The Pits of Passion

by Amber Flame

  The ship came to rest at harbor with a great thump and splintering of wood, then lines were thrown and pulled taut and main sails were put down. Elizabeth heard much clamor above decks and waited impatiently for Franklin to come for her. He had promised he would take her ashore before anything else. She had dressed carefully in a warm-hued green gown that Franklin had gotten from somewhere, and she knew she looked striking. The gown fit close to her bosom, its low neck showing off the swell of her breasts in an inviting way, but then it fell loosely over her bulging stomach in great folds of satin. Even pregnant she looked bewitching.

  Franklin finally came down and looked her over critically but seemed to approve. He took her arm and led her up the stairs.

  “We’ll be staying with Count Cadiz while we’re here, and he’s waiting for us at the dock. He’s a very wealthy Spaniard who has developed expansive plantations, and he’ll be buying most of my slaves. I will expect you to be especially considerate of him as his disposition has a large bearing on my profits.”

  Elizabeth was so grateful to be taken off the ship that she readily agreed. And anyway, if Count Cadiz was so wealthy, she was sure he would have impeccable manners. It would be nice to spend time with civilized people again.

  When Franklin led her across the deck and down the gangplank, she tried to pick out the Count from the throng of people that jammed the dock. There were so many people, of all sizes and colors, that she had difficulty discerning anyone at all. She did, however, have an odd feeling that several pairs of eyes were concentrating on her.

  She stepped from the gangplank on to the wooden dock and immediately met the intense stare of a score of men. Several brown-skinned natives in tattered, short pants watched her sullenly, while slaves already tamed to work on the dock leered openly. She detected the lighter skin tones of some Dutchmen, who watched her beneath blonde brows, and at the back of the crowd, towering above the others was a tall swarthy man with a black patch over one eye.

  “Count Cadiz,” she heard Franklin say, “may I present my wife, Elizabeth? Dear, this is the Count.”

  Elizabeth turned and her eyes rested on the short, portly being of Count Cadiz. He was about four feet tall, his eyes just barely clearing her rounded belly, and his olive-toned face was slashed by a black, waxed mustache that curled upwards at the ends. He wore a dark blue outfit of the best serge, and a wide ribbon of red crossed his chest, a gold medal holding it in place at his shoulder. He took the hand that hung limp at Elizabeth’s wrist and pressed it to his lips. His eyes glowed as if lit by a lantern within his hollow head.

  “Senora,” he said unctuously. She could almost see the grease shining on his black hair. He smiled at her, and there was a space between his two front teeth.

  “Count,” she returned as graciously as she could.

  “One, two, three....” said the Count.

  “We’ve had a long journey,” Franklin said, “and my poor wife as you can see, has not been feeling well. Shall we get away from the dock and all these germ-infested people?”

  “Of course,” said the Count agreeably. “My carriage is waiting. Senora?” He held out his arm for Elizabeth, who looked questioningly to Franklin. He nodded, so she laid her hand on Cadiz’s arm and allowed him to lead her. The crowd of lusting men parted reluctantly to let them through. She felt very self-conscious, as if the men strained to get close to her, their eyes piercing and their fingers itching. Someone even tried to cop a feel, but Cadiz whisked her out of the way just in time. She was greatly relieved when they gained the carriage.

  It was a beautiful carriage, of black lacquered wood with deep purple fittings and brass hardware. Cadiz handed Elizabeth up, and she sunk into the plush velvet seat, her slippers cradled in deep purple carpet. Cadiz swung up and settled himself beside her, and Franklin sat facing them. At a rap on the door by the Count, the carriage jumped forward.

  “I hope you will find my humble hospitality comfortable, “ he said to Elizabeth. “We do not have all the pleasures of the homeland, but we try to keep up appearances, even in such a remote place as Santo Domingo.”

  “I’m sure it will be fine,” Elizabeth said.

  “I have tried to make my home as I had it in Spain, and I think if you have never visited Spain, you will enjoy it.”

  The carriage ride was short, but Elizabeth was kept interested by the beautiful countryside out the window. She saw dense forests that climbed up the hillsides of the island, and rolling fields of strange crops on the flatlands. Cadiz pointed out some of the new plants to her, but the names were unfamiliar.

