Casa Rodrigo

by Johnny Miles

away.

  “Open your mouth!” Raúl's voice was low but firm.

  “What?” Perez's gaze darted from Raúl's dripping cock, up to his face, and back

  again.

  “I said open your mouth.” Raúl tugged on his own balls and aimed his cock

  straight at Perez's lips.

  “No!”

  “Don't be so prudish.” Raúl grinned. He liked the way this was going.

  “I said no! You're not putting that thing in my mouth after you stuck it up

  someone's ass. God only knows when was the last time you washed.”

  At any other time, under any other circumstance, Raúl would have gladly

  pursued the little game Perez had started. It was obvious he wanted to be forced.

  The game would have distracted him.

  But Raúl's heart just wasn't in it. He turned, picked up his clothes, and

  dressed, then slipped back into his riding boots.

  “Get out,” Raúl said quietly.

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  “What?” A small, meek sound escaped Perez.

  “I said get out!” Raúl hollered, noting the look of disappointment on Perez's

  face.

  Raúl watched as Perez fought to remain composed and, without uttering a

  word, left the room and closed the door behind him.

  Something Raúl had never felt before, a sensation he was unfamiliar with,

  suddenly shook him, and without realizing what was happening, Raúl gave a single

  sob, quelled a maddening rush of tears that threatened to eat away at his soul, and

  poured himself a double shot of rum. He kicked it back quickly, as if his very life

  depended on it, then caught his reflection in the mirror. He noted the disheveled

  look, his closed eye a souvenir from the only man he'd ever come close to having

  feelings for.

  Raúl picked up the glass and flung it hard at his reflection. The glass

  shattered, fell to the ground in shards, and long, spidery lines appeared on the

  mirror from the impact.

  * * *

  Bernardo leaned against his bedroom window, arms outstretched. He thought

  he heard a shriek in the night air and was reminded of that night, so many years

  ago, when a scream split the night—interrupting his reading—and changed their

  lives forever.

  Bernardo thought of Arbol and hoped it wasn't him.

  With a sigh, exhausted, Bernardo turned from the window and crawled into

  bed. Slowly, from his toes up to the rest of his body, he willed himself to relax.

  Except that his cock refused to cooperate.

  He couldn't stop thinking of Raúl. Despite everything, the man still aroused

  Bernardo in ways he did not understand. He knew he should not. In fact, the

  intensity was no longer nearly as powerful as it had once been. But it was still

  there.

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  And it filled Bernardo with shame.

  Bernardo closed his eyes and remembered the night they had met. He could

  still feel the rush coursing through his veins after they had fought the pirate

  gambler and tossed him into the ocean. He could still feel the two young men

  tumbling about in the alley, lips locked, erections pressed together, hurriedly trying

  to free themselves from the constraints of the varied layers of clothing—jackets,

  shirts, silk pants.

  And that glorious mouth on his cock. That wonderful mouth that had brought

  him so much pleasure throughout the years.

  Then being spun around and feeling Raúl's tongue, hot and moist, as it probed

  deep into him. No other man had ever done what he had allowed. No other man had

  ever made him feel like the rutting animal he had turned into. And no other man

  had ever taken him the way Raúl had taken him that night.

  Bernardo could still feel the splinters in his palms as he had fought to remain

  standing, an orgasm ripping through him, without touching himself.

  Bernardo had tried to keep his head from banging against the wall of the

  seaside bar. He had tried to remain silent. He had not wanted witnesses to see him

  being taken like a woman. And yet…he had never come so hard before either.

  Writhing in bed, Bernardo stroked his cock as he thought of that first time,

  and he came all over his belly, disgusted that once again he had given in to a

  temptation he knew he should resist. A temptation that in all probability needed to

  be erased.

  Bernardo let the memories go, feeling in his heart that it would be for the last

  time.

  Somehow, Bernardo drifted off to sleep, uncertain if the heaviness in his heart

  was due to the guilt he felt for plotting Raúl's murder or sadness at the thought that

  he would soon be without a partner with whom to share those perverted games.

  * * *

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  Despite his exhaustion, Alonso couldn't sleep. Every time he closed his eyes, he

  saw Nana's contorted face, heard her scream, when Raúl held the muzzle of his

  pistol against her forehead. Alonso knew he would be haunted for the rest of his life.

  Never before had he been so ashamed and disgusted to be a slave owner as he

  had that night. Anyone—and that included his father—who could not, did not, or

  would not see that the scared people they questioned were fellow human beings—

  not property—was surely missing a heart. Without humanity themselves. How else

  could they turn a blind eye? And at what cost?

  His mother was right. Slavery was wrong. But how could he affect it? He was

  only one man. And an inexperienced one at that if the day's events were any

  indication. How could he possibly hope to put a stop to something that was

  measured by the money it produced instead of by the humanity it crushed?

