The Blue Cantina

by Paul Blades

  “I didn’t tell you to take your mouth off of my cock! Put it back on until I tell you!”

  Anna felt a surge of sorrow pass through her. She had just given the man the best blow job she knew how and he was no more appreciative than if she had been the lowliest whore in the lowliest brothel. Her lips curled in a frown and she started to cry. Devlin took hold of her hair and leaned over so that his face was inches from hers. “Do what I tell you, cunt!”

  Dismal at her treatment, Anna leaned forward and subsumed the man’s softening tool between her lips. The flaccid instrument lay lifeless on her tongue. Her hands rested lightly on Devlin’s thighs and her chest heaved with suppressed sobs. “Put your hands behind your back,” the man ordered her. “Don’t ever touch me unless I tell you to.”

  Unhappily, Anna brought her hands behind her. She was arched over, and the only point of contact between her and her cruel benefactor was her mouth on his cock.

  The couple remained as they were while Devlin finished his cognac. The cock began to resume its form and Anna dutifully gave it encouragement with her tongue, trying hard to suppress her revulsion. Her back began to ache and she spread her legs slightly to give herself some ease. Tears had escaped from her eyes and she felt them rolling down her cheeks. She would have to endure three days of the man’s abuse before the money was safely in the Center’s account. How would she ever make it, never mind a year? But she had survived worse. Maybe the man would tire of her like he said. She was not the Venus de Milo, as he had reminded her. She was pretty enough, a long, narrow nose, smooth, graceful lips and dark brown, soft eyes. Her face was roundish, but not circular. She had a long neck, well formed, taut thighs and a flat belly. But the model types she had seen him with were the true beauties, long, languorous legs, high cheek bones. Sex just dripped off of them. He would lose interest in her quickly, she knew that. Until then, she would do what he said, take whatever pleasure she could, and then, somehow, sometime, after she had gotten her confession back, exact her revenge.

  Devlin’s cock had resumed its hardness and Anna had recommenced her adoration of it with her lips and tongue when Devlin spoke to her again.

  “You know, Anna, I knew you’d be back. You’re a natural whore. But you have a lot to learn about sucking cocks. I just didn’t get the feeling that you meant it. It was like getting a blow job from my Aunt Nellie. You’re going to have to get a lot better.”

  Anna gave out a sob as she took in the man’s insults. Did he mean it or was he just trying to hurt her? If he was, it was working. Anna felt demeaned and worthless. If she couldn’t give a satisfactory blow job, how would she keep the dissolute man satisfied? Would he kick her out on Sunday evening and tell her the deal was off?

  Anna heard the door to the kitchen opening and closing and the heavy tread of Vincent’s footsteps come into the room. She was mortified that he would see her slavishly serving his employer’s cock, half naked, her hands crossed behind her like some kind of captive. But that’s what she was, wasn’t she? She was the horrid man’s captive for the next year. What difference did it make if the butler knew it? The way Devlin had been treating her, it would be readily apparent anyway. Yet the idea that the man could see her face buried in Devlin’s lap, was watching as she slowly rose her head up and down over his cock, shamed her.

  Devlin spoke out. “Vincent, I want you to take Anna to her room. I’ve got some more calls to make and I’ll be up later. I want her stripped and kneeling on the bed when I get up there.”

  “Yes, Mr. Devlin,” the tall man replied.

  “Okay, slut,” Devlin said, addressing Anna. “Get up and go with Vincent. Do what he tells you.”

  Sorrowfully, but happy to be freed from her demeaning posture, Anna let Devlin’s hard cock slip from her lips and stood. She looked at Vincent’s face for a sign of his contempt for her, but, to her surprise, detected none. He was the perfect servant, expressionless, polite, sure of himself. Her jaw was sore from her extended efforts on Devin’s cock and she stretched it and licked her lips before bending down to retrieve her blouse and bra.

  “You really are a stupid cunt, Anna,” Devlin declaimed sharply. “Did I tell you to pick up your clothes?”

  Anna looked back at him dolefully. “N-no,” she murmured.

  “Then why did you do it?”

