by Paul Blades
It was bright and sunny by now and, Marjorie, being unused to the direct sun, squinted as she followed fretfully behind her master’s lead. She had only traversed these streets once before and that was in darkness, although she had stared at them helplessly for many weeks from her vantage point high up on the hill. She had often daydreamed about fleeing along their winding pathways in a bid for freedom. The night she had been brought to Armando’s little mansion the streets had been mostly empty and the dark and the fog had obscured her enough so that she did not suffer the full effect of being dragged along, bound and helpless in public. But this morning, although it was early, the streets were filled with wayfarers heading to their daily tasks and she burned with humiliation and shame as they took in her naked, helplessly bound form and either smiled or laughed. She had a vision of her grotesquely harnessed head, her flopping, bare breasts, her hairless and exposed nether lips as she passed the men and women in the street, clip clopping along on her pretty, imported, yellow ribboned sandals.
It seemed longer to the naked and distraught, bound woman, but they arrived at the docks in about ten minutes. Margie’s heart nearly stopped when she saw the man who had examined and cruelly fucked her standing on the deck of the boat that the bandit had brought her here in. Apparently, Armando had claimed it as part of the spoils from shooting him. There was another man there, a tall, skinny man with long, black hair and an unruly moustache. The engine of the boat was idling and the men looked up as if they had been expecting them. Margie balked at being transferred to the boat. For the first time in weeks, she tried to exert her will against that of her owner. Frantic with fear at being handed over to the blond haired man, she started to drag her feet and pull on the leash that had propelled her to this unwanted destination. Armando, however, was relentless, and despite her moans and cries of muffled protest, he handed the end of the leash and the key to her bonds to the fat, coarse man in the boat who then unceremoniously pulled her in.
Margie fell to the deck and moaned at the pain to her shoulder as it struck the hard wood. She looked back up at the dock and saw Armando leaning over and shaking the hand of the fat man and saying something like “Buono fortuna,” to him. A few seconds later, the engines to the boat revved up. Armando cast off the lines which had held the boat to the dock, and they pulled away.
Chapter Eight
Margie Takes Another Trip
As the boat started its way up river, Margie dismally watched her now former master recede away from her, becoming smaller and smaller. He never turned to look back at her, but strode purposely, in his aristocratic fashion, along the dock to the town. She saw him stop suddenly to light a cigarette, a tiny puff of blue smoke appearing around his head. He then casually cast his match aside and moved on. A few moments later, the boat followed a turn in the river and the strange town in which she had been held prisoner and the callous, hard man who had dominated her disappeared from her view.
It wasn’t that Margie had been enamored of her life with Armando. But after the uncertainties of her existence with the bandit it had been, at least, a relatively safe harbor. She had been allowed to feed herself, was kept clean, and she had the benefit of the sweet, loving attentions of the slender servant girl, Carmelita. Now she was again, so to speak, at sea. What the fat, blond haired man wanted with her, what he would do with her was a complete mystery. All she knew was that he lacked both the calm, regulated manner of Armando, who after all had only beat her once, and the noble, if primitive, dignity of the bandit who, while he treated her as a slut and a whore, possessed a sensuous, compelling sexuality that drove her lusts. This man seemed as coarse and cruel as they came and Margie trembled with fear as she tried not to imagine what life under his dominion would entail.
She had knelt, frozen in place, trying hard to comprehend the latest development in her nightmare. But the sight of the town passing from view propelled her into action. Intending to cast herself in the river and, thereby, put an end to her suffering, she rose to her feet and made a jump towards the gunwale of the boat. But the man had retained possession of her leash and with a simple flick of his wrist, was able to yank her back from the edge. Margie felt her neck twist as the steel chain that led to her collar grew taut and she fell onto the deck, her legs all akimbo.
“…ooooooooo! …oooooooooooo!” she screamed through her gagged mouth in protest. She sprung back to her feet and began to kick at her new captor, striking him in the thighs and knees with the solid, pointy toes of her sandals. The man fell backwards for a moment, giving the young woman hope and she continued her assault, kicking his shins and landing a blow high up against his fat belly, but missing her target, the soft, vulnerable sac that held his precious stones. The man fell to the deck, but, unfortunately for Margie, retained control of her leash and dragged her down with him. They scrambled together for a moment on the hard, wooden surface of the deck and then the man’s immensely superior bulk and the fact that he was able to make use of his thick, muscular arms and Margie was not, ended the struggle unfavorably for the naked and bound woman.
