A warm and sensuous breeze with a hint of salty sea air swirled around her nakedness. Her hands had been strung up to rings that hung down from the top of the posts. Her ankles were staked to the base of each one. The chain that threaded painfully through her crotch and connected to her collar front and back remained.
Fernando Baptiste, dressed in a white summer suit, his wife, Maria Dolores in a creamy beige outfit purchased in Milan at a trendy designer boutique, sat side by side, fanning themselves in the hot air, as they watched the woman in chains receive a dozen slashes to her backside from the cracker end of a bullwhip, wielded by the ranch overseer, Hector. Benito could have expertly marked his wife himself since he was skilled with any size of whip, but on this occasion, he preferred to watch, to see Honoria’s physical reply: her face crying in shock, the heavy sensuous sigh afterwards, the twitching in her body as she waited for the next cut to land, and the anguished look of pain disfiguring her pretty features. Benito furtively watched his guests respond to the poor tramp’s torment, while a feeling of sublime gratification warmed his loins and turned his organ stiff.
Fernando and his wife remained detached from the theatre for some minutes. Then they squirmed in their chairs, followed by hands pressed to the other’s thighs. They kissed. Whispered secrets. The wife giggled at her husband’s private comments, while the husband feasted on the sight of the beaten woman in horrified wonder. The energy of their bodies seemed to fuse into a simmering pot of torrid agitation from which there was no relief.
Only Benito appeared calm, but then, that was only a mask for the inferno in his body that he carefully monitored.
Honoria felt the blows to her shoulders and buttocks as a reign of fire. Each one hurt her to the core of her being, and each one fanned a flame she knew well. She danced between each strike, chains clanging portentously. And the chain that thread her crotch rubbed her raw.
When Hector moved to her front and aimed for her breasts, she screamed as the next stunning snap of his whip hit its mark. This she did not expect!
Having her body so exposed seemed quite enough for one day. The tender most parts of her were vulnerable to attack—did that mean she should endure them beaten as well? For several minutes she was tempted to rebel. But then her desires changed, and with every stinging welt that Hector carved into the pure white of her pale skin, she found the pain drifting further from her. Perhaps some gentle angel spirited it away, leaving her with the profound ecstasy that often accompanied such brutality.
No one watching could understand to what heights she soared.
Benito could relish her pain then admire her mirth. The watching couple could use her torture to turn them on—then feel guilty later. And Hector, who had the closest connection to the woman through the stinging blade of his bullwhip, knew he could rip that rapturous expression from her face by raising the intensity of his strike.
But none of them could understand the places she traveled in her visions or appreciate the thereafter when she was taken down and fell limply to the ground, not brutalized as much as completed.
For the sake of the performance, Honoria was not removed from the stakes and chains when Hector finally rolled the bullwhip in his hand and stepped back.
Benito approached her, counting cuts, seeing four stripes across her breasts, three on her belly and one making a terrible gash across her pubic mound just above the dark tuft of hair. There were at least a dozen on her backside. Benito sauntered around her dangling form. Her eyes were closed, the ecstasy still upon her, kindly not ripped from her just yet.
“I think the bitch would have her cake and eat it too,” he finally said, as he ran his hand over Honoria’s welted ass. “Hector, your turn.”
The man was surprised. In all the years—he’d been with Benito as long as his boss had been married to this wife—he’d never been given permission to use her. He coveted her on many occasions, was witness to such brutal treatment, and had been the administrator of punishment at least a dozen times. But never had he been given permission to use her sexually.
“At times like this, my wife prefers to be used anally,” Benito informed him.
This was not true! Honoria’s weary body instantly reacted, jangling her heavy hardware as if that were the only way to protest. Benito was already on her, detaching the chain to make her crotch available. Then he stepped aside for Hector.
The grateful man nodded to his boss. “Oh, senor, muchas gracias,” he said, somewhat ashamedly. Surprising, since he had no problem ruthlessly beating the woman. Even so, his sexual shame would certainly not stop him.
