by Paul Blades
Armando gave Carmelita the riding crop and took the two inch wide, leather strap from her hand. The strap would not tear her flesh like a long, thin lash would and would not bruise it, risking permanent damage like the riding crop. But it would hurt. Especially when he laid it across the tender lips that circumscribed her sensitive, pinkish gash.
Where the riding crop had made loud thuds when it had met her flesh, the strap made a loud slapping noise. Armando worked his way up and down the girl’s inviting, soft inner thighs until they were glowing red. The blond haired woman danced upon her single foot, hopping up and down and swaying to and fro as he assaulted her. Her screams were delicious to his ears. He had to be careful though. It was easy to get carried away with something like this. The police in Sao Paolo had not been very understanding when they finally traced the bodies of the three whores back to him. It had necessitated a hasty departure from his pleasant life there. Since then he had kept himself more or less under control, reserving the release of his baser passions for the sluts that had worn out their welcome at Esquella’s down in the basement of his little hacienda. The blond might find her way down there eventually. Her flesh was too enticing, her bellows of pain too endearing for him to resist it for too long. And she had been free so he would not have to count up the cost of his perversions.
Armando reserved his attack on the woman’s fur covered mons for last. He paused to catch his breath and so that the girl could consider what was next. He stepped up to her and laid his hand on the tender flesh, running his fingers between the as yet unmarred lips and stroked her until, despite her fear and agony, the slender slit began to moisten and dilate. From the girl’s widened eyes and miserable face he could see that she realized what was now coming. She sobbed heavily and closed her eyes. “Don’t worry, petita,” he thought. “It won’t kill you. But it will hurt.”
The cruel man stepped back and swung the strap at the tender target. When it struck, the blond woman’s shriek was blood curdling. He limited himself to five well aimed blows, thirty seconds apart. Each time the hard, leather strap made contact, the woman’s whole body convulsed and her cries of agony reverberated throughout the open space of the veranda. Tomorrow, the neighbors would look at him with a fearsome respect.
Armando stepped back from his task and took in the spectacle of the moaning, sobbing woman. He took his glass from the ledge of the veranda’s wall and handed it to Carmelita who obediently ran off and returned with another inch and a half of the dark, golden hued liquor. Exchanging it for the long, stiff, black strap, he took a sip and placed the glass on the wall while he went into the vest pocket of his jacket and took out his engraved, silver cigarette case, a present from his mother years ago. He flipped it open and removed a tube of the fine tobacco he liked to smoke and after closing the case and returning it to his jacket’s pocket, lit it up.
He needed to calm himself. His cock was hard with need, but he would relieve that burden with the flesh of the slender, youthful, brown skinned girl later. He leaned against the wall and pondered his handiwork. A large cloud of grey smoke exited his lungs and he sighed. As he ran his eyes over the pitiful, grotesquely bound body of the American woman, he mused on the ironies of life. Why did God make such beautiful creatures when he knew the base lusts that they provoked? And where had the devilish need that he felt to vent his most violent desires on their flesh come from? “Ahhhh,” he thought, “the devil.” If such spirits existed then he knew that he had one inside him. He had reconciled himself to damnation long ago. He had resolved, since he was damned, to let loose his inner demons whenever he could. He was determined to enjoy all the fine things in life as long as he could since he would be spending an eternity paying for it. He was a gambler, as all who are possessed by demons are, and he was betting that the memories of the fleshly pleasures he had enjoyed on this earth would compensate for the suffering he would experience later. Or maybe the devil would welcome him with open arms, a fellow traveler in evil, and find some special role for him corrupting the souls who still walked the earth. That would be a job suitable for him, he thought. He chuckled softly at his conceit.
The damned man finished off his cognac and, after tossing the still glowing cigarette end over the wall of the veranda, ordered his servant girl to put away his tools and the empty glass. He was waiting for her by the door to the stairway when she done. He unlocked it and, urging the eager, young girl forward ahead of him, left the blond slut to her own devices.