“You bitch!” the man screamed in Spanish. “You fucking cunt!” He struck her cruelly in the upper arms with his fist. Maggie moaned at the pain and her body sagged. He punched her again and again, on her thighs, her ass, her back, and then her arms again. He rolled her over and gave her two mighty blows on her defenseless breasts, blows that caused Margie to scream in agony. And then he gave her one last, unrestrained blow in her belly and all of the air was pushed out of her.
It was a sickening feeling. Margie struggled for breath even as an intense, disorienting pain flowed from her stomach through the rest of her down to her very core. For a moment, she felt as if she were going to throw up, an eventuality that, due to her gagged mouth, probably would have caused her to aspirate the rejected fluids from her belly and suffocate.
Margie lay in a heap on the deck, moaning and squirming as she tried to catch her air. The skinny man poked his head out of the pilot house.
“What the fuck is going on!” he demanded.
“This pinga crica thinks that she’s smart,” the fat man said. He was huffing and puffing from his exertions. He grabbed Margie’s leash from under her chin and lifted her to her knees. He slapped her viciously twice across the face. Margie, who was still in the process of trying to recover from the blow to her belly, moaned and cried at the man’s brutality. Her whole body ached from the man’s retaliatory pummeling of her flesh and despair filled her as she realized that she had, yet again, lost her best chance at escape. Whatever the men had in mind for her, she would have to suffer it. “Ohhhhhhh!” she cried out into her gag in her misery.
The man pulled her face up close next to his. His eyes were wide with fierce anger and his face was red. “You’re going to pay for that, you fucking bitch,” he yelled at her. “I know how to make a cunt like you howl with pain and you’re going to see how I do it!” He jerked the sobbing young woman up until she was on her feet and then looped the thin, steel leash through a pole in the canopy that hung over the deck of the boat and tied it off so that the girl’s head was tilted back and she could barely touch the tips of her sandals on the wooden surface. The man stood back from her and struck her breasts twice, hard, with the flat of his hand. Margie yelled out as she felt her heavy mounds jerk back and forth across her chest. Fire erupted on them where the hand had landed. The man took hold of her nipples with his thick fingers and twisted them cruelly. Margie danced and moaned as the pain shot through her. She realized that she had caused the beast in the man to be awakened and she rued her stupid, desperate acts. “Oh God! Oh God!” she yelled in her mind. “Please help me! Please!”
After a long agonizing ten seconds, the man released Margie’s sore, pulsing nipples and struck her breasts hard again twice causing her to wail at the stinging pain. “You like to play around, puta?” he asked her menacingly, his voice sharp and cruel. “I’ll show you what it means to play around!” he said savagely.
&nb
sp; While Margie dangled from her collar dispiritedly, the heavyset man rooted around the deck until he found what he was looking for. He produced two lengths of rope. He tied one off on Margie’s left ankle and then ran the end of it through the piping that supported the canvas covering of the canopy. He gave the rope a mighty yank and Margie’s foot came flying into the air. After he fixed it in place on the pipe and over the level of her head, far to her left, he then repeated the procedure with her right ankle, tying it off so that Margie hung in the air, her legs spread widely and her tender sex splayed open for his depredations.
Margie’s shiny, brass collar bit deeply into the back of her neck and the front pushed cruelly up under her chin. Her hands flailed uselessly behind her, pulled up high on her back, and the rope burned bitterly into her ankles. “Mmmmmmmmmm! Mmmmmmmmm!” she screamed in protest. She had to pull hard on her legs, causing her defenseless inner thighs to quiver, to alleviate the painful pressure from her heavy, golden hued collar on the back of her neck and her chin.
