“So, Contessa, I take it you want me to take you down to the sniveling animal you dream of becoming?”
The Contessa bit her lip and bowed her head, embarrassed.
“There’s really nothing to be ashamed of; many woman have these fantasies. And many women live them out daily. My wife is a good example.”
She looked up, “Yes, well, I would have assumed as much.”
“You’re actually in luck. We can play in private today, no one to bother us…”
“Well, there was the gardener outside…” she jumped in. “Nice fellow. I met him at the gate.”
Rupert smiled. “Oh, he’ll be gone long before the screaming starts.”
She shuddered in anxious anticipation as she thought of screaming from the top of her lungs. “Those words,” she shivered again, “they’re so suggestive.”
“And you’re an impressionable woman. Easy to manipulate.”
She giggled under her breath. “I actually think I’m wet.”
“Well, then it’s time I took you to the cellar.” He stood up. “Give me your hand.”
He might have been quaking as much as the Contessa was, but he was better at keeping his nervousness under control. He spoke the clipped command as an order. When she hesitated, he added. “You have no choice now but to do as I say. You deserve the punishment for all your vile behavior, Madam.” Taking the Contessa’s hand, Rupert pulled her to her feet and pushed her in front of him toward the living room door. Down the hall, to the right at the cellar door and down a steep flight of stairs in her stilettos…she moved awkwardly while he pushed her from behind. She shakily threaded her way through the confusing maze of desires that riddled her mind until she landed in his dank stone dungeon, peering through the darkness at feelings of horror and dread.
“Take off your clothes!” Rupert ordered.
His voice cut through her like a shard of falling ice.
Her back was to him so he had no way of seeing the expression on her face. But at the sound of his command, she began to strip, quaking more each second, with each article of clothing she stripped away. The designer dress landed on the dusty floor. Her white French bra, the matching thong bikini, the garterbelt, the stockings—costing nearly $75 a pair—joined the heap of fabric. She was naked when she turned around. Her body gleamed, the firm thighs, the tight waist, the small but nicely rounded breasts with her bullet-like nipples now hard as tiny pebbles.
Rupert moved in on her, his hot hand pressing roughly into her crotch, while he decided what to do next.
“Yes, you’re wet enough,” he decided. “We’ll see just how much you can really suffer, Contessa.”
He drew his hand away and went for his trunk of toys. He put the ballgag in her mouth first. “Can’t be having you complain. Sluts like you don’t have the right.” He scowled darkly, his lip curled, his eyes dark as a raven’s, snapped malevolently. “Shameful, sluttish women like you need to be beaten, and you will be beaten, bitch.”
She stared at him with terrified eyes and struggled reflexively as he roped her wrists four times each to make the bond around them secure. Then he strung her arms high above her head, to a large hook that dangled from the center, stretching her firm body taut. Before he even started, Rupert could see her body at the finish, lashed red and raw and unrecognizable. She would suffer.
The Contessa struggled, as if terrified, as if she’d changed her mind, but Rupert stuck his fingers in her pussy again. His hand pulled out dripping with her juices. “Don’t tell me you’re not aroused, slut,” he scowled breathily in her ear.
She shivered from ears to toes, to her outstretched fingers.
Rupert made his rounds, first with a cane that could in no way arouse any woman when laid on without some preparation. But he liked this method, kept his subjects humbled. The bite would wake them up for later. Once the red began to appear, a good dozen stripes to her front and back, he eased off with his floggers, warming every inch of her skin until the whole of that creamy texture blushed pink. The next step was one of his favorites, a cruel cat-o’-nine tails that drove the woman’s hurt deeper. He scorched her back and buttocks with a heavy hand, raising welts, but that was not enough. Only when he had her breasts at the point of breaking the skin did he think to stop. Just before the blood spilled down, he put the cat down and stared with haughty contempt at the worn-out broad. If only he could have gone just a little further, this tramp might have satisfied his real lust for perversion.
“You like the hurt, don’t you?” he said while staring directly into her molten eyes. A big smile broadened on his face. “I think you’ll especially like the next treatment. It makes the pain very specific, centers it so keenly that you’ll be gasping for air and wishing I’d remove the gag so you could stop me.”
The glass bells, an invention of the devil, were placed over her nipples, then pumped of air, expanding and drawing the fleshy buds out into the excruciating pain he promised.
The Contessa whimpered, her eyes closed, her head fell back and her body bucked.
Three more tiny belljars were inverted across her bottom and similarly set with intense suction. Her nerves began to react, shrieking with pain even while she was prevented the opportunity to shriek back in anguish.
“Can’t be all that bad, bitch.” He fingered her pussy again. “Your arousal is leaking out all over my floor,” he stared at the little pool between her feet. “I should make you lick it up. Just think of it, the pain is only going to get more vicious before it gets better.”
He whipped her more with a single tail, placing the bites from the cracker against the tender skin at her sides, the insides of her thighs and under arms.
As the pain intensified, the distraught Contessa dearly hoped that jerking hard would release the bell jars, but her plan didn’t work.
When Rupert moved to the side of the dungeon and began to crank up the pulleys and hook that held her wrists, the woman’s body rose on tiptoe and then off her feet completely. Left to dangle like a piece of meat, the Contessa nearly fainted.