  “I, I thought that….”

  “Don’t think, Anna! Just do what I tell you! And put your hands back behind you! I didn’t say to release them, did I?”

  Anna was trembling with unhappiness and fear. It was clear that her whole being was committed to the despicable man’s control. She dropped her clothes back to the floor and eased her hands back behind her.

  “Okay, now get out of here,” Devlin commanded.

  Chapter Two

  Like a dispirited prisoner, Anna followed the tall, quiet servant into the hallway and then to the broad, curving stairs that led to the upper floors of the mansion. The tippy tap of her bright red high heels as she crossed the stone floor of the entrance hall were silenced as she began to ascend the carpet covered steps. She was ashamed at how docilely she was following Devlin’s callous commands. She thought of running back down and fleeing out the front door to her car, but suppressed the impulse. Would they stop her, or let her escape? Her coat was in the closet, so she didn’t need her blouse. Then she remembered that her keys were in her pocketbook in Devlin’s office. God knows what he did with it. No, she wouldn’t run. In for a penny, in for a pound. She had already demeaned herself, shattered her illusions about her integrity and self worth. What was she to do except ride this thing out?

  Anna hoped desperately that there was no one else in the house. This big a place couldn’t be run by only one servant. There had to be maids, kitchen help, maybe a head housekeeper. She couldn’t stand the idea that one of them might emerge from somewhere and see her swaying, jumping, naked breasts as she climbed the stairs, her obsequious demeanor, the servile way she was following Devlin’s servant.

  No one disturbed them, however, as they rose steadily to the second floor. Anna had assumed that her bedroom would be on this floor, but she was wrong. Vincent proceeded to mount a second flight, narrower and covered with rubber treads. It wasn’t on the third floor either and Anna followed the servant unhappily, her wrists criss-crossed behind her back obediently, as they ascended to the fourth and top floor of the mansion.

  While the second and third floors were decorated with the same thick, bright red carpet as the stairs, the hallway on the fourth floor was uncovered and Anna’s heels made clicking sounds that echoed in the empty passageway as she walked along the bare wood. The hallway was dimly lit by several naked, low watt light bulbs down the length of the ceiling, and the undecorated walls, colored a light green, were faded as if it had been some years since they had been painted. Anna had imagined herself as being treated like an honored guest, but here she was being led to what she conceived as being the servant’s quarters.

  Vincent stopped at the third room down on the left. He took a chain that led from his right pants pocket to a loop in the waist of his pants and eased it out, revealing a small set of keys. The doors on this floor were heavier and thicker than the doors to the rooms that they had passed on the other floors and, as she watched Vincent unlock it, a feeling of trepidation passed through her. Vincent entered the room first, flicking on the lights from a switch in the hall. The room was about fifteen by twenty and had a large, queen sized bed in its middle. It was covered by a soft, gold comforter and had large, fluffy pillows at its head. The walls were painted a dark red and had a carpet that matched. There was a large dresser against one wall and night tables on either side of the bed with tall, shaded lamps on top of them. A wide mirror hung on the wall opposite the bed with ornate, gold plated, rococo framing around it.

  Compared to the bare, stripped down décor of the hallway, the room seemed elegant. It was out of place on the remote fourth floor of the mansion. Anna wondered what purpose it served. Had De
vlin had it made up especially for her? Why was her room so far distant from the rest of the house? Why was there a heavy, solid, wooden door?

  Vincent closed the door behind them and locked it. He spoke to her for the first time, his voice monotone and businesslike.

  “Take off your clothes.”

  Anna looked at the man with horror. She had heard Devlin’s command that she be naked as she waited for him, but she hadn’t considered that she would have to denude herself in front of his servant. Wasn’t she to be left with any self respect? Would she be expected to fuck him as well? That was going a little too far. But the door was locked and they were on the fourth floor of the mansion. Vincent was much bigger than her 5 foot 5 inch frame. And there was the money. She had already invested one blow job in it. What would Devlin do if she refused?