The man looked at her lasciviously. He reached his fat hand out and took hold of her hairless, soft, pudenda and squeezed her love lips together tightly. “Oooouuuuuuu!” the girl moaned as the force of the man’s fingers tortured her sex. She jerked and swung her hips to try and cast off the offensive hand, causing further agony to her neck and ankles, but the man held on tight and merely squeezed harder. “Such a pretty, pussy, whore,” the man said tauntingly. “See how much pain it can bring you? But I’ve just gotten started!”
The man reared his hand back and gave the sobbing young woman’s love mound a heavy, forceful slap. Her body jerked in response and swung back and forth as the pain passed through her body to her brain. “Oooouuuuuu!” she called out through her gag. “…eeeeeeease op! ...eeeeease!”
The man paid her entreaties no mind. He pounded her pussy three more times, pausing after each one until her swaying, tortured body came to rest, sending waves of agony through the dangling, swaying woman. He then worked his way up her inner thighs, slapping them harshly, first with his right hand and then with his left, blow after blow until they grew a deep red. The man’s anger had caused him to become rabid and he cursed and swore at her as he struck her, his face strained, spittle forming at the edges of his fat lips. Each blow to her tortured flesh hurt worse than the one before as the damaged tissue screamed in protest. Margie continued to cry and moan in pain.
When the man finally stopped, after three more brutal, stinging slaps to her pussy, Margie’s mind had gone someplace else. Her body burned and ached from knee to knee. Her sex throbbed from its punishment. She swayed grotesquely from the force of the blows to her agonized slit. Slowly, her bruised body came to rest.
The blond haired man paused to catch his breath and took in the display of Margie’s battered sex leeringly. He reached out the arm that had tortured her hairless cleft and rubbed his fat, rough hand over her damaged thighs and over her aching sex lips. She felt his finger play with the nub at their apex and an unwanted tingling arose inside her loins. Margie looked at the face of her tormentor. He had a devilish, evil smile on his face. “Now that you know how much I can make it hurt,” the man said, his voice dripping with disdain for his victim, “let’s see if the pinga thing still works, eh?” He gave a deep ominous chuckle.
The man’s fat fingers toyed with Margie’s slash until it began to ooze moisture. Margie’s mind protested both his coarse use of her and her body’s revolting reactions. She shook and pulled at her widespread thighs in a vain attempt to drive the offensive hand from her quim. The man just laughed as he probed his fingers deeper and deeper inside her.
“I’ll bet your pussy tastes just like ripe mango,” he said evilly. “I never met a whore who didn’t like her pussy licked,” he continued as his fingers slid in and out easily from Margie’s proffered slit. “I’ll bet you’re no different.”
Leaning his face forward, his rough beard scraping the burning skin of the woman’s inner thighs, the man replaced his fat fingers with his hot, wet tongue. He took hold of Margie’s bare buttocks to stabilize the dangling woman and he ran his tongue the length of her crevasse and then plunged deeply inside.
Margie moaned as the tongue inflamed her. She didn’t want pleasure from this evil, cruel man, but her body accepted it wantonly. When he seized her love button with his fat lips and began to suck on it hungrily, Margie sobbed and moaned with shame and pleasure. She could feel her juices rising as the man’s mouth relentlessly plied her cleft. On and on it went, teasing and stroking, sucking and nibbling. The man took his time, forcing Margie’s lusts higher and higher. “Uuuuuuugh! “Uuuuuugh!” she cried out finally as her pussy began to throb in hard, heavy contractions. “Uuuugh! Uuuuuuugh! Uuuuuuuuuuuuuuugh!” she called out as the almost agonizing pulses of pleasure wracked her brain. “Uuuuuuuuugh!”
As her orgasm began to ebb, the man pulled his face from her loins and gave her a leering, mocking grin. His beard was wet with her discharge and his face bespoke his own fevered lusts. “See what I mean, puta? You whores are all the same. You might put up a fight, but what you really want is a tongue between your thighs. Any tongue, as long as it’s hot and hits all the right spots.”
Margie moaned in despair as she realized the truth in what the large man had said. It didn’t matter whose tongue, or cock, for that matter, plied her twat, she would writhe and moan with physical delight. She was a whore, like all the men had said since she had been ripped from her safe, content, naïve life. Even as they abused her, the knowledge that her punishment would inevitably be followed by her ravishment was enough for her breasts to fill with the blood of her lust and her cunny to yawn and drool with expectation.
