“And when will he be back?”
“He only said soon.”
“So, you’ve seen Antonia and Mr. Francisco together before?”
“No, sir. But I did run into your wife yesterday morning about the same time. She was coming from that direction.”
“I see.”
“I knew she wasn’t supposed to be out of the house. She explained to me that she was just walking, that she had to get out once and a while. You know, she said she needed a little freedom. I sort of understood,” she said, feigning sympathy. “I told her I wouldn’t tell, of course, I only said that so she’d think I’d keep her secret. I would have told you anyway, but seeing that she’s not just walking, that she’s been having sex with Mr. Francisco, well, I knew I had to come to you right away with this terrible report.”
Rupert smiled. “Yes, it’s a terrible report, isn’t it?”
“I’m sorry, sir. I really hate this sort of thing, you know, nosing into people’s private affairs…but really, it was an accident.”
“Right.” Rupert suspected another motive behind the woman’s confession, but he wasn’t interested in exploring what that was. “Well, thank you, Luisa. You can go now.”
“Yes, sir.” She waited a bit, while he started reading a letter. “Would you like me to get your wife for you?”
He looked up again, irritated this time. “No, Luisa, if I need to see Senora Reyes, I’ll get her myself.”
Luisa, having played her hand, found no more cards to play, and left the room, worried now that the master didn’t care about his wife’s infidelity. Maybe this was what he was hoping for. He’d have Sonia, the woman he really wanted. He didn’t love her—Luisa didn’t think it was possible for the master to love anyone—but he certainly needed her company to assuage his demons; something no other woman had been able to do, including his wife. Luisa’s worst fear was that her plan would backfire, only making Antonia’s affair with Rafael as acceptable in this house as the master’s use of his maid.
Chapter Twelve
Antonia had walked on eggs in her husband’s house before, especially in those first days of her marriage when she still believed Rupert loved her and she did everything possible to please him. She wasn’t walking on eggs now to please him, but was both alert and cautious in light of the strange way Rupert looked at her since he returned from his business trip. There was a glint in his eye she’d never seen before, and he seemed unusually reserved, as if he were studying her very carefully.
Maybe it was nothing, just a mood for reasons that had nothing to do with her. But coupled with her concerns for Rafael and his task in Madrid, she was a nervous wreck by the time the next day dawned. She’d hardly slept. Her dreams were almost nightmares. She woke up once, gasping for breath. Hearing a moan coming from the bedroom next door where Rupert slept with Sonia, she quieted herself quickly, careful not to let Rupert overhear the sound of her anxiety.
Antonia spent the morning as usual. After breakfast, she went to her morning room to watch TV. But in the middle of her favorite talk show, the door was suddenly thrown wide open, Rupert and Miguel striding in on a cloud of self-importance.
“Your game is up, wife,” Rupert said, directly, his expression terse, his eyes lit in a steamy glowering way that Antonia associated with both fear and sex.
“Game? What do you mean?” She moved to her feet in seconds, backing up like a corner animal.
“The affair with Mr. Francisco is over. Miguel will take you to the dungeon for your punishment, then you’ll be taking a leave of absence from this house. You’ll stay with the Marquis and your mother in Cartagena, until matters have been settled here.”
Antonia’s heart pounded so hard that she could feel it beating in her temples. Afraid she’d faint; she clutched the chair in front of her for support, while battling back a wave nausea that threatened to overtake her. Not surprisingly, she couldn’t open her mouth to speak.
“Your lover will be receiving a message from my lawyer today, cutting ties with his company in all of our business matters. He will not be welcome on this property. And if he wishes to avoid prosecution he will make no attempt to contact you. You may have thought this silly affair was a way to secede from our marriage. But I have a vested interest in it remaining just as it is.”
“Oh, Rupert if you want the family money, take it!” She finally found her voice. “I don’t care.”
“Oh, my dear. You think that’s all I want?”
“Isn’t it?”
