Around the World in 80 Babes
Chapter 28: Complications and Attachments
Disclaimer: The following is fiction, nothing but
fiction, so help me Jebus. Please take it as such. If
you’re too small to ride to rides at Disney land,
you’re too young to be reading this. If you’ve only be
legalized to drive for two years or less, you’re too
young to read this. Please don’t do so. Otherwise,
please, feel free to read and enjoy.
June 1st, 2005
Westhaven International Hotel
“Let me get this straight,” Marissa Call said, struggling to get
her hair looking somewhat reasonable despite the fact that she’d left almost all of her luggage back in Florida. “We’re in Columbia because you have business here?”
“That’s it,” Richard Stall said, closing the small emergency bag that had served as his only luggage since their desperate flight from Miami not forty-eight hours earlier.
“Please tell me we aren’t smuggling drugs,” Marissa said. “I don’t think I could deal with another set of people out to kill us.”
“To be fair, I think they’re mostly out to kill the Boss here,” Michael Burke said, jerking a thumb towards Stall. “I mean, we’re nobodies.”
“You weren’t there in Africa,” Marissa said. “They definitely wanted to kill me there.”
“Different people,” Burke pointed out.
“And we could be walking into another giant fiasco like that here,” Marissa said, shaking her head. “I mean, this is Columbia, heart of the drug cartels. Personally, I’d rather be anywhere else.”
“We’re not here for drugs,” Stall said. “I’ve got business with a coffee exporter. If I work this deal right, the small shipping firm I own will be the only ships bringing premium coffee into Britain for the next five years.”
“Are you serious?” Burke asked.
“And did you save ‘premium’ coffee?” Marissa said.
Stall smiled. “I’ll make sure you get some samples while we’re here.”
“Then I’m all for this trip,” Marissa said, jumping onto the couch. “Let me know when it’s time to drink.”
“Actually, I have work for you two today,” Stall said. “I’m having a business suit sent up to me by the Hotel’s staff, but we need new luggage and clothes. Think you two can handle some shopping while I take care of business?”
Marissa shot him a look. “Are you kidding me? Next you’re going to tell me to buy myself a car while I’m here.”
“No luck there. I want to be out of Columbia by the end of the week.”
“What about celebs?” Burke asked. “I mean, I know Columbia’s not exactly Hollywood, but we need someone from South America.”
“I was thinking we’d pick some up when we were in Rio de Janeiro next week.”
“We’re going to Rio?” Marissa said, her eyes going wide. “And I left all my bikinis back in Florida! Stall, Richard, I really need some skimpy bikinis if we’re going to Rio. I mean, when am I ever going to have the chance again to-”
Stall held up a hand to cut her off. “If you two don’t mind replacing my clothes, you can go ahead and get yourself clothes, too, on my credit.”
“YES!” Marissa said, jumping off the couch happily.
“Just try to remember, we need luggage, and we have to be able to fit this all on a plane. Try not to max out my card,” Stall said, handing his Visa over to Burke.
“I’ll keep her to five bikinis,” Burke said.
“Ten! I can’t have less than ten!” Marissa said.
“Six,” Burke shot back.
“Eight!” Marissa insisted.
“Seven – that’s one for every day of the week,” Burke said.
“Fine,” Marissa said. “But just for that, you can’t watch me try them on.”
A knock at the door cut off Burke reply to that. Stall answered it, and found his suit waiting for him.
“All right you two,” he said, bringing the suit in with him. “Get yourselves ready. I need to meet with Mr. Alomar in two hours – you’ve got that long to get ready.”
“I’m ready to go shopping now,” Marissa said.
“Why doesn’t that surprise me?” Stall said.
* * *
June 1st, 2005
Alomar Roasted Coffee Exports Office
“Richard! You look like hell.”
Stall smiled as he took the hand of Pedro Alomar, owner, operator, and all around head of Alomar Roasted Coffee Exports. Alomar was a portly man, clearly well into his fifties. His hair, gone mostly grey since the last time Stall had seen him, was thin enough on top of his head to qualify as a comb-over. Still, Alomar’s smile was as warm and inviting as ever, and Stall was more than happy to call the man a friend.
“I had a little incident leaving Miami yesterday, and haven’t really had time to recover yet,” Stall said.
“You know what you need?” Alomar said.
Stall smiled. “Coffee,” he said.
“Coffee,” Alomar replied. “Everyone needs good coffee, and I have the best in the world. Maria! Coffee for Mr. Stall.” The young maid who Stall hadn’t even noticed yet, had a cup of coffee in Stall’s hand before Alomar finished giving the order.
“Thanks,” Stall said, taking a long sip. The taste was rich and warm, and it did wonders bringing Stall’s brain back to a somewhat working order.