  Finally, the carriage turned off the dirt road and onto a shaded drive, and Elizabeth could see a large, sprawling house of red tile and white stucco walls. From the front it was unassuming, but she had an idea it was very grand and spacious. She had never known a short man yet that didn’t have delusions of grandeur.

  The driver reined in the carriage, and the three alighted. Elizabeth found herself again on the Count’s arm, and he swept her into the house with a flourish. From the doorways off the entry foyer, she could see rooms of cool white walls and black wrought iron, red velvet furniture and dark wooden tables.

  “It’s beautiful,” she breathed. Her eyes fell on a strikingly beautiful fountain in gold leaf of a cherubic boy peeing into a fishpond. The richness of it awed her.

  Just then an assembly of black-garbed people formed in front of them, and Cadiz presented his staff of maids and valets and cooks. They all bowed or curtsied to the Elliotts, but Elizabeth knew she would never remember all their names.

  “Take their baggage,” the Count instructed two of the staff, “and I will show you to your rooms personally. Come this way.”

  The oily little man led them up a grand staircase with velvet ropes looping down the banister and distinguished pictures on the walls. The more Elizabeth saw, the more impressed she was. That such great wealth could exist in such a primitive place was beyond her.

  “Senor Elliott, this is your room,” he said grandly. He flung open a door into a large, exquisitely furnished room of royal blue and bold, with dark, heavy furniture. Cadiz pointed out the dry sink and bathtub and the dressing room to one side.

  “Through this door,” said the Count, “is your lovely wife’s room.” He opened the connecting door into the next room, done predominantly in red and gold, with a touch of black. A huge crystal chandelier hung from the ceiling and emitted a dazzling display of prismic light.

  “I hope you approve,” the Spanish midget said.

  “Oh, it’s lovely!” Elizabeth cried. “But surely this is not just a guest room. It’s too grand.”

  “Well, actually, this is like an extra playroom, but it’s yours now. And my name is Franco, not Shirley.”

  “Thank you, Senor,” she said sincerely. “Your hospitality is touching.”

  So was Cadiz, but Elizabeth was too excited to notice.

  “If you should care to freshen up after your long voyage, I’ll have hot water brought up. Then, if you like, I’ll show you my plantation.”

  Elizabeth busied herself looking about her room while a dark skinned maid brought hot water up in buckets. A ceramic tub was already set up behind a screen against one wall, and the girl filled it quickly. Elizabeth was surprised to see a large mirror on the wall, since she was not used to seeing herself bathe, but the idea

  rather excited her.

  When the girl had left for the last time, Elizabeth pulled off her gown and slid into the hot water. It crept up on her skin, so hot it felt cold, and made her flesh red. She found the scented soap and a cloth and began to wash.

  For come reason she had the uncomfortable feeling that she was being watched, but she looked around and could see no one. Of course, the screen blocked her view of the entire room, but she still couldn’t see anyone. She watched herself in the mirror to try to ease that feeling, and occupied herself by washing. It was amazing how sensuously she could move her body when she wanted to, and she lathered her slender
limbs and cupped suds around her firm breasts. She ignored the fact that her breasts rested on her protruding stomach. Instead, she pretended she was willow thin again, and she arraigned the suds around her body provocatively, imagining Benjamin could see her.

  She almost forgot about her feeling of being watched, but suddenly she heard a strangled cry, muffled from somewhere past the wall, and then the mirror she faced shook in its frame. She sunk low in the tub and looked anxiously about, but once the sound subsided it was quiet again. She heard no other noises and finally finished washing, rang for the maid and prepared for dinner.

  Just as the last crimson rays of the sun flooded the horizon, Franklin knocked on Elizabeth’s door and entered without waiting for permission. Elizabeth had just sent the maid away and stood waiting petulantly. Franklin had never seen her so beautiful.

  Her host had provided a sea-green velvet gown that was caught just below her breasts by a threaded-pink ribbon. The décolletage was low, showing the roundness of her full breasts, and tiny pink-cast seed pearls embroidered the neckline. From the shoulders, the sleeves fell full length to her wrists in a graceful bell-shape, the cuffs also touched with seed pearls. Her hair had been artfully arranged in shimmering golden curls with tiny green and pink velvet bows tied throughout. She was a vision of loveliness.

