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Mexican Rebels Sex Slaves (Powerone)

Mexican Rebels Sex Slaves by Powerone


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    • Average 4.2 from 9 ratings

This is the un-illustrated version of this cracking BDSM story.

Christy and her lovely, 18 year old, virginal daughter Angela are on a jeep ride into the Mexican jungle. They don't know they will fall prey to evil, sex-driven rebels who will stop at nothing to turn the women into whores that will serve their every demand.

Then, after being lost in the junglefor over three hours the women's delight at being found by the rebels turns to pure horror as they are abused and punished until they comply- not just with the General and his Sergeant, but all the others in the team.

A truly great read with a fantastic plot and jam-packed with some very hard BDSM and sex action.

Product type: EBook    Published by: author - self-published    Published: 10 / 2005

No. words: 60000

Style: Sex Slavery / Training

Available Formats: MobiPocket (MOBI)  PDF  MS Reader  This book has a format which can be downloaded to Kindle


They were driving through Chiapas in southern Mexico, the open air jeep kicking up a cloud of dust as Christy drove too fast for the road. They were lost. After driving for about three hours, Christy made a wrong turn and now it looked like they were going farther and farther into a dense jungle. Each time Christy made a turn, thinking they would be heading back, they always seemed to go deeper into the lush forest. It had started out as a chance for her and Angela, her eighteen year old daughter to spend some time together. Since they arrived in Mexico two days ago, they were on a non-stop ride of tours, so many places that they lost count. They finally had enough, renting the jeep for the day, filling a picnic basket with a wide assortment of food and two bottles of wine.
The concierge at the hotel had told them of a secluded waterfall, reserving the jeep, giving them a map and even arranging for the food. They left early, hoping to get to the waterfall, a three-hour ride from the hotel, by ten.
“They are gone,” the concierge spoke into the telephone. “I took their luggage from the room and did a quick checkout and slipped a duplicate key into the checkout box. No one will even miss them. You should see them around ten. They are driving a black jeep, top down, two beautiful gringa, mother and daughter. The mother must be in her late thirties, but a very beautiful body. The daughter just graduated high school, so she must be eighteen. Nice, young, tight body. I’m glad the General will be pleased. I know how much he hates the American gringos. Yes, the Zapatista rebels will rid our land of them soon enough. Is the General going to interrogate them? I wish I could be there to see it. I could be there this weekend; will he keep them that long? It will probably take at least two weeks for anyone to find out when and where they went missing. No, the Chiapas state officials won’t do anything. They are too scared of us. Yes, see you Saturday. Bye.” The concierge went to work, but his mind kept drifting to the gringas and they fun he would have with them this weekend.
“Shit,” Christy swearing as they saw nothing familiar. They should have been there by now.
“Are we lost, Mom?” Angela began to get a little nervous. They hadn’t seen any other houses or people for over an hour, the road getting skinnier, dustier and looking less traveled.
Christy looked over at her daughter, seeing the worried look on her face. “It’ll be all right, I think it is just around the next bend,” she lied. Shit, shit, shit. Why did she listen to the stupid kid at the hotel and rent this jeep and drive out into the middle of nowhere?
Christy slammed on the brakes, the tires grabbing tightly, skidding in the sand, almost running off the road. “What the fuck…?”
Four black-clad Zapatista rebels were spread across the road ahead, a truck turned sideways, blocking passage. Each of the rebels wore a black bandana around his face, their rifle or machine gun loosely hanging at the ready. It was almost as if they had been waiting for them.
“I thought they would never get here,” one rebel spoke. “Damn gringas must have gotten lost. We are lucky they finally got back on the right road.”
“Who are they, Mom?” Angela was scared, they looked like bandits.
“Don’t worry, honey, they are Zapatista rebels. They don’t care about us. They must be looking for spies. I read about them in the paper. Spies are always trying to infiltrate them so they can raid the rebel communities. They’ll just let us go. Let me do the talking,” letting the jeep slowly inch up to the blockade. At least they could get directions, relief coming over her, not worrying about the rebels. Things like that don’t happen to Americans.
“Do you speak English?” Christy spoke slowly, hoping they did, her Spanish was limited to gracias.
“Sí, Señora, we speak very good English. Do you think we are ignorant farmers?”
She felt a little scared now. The mask and now his harsh tone sending a shiver up her spine. Be nice. Use your charm on him.
“Of course not, I didn’t mean to insult you. My daughter and I are lost. We are looking for the El Caer waterfalls. We been driving for hours now and seem to have gotten turned around somehow.”
“Americanos ignorantes. El conseguir perdido hacia fuera aquí,” he said to the others. “El Caer waterfall is over one hundred miles from here, Señora. What are you doing out here?” He became more adamant now.
“We were giving directions to here.” She reached down between the seats to get the map.”
“Keep your hands where they are!” The rebels raising their weapons at them, Angela screaming as a gun was pointed at her for the first time, almost peeing in her pants.
“Put your guns down!” Christy cried out, raising her hands. “We’re Americans.”
“Crazy bitch,” he said, moving next to the jeep, looking at both of them with their hands raised. Carlos was right, both had great bodies, the General would be pleased. “Keep your hands up,” reaching over her, letting his hand brush her breasts, as he moved toward the console in the middle. He found the crude hand-drawn map that Carlos had given them. A map drawn precisely to their rebel village. “Is this it?” He drew the map out, his arm rubbing against her breast again, this time harder. She kept her hands raised up.
“Yes, that’s it,” growing more uncomfortable as he accidentally brushed against her breast, but the second time she knew was on purpose, his arms pushing against her breast far too long to be an accident.
