by Paul Blades
Carly caught herself just in time from saying, “Si, maestro,” and instead issued a sad, “Yarp.”
In a flash, Vincenzo’s switch went flying and caught her across her back. She screamed and collapsed to her elbows. He struck her two more times on her buttocks, sending fierce, fiery messages across them while she wailed. “¡Fuerte! ¡Siempre fuerte, perra!” he shouted at her. “Always loud, bitch! ¡Ahora inténtalo otra vez! Now, again! ¿Entiende?”
“Yarp!” Carly shouted dismally.
He paused for a moment. Then he said calmly “Eso es mejor. That’s better. Sigueme.”
Carly followed him sadly down the hall. Its floor was made of brightly polished maple and had a bright blue rug down its middle. The walls were painted white with pinkish rococo trim and were lined with side tables with bright bouquets of flowers in chiseled glass vases on them. There were large paintings of Mexican country scenes. As they were going down the hall, a pair of maids, dressed like the two Carly had already seen, stepped out of one of the bedrooms holding soiled sheets and towels. They stopped when they saw Vincenzo and bowed their heads.
A little further down a big man, bordering on obese, with a thick, black Sancho Panzo moustache and wearing a white shirt over dark blue denims emerged from another. He had behind him, on a leash, an unhappy looking, young, brown skinned girl, naked with her wrists behind her back. She wore a collar and bracelets on her ankles like the maids and, as if it were a uniform, a long, silky, black ponytail.
“¡Buenas dias, Vincenzo!” the man blurted out, smiling happily.
“Buenas dias, Seňor Malicante,” Vincenzo returned. He said something else in Spanish that Carly took to be a question as to whether he had had a good night. The man gave out a laugh and returned something rapidly in Spanish, yanking on the leash. Carly was looking at the girl’s face and a cloud passed over it as if the night had not been such a good one for her.
“¿Esta es la nueva perra?” the man asked, looking down at Carly. His voice was deep and gravelly.
“Si,” Vincenzo replied civilly. He turned and looked down at her, who was looking up at him. His whip flashed again, striking Carly across her shoulders. She screamed again and let out a forlorn sob.
“¡Ojos siempre al suelo!” he yelled fiercely. “Eyes always to the ground!”
Carly cast her eyes down quickly. Tears were flowing from them and she watched them drip on the dark blue rug beneath her. She knew that her body was covered by bright red welts and lacerations and that they conveyed to anyone who saw them that as far as she was concerned, anything goes.
The big man squatted down. “No llores, perrita,” he said soothingly as he rubbed her head. Don’t cry. Carly gave out a sob. He played with her floppy ears and then reached down and took hold of a breast. It rested heavily in his hand and he gave it a gentle squeeze. “Muy buena,” he said admiringly.
Vincenzo said something in Spanish and the man laughed. He rose to his full height and said something in reply that made Vincenzo chuckle. They exchanged salutations and Vincenzo began to proceed again down the hall. Without needing to be told, Carly docilely followed him, her tear filled eyes on the rug below her. The man went the other way, towing the bound young girl behind him.
They came to an open doorway on the left. It led to a narrow set of wooden stairs. Vincenzo turned and began to climb them. Carly followed close behind, as fast as she could. It was difficult on her hands and knees and the edges of the treaders cut into her shins.
It was a long way to the top. All of the rooms on the second floor had tall ceilings. When they got to the top there was a little landing. Just past it was a wooden wall painted a light, faded olive green with a door centered in it with a large deadbolt lock. It was the kind that could be easily opened from one side with a little lever, but needed a key on the other. It was set so anyone could get past it on this side, but would remain imprisoned on the other if they didn’t have a key.
Vincenzo held the door opened for her. She crawled past him and waited on the other side for him to follow. He pulled the door tight behind him when he entered and Carly heard the unmistakable sound of the lock being engaged.
