by Paul Blades
Hunger won out. She bent over and dipped her lips in the bowl. The food was hot. She picked out a piece of meat with her teeth and began chewing. As she chewed, she looked around and a couple of the women were giving her sardonic smiles. The rest ignored her.
She ate as fast as she could. She had the idea that if she wasn’t finished when her escorts were, that would be all she got. The food was spicy and her throat burned, but she just went on eating. The sauce smeared all over her face. She had to spread her legs and bend way over to place it in the bowl and when she did, her naked breasts swayed and shuddered. The women who passed behind her got a good view of her coosh peeping out from between her legs. It was humiliating, especially after what the women had done to her. Her eyes teared each time she thought of how callously they had used her for their entertainment.
She was licking the bowl clean when she felt another tug on her leash. The tall woman had a large, cheap, plastic cup and pulled Deirdre’s head up. She placed the cup to her lips and let her drink. It was a thick, cool fruit juice, mango. Deirdre sighed with pleasure as she swallowed it.
When she was done drinking, the brunette wiped her face with a cloth. She was pulled to her feet and after her escorts made their goodbyes to their friends, they led her from the prostitutes’ refectory. Walking quickly again, they brought her to a set of wooden stairs that led to the upper level. They walked along the balcony for a while and then stopped at one of the doors. The brunette knocked and the door opened. A dark eyed, young girl, 18 at best, answered. Her hair was black and descended to her hips. She was naked to the waist and had large round breasts with fat nipples. She was wearing a skirt similar to the others. Unlike the others, she wore a collar like Deirdre’s around her neck and leather bracelets around her wrists. She had a doleful, sorrowed look. The tall woman made an explanation. The girl nodded and took hold of Deirdre’s leash. She pulled her through the doorway. The door closed.
The room was decorated like a small living room. It was carpeted and bright. There was a couch and an easy chair. A large screen television was in the corner. Over the couch was a red and yellow idealized print of a bullfighter making a pass at a fierce, angry looking bull. Shiny steel chains and handcuffs lay piled up on the floor between the couch and the easy chair. An array of dreadful looking whips was mounted on one wall.
The girl escorted Deirdre through the room, down a small hallway and into a bedroom. A large, four poster bed dominated it. Gleaming brass rings were affixed in the head and foot boards. There was a cage on the side of the room. It looked about the size of the one that Diedre had been in.
Opening the door to the cage and, after removing the leash from Deirdre’s collar, the girl motioned her to get in. Deirdre gave a sob at the prospect of being confined like an animal again, but she obeyed anyway. It wasn’t the authority of the girl that compelled her, it was the idea of the owner of all those whips and chains. When she was stuffed in the small enclosure, the girl locked the door and went back to the outer room.
It was, at least, a step up from her prior confinement. She wasn’t hooded and gagged. And she had had a chance to eat and pee. She turned her body this way and that to try and find a comfortable posture. She ended up laying on her back with her bare feet pressed up against the bars.
Looming in front of her was the big bed. She knew it was no coincidence that she had been caged in this room. Whoever the occupant was, he would be by sooner or later to fuck her. She knew by the sight of the dour, half naked girl, her collar and bracelets, the whips and the chains, that, whoever it was, he would be a callous bastard. She finally decided that worrying would do her no good and so closed her eyes and tried to get some more sleep.
She was awakened by the sound of a deep, male voice. It was speaking in Spanish. It seemed angry. Answering it was the frantic sounding voice of the girl. The deep voice resounded again and there was the sound of a loud slap. The girl shrieked and began to beg. Her voice started to come closer and then the couple burst into the room.
The man was tall, of slender build, but not thin. He had finely trimmed black hair and was wearing a long sleeved, blue silk shirt with white flowers on it. His khaki pants were sharply creased and his black shoes were finely polished. He wore gold cufflinks. His face was aristocratic, that of a man used to command. He was dragging the young girl in by her hair.
