Day Of Reckoning Ch 01

I found her in the back alley behind my store.

She was bruised and battered and just this side of unconscious.

I rushed over to her, barely making out in the darkness the bruises that puffed her face. She was covered in debris from my refuse container. Someone had taken the time to spew garbage from my bin all over her. A message? Or just a final insult to punctuate her beating?

I didn't care. What I saw was an injured girl before me and I would do my best to make certain she got proper treatment.

"Can you hear me?" I asked loudly, tapping her face lightly. She moaned a little and moved her head slightly. "Can you tell me your name?"

No response.

"Ok. Can you tell me where you hurt?" I was loath to move her, wary of possible broken bones or internal bleeding. Again I got no response.

"Ok. You hold tight. I am just going to run inside and call an ambulance."

"No," she gasped and suddenly grasped my wrist with a surprisingly strong grip. "No policia. No federales." Her whole body shook violently.

No police? What was this? Although her Spanish clued me in slightly.

"Listen. You are hurt badly. You need a hospital. Doctor. El Doctor. Nosotros voy el hospital."

My Spanish is quite horrible, but she understood my intent. She strained herself making certain I understood she wanted no part of anything official.

"No. No!" she exclaimed, trying to pull herself up using my arm and spitting blood. "No," she said and collapsed back down, breathing heavily and raggedly.

Damn, I thought, and began running my hands over her body to try and determine if anything was broken or bleeding badly. I wished there were more light so that I could see. Blasted street punks were always knocking out the lights in the alley so that they could do their drugs, engage in prostitution and do whatever else it is young miscreants get up to.

I couldn't feel anything out of place on her body, so I decided to risk carrying her inside.

"You can't stay out here," I told her. "I am going to take you inside, see if we can't get you fixed up."

She didn't answer. I think she was now fully unconscious. My suspicions were confirmed when I tried to lift her. Her body sagged badly and I had a hard time getting her into my arms. Nothing is heaver than the dead weight of an unconscious human body. Her arms and legs were limp and loose and her body sagged at the waist every time I tried to get her up. Finally I settled for grabbing her from the front and lifting her from under her arms. I struggled to my feet and her body collapsed against mine. I was disastrously aware of a very healthy pairs of breasts pressing firmly into my chest and I felt disgustingly shameful that such a thought would pass through my brain at a time like this. I shuffled her over to my back door, leaned her against it and fingered to door handle. We tumbled inside and I winced as her battered body hit the ground. I tucked her feet inside and kicked the door shut, locking it.

In the light of the storeroom I got a much better look at her. Under the bruises and blood that matted her face she appeared to be a very attractive, and young, Hispanic girl. I would say between 18 to 20 years of age. Both eyes were blackened, her cheeks bruised and swollen. He nose was bleeding and her lips were cut. Her neck had blue and black marks around it where it appeared someone had tried to choke her.

I looked at the rest of her body.

Her clothing, scant as is was, was disheveled, but not torn. She wore a short black fishnet top that exposed her belly. Under it was a translucent black chamois. She wore extremely tight and short cut-off denim jeans. From her intact clothing I surmised that, whatever the intent of her attacker, it was not rape.

The bruises continued down her body, dotting her arms and thighs. If she had been hit on her stomach or chest, those wounds would not show yet. Maybe in another few hours. I pressed lightly on her chest, patting her rib cage. No bones seemed to move, so perhaps she did not have any broken ribs. I put firm pressure with my hands on her abdomen and, even though she was unconscious, she gave out a moan.

Shit. I pressed again but could not detect any obvious swelling, firmness or pocket of pressure that might indicate internal bleeding. I sat back and looked at her, weighing my options.

She very adamantly did not want to go to the hospital. However, if there was internal bleeding, I would have no choice. A dying or dead girl in my store would be very bad news indeed.

I took a second appraising look at her...the bruises, how she was dressed...and reflected upon the condition in which I had found her, buried under garbage and all. Someone wanted her taught a lesson, but not necessarily dead. The beating was too professional. Designed to hurt badly, but not disable or incapacitate. The careful damaging of her face was telling. Both eyes blackened evenly. And both cheeks. Lips busted but chin apparently not broken. Nose bleeding, but also apparently not broken. Someone wanted to preserve her looks. Someone was making money off of her.

Well, not anymore. Not if I could help it.

