by Lee Savino
“How is she?” he asked, standing on the threshhold. Inside his wife rested between contractions.
“Things are progressing,” Francesca said shortly. “The baby is being difficult, but your wife is very strong.”
“Where is Pepito?”
“Your son is with the neighbors.”
The man nodded absently. “I’m hungry,” he announced, as if his laboring wife would get up and cook him dinner.
“There is food. The neighbors brought some stew.”
The butcher frowned. “I do not want people coming around. Camila knows I don’t want to owe anyone.”
Sebastian wanted to hit him. “You already owe my wife a debt of gratitude, for remaining at your wife’s side all this while. She hasn’t even taken a break to eat.” Striding to the stew, Sebastian dished it up for the butcher, then handed it to him.
“Come on, old boy. Let’s fill your belly.”
As the butcher ate, Sebastian couldn’t resist lecturing him.
“Your wife needs your support. She is working incredibly hard.”
An angry flush crossed the man’s face. “My wife is usually a good worker, but not lately.”
Biting back a retort, Sebastian looked up to see a man in long robes coming up the road.
“Bishop Bernardo.” He stepped in front of the door. “So kind of you to visit.”
“Hello,” the priest greeted the butcher, with only a glance at Sebastian. “I heard Camila is still in labor.”
“Si, padre,” the butcher started. He was cut off by his wife’s cries.
“Sebastian,” Francesca called.
“Excuse me.” Sebastian entered the house, shutting the door.
His wife knelt in the corner with the woman. “I have done all I can. It is time to try the board.”
Nodding, Sebastian started to help Camila into place, upside down lying on the board.
“You let this man put his hands on your wife?” Bishop Bernardo said from the door. He and the butcher entered the house to watch.
“It should be you,” Francesca said to the butcher. “But you have not been any help.”
“I am here, if you need me,” Bernardo told the butcher. “And I have heard, if a woman is not strong enough, it is better to cut the baby out. She will die, but the baby will live.”
“But your wife will die.” Sebastian’s mouth dropped open. “What sort of barbary is this?”
“Oh, dios, let me die. I am so tired. I cannot do this,” the woman cried out.
“You are doing it,” Francesca said fiercely. She moved to the woman’s head. “Listen to me, Camila, you are strong, and powerful and your body is already birthing your son. It is all natural, even the pain.”
The contraction ended and Francesca turned a furious face to the bishop and butcher. “Get that fear monger out of this house,” she bit out. Her body shook with rage.
Sebastian snapped to it. “Every male, out of this house.”
His fingers itched to find a whip and drive them out, like Jesus with the temple moneylenders, but they went without a fuss.
“If you need me,” the bishop told the husband. “I will remain close. I can be at this house quickly, for the procedure or for the last rites.”
“For heaven’s sake.” Sebastian lost it. “You tonsure-pated fool,” he addressed the priest. “You know nothing of birth, of babies or of women. Go into a closet and pray, if you truly want to help.”
He didn’t give the bishop a chance to answer before turning to the butcher.
“Start acting like a husband and a father. Your wife needs you, if not at her side, then out here gathering support, not talking about her death.”
Unable to stand them any longer, he went back into the house.
Francesca was squeezing out a wet cloth. He could tell she was still fuming. “She is strong enough to live for this baby and push it out. Making her afraid will do nothing.”
“I know, my darling.”
Together, they worked to help the mother. Francesca put cold compresses on the highest part of Camila’s belly, and instructed Sebastian to find a wide board to lean against a chair. The butcher came in and watched as Francesca and Sebastian helped his wife into position, her feet up and her body upside down on the plank.
“This will help turn the baby,” Francesca said.
Camila let out a wild moan. The butcher winced.
“Come,” Sebastian said. “Help her.” He moved so the reluctant husband could take his place, steadying his wife.
“Oh, Pepe, I am trying.”
“The baby is turning,” Francesca crowed. “He wants to come. We will help him along.”
The woman nodded and then moaned into a contraction.
“Pepe, here.” Francesca waved the man over, grabbed his shoulders and positioned him at his wife’s feet, looking down. “Call to your child. Speak to the baby, tell him to come to you. Sing out, Pepe.”
Panic crossed the man’s face, and Sebastian couldn’t blame him. A crowded hut, a moaning woman upside down on her back, it didn’t seem the time to burst into a rousing round of “Farewell and adieu to you fair Spanish ladies.”
“Pepe,” Camila gasped. “Please.”
To Sebastian’s astonishment, the butcher hummed a lullaby, and broke into a beautiful bass.
The pregnant woman cried out.
“Ha,” Francesca said, triumphant. “The child has turned. Camila, just let go and let the baby come.”
The three of them helped the laboring mother to her feet. Through it all, the husband kept crooning a lullaby, even after he held his new daughter in his arms.
Around midnight, Sebastian entered the dark hacienda, Francesca a limp bundle in his arms. She’d stayed to clean up the hut, until he’d gone and found a neighbor to help. The baby nursed, and Pepito met his baby sister. When Sebastian left with Francesca, she glanced up and down the street.
“He’s gone,” Sebastian reported. The bishop had disappeared sometime after the neighbors had rallied around the butcher’s family.
