Three by Blades

by Paul Blades

  Deirdre sat on the bed and cried. She had lost all hope. She was a prisoner hundreds if not a thousand miles from the US, an inmate in a whorehouse where, as was apparent from the wounds the other whores bore, anything was permitted. Today, tomorrow, the next day, she would be made to serve unknown men who would whip her. They would use her bodily orifices with impunity. She was powerless to affect anything that happened to her.

  She lay down on the bed on her side and curled her knees up to her chest. She bit down on the offensive gag in her mouth and her wrists strained at their bonds behind her back. She wondered, fearfully, how long she would have to wait here. The German man had promised her a beating. She closed her eyes and went to sleep.

  She woke up when the door opened. It was another of the men. He was dressed in black jeans and a red t-shirt. He looked cruel.

  He unlocked the barred door and signaled her to get up. “Come,” he said.

  She followed him as best she could. They passed several of the other women in the hallway. They paid her no mind. He stopped at a doorway and opened it. When she entered, she saw that it was a bathroom. They went through an anteroom which had several sinks and a long shelf with chairs set along it. On the wall was a mirror and on the shelf were a variety of types of makeup and tools of the beauty trade. In the next room were several unscreened steel toilets. He guided her through it and into another room. It was a shower.

  There were six showerheads on each side. Soap and shampoo were set on little shelves next to each one. There were even towels.

  The man unlocked her hands from behind her back. Deirdre groaned with pain as she unfolded them. He removed her bridle and gag and the chains between her ankles. He motioned to the showers.

  Deirdre didn’t need a second invitation. She didn’t even mind that the man stayed and watched her. He would probably fuck her sooner or later anyway. She turned on the water and submerged herself under its wonderful, warm flow. The soap was scented and she lathered it up on a sponge provided and scoured her whole body. It was marvelous to be able to touch herself again. She washed her hair. She didn’t want her shower to ever end. She just stood under the flow, letting it course through her hair, over her face and down her body. It was a small consolation for her fear and unhappiness. But at least it was something.

  The man was carrying a two foot long, thick club that hooked onto his belt. He knocked it against the white tiled wall twice. Deirdre looked up and understood that it was the signal for the end of her delight. She turned off the water and walked over to the little table on which sat the towels. She dried herself off as the man watched her with lascivious interest. He brought her to the toilets and ordered her to sit on one.

  When she had peed, he motioned her to the makeup table. She sat in a chair and looked for something appropriate for her face. There was some blush, an eyeliner, about fifteen different colors of lipstick, among other things. She didn’t know how far she should go in adorning herself, but she did put on some lipstick, a dark red color. She didn’t want to put on any mascara for fear that she would cry and mess it all up. She powdered herself so that she smelt and felt pretty.

  When she was done, the man locked her wrists behind her back, not up and bent like before, but the ‘normal’ way. He left off the chain from her ankles and the bridle. Deridre followed him down the hallway until they reached another open room. It was a dining room of sorts. Some of the girls were at the tables eating. She noticed right away that there was no talking.

  The blonde she had come in with was sitting at one of the tables and the man indicated to Deirdre that she should sit down next to her. The kitchen was divided from the dining room by a low wall with a counter on top of it. There were some old ladies inside it and one of them handed the man a plate with some food on it and a tall glass filled with juice. He put them down in front of Deirdre and then unlocked her wrists. She was going to be able to feed herself!

  There was a plastic knife and fork on the table and Deirdre took them up. On the plate was a meat patty and some refried beans. She wolfed them down. The man stood behind her, watching. The blond girl had her watcher too, as if to impress upon them both the need for absolute obedience in all things.

  The blonde finished first and the men behind her jabbed her with his stick, ordering her to rise. He hands were locked behind her and she was whisked away. Deirdre’s turn was next. She drank down the juice she was given and she rose dutifully. Her hands were bound behind her and the man led her back to her cell.

