by D. P. Adamov
“Yes,” Lucinda spat out as her fury overruled her pain. “Yes, you prick!”
“Wrong answer,” he announced again and continued with the spanking.
Lucinda’s tail section was now glowering. He could sense the heat himself as he whapped her all the harder, feeling the flesh boil. The pain must have been excruciating, but what was this when compared to the goring he had taken? Why couldn’t she understand this? What was wrong with her? He was not the problem. He wasn’t the one at fault.
“One last set of spankings,” he told her. “Then you can get dressed and we’re going out to eat.”
“Fuck you!” Lucinda shouted.
Again, Garza delivered a series of hard alternating slaps, listening to the whacking sound as he connected with her. Lucinda again howled and blithered unintelligible curses, but these had no effect on him or his desire to stop his attack.
“I live! I live! I live!”
Finally, he stopped, as he was completely exhausted. Adding insult to injury, he did not penetrate the hair covered hole that was so visible with Lucinda bent over with her ass facing toward him. Instead, he gave himself a quick set of jerks and erupted into the air.
“You bastard!” Lucinda screamed at him. “Fuck you! We’re done!”
Without bothering to dress, she did the incredible, running stark naked out of the hotel room and into the hallway, slamming the door behind her.
“And where do you think you’re going!” he called after her. “You won’t get far like that!”
Rising, he put on his robe and thought of what further punishment Lucinda needed when she realized she’d forgotten her clothes and returned. The belt? The hair brush? A lint remover? There were many possibilities.
“Bitch…”
There was a knock at the door. Expecting either Lucinda or hotel security, he opened it and was surprised to find neither there.
“Don Manolo Garza? Matador de novillos toros?”
There was a man he didn’t recognize standing before him. He was middle aged and wore a cloth cap over his head, like many bullfighters and fans. He also wore dark glasses, which looked ridiculous in a hotel at night.
“Yes,” Manolo answered. “And you are…”
“Satan,” came the casual reply.
“Satan?”
The figure nodded.
“I’ve got a deal for you.”
Manolo looked at him with obvious reluctance. What mental institution had this fool escaped from?
“Satan? A deal?”
The intruder again nodded.
“I can save your life, but if I do, I want you to make a deal with me.”
Manolo placed his hand below the bathrobe, feeling where the scar from the massive goring had been.
“A deal? I suppose you want my soul and you want me to sign a contract in blood?”
The stranger shook his head in the negative.
“Then what do you want?”
The devil smiled.
“I want you to kill Gaditano.”
Manolo was taken aback by this.
“You don’t want me to sell you my soul? You want me to kill a bull?”
The devil nodded in the affirmative once more.
“Hey, don’t blame me. This is your fucking dream, not mine.”
Manolo Garza opened his eyes to find himself in a Hermosillo hospital room. What he had just experienced had indeed been a bizarre dream, but now he was awake, though still quite badly wounded.
“I live,” he whispered, gazing up at the ceiling.
His eyes took on a glaze and an animalistic snarl crossed his lips as a new vow came to him.
“Death to Gaditano.”
Chapter Six
Lucinda sat in the hotel room of the Hotel Cesar in Tijuana, staring at the new pink and gold suit of lights draped across the chair. A year had passed and times had changed for them. Manolo had mentioned his strange dream in the hospital, and oddly enough things had worked out much like he had envisioned them. As a pair, they were quickly engaged, but long before, they had become lovers. They had each accepted this as their destiny and were married in a ceremony at the rodeo ring in Agua Prieta rather than a church.
The goring had made Manolo Garza famous overnight, as news of a young man being badly injured on a ranch and coming through made the public want to see him. The internet had seen to that.
Even before he was released, the retired banderillero who had helped save Manolo’s life in the truck that awful day, compressing the wound and holding him steady had come to visit alongside Eliseo Manzano himself.