“It’s my fault,” Francesca said. “Bernardo hates me, and wishes me ill. I made Camila a target. Pregnancy is a fragile time; a few words and fears blossom.”
“But it turned out all right in the end,” Sebastian said, making a mental note to find a way to deal with the padre.
As they walked, Francesca leaned on her husband. Her head sunk lower and lower, all the power she’d put into helping her laboring mother draining out of her. He waited until she almost stumbled, then carried her the rest of the way.
He made her eat and drink something, then curled his body around her small, sleeping form. If his father didn’t wire money in the next week, he would be out of funds. He’d figure out a way for them to survive. With everything in him, he would protect this amazing woman who allowed him in her bed, and in her heart.
Morning came and went, and Francesca still slept.
Finally he came with hot tea and soup and roused her.
“Have you heard of Camila?” She yawned, pushing back the black mess of hair.
“One of the neighbor’s children came to report. Camila is fine. The baby is eating. The butcher even stayed home from work a day to care for his daughter and help his wife.”
“Good.” Francesca smiled sleepily, and he couldn’t resist kissing her.
“Mmmm,” she purred. “I know what I want for breakfast.”
“Darling, you didn’t eat the whole day…perhaps you should…”
She pushed up and took his mouth, her hands gripping his lapels until he was on top of her. “I am not hungry for food.”
He made love to her slowly, gently, watching her satisfied face.
When he’d shuddered and spent himself, he frowned.
“Francesca, you did not…”
“It is all right.” She looked content, but it didn’t sit right with him that she did not find release. He wasn’t some aging husband, ready to rut and then fall asleep. He wanted to own her pl
easure, body and soul.
First he let her rest longer, his long legs and torso tucked around her. His hand started roaming up and down her chest, tugging her nipples, stroking her cunny. His fingers swirled around her little pleasure button.
She shifted and moaned, and he pressed closer.
“You were so beautiful working with Camila,” he whispered. “I’ve never seen anything like it.” His lips left her ear and traced down her neck, worshiping her scented skin. “I look forward to a lifetime of watching you work. You’re amazing.” She sighed, and he dropped kisses on her shoulder, before biting it lightly.
“But now you’re back in the bedroom, this is my domain. You’re under my command.” He pinched a nipple to emphasize his point and felt her whimper ripple through her. His hand worked between her legs. “And if I say you’re to cum, you’re going to damn well cum.”
“Sebastian,” she breathed, her hips starting to rock against his hand.
He smacked her ass and growled, “What do you call me?”
“Master. Please.” Her hips jerked, straining for his touch. He rewarded her obedience.
“I’m going to give you so much pleasure, you won’t be able to move.”
“Yes.” She cried out when he stabbed his tongue into her ear, thrusting in mimicry of his cock taking her, hard and without mercy.
He rolled her to her back and straddled her, his head down between her legs and his cock over her face.
“Suck me, while I taste you. Whoever cums first, becomes the other’s slave.”
He buried his face in her, confident that he’d win. His cock was satisfied from his earlier release and her primed pussy was no match for his voracious tongue. He felt a few tentative licks on his cock, and reaffirmed his grip on her hips, lifting her right to his mouth. With a growl, he devoured her, licking up all her juices and digging for more. She shook apart underneath him a few minutes later.
He moved to the side, wiping his mouth.
“That’s one,” he told her. “Now roll over and present your pretty little ass. You’re my slave, and I want to spank your cunny until you come again.”
The day passed and they barely left the bedroom, though once Sebastian threatened to have her crawl down the hall on a little leash made of string tied to her nipples. He took her on the couch and the floor, bent over the bed after a round with the belt, thrusting hard into her hot ass and saying despicable, vile things until her cunt spasmed nonstop.
He made her suck him and hump his foot, then lay on her back on the rug while he teased her with a feather, with rope and tassel, with trailing fingers and finally his tongue. He gave her the humiliation she needed and the degradation she craved, knowing that it took more than a sweet session with his cock for her to orgasm. And, because he loved her, he’d be the master in the bedroom she needed him to be.
She orgasmed over and over, and once held onto his head so hard she ripped out some of his hair by the roots when she came. At times he could see her struggle in her face, as he ordered her to grovel or kiss his boot. But mostly she obeyed with a dazed, wanton look, drunk on her own desire. The trust she gave him was unreal. He marveled at the gift of her submission, and how powerful he felt playing her lord and master. It made him feel ten feet tall, more noble than he’d ever been in his entire life.
“There you are, darling,” he finally said, when she couldn’t move. He’d taken a break halfway to dash out for food, and let her nap a few times after cumming hard, before he made her cum again. Dusk came and she still hadn’t left the room. “I’ve done my duty as a husband for the day.”
“For the year,” she murmured. “Thank you.”
“You’re welcome.” His lips smacked her cheek.
“We did not do any chores.”
“Ana knows you need recovery. I dare say I would’ve tied you up before letting you lurch around in an exhausted state.”
“Now I am exhausted again.” But she smiled.
“Good. Then you will sleep.”
She sighed. “Tomorrow we will face our troubles.”
