BDSM Library - Story: Rancho Paloma Blanca, Chapter: Part 1

Rancho Paloma Blanca

By Esteban Bacca

I had spotted them having lunch on the hotel terrace. She was a youngish blond mother with an even blonder teenaged daughter. I was on a hunt and they were just what I was looking for. I overheard the waiter address her as Senora Benson. All the rooms opened onto the pool area and when they left the table, my binoculars followed them as they made their way to room 112. I spent a further two days discretely observing them until I was sure that they were indeed in theYucatan on vacation and, most importantly, were alone.

They were sitting at the same table when I finally made my approach. I wore aviator sunglasses and my tabbed tropical uniform shirt with the Mayan Air Charter logo prominent above the breast pocket. I sat at a table beside them. I am a good looking, well-mannered type and in short order had engaged the Mother in casual conversation. She was Rebecca and her daughter's name was Erica and yes they were on vacation. No her husband was not with them. She had been widowed due to an auto accident, etc, etc.

I had set the alarm on my cell phone and when it went off I had a one sided conversation by which they learned that two of my passengers for an over flight of the Mayan temple at Palenque were canceling out. I loudly explained that because of the late notice there could be no refund and hung up. Senora Benson volunteered that they were looking forward to touring the ruins before they left. In my most offhand manner, I mentioned that since two empty seats for the afternoon flight were already paid for they were welcome to fill them and take the tour at no charge. The girl, who had seemed bored by our adult small talk suddenly came alive. Her enthusiasm for a plane ride soon wore down her mother's hesitation. I let them think there would be others passengers along.

I finessed the rest of the abduction smoothly and they had slipped into blackness shortly after accepting doctored bottles of fruit juice from my cooler. I was humming quietly to my self as we crossed south out of Mexican air space into Guatemala and headed for the rancho I had named Paloma Blanca.

I taxied the Cessna to a standstill in front of the Quonset hut I used for a hanger. A glance back at my passengers assured me that they were still completely immobilized. I bent them forward from the waist and threw a blanket over them. Carlos had heard the plane land and appeared as always to roll open the big double doors. Together we rolled the plane inside. I dismissed Carlos, telling him I would inspect the rancho tomorrow. He pulled the doors closed and departed for the compound where he and the other hired hands lived. Carlos was my foreman and a loyal servant. Even had he been aware of my activities he would have unquestioningly served my wishes, but a slaver is secretive by nature. I made sure that even he had no idea that each time he rolled those doors closed behind the Cessna that identities disappeared forever.

I unlocked the heavy door to the sound proofed area that made up the rear half of the hanger and then went to unload my cargo. I pulled the mother out of the plane first and shoulder carried her into her new home. Lowering her to the floor I locked lined cuffs with rings onto each of her wrists. These were attached to an electric wench overhead and with a quiet whirring noise she was soon hoisted onto her tiptoes.

Then back out to fetch the slight figure of her daughter. Her I laid face down on the padded examination table. Once her wrists and ankles were secured I pressed a floor petal and the hinged parts of table fanned out until her body was widely spread-eagled. I gathered her long blond hair in a vise clamp attached to a line, which was threaded through a suspended pulley. I pulled the line until her head was up and hard back, exposing her lovely throat and then tied it off to a cleat.

I strolled to the head end of the table for my first leisurely look at her face. I had to laugh out loud. Even with her mouth hanging open she was attractive. She would put Nabokov's Lolita to shame. Her features still had that unformed juvenile quality but it was obvious that they would refine themselves into a face of stunning beauty. I reached down and removed the small gold studs from her cute little ears and flipped them into the trashcan.

It was time to unwrap my first present. When the mother regained consciousness the first thing I wanted he to see was her young daughter's naked body, stretched out, helpless and vulnerable. I removed the tennis shoes and bobby sox she was wearing and dropped them into the trashcan too. Her feet were well cared for. Dainty and high arched with small, delicious looking toes. Next I took a heavy pair of scissors and snipped my way up the back of her white, cotton sweater and then down the back of each arm. I tugged it from under her and added it to the trash. I cut loose a rather plain white bra and tossed it with the rest. Her back was long and smooth. I ran a finger along the valley of her spine. Leaning over her, I reached down under the table and found the two round openings in the table. I groped up through these and searched out her nipples. Locking on each of them with a thumb and forefinger I tugged until her apple sized breasts settled into the openings and hung free.

I was pleased to note that both mother and daughter were wearing matching plaid, ankle length skirts. It was a touching little detail, indicative of a close relationship. That should prove quite useful to me during their conditioning. My trusty scissors made short work of the daughter's half of the ensemble. Her long coltish legs were now revealed. I slowly stroked a hand over a well-muscled calf and up the inside of a thigh. I cupped the warmth of her pantied crotch and then allowed my splayed hand to squeeze one of the cheeks of her firm, rounded rump. I moved around between her widely parted thighs and a couple of snips at the sides of her panties completed my work. The remnants of these also were also discarded. The brownish pucker of her anus was exposed and I prodded it, testing the elasticity of her sphincter. It was tight and tiny. Below, crinkly cunt lips were slightly parted with a hint of her slick, pink core showing. I curled a finger deeply up into her and twirled it. The hymen was intact. A bonus I had hardly dared hope for. I brought a taste of that moisture up to my tongue. She was delicious and slightly salty. I trailed the tips of my fingers through her sparse bush, fluffing the silky blond curls there. Yes, I was thoroughly happy with the younger half of my catch. I gave her tight little ass a satisfied slap and turned away.

I brought the rest of their belongings from the plane and went through them. All of it, purses, clothes, I.D.s, jewelry, along with the contents of my trashcan would be burned tomorrow. Their old selves would cease to exist. Rebecca and Erica had vanished without a trace. Having the godlike power to do this was intoxicating. Almost as addicting as the astounding profit involved.

The mother's driver's license told me that she was 34 years old. A birthday card told me that her daughter had just turned sixteen. What cash they had went into my pocket, the traveler's cheques, camera and other traceable valuables I trashed.

I gleaned what information I could from a few letters and post cards. I entertained myself perusing the immature musings contained in the girl's diary.

I boxed up the lot and set it aside for the incinerator. Out of curiosity I padded over to where the mother hung suspended. Her arms and shoulder joints would be killing her when she came around. I wiped a thin rope of drool from her chin and pushed it back between her slack lips. I reached up under the long, plaid skirt and palmed her pussy through her panties. I felt the springiness of an abundant pelt covering her mound. Withdrawing my hand, I reached up under her sweater and weighed an ample breast. Her dark blond hair was made up in a French twist. I took a handful of it and lifted her head to study her face. She had a generous, full lipped mouth, high cheekbones and a nicely shaped nose with delicate nostrils. A classic Scandinavian face. With my left hand I peeled back an eyelid, a vacant pupil surrounded by a beautiful, Nordic-blue iris stared back at me until I let the long lashed lid slide back down. Using both hands I shifted my grip to her shell like ears and kissed her. My tongue plundered her unconscious mouth, savoring the taste of her saliva. I captured her lower lip and bit it lightly then let her head drop forward again and walked away, licking my lips.

I slipped Mozart's Divertimento in D into the CD player and opened a bottle of Monte Xanic and settled into my deep, Italian leather recliner to sip and appreciate my new acquisitions while I waited for the drug to wear off.

(To be continued)