They paid no notice to Deirdre and stopped in the middle of the room. A large eyebolt was embedded in the ceiling above them. The man had a chain in his hand and, while holding the girl still with one hand, reached up and snapped the end of the chain to the eyebolt. Releasing her hair, he collected her wrists and fastened the bracelets she wore together. He raised them over her head and connected them to the chain.
Because he was much taller than her, the girl ended up tottering on her toes. She was wailing and crying, pleading. The man slapped her breasts harshly, once, twice, three times. She squealed and her face distorted into displeasure.
Circling his hands around her waist, the man undid the fastener holding on the girl’s skirt and it fell to the floor. He leaned down and swiped it from under her feet.
A full black bush was revealed between her thighs. She had voluptuous, round hips. There was a tattoo of an ‘F’ and a ‘C’ standing close together and sitting in a large, blue circle on her ass just to the left and down from her right hip. When Deirdre looked at the man’s shirt, she saw the same design embroidered into the pocket.
Did all the prostitute wear this man’s insignia on their asses, Deirdre wondered. Would she be sporting one soon, demarking her as this man’s property? Or was the girl a special case, personal property as opposed to all the other whores who belonged to him in a more general way?
The man went back to the living room and returned with a long, leather switch. The girl’s eyes were wide with terror. Her mouth was jammed closed and she was whining through her lips. There was no question here but that she was going to get a beating. What had she done? There was no way for Deirdre to know. She was just glad that it was not her dangling from the chain.
The man reared the whip back and let it loose. It struck the girl across her belly and she shrieked with the pain. “Aiiiiiiiiiie!” she called out. She resumed her blubbering entreaties for mercy, but the man just kept going. He struck her thighs, across her breasts, her back, on her sides. She shrieked and danced and uttered loud, plaintive words in Spanish.
Deirdre was horrified at the spectacle. The strokes that Big Al had given her were nothing to this. She began to tremble and her insides became hollow and empty. Would he beat her too? Was this what her life was going to be like?
The man just kept going as if the girl had committed the worse crime on earth. Red stripes appeared on her body wherever the whip landed. She howled and danced and tried to pull her hands free of their confines to defend her self.
Finally, the man stopped. Deirdre could see that he had worked up a little sweat from his task. He looked at the girl with a satisfied air. She continued to moan and sob. Taking hold of her cheeks with his right hand, he asked her something in a stern manner. The girl mumbled, “No, Jefe,” plaintively. He asked her another question and between her resolving sobs she replied, “Si, Jefe,” meekly.
Then the man seemed to see Deirdre for the first time. A grin broke out across his face.
“I forgot about you, my little flower,” he said to her in English. “Did you enjoy my little lesson in obedience?”
Deirdre didn’t know what to say. No one had spoken to her in a way that merited a reply since she had arrived. Even before that. She didn’t know what to say. She was terrified of saying the wrong thing. Did she enjoy it? How could anyone enjoy it, she thought. Did she appreciate it? Well, that was another question. It certainly taught her a lot about what to expect in her own future.
Rather than answer, Deirdre started to cry. She tried to get a word or two out, but they just wouldn’t come. She shrunk back in the cage as far as she could. Suddenly, it had t
urned from a vehicle for her confinement to a last refuge. As long as she was in the cage, he couldn’t beat her.
The man approached her cage and ran the handle of the whip along the bars. “Cat got your tongue, petita?” he asked. “Perhaps my little friend here can persuade you to talk, eh?”
“Please don’t beat me,” Deirdre managed to eke out miserably. “I’ll do whatever you want.”
“I’ll tell you what, mi cariño, I’m going to let you out of your cage in a minute. If you give me a real good fuck, maybe I won’t beat you. How is that? Fair enough?”
Deirdre bit her lip. Her eyes were welling with tears again. Dolefully, she nodded, ‘yes’.
The man took hold of the girl’s hair behind her head and said, in English, “I think you will take the dark haired gringa’s place in the cage, mi corazóne. We will continue your lessons later.”
