Armando shot back the rest of his cognac and placed the glass on the ledge of the wall next to his jacket. He lowered his hand and retrieved the riding crop from his servant girl, Carmelita. The crop was about an inch and a half around, good enough for serious, painful blows to the muscles. It would not tear her flesh like the whip the bandit had used. But she would feel its pain acutely and learn to obey his every whim and desire without question or hesitation.
Marjorie had been watching the man intently as he circled her, wondering, in anguish when the first blow would land and where he would strike her. She saw his hand rear back and gave a plaintive “…ooooooooooh!” of futile protest from within her stuffed mouth. He struck her on the side of her right thigh, midway between her waist and the knee. It felt like someone had punched her there and she groaned in pain. He swung the heavy instrument again, this time landing it on the front of her right leg. If she had been standing, she would have collapsed from the agony as all of her muscle’s strength gave out. She moaned loudly as the deep hurt reverberated throughout her body.
“Ahhhhhhhhhhhhmmmmmmm!” she called out miserably, her eyes pouring out tears. “
Why is he hurting me?
” she pondered in her agony. “
Why? What have I done?
”
Her eyes had shut when she suffered the first blows, but she opened them to try and communicate her supplication for mercy to the cruel, emotionless man. He didn’t smile, his features did not convey anger or enjoyment of his task. His dark eyes pierced hers for just one moment and then he proceeded with his work.
The poor girl’s body writhed and swayed as she reacted to the man’s abuse. He struck her breasts twice, causing a deep, mind numbing agony to go through her. He belabored both of her thighs equally, along the sides, fronts and backs, her ribs, the lower part of her belly, the upper portions of her back, just below and to the sides of her shoulder blades. He saved his mightiest blows for her soft, round ass, and even the thick, but graceful layers of fat there did not prevent a sickening flow of pain to travel throughout her flesh.
When the man paused from his efforts, Margie thought that he was done. Her whole body seemed like one large bruise. Her muscles throbbed and ached. Her throat was hoarse from screaming, screams that even the large ball of cloth in her mouth did not suppress. He gave a command to the girl who was dutifully kneeling nearby, her sympathetic eyes taking in the beautiful blond woman’s plight, and she dashed off back to the cabinet and returned with another length of rope. Armando knelt at Margie’s feet and removed first one, then the other of her imported Italian sandals and cast them aside. The loss of the additional height that the inch high soles of the footwear had given her put more pressure on the poor girl’s bound arms above her. It became worse when the man tied off one end of the rope around her ankle, threw the loose end over the rafter and pulled her right leg high into the air. Only the two longest toes of her left foot could make contact with the soft carpet below her.
Margie realized the vulnerability that was created by her new pose and she blubbered desperate entreaties to the man. He stood next to her and caressed the smooth, pale interior of her distended thighs and cupped the delicate folds of her pudenda. When she saw the girl deliver a new instrument of torture to the man, Margie began to shake and tremor violently, uttering desperately, “…oh! …eeeeease! …oh!”
Armando gave Carmelita the riding crop and took the two inch wide, leather strap from her hand. The strap would not tear her flesh like a long, thin lash would and would not bruise it, risking permanent damage like the riding crop. But it would hurt. Especially when he laid it across the tender lips that circumscribed her sensitive, pinkish gash.
Where the riding crop had made loud thuds when it had met her flesh, the strap made a loud slapping noise. Armando worked his way up and down the girl’s inviting, soft inner thighs until they were glowing red. The blond haired woman danced upon her single foot, hopping up and down and swaying to and fro as he assaulted her. Her screams were delicious to his ears. He had to be careful though. It was easy to get carried away with something like this. The police in
Sao Paolo
had not been very understanding when they finally traced the bodies of the three whores back to him. It had necessitated a hasty departure from his pleasant life there. Since then he had kept himself more or less under control, reserving the release of his baser passions for the sluts that had worn out their welcome at Esquella’s down in the basement of his little hacienda. The blond might find her way down there eventually. Her flesh was too enticing, her bellows of pain too endearing for him to resist it for too long. And she had been free so he would not have to count up the cost of his perversions.
