Margie fell asleep almost immediately after the girl let her lay down on the soft rug. It seemed like minutes, but was actually more than an hour when she felt the girl’s hand shaking her. The girl said something frantic to her in Portuguese. Margie sprang to alertness when she realized that there were footsteps on the stairs out in the hallway. The girl had restored her pretty, yellow frock and put away the dishes from Margie’s breakfast. She knelt down in the position that Margie had first saw her the night before and instructed Margie by hand motions to do the same.
It was Armando returning. He came in and, after walking coolly and deliberately to where his two prisoners knelt, stood looking at the women for a minute or so. Margie dared not return his gaze and kept her eyes pinned to his shiny, black, pointed shoes. The young woman flinched when he reached out his hand and pressed her head down until her breasts rested on her thighs and her head was touching the floor. She complied obediently with his nonverbal instruction.
Some men had come in with ‘the master’ as Carmelita had called him. Margie heard them walking around the veranda and talking in Portuguese to Armando. When the master left, the men remained. Margie could hear the rattle of metal and the buzz of a drill as they worked. She did not hazard to look up at them for fear of punishment.
After about half an hour, the men left. When she heard the door close, she looked up cautiously. There was a long, silvery chain hanging from the rafter in the center of the room. It was fastened to a shiny, new steel plate that had been mounted on the thick wood and ended in a little pile on the rug. At the end of the pile was what looked to Margie like a leather collar. She realized at once that it was for her. She did not have much time to ponder on it since she heard the sound of the door opening again and she resumed the posture that the cruel man had dictated. She heard his soft footsteps on the rug and then the snap of his fingers. Since he always spoke his orders in Portuguese to Carmelita, she assumed that the command was for her. She looked up and saw him standing by the chain. He snapped his fingers again and pointed to a spot in front of him.
Despite the fact that her muscles were still sore, Margie scurried to the spot that the man had pointed out. She knelt before him fearfully as he lowered himself and picked up the leather collar from the rug. Brushing back her long, blond hair, he ran the collar around her neck and buckled it closed behind her. He took a small lock from his pocket and placed it over the buckle, securing the collar in place. There was a small brass key embedded in the lock and he took it out and put it in his pocket.
He had brought a small canvas bag with him and he opened it and withdrew two leather bracelets and a 18” long, shiny, thin, steel chain. He buckled the bracelets around her wrists and then, after running the chain through a ring in the front of the collar, connected it to each bracelet with more small padlocks which prevented the loosening and removal of the bracelets and fastened the steel chain to them at the same time. There were no keys with them and Margie assumed, correctly, that the same key opened all of the locks.
Margie’s hands were confined in front of her in an obscene imitation of prayer. Her wrists rested on her breasts, but there was enough play in the chain so that they could be easily moved aside to free her pale, heavy, round orbs for use or abuse. The girl quailed at the permanency of her bonds. It was clear that for so long as her new master wanted, perhaps as long as he owned her, she would be confined like some kind of animal, unable to perform the most elementary tasks for herself.
The man reached into the bag and pulled out one more, nefarious instrument. Margie watched as he untangled the mess of straps. There was a fat, long, leather prong attached to it and a wide, band of leather. Once Armando had it straightened out, she realized at once what it was. He reached into her mouth and removed the offensive ball of cotton cloth that had occupied it for the last eighteen hours or so and tossed it aside. He presented the prong on the harness to her mouth and Margie accepted it meekly, her eyes brimming with tears. It filled her mouth completely and forced her lips apart. Her new owner ran straps around the sides of her head and another over her nose and across the top. When he joined them at the back, Margie heard the tell tale sound of the closing of a lock and she knew that she was now the prisoner of the infernal device. The strap that ran up over her face had a little slot in it so that her nose was free. It took some adjusting so that it sat properly in place. Marjorie could see the sides of the strap from the corners of her watery, blue eyes.
Armando knelt in front of his prisoner for a while, appreciating her forlorn aspect. He had never had a bona fide sexual slave before. You couldn’t count the stupid, young native girls that he had owned over the years. They were usually so obsequious in their aspect, so eager to please the powerful men that owned them, that outfitting them with the regalia of sexual servitude would have been a redundancy. But the
gringa
was well suited for her bonds. He could taste her humiliation and misery as she knelt there before him. Whoever she was, he was sure that not long ago she had a far different future picked out for herself. His cock stirred as he looked at her and he remembered that he had not fucked her yet.
Margie watched as the man stood and began to disrobe in front of her. Here was the moment of truth. She had known that he would rape her, but the fact that it was now happening made her quiver with shame and unhappiness. She knew how she had reacted when the bandit had taken her against her will and she knew that it would be no different now.
The man’s torso was hairless and he had a firm chest and a taut, flat belly. His long cock was standing at attention, not as fat as the bandit’s had been, but large, nonetheless. He brushed away Margie’s elbows and placed his hands on her heavy, round breasts and began to massage them delicately. Margie saw a flicker of pleasure in the man’s face as he caressed and played with them, pulling lightly on her fat nipples, coning the spongy flesh in his hands, pressing them up against her chest. Despite her fear of the man, his handling of her pale, fat orbs brought a sensation of warmth and relaxation to her. He ran his long, boney hands down her belly and over her thighs. He spread them and caressed her moistening cleft almost tenderly.
Marjorie was filled with passion when the man guided her firmly over until her face and knees pressed against the soft maroon carpet. He called out something to the girl and Margie heard her get up to retrieve something and come and kneel down beside her. Armando had forced her thighs further apart and was stroking Margie’s soft, enflamed slit with his hand under her and between her legs.
Margie knew better than to resist the man’s use of her and she resigned herself to enjoy what she could of his efforts. It was certainly better than being beaten. His fingers slid easily along her moistened canal and delved inside her making her moan.
