by Paul Blades
She tried to wait patiently, tried to put out of her mind what was going to happen when her maestro came through the door. She tried not to cry, but every once in a while the tears would just start to flow and a sickening feeling of misery would flow through her. She would twist and turn her arms, shuffle her useless feet, bite down hard on the invader in her mouth, shaped like the cock of her maestro, as if he were here already and had taken possession of her mouth, even when he himself was physically someplace else. That was how it would be. He would always be present in the torments and tortures he left instructions to be visited on her when he was off in the world doing business or maybe just insufficiently interested in her for the time being to do it himself, when just the thought of what terrible fate he had dictated for her was enough to satisfy his prurient desires.
And then, after an hour, more, perhaps as much as two, she had no way to tell, time filled with agonized anticipation of the terrors and pain she would suffer tonight, she heard the sound at the door that she had been dreading. The handle turned, the door opened, and it was him!
There was a deranged look in his eyes and he swayed a bit as he entered, like he was drunk. His sharp features, almost like the face of a weasel placed on a man, sent a wave of fear through her. His hair was black and shaggily cut, as if he had hacked at it himself blindly, without a mirror. There was a heavy shadow of a beard on his face. His lips were thick and turned down in a sneer. He was wearing tight blue jeans with a large, silver belt buckle, and tall, snakeskin boots. His shirt was mussed as if he had had it off and scrunched it up in a corner for an hour or so.
He took several steps towards her without speaking. Then he was right up to her, towering over her. He was at least 6” taller than her and had broad shoulders, muscular arms. His shirt was short sleeved and she could see the tattoo of a large scorpion on his right arm covering most of the space between his wrist and his elbow. On the other was a dagger dripping bright red blood. His hand took hold of her face, crushing her cheeks, pressing hard enough to make her moan.
“Buenas tardes, putita,” he snarled. His voice was grating, like the crunch of a car wheel over gravel, and yet it had a high pitch to it, like the creaking of a rusty gate. “It’s so nice to have you waiting up for me. I’ve been thinking about you while I was fucking one of the new whores. I made her take my cum right down her throat and then I fucked her in the ass. You should have heard her squeal! But I’ve saved something for you, my little puta. Don’t worry. There’s plenty left. Mis huevos fill up with manjuice just thinking of your mouth on my prick. But first we have some business to take care of. And I have to piss like a burro. I’ll be right back.”
He released her face and stumbled off to the bathroom. A few seconds later, she could hear his water flowing in to the toilet. She felt a wave of panic run through her. She desperately wanted to run, run, run away, anywhere. But she was in a strange twilight zone where she could move her legs as fast as she wanted and she would not be able to get anywhere. The door to the hallway was only fifteen or so feet from where she stood. She hadn’t seen the man lock it. But it might as well have been a million miles away.
A sourness flowed through her body. The moment she had been fearing with such intensity that it sickened her body was here. In a moment, the man, her owner, her maestro, would emerge from the bathroom and her torment would begin. “Oh, god, please, please, please!” she thought miserably. “Please don’t let this happen! Please! Please! Please!”
She heard the toilet flush. Within a second or two, the man emerged through the bathroom door. He stepped over to her. His eyes bored into her. “I don’t know if I like you as a redhead,” he said to her. “Tomorrow I think I’ll have Vincenzo shave it all off so you can start over again as a blonde like on the T.V. news.”
Carly looked back at him, trembling. This was the man who had god-like powers over her. No law or code of honor or restraint or morals would ameliorate his treatment of her. He could do anything he wanted to her. He stepped closer. He took hold of her breasts and squeezed them harshly. “¡Bonita!” he slurred. “I can’t wait to whip them. They’ll look marvelous all crisscrossed with wounds.” He released her breasts and ran his hands down her sides. “Ahhh, my little putita, you are a gift from heaven. We’re going to have so much fun. But first I’ve got to get you all fitted up!”
He was so close that she could smell his booze befouled breath. Her heart was pumping madly. It was so terribly and horribly bizarre to be where she was, to be in the horrifying predicament that she was. There was an aura of unreality about it. Not dream-like; more than a nightmare. It was like she was in some fiendish movie, an actor in a dismal, grotesque drama. “He owns me! He owns me! I’m his property! Oh, god, don’t let it be true! Don’t let it be true!”