The banderillero’s name was Rafael Gonzalez, not Rafael Something-or-other as Manolo had called him behind his back, and he offered the recuperating aspirant a contract. Manolo now had a manager.
There was, however, something else odd in the conversation, not with his new representative, but the bull breeder. Manolo had been emphatic about him saving Gaditano for down the road.
Even stranger behind the scenes was a superstitious ritual Manolo had developed. He somehow thought that giving Lucinda a spanking in one form or another before a bullfight would bring good luck.
She had done some reading in the past and found how other bullfighters had their peculiar quirks. Carlos Arruza thought purple and gold costumes brought bad luck, because he had received three major gorings while wearing this shade. The last of which was in Colombia, where like Manolo, they had to make a mad dash to the hospital to save his life. El Gallo, on the other hand, insisted green brought bad luck, as did the American, Walter De La Brosse.
The spanking thing was unique and a ritual never spoken about to the reporters. It was also something she hated.
It was questionable how this absurd rite would bring luck for anyone, for Manolo had given her that impromptu lesson in discipline during their training session and the following day had come within a pussy hair’s length of getting killed.
The logic?
Manolo insisted he had survived.
Aside from this and her refusal to ever perform oral sex still left them as spicy hot lovers in the bed. Or the shower. Or the floor.
After a very short and in demand career as a novillero or aspirant, Manolo had taken the alternative, a ritual where he reached the highest rank in the profession. De La Torre, who had been at the Manzano ranch as well, bestowed the honors, where a man from Juarez named Teodoro Toledo served a witness. There was nothing spectacular to the ceremony. The men exchanged handshakes and capes, then Manolo was off to fight the full sized four year old bulls as a matador de toros, rather than the three year old novillos.
Clearly, he had arrived.
In rapid succession after leaving the hospital and training himself back into shape, Manolo had scored a series of triumphs. His novillero days were behind him, but so were afternoons leaving on the shoulders of the crowd in Tijuana, Guadalajara, Durango, Nogales, Juarez, Nuevo Laredo, Piedras Negras, and a number of other locations, leading right up to Plaza Mexico. It was in this gigantic punchbowl of a bullring that he cut ears and tail from both his bulls, and there he received the alternative shortly afterward.
He was able to afford his own car now. He also purchased several new suits of light, like the one before him.
Lucinda didn’t always come to the bullfights with Manolo. In truth, she did not like them that much and never had. It was also too hard on the nerves to sit in the stands and watch her lover risking death. Thus, if she was with him, they spanked and fucked in the hotel. If not, they did it in Agua Prieta before he left for the event.
Manolo had also informed her he was looking at apartments in Mexico City to be closer to the interior, but he had also spoken to Mario Soro, who owned the bullring in Nogales, which was the closest to Agua Prieta. She’d overheard the conversation about how two years from now, he wanted to rent the ring outright to promote his own event. Something was up that he wasn’t explaining. This was also the closest bullring, suspiciously enough, to the Eliseo Manzano ranch.
Yes, Manolo had survived his ordeal and prospered greatly from it, but he had been left scarred. It was not the scarring of his abdomen where Gaditano’s horn had entered that mattered. She and he were the only ones to see that now. It was a deeper scar, invisible to most, leading to an overwhelming hatred for a calf on a ranch that like him was growing. Behind the scenes, in a world as secretive as their spanking, he was preparing for a showdown. Clint Eastwood versus Gian Maria Volonte in Fistful of Dollars. A grand duel to the death at the end of a film. That was what Manolo was planning, and she was sure of it.
The long day of revenge was a phrase Manolo muttered from time to time, and while he never elaborated, it was discomforting to think of what he meant.
Manolo wanted to kill Gaditano for what the beast had done to him, though he should have perhaps been grateful. The goring was the springboard that made the Garza name famous.
Now they were in Tijuana, where Manolo was facing bulls of the Eliseo Manzano ranch again, though Gaditano was not yet one of them. The two alternates on the card were De La Torre and Tijuana’s own Fernando Callao.