It was then that she realized that something new was going to happen. She felt the small, delicate hands of the girl spread her rear cheeks and apply some kind of salve or lubricant to the dainty, round hole between her buttocks. The bandit had promised to fuck her there and she was glad that he never had. But her new master was now going to and Margie felt a large ball form in her belly and a chill run through her. She wanted to get up and deny the man this use of her, but she knew that terrible consequences would follow if she did. And then he would fuck her there anyway as she would surely give in rather than face repeated punishments.
Margie felt the girl’s fingers slide in and out of her small, tight, rear entrance. It was disconcerting, but not unpleasant, to have her small fingers inside her. Her pussy tingled at the sensation of having the tight ring around the virgin entrance stroked and caressed. After a few moments, however, the fingers left. Margie felt the man’s cold hands spread her rear cheeks and the front of his thighs press against her plump, rear mounds. She gave out a sob and a deep, forlorn moan, suppressed mostly by the thick wad of leather in her mouth. Her hands fought at the chains that were bound to her collar and she clenched her fists in fear. It took all of her self control to not try and dash away from her impending ravishment, whatever the consequence would be.
When Margie felt the fat head of her assailant’s cock press against the small hole, she moaned again. She felt it slide forwards, its way eased by the lubrication that the girl had applied there. But the lubrication, while it made the man’s entrance easier, did nothing to alleviate the pain that she began to feel as the tender tissue of the brownish ring started to stretch and crack.
“Oooooooooooouuu!” Margie moaned. Her ass felt like it was on fire. Slowly, the man sank inside her. Margie moaned with shame and humiliation, but not without pleasure, as she felt the sensation of her bowel filling with the man’s cock. The penetration had been the worst part of it. And although her delicate ring of tissue burned and protested as the man began to rasp his hard cock along it, there also arose, at the same time, a gradual, but inexorable, excitement in her loins.
Armando had wrapped his long, thin, muscular thighs around the outside of hers and had draped his slender, but firm frame over her back. He wormed his hands under her chest and took hold of her dangling orbs, grasping them tightly and squeezing them intently as he plowed her rear. Margie felt totally dominated by the man as he encapsulated her body with his. He had taken ownership of her like no man ever had before. The sawing of his cock within her rear, the heat of his flesh on hers, the callous manipulation of her breasts, all drove her further and further into passion.
Margie tried to fight off her impending crisis, but could not resist her body’s will. The idea of being used like the meanest whore excited her despite herself and she started to moan and cry with pleasure. She heard the man give out a long, deep, guttural grunt and his body contracted around hers as he dumped his spew inside her. Her cunt began to convulse and contract. “Mmmmmmmmmm! Mmmmmmmmmmm! Mmmmmmmmmm!” she called out as she felt the intense, hammer hard convulsions of her womb.
* * *
There was no particular routine to Margie’s life as Armando’s sexual thrall. He would use her, or Carmelita, as he pleased, sometimes during the mornings or afternoons, and sometimes at night. He never whipped her again, he didn’t have to. The blond American complied, if not with relish, then alacrity, with every demand and desire that he expressed to her. He rarely spoke to her, communicating his wants and commands with a snap of his fingers or a gesture of his hand. The long chain that confined her to the rafter reached just to the edge of the wall that surrounded the veranda and just to a foot or so away from the wall of the house. Armando did like to have his blonde
gringa
give his cock a long, languid suckle while he drank his thick, black coffee in the mornings, and he used her ass often. He had been dissatisfied with Margie’s reticence to accept the length of his hard, long wand into her throat and, rather than beat her, he merely had her lie prone on the rug while he knelt on either side of her face and forced his meat lower and lower into her esophagus while she choked and coughed and fought desperately for air. After a few sessions, Margie was able to consume her master’s cock down to its hilt, holding her breath for extended periods, accepting his hot discharge directly into her bulging throat.
When Armando was out, and that was often, Margie was given free rein to wander the veranda as far as the length of her chain would allow. A naked, bound prisoner, she spent hours peering wistfully over the wooden wall at the town and river below or at the dense, mysterious jungle behind the hacienda. Sometimes tears would come to her eyes as she saw the people freely and gaily walking the narrow streets, or the boats chugging along the winding, meandering river, on their way back to civilization and freedom, the hot, tropical sun shimmering on its surface. The town extended for about a half mile along the western bank of the river and was maybe four or five blocks deep at its widest. It was called by some “The Devil’s Scuff Mark,” as it appeared to be gouged out of the surrounding, thick jungle like the mark of a boot on a polished floor. Margie often wondered who the people were that she saw wandering about and if there was a single one who would take mercy on her and send word down river to the authorities so that she could be saved.
Although in the deep tropics, the veranda never became unbearably hot. It was shaded by the roof and high enough so that there was almost some kind of soft breeze running through it. On days that it rained, and that was for a little while at least almost every day, Margie could hear the downpour drumming on the roof above her and watch while the water cascaded off of it in broad streams at its edges.
She and Carmelita became warm friends, although the diminutive, slender girl never said a single word to her other than to tell her when it was time for her bath or to feed her. Armando had given her the key to Margie’s locks, but she almost never released them except for those singular purposes. He had had another chain installed in the bathroom and Margie would stand at the end of her tether while Carmelita attached the other one to her ankle before releasing the chain to her collar. He didn’t want his sex thrall throwing herself off of the roof in a stupid attempt at escape and so he required her to be chained at all times. When the pretty, gentle girl had finished bathing her and allowed her to use the toilet, Margie would stand on the edge of the rug, her terrible gag reinstalled and her bound hands folded in mock prayer on her breasts, while Carmelita reaffixed her collar to the chain that led down from the rafter before releasing the one around her ankle.