The Ornaments of Love

by G A Dazio

  When she saw his Goliath horn again, she bit her lip, realizing that this would all be a mistake, for he was far too big for her. What was once a rather awesome novelty quickly became a mild horror for her as he nudged at her red lips with its engorged head.

  She would not let it in, the very idea was ridiculous. No, she would not let it happen. But with a mild frustration he thrust harder and the head of his cock slid in but a thumb’s length.

  The mere head of his cock was too much for her to endure. It was too wide and Veronica grit her teeth from the pain.

  Eduardo slapped her buttocks hard, and for a moment she clenched and released the muscles of her sex as he thrust hard once again at that crucial moment, sliding his cock in much deeper before she could stop him.

  He had invaded her in the most unimaginable way, it seemed she might explode, the walls of her sex stretching beyond their limits now, and she knew that to make the slightest resistance might cause her damage. But she could somehow not breathe a word of warning, and still he carried on.

  Satisfied that he was succeeding with her, Eduardo pulled out slightly then thrusted forth again, trying to enter her deeper and deeper, though for a long time he could only penetrate to half the length of his organ.

  This was torture. Veronica felt tears welling up in her eyes and the terrible sensation of the water slowly falling down the side of her face. This was, for Veronica, the ultimate shame. But he had not seen these tears. In fact, he had not once looked to her face since he had started in on her. He saw nothing but his own organ and the length of it left in the cold outside of her body. There was the slight hint of impatience in his frenzied expression, almost anger that she wouldn’t let him in further.

  And with a slight shift of his direction, he gave one final thrust that assaulted her physical limit. A hideous scream let out of her.

  This was no mistakable sound, this scream. It was the deep-throated, anguished cry of a wounded animal. She trembled with this sound as it poured out from her soul, resonating against the walls of her bedroom. This was pain, the whole of it; the girth of his organ, threatening to tear her. The darkness of fear consumed her vision and Veronica knew that she must do something now to escape this nightmare.

  Without the slightest hesitation, he pulled out of her, his body responding before his mind could make an assessment of this situation that existed outside the haze of his lust. The sound of her scream had startled him. Indeed, he was horrified. Veronica somehow became aware of the bewildered look of amazement that he stared down at her with.

  Someone pounded against the outer doors to her suite, rattling it fiercely so that the General shot his eyes in the direction of the sound in slight anger. Or was it confusion? Veronica could hear through the closed inner doors that someone had entered her drawing room and was racing across the wooden beams of the floor to the bedroom doors.

  A fist knocked hard against the doors as the General stood there, still very much erect. A voice of utter authority raged through, “Señorita, are you all right!? May I enter? Señorita!”

  It was the voice of a footman, and his deep basso’s voice raged with concern.

  Veronica had no account of the time now. She entered back into that dimension where she was safe and it seemed she could not make a sound.

  Again, the pounding came in torrents of rattling, threatening to tear the doors from their hinges by the violent energy of the footman’s strength. “Señorita Fernández, are you all right?”

  The haze of her delirium lifted for one confused moment and she yelled out a simple “No!” as passionately as she could. She understood that he had asked her if she was all right, but her mind hadn’t even begun to process that question yet when she’d responded to his first question as to whether or not he might enter her room. But in an instant, it was too late.

  The doors flew open, crashing against the very walls. The footman entered, gasping in horror at what he saw: the young girl with tear-stained cheeks, naked on her back, the slight trace of blood staining the bedsheet beneath her, and the General standing back in anger, naked, his organ still monstrously erect.

  The footman, who realized that the General had forced her, that he had stolen the girl’s virtue, and worse, injured her, turned a scarlet color of pure animalistic rage. With the snarl of a mad beast, he drew his sword out to point at the General’s chest. “Stand back!” he roared.

  The General moved back with unconscious fear of the man. It seemed he could not find his mental bearing, and the sight of this warrior before him had sent him into a panicked confusion.

  Veronica could barely move, she seemed not to be breathing at all as two more men charged the room. One of them, the captain of the footmen, drew his pistol on General de Flores without taking any other assessment but his own man’s sword drawn in pointed rage.

  The third footman, seeing that the intruder had been successfully held at bay, turned to Veronica in protective concern and pulled a large shawl from off a chair in the corner to cover the girl with. He wrapped the shawl completely around her and scooped her up in his arms, not uttering a word to verify that she was hurt but carried her quickly through the room. He moved with the girl swiftly out into the hallway, where the commotion had brought a maid preparing for bed to gaze in sheer bewilderment at the sight.

  “Here, follow me now!” the footman whispered loudly to the maid, rushing down the hallway to the Marquesa. “Open the door!” he commanded anxiously when they stood before her suite.

  The tiny woman knocked in spite of herself and opened the outer doors to let the footman pass in with the girl in his arms.

  “Fetch the Marquesa,” he said, walking over to the sitting area, gently laying down the petrified Veronica on the empty sofa. The maid knocked with trepidation upon the Marquesa’s bedchamber doors, sensing the urgency of the situation from the footman’s tone.

  Marcelina called to the door for the maid to enter and was quickly up and out within seconds.