“Not necessarily,” Sebastian said lightly, even though he felt a pang of worry deep down. “The post may come with my father’s money, and then we will dance and sing like fools.”
“Speak for yourself,” she said. “Sebastian, I must ask you: do you believe I married you for your money?”
“I’m glad I had something to entice you, darling,” he retorted. “And I don’t mind, as long as you don’t mind that I married you for your perfect arse.”
She scoffed, but he continued before she could steer the subject back to any serious matter.
“I mean it. It’s size, shape, color—especially when I whip it. It really should be shown on world tour.”
Her body shook with laughter.
“Poems would be written, songs will be sung, all to the two delectable cheeks and the slice of heaven between. But it’s not to be. It’s mine, all mine.” He snuggled into her back.
She lay in his arms, and for a moment he thought he’d distracted her, but a few minutes later she asked in a serious voice, “Is that how you truly feel? That I married you only for protection?”
He rolled her to face him, joking manner gone.
“Francesca, I know the circumstances were intense, but you want me. Any woman who does the things you do for me…”
“There had better not be any other woman,” she warned.
“There is no other woman for me.” He found her hand and brought it to his lips to kiss it. “I pledge my life to you, my lady. Anything and everything I have is yours. You have but to ask.”
“Are you sure?”
“Yes.”
“Good.” A wild light leapt into her eye. Her lips found his ear. “I want it all.” With a wicked smile, she worked her way down his body, and took the rest of the night to celebrate their love, both craven and pure.
The sound of breaking glass woke them the next morning.
“Ana?” Francesca muttered sleepily.
Sebastian was up, reaching for his gun, motioning for her to stay put. After the shooting, he wasn’t taking any chances.
The garden looked serene and beautiful in the morning light, but for the shattered glass on the kitchen’s door. Who would come and throw a jar at their front step? Was it a message or a warning? It didn’t make sense.
Gazing out over the field, he caught sight of a white shape in front of the apothecary door.
“What is it?” Francesca came behind him.
“Stay back,” Sebastian ordered, but of course she ignored him and ran towards her workshop.
“Oh no,” she cried.
Sebastian cursed under his breath, staring at the pitiful pile of white fur stained red. Someone had slaughtered the goat and left it in front of Francesca’s apothecary.
Francesca read the smeared Spanish word bruja, written in the goat’s blood, and gasped.
“What does it say?”
She translated in a stricken voice. “Witch.”
Holding his gun in one hand, he clasped his trembling wife to his side with the other. As she clung to him, his eyes scanned the horizon. Who was it this time? The Royal Mountain Gang? Bernardo? More likely one of the priest’s minions.
“What is it?” Ana came hurrying over the fields, blinking away sleep. “I heard something.”
Francesca stepped in front of the dead animal, but not before Ana caught sight of the white limb.
“No!” Ana gasped. “Who would do such a thing?”
“I do not know.” Francesca hugged the much shorter woman. “We will find out.”
As Cage hurried to join them from the barracks, Sebastian directed Francesca to take Ana away.
Cage saw the abomination and let out a low whistle.
“Where are the guards?”
“Gone,” Cage said. “We couldn’t pay them yesterday, so they left.”
“I told them the money was coming,” Sebastian muttered.
“Men like
that need cash day to day to keep them in whiskey and tobacco.”
Sebastian gave him a furious look, and Cage raised his hands in defense. “I’ll go to town, see what I can find out about this whole business, and check if anything came from your father.”
Sebastian reined in his temper. “Thank you.”
The mess was cleaned up, but not much else had improved when Juan showed up.
“There is talk in the town,” he reported. “The Bishop is telling people there is evil in our midst. That mothers will not be able to have healthy babies until the threat is gone.”
“Tell them to go to the butcher’s house,” Sebastian growled. “There’s a baby there, alive and well. Francesca spent most of two days making sure of it.” Unable to stay any longer, he started striding towards the town.
“Where are you going?”
“To put a stop to all this nonsense.” His long legs carried him to the path leading into the marketplace, and then he slowed. The cathedral loomed over the sprawling village, a beacon of hope to the faithful. If he strode in there, demanding answers, he was likely to get booted out on his ass. Or worse, turn the town further against Francesca.
He stood in the center of the dirt road, ready to storm the castle, one knight against the rest.
“Señor, señor.” The butcher’s son, Pepito ran up to him. Tears streamed down the boy’s face. “It’s mama…she wouldn’t get out of bed, and papa made her, and now she is not moving, even though the baby cries and cries…”
Sebastian grabbed the boy’s hand. Together they ran to the hacienda.
“Francesca,” he bellowed. Both Ana and his wife burst out of the kitchen.
“What is it?” Ana asked.
Francesca took one look at the boy and paled. “No, no, no.” Picking up her skirts, she began to run.
Sebastian didn’t catch up with her until they were almost at the butcher’s house. From the street, they could hear the baby screaming.
Sebastian crossed the threshold and the smell of blood hit him. Inside the butcher sat in a chair, staring into the dead fire pit. A few women hovered over Camila’s bed. The sheets were stained as red as the doorstep outside of Francesca’s apothecary.