“So, Miami. Hitting the local night clubs?” Alomar asked, taking his own cup of coffee from the maid.
“Something like that,” Stall said. “Though it felt more like they hit back harder than they needed to.”
“Clubbing is a young man’s activity. You may still be young enough for it, but I grew to old for it a good twenty years ago. Besides, outside the occasional woman you bring home, there’s no profit in it.”
“I guess it depends on how often you bring home those women,” Stall said, smiling.
Alomar laughed out loud. “See, this is why I like you, Richard. You’re like the son I never had.”
“You have three sons,” Stall said.
“And none of them are like you,” Alomar said. “Already married, all three of them! Never had the chance to travel the world, getting to experience the things you experience every day. I feel they missed out.”
“Some things,” Stall said, thinking back to the assault on the rental house he’d barely survive not two days ago, “should not be experienced.”
Alomar’s face went hard for a moment – a look Stall hadn’t seen before. “Indeed,” the coffee exporter said. “You’re very right there, my friend.”
“Something I should know about, Pedro?” Stall asked.
“I’m afraid so,” Alomar said. “There’s been a complication, Richard.”
* * *
June 1st, 2005
The Streets of Bogota
“I can’t believe you’ve spent a thousand dollars on just swimsuits and underwear,” Michael Burke muttered as he hefted six large bags in his hands.
“Hey, we already got all of Stall’s stuff for him, and you got your clothes. Now let a girl enjoy herself,” Marissa Call shot back.
“We’re going to have to go back to the hotel soon, just to free up our arms for more of your clothes.”
Marissa stopped walking and looked at him for a moment. “You’re right. Just let me go into one more store, and then we’ll go drop our stuff off.”
“This one,” Marissa said, smiling towards a fancy looking store behind Burke. “Looks like it might have some nice party dresses. You want to come in this one?”
“Ah, no,” Burke said. “I think I’ll wait here on the bench. You want to leave your stuff with me?”
“You read my mind, baby,” Marissa said, dropping her bags on the bench and giving Burke a quick kiss before heading inside.
The story was filled with everything Marissa could ask for when it came to party dresses – and, by that, she found that almost all of them were tight, slinky, and showed plenty of skin. She found six dresses before she even made it to the heart of the store.
Changing rooms were aplenty, and Marissa spent the next half hour slipping in and out of sexy outfits, and generally feeling like a girl for a change. No one threatening her life, no celebrities pressuring her for sex, no men forcing her to do what they want her to do. Just a girl, some hot outfits, and plenty of credit to spend.
So, of course, something had to interrupt.
“Excuse me,” a voice said in English behind her. Having heard nothing but Spanish for the last two or three hours, outside of Burke, Marissa turned in surprise.
And was surprised to find pop singer Shakira standing there before her.
“Oh my god,” Marissa said, covering her mouth.
“I know you, don’t I?” Shakira asked.
“I don’t think so,” Marissa said at once.
“No, I know you,” Shakira said, pressing Marissa back into the changing room she’d just left.
“Penelope told me about you.”
“Penelope?” Marissa asked, though she had a good idea now who Shakira was talking about.
“Penelope Cruz,” Shakira said. “She used to hire you to make love to her.”
“Please, I don’t want any trouble,” Marissa said as Shakira pressed her to the wall.
“I don’t want any trouble, either,” Shakira said, bringing her face within an inch of Marissa’s. “I want you to do for me what you did for Penelope.”
“What?” Marissa said, shocked.
Shakira handed her a card. “Be here at midnight. I will pay you quite well. Come alone, and wear that dress you’re wearing now.”
With that, the pop star turned around and left a very shocked Marissa Call behind. Looking down at the card, Marissa found a hotel room listed there.
Sighing, Marissa closed the door and started to slip out of the outfit she’d been trying on. She’d been having such a lovely afternoon.
* * *
June 1st, 2005
Westhaven International Hotel
“What are the odds Shakira would be staying in the same hotel?” Burke asked several hours later as Marissa stepped out of her room wearing the slinky, low-cut red dress Shakira had selected for her.
“I doubt she’s staying here,” Stall said, looking over some paperwork at the desk. “She’s from Columbia, after all. More likely, she’s just using it as a place to hook up.”
“Well, works well for us, anyway,” Burke said. “I mean, we aren’t on the continent a full day, and Marissa’s already got her first celeb lined up.”
“We’re just lucky Lambert sent us some new camera gear,” Stall said. “His people were able to grab our stuff from the place in Miami – our attackers didn’t bother taking anything. But he had it all sent back to London – we’ll have to get by on what you got for us today.”
“Well, if I have to look this good all the time, I guess I can suffer through,” Marissa smiled. Then she sighed. “I had kinda hoped I was done with this particular sort of thing.”