  The footman walked over to both women and aggressively pulled the maid by her arm over to where Veronica lay. “Take care of her, now!” he hissed in her ear and turned to his mistress, raising his voice with an authoritative gesture, “Come at once, my lady, there is an emergency.”

  In shock and confusion, the Marquesa only glanced at Veronica before she followed her man back to the girl’s chambers. They found General de Flores naked, still held at bay by the captain and his man, the sword still drawn and advancing perilously close to the General’s throat.

  “Answer me!” the captain roared.

  “What has happened here?” Marcelina uttered in terror, the sight of Eduardo’s defenselessness evoking one of the greatest senses of fear she had ever known.

  “Marcelina, send them out,” said the General with a defeated whisper, “I will explain!”

  The swordsman instinctively raised his lance back up to the man’s neck for silence. He had not even realized that the Marquesa had entered the room.

  “Draw back this instant!” she screamed. “Get out! Get out, damn you! Leave!”

  “Marquesa!” the captain cackled with an unbelieving shock.

  Marcelina used her own body to pull back the swordsman. “Get out this instant, I said!”

  Chapter Eighteen

  It had been an inescapable nightmare, the confusion of it all. The next morning, Veronica heard from the staff of the repercussions of that night’s event, little bits and pieces that were not entirely certain of the whole. Most of the relayed fragments were suspect to a much more devious truth.

  The understanding was this: an uproarious battle of voices had ensued in Veronica’s bedroom between the Marquesa de Amontoní and the General de Flores, an argument filled with such heated language that the Marquesa’s own staff had intruded upon the scene as many as two times against her wishes, fearing for her safety. Objects were destroyed: vases, crystal, even windows were shattered. This was a battle that was inconceivable between a lady and a gentleman, a battle
entirely unheard of under the Amontoní roof.

  “The language she used, my God. I’ve never heard such words from a lady’s mouth,” said Clara to the girl in a dark whisper. The maid spoke as if she were horrified by them, the words, condemnations, some filthy derivations of slang from other Spanish dialects even, words she would not even have to courage to admit in a confessional, she said.

  “She spoke as if she didn’t care who heard her,” said a kitchen maid who had delivered supper to the footmen after the event. “And Nicolau, he was outraged. Beyond offended that she should slap him in the face when he barged in for the second time out of concern for her safety. All the crashing of the furniture. One of his men said that after things settled, Nicolau would take his leave of the house. Disastrous for us all, really. This is most unfortunate,” she ended.

  Veronica had lived through all of this without a solitary word from Marcelina. If the woman had so much as looked upon her, it might all have been sufferable, this whispering noise from the household, these half-truths based on half-truths. But Marcelina kept to herself after it was over and throughout the following morning. She avoided the girl. And when Marcelina eventually did show up at the girl’s new room, the servants having moved her out of the scandalous scene completely, Veronica feared the worst. And the worst might mean that she would be sent back to her mother, back to Madrid, where she would live through her engagement without this woman’s support.

  Marcelina had simply entered Veronica’s suite without knocking, closing the anti-room door with a whisper behind her and crossing over to her niece silently. The woman’s face was pure agony, and Veronica found she must mimic this emotion instantly. Marcelina enclosed her arms around the child for a long while before uttering anything, satisfied to simply hold her.

  Everything which Veronica had isolated and imprisoned in the recesses of her mind came bursting out onto her face, and the tears threatened to end her if she didn’t let them flood the room in their huge surges. She shuddered in her aunt’s arms and felt the acute edge of her pain as never before.

  With this, Marcelina found herself in tears. None of these tears seemed to be over something specific, rather they were a vehicle for the misery of the night’s event. She hadn’t cried until now; indeed, she could not remember the last time she felt so vulnerable to tears. Everything in her life had been designed to preserve her happiness for so long, she could not even remember a time when the walls had come crashing in on her house. That her own will could not prevent anything so horrid from happening devastated her, utterly. Marcelina had always understood that true and absolute control was simply an illusion conjured and held to by a simple and selfish mind. The truth was reason enough for tears.

  “He is gone, dear. You will not see him ever again.” Marcelina felt that this one truth might anchor her back to the struggle she faced. It was a place from which to begin again.

  “I am so sorry, dear. Oh, my child, I am so sorry I let this happen to you. All of it is my fault,” Marcelina sobbed.

  Veronica pulled away from her with a horrified start. “No!”

  Marcelina didn’t understand this, the tortured look upon the girl’s face. What was this?

  “No, Tia, all this is my fault,” the girl sobbed. “I did it, I let him touch me, I’m the one who wanted it to happen. Oh God, I’m so sorry, Tia, I didn’t understand. I wanted it to do it and I couldn’t think of what might happen.”

  “But this is nonsense, Veronica, this murmuring. What do you speak of? You did nothing wrong!”

  “Oh no, Tia, it was all my doing!”

  The girl could not be stopped now and the story sprang forth from her like a tidal wave. She relied on their intimacy to reconstruct the story with the most intimate of details, of the joys and the horrors. She left out nothing. Veronica simply had to tell the woman everything she could remember. Any fear of harsh judgments could bear no weight on her mind, the need to release it all was too great.