They were in a wide, long hallway. The walls of the hallway were of the same painted wood as the doors. Every 20’ or so was a small vent for the air-conditioning. Even so, the area was stifling and the air thick. There were long fluorescent lights down the middle. On either side were small rooms. Each room had a heavy metal screened door with a lock on it. They were all open. As they walked down the hallway, Carly glanced into one and saw a small dresser with a mirror over it and a narrow bed. She realized that this must be where the maids slept. When they weren’t being used overnight by callous fat men, she thought.
The floor was dark stained polished wood. There was no runner down it. There were four rooms on each side. At the end of the hallway was another doorway. Carly could see in to it and realized that it was a bathroom. On the other side was a wide open space. As they traversed the hallway, Carly thought that she heard the sounds of a woman sobbing. It got louder as they proceeded. When she looked into the space on her left, she realized that she had been right.
There was one of the young brown skinned girls there. She was naked and sitting on a construction that looked like a little building. All around her were cages and whipping posts and other contraptions that looked like they produced excruciating pain. The roof came to a narrow point that ran the length of it. The girl’s ankles were chained to rings in the side of the building, about a foot off the floor. Her hands were raised up behind her back, connected to the ring in the back of her collar. Another chain loosely connected her collar to a hook in the ceiling.
The girl was gagged. She was sobbing. At first Carly couldn’t figure out why, but then, aghast, realized that the point of the roof was lodged between the girl’s nether lips and that her weight was fully on it. She cringed at the thought and involuntarily brought her thighs together.
When the girl saw Vincenzo, her sobs grew more intense. Vincenzo stood there quietly for a moment taking in the spectacle. After a few moments he approached the girl and, standing on his tip toes, removed her gag. The girl bit her lip, her face full of strain, as if she knew that she had no right to speak first. Carly heard Vincenzo say something sternly to her in Spanish. The girl gave a pleading, insistent reply as if she were assuring him that whatever sin she had committed would not happen again. Vincenzo was unrelenting and barked something at her, sounding annoyed. The girl broke out into sobs again and blurted out in a tortured voice, “¡Por favor, maestro! ¡Por favor! ¡No lo haré otra vez! ¡Se lo prometo!”
It didn’t take a Rhodes Scholar to figure out that whatever she had done she was promising not to do it again. Vincent snapped something back dismissive in nature. He stepped back up to the girl and ordered her to open her mouth. Tears flowing down her face, the girl complied. Vincenzo rammed the gag back in and fastened it to the back of her head. The gag had a large leather shield on the front that covered the lower portion of the girl’s face. She began to sob again. Vincenzo sparked his switch into action, striking the poor girl across her plump, grapefruit sized breasts. She jumped and gave out a muted scream.
“¡Cállate! ” Vincenzo boomed. He barked something out to her in Spanish. The girl nodded her head, bringing her sobs down to a muted whine, her anguished, tear filled eyes peering over the shield across her face.
“Bueno,” Vincenzo muttered. Then to Carly he said, “Vamos,” and waived his hand at her. She followed him into the bathroom.
It was a large room tiled in dingy white. There were fluorescent lights on the ceiling. Along the back wall there were several benches and hooks for towels along with four sinks. On the other side there were four shower heads mounted on long hoses that were connected to the wall. There was a large window high up covered by a heavy metal grating. The window was frosted and covered with heavy dirt and grime, admitting only a modicum of light.
At the far end, near the
last shower, which was on, a naked maid stood, her back to the windowed wall. She was wet and shivering. Her hands were gathered just below her chin and her shoulders were drawn inwards. Her eyes were downcast. It seemed that just the sound of Vincenzo’s voice was enough to send the girls into a state of terror.
Vincenzo snapped a question at her. The girl gave a long, tremulous response. This seemed to satisfy him. He gave her a sharp order. She nodded fervently and stepped back into the shower, grabbing a bar of soap from a dish connected to the wall and proceeded to wash herself hurriedly.
Carly figured that the girl had been used by one of the guests overnight and had been released a short while ago. She had come up here to clean herself of the saliva and spume of her possessor. How she was to get back downstairs after she was done, Carly couldn’t figure out, but realized that there must be some system for it since she doubted that any of the girls had keys.