“She is yours until you’re satisfied, mi amigo.” Having his wife sexually used seemed like the only fitting ending in Benito’s mind, and the rest would agree, even, eventually, the wasted Honoria.
Hector nodded again with an air of respect for the prize he’d been given. He was a simple man, so his physical needs were simple. With his erection like an uncomfortable rod inside his pants, he had no complaint in being allowed to use it, even if it were to further demean the lady of the house. He swiftly moved behind Honoria, and luckily found himself at the perfect height to impale her with his tumescent organ.
Honoria, swimming in and out of a thoughtless stupor of sensation, of torn skin, gentle breezes, the smell of hot air, her sweat and a man’s pungent genitals, took Hector’s first thrust with a mewling cry of surprise. Once he entered her, Hector wrapped his arm around her waist and continued jabbing his penis into the back entrance—thankfully, she’d greased the insides as soon as her husband suggested she’d be used that day. The foreman was almost embarrassingly swift. But that seemed to suit the small gathering, who were already thinking beyond the performance.
Once Hector finished, he pulled out of the woman’s ass and quickly fled with his bullwhip. Benito turned to his guests.
“I trust this was the kind of art you were hoping to witness?” he asked.
“Indeed, my friend,” Fernando said. He and his wife wore frantic looks of frustration, which Benito found quite amusing.
“Perhaps you and Maria Delores would like a few moments to yourselves? I believe there is time before dinner.”
“That would be most acceptable,” Fernando answered with a smile. He stopped for a moment and gazed at Honoria who was still chained and staked to the posts. “What will you do with her now?”
Benito studied his wife for several seconds, then said, “Leave her hang. She’s of no use to me now. And out here, she’s out of my way.”
“Oh, you do this often? Leave her once she’s beaten?”
“On occasion,” Benito said, “she’s reminded of her place in my world, somewhere in importance between my dogs and my goats.” He laughed coldly.
“Not as valuable as your horses?” Fernando wondered with some amusement.
“No. I cannot ride her around my property,” he quipped. “You see, in my treatment of her, I may allow her a room inside my villa, but that is only for my convenience. Whatever she knows in creature comfort, in the trappings of pleasure and gentility she receives on my whim and my good will. I could as easily shun her, tie her in a corner, gag her and let her suffer. Or, I could put her in my kennels or barns as one of my livestock. I have no need to treat her well. Use her, yes. Enjoy her, yes. But more?” He shrugged, unapologetically.
“You do not love her?”
“That’s a difficult question to answer. I use her. I find her good company at times. I may even marvel at the sheer depth of her acquiescence. But now that my daughter has been married off, I have been thinking of other women I would prefer to keep me company. I need a change, I think.” He stared at her more thoughtfully. “Perhaps, I’ll give her to Hector until I can think of what to do with her.”
“My, god, how can you say these things, and right in front of her?” Maria Delores gasped.
“Oh, I doubt she hears us,” Benito said. “Now, how about you take that little rest you were wanting, while I attend to my ranch?”
> The three walked toward the villa door, which Benito opened like the gracious host he was, and then disappeared inside.
Honoria remained bound to the posts in the courtyard for several hours, during which time, Benito’s dogs came racing through, stopping long enough to lap her feet and sniff her rank crotch, pulling her from the thoughtless delirium to which she’d succumbed. Though she finally kicked the dogs away with her struggling feet and knees, part of her wanted more from them. Yes, what if she spent nights in the kennels, what would he expect of her there? That she wouldn’t seek the comfort and pleasure of her canine companions?
Such vile, forbidden thoughts this abject state of surrender conjured in her battered brain! Would she even dare? Or was that exactly what her husband wanted, his wife reduced to a lowly animal fit only for the pleasure of his dogs?
Her mind traipsed over territory she’d been before when Benito was so disposed to verbally terrorize her. Was he really going to give her away to Hector? Toss her out like used clothing? Take other women? Had Antonia’s marriage changed him so?