  A wave of fear swept through the young woman. No one knew she was here. If she had been smarter, she would have left a note somewhere. She hadn’t thought that she might be kept a prisoner. As it was, Devlin could just make her disappear. He could keep her captive here for as long as he wanted. When he got tired of her he could kill her and dump her body in some swamp or something. Her confession would be explanation enough for the police as far as her disappearance was concerned. For the first time, real, piercing fear joined her feelings of intense humiliation and shame.

  Seeing Anna’s hesitation, Vincent repeated his instruction. Tearfully, Anna began to comply. She lowered the zipper at the side of her skirt and then slid the garment over her hips. She placed the expensive garment neatly on the bed.

  She had worn a pair of dark, sheer, self supporting stockings and the lacy tops encircled the upper reaches of her brown thighs. Anna was half Italian, on her father’s side, and she had inherited his olive colored, brownish Mediterranean skin. She had also inherited his hairiness and she was more than chagrined at having to expose her bushy, black pubic covering to the servant. She had shaved her legs and underarms before coming here, but she had never shaved her pubes, limiting herself to once in a while trimming its wilder excesses. The abundant growth of hair created a small mound under her plain white, bikini panties and peaked out on the sides. Revealing her sex to this strange man seemingly made of iron was one of the last things on earth that she wanted to do. But she knew that she had to do it. What choice did she have? She hooked her thumbs in the waist line of her panties and eased them over her hips and down over her knees and feet.

  In her nervousness, Anna had forgotten to remove her bright red high heels. They were bound to her feet by little straps that crossed her instep and she crouched down now to loosen them. As she did so, she felt the cold, hard eyes of the servant on her naked skin. She shivered as she thought of what he might do to her. When she had freed her feet she was able to pull her panties off over them and she laid them on the bed atop her skirt. A moment later, she had removed her sheer, silk, black stockings and they joined her other clothes on the bed.

  The tall, expressionless man pointed to a doorway on the other side of the room. “That’s the bathroom,” he intoned. “Use it.”

  Anna shuffled off obediently. It was tiled in baby blue, had a glass enclosed shower and a large, dark blue vanity and sink made of marble. Anna went to close the door but, to her surprise, saw that there wasn’t one. She blushed as she realized that she would have to pee while the man was in the next room and could hear her. Her embarrassment became acute when he came and stood in the doorway.

  “I can’t pee while you’re watching,” she dragged up the courage to protest. Vincent looked back at her expressionlessly. She waited for him to leave the doorway, but he just stood there silently. She realized that it was a lost cause. He would just stand there until she went. His eyes peered at her remorselessly. Her nakedness made her feel vulnerable, quelling her urge to refuse the tall, dark servant’s command. She gave in.

  The unhappy, young woman released a long, hard stream of fluid into the bowl while Vincent watched. It had taken a few moments before she was able to force the flow from her body, but she closed her eyes and tried to pretend that he wasn’t there. The noise of the water striking water resounded through the small room. When it ceased, Anna gratefully wiped herself and cast the tissue into the bowl. The toilet made a loud, angry sound when she flushed it.

  Standing at the vanity, washing her hands, Anna saw her face in the mirror over the sink. Her eyes were puffy and reddened and her mascara had run. She looked a mess. Her nakedness was reflected back at her, somehow making it seem all the more real and distressing. Using a wet tissue, she carefully dabbed away the black lines and smudges that descended from her eyes. She really didn’t care how she looked, but Devlin might and she didn’t want to hear any more of his caustic, demeaning abuse if she didn’t have to.

  Vincent retreated from the doorway and Anna exited the bathroom. The servant leaned over the bed and drew the comforter down its length until the smooth, pastel green sheets beneath it were fully revealed. After pulling the top sheet down to the foot, folding it on itself carefully so that it lay there neatly, he pointed to the bed. “Get on it,” he ordered.

  Ashamed at her meek submission, Anna complied nonetheless. Vincent instructed her to kneel with her thighs spread wide apart and to return her hands behind her back. When she was posed to his satisfaction on the firm, comfortable mattress, he spoke to her.

  “I am Mr. Devlin’s servant. It is my responsibility that all of Mr. Devlin’s orders are carried out to the letter. I do not like to have to give instructions twice. This time, I will let it go.”

