The Blue Cantina

by Paul Blades

  After a while, he seemed to be reminded of her presence in the car with him.

  “Did you enjoy your dinner, Anna?’ he asked her politely. His voice pricked at her through her alcoholic haze. She looked over at his expectant, handsome face.

  “Yes, Mr. Devlin,” she murmured.

  “Then I think that you should show your thanks,” he returned. “Come over here and suck my prick.”

  Jolted back into her new life as Devlin’s whore, Anna moved to comply with his wishes. There was enough room on the broad, comfortable seats of the limo for her to kneel up next to him. His legs were spread but his fly was unopened. She looked beseechingly into his face for directions. She didn’t want to touch him without permission.

  “Go ahead, Anna. You can’t suck it while it’s in my pants. And if you need to use you hands for balance, you can put one of them on my thighs. But once you get my cock out, I don’t want anything touching it except your mouth. Keep the other hand behind your back. And pull up your dress. I want to play with your cunt while you suck me.”

  Distressed by the man’s polite but insistent demands, Anna pulled the hem of her dress up over her hips, exposing her bare bottom and the sex between her legs. She leaned over and eased down the fly to Devlin’s pants and tentatively placed her hand in the gap that appeared there. He was wearing a pair of silken boxers and she was able to free his warm, soft tool. As she was preparing to place her trembling lips upon it, Devlin gave her another command.

  “Pull down the straps to your dress in case I want to play with your tits,” he said coldly. Anna obediently knelt back and dragged first one and then the other of the straps to her bodice over her shoulders and down her arms. Her pretty, flowery, earth toned dress was now bunched around her waist like a huge belt. Her breasts swung obediently free. She was conscious of the driver in the front seat and how she must appear to him. She resisted the impulse to look in the rearview mirror to see if he was watching her, and bent over to her task. She placed her right hand on Devlin’s strong, muscular thigh and her left behind her back as she had been instructed. She drew his cock between her lips. It had been hardening in anticipation of her attentions and it was soon stiff and fully extended inside her.

  Devlin gave a soft sigh as Anna washed her lips over his rigid pole. He had his cigar in his left hand and ran his right over Anna’s exposed buttocks. Anna’s head was swooning from the effects of the liquor she had consumed and the smell of Devlin’s cigar. How much different was she than the tube of fine tobacco he was drawing on with his lips, she thought. She was a thing to be used, existing only for his pleasure. When he was done with her, would he cast her away, all used up, like the butt end of his smoke? The fact that he had made arrangements with the banker, Harrison, for the deposit of the money was reassuring, however. It made his promise to save the Center more real. She tried to concentrate on why she was here, why she was doing what she was doing and let all other concerns fade away.

  The hard meat rolled over her active tongue and to the back of her mouth. She drew her lips up slowly, swirling her tongue over the shaft, conveying the warmth and delicate sensations of her lips and tongue to the fleshy spear. Devlin’s hand was rubbing her sensitized skin on her rear mounds and her loins responded to his caresses despite her shame. She felt his fingers drift across her love lips, which were pushed together by her closed thighs. She thought of the thin line of hair around them and of how they must appear, two long, rounded bulges of soft flesh between the rear of her naked, exposed thighs. Devlin’s fingers probed at the entrance and rather than wait for instructions, she spread her thighs wider so that he could have full access.

  Devlin chuckled. “That’s a good girl, Anna. You’re learning. Spread your thighs like a good whore so I can get inside you.”

  Anna cringed at the appellation, but did not interrupt her task of pleasuring Devlin’s stiff joint. She felt his fingers slide between her tingling love lips and, taking advantage of the nascent moisture there, slip between them and enter her. She gave out her own sigh of pleasure as his fingers coursed gently over her needy pleasure bud.

  “Don’t let me come, Anna, no matter what,” Devlin ordered as he stroked Anna’s pussy. His thumb was implanted deep inside her, coursing in and out, and his fingers played with the hardened nubbin at her pussy’s apex. She felt her juices flowing. It was hard for Anna to concentrate on the state of Devlin’s prick as he drove her lust higher and higher. Every once in a while, when her breathing became heavy and her moans louder, he withdrew his hand and caressed her buttocks or slid his hand under her chest to caress and tease her breasts and nipples. The third time, when the hand returned, he pushed her on further and further until she felt her crises looming. “Mmmmmmmm!” she moaned, her voice muffled by the thick, stiff wad of flesh in her mouth. “Mmmmmmmmmmm!”