What had been her special bliss turned repulsive now as the ugly thoughts invaded her brain like advancing soldiers.
Until Benito finally took her down, she’d have no peace.
***
Fernando and Maria Delores made their way up the villa stairs, giggling and whispering to themselves. Fernando was all over his wife, attempting to disrobe her before they even reached their room.
She playfully scoffed at his advances and backed away. “Do really think he’ll put her out with the dogs?” she wondered aloud.
“I have no idea. Startling thought, isn’t it?”
“A terrible one.” She looked alarmed, the idea disturbing. But then her expression changed. “On the other hand, it is rather erotic, isn’t it? Thinking of her with those beastly animals? I wonder what she’d do?”
“Maybe there should be a second act to my play,” Fernando schemed.
“Oh, that’s a perfectly ghastly idea!” Maria Delores scowled. “That poor woman’s been through enough.” She turned up her nose and headed up the rest of the stairs, playfully laughing again as her husband followed close at her heels, pinching and prodding her ass. With any luck he’d have her skirt off before they got to their room.
Chapter Four
Antonia flitted down the villa stairs in search of her husband. Hearing voices coming from the back of the house, she tiptoed cautiously through the corridor leading to the kitchen. She wore a simple, but stylish, white sundress Rupert had bought on their honeymoon in Valencia. Against the soft white silk, her wild hair looked like rivers of black ink spilling onto the fabric. Her feet were bare, except for the blood-red polish on the nails and the silver toe-rings that Rupert had bestowed on her as if they were sacred ornaments. Her lip color matched her toes and she smelled like peaches and vanilla, the scents she used in her morning bath.
She knocked on the kitchen door, which was ajar, and peeked inside.
“Antonia!” Rupert looked startled by her presence.
“I thought I’d lost you,” she said sweetly.
“Did I tell you that you could come downstairs?” His delivery was terse, causing her concern.
“No, sir. I just thought I’d…”
“I am most particular about some things, wife. And roaming my house without permission is one thing that will surely get you punished.”
“Punished! But I only thought…I mean I didn’t know…I was just…”
“Shush!” He suddenly smiled. “It’s okay, darling. Come here.” His demeanor changed in an instant from curt to warm as held out his hand and drew her to him. Antonia trotted into the kitchen and snuggled into his outstretched arm.
“I’m sorry if I interrupted you,” she apologized with sad eyes.
“Oh, there’s no harm done,” Rupert said.
Antonia looked thoughtfully at the man her husband had been talking to. He seemed quite intent on her as well. She judged that he was nearly six feet tall, at least two inches taller than Rupert. He had thick, coal black hair, a bushy mustache and a bronzed complexion from hours spent in the hot Spanish sun. Most startling were his brilliant eyes, a pair of lustrous sapphires that seems to stare right through her. He wore a pair of well worn but clean denim jeans and a soft cotton shirt with its sleeves rolled to the elbow, revealing tanned, muscular forearms. He was a straightforward, earthy fellow, quite different from her very urbane and impeccable husband. If they were equals in any sense, they were also miles apart in their habits and their character.
“Antonia, this is Rafael Francisco. Rafael’s construction company is working on a real estate development that I have recently undertaken. I’ve asked him to build an addition to the house. We were just going over the plans.”
“Oh, then I should leave you to your work,” she said, trying to excuse herself and pull away. But Rupert held on to her tightly.
Rafael nodded at her, respectfully. “No, no, if you will excuse me. I was just leaving. I hope to see you again soon, ma’am. And my best to you on your recent marriage.” He looked at Rupert. “We’ll make the changes in the blueprints and I’ll give you a call next week.”
“Perfect.”
With a nod of his head, Rafael Francisco left.
“An addition to the house?” Antonia questioned her husband.
“Yes, in the area of the pool. I thought we could use a bit more space. The current pool house is quite cramped.”