  “I’ve never seen you look so beautiful,” he said.

  She cast her eyes down demurely and allowed Franklin to stand in the sight of her beauty. For a few brief seconds, he simply stood and drank in the loveliness of her as a dying man drank water. Then he crossed the room with sprinting steps and took her in his arms.

  “We don’t have to go down to dinner,” he said huskily in her ear. “I’ll send a maid down saying we’re too tired from our journey. We can just stay here and,” he kissed her neck and throat, “practice our African delights.”

  “But Franklin,” Elizabeth said, “I thought we had to be very considerate of the Count. You said the sale of your slaves depended on it.”

  “That’s true,” Franklin said sourly. “Well, then, we’ll just save it for later.” He pressed hot kisses on the swelling roundness of her full breasts, slipping a tongue in between them. “It will be all the better for having to wait.”

  They went downstairs arm in arm and Franklin led the way to the huge dining room. The heavy oaken table was set with beautiful Spanish china and crystal and candles burned in several wrought-iron sconces on the walls. The table was set for three, one at either end and one on the side very close to the head.

  “Ahh,” said the Count. Elizabeth had not seen him, but he had been standing behind a bar mixing drinks and the bar was taller than he was. “What would you care to drink? I have some fine Spanish wine, or would you like a Shirley Temple, perhaps?”

  “Wine is fine,” Franklin said for both of them. The Count poured two more glasses and handed them to his guests. Elizabeth could smell the heady aroma even before she drank.

  “Dinner will be served right away,” the Count Said. “Here, Senor Elliott, please sit here.” The Count gestured to the chair at the far end of the table. “And you, Senora Elliott, this is your seat.” Lovingly he placed Elizabeth in the chair close to his own. She took her seat and wondered at the way his hands trailed over her bare shoulders. She thought perhaps the wine was getting to him.

  When the count sat down, he almost disappeared behind his plate but then reappeared. Elizabeth chanced to peek at his chair and saw he had missed his telephone books the first time. He rang a petite, solid silver bell and in no time, servants had placed silver plates in front of the diners, piled high with aromatic food. Elizabeth found she was famished and the sight and smell of fresh cooked food made her mouth water. As soon as the Count picked up his fork, she dove into her dinner.

  “I trust you find my humble abode comfortable,” the Count said as they ate. His gleaming black eyes fastened on Elizabeth’s bodice and hung on like a terrier.

  “It’s lovely,” Elizabeth said shyly. The Count’s perusal of her charms embarrassed her, but she remembered Franklin’s admonishing her to be considerate. She wouldn’t want to deny Franklin the sale of his slaves.

  “I’m glad you like it,” the Count said smugly. “We try to pride ourselves on our culture and bearing, although sometimes it’s difficult with all the savages about. They cling so tenaciously to their magic and voodoo.”

  “Voodoo?” Elizabeth said with wide eyes. That was a vaguely familiar word to her although she wasn’t sure what it meant. It conjured up images of terrifying painted faces and bloody knives and screams in the darkness. It gave her the same feeling as thinking about childbirth.

  “Yes,” said the Count dramatically. “Voodoo. They practice it still, although we have tried to squelch it. The heathens are very persistent, though. They have caverns back in the interior of the island where they have human sacrifices and all sorts of abominable rites. It’s really quite terrifying.”

  At his description, the color in Elizabeth’s face drained all the way down to her tippy-toes, except no one could see there. A sickening vision of a dirty, jagged knife disemboweling her unborn baby almost made her barf.

  “Agghh,” she said.

  “I beg your pardon?” the Count asked.

  She fainted.

  In a flash, Franklin had jumped up and picked Elizabeth up from the plate where she had fallen. He brushed the mashed potatoes from her nose and cradled her in his arms.

  “Oh, my!” said the Count. “I’m afraid I have been too graphic for the lady. I’m so sorry.”

  “That’s all right,” Franklin said with gritted teeth. “I’ll take her to her room. She probably just needs rest.”

  “Yes, I’m sure that’s all it is. She’ll feel better after a nap.”