He brought her to the middle of the room and ordered her to straddle a drain in the floor. “¡Mea! Piss!” he ordered her. It was an order Carly was relieved to get, although peeing over a drain doggie fashion was not what she had in mind. She spread her thighs wide and released a fierce torrent. The feeling of relief was exquisite.
When she was done, Vincenzo waived her over to the second shower head. He went to the side where there was a cabinet painted in glossy white. He opened it and took out a tarnished steel bucket, a large sponge and a bottle of soap. He dropped something else in the bucket that she couldn’t see. He brought everything over and set them down next to her.
“Special soap for you, putita,” he said. “To keep your pretty skin nice and soft.”
He walked over to the front of the room and stepped out of his shiny, black patent leather shoes. He removed his black socks and stuffed them in the shoes. Then he removed his little jacket and his white shirt and hung them on a hook. His pants followed and a pair of checkered, silk boxer shorts.
When he turned back to Carly, she could see that his chest was well muscled, something that had been disguised by his loose fitting shirt and jacket. On his chest was a tattoo of a skull with crossed pistols behind it, all in blue. His cock was loose and long and, unlike Lorenzo’s, cut. His legs looked strong. He came over to her and removed the headgear that supported her floppy ears and brought it back to the front of the room, putting it on the bench where he had laid his switch.
He returned and turned on the shower holding his hand under the streaming water until he thought it warm enough and then calling her closer. He removed the shower head from the wall and proceeded to run water all over her body, from her rear to her head. Then he squirted some soap into the bucket and ran the water into it, creating a foamy broth. He dipped the sponge into it and crouched down next to her.
Carly stood stock still on her hands and knees while he cleaned her. At first the water made her wounds burn, but that quickly passed. He ran the sponge over her back and rear and up and down the backs of her thighs. He did over her shoulders and down her arms. He reached underneath her and soaped up her dangling breasts and her chest and belly. He ordered her to spread her legs and he did her slit, making sure that he pressed the sponge hard against it, and the inside of her thighs. He washed the crack of her ass, concentrating on that little circle, and then reached back and did each of her feet and between the toes. He had her lift one hand and then the other and washed between her fingers.
He kept on placing the sponge back into the bucket and bringing it back, ensuring that every part of her was well lathered. He even made her raise her knees and did them. Last, he did her face, telling her first to close her eyes and mouth. He handled her coolly, without emotion, with a full sense of his rights and her lack of them. She could feel his strength as he placed a hand on her here and there to balance himself.
When he was done he plopped the sponge back into the bucket and turned on the water again. He rinsed her thoroughly. The water was warm and comforting. That man, her kidnapper, he had washed her too. Her body seemed to be more other people’s business than her own. She thought of that last time he had washed her; was it only yesterday?
He had been almost tender with her. She had thought that maybe something was possible between them at that moment for some crazy reason, disregarding the fact, for an instant, that he was her kidnapper. And now she was here. There was little chance of her feeling any warmth towards her new owner or his minion. Blackjack had been cruel, but his cruelty was personal, intimate. Not like these men. To them she was only a body and a mind meant to suffer humiliation and pain as they saw fit to mete it out and to exercise just enough volition so as to motor her from place to place and follow orders. A coldness went through her as she realized that this would be her fate for a long, long time.
Vincenzo turned off the water. Carly thought that he was done, but he dipped his hand into the bucket and removed a black, bulbous thing with a long, tapered spigot on the end. He dipped the spigot into the water and squeezed the bulb and released it, letting it fill up with soapy water. Going behind her, he ran his free hand over her coosh several times and then she felt his fingers spreading her nether lips. Something pierced her and slid inside.
A moment later warmth suffused her canal. She felt it dribbling out and then she felt it again. He was making sure that her crevasse was clean and fresh. He then had her move closer to a drain, back up to it. She couldn’t see what he was doing behind her, but a few seconds later she felt the spigot slide into her rear portal. Then a strange warmth suffused her bowel. It made her stomach turn slightly sour and she moaned.