  Deidre realized that, aside from providing for her elementary needs, the man, and through him, the woman who had bought her, were giving her an understanding of the powerful forces which now controlled her and the uselessness of any resistance. She must have counted at least twenty or so different girls. They all had a demeanor of subservience about them. They declined looking into the faces of the men. They seemed to shrink when one of them came into the room. They remained quiet and orderly at all times. This was to be her life from now on. That was the message.

  They stopped at the door to Deirdre’s room while the guard unlocked it. Dierdre heard the unmistakable sound of a man and woman in passion coming from the cell cross the hall. She was just able to peer in. She had a view of the cot. She could see a man’s back and rear pumping away while a woman’s legs and arms encompassed him from underneath. Both the man and the woman were grunting and groaning as they copulated furiously.

  In a glance, she saw her future. While in her cell, she would be subject to the whims and the use of the male staff. Would she be required to always demonstrate the level of passion exhibited by the unknown woman across the hall whether she felt it or not? Undoubtedly so. The men would have ample means by which to encourage her enthusiasm in her own ravishment. But maybe it would not be necessary. Perhaps she would, after a while, sink so low into sexual depravity that any cock, at any time, would send her into joyous rapture. She thought of el Jefe, Signor Corrida, who had forced her to virulent orgasms many times, and rued her propensity to display her carnal appetites so easily.

  When the bars to her cell were open, the guard escorted her in. After releasing her wrists, he pointed towards the cot and snapped his fingers, a signal that Deirdre correctly interpreted as a command to sit on it. He drew open a drawer in the hutch across from her cot and removed several implements of confinement.

  One was a ball gag which he forced between her lips and buckled behind her head. Another was a small chain with clips on each end. He clipped one end on her right wrist, ran the chain through the ring in the front of her collar and then connected it to her left. Here hands were held close to her chin in a bizarre imitation of prayer. He waved at the bed, ordering her to lie down. He bound her ankles together and then chained them to a ring at the foot of the bed. Another chain he attached to the back of her collar and connected it to its head.

  Deirdre was bound in place. When she saw the black hood, she whimpered. She had spent so much time in darkness since she had been kidnapped. It was a horrible experience. Why did they have to do this? She had already resolved herself to complete and utter obedience. She didn’t want to suffer needlessly. She would do whatever they wanted.

  The man paid her mewing sounds no mind. The hood was a simple cotton bag with a draw string at its opening. He pulled it over her head and tugged the string until it was tight against her neck. She heard the drawer to the hutch slam closed, the clanging of the bars to her cell and then the rolling of the wooden exterior door as it was slid shut. She heard it being locked. And then there was absolute silence.

  Lying perfectly still, with nothing to see, nothing to hear, nothing to do, was extremely conducive to thought. Unfortunately for Deirdre, the thoughts that came to mind were not welcome. She remembered that sooner or later she would have to pay the piper for her minor and ineffectual rebellion earlier today. But, she knew, there was undoubtedly more. The woman who had purchased her seemed implacably cruel. She would undoubtedly want to impress her new property
with her power over them directly before assimilating them fully into her harsh brothel. There was only one way to do that properly. She would be whipped.

  On the previous times that she had been confined and isolated from the world around her, she had yearned for the moment of her liberation. Not now. Now she dreaded the sound of the undoing of the lock to the sliding door, tremored at the thought of the steel gate to her cell opening, agonized over the knowledge that sometime in the immediate future a man would come by, free her from her attachments to the bed and lead her somewhere where she would suffer vicious outrages upon her body. Her stomach quailed, her body went sour, her heart pounded in her chest. She arched her back, tugged at her bindings and cried out into the bleak darkness that surrounded her.

  She lay there a long time. It seemed to be hours. For some reason it disturbed her that she did not know whether the man had left the light in her cell on or not. Eventually, she calmed herself. She breathed deeply, in and out, and consciously sought to relax her muscles. She would get through it somehow. Once it was done, it would be over. The other girls had undoubtedly gone through it and somehow survived and so would she. She was as strong as any of them, wasn’t she?