“This is a map to our village of Nuevo Jerusalem. It is a rebel stronghold, not on any map. Are you a spy for the Mexican soldiers, Señora?” He raised his rifle again, pointing it at her.
“No, No! The concierge at the hotel drew the map. He said it was to El Caer waterfall. We don’t know anything about the rebels. Please, let us go. We are Americans.”
“You are going to have to explain to the General, Señora. We have had many gringa tourists that are spies. They are always helping the Mexican soldiers research plans to attack our rebel communities. He will probably let you go, but I would be shot if I didn’t bring you to him. You wouldn’t want that to happen to me, would you, Señora?” He didn’t want any trouble until he could get them bound. Then he could do what he pleased.
“Where is the General?” A General would be more civilized, he would understand that this was just an accident. She hoped that he was close, so they could quickly get out of here and immediately head back to the hotel.
“Not far, Señora. I can’t tell you exactly, just in case you are a spy. Now get out of the jeep. And your daughter, too.” His gun aimed at Christy, another rebel moving to the other side of the jeep, his rifle trained on Angela.
“Mom, Mom,” Angela wined, “I’m scared. He has a gun pointed at me. What‘s going to happen to us?”
“It will be okay, honey, just do what they say. We’ll be back at the hotel soon. Don’t hurt my daughter. She’s just a little girl,” she begged.
The rebel looked at Angela as she got out of the jeep. He loved blonde Americans. She was wearing a pair of shorts, hip huggers that left her navel naked, a diamond stud in the center of it. The shorts clung to her body, especially to her ass, molding to the cute cheeks. Her tee shirt barely covered her midriff; he could make out her bra underneath, positive it encased a lovely, pert set of tits. Her tanned legs perching high on a pair of platform sandals that added at least three inches to her height and made the muscles of her legs tighten nicely. “She doesn’t look like a little girl to me, Señora.”
“What is your name Señora?”
“Christy,” she said stepping out of the jeep.
“And, the little one?” .
“Angela. Just please, leave her alone. She’s only a child.”
“She looks like a woman to me, Christy. A very beautiful woman, such as yourself.” looking at Christy. She was wearing a top that buttoned down the front, tucked neatly into a pair of jeans that clung to her ass. How do women get into such tight jeans? She didn’t look old enough to have an eighteen-year-old daughter.
“Mom, I’m scared,” Angela cried to her mother, the rebel sticking his rifle in her back, forcing her to walk over to the large truck blocking the road.
“You too, Christy. Move over to the truck.”
“Face the vehicle and lean against it, both of you. Put your hands on the sides and spread your legs. Like you Americans do on the cop shows,” teasing, the other rebels laughing.
“No, we won’t do it.” Christy had to end this. She couldn’t let them search them. She already saw what one had tried to do to her and now he would have more of a chance, especially with Angela. She had to call their bluff; they wouldn’t dare hurt American tourists.
The rebel next to her moved over to Angela, pulling his pistol from his pocket and placing it square in the center of Angela’s forehead. “Either do as I say or I will pull the trigger and blow your little girl’s brains out.” He pulled the hammer back, the loud click frightening Angela, her body trembling in fear.
“Mom, help me. Help me.” Angela fought the urge to pee in her pants. She had never been as scared as she was now, a loaded pistol pointed at her head, the hammer cocked, ready to kill her.
Christy hurriedly put her hands against the truck, arms up high like she had seen on television. “I’m doing what you want, leave her alone.” She was panicking, the situation getting worse and worse.
‘You too, Angela, up against the truck like a good little gringa,” letting the hammer go back down, putting the weapon back in the holster. They would be good from now on.
Standing behind Christy, he looked down at her jeans, her ass tightly packed in them. “Legs back a little now, Christy. Yes, that’s good; now stick your ass out as they do on American television. I’m going to have to pat you down. I have to make sure your not carrying a gun.” He looked over at one of his men making Angela assume the same position, Angela obeying much quicker, the gun at her head making her very obedient.
He pressed his body up against Christy, firmly against her ass, using his hard cock to assure she fully understood her position and what she would have to do. He reached around her, sliding his hands down to her stomach before moving up cup her breasts from beneath as she grumbled beneath him, protesting his handling of her body, but still keeping the position, the pistol having the desired effect. He squeezed, hearing her groan, he murmured, “such lovely tits, Christy,” fingers digging into them, squeezing the flesh harshly. He found her nipples with his fingertips, pinching them until she jerked in pain. “You have sensitive nipples, Christy. You can’t even take a little pinch on them.”
She kept quiet as he felt her up, his cock rubbing up and down her ass, humping her like a stray dog. No, please, no. His hands moving down to grip her between her legs, luckily her heavy jeans protected her sex from his groping hands pushing her back onto his cock, goosing her with his hand each time she humped back on his cock. She felt relief when he pulled away from her, relieved that he was finished. She would tell the General, he would make sure that he was punished for molesting her.
“Hands behind your back,” pulling her arms back, seeing the surprised look on her face as he clamped her wrists into the shiny, metal cuffs before she could even protest. “Just to keep you still.” He pulled a black cloth sack over her face, making sure that her nose and mouth matched up with the holes in it, before tightening the string around her neck, effectively blinding her. “We don’t want you to see where we are taking you. Now just stand there and be a good girl, we will leave in a few minutes.”
She tried to pull on the cuffs, the metal binds unyielding. She stood in darkness, hearing muffled sounds of talking, unable to hear what was being said.
The rebel went over to Angela. “Turn around, Angela. Now I want you to be real quiet and don’t say a word or your mother is going to get hurt. Can you be a good girl and obey?” seeing the fright in her eyes.

