The Girl From Ipanema
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I made my way down Avenida Vieira Souto, walking slowly. I was in no hurry. It was two hours before I was to meet Barbara at Help, and I wasn't even sure I wanted to go. I continued on down Rua Francisco Behring, leaving the traffic behind, and picked my way across the sands at Arpoador, skirting Garota de Ipanema park, to the rocky point between Ipanema and Praia do Diabo (Devil's Beach).
Edging carefully around the rocks in the glare from the surfing lights on the beach, I found a place sheltered from the lights and the sounds of the city. This was my favorite place in all of Rio. A light on-shore breeze made the night feel cooler than it really was, and I loved the way it stirred my hair and made my nipples tighten. I could smell marijuana from somewhere off to my left, and heard the occasional giggle from a pair of lovers hidden nearby. These were comforting smells and sounds, though. These people would not disturb me, and their presence meant that thieves would think twice about attacking me in the dark.
The surf pounded against the rocks, providing a fitting background for the turmoil of my thoughts.
Papai had not always been this way. I remember fondly the nights spent snuggled safe in his arms as he sang me to sleep with some silly lullaby, or the times he would take me to one of the beaches, and we would watch the gringo turistas trying to get dates with the beautiful Carioca girls.
Those were good times, but they were never coming back and neither was Mamãe. When she died two years ago, it seemed she took the best part of Papai with her. Now, he drank too much, and if he touched me at all, it was to try to feel my tetas, which, even at fifteen, were larger than some grown women. He was always so angry!
For two years I tried to make things better for him, to fill in the emptiness Mamãe left in his life. It was never enough. No matter what I did, he just got worse, and now, this latest thing!
I tried my best to be a good daughter, but I would NOT take Mamãe's place in his bed! It was too much to ask any daughter! But he kept trying, and one of these days, he would catch me where I couldn't escape. It was only a matter of time.
I had to get away! I had to find some way to get far from Papai and make a life of my own! But how to do it? I had very little money of my own. The few reais Papai gave me went for food and to make the payments he 'forgot'.
So here I was, on my way to Help, to meet Barbara and see if any of the turistas I used to laugh at would pay to have sex with me.
I suppose I could have taken a bus, or even a frescão (air conditioned bus), but I needed time to think, and there was no better place to do that than Arpoador, surrounded by the pounding surf.
It was only November so not many gringos were about, though we never seemed to be completely without them. As the summer wore on, they would come in droves, trying to escape their snowy, blustery winters.
I was no virgin, but I really didn't like the thought of giving myself to strangers who didn't even speak Portugese, even though many girls I knew, from all over the zona sul, went to Help to make extra money by sleeping with the gringos. The more I thought about it, though, the more I realized I had only two choices: Be a vadia (slut) and let my father fuck me for free, or be a putinha and let strangers fuck me for money.
At least, I thought, as a puta, I had a chance to make enough to get away from Papai.
Heavy though my heart was, my mind was made up, and I made my way to Rua Francisco Otaviano. Walking more briskly, as I had almost a mile to cover, I soon turned onto Avenida Atlantica in Posto 6, with the Forte de Copacabana to my right. I wove my way through the crowds of turistas haggling for cheap trinkets and finally neared my destination.
Slowing as I approached the dance club, I searched the faces of the people gathered outside. Barbara was near the entrance talking to one of the bouncers. From the way she kept showing him her cleavage, I figured she was trying to talk him into letting her in for free.
When she saw me, she broke away, and shouted at me in heavy carioquês, "Nicole! I thought you were going to stand me up! Come on girl, all the good ones will be taken!"
I forced a laugh.
"They'll wait for ME, Barbara!" I shook my peitos (tits) to show what they would wait for.
Barbara laughed, and hooking her arm through mine, walked me back to the bouncer.
Girls our age weren't even supposed to be allowed into the club, but Barbara swore that as long as we behaved ourselves, the bouncers wouldn't ask for ID.
We paid our sixty reais, and the bouncer winked at me as he passed me through, more of a conspiratorial sort of wink than a sexy one, but I didn't care, I was in.
The place was noisy, but I think that was required by law for dance clubs. They want you drinking and dancing, not having long, philosophical conversations.
A tall, good-looking, dark-haired man made a beeline in our direction as Barbara and I worked our way toward the crowded bar. Barbara saw him and shouted in my ear. "Whatever you do, DO NOT go out with this man! I was talking to a girl last week who told me he beat her friend before he fucked her, just for fun! She's still in the hospital!"