  But when she finally heard the key turn in the lock to her door, her resolve fled. Her confined hands began to sweat, her body became heavy, her gut wrenched.

  The man unfastened her from the bed and pulled her to her feet. Leaving her hood in place, he led her from her cell. They walked down the hall, made several turns and, when they reached some stairs, the man told her, “Up! Up!” They were the only words he spoke to her. Dutifully, resignedly, she allowed him to lead her to her doom. She had no strength for crying. A dull fatalism had replaced her fear. “Let it be quick,” she thought. “Let it be quick.”

  At the top of the stairs, the wooden floor of the basement turned to stone. Cool, smooth stone, like marble or granite. It was cool on her feet. They walked about 50 feet and they stopped. The man opened a door and she was brought through it.

  It was clear to her immediately that the room was full of people. Men. She heard some deep, masculine voices express satisfaction in Spanish at what they saw. She was presented to them and callous, male hands probed and stroked her. There were a few jocular sounding comments. And then she heard the voice of the woman. She issued a gracious command and Deirdre found herself propelled forward again. She was made to step up on a platform. When she was brought to a standstill, her wrists were released from her collar and fastened to a chain. Then they were lifted over her head until only her toes touched the platform beneath her.

  The continued murmuring and occasional amused sounding exclamations and subsequent laughter continued for a few moments and then she heard the clapping of hands and the voice of the woman expressing something in an imperative, but polite voice. The room quieted. There was a moment’s pause and then someone lifted the hood from her head.

  Standing before her was a group of about fifteen men. They were all dressed in expensive suits, well groomed and bespoke money and leisure. A few of the men were smoking cigars and they almost all had a drink in their hands. There was a general sound of approval when her face was unveiled.

  The large room was elegantly appointed. The walls were covered with red wallpaper with a pattern of yellow fruit on it that looked somewhat like an elongated coconut. The rug was red with black borders and black Aztec type designs woven into it in a checker board pattern. In the middle of the room, descending from the high ceiling was an elaborate, brightly lit chandelier. Candelabra like light fixtures adorned he walls.

  The woman was dressed in an elegant, green dress that descended to her knees. Its bodice was low, giving a good sample of her plump breasts. Her chestnut hair was loose and she was wearing shiny, black high heels. Unlike this morning when she wore little makeup, her lips were colored dark red, her eyelids painted green to match her dress and her eyelashes were darkened with mascara. She had in her left hand a four foot long leather switch that tapered into a small point at its end.

  The blond girl was standing about fifteen feet away from Dierdre and she was displayed in the same way, her wrists held high above her by a chain. She too was gagged and she had a look of frantic panic on her face, a look that precisely mirrored what Deirdre was feeling.

  Ceremoniously, the woman approached her two captives and presented them formally to the audience. She tapped them both on the belly with her whip and she announced their names, “Dierdre,” she said when she tapped Dierdre’s stomach. Rowdy applause followed. “Natasha,” she said when she pointed out the blond. There was hearty applause and a few cat calls. She hefted Deirdre’s heavy breasts for the benefit of the men and apparently made a salacious comment that drew an appropriately rowdy response from them. She stroked her belly and sex and then did the same with the blond to the crowd’s amusement. Then she called for silence again. She turned to the two brazenly displayed females and spoke directly to them.

  “Welcome to El Papaya,” she said loudly in English. There was a round of applause and amused exclamations from the crowd. She waved them to silence.

  “It is the name of my house of delight,” she continued, “but also refers to, in crude colloquial terms, to the luscious fruit between your thighs.” She was pacing back and forth in front of the two bound and hapless women, holding the whip in one hand and tapping it lightly against the palm of the other.