He stumbled off to the cabinet the valet had access earlier. He opened it and a moment later returned with four black bands of leather and a short chain. He tossed three of them on the floor and then crouched down by her legs.
“Don’t move, coño,” he said harshly. “Or I’ll whip your cunt until it’s a bloody mess!”
She was shaking as she felt his hand grab an ankle. He wrapped one of the leather bands around it tightly. She heard it click closed. Then he reached back and got another and placed it around her other ankle. When that was affixed to her, he forced her feet closer together. She felt the chain being attached to one ankle and heard the sound of it being run through the ring in the floor. Then it was attached to the other.
He got up, gave her an evil grin, tweaking a nipple harshly, making her squeal, and then went around behind her. She felt the chain being released from the sheath that held her arms prisoner and then she felt the long, tight, band of leather being loosened.
He shoulders sang with joy as the wrenching confinement was removed. She leaned back, releasing a moan of relief. She was about to move her hands in front of her, when she heard the man’s gravelly voice spit out, “¡No se mueva, guarra! Don’t move, slut!”
She kept her hands still and she felt him apply the leather bands to her wrists, locking them close tightly. He then took her wrists, one by one and attached them to the chain that dangled from the ceiling. He stepped back away from her and then the chain rose until her hands were about a foot over her head.
He came back around in front. “Nice and comfy, guarra?” he asked her. He ran his hand over her head softly, an act incongruous to his cruel demeanor. “La fiesta está a punto de comenzar.” He said, smiling evilly. “The party’s about to begin.”
He walked drunkenly over to a tall, wide backed, golden, padded chair, and sat in it. He yanked off his boots, one by one, grunting and struggling with the left one as if that foot were bigger than the other. He stood and unbuckled his belt and pulled down his pants and undershorts at the same time, slipping out of them and tossing them aside. He pulled his shirt up over his belly and tossed that carelessly aside as well, like a man who knew that someone else would pick it up.
He was naked. His body was muscular, a brownish red. His hips were narrow for his large frame, almost effeminate. His thighs were strong and thick. The tattoos on his arms, the scorpion and the dagger were fully visible now along with some phrase in Spanish etched into his right arm in a semicircle just below his shoulder.
On his torso was a series of markings in deep blue, phrases, a smoking pistol, a attacking bird of prey over his somewhat bloated belly. A large emperor’s crown embellished with red rubies sat at the top of his belly and an elaborate spider web was spread across his upper chest. Embedded in the spider’s web, on each side of his chest, were large, grinning skulls in semi-profile, decorated with little blue crosses and stars. A large red rose sat behind the empty large, round, blackened eyes. A large blue dragon sat just over his loins, breathing red fire. There was a fierce jaguar on his right thigh and a lion, roaring and snarling on his left. Strange Aztec-like designs were interspersed all over him between and among the major designs.
His c
hest was bare, but his loins were covered with thick, curly black hair, suggesting that the rest of him was shaved regularly to better show off his artwork. His cock was dangling before him, already beginning to fill with blood. Carly could not keep her eyes off of it. She squeezed the thick object in her mouth, remembering what the valet had said about it being from a mold of the real thing. A feeling of revulsion and fear swept through her. She whined as she saw him approach her.
He bypassed her and went to a cabinet located between her and the door. He took out a bottle of clear liquid. Its fiery red label said ‘tequila’. He unscrewed the top and took a long swig. When he lowered the bottle from his mouth, he gave out a deep, satisfied sigh. He then took another, longer swig, sighed again, his face evidencing a slight wince, and he placed the bottle and cap on top of the cabinet.
He came back to her. He stood right in front of her, his body inches away. Carly could feel his body’s heat and smell the alcohol. She trembled. He reached his hands around the back of her head and loosened her gag, and then pulled it from her mouth. He tossed it aside. He took hold of her hair with his mighty right hand and whispered hoarsely, “Abre tu boca.” When her mouth was open, her lips trembling, he pressed his mouth against it. His thick, hot tongue came swirling in.