I considered options. Like as not, whoever did this would be back for her. It didn't do to leave a potentially illegal immigrant lying around for the cops to find. Too much to risk that perhaps she would be the one to crack and spill stuff to the feds who could not be bought. No. They would be back for their property. Best, I thought, to get her out of here, let them think she had come to and wandered off.

I ran an electronics store. One of a chain of eight throughout the city. I paid my graft to the neighborhood, took care of the cops and street punks alike, and was basically left alone because I got people the neatest gear at rock bottom prices. I was cool in the neighborhood and beyond reproach in the street sense. Perhaps I could risk nursing her back to health.

In retrospect that was not the smartest decision of my life and in more ways than one it changed me. I can ponder now about my motives in keeping that girl. It is rare, very rare, that someone possesses such beauty that it can still shine though despite a severe beating. I had gazed at her, squatting on the floor beside her, enraptured by her beauty. Long dark hair, slightly wavy that reached to mid-back. Small, pert nose, sensuous lips and slightly slanted eyes. Her breasts seemed the perfection of Michaelangelan beauty and her figure was slim and taut. I remembered those breasts pressed against me and experienced a slight reaction in my groin.

"Alright," I thought. "Enough of this. Time to make a move."

I was alone in the shop, my staff having already gone home for the night. I left her briefly to fetch my car and pulled it into the alley, making certain no one was about. Then I completed the awkward task of hauling her limp form into the backseat of the car. I locked up the store and drove home.

My house is a very nice place. The electronics business in L.A. had been very good to me. I was situated on a bluff overlooking the ocean and sported six bedrooms in a modern, two story affair. I couldn't get her upstairs in her unconscious state, so I took her to one of the downstairs bedrooms and left her on the bed.

I drew a couple big pots of warm water from the kitchen, grabbed some towels, washcloths and first aid supplies from the bathroom and returned to her.

She was semi-conscious now, moaning and obviously feeling the pain of her beatings.

"Hey," I whispered and knelt beside the bed. I placed a hand lightly on her shoulder and she jerked back from me, eyes wide with fear. The exertion must have been too much for she sighed and descended into unconsciousness again. I tried to rouse her by softly shaking her shoulders, but got no response. Oh well. At least I could get her cleaned up and maybe determine further the extent of her injuries.

I would like to confess that it was an arduous task, a chore set about with professional detachment in the best interest of a fellow human being. But I am afraid that my masculine persuasion and the presence of an over abundance of testosterone, allowed me to ever so slightly enjoy the task I was about to engage in. I would like to say that the job of undressing and cleaning up a nubile young lady was one I did as a noble Samaritan, but honestly bids me to relate that it was a most enjoyable undertaking, one only slightly marred by the prospect that she would wake up during my administrations and slap me silly.

I started with her face, dabbing away dried blood and smudged dirt with a damp cloth. The more of her face I revealed, the more enthralled I became with her beauty. This girl was an exotic treasure and I started to feel a boiling rage building inside me that someone would do this to so perfect a creature. I got her face cleaned up, rested a cold cloth over her eyes to help reduce the swelling and imagined what that face would look like with a broad, happy smile splitting its features. Or a seductive pout when teasing or enticing guys. Or the perfect O her mouth and eyes would form in the midst of sex and a rousing orgasm.

I felt myself getting hard and decided to move on to the rest of her body, to continue cleaning up her sacred chapel of Athena.

Her blouses were a bit of a difficult challenge to remove. They didn't button or zip but rather needed to be pulled above her head to get off. I accomplished this with minor hardship, rolling her first to one side, then the next to creep it up to her head. While I had her rolled away from me my hand contacted her bare breast and I gasped as goose bumps suddenly ran the length of my arm. Oh, how firm and soft that fleeting contact felt. I let her roll back onto her back and stared down at two exposed, perfectly round, C-cups crowned with half-dollar size areola and two perfect, half inch round and high, delightfully brown nipples. I caught myself actually panting as I gazed at her half naked torso, her blouses pulled up to her shoulder line, the flimsy black of the material contrasting nicely with the deep tan color of her skin.

I was weak. I knew it, and my only care was whether or not she would wake up while I was performing my 'doctorly' chores. Those breasts were hypnotizing me, calling me, urging me to touch them, to grasp them in my hands and massage them. They begged me to feel their softness, to caress their fullness, to handle their nipples. I was weak. I was scared. I was a bastard.

