by Johnny Miles
grin. He cocked his head, snorted with pleasure, then bit his lower lip.
For a moment, neither of them spoke. Behind them, other slaves were catching
up.
“C'mon,” Alonso said. He reached out and clapped Arbol on the shoulder. He
kept his hand there just a second longer than he needed to, then ran it down Arbol's
spine to the small of his back. When he pulled it away, he sniffed at the sweat in his
hand, making sure none of the slaves were looking.
Except for Arbol.
Alonso licked his fingers and sucked on his palm. Arbol moaned softly, and
Alonso could see he had been blessed with a generous cock.
“We better get back to work.” Alonso looked around, tearing himself away from
the magnificent tent that had formed in Arbol's pant. The other slaves were doing
their best to ignore them and work around them.
Like a loyal pup, Arbol stayed at Alonso's side. Together, they focused on the
job at hand and eventually had the bundles all neatly tied and ready to be hauled
onto the wagons.
“Señor Alonso. You should leave now. These get very heavy.” As he spoke, he
bent and slung one of the bundles onto his shoulder almost effortlessly.
“No. If you can do this, so can I,” Alonso said as he bent over and tried to do
the same. “I'm seeing this through to the end.” His knees buckled, and his legs
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wobbled. He wasn't accustomed to this type of heavy labor and nearly lost his
balance. But the other slaves were watching. So was Arbol. Alonso knew he could
not fail. He thought of Arbol, of the two of them together. He could still smell and
taste his sweat, and somehow, it gave him strength.
Alonso tossed the bundle onto the wagon while the slaves around him clapped
and grinned appreciatively. Strangely, he felt empowered. Tossing Arbol a quick
glance before picking up his second bundle, Alonso saw the grin on his face, the look
in his eyes, and knew Arbol would be his.
It was only a matter of time.
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Chapter Six
Bernardo groaned as he sat up in bed and clutched his head.
He sniffed, snorted, then cleared his throat as he slowly let his legs dangle
over the side of the bed. His eyes were slits against the incredibly bright light
streaming through the window and the shrill cries from the birds outside. Even the
coos of the mourning doves seemed louder.
To say nothing of the aches in his body. It hurt to move, and there was a dull
throbbing at his temples that matched his already throbbing rectum. His throat was
parched, and his tongue felt like he had slept with cloth in his mouth.
Christ! And what the hell was wrong with his hand? He winced as he touched
it. Then it all came rushing back at him. Bernardo closed his eyes and let out a sigh
that was half dismay and half disbelief.
Bernardo didn't know which was worse—that he enjoyed having sex with Raúl
or that he had punched the man in the face.
And not just any man.
The man who had lent him the money necessary to invest in the plantation.
The man to whom he owed his livelihood, the success of his business, and probably
the well-being of his family.
And the only man who had ever aroused him to the point that Bernardo would
return time and again no matter what Raúl said or did.
Then a mitigating possibility presented itself. They had, after all, been
drinking. Quite a lot, as he remembered. Perhaps it had all been nothing more than
a very bad dream.
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Now you know that's not true. That horribly mocking voice inside his head
made its presence known once more.
There was only one way to know the exact events from the night before with
any certainty. Now that he was sober, Bernardo would simply have to go back to the
Velasco plantation to find out.
Bernardo took a deep breath and exhaled slowly.
“First things first,” Bernardo mumbled, his voice crackling with the remnants
of his drunken sleep. He reached for the chamber pot beneath the bed and relieved
himself as he mentally prepared for the things he had to do.
That was when he noticed by the light coming through the window, it was
probably already midafternoon if not later.
Bernardo shook his head in disgust as he slammed the pot down on the
nightstand. He cursed as some of his urine splashed onto his hand.
And as he searched for something with which to wipe, Bernardo couldn't help
but think of how, so far, this trip to La Española was definitely not turning out the
way he had expected.
* * *
Raúl grumbled as he rolled over and crawled out of bed. His entire body
seemed to hurt, and he felt as if his eyelids were trying to close over gravel. But
what hurt the most was his face.
He tried again to open his eyes. The room was out of focus, blurred. And then
he realized: only his left eye was open.
Raúl lumbered out of bed completely naked and stepped up to the ornate, full-
length mirror.
“Hijo de puta!” Son of a bitch. His right eye had swollen shut, and there were
bruises along his cheekbone.
Raúl raised a hand to his face, pressed gently, and let out a pained moan. It
hurt like hell. He let his arm drop to the side and stared at his reflection. For a
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moment, it was as if he could see the events from the night before reflected in the
mirror.
Images of the two of them rutting like animals, Raúl being taken by Bernardo.
