Crystal ClearChapter 7: Nicaragua, Movie Making, Kidnapping, Rescue, And Sex free porn video

A machine gun fired at us from an overhead helicopter flying low and right at us. Along the ground, the pock marks each bullet made exploded in a line closely parallel to where we were running in a zig-zap pattern. I thought of all the training I'd had when I joined the Special Forces, much of it training for just a situation such as this, except the rounds were real.

Barry Peters and I had just grabbed Jill Dane's hands and raced for cover in a dilapidated adobe hut. Just as we neared the building, the front door disintegrated in an explosive hail of bullets from the gunship as it made another sweep towards us. We veered away from the hut.

I turned away from Jill and Barry and let them keep running; I raised the automatic weapon I had slung over my body, took careful aim, and fired round after round at the helicopter – defying death as their bullets rained down around me. I could see the long tongues of flame sprouting from the muzzle of my weapon as I fired, but that didn't come close to matching the awesome firepower of the canons in the copter.

Almost immediately a burst of smoke started to emerge from the aircraft's engine compartment, and the flight path got erratic. I'd hit something vital. I kept firing as the bird turned and fled away from us. Just over the tree line, the helicopter suddenly dropped out of sight into the trees at a crazy angle. Seconds later a huge fireball rose into the sky, indicative of a fiery crash from which no one on the helicopter could survive.

I lowered the rifle just as Jill flowed into my arms and passionately kissed me. We had one of our little make out sessions that we loved so much. Jill was really getting into it, driving her tongue deep into my mouth, and for that matter I enjoyed her expression of joy too much because I could feel the quickening in my fatigues. Finally, Jill pulled away, and looked at me with tears in her eyes – tears of joy at being saved from death. We held the position for several seconds.

"CUT!"

Mark Ang came racing across the clearing to Barry, Jill, and me with a smile on his face from ear to ear. "That was some of the best acting I've ever seen. I think we got perfect shots on every camera." He turned to a telephoto camera hidden in a palm tree that had been focused on my face and my defensive fire at the helicopter. The cameraman gave Mark a thumbs-up and a big smile. So did the cameraman on an elevated hoist just off the edge of the clearing.

Mark grabbed a walkie-talkie off his belt and spoke into it; "That's it, Ronaldo. We're through with the helicopter for today. I think our footage is superb. Good job." He picked up his bullhorn, "Good job, everyone. Stand by while we figure out our next shoot."

In the distance, where the helicopter supposedly crashed, we could hear the whap-whap-whap of the rotors as the bird started to rise, like the phoenix, into the skies again. After achieving a safe altitude over the trees, the aircraft did a low pass over our clearing. We could see the 'gun men' in the open door merrily waving at us with friendly smiles. The rented helicopter turned and headed north to the Agusto César Sandino International Airport – the airport serving Managua, Masaya, and Granada in Nicaragua. The cast, film crew, extras, and equipment vans were all parked nearby but out of sight, including the luxurious motorhomes some of us used as our temporary homes at the remote film location. We were in a field surrounded by trees on a set the crew had built a month earlier near the small Nicaraguan town of Los Campos – a picturesque village with peaceful fruit orchards nearby. In the background in every direction lay the remnants of volcanos, a staple of the Nicaraguan landscape.

Pressure Limit had entered its fourth month of shooting under the direction of Mark Ang, one of Sony Studios up and coming directors. We were ahead of plan and below budget, something that would score big points for us, particularly Ang.

Jill flowed into my arms and kissed me again, a habit she'd adopted several months ago; "My hero. You saved me from all those nasty men in that whirlybird machine." She used her falsetto and innocent woman voice more likely heard in an 1880's play than in our movie; she played the role well. We all laughed, and I waved my rifle in the air; a rifle rigged to only shoot blanks and tongues of fire – it couldn't even be loaded with real ammunition.

Mark looked around and said, "The sun's getting a little low in the sky. We could shoot some of the interior shots in the other hut where you discover the drugs, but our outdoor shots are done for the day."

I shrugged and said, "OK, let's do it." Jill and Barry looked ready too. We liked to be busy doing filming instead of standing around rehearsing lines, doing makeup, or anything else. Our 'Let's work' attitude contributed to our ahead of schedule and budget status. For the next two hours, we did various shots inside the fake adobe building; part of each side of the building could be folded away for camera access.