Lucinda prayed Manolo would draw the best lot of bulls. Every sorteo filled her with fear for she knew, even if Manolo denied it, he was by no means invincible. That had been shown to anyone who would take notice back in Hermosillo. The incident, however, seemed like ages ago.
Manolo had a string of triumphs in Tijuana and had become a major draw there, known not only for suicidal courage with the capes, but for deadly skill with the sword. He was a killer of bulls in the truest sense of the word.
It was just a short time past noon, and Manolo had gone to the sorteo, where the numbers of the bulls were placed in a hat and the bullfighters drew lots to see who should fight what. It was a custom going back decades.
“This is like picking your own executioner,” Manolo had once described it. “It’s a perverse lottery. A bingo game where the prize could be death.”
He would be back soon. Then she knew what would happen.
Sex games were one thing, but the spanking system went beyond that. These were real and not foreplay. Usually, Manolo pulled some offense out of the air that she had done to deserve being punished like a little girl, leaving her to wonder if he had gone partially insane in that Hermosillo hospital. Her love for him stood stronger than this quirk, however, leading her to accept things, though she was admittedly growing tired of the same. With Manolo fighting every week, that meant a weekly spanking or paddling. Her ass couldn’t take it much more. It was a wonder she didn’t have scars or calluses on her buttocks.
This was bad enough, but there was a deeper fear than the dread she felt at knowing a spanking was coming. There was the alarming insecurity of considering the obvious. Her husband was losing his mind. If Gaditano had not taken his life, he had taken a part of his sanity.
This day she would grudgingly comply with Manolo’s demand when he came back to the hotel, but she did have an ace up her sleeve to use against him.
She was wearing only a long nightshirt, with no bra or panties beneath. There was no point, as she knew the minute Manolo entered the hotel room, this would be coming off.
Their relationship was indeed a strange one, but her fixation with Manolo equaled the obsession he had with Gaditano.
“Manolo?”
The key turned and her lover entered, wearing a dark suit and tie. He looked like the big shot at some corporation rather than a matador de toros.
“I’ve got the best bulls,” he announced. “Let’s go before we lose any more time.”
Obediently, Lucinda arose and peeled the nightshirt over her head, so she was stark naked in the room. Manolo caught sight of her nudity and smiled in wanton lust.
“Give me a minute,” he announced. “I’m ready.”
It took him less than that amount of time to take off his own clothes and stand naked in kind. His arousal was obvious, but it was not this Lucinda’s eyes fell upon. It was the goring scar that caught her attention, reminding her that no matter how perfect things seemed, death was never far off.
“Let’s do some things and then you can get your whipping,” he ordered.
It was then Lucinda pulled her move that she hoped would avoid any punishment.
“How about if I finally agree to suck your dick instead of a spanking?”
Manolo was caught off guard, but gave no reply. Instead, he pulled her toward the bed and adjusted her downward on her back. It was then he spread her legs for her and grinned.
“It’s customary for bullfighters not to eat before a bullfight in case of a stomach goring or anesthesia for a surgery needing to be applied,” he proclaimed. “However, I have an idea first.”
There was no doubting what was on the menu as Manolo dropped to his knees and placed his mouth against Lucinda’s parted pussy lips. She moaned in pleasure as the first lick snaked upward, covering bottom to top, then went inward to tease the tunnel within.
“Oh, yes! Yes!”
Lucinda was starting to cry out even in the opening moments of stimulation. She brought her hands to her own breasts and toyed with them; twisting her nipples and feeling them come erect.
“Yes. Yes. Yes.”
Manolo’s face was buried beneath Lucinda’s thighs, nearly lost within her cunt lips. From the initial motions, she felt the surge of exquisite sensations flooding her.
“Oooooo. Oh, yes.”
Her words came as pants matching the movements below her.
“Yes. Oh, yes. Yes. Oh.”