The whip striking her mound of Venus brought her back to life. Rupert found the womanly triangle shaved clean on this occasion, no remembered thick bush of hair to protect the skin. He could not resist leaving marks that would stay with her for weeks. If the bitch wanted a scene in the real world of masochism, that is what she’d get.
In his last act of torture, Rupert cuffed her ankles and hoisted each into the air so she hung by her wrists and feet, swaying with every new strike of his implement. When he finally removed each glass jar, a hot pain shook her system raw again—five times, until they were all removed. Her body jerked and twisted in the rough bondage, while her belly heaved in great anguished spasms.
When he finally brought her down and let her loose from the hook, he pushed her over the back of a sawhorse and moved in behind her. With nothing more than her pussy juice for lubrication, he fingered her asshole with hard jabs. Finding the opening sufficient enough, he replaced his fingers with his stiff erection, finding that the well-used hole opened nicely for his erection. He fucked her soundly in the ass until he came. If he was not mistaken, she came too. Her body shuddered, sweat poured off her skin, and the internal spasms around his organ milked him dry of any cum.
“I hope that’s what you wanted, Contessa,” he hissed, while meanly clutching her hair in his fist and pulling back. “You want to play again, I’d be most willing. I can’t think of any woman more in need of this than you, except perhaps my wife.” He laughed, putting his flaccid penis back inside his pants. He removed the ballgag from the woman’s mouth, then stepped back and waited for her to revive.
For several minutes, the Contessa lay over the sawhorse, hurting from the way the wood cut into her thighs and crotch, but she was too pained to move.
“You’d better get dressed now. I have work to do,” Rupert told her tersely. He had not one concern for the woman’s sorry state.
As she finally pulled off the sawhorse, sh
e looked him blankly in the eye.
“Well?” he asked.
She shook her head numbly and then looked around for her clothes.
He made her dress before she left the dungeon, the bra, panties, garterbelt, stockings and the rumpled, dirtied dress. She was a proud woman who took great care with her appearance, and looked uncharacteristically disheveled now.
“You wouldn’t mind if I took a moment in your powder room before I go?” she asked. Her voice was soft and breathless, quite unlike the bold woman who walked through his front door an hour and a half before.
“No problem at all,” Rupert answered, finally coming down from the exhilarating high of his sated need.
They mounted the stairs and he showed her the bathroom, then went into the living room to wait.
When the Contessa finally reappeared, she stood at the doorway looking composed.
Rupert stared at her hands, seeing how the ropes had cut quite severely into her skin, leaving marked indentations that would take some hours to fade. There would probably be a rash there for a while. There would be bruises covering a good deal of her body and this pleased him.
“I hope that wasn’t too severe a taste of submission.”
“No, sir, I got exactly what I wanted,” she said demurely. “Maybe even more. It’s quite a rush.” She spoke with awe.
She looked as if she’d been whipped, the plucky spirit sucked right out of her. But then, that was the point with women like her, Rupert thought.
“Thank you,” she added.
“It was certainly my pleasure. I think you’re ripe for more.”
“Yes, sir. I’ll consider that,” she said. “Now, if you don’t mind, I’ll be going.”
She still looked dazed and dreamy. Was there cause for concern? he wondered.
“You sure you can drive? You could stay for a while if you need to.”
“No, no, I’m just fine.”
Rising from his seat, he escorted her to the front door. She smiled and shook his hand, then moved directly to her car, climbing in the Mercedes—same model as his, he noted.
She waved as she pulled away and whisked down the drive.
The Countess stopped at the bottom of the drive, and before pulling into traffic, peered at herself in the mirror, smiling with profound satisfaction. She wiggled her bare behind into the leather feeling the sweet sensation of her orgasm swim back through her body. After another contented sigh, she reached into her purse and pulled her cell phone from inside, then carefully dialed the number she had listed on a piece of paper, copied from the phone book in her hotel room.
“May I please speak to Mr. Rafael Francisco?” she asked the woman who answered the business phone.
“I’ll see if he’s in.”
“This is Mr. Francisco.” A voice came through on the line.
“This is the Contessa Miranda Prozano. I thought you should know that Antonia del Gallo Reyes is with her mother Honoria. If you were to go to this address,” she rattled off the Marquis’ address, “I know she’ll be glad to see you.”
“M a’am who are you?”
“Contessa Miranda Prozano, a friend of Antonia’s.”
“But I’m forbidden by court order from seeing the woman,” he respectfully told her.
“I realize that, but by the time you arrive in Cartagena, I think all of that will have changed. Please go to her, Rafael, she’s going to need you. Now I must say goodbye. You have a good day, sir, and remember me to Antonia. We had such a great conversation on the train.”
The Contessa closed her phone, dropped it in her purse and sped quickly into the evening Barcelona traffic, her destination clear.
Chapter Sixteen
The knock on Rupert’s front door three hours later was one the man did not expect. Two Barcelona policemen stood on his doorstep with grave expressions.
“Rupert Reyes?”
“Yes, that’s me.”