Armando reserved his attack on the woman’s fur covered mons for last. He paused to catch his breath and so that the girl could consider what was next. He stepped up to her and laid his hand on the tender flesh, running his fingers between the as yet unmarred lips and stroked her until, despite her fear and agony, the slender slit began to moisten and dilate. From the girl’s widened eyes and miserable face he could see that she realized what was now coming. She sobbed heavily and closed her eyes. “
Don’t worry, petita,
” he thought. “
It won’t kill you. But it will hurt.
”
The cruel man stepped back and swung the strap at the tender target. When it struck, the blond woman’s shriek was blood curdling. He limited himself to five well aimed blows, thirty seconds apart. Each time the hard, leather strap made contact, the woman’s whole body convulsed and her cries of agony reverberated throughout the open space of the veranda. Tomorrow, the neighbors would look at him with a fearsome respect.
Armando stepped back from his task and took in the spectacle of the moaning, sobbing woman. He took his glass from the ledge of the veranda’s wall and handed it to Carmelita who obediently ran off and returned with another inch and a half of the dark, golden hued liquor. Exchanging it for the long, stiff, black strap, he took a sip and placed the glass on the wall while he went into the vest pocket of his jacket and took out his engraved, silver cigarette case, a present from his mother years ago. He flipped it open and removed a tube of the fine tobacco he liked to smoke and after closing the case and returning it to his jacket’s pocket, lit it up.
He needed to calm himself. His cock was hard with need, but he would relieve that burden with the flesh of the slender, youthful, brown skinned girl later. He leaned against the wall and pondered his handiwork. A large cloud of grey smoke exited his lungs and he sighed. As he ran his eyes over the pitiful, grotesquely bound body of the American woman, he mused on the ironies of life. Why did God make such beautiful creatures when he knew the base lusts that they provoked? And where had the devilish need that he felt to vent his most violent desires on their flesh come from? “
Ahhhh,
” he thought, “
the devil.
” If such spirits existed then he knew that he had one inside him. He had reconciled himself to damnation long ago. He had resolved, since he was damned, to let loose his inner demons whenever he could. He was determined to enjoy all the fine things in life as long as he could since he would be spending an eternity paying for it. He was a gambler, as all who are possessed by demons are, and he was betting that the memories of the fleshly pleasures he had enjoyed on this earth would compensate for the suffering he would experience later. Or maybe the devil would welcome him with open arms, a fellow traveler in evil, and find some special role for him corrupting the souls who still walked the earth. That would be a job suitable for him, he thought. He chuckled softly at his conceit.
The damned man finished off his cognac and, after tossing the still glowing cigarette end over the wall of the veranda, ordered his servant girl to put away his tools and the empty glass. He was waiting for her by the door to the stairway when she done. He unlocked it and, urging the eager, young girl forward ahead of him, left the blond slut to her own devices.
Margie swayed and sobbed, her body aching and sore, throughout the rest of the night. Her left foot started generating a pounding, excruciating pain a little while after the man and the young woman left. The muscles on her extended right leg pulsed with the strain of being held up in the air and the cramping in her arms was dreadfully painful. The small girl had extinguished the kerosene lanterns and the moon had descended below the horizon and so the veranda was in complete darkness as she tried to relieve her agonies, shifting her weight from her toes to her hands and then her distended leg. Her pussy pulsed and ached, her inner thighs burned and the muscles all over her body where the man had pummeled her throbbed with swelling. When she was not sobbing from either the pain or from her dismal despair, Marjorie could hear the call of the night animals from the jungle behind the building. If only she could escape, she thought, in her brief moments of clarity. “
I’d take my risks in the jungle. I might die, but I would never let him catch me, never!