In one scene inside the hut, I happen to kick a chair out of the way in frustration at not finding the evidence I sought. Beneath the chair, I spotted a metal ring that when pulled, opened to a burial pit full of bales of cocaine. Of course, the bales were actually flour carefully bricked in clear wrap by the stage crew to look like what everyone now assumed a kilo of uncut cocaine would look like. I would use a knife to stab one of the bales, dampen a finger, and put a slight taste of the white powder to my tongue, thereby confirming to my colleagues that we had found the mother lode of cocaine and had closed off a major drug highway out of South America to North America. In truth, no well-trained operative would taste a suspected drug that way. The crash of the helicopter had sealed the deal. Good guys win; bad guys lose; movie patrons feel good and give movie high marks.

Mark got about twenty separate sequences from us; we only had to re-shoot three of them. We had the script down really well, and knew each other well enough to anticipate lines and reactions from one another as we improvised through part of the dialogue.

"That's it for today," Mark advised. "We're out of good outside light entirely. We'll pick up tomorrow on those shots we skipped earlier where you're following the foot trails through the trees."

An entire work crew moved in and clustered around us. Several people dabbed at our faces to remove some of the makeup we wore. As that happened, Barry, Jill, and I passed our outer clothing off to three staff members from wardrobe. We'd each learned to wear a bathing suit under our clothing anyway because the heat and humidity were so oppressive in the afternoons. Jill's shapely body emerged from the tight shorts, which showed off her sexy legs, and two different vests. Under the khaki shirt that had been unbuttoned almost to her navel, she wore nothing. Everyday, the entire cast eagerly awaited this time of day when she passed over all of her clothes, ending in only a monokini. For a few brief seconds, everyone got to view her splendid orbs and their magnificent areolas and nips. I always got hard, and she knew it. This time I got a wink from her, and she jiggled her breasts for my benefit.

A stage hand gave her a large towel that she draped around her shoulders. The towel and her long blond hair hung down her front and loosely covered her breasts. I wondered if we'd have another sex-filled night; the odds were quite high. Even with Claire and Ellen working on the set and available at night, I never minded a good fuckfest with Jill and a few others; Claire and Ellen always enjoyed themselves too. We were an oversexed bunch of movie stars and assistants.

Jill rejoined Barry and me after her makeup had been removed. She said, "Tonight, after dinner, my trailer. I am horny and need just what you guys have hanging around." She reached down with one hand and rubbed the lump in Barry's pants, still evident from the gawk he'd enjoyed when seeing her exposed tits.

"We'll be there," I stated with a smile.

When we were staying at a shoot location as remote as this Mark arranged meals to be catered to us. Tonight, with the temperatures hovering in the high eighties, a buffet table had been spread out with salads, a roast pig complete with an apple in its mouth, and a slew of vegetables and desserts. I worried about gaining weight. A well-stocked free bar also opened up after shooting had been completed. We got ourselves drinks, and sat on new picnic benches for conversation amongst ourselves and with many members of the crew.

Jill continued to tantalize everyone with the flashes of her breasts she allowed as she'd turn back and forth during our conversations. Barry and I sat in our Speedos, the lumps in our suits evident as usual. Claire and Ellen were wearing bikini bras and cutoffs. Nudity or partial nudity on the set apparently wasn't unusual. Even some of the female crew wore loose clothing that allowed more than occasional peeks at their intimate body parts. The heat almost mandated a casual approach to exposure.

We sat around in the darkness drinking after dinner. Many of the support crew had piled into two buses for the trip back into Granada and their nighttime quarters. A dozen of us opted to stay at the site and sleep there – sleep and other things.

The site had a few armed guards that patrolled the site. This part of Nicaragua was supposed to be safe from the remaining ardent Sandinistas or Ortega's vigilantes. Our guards were from out of the country and neutral to any of the local causes. Each carried a weapon, and just the sight of the rifles made me wonder about just exactly what the threat was.

"My God, James, how do you have the stamina to keep doing that to me. Fuck! I've never had so many orgasms in my life as when you're fucking me."