Margie swayed and sobbed, her body aching and sore, throughout the rest of the night. Her left foot started generating a pounding, excruciating pain a little while after the man and the young woman left. The muscles on her extended right leg pulsed with the strain of being held up in the air and the cramping in her arms was dreadfully painful. The small girl had extinguished the kerosene lanterns and the moon had descended below the horizon and so the veranda was in complete darkness as she tried to relieve her agonies, shifting her weight from her toes to her hands and then her distended leg. Her pussy pulsed and ached, her inner thighs burned and the muscles all over her body where the man had pummeled her throbbed with swelling. When she was not sobbing from either the pain or from her dismal despair, Marjorie could hear the call of the night animals from the jungle behind the building. If only she could escape, she thought, in her brief moments of clarity. “I’d take my risks in the jungle. I might die, but I would never let him catch me, never!”
The morning light came slowly and then, when the sun finally cleared the dark green, vegetation ridden mountains to the east, the veranda burst into light. It was not long after that Margie heard the key in the door and the man and the young woman entered. Armando was dressed the same as the night before, but the girl was wearing a light, yellow frock that exposed her shoulders and arms, the skirt of which came down to just over her knees. Her feet were bare. The man stood in front of Marjorie for a moment as if recalling who she was and what she was doing there, and then began to release her confinements. Her leg fell like a dead weight when he released it and she fell to the floor when the rope connecting her bound hands to the rafter was loosened. The man left her there and sat on some cushions at the side of the veranda closest to the house while the girl served him coffee and fruit. Margie just lay where she had been dropped, thankful for the relief, but wary of the man’s next actions. She was happily surprised when the man left without devolving his attentions upon her.
Carmelita cleaned up and when she was done came over to comfort the unhappy, exhausted woman. Margie welcomed the girl’s cooing, tender voice and her soft caresses to her hair. She had been lying there quietly, but she began to cry now again softly. The girl let her sob, hugging her and kissing her. After a while, the girl began to urge the battered and bruised woman to get up. Margie wanted nothing of it and she resisted the girl’s efforts until the girl said in a fearful voice in Spanish, “Master say! Master say!”
Margie was struck by fear at the mention of the cruel man and realized that if she didn’t do what the girl wanted they would both probably be beaten. Painfully, she moved her aching, sore muscles and rose first to her knees and then to her feet. The girl guided her to a room off of the veranda and when Margie saw that it was a real, well appointed, modern bathroom, she gave out a little cry.
The girl let Margie use the toilet while she ran hot water into a sunken bathtub. Margie caught a glimpse of herself in the mirror above the sink and she gave a sob at her appearance. Her face was drawn and gaunt, with deep, dark circles under her eyes. Her beautiful, long, strawberry blond hair was bedraggled and knotted. She looked down at her body and saw it covered with deep purple marks where the man had beaten her. The redness of her inner thighs had faded, but the skin was raw and sensitive. Her pussy burned when she placed her hands on its delicate folds.
When the bath was ready, the girl discarded her yellow frock with a single motion over her head. She was naked underneath and Margie appreciated her soft, round orbs, her flat belly and her
graceful, slight hips. Her nether lips were devoid of hair and looked like a little girl’s. She guided Margie into the large tub and joined her. The water stung as she entered it, but as she sat down and immersed her body, her whole being was soothed. The girl let her lay there for a while absorbing the comforting warmth of the water and then, after a while, had her kneel and then stand as she washed her body.
The girl had delicate, sensitive hands and Margie appreciated her efforts. She had pried the offensive wad of fabric from her mouth and washed and rinsed it out, leaving it on the edge of the tub to dry. She even untied Margie’s hands and rubbed her raw wrists. Margie moaned with pain when the girl tenderly soaped and rinsed her damaged pussy. But she reveled in it when the girl washed her hair and brushed it out after applying a delicate smelling cream rinse.