The man approached me wearing a suave smile, but Barbara stepped in front of him.
"Vai tomar no cú (Go fuck yourself!)! We don't want anything to do with you, you filho da puta (son of a bitch! [literally, son of a whore])!" she spat venomously in his face. She didn't know the curses in English, but their meaning was pretty clear, just from the tone of her voice.
The man showed only mild surprise, but stopped in his tracks. "I see my reputation precedes me. Very well, good evening ladies."
As he turned to go, he pinched Barbara's nipple through the material of her dress, hard.
"Piranha! (Slut!)" he rasped, with a horrible accent, before stalking away.
Barbara gasped from the pain, and kicked at his receding backside, "Babaca! (Asshole!)" she shouted, but not too loudly.
"I'll tell the bouncer!" I volunteered, and started toward the nearest one I could see, but Barbara grabbed my arm.
"No!" she said, "We'll get thrown out too!"
We finally got our drinks. I don't know what Barbara ordered for me, but she swore it had no alcohol. She said we needed our wits about us.
After a few dances with sweaty estrangeiros, not all of them American, I saw Barbara headed for the door with a short, mustachioed man with graying hair. She waved at me as she left.
An hour and a half later, I found myself being crushed into the mattress of a 'honeymoon motel' by an overweight software engineer from California. The $250 US that we agreed on was clutched tightly in my hand as I moaned and pretended to enjoy the feeling of his tiny pica while he sweated over me.
when he finished, I pretended to reach my own climax as he dribbled his porra (cum) into the condom inside my nearly virgin xaninha (pussy).
The gringo collapsed on top of me, and I had to struggle to roll him off so I could breathe.
"Thank you," he whispered, over and over, "thank you, thank you!"
I finally got out from under him and slipped into the bathroom, leaving the money on the sink as I took my shower. I dried off and got dressed as he snored away on the bed. Since I was raised to be polite, I shook him a little as I got ready to leave.
"Thank you for the evening." I said, "I must get back to the club and meet my friend."
"Wait, wait!" he mumbled, fumbling in his pants. He pulled another green bill from his wallet, never realizing that if I had been someone else, there would be no wallet in his pants by this time.
He folded the bill into my palm and muttered, "You were wonderful! Thank you!"
I didn't look at the money until I was back on the street. I couldn't believe it! He gave me another hundred dollars!
I had made almost a thousand reais in one night! It wasn't the most enjoyable sex I ever had, but I hadn't gotten paid the few times I'd had sex before, and I was giddy with the thought of how quickly my dream might come true.
When I got home I slipped quietly into my room and stuck a chair under the doorknob, just in case. Just as I was drifting off to sleep, I heard the knob turn and the door strain against the blockage. I shuddered, but that was the last of it, and I finally fell asleep.
Papai was gone when I awoke the next morning. I spent the day wandering around Lagoa, mulling over last night. I had made an incredible amount of money in a very short time, but at what cost to my eternal soul?
Then I thought of Papai and what would happen to my eternal soul if he caught me in the wrong place at the wrong time, and my resolve strengthened.
I would much rather talk at confession about making a little money with strangers than about incest with my father. I don't know if it was less of a sin if lots of people did it, but I thought it would certainly be less of a shock to the priest!
I met Barbara that evening at BOB's, next door to Help, and treated her to dinner before going to the club. She complained about her date, how he came too quickly and only paid her two hundred dollars, even though they agreed on three hundred.
If she had been eighteen, she could have gone to the cops, but at fifteen, she would have wound up in trouble instead of the guy. Prostitution isn't illegal here, but you're supposed to be eighteen before you do it.
I took that as a word to the wise, and decided to get my money up front, before I left the club with anyone.
There were more people tonight. More estrangeiros, more girls. I talked to a few of the girls I knew, but none of them were close friends like Barbara, so it was mostly small talk and gossip about this turista or that. Thankfully, they had all heard the story about the dark man, and were steering clear of him.
Around midnight, a good-looking American danced with me, and I felt myself get wet, just from the way he looked at me.
"You like what you see there?" I asked, as sexily as I could.
He nodded, smiling, "Very much! You have very nice breasts, umm?..."
"Nicole!" I filled in for him, "Would you like to see more of them, Mr.?..."
"Just call me Paul!" He smiled that disarming smile again, "And yes, I would love to see more, and do more, and not just with your lovely tetas!"
I tried to not to show my excitement, "If you are familiar with Rio, Paul, you know that almost anything is possible. But you also know there's usually a price..."