“What are you going to do?” She trembled, but remembered the pistol in his holster.
“I’m going to have to frisk you for any weapons.” His cock throbbed in his pants at the thought of touching such a beautiful, young, American girl.
“I don’t have anything, promise,” she begged, but she saw in his eyes he would not take no for an answer.
“Now you have to be quiet, I don’t want your mother to hear anything. Can you do that, Angela?”
“Yes, sir,” afraid of what was going to happen.
“Now keep your hands at your side.” The other rebels moved closer, wanting to catch a glimpse of this pretty girl. His hands slid across her naked stomach, feeling her flinch. “Such silky skin,” he whispered to her, his hands sliding up under her tee shirt, seeing her fists clench at her side, knowing that she was unhappily enduring this. He pulled her tee shirt up, uncovering her bra, her young breasts pushed up high, a generous amount of cleavage showing at the top of her bra. “Hold this up for me,” he whispered to her again, seeing her hesitate then move up and grip the tee shirt, holding it out of the way, her bra uncovered, the four rebels gazing as the cleavage of her tanned globes.
“What are you doing?” She protested as his hands moved to her bra, gripping her young pert breasts in his grubby hands, squeezing them, her face and chest turning red in embarrassment as the others watched her slowly being fondled. She could smell his stale breath, his eyes staring at hers as he grabbed her bra-encased breasts harshly.
The rebel was too eager, unwilling to wait long enough to get back to the village. His hands slid under her bra, pulling it up harshly, her tender breasts squeezed tight before the bra slipped free, her breasts now naked for all of the men to see.


I have read better books by you. I know a few times it was unclear as to who was getting what. The way the story jumped back and forth. But all in all I did enjoy the story, As usual a job well done. 4 out of 5 (MBL)

Author Information

Powerone resides at the beach in San Diego where scantily clad females
forever perk his imagination.

A prolific, best selling author, he captivates readers by bringing them into the minds of both male and female lead characters. With vivid description and rich detail, Powerone draws readers
into a world often found only in fantasy and leaves them aching for more.


Publisher Information

This story has been self-published by the author

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