“Hmph! You should have learned by now,” he smirked. “Apparently, you have no idea how much I enjoy the flavor of our relationship, its decadent twists and turns, especially how you suffer so. I enjoy it all. I wouldn’t miss it. I think I actually regret that I didn’t keep your mother here too. But now that she’s gone, I certainly won’t give you up. At least not until you no longer amuse me.” He turned to Miguel. “Take her to the cellar and string her up by the ankles. Make certain she’s secure; she’s going to hang there a good long while.”
***
Antonia dangled upside down in the dark; her head pounding, blood rushing through her veins until she was sure she would explode. Her first trip to the bowels of Rupert’s house was roughly made, Miguel pushing her down the cellar stairs, while holding her by the waistband of her skirt as she skidded on the steps. She made it safe enough, landing on two feet, but by the time the man strung her upside down, despite her kicking and screaming, she wished she’d fallen bad enough to break her leg—Rupert would be forced to change his plans.
“Enough of the screaming,” Miguel demanded. But she didn’t stop screaming. After her next roaring shout, “PUT ME DOWN!” the man stuffed a ballgag in her mouth and tied it around the back of her head. She hung from her ankles now with her legs widely spread. Her hands were likewise cuffed and anchored to bolts in the floor. She squirmed erratically, moaning and grunting behind the gag, but no matter how much she jerked and twisted, the bondage held.
Finished with the task, the passive Miguel sat down on a stool, pulled a pocket knife and apple from his pocket and nonchalantly proceeded to eat the apple one sliver at a time, all the while keeping his eyes indifferently trained on the upside down Antonia.
The only lights in the dungeon came from flickering sconces on each wall, which were dimly lit. Antonia felt as is she were on the fringes of hell. Her temples beat hotly as the blood rushed to her head. Finally succumbing to exhaustion, she stopped writhing; the physical battle was pointless. Her eyes rested on the seated man, as he carefully sliced his apple and popped each bite into this mouth. The air became so still that the only sound she heard was sluuiiiiiiip of the blade and then the crunch of the fruit in Miguel’s mouth.
Every few seconds just to remind him that she was still suffering, Antonia twisted again and grunted with displeasure, hoping eventually he’d have some sympathy for her miserable circumstances and let her down. Her efforts did not look promising.
“Ah, so how’s my wife?” she suddenly heard Rupert’s voice behind her.
The self-satisfied, haughty husband circled his wife, his keen eyes circumspectly viewing her naked, inverted body. He held a cane in his hand that he used to strike her flanks, her breasts, her ass, her belly and thighs.
“Too bad I can’t leave you like this all night.”
Did this mean he’d be taking her down?
“But I will make the most of the opportunity,” Rupert added. “You commit adultery under my roof, slut, you pay.”
As if he hadn’t committed adultery night after night with his whore!
Logical thought stopped at this point and revenge took charge of the master. His cane began to whip on Antonia’s thighs until she squirmed in frantic agitation, her body contorting so it was impossible for him to aim for any target with the expectation of hitting his mark. Rupert stopped the beating just long enough for Miguel to rise from the stool—his apple eaten down to the core. Rupert’s servant unfastened Antonia’s hands from the
floor bolts, then pushed a table into position behind her back and lifted her onto the flat surface. He strapped her down in a half-dozen places so by the time Miguel was finished, Antonia’s shoulders, upper back, waist, neck and arms were securely fixed to the tabletop. Her ass hovered six inches off the table, her feet still splayed, but now her knees were bent and pushed open, leaving her entire sexual center, from anus to pubic mound, vulnerably exposed.
Using wood and leather paddles, Rupert spanked Antonia’s sex from her vagina down to her anus, leaving no place untouched. Pain roared from the stinging surfaces outward, while heat, hurt and fear conspired to send her mind into a faint. No such luck. Each time she was about to lose consciousness, Rupert changed weapons, delivering another painful blast. Her back arched and remained taut; her muscles tensed; everything in her froze—until Rupert finally backed away to appraise the reddened flesh.