The girl stared at him with fear and incomprehension. Clearly she had no English. The man repeated his statement to her in Spanish. She whined and her face frowned.
He reached up and unclipped her wrists from the chain. The girl fell to the floor. He stepped over to the cage and motioned Deirdre to get out. When she had cleared the door, he motioned the girl to get in. Sniffling and crying, the girl obeyed.
“Stand up, my sweet,” the man said to Deirdre, “and let me get a good look at you.”
Slowly, Deirdre struggled to her feet. The man towered over her. He tossed the whip aside and felt her breasts. “Nice,” he said. He turned her around and ran his hands down her back and over her ass. “Very nice,” he said again. He turned her back to face him and took hold of her cheeks so he could inspect her face.
“Fear becomes you, muchacha,” he told her. “I think you will become very good friends with the whip just so everyone can get a look at that expression on your face.”
He released her. “Get up on the bed,” he said.
Deirdre scurried to obey. As she climbed up, he drew the covers back revealing a soft, silken sheet. Deirdre didn’t know whether she should lie down or what, so she knelt there awaiting his next command.
He stood back and started to undress.
“My name is Francisco Corrida,” he told her as he unbuttoned his shirt. “This is my place,” he added, signaling with his hand with a wave. Deirdre took him to mean more than this little apartment, but that he was the boss, “el Jefe,” as the girl had called him. The chief.
He hung his shirt on the back of a chair and then placed his right foot on its seta and began to untie his shoes and socks. His chest was smooth and hairless and the muscles on it were well defined and developed. He moved with a certain grace as one who is used to privilege and need not hurry about anything. He did not look at her, his attention being engaged fully in what he was doing, the most important thing, of course, in the room. Once his pants were removed, he held them up so that the creases matched and draped it over the chair on top of his shirt. He was wearing satin, paisley boxer shorts. He removed them in a practiced motion and tossed them on top of his shoes.
He was completely naked. His body looked powerful. His cock was long and thick and had already begun to fill with blood. He crept up on the bed and, taking hold of her shoulders, forced her down on her back.
He lay down next to her, his left leg between hers and gave the tips of her breasts little kisses. “You are a delight, gringa,” he said. “I’ll have to tell Jessie to bring me more like you.”
He brought his head up next to hers and took hold of her cheeks.
Dierdre was trembling. She wanted desperately not to be whipped. But her fear was rendering her immobile. And what could she do with her hands bound by the handcuffs and the belt around her waist?
“Kiss me, mi puta,” he told her. “And make me think that you mean it.”
He placed his lips on hers and his tongue entered her mouth. The heat of his breath made her loins twinge. She pressed her lips back and made her tongue intermingle with his. A wave of passion passed through her. The man was handsome and he knew how to kiss. If this was the worse fuck that she had to give, everything would be all right, she thought.
His hand took hold of her breast and squeezed it lovingly. He massaged it and caressed its end lightly. When she moaned, he moved his attentions to the other, all the while their tongues danced in her mouth.
He broke their kiss and said to her, “So far so good, conchita. But I like my whores excited and wild. Let’s see if I can get your fires burning.”
He began to slide his body down hers. His tongue traced his progress, flitting over her nipples and her belly until he reached the top of her slit. He raised his head to look at it. Using his hands, he raised her knees and spread her legs widely. “What a nice cunt you have,” he said. “A very valuable one. I’m sure it will get lots of use from now on.” He ran his hand over the finely trimmed black hair that surrounded it. And then he slipped his finger down the length of her divide. Her hips gave a little shudder. He did it again and she sighed.
Having done with the preliminaries, he lowered his head and drew his tongue along her slit. The warmth of his mouth sent a message of lust through her body. He lathed the expanding and lubricating gap several times and then brought his tongue to its apex. She felt his tongue slide over and around her clit, tickling it with its tip and then caressing it with its length.