  “That’s it, come for Daddy, Anna. Let your cunt take hold of you,” Devlin teased.

  At Devlin’s words, Anna’s crevasse exploded into a series of hard, pleasurable throbs. Her thighs squeezed together, pressing her pussy’s energized walls against the thick finger that moved inside. Her breasts ached with their fullness. Overwhelmed by the electrified jolts that passed through her, she ceased her efforts at Devlin’s prick, unable to coordinate the strokes of her lips with the pleasure that flowed from her womb. She held the cock fast between her lips as she moaned and groaned at each fierce spasm of her flush, hot chasm.

  “You’re a hot piece of ass, Anna,” Devlin taunted her once the more violent of her pussy’s spasms had passed. He eased the teasing of her still vibrating cleft, letting her lusts subside to a low burn. “We’re going to have a lot of fun together. Now get back to sucking my cock.”

  Anna’s spasms of pleasure had subsided to mere echoes and she dutifully returned her attentions to the hard prick between her lips. Her body was filled with a suffusing warmth. When she was able to reestablish a rhythmic, dedicated pleasuring of the thick wand of meat, Devlin resumed his attack. He had softened his touch in deference to her spent orgasm, and now slowly, but surely, built to a more hastened pace as her passion began to build once more.

  By the time they pulled up into the driveway of the Devlin mansion, he had made her come three times. Her body felt wrung out from her blasts of pleasure. She had been careful, while Devlin was plowing her pussy with his long, thick fingers, or teasing and pinching her stiffened, fat nipples, to gauge his build up of lusts lest she should err and make him come before he was ready. When the limo pulled to a halt before the front door, Devlin withdrew his hand from her loins. He placed the remnant of his smoldering cigar in the ashtray next to him.

  “Okay, now, make me come, slut,” he ordered her churlishly.

  Anna obediently accelerated her attentions at his prick. Her jaw was tired as a result of her prolonged efforts and her arm was stiff from holding herself suspended over his lap. His hand pulled and squeezed her breasts as he got nearer and nearer to completion. His moans of pleasure were loud and undoubtedly easily audible by the driver who had remained in place in the front seat. Anna knew that it was far past the time that she should be concerned about what he knew or witnessed. She had groaned and moaned loudly each time that she had come, unmistakable evidence of what was going on in the back seat. Somehow, however, his sitting calmly in the front seat, the car’s engine idling, patiently awaiting his employer’s signal, renewed Anna’s sense of shame. Devlin had called her a whore right in front of him. Well, if she wasn’t a whore, what was she doing blowing Devlin in the back seat of his limo, naked but for the bunched up fabric around her waist?

  Devlin gave a mighty groan as his cock began to pulse and jerk within Anna’s mouth. His spunk flooded it and she drank his jetting sperm down dutifully while maintaining the strokes of her lips and the dancing of her tongue on the soft textured, stiff pole. Devlin’s hand was on her head and he had grabbed a tuft of her hair. He pressed her head down hard and pushed his throbbing cock deep into her throat. Anna began to coug
h and sputter as her airway was cut off. She tried desperately to pull her head back, but Devlin’s grip was too strong. “Ooooooooommmpf! Ooooooooooompf!” she called out through her stuffed mouth in protest. Her air was getting short and she struggled to free her throat of the pulsing, throbbing mass that filled it. Her left hand, which she had obediently kept poised behind her throughout her ordeal, came forward and, using both of her hands, she tried to push herself away from her tormentor. But Devlin’s grip was too strong. She cried and sobbed as her lungs screamed for sustenance. Finally, giving out a loud, prolonged, satisfied sigh, his forces spent, Devlin lifted her head from his crotch, pulling his tormenting cock free.