“Mmmmmmmmmm!” Carly protested, reacting without thinking about what any expression of unhappiness or resistance might produce for her. His left hand took hold of her breast and squeezed it tightly, causing her pain and making her moan. It descended her torso and slipped over her hip before sliding between her thighs. Her legs were close together, as dictated by the chain that connected her ankles, but were still wide enough so that he could get his whole hand over her mons.
The heat of his hand immediately transferred itself to her sex. She moaned again, this time from despair, because the mere contact between his hand and her sensitive labia sent a tremor of desire through her. While his tongue, like some hot, writhing creature, scoured her mouth, he let two thick fingers drift along the line of her slit until they reached its apex. They delayed there long enough to circle the fleshy covering to her button, and then descended, pressing more firmly between her now thickening outer lips.
The fingers rose and fell. The tongue continued its insistent, remorseless dance. The girl tried to suppress the feelings of need that were rising within her, but she could no more stop them than hold back the waves of the sea. She moaned twice, the first one more of a protest against the man’s use of her. The second was deep and prolonged and occasioned by the callous, knowledgeable fingers slipping deep into her tunnel and commencing a steady, purposeful, lust producing traverse.
“Oh, god, please don’t let this happen, please don’t let this happen!” Carly’s mind begged. Her tongue had joined the invader in its dance. Her breath was coming deeply. That hand, the remorseless, insistent, groping, hyperactive hand, was driving her nearer and nearer to an apotheosis that she desperately feared. And yet, an increasingly strong undertow from deep within her began to urge on the tingling, shimmering, electrical impulses that were beginning to flow throughout her body.
“No! No! No! No! I won’t let it happen! I won’t let it happen!” she pledged desperately even as her blood ran hotter and hotter and that needy demon emerged from the dark part of her soul, ready to take command.
The fingers circled her pleasure bud, pressing on it, tickling it, flicking it. Carly’s body began to shake. Each time the fingers found her clit, emerging from her steaming crevasse, the feeling of unwanted pleasures were ratcheted up a notch. Her knees grew weak. Her breasts were hard. Her breathing was deep and labored, wheezing through her nose.
Suddenly, the man broke their foul kiss. He yanked her head back and peered down into her face. His hand went into high gear, stroking, prodding, pinching rubbing, thrusting. Carly felt her need growing closer and closer to boiling. She closed her eyes. Her mouth hung open. Like the flipping of a switch, her battle against the demon was lost and she began to thrust her hips back at the hand and fingers that were tormenting her.
“¡Oh, eres una caliente! You’re a hot one! ¿Te gusta, eh? ¿Eh? You like it? Yes?”
Carly didn’t want to answer. She knew the answer would be yes. Oh, she liked it very, very much! “Oh, god! Don’t stop! Don’t stop!” she begged the man in her mind.
“¡Te hice una pregunta, puta!” the man growled, pulling tauter on her hair and shaking her head. “I asked you a question, whore! ¡Contéstame! Or I’ll tear your flesh to shreds!”
Carly hard the words and felt the harshness of the fist in her hair, but the man’s hand was going on and on and on, like it had gone on in probably a hundred cunts before, expert at teasing out the lusts of the most reluctant of females. Her mind was all confused and the voice of the man an unwelcome intrusion into her reverie.
He shook her head again violently. ¡Contéstame!” he yelled.
“¡Si! ¡Si! ¡Si, maestro! ¡Si! ¡Si!” she yelled. Anything to have him continue the manipulation of her sex.
“Say, ‘¡Quiero su mano en mi coño!’ I want your hand in my pussy! Say it loud! ¡Fuerte!”
The words kind of ran by Carly’s mind. She had to think hard to remember them. “Quero su mano…,” she yelled as loud as she could. And then she remembered the rest, even as the man began a long hard pinch of her clit, “¡Quiero su mano en mi coño, maestro!” she yelled.
The man laughed loudly. Say, “¡Soy una sucia, guarra, puta de mierda! I’m a filthy, slutty fucking whore!”