Jill Danes' praise for my evening's performance sat well with my ego; something I kept trying to subdue. At that moment, she lay on the edge of the couch in her trailer, mostly under me – nude, her legs spread and pulled back near her chest, so I had maximum access to her body. My cock had augured into her to maximum depth several times in the past minute, each time resulting in Jill gasping for breath, before pleading with me to go faster and harder.

I told her, "And you, Miss Danes, have one of the most comfortable and sexy cunts in the western world." I jammed my cock into her again, and she gasped and moaned. Each time I'd slid into her I had felt the muscles on the walls of her love sheath ripple and try to hold onto me, heightening the stimulation for both of us. Jill had what many called a snapping pussy.

Jill said in a soft voice, "Well, Mr. Mellon, isn't it about time you filled my little hole with a gallon of that lovely white spunk juice you distribute so well and in such generous quantities at times like these."

"If you insist, Miss Danes." To the sound of her happy groans and a couple of obvious additional orgasms, I sped up my thrusts into her vagina until my hips became a blur to those watching. I could keep this up indefinitely, thanks to training in Tantric sex that a dear friend in Florida had taught me during my road trip, or I could acknowledge my own needs for release and do exactly as Jill asked: fill her pussy with a large amount of jism. In this case, I split the difference.

I allowed Jill those two new orgasms, and then as her eyes rolled up in her head for a third, I started my staccato pounding into her cunt. "Oh fuck ... Oh ... Oh ... Oh ... Oh ... Oh..." She went on and on, each sound rising in pitch and intensity as I brought her nearer and nearer to the third Big "O" as she called it, in ten minutes. This cum would be especially intense for her unless she was immune to what I'd learned about her responses and the erogenous zones I'd been making love to for the past hour. My fingers raced over her erogenous zones and clit.

"OH, FUCK ... ME!" Jill screamed, as she grabbed at my shoulders and used her legs to wrap around me and jerk me into her body.

I had allowed my own orgasm to approach as well, so as she came my jets of cum started to surge from my body into hers. The first few shots were the most intense and carried the most fluid. I hadn't stopped pumping, but my pace had slowed like an engine slowly running out of fuel. Even as I continued to cum – as did Jill – my fucking motions started to whip up a white froth in her well-fucked pussy.

When I maxed out on my own sensitivity, I yanked my cock out of Jill, pulling some of the cum with me. The fluids immediately started to gush from Jill's cunt in what looked like white suds –– drippy but with lots of small bubbles. My sharp withdrawal made Jill writhe and have another little earthquake again, maybe lower on the Richter scale.

Jill looked at me through half-closed and glazed over eyes, "My God, you fuck well. No one else can do that to me. I am your devoted slave for life so long as you do this to me a dozen times every day. I'm a true Mellon Girl, and I can't wait to do this again and again."

I put on my fake cowboy drawl and John Wayne twang that I called on frequently; "Why ma'am, we are just a-doing the best we can with what we all have to work with. Y'all give me a lot to work with, pretty lady." I reached up and gently twisted her left nipple – a tit so erect I thought it might be painful for her. Jill moaned and writhed into my groin again, moving her hips to recapture the cock I'd extracted from her. I caught my own breath, not immune to the energy I had just used to satisfy my leading lady and co-star.

Across the room of the expandable motorhome, Claire had her face buried in Ellen's cunt, her tongue working to bring yet another orgasm into the room. In her own pussy, Claire had a vibrating egg inserted; Ellen had the control to the device in her right hand and as Claire lapped at her privates she'd adjust the frequency or intensity of the egg's vibrations. Thus, both of them were writhing, twisting, and moving their hips in a highly sexual manner.

"Anyone over there want sloppy seconds," I said as I offered up Jill's sodden pussy.

Ellen looked at me through her half-closed eyes and nodded in the affirmative. I gestured for her to come across the small space between us and do Jill. Claire let up her ministrations, and I saw Ellen turn off the control for the egg. Both girls came over and knelt by Jill and me. Claire grabbed my cock since she was closest, and swallowed the still erect shaft. I no longer needed cleaning; she'd taken care of that with one gulp.

