Changing Status Pt. 03

And then, one morning when Janey told me to go to Harry's office, I found my owner entertaining my worst enemy, Hugo Hernandez. Of course, Hernandez didn't recognize the slightly-Asiatic, black-haired female slut as the nerdy male who had become the star witness at his murder trial. Ancient history--I doubt he even thought about that trial anymore, since the witness was missing and presumed dead. After the initial shock of seeing Hugo, I went into my time-tested dumb bimbo act, not even responding when the two men began talking in Spanglish. Much to my disgust, I soon found myself on my knees, sucking off the murderous drug lord. And that was only the opening act--once I had gotten him erect, I was bound as usual, bent over the desk with Harry's dick in my mouth and Hugo's much larger equipment trying to "tear me a new one" at my other end. I grunted, moaned, wriggled, and pretended I liked it. Remember what I said about assholes who enjoyed being a pain in my ass?

Pride goeth before a fall, somebody once taught me. Harry bragged that the movie star Robert Harriman had rented me for ten days (true) and fucked me stupid (false). Trying to impress my owner, Hugo began to brag in Spanish about how he had blackmailed these two CBP guys at the Brownsville border crossing so that he could have a panel van full of cocaine pass through the crossing the next afternoon! I did my best not to react to that news especially because I had convinced everyone I didn't speak Spanish. Instead, I just kept moaning and pretending I LIKED being spit-roasted by the two most disgusting guys in the world. I did such a good job that I even had a minor orgasm as I felt these two slimeballs unload into me at almost the same moment. Then I dripped on the carpet going upstairs to clean all that jizz out.

That evening, I got sent out on a call to some out-of-town businessman's hotel room. I was distracted by the news I had heard in the office that morning but didn't know how to pass that news on without signing my death warrant (again). I swear I hadn't consciously decided what to do about it.

Until, that is, the John unloaded in my butt and then promptly rolled over and went to sleep. I realized that I had a narrow window of time before José would expect me to emerge from the room. So I took my handbag (containing the microphone) into the bathroom and turned on the shower so the water was audible. I hastily rinsed my hair, then went looking for the guy's cell phone.

No time to think about it. I had memorized E.J.'s phone number, so now I began quietly but furiously writing a text to her:

Hugo Hernandez blackmailed CBP officers Brownsville TX. Panel van cocaine arriving there tomorrow afternoon. Tell DEA but don't reply to this.

And then something came over me, and I couldn't resist adding "All my Love, Wally" to let her know, after more than four years of silence, that I was still alive. I pressed "send," deleted the text from the machine, and then hastily wiped off the cell phone, returning it to where I found it. Three minutes later I was dressed, re-lipsticked, and out the door, praying I had done the right thing. It took all my practice at acting horny and dumb to convince José that nothing had gone wrong. One thing for sure--I didn't get a tip out of THAT hotel visit. Tell you the truth, he was a lousy fuck.

I still can't explain why I did it. I had risked everything I'd suffered for over the past four-plus years, but those two arrogant assholes, still thinking with their dicks rather than their brains, had screwed me over for the last time. They were wearing $1000 suits and getting their rocks off while I was dressed like a slut and forced to submit to them. I was tired of running, tired of being humiliated, tired of being fucked in the face and ass literally and figuratively. I had given up my life, my savings, my business, and even my cock, all for nothing. I had to do something, although afterwards I was quaking in my stripper heels.

(To be continued)