“Have you learned your lesson, crica?” the man asked her teasingly. “If I let you down are you going to be a good girl?”
Maggie nodded disconsolately as much as she could with her chin cruelly forced back by the hard metal ring around her throat. She cried with relief as she felt one leg and the then the other released. The man unfastened her leash from the canopy and the girl fell to her knees.
The man placed his strong, fat hand on her head and pushed her forwards. “Bend over, whore,” he told her churlishly. “You got me stiff as a steel pole and I need some relief.”
Margie dolefully placed her forehead on the deck and spread her knees. The man’s heavy, pointed toed boot jabbed her thighs rudely as he instructed her callously, “Wider, cunt.”
She heard the thud of the man’s knees hitting the deck and then felt the rub of the man’s coarse, canvas pants against the back of her thighs and his cock press against the entrance to her womb. Unlike the last time that he fucked her, her pussy was dilated and wet and his passage was easy as he thrust his meat deep inside her. Her still enflamed canal welcomed his cock eagerly as he began a series of hard, punishing thrusts into her. His cruel hands seized her hips to better control and regulate the traverse of his hardened weapon along her pussy’s energized walls. She could feel the rumble of the boat’s engines on her forehead and her knees, and her heavy breasts scraped along the deck stinging her damaged nipples, as her body recorded each powerful thrust of the man’s thighs against hers. By the time that his cock had begun shooting his hot fluids inside her, she was again moaning and crying out with pleasure.
During the next four days, the two men savagely misused her. While they were not fucking her fore and aft, or using her mouth, they kept her bound to the bunk in the captain’s quarters below decks. They would make her lay down on her belly, her arms confined cruelly to the ring in her collar behind her and then affix the ring in the front to a hook they had installed in the headboard. Her ankles were tied together. She lay there for many hours each day listening to the monotonous drone of the engines and dreading the tell tale sound of one of the men coming down from the deck above to abuse her.
At night, she was allowed to come up and kneel on the deck in the somewhat cooler night air and service the men with her mouth. They never spoke
to her, but made jokes to each other about her breasts and her eager cunt. Her meals were served to her in the very same bowl that the bandit had used when she had first journeyed in the old, beat up craft. When, at first, she had declined to eat, the blond haired man had beaten her with a leather strap until she tearfully succumbed.
It was strange to be a prisoner again on the boat that had brought her up river in the first place. She thought of the brave, dark haired girl who had been made prisoner here and how she cursed the bandit and spat in his face, a thing that she paid dearly for. Margie wondered what cruelties the girl had suffered since then and whether, if she were to go back to the tavern, she might see the forlorn, young woman sitting on one of the petit chairs at the top of the landing, dressed in scanty intimacies, awaiting her next drunken and loutish customer. She thought of the bandit himself, his broad, toothy grin, his strong, knowledgeable hands as they caressed her into passion. Even of Pepe, who had died with a little red mark on his forehead, but who had never touched her. Their presence on the small boat was palpable, as if their ghosts haunted it. The vision of the poor man her captor had killed made her shiver, his body bobbing momentarily on the surface of the river, before it sank into the dark, muddy water forever with a single, pitiful moan.
Margie’s mind struggled with the experience of living a nightmare that could not be, but yet, was. How could she have ended up a dismal prisoner, a sexual slave, the use of her hands seemingly permanently deprived of her, unable to speak, to regulate her bodily needs, to deny admission to her private places to anyone who wanted them. She had had so much to live for. A life well planned out, a marriage seemingly made in heaven. She had been at the brink of success professionally. Her planned field trip next spring would have catapulted her into the forefront of her profession.
The poor woman tried to keep such thoughts from her mind, as they brought on heart rendering tears and intense, disabling depression. She tried to lose herself in the never ceasing drone of the boat’s engines, the gentle rocking of the water and the occasional screech of a jungle creature as they passed along. But the thoughts kept returning as did the foreboding that she felt when she thought about what her future would soon bring.