Feasting on his wicked urges and the hunger for revenge, he’d zeroed in on the darkest corner of his cold heart, where his sadism bred. In the interim between the first round of torture and the next, he played with the folds of her heated skin, sinking his fingers into her vagina and rectum, desiring her response. Just as he knew it would, the wetness of her hot slit betrayed her as she squirmed erotically and grabbed at his fingers with her inner muscles. Revealing how deeply her sexual desire had been awakened, his brutality got its second wind.
“You deny it now?” he sniggered. “You’re just like your slut mother.” He wiggled his fingers a little deeper raising the ante for another round of torture. Once he saw that she was frantic to come, he stopped abruptly and stepped back, spanking her pussy with relentless precision until she screamed behind the gag. He did the same aiming for her rectum. She’d never felt such pain, or a physical response so acute. It tore through her body, making her fight at the straps that held her down. When Rupert backed off the second time, he fed the trough with more arousal, pinching her clitoris and pulling at her scorched labia. He let go her clit and flicked it with his fingers, then jabbed her rectum with a thick anal plug. Taking up his quirt, he flayed her again, pinpointing the rawest places on her body for more torture, leaving welts the size of fingers.
“Take out the gag,” he ordered Miguel.
As if there were some mercy residing in the man’s sadistic bones, he offered her water from a bottle that splashed on her mouth as she greedily gulped it down her dry mouth.
Mercy? Why would he show her mercy when he so plainly loathed her?
Though her mind struggled with the idea, her body did not.
He followed the water with a bottle of cold beer that went down her gullet as quickly. When that was finished, he chased it with another beer until she finally gurgled, “I can’t,” and turned her face, the bottle draining against her cheek and soaking her matted hair.
Rupert laughed.
Antonia knew there was a motive in his madness.
He started in again with his hand on her crotch, resurrecting her feelings of arousal to the brink of climax with his skilled tease. Again reaching the critical moment, he backed off to punish the wounded skin with a braided cat-o’-nine tails.
This time, as the pain thundered through her belly and groin, she screamed full-throated—torment and anguish echoed off the stone walls. When he finished with the punishment, he fiddled with her crotch again, jabbed at the brutal ass plug and then stopped her on the brink of climax.
“No, you won’t get off, slut. Not now. Not unless you can do it on air.” He turned to Miguel, saying, “Leave her here the night with the lights out. If the pain hasn’t taught her a lesson, maybe the rats will!”
“Rupert, no, please!” she called out. “I can’t stay here.”
“Oh, but you can!” he argued.
“But what if I have to pee.” She could already feel the pressure in her bladder gathering strong.
“Then pee. It’s nothing that you won’t be able to clean up in the morning.”
Rupert walked out the door, giving it a decisive, but gentle, slam. Miguel took a few minutes to check her straps, making sure that each would hold. Then he, too, exited the dungeon, turning the lights out as he left.
Once the lights were extinguished, all hope seemed to die in Antonia’s heart. She was his captive now and Rupert would never let her go. And mercy? Were the water and beer splashing down her throat an act of mercy? As the pressure in her bladder became impossible to bear, she understood the quality of Rupert’s mercy. It was maybe noon, if that. She’d never last the night.
Chapter Thirteen
The evening train from Barcelona left with Antonia on board, headed for Cartagena and the Marquis’ home. Miguel traveled with her to guard against her running away. She wore an oversized, long, plain black dress in an attempt to hide her sexual body from gawking strangers, but it was difficult not to stare at her; she looked like a widow with a black lace mantilla covering her face, which was now puffy from crying. Her entire body ached; and yet, her groin was still on fire with a lust she hated.
She took a seat by the window at the front of the railcar. Sitting beside her, Miguel placidly thumbed through an evening paper. He was not so much reading as passing time. They were nearly late for the train, because Rupert would not allow Antonia to leave until she’d cleaned up the mess she’d made in the dungeon when she could no longer hold her bladder. He’d stood over her with a cane, rapping her ass because she wasn’t working fast enough. Remembering that horrible hour, her stomach instantly soured.