When the bath was done, the girl dried off Margie’s body with a large, soft towel. She had the blond American woman sit on the edge of the tub, her legs spread wide, while she shaved off the sparse, light blond hair that covered her sex. She handled the tender organ lovingly as she stretched and moved the skin so that she could run the little plastic razor over her love lips and the areas next to them. Margie accepted the denuding of her loins as one of her owner’s preferences but felt sorrow rise up in her as it reminded her of the loss of control of her own body. She balked, however, when the girl went to tie her wrists back together, but the girl looked up at her with pleading eyes and said, in halting Spanish, “Master beat me and you too!”
Afterwards, the girl fed Margie some fruit and a sweet pastry while they knelt out on the veranda. There was a little, short round table there by the cushions and Margie was able to use her own hands to bring her food to her mouth for the first time in a week. The girl gave her a tall glass of cool mango juice and it felt like heaven to Margie as it went down her parched throat. After the meal, Margie felt her exhaustion catch up with her. Her eyes teared when the girl presented the balled up cotton fabric to her mouth once again, but she docilely allowed the girl to reinsert it.
Margie fell asleep almost immediately after the girl let her lay down on the soft rug. It seemed like minutes, but was actually more than an hour when she felt the girl’s hand shaking her. The girl said something frantic to her in Portuguese. Margie sprang to alertness when she realized that there were footsteps on the stairs out in the hallway. The girl had restored her pretty, yellow frock and put away the dishes from Margie’s breakfast. She knelt down in the position that Margie had first saw her the night before and instructed Margie by hand motions to do the same.
It was Armando returning. He came in and, after walking coolly and deliberately to where his two prisoners knelt, stood looking at the women for a minute or so. Margie dared not return his gaze and kept her eyes pinned to his shiny, black, pointed shoes. The young woman flinched when he reached out his hand and pressed her head down until her breasts rested on her thighs and her head was touching the floor. She complied obediently with his nonverbal instruction.
Some men had come in with ‘the master’ as Carmelita had called him. Margie heard them walking around the veranda and talking in Portuguese to Armando. When the master left, the men remained. Margie could hear the rattle of metal and the buzz of a drill as they worked. She did not hazard to look up at them for fear of punishment.
After about half an hour, the men left. When she heard the door close, she looked up cautiously. There was a long, silvery chain hanging from the rafter in the center of the room. It was fastened to a shiny, new steel plate that had been mounted on the thick wood and ended in a little pile on the rug. At the end of the pile was what looked to Margie like a leather collar. She realized at once that it was for her. She did not have much time to ponder on it since she heard the sound of the door opening again and she resumed the posture that the cruel man had dictated. She heard his soft footsteps on the rug and then the snap of his fingers. Since he always spoke his orders in Portuguese to Carmelita, she assumed that the command was for her. She looked up and saw him standing by the chain. He snapped his fingers again and pointed to a spot in front of him.
Despite the fact that her muscles were still sore, Margie scurried to the spot that the man had pointed out. She knelt before him fearfully as he lowered himself and picked up the leather collar from the rug. Brushing back her long, blond hair, he ran the collar around her neck and buckled it closed behind her. He took a small lock from his pocket and placed it over the buckle, securing the collar in place. There was a small brass key embedded in the lock and he took it out and put it in his pocket.
He had brought a small canvas bag with him and he opened it and withdrew two leather bracelets and a 18” long, shiny, thin, steel chain. He buckled the bracelets around her wrists and then, after running the chain through a ring in the front of the collar, connected it to each bracelet with more small padlocks which prevented the loosening and removal of the bracelets and fastened the steel chain to them at the same time. There were no keys with them and Margie assumed, correctly, that the same key opened all of the locks.
Margie’s hands were confined in front of her in an obscene imitation of prayer. Her wrists rested on her breasts, but there was enough play in the chain so that they could be easily moved aside to free her pale, heavy, round orbs for use or abuse. The girl quailed at the permanency of her bonds. It was clear that for so long as her new master wanted, perhaps as long as he owned her, she would be confined like some kind of animal, unable to perform the most elementary tasks for herself.