  And when she was through, Veronica felt a sweet relief for one precious moment before the terribleness of it all came back and forced the miserable tears out again.

  Marcelina sat back on the sofa now and stared out into space, her tears drying, her composure returning. “I understand dear, I see what happened.” She smiled now, “Well, I suppose it’s reasonable for you to know that Eduardo was very sorry, as well. He managed to carry a huge amount of the blame upon his shoulders, even before I recriminated him to take on the full load.”

  Veronica did not know how to respond, she did not understand what was meant by this.

  “I sent him out of this house for reasons other than merely what happened between you both.”

  “Reasons?” Veronica whispered.

  A stitch of pain folded above Marcelina’s eyes. “It is terrible of me, I am so ashamed by the way I’ve behaved, the things I said to him. I didn’t want to hear anything he said.”

  “What do you mean?” the girl prompted when the woman fell silent.

  “My first thought was not of you,” she said painfully. “It did not even cross my mind that something might be terribly wrong with you. I was furious with him because he slept with someone else. Can you imagine that? Me, a widow, and him a married man who had been failing his wife with me now for… I don’t know how many years. As if I were some celebrated courtesan! And I was outraged that he had taken on another woman! And that it should be my niece under my own roof filled me with such fury that I set out to murder him right there in the room. I threw things at him, hoping to knock him into death. And I wouldn’t listen to a thing he had to say. I felt myself falling out of the violence only after everything had been smashed, and even when I somehow brought up my composure about me, I still would not listen to a thing he said.”

  Veronica understood now, and it was only of the slightest comfort that her aunt had not known how much she had suffered in the silence of the morning.

  “But you needn’t worry about any of it, dear. He was simply not compatible with you, there really isn’t more to it than that. Don’t feel shame in it, darling, really. He was a very unusual man, physically, and he is more than used to not being compatible with most women. I’m sure he suffers for it immensely. But let us put it all behind us now.”

  Chapter Nineteen

  As the season wore on and finally cooled down, Veronica found that she needed to continue on with Marcelina towards very specific points of interest concerning her education. The girl would obsess over them, play with images ceaselessly in her mind. She remembered the General and every moment he had spent with her in the room on that dreadful night.

  It was his physique that Veronica couldn’t forget. She didn’t know how to feel about it. The emotions brought about by its memory were somehow staggering for her. She had been amazed by it when she first saw him, as well as slightly disturbed. Then when he had come to her, she had marveled at his organ and made to treat it so lovingly. It was as if it were an entirely different being, something separate from him, and only when he had voiced his pleasure at her lovely stroking was the illusion shattered. She had convinced herself that she loved it, and indeed she had made him certain of her feelings.

  But then he had focused upon his own fashion of loving her. And after he had consumed her and she had felt her mind leave the earth, Eduardo had stood up to use that tremendous organ, which had changed everything.

  The pain of it. The fragments of her physical memory would sweep through her in explosive flashes of light for weeks afterwards.

  And even now, as the two women were in the business of making arrangements for their journey to Madrid, the powerful hold on the girl that he still held was pushing her to be more and more frank with her aunt. She wanted to know everything about the man, though she realized that it was not really an issue which the Marquesa wanted to continue on about. Nevertheless, Veronica had come to feel that she could still just dive right into the subject at any time without the slightest hesitation.

  “What was
it like for you to be lovers with General de Flores?” Veronica asked.

  The women were in a small sitting room on the second floor, far away from the rest of the household. It was a private place where the girl had drawn her aunt towards to ask this very question. She did not feel the need to tread around the subject now or approach it gracefully, she was past that sort of patience, and it certainly wasn’t necessary any longer.

  Marcelina was not disturbed by the question, but her niece had never previously made a point to dive so very quickly and frankly into such a conversation. It was not Veronica’s style, and the Marquesa was surprised that all her efforts to make the girl precisely this bold were finally flowering.

  “It was comforting,” she responded after much thought. “It was of great comfort to have him at such an advantage.”

  Marcelina could plainly see the girl wanted another answer, something more descriptive, something more to the point.

  “He was an attentive lover. He took the time few take to please a woman. And he invariably took this time to please me before he proceeded to please himself. He was unusual in that regard, perhaps. He honestly cared how his lover felt when he was with her. He derived his pleasure largely from others.”

  “Is it so unusual?” the girl asked plainly.

  Marcelina smiled lightly, appraising the girl once again. It seemed she was forever noticing the young lady her niece had become, each time as if it were for the first.

  “It sometimes is for a lover. It certainly is for most husbands,” Marcelina replied easily. “Most men don’t remember to care until after they’re done with you, and even then, some don’t care at all. But Eduardo was unique in that he wanted me to experience the same level of joy he felt. It was important to him, and he seemed incapable of releasing or enjoying himself if his conscience was burdened with the thought of my eventual disapproval. And this was why I would never have guessed that he would treat you in such a manner. I won’t ever believe some part of him didn’t comprehend the impossibility, and what makes it all the more difficult is to know he was so very inclined to care deeply for a woman’s happiness in bed. It’s all very confusing and saddening to me.”