The nearness of Carly’s explosion was excruciating. She would say anything to prevent the man from stopping. The demon was in full control of her now. It would say or do anything to get to come. She tried her best to reformulate the unfamiliar words, “¡Yo soy una sucia, guarra, puta de mierda, maestro!” she called out. “Ohhhhhhhhh, god! Ohhhhhhh! Ohhhhhhhhh! Ohhhhhhhh! Please don’t stop! Please! Please!” she called out.
The man laughed again. “You must beg me to come,” he told her. Say, “¡Te lo ruego, maestro, por favor me voy a venir! I beg you master to please let me come!”
He had hold of her clit between his thumb and forefinger and was squeezing hard. The pain shot right through the girl and she squealed in anguish. But, despite the pain, or maybe, because of it, her blood was still hot and her loins burned with need. “¡Te lo ruego, maestro, por favor me voy a venir! ¡Por favor, maestro! ¡Por favor!”
“Ahhhhhhhh, you’re such a wonderful slut!” he returned, “Una guarra maravillosa. I think I’ll let you come this time.”
His hand released her clit and his fingers plunged deep within her. He began thrusting them in and out frantically. He kept his thumb over her beauty bud and was rubbing it furiously. “¡Vengate por mí, mi pequeña puta! Come for me!”
“Ahhhhhhhhh! Ohhhhhhhhhhhh! Ahhhhhhhhhhhh!” Carly bellowed. Her whole body shook. The last vestige of self-respect, her dignity, her sanity, scratched and clawed at the monstrous mountain of need that had built up in her belly in a fervent and futile effort to circumvent its emergence. And then it seemed to spill out of every pore of her body. “Oh! Oh! Oh! Oh! Oh!” she called out as the hand drove her on and on and on.
“Oh, god! Oh! Oh! Oh! Please stop! Please stop! Please! Please! Please! I can’t stand it!” she yelled. Her need had turned into a voracious beast that was consuming her from the cunt up. Her pussy hammered hard each convulsive contraction. It sent out a wave of powerful emissions to each part of her body making them vibrate and quiver, consuming her in a torrent of intolerable pleasure.
After her third body punishing orgasm, the man granted her mercy. His hand slowed, the fingers withdrew. Her heart was beating wildly and her body shuddered as her orgasms’ aftershock ripped through her again and again, until they faded away to nothing.
CHAPTER TWO
Lorenzo stepped back with a big smile. “¡Naciste para ser una puta, mi pequeña guarra!” he told her. “You were born to be a whore! But you did a lot of talking without permission, mi pequeña put
a! You are going to get a big punishment now for that. I was going to whip you anyway, just for fun, but now you’ve given me a good excuse. I’ll make sure it’s one you won’t forget”
Carly moaned with unhappiness as the man stepped behind her. She didn’t have to look. She knew the whips were there. “Oh, please don’t! Please! Please!” she thought. She cursed herself for speaking out of turn. She hadn’t been able to stop it. You would have thought that the dark man who had kidnapped her had taught her better. She pressed her lips together and whined.
Lorenzo came back in front of her. He was holding a long, flexible instrument in his hand. It looked like it was made of braided leather. It was thick at the wooden handle that had been affixed and narrowed down to a pointy tip. Carly whined again in fear.
“Have you ever seen a bull’s prick?” he asked her, his tone nonchalant.
“No, maestro,” Carly managed to eke out through her trembling lips as she eyed the fierce looking instrument.
“The bull’s prick goes way up inside its body,” Lorenzo explained. “It is held firm by a long piece of cartilage. When the bull is dispatched, the cartilage is cut out, slit down its length into three slices and then carefully braided. Once done, it is soaked in vinegary water to give it a little more stiffness. It is then oiled constantly to maintain its flexible nature. It is very effective when coaxing stupid animals like a donkey or a burro. On them, of course, with their thick skin, it is more of an annoyance than anything else, unless you really go at it. But on human flesh, it leaves deep, dark welts and hurts like the blazes. You’re going to really enjoy it!”
Tears were already flowing down the girl’s face. She wanted to beg and plead for mercy but knew that she would get none and that speaking again out of turn would only make things worse. But there was something inside her, a ball of panic and fear that was mindless of these things and kept pressing to come out. She pressed her lips together firmly, intent on keeping the pleas for forbearance inside. The effort produced a long, piteous whine. The sound seemed to please Lorenzo.