Manolo’s tongue had a life and personality of its own, doing a dance within her vagina. He had not yet gone to the clit, but continued to lick and slurp within her increasingly wet love canal. If she finally had to break down and take the matador’s tool in her mouth in exchange for this and gain reprieve from an ass beating, the feelings rocketing through her right now would make it worthwhile.
“Oh, yes…”
She started thrusting her hips up and down, so she moved in timing with Manolo’s mouth. This increased the feelings of wonder that cascaded through her and she groaned a solid release of passion.
“Oooooooooo!”
Faster and faster she moved, rocking from the waist down. Manolo had spread her even wider with his fingers and was going deeper still into her.
“Oooooooooo.”
Then he found the clitoris, tormenting and teasing it with his tongue tip.
“Ooooojjjjjjjjj.”
Lucinda was now in ecstasy. She was no longer human, but reduced to a quaking, quivering mass of naked flesh and hair. Reaching downward, she drove his head into her, as if to smother him and the opening moments of an orgasm built within.
“Oooooo.”
It was happening way too fast. Summoning whatever will power remained, she tried to hold it all within, but such was next to impossible.
“Oooooo.”
She wanted this moment to never end as she walked among the clouds, feeling as if she was floating.
“Oooooohhhhhhh!”
As Manolo’s tongue continued to do its work, her whole body twisted and the overwhelming warmth flowed through her. She was climaxing in a river of lust and fire.
“Oooooooooo.”
Manolo had evidently grown way too excited as well. Not waiting to sink his throbbing member into her mouth, he fell backward on the floor, jerked himself a half dozen times and shot a load of white liquid into the air.
“Uhhhhh,” was all he could say for himself.
Lucinda responded with a fatigued moan.
For what seemed an eternity, they both laid in their respective positions, drained of energy and emotion. How the matador would build himself up to face the bulls in a few hours was a mystery.
The room was silent except for their heavy breathing, until it was Manolo who spoke.
“You made me come too soon. I’m not able to get my dick sucked, because you made me come. That’s going to cost you a whipping with the belt.”
“W
hat?” Lucinda protested. “Nooooooo!”
“Yes,” Manolo ordered, as he rose and went to the spot where he had dropped his pants on the floor. “Either get up and get into position or take it on your stomach on the bed, but either way you’re getting disciplined.”
“This isn’t right,” she objected. “And besides, I’m tired of being spanked every time I turn around.”
“Get up,” Manolo commanded. “Get up and bend over.”
Lucinda knew what was expected of her, as they had done this routine before. She already started to sniffle, for she saw the belt folded over in his right hand and knew what was coming.
“Please. I don’t want to do this.”
“Shut up and bend over,” he repeated with even more force in his voice.
Lucinda was already on the verge of tears as she pulled herself from her prone position and stood. Then turning, she bent over the bed with her hands on the mattress. Her naked ass was sticking out and unprotected from the elements.
“Please…”
Her begging did no good, for Manolo delivered a monstrous whap right in the center of her naked ass, which caused her to yelp and jerk upright, with her hands instinctively going to the spot where the strike had landed.
“Get back down there and hold the position!” Manolo cursed out. “Don’t you even move again!”
The lone blow brought Lucinda to tears, but she said nothing, she knew no words would save her. Once again, she was at Manolo’s mercy, playing victim to both his rage and his fear.
“This is for promising to suck my dick and making me come before it was done,” he declared, as he brought another whapping blow across her flesh. Again, she jerked and let out a cry, as the leather smack resounded throughout the bedroom. There were now two rapidly reddening welts on her otherwise white bottom.
Two more blows came, on each side of Lucinda’s ass, causing her to bounce on her heels, though she maintained her bent position on the bed for fear of what would happen if she straightened.
“Oww. Owwwww. This hurts. It hurts. I hate this!”
Ignoring her cries, Manolo continued to smack away at her behind, watching the red marks start to rise. She was becoming welted from the blows, glowing with obvious soreness.