The man reached into the bag and pulled out one more, nefarious instrument. Margie watched as he untangled the mess of straps. There was a fat, long, leather prong attached to it and a wide, band of leather. Once Armando had it straightened out, she realized at once what it was. He reached into her mouth and removed the offensive ball of cotton cloth that had occupied it for the last eighteen hours or so and tossed it aside. He presented the prong on the harness to her mouth and Margie accepted it meekly, her eyes brimming with tears. It filled her mouth completely and forced her lips apart. Her new owner ran straps around the sides of her head and another over her nose and across the top. When he joined them at the back, Margie heard the tell tale sound of the closing of a lock and she knew that she was now the prisoner of the infernal device. The strap that ran up over her face had a little slot in it so that her nose was free. It took some adjusting so that it sat properly in place. Marjorie could see the sides of the strap from the corners of her watery, blue eyes.
Armando knelt in front of his prisoner for a while, appreciating her forlorn aspect. He had never had a bona fide sexual slave before. You couldn’t count the stupid, young native girls that he had owned over the years. They were usually so obsequious in their aspect, so eager to please the powerful men that owned them, that outfitting them with the regalia of sexual servitude would have been a redundancy. But the gringa was well suited for her bonds. He could taste her humiliation and misery as she knelt there before him. Whoever she was, he was sure that not long ago she had a far different future picked out for herself. His cock stirred as he looked at her and he remembered that he had not fucked her yet.
Margie watched as the man stood and began to disrobe in front of her. Here was the moment of truth. She had known that he would rape her, but the fact that it was now happening made her quiver with shame and unhappiness. She knew how she had reacted when the bandit had taken her against her will and she knew that it would be no different now.
The man’s torso was hairless and he had a firm chest and a taut, flat belly. His long cock was standing at attention, not as fat as the bandit’s had been, but large, nonetheless. He brushed away Margie’s elbows and placed his hands on her heavy, round breasts and began to massage them delicately. Margie saw a flicker of pleasure in the man’s face as he caressed and played with them, pulling lightly on her fat nipples, coning the spongy flesh in his hands, pressing them up against her chest. Despite her fear of the man, his handling of her pale, fat orbs brough
t a sensation of warmth and relaxation to her. He ran his long, boney hands down her belly and over her thighs. He spread them and caressed her moistening cleft almost tenderly.
Marjorie was filled with passion when the man guided her firmly over until her face and knees pressed against the soft maroon carpet. He called out something to the girl and Margie heard her get up to retrieve something and come and kneel down beside her. Armando had forced her thighs further apart and was stroking Margie’s soft, enflamed slit with his hand under her and between her legs.
Margie knew better than to resist the man’s use of her and she resigned herself to enjoy what she could of his efforts. It was certainly better than being beaten. His fingers slid easily along her moistened canal and delved inside her making her moan.
It was then that she realized that something new was going to happen. She felt the small, delicate hands of the girl spread her rear cheeks and apply some kind of salve or lubricant to the dainty, round hole between her buttocks. The bandit had promised to fuck her there and she was glad that he never had. But her new master was now going to and Margie felt a large ball form in her belly and a chill run through her. She wanted to get up and deny the man this use of her, but she knew that terrible consequences would follow if she did. And then he would fuck her there anyway as she would surely give in rather than face repeated punishments.
Margie felt the girl’s fingers slide in and out of her small, tight, rear entrance. It was disconcerting, but not unpleasant, to have her small fingers inside her. Her pussy tingled at the sensation of having the tight ring around the virgin entrance stroked and caressed. After a few moments, however, the fingers left. Margie felt the man’s cold hands spread her rear cheeks and the front of his thighs press against her plump, rear mounds. She gave out a sob and a deep, forlorn moan, suppressed mostly by the thick wad of leather in her mouth. Her hands fought at the chains that were bound to her collar and she clenched her fists in fear. It took all of her self control to not try and dash away from her impending ravishment, whatever the consequence would be.