The mirror helped fuel Bernardo's desires, which was why Raúl had gotten it.
Bernardo had always been rough and exciting in bed. But last night had been more
intense than it had ever been between them. Brutal even.
Raúl grinned and turned slowly. He could just make out the bruises beneath
his ribs and on his lower back. But the scratch marks on either side of his spine
were clearly visible.
His smooth ass, which was still mercifully round and had not yet sagged, was
shockingly pale compared to other parts of his body, but there were still patches of
pink from the handheld wooden plank Bernardo used on him. Raúl had pulled out
the specially made toys and restraints. There wasn't a single part of his body that
didn't hurt because of their sex. Hell, even Raúl's rectum hurt. It throbbed wickedly
from the repeated times Bernardo had taken him with that enormous cock. But
then Raúl always felt that if it didn't hurt, something wasn't being done right.
Raúl reveled in the pain and torture they inflicted on each other. In fact,
anything that Raúl wanted to try, the usually quiet Bernardo would go along with;
not that he ever had an original sexual thought of his own. It was more that
Bernardo was easily manipulated. Like most men, when desire was high and rum
was involved, he thought with his cock. And the demons he harbored, the things he
unleashed under the influence of rum, were the very things that kept Raúl wanting
more.
Raúl turned his head one way, then the other. The puffiness really wasn't that
bad. He'd seen far worse.
A knock at the door pulled him out of his reverie.
“Quién?” Raúl hollered.
“Perez, señor.”
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“Come in!” Raúl barked and turned away from the mirror as the door to his
bedroom opened. A low whistle escaped the overseer as he walked in.
“That must have been some cat you were with last night,” Perez joked as he
slowly approached.
Raúl could hear the salacious curiosity behind the man's comment.
Raúl stood with his back straight, head cocked to one side, trying to see over
his left shoulder. With his good eye, he watched Perez reach out tentatively, then
graze the scratch marks and bruises along Raúl's back.
“Unless you plan to take your clothes off for me to fuck you next, don't touch
me,” Raúl warned, his voice low and threatening.
Perez jumped back.
Raúl snorted and lowered his head, frustrated. Definitely no fight in the
mouse. What a shame. He could do with a new playmate. Especially since he
suspected that after last night's events, Bernardo would no longer be willing.
But no. Perez would never do. It could never be the same as it was with
Bernardo. Something seemed to scrape at his heart, and a knot in his throat made
Raúl gasp suddenly.
“Who…who was she?” Perez asked, pulling Raúl away from whatever had
taken hold of him. “Which slave?”
“What does it matter?” Raúl turned.
“Madre de Dios!” Perez muttered, his eyes opened wide and his jaw went slack.
“Was it…was it one of the whores from el Puerco Sucio?”
“No, you spineless piece of shit!” Raúl exclaimed. He watched Perez recoil as if
slapped, searching for any spark that might show he wanted to fight back. But
there was none. Perez was an insipid, spineless ass.
Perez opened his mouth, but Raúl interrupted him before he could ask any
more stupid questions.
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“And it doesn't matter who it was, because you're never going to be with…her.
Now what do you want?”
“I have news,” Perez managed, swallowing visibly.
“What news?” Raúl turned his head slightly to see his overseer a bit better.
“It's about de Rodrigo.”
An odd sound escaped Raúl's throat.
“What about Bernardo?”
“Not don de Rodrigo. El hijo—the son—Alonso.”
“Ah yes!” Raúl said, more to himself than to Perez. A wicked grin spread across
his face, and he wondered if one of the boys had inherited Bernardo's secret little
desire for brutal sex. But he couldn't do that to Bernardo, could he? That was too
low even for him. But then again…
“What about Alonso?” Raúl asked as he began to dress.
“We may have problems,” Perez replied. When Raúl winced as he tried to lift
his arms, Perez tried to help him with his shirt. All along, he told Raúl what had
happened, what Alonso had said, and how Perez had felt in front of the slaves—
Arbol in particular.
“And Fernando?”
“Fernando?” Perez seemed dumbfounded.
“Fernando, you idiot! The other one. Was he there as well? What did he say?”
“Oh right. The twin.” Perez shook his head. “Don de Rodrigo said Fernando
remained to take care of business in Spain.”
Raúl grumbled and rubbed his scruffy chin gingerly. He needed a shave.
Strangely, then he thought back to the night he had chased the female slave
through the Spanish countryside. He found it odd the memory should have sprung
up so suddenly. He still remembered the thrill of the chase as if it were yesterday.
He had paid top dollar for her, knowing he would be getting two slaves for the price
of one, but still far less than if he had purchased them separately.