  Franklin carried Elizabeth upstairs and laid her carefully on her bed. He felt he should loosen her clothing so she could breathe easier, but her dress was already open almost to her nipples. Instead, he pulled the tiny pink ribbon from beneath her breasts and laid it aside.

  She was still very pale, and a light sweat had broken out on her forehead. Franklin thought perhaps a bit of cool water might rouse her, but he looked about and saw no pitcher amid the opulence of the room. Cursing beneath his breath, he left her to go downstairs and get some. Unbeknownst to him, the Count watched eagerly behind his two-way mirror, and as soon as Franklin left, he tiptoed into the room. He stood over the sleeping beauty, gloating in all his four-foot finery.

  “Just wait, mi amore,” he said aloud. “Tonight you will be mine.” He chuckled when he imagined her in the black stockings and garter belt he had, wearing black spike heels and ordering him to do her bidding. How he would love being her slave! And what a beautiful mistress she would make! He wondered if he had enough batteries for his vibrator. Deciding he should go check, he tiptoed out of the room through the secret door that connected their chambers. Just then, Franklin returned.

  Taking husbandly care, he dipped a handkerchief into the cool water and dabbed it on Elizabeth’s dry lips. The moisture seeped between the pretty red buds and she swallowed. Then, breathing quietly, she opened her eyes.

  “Oh. Franklin,” she said. “What happened? The last thing I remember was eating dinner.”

  “You fainted,” he answered. “But don’t worry, you can stay here and rest for the rest of the evening. I don’t want you to outdo yourself when it’s so close to your time.”

  As if to make the point, her unborn child kicked Elizabeth’s lungs viciously and she gasped for breath.

  “Yes, it is close, isn’t it?” she said.

  “Getting closer everyday, my love. Soon my son will be here. But for now, just rest. I’ll go down and pacify the Count. I’m sure he was looking forward to showing off his mansion to us.”

  When Franklin left, Elizabeth lay quietly and tried to remember why she fainted. And she wondered when Franklin had begun speaking Spanish. Or had she heard him call her, “amore?” Now she couldn’t remember and it
all seemed fuzzy. Deciding to forget the whole thing, she dropped off to sleep.

  Sometime later, she was awakened by a soft, brushing sound, like palm fronds on a wall or bare feet across a wood floor. She tried to rouse herself but she had slept so deeply that it was hard to swim up out of the depths of it.

  Suddenly a huge hand clapped down over her mouth, and she almost choked on her smothered scream. Rough hands pulled her from the bed and a dirty piece of cloth was tied around her head, blinding her to her attackers. A gag was shoved into her mouth, and she was prodded roughly along without fully understanding, she was pushed and pulled out the window and carried down a wrought iron lattice to the ground. Once there, her abductors rushed her along as fast as she could stumble.

  It had all happened so fast that she had barely time to catch her breath, much less get hysterical. The puzzling thing was that her kidnappers had made no sound whatsoever, but had ensured total silence throughout her abduction. She had not the first clue as to who it might be.

  Her unslippered feet stumbled along on the ground and she knew she was trampling the hem of her gown. She had begun to perspire in the warmth of the tropic evening and her skin was damp. The senses that surrounded her, coupled by her blindness made her almost dizzy, and if it weren’t for her captors she might have fallen.

  Suddenly she was stopped by an iron hand on her arm, bruising her tender flesh through her clothing. For the first time, she heard low guttural voices, but couldn’t understand what they were saying. They seemed to be discussing what they were going to do, for several different voices entered in the conversation. Finally, a decision was made and Elizabeth found herself being picked up bodily and was deposited on the back of an ass. It was the first time she had ever sat on anyone else’s ass. With no help from her, the animal began to move forward, and she clung helplessly to its scrawny mane. She heard the muffled sound of other hoof beats on the hard ground, so she assumed there was a train of beasts carrying her and her guards somewhere.

  The donkey moved slowly but insistently. The clip clop of his hooves sounded in her ears, then grew quieter as they moved on grass. Then foliage--great smooth leaves and narrow, wispy tendrils--brushed her face and startled her first one way, then another. She knew they were entering the jungle.