Looking at the young lady's face for signs of wakefulness, I rested a hand on her bosom. She didn't stir. The touch tingled. My hand felt electric. I cupped her right breast in my hand, felt its silky smoothness and marvelous weight. I squeezed slightly, enjoying the give and play of her flesh.

My hand shivered with nervousness as I checked her face again. She was out cold. I played with her breast further, massaging it, creeping my fingers up to joyously tickle a nipple. I felt it grow hard under my manipulation and I let out a long, deep breath. Oh, how her body was calling to me!

I leaned over her, moved my hand to caress her left breast and lowered my mouth to her right. I hesitated only a moment before taking her nipple between my lips and then sucking it deeply into my mouth. Oh my gosh, the ambrosia. My body tingled from toe to head at the thought of that perfect nipple nestled in my mouth. I tongued it slightly, tasting its rough texture as I made small circles around its circumference. I squeezed her left breast tightly in my rapture and felt the heat rising rapidly in my groin.

She moaned and shifted slightly in the bed. I jerked away from her and stayed perfectly still for a long minute.

She didn't make any other sounds or movement and her breathing was even and regular.

"Shit. What am I doing," I thought. My biggest fear at the moment was her waking up and catching me fondling her body. I resigned myself to finishing the legitimate task of medically treating her.

I raised her arms and finished pulling her blouse up over her head. I washed her arms, chest, stomach and breasts trying my best to ignore her beauty and finish up with clinical detachment.

Her upper body completed, I focused on her lower body. She would need a through cleaning there too.

Her jean shorts came off easily, revealing her sheer black thong underwear and very, very shapely hips and thighs. Oh my god. Oh my god. Where had such beauty and perfection been hiding and what in the name of heaven was she doing out on the streets?

"Well," I pondered. "No help for it, those thongs will have to go."

I striped them down to reveal an immaculate pussy with a very short Brazilian cut. My breath stopped short. I was staring again. I had stolen the treasure of Arion. I had dared gaze upon the very wealth that only kings, nay gods, could grant a mere mortal such as I.

Her vagina was neat and perfect, tucked between symmetrically curved thighs, a puffy swelling to which only the mound of Venus could compare. How I longed to drown myself in those depths, to plunge like a diver into the sea of her body.

I delicately stroked those vaginal lips, mindful that I did so lightly so as not to disturb fair, sleeping Eurydice. I touched her bare flesh with the tender mastery of Arion playing his harp. The flesh of her vulva were the strings, her thighs the enfolding, perfectly molded wood, my fingers the wand that enticed so delicate a tune from the depths of her soul.

But cursed be me as I shook myself from school boy poetry. I continued to wash that delicate body, however still mindful of the succulent treasure hidden within.

I finished washing my new charge. With the exception of the bluish-purple marks that dotted her body, she looked more than human again. I pulled down the covers, intent on covering her nakedness and paused. Her beauty was so outstanding, I just wanted to stand and watch her forever. My penis, though, had such different ideas.

Oh, I dared not touch her again. Enough time had passed that this time she might awaken and discover my sins. I chanced another route, and lowered my pants. I took my erection firmly in hand and, standing over her, started to stroke myself.

I first imagined those cherry lips enfolding my cock, smoothly traveling up and down it, licking it, sucking it deeply into her mouth. I sighed as I imagined her soft tongue tickling the underneath of my rod and deftly playing with its solid surface. I remembered the feel of her breasts and stroked harder, picturing myself cupping them, squeezing them as my princess swallowed my cock. I saw her beautiful face full of my manhood, heard her hungry slurping as she gobbled me up, more anxiously now that I was crushing her breasts with my hands.

I stroked even faster as I saw myself push her off my dick and onto the bed. Her legs spread open for me and her pink flower bloomed, unfolding its petals to my view. I invaded her, plunging into her depths, crushing her flower with my weight, hearing her gasp in pleasure as she enfolded me, wrapping her legs about me, encouraging my thrusts into her. She breathed loudly in my ears, pulled me to her with her arms, gasped loudly with my every push. Her waist gyrated upwards, meeting my stabs, trying desperately to rob from me that which I was freely pounding into her. Her passion increased, wanting me in her, wanting my juice, wanting me to spray her with my essence.