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“Hmmm? What?” Raúl looked up, realizing he had been asked a question.
“I said what are we going to do?” Perez repeated. “About young de Rodrigo?”
“Leave him to me,” Raúl replied. “Meantime, keep your mouth shut and your
ears open. Now get back to work!” Raúl guided Perez out of his room, somewhat
roughly, and closed the door behind him.
“But, señor…” Perez started to protest.
“Not now, Perez!” Raúl exclaimed. “I have more important things on my mind.”
Raúl had questions that needed answers and Bernardo was the only one who
could provide them.
* * *
Dante walked calmly to the front door despite what sounded like an urgent
knock. He opened the door somewhat loftily, as if he had better things to do with his
time, then felt stunned as he looked at the man before him. He had heard of Velasco
of course and knew instinctively that it was he who stood on the porch. The man
had a notorious reputation on the island, but Dante had never dealt with him. Until
now.
Dante understood why other slaves feared him.
“What the hell are you staring at?” Raúl spat. “You've never seen someone who
was in a fight before?”
“For-forgive me, don Velasco.” Dante quickly recovered and slipped back into
his usual airy self. But inside, Dante most definitely did not feel confident. In fact,
inside, he trembled.
“May I…may I help you?” Dante asked, hoping he sounded more nonchalant
than he felt.
“I've come to speak to Bernardo,” Raúl announced as he pushed his way past
Dante. He strode into the lobby and looked about as if he would find the man hiding
somewhere.
“Don Bernardo is not here,” Dante replied casually.
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“You're not…lying…are you?” Raúl cocked his head and smiled menacingly.
“No, señor,” Dante replied, standing his ground with an odd feeling of
satisfaction at Raúl's obvious annoyance.
“Then I will wait.” Raúl stepped back with a grumble, turned, and sat on the
settee by the door.
“As you wish.” Dante bowed. “But I'm afraid I… He did not… I'm not certain
when he will return,” Dante offered, feeling his confidence slip once more as Raúl
tossed him a look of disdain.
“No matter. The approaching night is young, and I can afford to wait for a
little while. Now why don't you be a good little slave and earn your keep. Run and
fetch me some refreshment.”
“Of course,” Dante murmured and scurried away as fast as his feet could take
him.
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Chapter Seven
Alonso was exhausted. He was accustomed to labor back home, in Spain. It
was not uncommon for him to help the dockworkers as if he were one himself. He
was more than used to lifting and throwing heavy things around to keep things
running smoothly and on time. But this entire day had been the most backbreaking
work he had ever done. Still, he was glad he had done it. Glad his father had not
been there. He would not have allowed Alonso to spend the entire day working like
a field hand.
“What do you think don Bernardo will say about your ideas?” Arbol asked.
“I don't know, but I can't imagine he'd say no to bigger profits and higher
; productivity.”
They were at Rio de Piedras, the River of Rocks, a tranquil and gentle
waterfall that pooled into a large lagoon before continuing out to sea.
“Forgive me. I mean no disrespect. But I fear that even if your father makes
the changes you think of, life might still be difficult for us.”
“Why? Are things bad here?” Alonso asked, somewhat surprised. “Do they
mistreat you?”
Arbol shook his head.
“You don't go hungry, I trust,” Alonso pushed.
Arbol sat quietly beside him.
“You can tell me,” Alonso wheedled. “I won't tell anyone if that's what you're
afraid of.”
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Arbol appeared about to say something. His mouth opened, then closed. The
young man's eyes searched his own, and Alonso suddenly envisioned himself
working for someone else from sunup to sundown. Barely clothed, with God only
knew what type of housing. No days off except for the Sabbath. And no
compensation of any kind except for perhaps food to stave off hunger.
Alonso looked away from Arbol's deeply probing eyes.
“Things are…things are not…bad. Not the way you might suggest. But
someday”—Arbol's voice took on a far-away, dreamlike quality—“it would be
wonderful to have my own house. My own land where I can grow and harvest my
own food.”
A long pause came between them. Unsure of what to say, Alonso placed a hand
on Arbol's knee and chose the least uncomfortable of his options.
“You know, if Father agrees to implement my ideas, who knows how things
might change?” Alonso tried to be comforting. Tried to offer consolation that
perhaps there might be something in it for Arbol without actually saying it. He
didn't want to get Arbol's hopes up. Just in case.
“I can do Perez's job better than he can,” Arbol said in a quiet and confident
but pleading voice. “If there is anything I can do, any place where you can use me,
don de Rodrigo. I…”
“I'll see what I can do, but…please…can't you call me Alonso the way you used
to when we were children? Don de Rodrigo is my father. It makes me sound…old.”