  Anna strained to rush air into her lungs. Her chest heaved and she coughed and sputtered. Devlin still had hold of her hair in his strong, right hand. He shook her head violently. “Don’t ever do that again, cunt!” he yelled. “When I shove my cock down your throat you’ll keep it there and like it! You’ve got a lot of learning to do, bitch! You’ve just earned yourself another three strokes of Vincent’s cane. How many is that now? Ten? You’re going to be one sorry cunt in a little while! Do you want to earn some more?”

  Anna struggled to gain enough breath to speak. She was overwhelmed with Devlin’s onslaught of anger and violence. It was horrifying to her how quickly the man could go from a semblance of civility to cruel, vicious abuse. Ten strokes? “Oh my god,” Anna thought. “I won’t be able to stand it.” She reached down inside her and managed a pitiful response to Devlin’s question.

  “No, Mr. Devlin, please no!” she protested, miserable at her callous treatment and the thought of what ten strokes of a cane would feel like.

  “Put you hands behind your back where they belong!” Devlin shouted. Anna complied hurriedly. Her hair was aching terribly where Devlin had a hold of it, her nerve endings shrieking with pain. At some signal from Devlin, the driver arose from seat and opened the rear door of the limo. Devlin moved to get out, tugging Anna behind him. There was a blast of cold air on her near naked body as she struggled to follow him, her hair still in his angry grasp. He pulled her from the rear seat gradually until she was able to place first one and then the other of her feet on the ground. Then, keeping her bent over, her hands joined behind her, he dragged her up the steps to the front door.

  Vincent was waiting there. After he closed the door behind them, Devlin gave Anna a shove and she tumbled to the cool, slate floor. She gave out a cry as she fell.

  “Take of that stupid dress!” Devlin shouted.

  Anna, afraid of further torment, rapidly complied. She turned on her hip and frantically pulled the dress down over her knees and then her high heel clad feet. Her lips were trembling and tears were flowing down her face. “Please, Mr. Devlin, don’t hurt me,” she whined. “I’ll do whatever you want. Please.”

  “Shut the fuck up, Anna,” Devlin returned. “Get up and put your hands behind your back!”

  Anna quickly complied. She cringed before the angered, callous man. He reached to the floor and picked up her expensive, elegant dress. Taking it in his powerful hands, he tore a long strip from it. He quickly rolled it up into a ball, discarding the ruined remnant. “Open you mouth, slut,” he ordered curtly.

  Anna unhappily spread her lips. Devlin took the roll of fine fabric and stuffed it in her mouth. He pushed and prodded it until her oral cavity was fully packed. “When are you going to learn to shut the fuck up, cunt,” he said angrily. “That’s two more strokes. An even dozen. Want some more?”

  Anna felt like her whole psyche was going to collapse. Her body was shaking from fear. Her knees felt weak and she felt like she was going to pee all over the floor. Her face was contorted with dismay. Her mouth was distended as wide as it could go. “Oh, i-er e-in,” she moaned piteously through her gagged lips.

  “Take her upstairs and mount her on my bed,” Devlin order his servant. “I’ll be up in a little while.”

  Vincent gave his master a small nod and turned to Anna. “Come,” was all he said.

  Knowing that she had no choice, Anna followed the tall, dark-visaged servant up the stairs. Her chest was heaving from her sobs. “How will I ever survive?” she thought to herself miserably as she ascended the staircase. Glad to be out of reach of the evil millionaire if even for a little while, Anna, naked now, hurried to stay up with the butler as he strode purposefully before her. It seemed unreal to her that she had voluntarily put herself into Devlin’s cruel power, that she was moving of her own volition, if not free will, to whatever dismal experience the man had in store for her next. It was like she was on automatic, her mind having lost the ability to rebel against her treatment. Her pussy was still wet and oozing from his manipulation of her lusts in the limo and her breasts still tingled with the residue of her spent passion. Her stomach felt tight and queasy and her heart was pumping at a hundred miles an hour. Her hands were sweaty behind her back. Her mouth bulged from its stuffing and her weak knees were making her wobble on her pretty high heels.

  When they reached the top of the stairs, they turned left and walked down to the end of the hall. A large, heavy wooden door stood at its terminus. Vincent opened it and stood back, inviting her in.

