This one came out a bit wobbly with the jars but maybe okay-ish 🙂

Also I realised about 90% of the way in that the concept is probably badly timed, considering all the political chaos happening in the US. I did consider changing it to the Italian mafia instead of South America, but thought that might get confusing. In my defence, I'm not American so hopefully can get away with it.

Part Two:

------------

Each cartel had its own territory, violently carved out and defended. For a time, Los Carnes had cornered the market in drug mules. Now rivals were copying their methods, and Los Carnes was caught in an ugly turf war to secure its place.

La Ruta Roja stuck to good old-fashioned people smuggling, but as the collateral damage from the turf war hardened security along the borders, they were forced to adapt. They had established the perfect honey trap for gullible, vapid Americans - an ayahuasca yoga retreat -and had already snagged one unwitting courier: Lauren Whitaker, 26, a travel vlogger from Colorado.

And at the end of a week of spiritual cleansing, what better way to celebrate than with a Brazilian Butt Lift.

The cosmetic surgeon turned the anaesthetising gas up full and hoisted the “implants” above his sleeping patient, plumbing them into the wide-bore tubes that ran down to the empty silicone sacks installed in the buttocks.

These two had been hardened criminals once. Not so hard anymore, after a regimen of drugs had melted their bones and softened them into a cellular sludge. They began to ooze down through the tubes into the confines of her ass.

“In no time at all, you will be in America, free from your reputations, my friends,” the surgeon assured them, as their wide eyes stared through the plastic tubing. With Brazilian law enforcement breathing down their necks, they had paid handsomely to be transported far from here. “The second she lands back home, we will call her about her ‘defective implants’ and how she must have them removed immediately. We have a surgeon in America on our payroll. He will see about extracting you.”

Lauren squealed once she awoke, cupping herself ecstatically. “They’re so bouncy and warm! They’re perfect.”

With his stethoscope, the surgeon performed his checks discreetly. His clients were safe and secure, fed by the oxygen of her body as if they were part of her, though they were far from happy.

“I just wish I could show them to everyone,” she sighed.

“Then you should hurry home,” the surgeon replied.

“Oh, I won’t be back in America for a while. My fiancé is taking a year out to take me on a round-the-world trip.” She squeezed her cheeks, the soft, quivering flesh bulging between her fingers. “This was my present to him. He’s going to just love my new ass.”

By the way the implants trembled, almost imperceptibly, they had heard her words too.