“Mr. Reyes, we have an arrest warrant here. You’ll have to come with us.”
“What do you mean?”
“You need to come with us, sir,” the second man spoke this time, his voice a little deeper and more curt than the first man’s.
“On what charge?” Rupert’s eyes flashed hotly, the adrenalin pumping through his veins.
“You’ve been charged with assault, imprisonment and rape.”
“What!”
“The complaint has been taken out on behalf of the Contessa Miranda Prozano.”
Rupert’s face paled and for several seconds he was unable to move. Finally, the officers took him by the arm and led him to their vehicle. They pulled his hands behind his back and clamped handcuffs around his wrists.
***
The Marquis moved into the kitchen where Antonia sat on a stool, happily chopping onions for the Paella. She stopped seeing the gray-haired man whose lordly bearing still made her quake, though she was growing used to the fact that he could be as kind as he was dictatorial.
“Antonia.”
“Yes, sir.”
“I just got a call from the Barcelona police. I think you should know that your husband has been arrested for the assault and rape of Contessa Miranda Prozano.”
“What?” She went white as a sheet.
“Yes. I’ve been told that the charges are quite serious, the woman was brutally beaten and bears marks that may be permanent. She was able to get to the police on her own, but was badly bruised and sodomized. The police had never seen anything quite like it. Apparently she was gagged the entire time and unable to call for help.”
Antonia was too shocked to speak.
“Oddly, I got another call just a few minutes later from someone named Rafael Francisco. He said he will be arriving later tonight.”
Antonia suddenly felt so dizzy that she thought she’d faint. “Oh, my. Arriving tonight…what’s happening?”
Honoria, who had been standing at the kitchen sink rinsing clams, moved behind her daughter and gave her a supportive hug.
“I’d say that perhaps fate has thrown you a new challenge,” she said. “Don’t worry, you’ll be just fine.”
Honoria looked up at the Marquis’ face. She could detect a bit of amusement in his eyes, subtle as it was. Her eyes were shining with tears.
***
The Contessa Miranda Prozano boarded the train for Paris on the arm of her latest lover. They sat in the best seats and once the train left the station, they looked out on the countryside rushing furiously by. The Contessa remembered her last train trip, the significant one from Barcelona to Cartagena. She smiled.
“What’s so amusing?” her companion asked.
“I was just thinking about my latest adventure outing a despicable villain.”
He laughed. “Does that mean you’re turning into a decent woman?”
“Oh, hell no!” she exclaimed.
“So why did you do it?”
She didn’t have to think. “Love. I did it for love. I am a trampy, rich slut, my darling, but I still believe in love. I consider my little scheme a karmic opportunity to bring me some good fortune later on. Let’s hope it works.” She snuggled into the man’s side, still smiling. Besides, she thought to herself, Rupert Reyes is a genius with a single tail.
The Contessa’s handsome companion admired the woman’s apparently selfless act, but more than that, he admired the body that owned such high-minded ideals. She was the by far kinkiest fuck he’d had in years and they’d be enjoying a good rousing one by nightfall in some pretty Paris hotel. Love? Maybe she’d have to wait for her next conquest.
Chapter Seventeen
Antonia stared out across the property she knew as home. The valleys, the vineyards, stables, barns, the grand casa behind her. Words to describe the feeling of exhilaration eluded her, so she stared mutely in wonder.
“It must feel good to be back.” Rafael stood behind her, his hands on her shoulders.
“It does. I wish I could bring Mama back here.”
“Yo
ur mama will visit when she’s ready. I think she’s probably more interested in the Marquis now. There has to be a lot of grief attached to this place for her.”
She turned her head to look at his face, “Funny, she looks so happy. I mean, how different can the man be from my father, really, now?”
“I think the woman knows herself very well and the Marquis is what she wants.”
“But there’s so much I could teach her.”
He laughed. “You, teach her?”
“Well, why not? At least I have one foot in the right century now.”
Rafael looked at her smugly. “And one foot still with me,” he said, knowingly.
“Oh, you think so?” she quipped teasingly.
“I do,” he said with some certainty. “If I’m going to help you manage your father’s estate, you have a few things to learn from me.”
She liked the way that sounded—especially because she was terribly scared about her future as a businesswoman in a climate that was not particularly kind to women wielding such power. There was so much to get used to—a husband in jail, a divorce in process, and now back where she started, in much different circumstances. She needed Rafael and would treasure his support.
“You understand, I’m just kidding you?” she said lightly, her eyes wide and full of sweetness. “I’m not sure I can do this without you.”
“I know.”
As they gazed back toward the valley, Rafael’s eyes suddenly squinted, troubled. “Am I to believe that your father never taught you to ride a horse?”
The unexpected question surprised her.
“No, he never did,” she said. “It wasn’t a womanly thing,” she added, sarcastically. “It wasn’t a subservient thing.”
“I guess we’ll have to remedy that.”
The lust was getting to her again just looking into his determined eyes, but she was so sore—so much sex in one short week!
“How about let’s see what kind of stable he ran,” Rafael said. Taking her by the hand, they walked down the path and into the shadowy structure. There were just two horses now, quietly contented in their stalls.
Depravity's Child Page 17