Her rounded breasts pressed hard into my chest, a cushion of love as she frantically whispered her longing for me in my ears. I pounded harder, grunting out loud now, fever overtaking me as I forced my own love into her. Our moans were loud now. The friction increasing, the pleasure overflowing. The softness of her vagina gripped me, grabbing at my penis, flooding me with sensation. I ground into her harder now, straining with agony, shouting as I reveled in her pleasure. She screamed at me, letting out a provocative stream of Spanish that signaled her orgasm. She bucked beneath me. I tried to tame her with my cock, pressing harder with each stroke, busting at the seams to give her my fluid. She grabbed my ass, yanked me hard into her and I broke. My dam burst. My water crashed out and we suddenly drowned in a torrent of passion. I pumped and pumped, flooding her valley with my sperm. Stream after stream, scream after scream, flooding us with its power.

I came down from my high, heart pumping hard, breath ragged, body shaking and sweaty. I looked at my sleeping angel. Her gently rising and falling breasts and stomach were spewed with my semen. I took in the milky richness slowly running down her bronze skin. I loved the sight of it.

I stroked my cock a few more times, squeezing a last few drops of jizz from the opening to fall on this delicate creature's skin. A last drop remained on the tip. I lowered myself to touch my cock to her mouth and shivered excitedly as my last drop of cum stuck, sparkling like a pearl, to her slightly parted lips.

I calmed down slowly from my masturbation. I had never experienced anything like it. Never had I cum so powerfully with my own hands. I silently thanked this young stranger for her kindness, then proceeded to clean her body once more. Finally I covered her with the bed sheets and retired for the night.

The next morning I was up early and anxious to see to my house guest. I felt some guilt from the night before and a slight fear that she might be aware of my touching and other acts. Well, for certain she would know that I had undressed her and cleaned her up.

First things first I called the store and let them know I would be in late today. That was another mistake that clued in my guest's assailants to the identity of her rescuer. But this I wouldn't realize for a few days. I got dressed and went downstairs.

I knocked on the door to the room I'd left the young lady in, then poked my head inside. She was awake, sitting on the bed and clad in one of my t-shirts.

"Well. Good morning," I said cheerfully. "How are you feeling today?"

I should have expected what happened next, Hispanic temper being so legendary.

The bedside lamp crashed into me and she was on her feet yelling, punching and screaming at me in a stream of Spanish of which I understood not a word. I grabbed her shoulders to stop her hitting and earned a series of kicks in return.. I grabbed her to me and hauled that dynamo of fantastic dervish energy over to the bed and sat on her.

"Calm down," I yelled. "Be still, dammit!"

She had fire in her eyes, explosives in her words and thrashed about below me like an epileptic.

"Silencio! Quiero ayudar." I finally yelled in one of the few phrases I knew in Spanish.

That seemed to get her attention and she stopped squirming, and lay there, panting hard. There was still fire in her eyes, but I figured that was to be expected. I slowly got off of her and, keeping my arms open and extended, stood up beside the bed. She sat up slowly, never taking her eyes off of me.

"¿Dónde estoy yo? ¿Dónde están mis ropas?" she spat out at me.

I picked up the words Donde, yo and ropas and figured she was asking something about where her clothes were.

"In the washing machine," I said. "They were dirty."

She cocked her head at me, giving me a suspicious glance.

"¿Dónde estoy yo?" She said again.

I scrunched my eyes and tried to dissemble her words. 'Where...something....I' Oh! 'Where am I'!

"Mi casa," I responded.

"¿Por qué?" She suddenly shouted and was on her feet. "¿Por qué tomó usted de mis ropas? ¡Pervertido!"

I suddenly thought she was going to attack me again and stepped back.

Instead she hurled into another stream of Spanish which I had no hope of translating. I sighed.

"Look. I do not understand your Spanish, Ok? You were hurt. I found you. You told me not to take you to a hospital and I couldn't leave you there. I brought you to my house because I didn't know where to take you. You were bleeding. I had to make certain you were not dying. I had to clean you up. Sorry I had to take your clothes to do that, but there was no other way. I will get you your clothes. You can have something to eat if you want and then I can take you home or wherever you want to go. But I don't understand a word you are saying so you will just have to bear with me. Ok?"