Ellen locked her mouth on Jill's cunt, tongue in motion, as she sucked the fluids from her cunt. After Claire had turned her attention to Jill, she tapped Ellen on the shoulder. Ellen pulled away and started a French kiss with Claire, the two of them immediately snowballing my cum and Jill's girl juice between them. Ellen moved up and repeated the process with Jill who welcomed the lewd activity. God, what a sexy lot.

As Ellen and Jill mixed it up, Claire smiled enigmatically and came to me, thrusting the last of the snowball she had kept into my mouth for us to share. I played the game with her to her delight, our tongues dancing back and forth into each other's mouth as the cum, Jill's juice, and the saliva from Ellen and Claire gradually disappeared.

Claire finally announced, "Oh that is so fucking hot. I love doing that. I'm not sure there's anybody else I'd do it with, but you inspire me. I love you." We locked into a wild kiss again.

When we were sated and somewhat exhausted, I asked Jill, "Hey, where's Barry? I thought he wanted a piece of you tonight?"

Jill said in a dreamy voice, "He's in his motorhome fucking that cute little Spanish script girl he's taken a shine to. She may kill him before tomorrow, she looked that horny for his cock as they walked back after dinner."

I snickered and wondered when Barry would decide to share his sexy friend with the rest of us. She was cute and sexy, and had a way about her that flirted with the males in a way that signaled heat and desire.

Jill shifted around and slowly stood, putting a hand on Ellen's shoulder to steady herself. "Oh, I am so royally fucked ... and I am so smelly and cum soaked, I've got to take a shower. Do you all want to sleep over here ... no wait, I already know the answer – the three of you like to be exclusive when you sleep together. I think that's so sweet. Go ahead, I'll tidy up here and go to bed."

Ellen and Claire stood and slid into their shorts, tucking their thongs into a pocket. The shirts went on, but left unbuttoned around their taut breasts. Boots on, and then we were out the door to go to our motorhome about fifty feet away. I picked up my clothes, slipped on my briefs and boots, and followed the girls. As I opened the door, the humid night air hit me like a sledge hammer. There's so much to be said for air conditioning.

In the shadows, I saw one of the guards on patrol. If he saw us he didn't acknowledge. We passed Barry's motorhome, and chuckled as we heard the moaning and feminine shrieks of pleasure from the bedroom end of the motor home.

We went into our own motorhome, and soon both girls stripped and headed for the postage stamp-sized shower-bath combination. I had to pee, so I told Ellen, "I'm going outside to pee; back in two minutes." I tossed the rest of my clothes onto the couch, and went outside.

I didn't want to pee near the motorhomes so I walked about thirty feet to the edge of the clearing, faced the trees, and started to relieve myself. At that instant, I heard a scuffle, and groan from near Jill's trailer, and then a repeat from behind me, and then several other sounds I could tell were hand-to-hand combat.

I thought to myself, 'Fuck, here I am defenseless.' I started to head back to our motorhome, when I felt a knife at my back. "No move, Señor." I froze, slowly raising my open hands.

The activity I detected came from Jill's motorhome. I heard her scream and then silence, except for brief banging and scuffling sounds. Since I hadn't been stabbed outright, I assumed I was not the main target of whatever raid had started. Maybe the young man behind me in the dark hadn't recognized me in the darkness.

Even in the dim light coming from a few safety lights the crew left on all night, I could see two other men carrying a small body between them – Jill. She seemed unconscious as her head sagged lifelessly. The trio disappeared into the woods on the opposite side of the parking lot field we were in.

The man behind me poked me with the knife, "You no move, Señor, and you live a long time. Get on ground."

I followed his instructions and lay face down with my arms outstretched. I'd been taught this submissive posture decades earlier in the Special Forces. While it took you out of the fight, it also announced to your attacker that you were no further threat and would live a day longer to even the score.

I sensed the young man move away from me. After thirty seconds, I looked around just in time to see three more young men run in the trees exactly where Jill had been taken. No one was near me.

I bolted for the door to my motorhome, jerking open the door. Claire and Ellen both stood near the bedroom drying themselves from their quick shower. I was covered in dirt; the two looked at me strangely. I blurted out, "Jill's been kidnapped by lord knows who. I was held at knife point, but whoever they were, I wasn't their target. The guards must be gone or out of commission."