  “My name is Esmeralda. I have one simple rule. You must obey me and my staff like it was the word of God. Punishment for disobedience will be certain, swift and harsh.”

  She paused to let that sink in. Then she resumed. “You are in the city of Tuxtepec. It is approximately 1500 miles form the American border. It is surrounded by tall, rough mountains to the north and west and a vast plain to the south and east. After that is the jungle. I tell you these things so that you know that there is no possibility that you will ever escape. Anyone coming across an unescorted gringa within three hundred miles would immediately return her here in exchange for a generous reward. The peasants in this region of the country are notoriously poor and a thousand pesos would be a veritable fortune to them. And before you leave this room tonight, you will carry on your bodies a definitive, permanent mark that will advertise you as my property.”

  Deirdre whined when she heard this. She had seen the yellow marks on the rear cheeks of a couple of the women who she had passed fleetingly in the warren like halls of the basement. She had wondered what they were. Now she knew.

  “For the amusement of my guests, and for your edification, I shall shortly give you both a harsh whipping,” Esmeralda went on. “It will be a mere token of what you will suffer if you displease me or any of my guests or staff. Remember it well.”

  Esmeralda said something terse and authoritative to the man standing behind the blond girl. He stepped up and removed her gag.

  “Feel free to cry out and wail as much as you like. It will amuse my guests,” she said.

  Deirdre watched in horror as she reared the long, thin whip back and let it fly against the pale, defenseless body of the woman she had called Natasha. It struck her across her bountiful, pale breasts making a loud cracking sound. The girl let out a long, agonized wail. With a grim, intense expression of determination and enjoyment, Esmeralda commenced a whirlwind attack on the girl. She danced and howled and begged and pleaded. She cried and sobbed and twisted and turned. Esmeralda was merciless. Long, thin lines of red appeared wherever the whip met her skin. Her breasts, her belly, her thighs, her back and her rear all received their due.

  Deirdre sobbed and gave out piteous wails of her own as she watched with horror the whore mistress go about her business. She knew that she was next. She knew that she would not be able to bear it. Her mind was overwhelmed with a surge of self pity and woe. Why had this happened to her, she thought miserably. It was so unreal. It was like a monstrous nightmare. “Oh, God, please deliver me! Please!” she prayed.

  When Esmeralda was finished with
Natasha, she turned her attention to Deirdre. The cruel madam had broken out in a sweat. Her chest glimmered and her face was flush and wet. It seemed to Dierdre that whipping the blond girl had released a demon inside her. Her eyes were wild. She gave Deirdre a malicious grin and ordered the man behind her to remove her gag.

  “And now for you, my sweet,” she said. “Now that I’m all warmed up.”

  The first blow, along the front of her thighs, felt like someone had poured a line of acid across them. It burned horribly. Deidre called out her agony, “Aeeeeeeeeeiiiieeeeee!” Her feet began a frantic dance. No sooner had her cry ended when she was struck again, this time across her breasts. She howled in pain. Again and again the woman belayed her with the whip. Deirdre had never suffered anything so terrible in her life. The beating she had received from el Jefe seemed amateurish in comparison.

  “Ohhhhhhhhhhhh! Ahhhhhhhhhhhh! Oooouuuuuuuuuu!” she cried as the whip bit fiercely into her skin. Her back, her rump, her belly, her thighs again, all suffered the angry kiss of the lash. She writhed and begged and pleaded, just as the blond girl had done. She would have given anything to bring her torture to a close. “Pleeeeease! Pleeeeease stop! Pleeeeease!” she yelled at the top of her lungs. Needless to say, Esmeralda ignored her.

  She caught a glance of the faces of the men. They were enthralled by the brutal display of cruelty. Having seen her beaten so ruthlessly by her mistress, she knew they would not in the future hesitate in inflicting on her whatever violence they saw fit. She was fair game. The whipping was a lesson for both her and the men. She was a whore who would suffer whatever brutality they deemed to mete out.