”
The morning light came slowly and then, when the sun finally cleared the dark green, vegetation ridden mountains to the east, the veranda burst into light. It was not long after that Margie heard the key in the door and the man and the young woman entered. Armando was dressed the same as the night before, but the girl was wearing a light, yellow frock that exposed her shoulders and arms, the skirt of which came down to just over her knees. Her feet were bare. The man stood in front of Marjorie for a moment as if recalling who she was and what she was doing there, and then began to release her confinements. Her leg fell like a dead weight when he released it and she fell to the floor when the rope connecting her bound hands to the rafter was loosened. The man left her there and sat on some cushions at the side of the veranda closest to the house while the girl served him coffee and fruit. Margie just lay where she had been dropped, thankful for the relief, but wary of the man’s next actions. She was happily surprised when the man left without devolving his attentions upon her.
Carmelita cleaned up and when she was done came over to comfort the unhappy, exhausted woman. Margie welcomed the girl’s cooing, tender voice and her soft caresses to her hair. She had been lying there quietly, but she began to cry now again softly. The girl let her sob, hugging her and kissing her. After a while, the girl began to urge the battered and bruised woman to get up. Margie wanted nothing of it and she resisted the girl’s efforts until the girl said in a fearful voice in Spanish, “Master say! Master say!”
Margie was struck by fear at the mention of the cruel man and realized that if she didn’t do what the girl wanted they would both probably be beaten. Painfully, she moved her aching, sore muscles and rose first to her knees and then to her feet. The girl guided her to a room off of the veranda and when Margie saw that it was a real, well appointed, modern bathroom, she gave out a little cry.
The girl let Margie use the toilet while she ran hot water into a sunken bathtub. Margie caught a glimpse of herself in the mirror above the sink and she gave a sob at her appearance. Her face was drawn and gaunt, with deep, dark circles under her eyes. Her beautiful, long, strawberry blond hair was bedraggled and knotted. She looked down at her body and saw it covered with deep purple marks where the man had beaten her. The redness of her inner thighs had faded, but the skin was raw and sensitive. Her pussy burned when she placed her hands on its delicate folds.
When the bath was ready, the girl discarded her yellow frock with a single motion over her head. She was naked underneath and Margie appreciated her soft, round orbs, her flat belly and her graceful, slight hips. Her nether lips were devoid of hair and looked like a little girl’s. She guided Margie into the large tub and joined her. The water stung as she entered it, but as she sat down and immersed her body, her whole being was soothed. The girl let her lay there for a while absorbing the comforting warmth of the water and then, after a while, had her kneel and then stand as she washed her body.
The girl had delicate, sensitive hands and Margie appreciated her efforts. She had pried the offensive wad of fabric from her mouth and washed and rinsed it out, leaving it on the edge of the tub to dry. She even untied Margie’s hands and rubbed her raw wrists. Margie moaned with pain when the girl tenderly soaped and rinsed her damaged pussy. But she reveled in it when the girl washed her hair and brushed it out after applying a delicate smelling cream rinse.
When the bath was done, the girl dried off Margie’s body with a large, soft towel. She had the blond American woman sit on the edge of the tub, her legs spread wide, while she shaved off the sparse, light blond hair that covered her sex. She handled the tender organ lovingly as she stretched and moved the skin so that she could run the little plastic razor over her love lips and the areas next to them. Margie accepted the denuding of her loins as one of her owner’s preferences but felt sorrow rise up in her as it reminded her of the loss of control of her own body. She balked, however, when the girl went to tie her wrists back together, but the girl looked up at her with pleading eyes and said, in halting Spanish, “Master beat me and you too!”
Afterwards, the girl fed Margie some fruit and a sweet pastry while they knelt out on the veranda. There was a little, short round table there by the cushions and Margie was able to use her own hands to bring her food to her mouth for the first time in a week. The girl gave her a tall glass of cool mango juice and it felt like heaven to Margie as it went down her parched throat. After the meal, Margie felt her exhaustion catch up with her. Her eyes teared when the girl presented the balled up cotton fabric to her mouth once again, but she docilely allowed the girl to reinsert it.