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«The Captive Bride», Peter Jensen

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"Well, my dear, I have good news for the both of us," Fritz Schneider said to his young, dark-eyed Italian mistress who was sunning herself on the patio of their large country house in Mallorca. Schneider sat in the shade on a stone bench. He threw a branch for his large dog, Eric, a fierce-looking German shepherd. The branch sailed over the courtyard wall, and the dog growled with displeasure before dashing out of the patio through an open gate.

Christina was naked and stretched out in a provocative position on the grass, her knees uplifted and her full firm thighs spread apart in an uninhibited fashion. She had creamily tanned shoulders that narrowed down to an hourglass waist, and molded thighs that tapered over slim calves to thin, well-formed ankles. Swelling out from her small waist, her curved hips were more than matched by generously rounded breasts whose rose-tipped nipples pointed up to the sun.

"Christina, are you listening?" Schneider commanded.

"What, Fritz, darling?" she yawned and turned over to one side, bending an elbow to support her head.

Her satiny black hair cascaded down her back as she removed dark glasses to peer at Schneider. Her dark eyes, with their long thick eyelashes fluttering out over high-set cheekbones, gave her a devouring expression. As she cast a passion-inciting glance at Schneider, he felt his penis eagerly jerk and stiffen in his pants.

"Fortune has smiled on us in our need for someone to deliver the heroin to the states," he announced.

"Not me, I hope," Christina murmured in a lightly accented voice.

"No, our desperation has yet to reach such lengths. I think we shall use the charming young American newlyweds whom we met in Palma yesterday. The ones who just arrived from their wedding in the states."

"I want to buy a leopard skin coat," Christina muttered.

"My dear, sometimes I wonder about you! How can you think of fur coats in this kind of weather?"

Christina didn't answer but sank back onto the grass. Her pink-nippled breasts jostled slightly as she lifted a hand to shade her eyes from the bright sun. Once again, Schneider's cock throbbed and he felt his long thick penis straining against the restricting material of his Bermuda shorts.

"Christina," he ordered as his glance took in her naked body. "I want you to crawl over here. On your knees."

"No!" Christina laughed huskily.

"I want to see those big tits of yours bobbing as you crawl over to me."

"It's too hot," Christina protested.

"Shut your pretty mouth," Schneider growled with a note of sadistic humor in his voice, "and do as I say!"

Christina heaved a deep sigh and lifted herself slowly from the grass onto her knees, taking one last look at the sun as if she were about to set out on a long journey. She had been lying lazily in the bright sun for about an hour, and her lush body was covered with a light gloss of perspiration that deepened her Mediterranean tan. A delicate trail of moisture trickled down her flat browned belly to the curling black wisps of her pubic mound. She smiled and then began hobbling across the grass to Schneider, her sun-bronzed hips and full-swaying breasts presenting an obscenely sensual picture to him. She reached the edge of the stone patio where Schneider sat, looking at him with an amused expression.

"What about the Americans?" she asked, and gracefully rolled her hips back onto the grass.

"Oh, yes," Schneider sighed, suddenly brought back to business. "He is the son of a well-known congressman. When he returns to his country from his Mallorcan honeymoon, his luggage won't even be touched by the customs people."

Schneider's thoughts returned to the young American couple whom he and Christina had met in Palma yesterday. They had happened to be sitting in the same sidewalk cafe when Christina struck up a conversation with them in her usual gregarious fashion. Schneider had seen immediately that the good-natured young husband was almost a kid, and the young wife had a virginally proud appearance that appealed to his sadistic character. He had talked on at great length, and enjoyed the way he was impressing the young couple as a sophisticated European. But all the while his eyes had roamed over the young blonde's upturned breasts, enticingly outlined by a thin summer sweater.

"I don't think he'll want to do it," Christina frowned and lifted her knees, leaning back against the grass on her arms.

"That's where the young wife comes in," Schneider grinned gloatingly.

Yesterday they had hardly left the cafe when he'd realized that his lewd fantasies about the young blonde were entirely possible. A plan had occurred to him in which he would not only enjoy the sexy blonde wife, but the heroin problem would be solved as well.

Schneider's multi-million dollar heroin smuggling operation had suffered a temporary halt at the U.S. end of the line when customs had installed an elaborate new screening process which had already detected two of Schneider's shipments. But with the help of the American couple, Fritz felt sure that he had discovered an ingenious method for slipping through at least four or five caches of the narcotic with absolutely no risk to himself. Jack Thompson, who had exuberantly identified himself as the son of an important congressman, would have an almost diplomatic immunity because of his father's congressional status. Schneider gloated to himself, running his mind over the clever plan once again. Two suitcases filled with heroin and carried by Jack Thompson would net Schneider a considerable sum, but it was the other part of the plan, where the American's young bride came into play, which really caught Fritz Schneider's interest.

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