He threw back his head and laughed, "Yes, Nicole, I am familiar with that aspect of life in Rio, and fully expect to pay for what I get!"
"But," he turned serious, as if a switch had been thrown, "what I want may be more than you're willing to give..."
I was a little alarmed. I had seen the suave, dark-haired man from last night around, and it reminded me that money wasn't all you could get from these gringos.
"I would have to know what it is that you want," I said, hesitantly, "before I can say whether it is too much..."
He whispered in my ear, the stubble on his face scratching my cheek deliciously, "I will pay you five thousand dollars, US, for three days alone with me, at the home of my friend."
I was astounded! As I drew breath to answer, he put a finger across my lips.
"Before you say yes or no," he breathed intently, "You should know that I will do many things to you in those three days. I will have you in every possible way. Much of what I do to you will cause you great pain. Some of it will seem very humiliating, and my friend and his wife will want to join in. Only this will I promise you: You will not be injured, or killed."
'Five thousand dollars!' was all I could think, 'Fifteen thousand reais!' That would be enough to buy my way out of Papai's house, and out of his clutches for at least a year, and maybe by then, I would find a way to make my own money, without fucking turistas.
Then the rest of what he said hit me. Was it worth it? I should just tell him no, and go find someone else, but the thought of that five thousand, and what I could do with it kept coming back. Maybe...
"Ten thousand, two days!" I said, as confidently as I could muster.
He didn't laugh, but he knew the game. "Six thousand, three days."
In the end, we settled on seven thousand for two days. If, at the end of that two days, I decided to continue, he would pay me another two thousand.
I tried to get him to pay me the whole amount up front, but that was a lot of cash. He only had five thousand with him. I stuck some of the bills in my purse, then asked the bartender if he had a couple of envelopes. He had to send somebody to the back office, but soon I had two envelopes in my hand. I wrote my name on the outside of each, then split the money between them, working under the bar with my body between the crowd and the money.
I handed one of the sealed envelopes to the bartender, telling him, loud enough for Paul to hear: "If I don't come back to get this in four days, please tell the police that the girl whose name is on this envelope is in trouble, and that the last person she was seen with was him." I tossed my head in the American's direction.
Instead of getting mad, Paul took a photocopy of a passport from his pocket and handed it to the bartender, saying simply, "And give them this."
The bartender wasn't quite sure what was going on, but he was quick on the uptake. He studied the passport and compared it with the man's face, then nodded.
Before he could turn to put the envelope and the paper away, Paul touched his arm.
"One more thing," he said evenly, "When this young lady comes back for that envelope, she'd better find it and its contents intact, or there will be hell to pay!"
I was a little shocked, but felt a little safer. Nonetheless, I found Barbara and gave her the other envelope with a modified version of the same speech.
Paul let her get a good look at his face, then told her that the bartender had another envelope and a copy of his passport. Then he surprised us both, and wrote an address in alto Gavea on a napkin.
"This is my friend's house." He said, handing it to Barbara, "If you don't see your friend in four days, tell the police to start looking here."
As we started threading our way to the door, Paul talked briefly on his cell phone to someone. By the time we made it through the crowd and got outside, there was a limousine waiting at the curb.
As I settled into the luxurious leather interior, the enormity of what I was doing crashed in on me, and with every fiber of my being I wanted to escape! What was I thinking? Had I let my need for money blind me to the danger? Had I just sold my life for money I'd never get to spend?
By the time Paul settled into the seat beside me, I was shivering with dread.
"Don't worry too much, Nicole." He put his big arm around me and held me. He could have been keeping me safe or preventing my escape, I didn't know. It felt, though, the way I used to feel in Papai's arms, and I relaxed a little. No matter what was to come, I was committed. I just hoped I wasn't fooling myself about this American.
The going was slow until we got away from the beach and headed west, wending our way through Jardim Botânico. Eventually, the car turned into a drive and stopped, headlights illuminating a massive iron gate set in a stone wall. A man in uniform shined a flashlight into the car, illuminating each of our faces briefly.
"Welcome back, Mr. Sims!" he said to my companion. "I see you had good luck in your quest!"
"Very good luck, Antonio!" Paul smiled at me, "Very good luck indeed!"
Antonio smiled and opened the gate for us.
The limo wound its way upward along the drive. Ahead of us, Corcovado towered in the gloom, the statue of Jesus invisible behind a layer of cloud, it's presence indicated only by the glow of light from above the cloud.