“¡Cállate!” he barked. Shut up! “Don’t let out the water until I tell you, perra,” he said sharply. “Or you’ll trade places with that coño outside.”
Carly held her sounds while he slowly filled her bowel with soapy water. She lost count of how many times he squeezed the bulb empty into her rear, but she thought it was at least four or five. He placed his hand on her belly underneath her and pressed on it. Carly’s stomach turned and she felt an intense need to release the fluid he had put inside her. She looked up and saw that the maid had gone, thankful that there wasn’t anyone around to see what he was doing to her. He apparently didn’t feel she was full enough since he squirted three more bulbs full of water in her. Then he sat back on his heels and tossed the bulb back into the bucket.
She waited anxiously for the order to evacuate. Her lower stomach was so bloated that she was nauseous. She focused intently on her anal ring, holding it closed tightly. She believed him about the little house outside. In fact, she knew deep in her bones that sooner or later she would be sitting on it. It made her blood curdle. She had seen what suffering it caused. “Hold it! Hold it! Hold it!” she kept telling herself. It seemed that he had her wait a full two minutes or so. When he thought sufficient time had passed to dissolve her fecal matter, he told her, “¡Agachate! Squat! ¡Abre tus muslos! Spread your thighs!”
She complied, praying for the order to release her bowels. Then came the order, “¡Deficate!” She knew what that meant, or at least she hoped she did. She released her sphincter and the water came streaming out. She could hear it splashing against the tiles. The ache in her belly subsided and she released a long, deep sigh.
When it had all come out, he spat out, “¡Regresa abajo! Get back down. We’ll do another one, otra vez. I don’t know when the last time you took a shit so it’s better to be safe than sorry. Mejor estar seguro que lamentar. ”
He repeated the procedure. First he warmed up the water in the bucket until it was almost hot and added more soap. He filled her more, much more it seemed, and waited longer. Carly felt like she was going to burst into tears. Her lower belly felt like it was tied into a knot. The warm water, so much warmer than her insides, felt foreign and strange. She began to panic when her wait seemed to go past three minutes. She had a vision of herself on that hellish contraption. She could feel it start to dribble out. “Please don’t! Please don’t!” she thought frantically.
&
nbsp; Then she heard the order, “¡Agachate!” She rose to a squat and spread her thighs. “¡Deficate!” he finally said after making her wait a few agonizing seconds.
This time everything came out in a gush. She was so humiliated she wanted to disappear. He waited until everything had drained out. Her bowel felt like it had been squeezed, but her belly felt tight, actually kind of nice.
“¡Regresa abajo!” he ordered and she got back down on her hands and knees. She was frightened that he was going to do it again, but he stepped over to the shower head, turned the water on and proceeded to rinse her back side, her pussy and the inside of her thighs thoroughly. Then he took out the sponge and washed everything, soaping it all up and rinsed again. He had her move forward and he washed all her output down the drain. He poured the soapy water out after it and let the water from the shower run into it for a minute or so. Then, satisfied, he remounted the showerhead on the wall.
He found a towel and dried her thoroughly. He made her wait while he squeezed out the sponge and brought it and the soap back to the cabinet. When he returned, he had something in his hand, but Carly, turned the other way, didn’t see what it was. To her surprise, he ran the water again and, when it was hot, put six inches or so in the bucket. Then he knelt down next to her. He took a scoop of water out of the bucket and poured it onto her short, reddish hair, mixing it about so that it was all wet. The next thing he did was to apply some kind of lather to it. Carly thought that he was washing her hair, but that’s not what it was.
“En tus ancas,” he ordered, “Kneel back on you haunches.” Carly knelt back so that her rear rested on her heels. “Hold still,” he spat out curtly. “No te muevas, or I’ll beat you till you bleed,” he said. He placed one hand on her neck behind her head, holding it still. He was slightly behind her on her right side. A second later, she felt something scraping across her skull. She knew what it was at once. He was shaving her head!