“Oooouuuuuu” Deirdre moaned as her passion began to simmer. When he seized her clit with his lips and suckled it, her hips shifted and she groaned. Deirdre always liked her pussy licked. That was one of the reasons she liked doing it with girls as well as boys. The girls were so much better at it. But no one had to give el Jefe lessons. He knew what he was about.
Before long, he had Deirdre moaning and squirming as he continued his assault on her conch. Her breathing had become deep and her hands flexed and writhed in their confinement. Her eyes had rolled back and her lids had closed. She was transported from this strange, fearsome place to somewhere else, somewhere where she need not be afraid. His efforts, his agile tongue, his hungry lips, had driven her into a kind of trance in which she could forget all that had happened to her and all that was likely to happen. There was only the immediate, the now, the exquisite sensations of the man’s mouth on her cunt. “Now that’s what a cunt is for,” she thought amidst her haze.
He brought her right to the edge of completion several times. He seemed to know just when she was about to totter over and then eased his attentions until she had calmed. Suddenly, the mouth abandoned her and she felt his raise himself between her legs. She opened her eyes and watched him align his cock with her throbbing gate. When the head of his thick prick had gained entrance, he looked her in the eyes before sliding himself the rest of the way in. “You are such a good whore, conchita,” he said. “Feel my cock fill you. It’s what you want, isn’t it? You want to be fucked. Anyone will do, eh? All they need is a cock and you will spread your slutty legs for them.”
A well of resentment and anger rose up in her. He had not right to say those things. She wasn’t like that. He was forcing her. She didn’t want to do this. But then he drove his cock into her to the hilt. She sighed and arched her back. Her heels dug into the mattress, her hips greeted him. He leaned over and took her lips, plunging his tongue between them.
All conscious thought was driven from Deirdre’s head. All there was was the cock and the tongue that were accelerating her lust. If her hands had been free, she would have embraced him, pulling him into her, feeling his weight on her breasts.
He was giving her long, hard strokes. She felt her pussy perched on the brink of explosion. She tried to hold it back. Whip or no whip, it was wrong and perverted for her to feel such pleasure from the ministrations of her callous assailant. But it was no use. She groaned and her hips pressed firmly against his as her pussy went into a paroxysm of delight. She sucked hard at the tongue in her mouth. She stretched her legs and her thighs shook. She brought her legs around his thighs, driving him in deeper inside her.
Her pussy’s tremors began to wane but el Jefe kept going. He had changed his pace. Now he was giving her long, delicious, slow strokes. As his cock glided along the walls of her crevasse and abraded her swollen clit, she felt as though her pussy was direct wired to her brain. Each stroke delivered an intense, almost agonizing sensation.
Soon her passions had begun to rise again. His had too as his strokes began to be delivered with more intensity. She heard him moan with pleasure. His mouth abandoned hers as if his cock was now demanding his whole attention. He began to pound his hips into hers, groaning and growling his lust. She felt a wave of shame pass through her as she realized how much she wanted him to unload his spunk inside her. But then it passed as her pussy began to throb and spasm once more. Her exclamations of lust rang out into the room. “Ahhhhhh! Ah! Ah! Ah! Ah!” she called out.
He gave out a long, deep loud groan and then his cock commenced its dance.
“Oooooooooooouuuuuu!” she cried. He was pounding at her hips madly and she was thrusting back as hard as she could. “Ahhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhh! Ahhhhhhhhhhh!”
When his orgasm faded, he did not abandon her juiced up, tingling pussy, but continued to give it long, leisurely strokes, bringing her a series of aftershocks. Finally his motions ceased and he gave out a long, satisfied sigh.
He rose from her, slipping his softened tool from her crevasse. “Not bad, conchita,” he told her. “Maybe we’ll leave off the whip for a little while.”
He rose from the bed and stepped towards a cabinet along the wall. He opened it and took out a bottle of cognac and a snifter. He poured himself a few inches and took a good sip. “You’re going to make a good whore,” he said. “You’ll be a big moneymaker.”
