy to bring about. Cholo’s “spotters” would find extraordinary young ladies and tell them they were invited to an “affair” by the great and magnificent leader of their country. Of course, the beauties and their families felt honored by such a privileged opportunity. More often than not, though, the girls would shriek in horror at what they witnessed, and go running away sobbing to their mamas, who would often whisk them secretly out of the country to safety with relatives in places like Florida, so great was their terror of the vindictive lunatic dictator.
Ultimately, Cholo hit paydirt with the indescribably luscious Mariela and then, a double prize with the arrival of me, Rita.
After a couple of moderate punishment sessions, which were nonetheless enough to drive Mariela and me into a frenzy, especially when Cholo had some kind of a vibrator pack attached to his ever-roaming hands, he invited her to a special event, one that would top anything up to that time. The extreme multiple stimuli of physical agitation and brutal treatment made the girl dizzy, but in the ultimately pleasurable way.
Of course, eventually she would be yearning, almost crying for the insertion of a bountiful male ramrod. Cholo sensed it, and ordered one of his henchmen, who went simply by the name Gorilla #3 (Simiazo Tres), to take over with his spectacular member, an object of fame and envy among the dictator’s elite guard. Mariela’s ecstasy. I’ll leave that to your imagination, only to say it was sopping wet, prolonged, and nothing short of nuclear.
Also in my favor, Cholo, like his father before him, loved Americans, from whom they both garnered immense wealth, specifically from questionable U.S. giants in the business world, who also helped finance counterattacks on the government’s enemies, the rebels. Dirty business, but business that worked for me.
I was a touch uneasy when I got an order from the great dictator to come to his office. I couldn’t find Mariela anywhere. Instinctively, I didn’t want to be alone with the crazed leader. Outside the closed and heavily guarded door I inhaled deeply to try and assume an air of supreme, arrogant confidence. I pushed quickly through the door. My outer aplomb was definitely challenged when I entered and saw only one other person besides El Magnifico. There, sitting in one of two plush easy chairs across from Cholo’s desk, was my friend, my soul sister.
Dictator Cholo and Mariela barely noticed me when I walked in. They were having an excited conversation. When the man saw me, he smiled and motioned me to sit down. He said, “Mariela came up with a wonderful idea. You know how sometimes we visit the sharks out in the waters of Piriamba, and maybe you know why we go there.”
I clasped my hand over my mouth and giggled.