  But he had also begun to see his father's point.

  What would happen if the slaves were all freed? They would need homes. Food.

  Wages.

  From the little he understood of the world, Alonso felt everyone involved in

  slavery—the Spanish, French, Dutch, and English, even the colonials in the new

  Americas—would have blood on their hands for generations to come.

  He did not understand an economy that consisted so largely of human

  bondage. Not only was it enormous foolishness. Humanity had created its own

  noose. Sooner or later, the slaves would have to be released. There was no other

  choice.

  Already there were more Africans on the island than there were Spanish.

  And if the slaves ever chose to revolt…

  Alonso shuddered. He got up, strode to the window to close it, and stopped in

  his tracks. Below, in the shadows, something was lurking. It crouched like an

  animal. Even as he watched, Alonso was sure the shadow was growing taller the

  closer it came to the house.

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  But what was it?

  Then a pebble struck his forehead with incredible accuracy. Alonso cursed and

  rubbed his brow while he observed the shadow's stance. He suddenly hurried away

  from the window.

  Struggling into his pants, Alonso managed to cross his bedroom at the same

  time. He grabbed his shirt and ran down the hall barefoot. He made his way down

  the servants' stairs and raced to the opposite side of the kitchen, where he unbolted

  the back door and stepped out into the night.


  The shadow came toward him. Slowly at first. Then sprinting. And Alonso

  found himself with a familiar pair of arms wrapped around his neck. They held each

  other a moment before Alonso pulled away and kissed Arbol with all the

  desperation he'd been harboring.

  “What are you doing here?” Alonso whispered worriedly.

  “I had to see you,” Arbol replied.

  “You shouldn't have come. It's too dangerous!” Alonso said, his hands on either

  side of Arbol's face. He reached for Arbol's mouth with his own lips.

  “I had to see you again before I go.”

  “Before you…? Where are you going?” Alonso asked.

  “The men hiding me said they could sneak me onto the next ship out of the

  harbor. In a few weeks' time I'll be far, far away. In a new land. Perhaps someplace

  where I can be free.”

  “Arbol. You must leave now. We—they—went looking for you today. They're

  going back tomorrow. They're going to search the dock and go up into the

  mountains.”

  Arbol was quiet a moment.

  “I'm not worried. They won't find me,” Arbol replied and pushed Alonso back

  against the side of the house.

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  “At least tell me where you are, so I can come see you. That might be less

  dangerous than having you sneak around and coming to see me.”

  In the darkness, Arbol reached for him.

  “What are you doing?” Alonso asked as Arbol dropped to his knees. He grabbed

  at Alonso's crotch, outlining the length of the shaft and squeezing the hefty cock

  with hot, eager hands.

  And despite the danger, or perhaps because of it, Alonso let himself be mauled

  by Arbol. The slave's urgency aroused him, and Alonso leaned his head back. He

  closed his eyes, surprised when he became so hard, realizing there was a certain

  thrill in their possible discovery.

  Alonso could feel Arbol's hot breath searing his flesh, his hands on his ass as

  he took the entire length of Alonso's rigid, dripping cock. He felt Arbol's throat

  working on him as one hand tugged roughly on his balls and the other insistently

  fingered his hole.

  Alonso gasped and flailed against the side of the house as he came suddenly,

  without warning. Arbol swallowed until he taken every drop.

  Above them, through the window, a flickering light appeared and grew

  stronger.

  “Arbol!” Alonso murmured a warning. Arbol stood and kissed him fervently.

  Alonso could smell and taste his own cum on the slave's tongue. He moaned,

  wishing they could stay that way.

  But Arbol had already disappeared, blending into the night.

  Alonso had barely managed to pull his pants up when the back door opened,

  and a head poked out. Cook held up a lantern.

  “Señor?”

  “Ah, Cook! Did I wake you? I couldn't sleep so I went out…for a walk.” Alonso

  smiled sheepishly at the man and strode up to the house.

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  “Barefoot, señor?” Cook asked as Alonso went up the steps and entered the

  kitchen.

  Alonso looked down at his feet. He wiggled his toes in response, and Alonso

  giggled nervously.

  “How about that? I didn't even realize. Well. Good night.”

  Alonso hurried across the kitchen and took the stairs two at a time. Upstairs

  in his room, Alonso stripped naked and slipped into bed.

  He wasn't sure what was worse: not knowing where Arbol had run off to or

  seeing him again and now having to worry whether he would make it off the island

  alive.

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  Chapter Sixteen

  It seemed sunrise came all too soon. Alonso barely opened his eyes as he

  crawled out of bed and dressed. He fumbled down the hallway and knocked on his

  father's door. Bernardo was already up, dressed, and shaved.

  “Good morning, Alonso. My God! You look terrible.”