  The room was cavernous and filled with manly, heavy furniture. There were 8’ high, curtained windows and a dark blue, shag carpet. The bed was huge, with four finely carved dark oak posts at its corners. There was a tall, ornate headboard against the wall. Several elegant prints of luxuriant, erotically posed women lined the walls, which were covered by a light blue and gold wallpaper. A large chandelier hung from the middle of the ceiling and half moon, translucent sconces were mounted around the room.

  Anna had only a few seconds to take in the sumptuous décor. Vincent pointed to a door opposite the bed. “Use the toilet,” he said coolly.

  Anna’s bladder was near bursting and she happily entered the expansive, luxurious bathroom. The walls and floor were white marble and the fixtures were plated in gold. Keeping her hands behind her, she sat on the toilet and peed. Vincent, as was his custom, stood over her, watching, as if he needed to make sure that she complied with his command. Anna could not stop crying, although her sobs had subsided to sniffles. She looked up at the butler, hoping to see a modicum of sympathy for her plight. She saw none. Only the cold, hard face of the man who was going to, sooner or later this evening, administer twelve hard strokes to her body with a cane.

  When she was done, Vincent wiped her pussy dry and flushed the commode. He had her stand next to him while he washed his hands. Anna could see herself in the large, gold edged mirror over the long, white marble vanity. Her lips were pursed and spread widely by her makeshift gag. Her jet black hair was mussed and her eyes were swollen and red. Her mascara had run and there were two dark lines descending from her eyes like a sad clown’s makeup. Her golden earrings, dangling on each side of her face, seemed brassy and false. She was ashamed to be still wearing them. Foolishly, she had adorned herself with the bright baubles in the hopes of making herself seem more attractive, more sophisticated. Now they seemed just to accentuate her whoreishness.

  The bright light made her olive brown skin seem wan and pale. She was a piteous sight although she knew she would not be shown any pity by these cruel men. Was that really her in the mirror, she thought sadly. Or was it someone else, someone who had been hiding in her for many years? Was the subservient, obsequious, servile Anna she saw in the mirror the real one, or was it the brave, independent, self actualized one that she had constructed? Something told her it was the former rather than the latter. Her life had changed over the last two days. Something had broken in her and she knew that she would never be the same.

  Vincent ordered her out of the bathroom. Her heart heavy with dismay and shame, she obeyed and stepped back into the sumptuous boudoir. Vincent moved to the head of the bed and pulled down the covers, revealing a golden hued set of silk sheets. “Take off your shoes, your garter belt and your stockings and get on the bed,” he ordered the fri
ghtened, young woman.

  Anna moved immediately to obey his command. She quickly released the clips that had held her stockings aloft on her slender, well trimmed thighs and rolled them down her legs. She had to bend over to unbuckle her high heels and take them off her feet and her round, full breasts swayed and jerked as she struggled with them. When they were off, she unhooked the garter belt behind her and let it drop to the floor. Then, keeping her hands dutifully crossed behind her, she crawled up onto the wide expanse of the bed.

  “Turn your head to the top of the bed and bend over on your knees,” Vincent ordered. Anna turned her back to the cold, efficient man and bent over so that her breasts were crushed against her thighs, her hands slavishly crossed behind her.

  “From now on, when I bring you here and order you on the bed, this will be the posture you assume,” Vincent explained coolly. “Do you understand?”

  Anna was overwhelmed with fear and unhappiness. She nonetheless managed a reply muffled through her stuffed mouth, knowing that failure to answer could bring down additional punishment. “Eh, er,” she answered, her voice whiny and child like.

  “Stay where you are,” Vincent ordered.

  Anna kept her face pressed down in front of her, too afraid to look up and see what the servant was doing. She heard a cabinet opening and what she thought was the rattle of chains. When Vincent returned to the bed and leaned over it, she saw that she was right. A chill ran through her at the thought of being chained to the bed. “Oh, god!” she thought to herself desperately. “What is he going to do?”

  The servant looped one end of the chain through a ring low in the middle of the headboard and then brought it up about three feet higher where he connected it to a metal clip embedded in the wood. The other end of the chain had a pair of steel handcuffs attached. “Give me your hands,” Vincent ordered.