As I talked, I kicked off my boots, jumped into my jeans, and threw on a dark shirt. I grabbed a pair of socks, thought for a second and stuck them into a pocket; boots back on and in less than a minute I bolted for the door. I said to Claire over my shoulder, "Lock this door, and don't open it up for anyone – and I mean anyone but me."

I slammed out of the van, and beat on the side of Barry Peter's motorhome. He appeared at the door seconds later, naked with an equally naked dark-skinned girl behind him. I spoke, "Jill's been abducted. Get dressed. Call the police in Granada and the others at the hotel there. Warn them. Get some action." He nodded in understanding and turned to get dressed. As I left I told them, "And lock your door."

I circled our van and saw the bodies of two of our guards. I guessed the others were equally disabled or dead.

I cut through the kitchen area and grabbed several sharp knives. I found a flashlight, but verbally reminded myself not to use it at full brightness – a stupid move at best if I were in pursuit of Jill's captors.

I raced across the parking area to the spot where I'd seen the men disappear with Jill. Sure enough, there was a narrow but discernible trail there. I started into the woods slowly, quickly finding not only near darkness, but also silence – a silence that told me the men were much deeper into the woods or even gone completely by now. I estimated that five minutes had passed since I saw the last of the men disappear down the path.

I covered the flashlight with a sock and gave only a brief flash of light now and then to confirm the trail. Fresh footprints evidenced the fleeing men, and fortunately no blood. I have two assets that served me well in the Special Forces: acute hearing and acute night vision. I put both to use, as I crept through the woods.

Eventually, the trailed opened up into a field with an orchard to one side. On the far side of the open field, I saw a small fire and several flashlights moving around. I ran for the light, keeping low to the ground. I fell several times on the uneven ground but rolled with each fall and tried to keep quiet.

As I neared the lights, I could make out six men and a beat-up pickup truck. Two of the men carried rifles, and the others appeared unarmed – except for knives as I'd experienced. I reminded myself that there were no winners in a knife fight, and then moved closer.

I could hear the men talking and arguing in Spanish. I damned my lack of Spanish language skills. I could occasionally make out the word 'Señora' that I did know and that I took to mean Jill. The men were gathered around a small fire about fifty feet from the truck; five were sitting and one standing. A bottle of liquid courage was being passed around.

I circled the sextet, staying well outside their sight range. Close to the fire, their eyes wouldn't see well into the darkness. I wanted to see what was in the truck. When I got the truck between me and the men, I bee-lined for the vehicle. In the flatbed of the truck I found Jill, still unconscious, but apparently alive. Regrettably, I couldn't just grab Jill and run back to camp with her over my shoulder.

Jill's hands and feet were bound in duct tape; a strip also had been placed over her mouth. Staying out of sight I leaned into the truck with a knife in one hand and slit the tape around her hands and feet. As I did she started to move.

Jill's eyes blinked open clearly displaying her fear. She looked at me in the dim firelight. I held my hand up to warn her not to speak; a finger to my lips as well. She instantly got the message and nodded. I pointed at the men and held up six fingers. I also made a motion for her to just stay put and feign unconsciousness. She put her head back down and closed her eyes. I slipped away.

Step one was to keep them from leaving the area – once they drove away with Jill I might never see her again – alive. I slipped under the truck and drove one of the knives I'd carried into each of the right side tires – the ones farthest away from the men and the fire. I did it on the inside of the tires under the truck to avoid detection of obvious sabotage. I left the knives in so there'd be no great hiss of escaping air. The truck settled slowly until the two tires on that side were flat.

Step two, I had to disable the men. I backed away from the truck until I found the edge of the clearing they were in – a farm field. Predictably, there were various piles of stones raked from the fields along the edge of the field. I found several softball-sized chunks of granite and returned to the bed of the truck, reaching in and giving them to Jill. I pointed to my head. She knew what to do.

Back at the rocks I'd found, I filled my socks with smaller stones until I had two saps or blackjacks.

Next, I gauged the shortest distance to the woods from where the men sat. Fortunately, it wasn't in the direction of the truck. I moved into woods at that spot and waited. Good things come to those that wait. I can remember an instructor for my Special Forces unit pounding that into our heads. I squatted, watched, and waited ... and waited.