Behind, the lights of Leblon and Ipanema winked and twinkled in the night, and the lights of Copacabana cast reflections from the surface of Lagoa Rodrigo de Freitas. I was sad for a moment, thinking one of those lights in Ipanema shone from the lamp beside Papai's chair, where, surely, he sat drinking again.
The car slid to a halt and a tuxedoed butler opened the door and offered his hand as I slipped from the spacious interior of the limousine, staring in wonder at my surroundings.
As we entered the cavernous hall behind the entry doors, the butler politely asked, "May I take your dress, Madam?"
I stared at him in shock, then at Paul.
The American smiled indulgently, "You will not need the dress while you are here. Paolo will see that it is properly cared for."
"But, but..." I sputtered, trying to think of something to say.
"Come, now, Nicole." Paul patiently interrupted, "You weren't brought here to attend a cocktail party. The dress will only be in the way. Everyone in the household knows why you are here, so you might as well prepare yourself now for what is to come. While you're at it, you might as well give Paolo your underthings and purse, as well. Keep only the shoes. The floors in some parts of this place can be hard on the feet."
Trembling with outrage, but realizing that this was the sort of thing a puta must endure for her money, especially the kind of money he was paying me, I slipped off my dress and bra and panties, handing them defiantly to the butler.
Both men unabashedly appraised my figure, and I blushed from head to toe, as they took in my large peitos and followed my waist down to my shaven buceta (I found it easier to keep myself completely hairless than to try to take only enough that it doesn't show in my bikinis, especially the thongs!). I had a bit more around the waist than some girls, but with my larger tetas and wide hips, the boys told me it just made me look more voluptous.
My three inch heels set off my legs to perfection, making them look longer than my short stature would seem to allow.
Paul walked around me, appraising my butt by cupping my cheeks in his hands and squeezing. I could not believe I was standing here in the entrance hall of a rich man's house being groped like a piece of meat!
A darkly tanned, well dressed couple entered from an archway to the right as Paul finished his inspection. He nodded to the butler, who departed with my belongings.
"Paul!" the woman gushed in a cultured Brazilian accent, "What a lovely surprise! What have you brought for us!"
"Nicole," Paul sounded the perfect host, "I'd like to introduce you to Helô and Joao, our hosts. They own this lovely house and graciously allow me to stay here when I'm in Rio."
Turning to face me, he continued, "Helô, Joao, meet Nicole... ?"
"Andrade!" I filled in, bobbing my head and trying not to sink through the floor in my embarrassment, "Nicole Andrade!"
They each shook my hand. The woman said as she took my hand in both of hers, "You may call me Mistress Heloisa, and no, I'm not the original Garota de Ipanema, it is merely coincidence that we have the same name. No one has written songs about me!"
Like Paul before them, they critically inspected my naked body, walking all the way around, as if appraising a piece of statuary.
"Bunduda! (Nice butt!)" Joao murmured, as he passed behind me.
"Come!" said Helô, taking my hand, "Let's go to the playroom!"
"How old are you, Nicole?" my hostess asked as we walked casually down hallway after hallway.
"Eighteen." I lied.
The tall blonde woman raised an eyebrow and said coldly, "Don't lie to me young lady!"
I was trembling as I replied, "Fifteen."
Helô's face lit with a beautiful smile as she replied in a whisper, "Lovely!"
Finally, we came to a large double door that Joao opened with a key. His wife swept me inside with an arm around my waist.
"Come in, dear." she said pleasantly, displaying the contents of the large room with a sweep of her hand, "This will be your home for the next two days!"
My knees buckled, and had she not supported me, I would have fallen. The room contained such a hellish assortment of whips, chains, and places to tie a person that I was sure I had died and been sent straight to hell for my sins! My heart thumped within my chest, and I could not draw a breath, but my eyes would not close! They darted from one unbelievable device to another. Somewhere in all this fear and confusion, I became aware of liquid running down my leg as my bladder emptied involuntarily.
What had I gotten myself into! Nothing could have prepared me for this!
"Here, dear," Helô said solicitously, "Just hold on to these handles to support yourself."
She raised my hands above my head, and I gratefully took the handholds offered, not really noticing the clicks as something closed over my hands.
The next thing I knew, I was being raised into the air, and I couldn't let go!
"Wha?" I cried.
Before I could even form a coherent question, my legs were spread far apart by chains attached to fleece-lined cuffs, and I hung, spread-eagled, a couple of feet off the floor.
The blonde carioca caressed my exposed pussy, slipping first one, then two long, slender fingers deep inside me. I was only vaguely aware of the rustle of clothing behind me.
Alma
- 20.06.2022
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