“How so?” Stall asked.
“Well, doing what I do for you is alright – I’m having fun. And I’m sure I’ll have fun with Shakira all night long. But I’ve just gotten used to not having to worry about the money aspect, that’s all. I mean, I haven’t taken any money form these women since France.”
“You could always offer to do it for free,” Burke suggested.
“Whatever you do, you better get moving. You’re supposed to meet her in five minutes. Got all the cameras on?”
“Every one,” Marissa said, taking a deep breath. “Don’t wait up – I suspect Shakira will keep me busy for a while.”
“Good luck,” Burke said as she walked out the door.
“Tomorrow, I want you to see if you can get us a limo,” Stall said.
“What for?” Burke asked. “We’re only here for, what, four more days.”
“We need to go on a little trip, you and I,” Stall said, turning back towards his paperwork.
* * *
Marissa knocked on the door to the room Shakira had indicated at exactly midnight. The door swung open, revealing a small room that was far more like a classic hotel room than the suite Stall had upstairs. There were two twin beds, a TV, a couple of lamps, and one very scantily clad Pop Star.
“I’m glad you came,” Shakira said in a husky whisper. She wore little more than a tiny, white lace baby doll dress that showed off a massive amount of leg and enough cleavage to drive most men insane. Her curly, dirty-blonde hair rested on her shoulders, and she held a bottle of wine in one hand, and two glasses in the other.
“You have my money?” Marissa asked casually as she walked in, closing the door behind her.
“On the counter,” Shakira said. “Thank you for wearing the dress,” the singer added a second later.
“I aim to please,” Marissa said, taking off her earrings as she approached the table where a large stack of Euros sat. Marissa was impressed – Shakira at least bothered to switch her money to a more universal currency than the Columbian standard. Placing the earrings down, making sure to face them towards the beds, Marissa made a show of counting the money.
“Ten thousand?!” She said, a little surprised.
“It’s not enough?” Shakira asked, sitting down on the bed.
“I guess that depends on what you want to do to me.”
“I don’t want to do anything to you,” Shakira said. “I want you to do to me.”
“My favorite kind of client,” Marissa said, smiling.
“Take off the dress,” Shakira said. Marissa reached behind her back, found the zipper, and let the dress slide off her shoulders, exposing the sexy red lingerie she’d purchased more for Burke’s enjoyment than anything else. Now, though, it had become a bit of a working uniform.
“Very nice,” Shakira said. “Now, come take my dress off.” The singer stood up as Marissa walked over. Turning around, Shakira displayed the ribbon holding the back of her dress together. Pulling on it, Marissa found the fabric of the babydoll dress parted quite a bit, exposing most of Shakira’s bare back. It was easy to slide the dress of her shoulders, and leave Shakira standing naked save for a necklace and a smile.
Marissa reached around Shakira and cupped the singer’s small breasts. Teasing them with her fingers, she started to kiss the other woman’s neck, slowly working her way up towards her ear.
Shakira moaned, and turned around, presenting her naked front to both Marissa, and the camera hidden in Marissa’s necklace. Marissa held the other woman at arms length for a long moment, drinking in the Columbian’s beautiful body. Then, when she figured Stall’s cameras had seen enough, she moved in to kiss Shakira on the lips.
Shakira melted into the kiss easily, but pulled away before Marissa could get too deep into it.
“I have a favor to ask,” Shakira said.
“For ten thousand, you can have just about any favor you want,” Marissa said.
Shakira bent down and reached under the bed. Finding what she was looking for, she stood up and presented it to Marissa.
“Oh my!” Marissa said, smiling. Shakira was holding an eight-inch, flesh-colored strap-on dildo.
“I want you to use it on me,” Shakira said, her voice almost a whisper.
“You do?” Marissa asked.
“Please,” Shakira said again, her voice a whisper. “Penelope said you used to do stuff like this with her.”
“Oh, I’ll do it,” Marissa said. “It’s just usually I’m the one who gets the dildo shoved in her.”
“You don’t want to?” Shakira asked.
In response to that, Marissa took the strap-on and started wrapping it around her waist. It took a few minutes, but soon enough, Marissa was ready to give Shakira the fucking she so desperately craved.
“How do you want it?” Marissa asked.
“Missionary,” Shakira said, laying down on the bed and spreading her legs. “And I want to touch your breasts while we do it.”
“Not a problem,” Marissa said, climbing onto the bed between Shakira’s legs. “Do you have some lube?”
Shakira reached over and opened up the bedside stand, pulling out a tube of K-Y Jelly. Popping the lid, the singer quickly coated Marissa’s new fake cock with the lube, then tossed the tube to the floor.