Predictably, one of the men eventually needed to piss, apparently just before they drove off with Jill. He stood and walked in my direction, away from his friends at the fire. I'd anticipated his route.

He found a tree, unbuttoned his trousers, and started to urinate. Behind him, I wound up and swung one of the socks loaded with rocks. When I had adequate momentum, I reached forward and the socks connected with the man's occipital bone with a sickening hard whap and the sharp sound of the rocks in the sock clunking together.

The man slumped forward totally unconscious. Based on what I'd learned in my training, he'd be out for at least fifteen to thirty minutes. I'd hit him hard – real hard.

A glance back at the fire told me that despite the sharp crack of the rocks to his head the other men remained unaware of the plight of their comrade.

Crouch and wait. Crouch and wait.

One of the other men finally rose and moved in my direction. He entered the copse of trees and almost immediately saw his friend on the ground next to the tree he'd chosen as his urinary target. He bent to awaken what he probably thought was his drunken buddy, and he too slipped into a painful unconsciousness as my bludgeon slammed into the back of his skull. This time I heard a terrible crunching sound.

The remaining men at the fire had heard the sound. "Jorge? Jorge?" One of the men shouted.

No reply.

"Carlos? Carlos?"

No reply.

One man said several sentences in Spanish, and the men seemed to relax. I slipped back to the truck.

One of the men with a rifle walked to the back of the truck, no doubt to check on Jill. She would have been unconscious about thirty minutes by now, and perhaps coming awake.

He leaned over the side of the truck and prodded her body with his free hand. Jill struck out as though a snake poised to strike at its prey. She held the rock I'd given her in one hand and slammed it into the man's face as hard as she could.

The man screamed, dropped the rifle, and his hands went up to his bloody face. He wasn't unconscious until the sock in my left hand slammed into the back of his head seconds after Jill's strike.

The other three men scrambled up from where they sat by the fire and ran towards the truck. One carried a rifle, but by the time they'd mustered I had the dropped rifle in my hands and a round in the chamber.

Without blinking, I checked the weapon, an old M16 that had seen better days. I aimed and fired at the legs of one of the men rushing at us. Blood spurted from the entry wound in his thigh, and the man fell screaming in pain.

The other man with a rifle stopped and started to raise the gun at me; I shot him in the chest at a range of twenty feet; from what I knew, he died instantly. The third man stopped and looked at the carnage on either side of him; he put his hands up and started to back away from me. I gestured with the muzzle of the gun for him to lie on the ground – no translation needed; he dove for the ground.

Behind me, inside the truck's flatbed, I heard Jill exclaim, "Holy shit! You killed him. Oh my God, you killed him – you shot him in the chest. You shot the other man too – oh, my God, he's bleeding – oh, blood! Oh, shit. Oh, shit." I could hear a hysterical edge in her voice. She was barely holding it together. With one hand on the rifle, I used the other to help Jill climb over the side and get down from the truck bed. I gave her a hug and felt the trembling in her small frame.

I secured the site. At my instruction, Jill found the duct tape and some rope in the truck. One by one I bound the men starting with the conscious one first. He seemed relieved that I didn't shoot him. I had the one I'd shot in the leg stem his bleeding with his shirt as a tourniquet, and then I taped his hands together behind him. I could see a shard of bone at the edge of his wound; he wouldn't need his feet tied – he couldn't walk. The three unconscious men were bound or tied next; I dragged each of them to the truck so the six of them were together and were easy to guard.

I checked Jill's head. She'd been cold-cocked by the butt end of the rifle on the left side of her head. I could see the bruise it had left, and the impression of the rifle butt on her skin. She complained of a headache, and I hoped it wasn't a concussion although in that location it would be hard to avoid. The head is more delicate than most people think.

I explained to Jill how to find the trail back to camp and gave her the flashlight. We took the shoes off one of the unconscious men, and she wore those since she had been carried to the site without shoes on. She was also nude under the trench coat the men had wrapped her in. Jill took off across the field to fetch help. Somehow she felt compelled to run. The first light of dawn had started to shade the black night sky.