  “Your enthusiasm is contagious,” Alonso said sarcastically as he walked into

  the room. “Thank you for the encouragement.” Alonso collapsed into the chair

  opposite his bed. He yawned. “I didn't get much sleep.”

  “I'm not surprised. Is that why you went for a walk in the middle of the night?”

  “What?” Alonso exclaimed. His eyes flew open, and he was definitely awake if

  not alert. His heart accelerated, and he felt as if he had been splashed with a pail of

  water.

  “Last night,” his father explained. “I heard you leave your room. I figured you

  couldn't sleep and went for a walk.”

  “Oh. That. Yes.” Alonso settled back into the chair. “I thought a walk would do

  me some good. Clear the mind and help me sleep. I didn't disturb you, did I?” His

  heart slowed, but his mind still raced. Was there anything else his father had

  heard? Had Cook told him anything?

  “No. You didn't disturb me,” his father replied. “I just rolled over and kept on

  sleeping. Why don't you go back to bed? I'll tell Raúl you're not feeling well.”

  Bernardo stood in front of the full-length mirror and tucked his shirt into his

  trousers.

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  For a brief moment, Alonso almost spilled his secret. It was too huge and too

  much to bear. But something kept him quiet. He wasn't sure how his father would

  take the news that Arbol had come to him in the very early hours of morning.

  No. Best not to say anything. And then he wondered, Is this how it starts? The

  untold secrets that turn into lies? What will my children find out about me? What

  will I have kept from them? What disappointments will they experience?

  “I can't stay here.” Alonso watched as his father somberly gave himself a final

  once-over. “I'd be too much of a nervous wreck not knowing what was happening.”

  From outside came the sound of a horse. Bernardo looked out the window.

  “We'd better go downstairs,” Bernardo said solemnly. “Ask Cook to make us

  something to eat while I let Raúl inside.”

  “Father?”

  “Yes?” Bernardo turned around, a hand on the doorknob.

  “Thank you for believing me. About Arbol.” Alonso looked into his father's deep

  brown eyes.

  “Why wouldn't I believe you?”

  “Because of…everything that happened,” Alonso said with a shrug and a

  dismissive wave of the hand. “That day at the river. It seems so long ago now. Plus,

  we said some foul things to each other.”

  “Well…” Bernardo walked to the foot of the bed and sat at the edge, across

  from his son. He smiled and said, “It's all forgotten.”

  “But you do believe me,” Alonso insisted. “You're not just patronizing me.”

  “What is this all about, Alonso?”

  “I don't know. I just keep thinking… What if Raúl were to…disappear

  unexpectedly?”

  “Alonso.” Bernardo lowered his voice and leaned in toward him. His father

  scanned his eyes. “You're thinking things that are best left alone.”

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  It began to drizzle as they rode out silently, nearly an hour later. Bernardo

  rode side by side with Raúl. Alonso followed quietly behind them.

  “Where's Perez this morning?” Bernardo asked.

  “B
ack in the fields. Where he belongs,” Raúl replied in a tone that was quieter

  than usual. They rode on in silence awhile longer before Raúl spoke again.

  “When this is over”—Raúl leaned in, his voice just above a whisper—“when we

  find Arbol, will you come back to me?”

  Bernardo cleared his throat. He looked over his shoulder, but Alonso seemed

  rather preoccupied with his bag of gunpowder.

  “I don't think so, Raúl. Lo siento.”

  Raúl grunted and dropped the subject, but Bernardo could not help but wonder

  what deviousness was hatching in Raúl's odd, twisted, and deranged mind.

  * * *

  As sundown approached, so did a heavy rain. A nervous, jittery overseer paced

  back and forth on the porch of Casa Rodrigo. From the quiet, subdued manner in

  which the three wet men approached, Perez could only assume the runaway had not

  been found.

  Which would only make matters worse.

  A coldness clutched at Perez, and he almost felt as if he had to run to the

  latrine from nerves. How he hated adding any more fuel to the fire. But what was

  he to do?

  Perez watched Bernardo lean toward his son and speak into his ear. The boy

  looked at his father, then looked forward. Perez could feel their eyes boring into

  him, and he gulped. He stopped pacing as the horses drew near.

  Behind him, the door opened, and a houseboy ran out to take the horses.

  Perez forced himself to stop fidgeting. He noted the curious looks that crossed

  don Rodrigo's and Alonso's faces.

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  “Shouldn't you be out in the fields?” Bernardo asked as he dismounted. Yet

  Perez couldn't bring himself to say it. Couldn't even bring himself to look the man in

  the eye as he stepped onto the porch, let alone find the words. Bad enough he had to

  live with the memory of what had almost happened between him and Raúl the night

  before. Surely he didn't expect…

  “Something else has happened,” Bernardo said abruptly. Perez looked up and

  saw the realization on Bernardo's face. Perez nodded.

  Bernardo spun on his heel, a hand on his forehead.