“Now, please,” Shakira said, her hands reaching down to grab the edges of the bed. Marissa placed the tip of the dildo at Shakira’s entrance, looked up at the singer’s face one more time to be sure this was what she wanted, then slowly started working the plastic cock inside.
Shakira moaned at once, and continued doing so with every tiny thrust in Marissa made. The singer reached up and applied a death grip to Marissa’s breasts, but the young blonde let her get away with it – she was just doing what she’d been paid to do. If Shakira wanted to squeeze her tits while Marissa fucked her with a strap-on, Marissa would let her. After all, for ten thousand Euros, Marissa was up for most anything.
Suddenly, Marissa was all the way in, and Shakira was begging for her to start fucking. Marissa happily obliged, pushing and pulling the strap-on in and out. Marissa was an expert with a strap-on – she’d been using one of and on for five years now. She knew how to thrust her hips like a man, and she knew how to thrust her hips to make a woman really enjoy it.
And she wanted Shakira to enjoy it.
It wasn’t long before the singer was moaning and groaning in delight, her eyes screwed shut as she spoke long lines of gibberish in Spanish. Marissa knew just enough Spanish to know that Shakira was calling Marissa her “mommy” and her “forbidden lover” and “the best dick ever.” High praise indeed.
And then, almost without warning, Shakira came. Her dancer’s body went rigid, and she moaned out loud until she ran out of breath. Marissa let the other woman collapse on the bed before she stopped thrusting with the dildo.
Suddenly, Shakira reached up, stopping Marissa before she could pull out. “Again, please,” Shakira whispered.
“You want me to fuck you again?” Marissa said, surprised.
“Yes, please,” Shakira said, laying her body down again.
“All right,” Marissa said, starting over with her thrusting. Before the morning came, Marissa had used the dildo to get Shakira off four times, and actually came twice herself. She almost felt bad when she had to take the dildo off and leave.
* * *
June 3rd, 2005
Santa Marta, Columbia
The Limo pulled up in the middle of the early morning. Ships still came and went – Santa Marta’s docks were always busy, but at night, the cargoes changed dramatically. It certainly wasn’t the time for coffee to be shipped out into the Gulf of Mexico and up into the Atlantic.
And yet, Richard Stall found himself here, waiting.
“I’m sorry to get you involved in this, my friend,” Pedro Alomar said as the two men stepped out of the limo. Burke was already outside, his hand not-so-secretly near the hidden pistol he wore under his suit coat.
“I know, Pedro. This wasn’t your doing,” Stall said.
“Someone’s coming,” Burke said.
Sure enough, there was someone coming from behind a set of crates not far from where Stall, Alomar, and Burke stood. There were five of them – four men and one woman. Two of the men were obviously heavies – as big or even bigger than the man Burke had tangled with in New York and Miami. They didn’t even bother to hide their weapons. The woman was scantily clad and appeared to be nothing more than arm candy for one of the two remaining men, but Stall suspected that might not be the case – one didn’t bring arm candy to a place like this. The man whose arm she hung off of was clearly well-to-do, with an expensive suit and a lit cigar in his mouth.
The fourth man, though, was an oddity – he was Caucasian, where as the rest were clearly of Latino decent. He stood towards the back of the group while the man with the babe on his arm came forward to do the talking.
“Pedro,” the man said, smiling. “I’m so glad you could make it. I would hate for our business deal to fall through because of your backbone.”
“I’m not the one you have to do business with,” Alomar said, frowning. “This is Richard Stall, the man who owns the shipping company that will be delivering my coffee to England.”
“Mr. Stall,” the man said, taking a long drag on his cigar. “Welcome to Columbia.”
“I’d feel more welcome if my business deals weren’t being disrupted by third parties,” Stall said.
“Oh no, oh no, Mr. Stall,” the man said. “You mustn’t think of it that way. Think of it more as an extension of your deal with Pedro here.”
“I don’t deal with people I don’t know,” Stall said. “And I don’t ship drugs.”
“Drugs?” the man said. That elicited a roar of laughter from him and his group – save for the white man behind them. “No, no, Mr. Stall. I may be a drug dealer, but I know better than to try and ship drugs on official cargo ships. Garcia de la Graza is no fool, right my friends?” This brought another round of laughter.
“Mr. de la Graza, I don’t know what you want from me, but-” de la Graza cut Stall off.
“I have something for you to ship to England, Mr. Stall. Pedro here vouches for your quality and… your silence.”
“What do you want?” Stall asked.
“I want one of your ships, running coffee from Columbia to England, to run a person for me.”
“A person?” Stall asked. “Who?”
“My daughter, Elana,” de la Graza said, motioning towards the woman hanging off his arm.
To be continued…