Now she only wanted solitude. She would have preferred to sit in the back of the car in a less conspicuous place, but unfortunately, these were the only decent seats left by the time the two boarded. Across from them were two facing empty seats. She desperately hoped no one would sit there. The cloud of misery that surrounded her would be obvious to anyone, and she had no desire to make small talk with curious passengers.
At least now, she was out from under Rupert’s loathsome eye, moving fast toward her mother’s home and hopefully some comfort within the Marquis’ house. She could only hope that her mother had been honest with her in their brief conversations. If so, Honoria’s relationship with the Marquis was not only civil, it was actually pleasant. He’d taught her to ride horseback and they went on daily rides surveying the man’s property. Honoria had been allowed to cook, which she loved to do, and to sit with the Marquis in the evening and read her novels. Although her mother hadn’t actually verified this, Antonia assumed that they slept together in his bed. She was in all ways his companion, acting as his wife. If she submitted to him sexually the way she submitted to Benito, nothing was mentioned about that aspect of their relationship. Although Antonia had dozens of unanswered questions about her mother’s new life, she had to assume that Rupert monitored her telephone calls to Cartagena. Since her mother must have figured the same, the two carefully tiptoed around sensitive subjects like sex and sexual submission.
Hurting as she was, Antonia could feel her body relax a little more with every jostling mile. But when the train unexpectedly slowed, she tensed, her fear coming back to her with a painful shock as she was thrown forward. Miguel reached out and held her back until the train came to a screeching halt.
“Is there something wrong?” she asked, looking around in wonder.
There was much discussion and confusion, but it seemed that no one knew.
Fifteen minutes passed, then thirty. Finally, after nearly an hour of restless waiting, the conductor moved through the passenger car and announced that there would be another hour delay.
“Damn!” Miguel muttered under his breath.
The conductor moved to the next car to make the announcement, while a fuming Miguel squirmed irritably in his seat. He wanted a smoke, but needed to buy a pack of cigarettes.
“You can go ahead,” Antonia urged him. “I won’t go anywhere.”
He looked at her suspiciously and shook his head. Another few minutes passed and he couldn’t wait any longer. Finally, he fished throug
h his pocket and pulled out a pair of metal handcuffs. Attaching one to Antonia’s left wrist, which was on the window side of the car, he attached the other cuff to the bar below the seat. Satisfied that she would be going nowhere, he stood up and stretched.
“But Miguel, what if I have to…you know…go to the lavatory?” she said to him, whispering. Seemed she’d just asked this question a few hours ago.
Miguel, apparently remembering that moment in the dungeon, chuckled darkly. He shook his head, then turned around and moved toward the back of the car, saying nothing.
Thankfully, there was no pressing need to go, but the idea that she was cuffed to her seat made her almost blush. She gazed around the railcar, realizing that no one could even see her wrist. If she kept it beside her, tucked under her dress, the fact of her captivity would remain a secret.
With nothing else to do, she propped a small pillow on the headrest, leaned back and closed her eyes.
“Excuse me?”
Antonia sat up with a jerk, hearing the mellifluous sounds of a female voice draw her from her slumber.
“Yes?” She looked into the kind eyes of a mature but very attractive woman. She was certainly her mother’s age, maybe a little older. She too was dressed in black. Her dress, however, was stylishly cut like something from a Paris salon. She wore a vibrantly colored red and gold silk scarf to give her color, and draped about her shoulders was a mink wrap that she wore as casually as she would something less luxurious. Her black hair was tinged with red highlights, obviously dyed, but perfectly in fashion, as were her tall pumps, the gold rings glittering on her hands and the simple garnet earrings that set off her pleasantly sculpted face. She might have been a model when she was younger. Now, the air about her reeked wealth and position, even though there was nothing haughty about her manner.
“I was curious. You looked so troubled…” she said, leaning down, smiling.
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