  The tall man paused so that his revelations could sink in. Anna wondered what would happen if she was slow to obey him again. She felt helpless and vulnerable as she knelt naked and exposed before the powerful man, her hands submissively hidden behind her. “How did I get into this mess?” she thought unhappily.

  “You will stay in that position on the bed until Mr. Devlin comes to use you. I will not say what will happen if you disobey. You will find that out on your own. Do you understand?”

  Anna almost swooned with fear. She didn’t want to speak, but was afraid that remaining silent would enrage the unnaturally calm and collected man. “Y-yes,” she finally muttered.

  “When you answer me, you will say, ‘sir’. Do you understand that?”

  “Y-yes, sir,” Anna eked out.

  The cold demeanored man gathered up Anna’s clothes from the foot of the bed. Anna wanted to protest, but she feared whatever retribution he had promised her for disobedience. Dismally, she watched him take them with him as he left the room. Her heart sank as she heard the lock turned shut.

  Anna listened to the sounds of the man’s retreating steps as he returned downstairs. The heavy door muffled the sound, but it was still audible. Once it had faded away, the room was stone cold silent and Anna shivered with fear. She was grateful that the man had left the light on. It would have been hell to have to wait here in the dark for the arrival of her abuser.

  She was in a mental state that she knew well. Many a night as a young girl she had lain in her bed listening in dread for the sound of her father’s footsteps on the stairs. Her mother was usually passed out from gin. She could hear the television on downstairs and her father rummaging around the kitchen or living room looking for something to drink. As long as the TV was on, she knew she was safe. It was when it was turned off and she heard the heavy booted footsteps begin to ascend to the second floor that her heart would begin to beat wildly.

  As then, the sound of Devlin’s steps on the stairs and in the hallway would be the harbinger of the arrival of her tormentor. She knew that somehow she had to get out of there. The room had a small window and Anna looked at it anxiously, wondering whether she could open it and climb down and escape. She fought the urge to get up from the bed to go and look. She had an idea what would happen to her if she were caught: she would be beaten. Maybe they would tie her up so she couldn’t move. The very thought of being bound and unable to use her hands or legs wa
s terrorizing to her. She knew from her past life what it was like, having been tied to her bed on nights when she struggled too much. She hated the familiar feeling of powerlessness that was overwhelming her.

  Anna was just about to crawl off of the bed so she could inspect the window when she saw the small camera mounted on the wall above the mirror. It was one of those web cams, small and unobtrusive. There was a little red light under it, which she assumed meant that it was on. Someone was watching her. The very thought of it made her skin crawl. Even if they were not watching now, the camera was probably making a video of her, a video that could be easily checked to see if she had been disobedient. She looked at it forlornly. She realized that when Devlin came to fuck her, he would get it all on tape. The idea that their impending fornication would be rendered into a permanent record, available for the enjoyment of anyone who could get a copy, sickened her.

  She closed her eyes and took a deep breath. She mustn’t cry, she mustn’t. Her face would get all messy again. Besides that, and more importantly, she needed all of her psychic strength to get through the night. Devlin was going to come here and, what did Vincent say? Use her. That was it. Not fuck her, not see her, not sleep with her, use her. She realized that she was just a thing to be used by the hard millionaire. She was going to be his toy; that was what he had said. She hadn’t realized the full import of what he had meant at the time. She did now.

  Anna opened her eyes, trying to calm herself and take stock of her predicament. She caught sight of herself in the mirror opposite the bed. She was a vision of loveliness. Her long, black, wavy hair descended down to her shoulder blades. Her full breasts were presented proudly. She could see her camouflaged sex between her outspread legs. Her belly was firm and tapered down enticingly to the fulcrum of her thighs.

  During the next hour or so, Anna’s eyes returned again and again to her disconsolate figure in the mirror. She was tired and lonely and afraid. She tried to not look at her reflection, but, unless she closed her eyes, which made everything worse, the silence, the helplessness, she was forced to take in her abject form, displayed brazenly for the camera above it.