“Then I suppose there will be carpenters and electricians and all sorts of men wandering around here,” she said, sounding playfully concerned.
Rupert gave his wife a knowing squeeze. “Don’t worry, we’ll have plenty of time to ourselves.”
Antonia suddenly remembered how the scene began with her peeking into the kitchen.
“I’m afraid I don’t quite understand why you don’t want me roaming the house. This is my home, isn’t it? And what do you mean you’ll punish me?”
“Of course this is your home. And punishment, while possible, is hopefully just a threat, my darling…to ensure that you behave. You do remember your vow to obey me?”
“Of course.”
“Good. So, you’ll need to check with me before you go traipsing about. There will be workmen roaming the place. I don’t want you in the way, and I don’t want these surly types casting their eyes on you. You never know what they might see in a vulnerable young woman.”
“Oh, Rupert! I would hope the workers would respect me. I’m your wife.”
“They should. But, I don’t trust them. Unless I say otherwise, you’ll confine yourself to your bedroom and the downstairs morning room with its adjoining garden. This kitchen is the sole domain of Consuella. Trust me, the woman would beat us both if we mess up her inner sanctum.” He looked about the sparkling kitchen. “She has quite a nasty temper.”
“If she’s so sour, why do you keep her?”
“I keep her because she’s a damned good cook. You’ll meet her shortly. But you will stay out of her way. If you need to speak with her, you’ll use the intercom. There are hookups in all the rooms and she can come to you.”
“I see.”
They’d been married three weeks and spent their first few nights alone in the house before they left for their honeymoon. Now, just the day before, they returned from their holiday to a much different atmosphere at Rupert’s house, where Antonia felt like an unwelcome outsider. The confinement Rupert now proposed narrowed even further the newfound freedom from her father’s close reign that Antonia expected to enjoy as a wife.
This incident in the kitchen was not the first misstep she’d made in the last twenty-four hours. She’d run into Luisa, the young housemaid, and was given the brusque, steely-eyed treatment, while being informed that she was not to bother with her husband’s personal things. He was very particular, and since she had been specifically trained by Rupert to attend to his possessions, she’d appreciate Antonia not getting her hands into his w
ardrobes and drawers and messing up what she’d carefully arranged. When Antonia mentioned the maid’s impertinent remarks to Rupert, he smiled and told her that Luisa was probably right. “Just let her take care of what I hired her to do.”
Luisa’s presence in the house gave the young bride a great deal of concern. She was hardly older than Antonia and was quite pretty. Not your typical housemaid. Though hardly five feet tall, she was quite a voluptuous package of breasts and hips contained in her petite form. She wore no uniform to designate her as a domestic, but preferred to dress in short skirts and simple blouses or sweaters that Antonia judged as too tight to be descent. When she bent over, you could see that she wore expensive lacy bras that barely covered her breasts. The way she threw her body around was inappropriate for house staff. And she spoke much too familiarly to Rupert. Still, he seemed to patronize the woman when the two crossed paths, which made Antonia wonder if they had once been lovers—a thought that for her own sanity, she had to erase from her mind.
When she mentioned to Rupert that Luisa seemed to overstep her bounds as a maid—after all, Antonia had been raised with domestic servants and knew what to expect of them—he reminded her that there would be an adjustment for them all. Luisa had been with him for two years, and this new situation was an adjustment for her, too.
“I think she might have a crush on you,” Antonia informed him, knowingly.
Rupert laughed. “Perhaps. But remember, darling, I chose you.”
He chose her? Humm. That actually seemed odd considering that the marriage had been very thoughtfully set-up before either of them met. How could he have actually chosen her? Which made her wonder why a sophisticated, modern man would have married her sight unseen in the first place.
“There’s seems to be a lot I need to remember,” Antonia sighed.
“I’m sure there is. But if you have any questions, just ask.” He gave her an affectionate peck on the cheek.
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