Convict's Captive Book 4: Welcome to Mexico Page 3

  Lorenzo’s hacienda was some 100 yards away. They reached it about 15 seconds later.

  The trunk lid snapped open again. The girl’s straps were undone. Four powerful hands lifted Carly from her confinement and set her on her feet. She swayed and only the fierce grip on her arms prevented her fall. She felt hands at her ankles releasing the chain that had confined them. A strong hand took hold of a breast and squeezed it harshly, making the young girl wince and moan. A gravelly voice, one she recognized, to her dismay, told her, “I see you soon whore, and then we’ll play!” The voice issued a brisk command in Spanish and then was gone.

  Someone attached a leash to her collar and then held it tightly, close to her neck. A deep, forbidding, male voice told her, “Ven, puta,” and yanked hard at her collar. She was propelled forwards. Her feet stumbled at something hard and she tripped. The hand held her up, causing her neck to wrench. She emitted a whine of pain and unhappiness. Fear was running through her body like a megawatt current.

  “¡Arriba, estupida! Up! Up!” the voice told her. She lifted her foot obediently and found a step. The hand pulled her chain upwards and she stumbled forwards, feeling her way. The steps were cool and hard beneath her feet, like marble or granite. She whined and struggled, going up three, four, and then five steps before the surface leveled out. Her body was vibrating with unhappiness and felt sour and cold. She needed to pee badly and was terrified at what would happen to her were she to lose control of herself. They crossed some kind of threshold and there was the sound of a heavy door closing behind her.

  They crossed a large expanse of cool stone and then the hand yanked her collar upwards again, spitting out, “¡Arriba, puta!” She lifted her foot and found another step. They rose and rose and rose. She was whining and crying, trying desperately to put out of her head the thoughts of the torments that awaited her. She wanted to pull back at the hand, to collapse there, right there on the stairs and crawl into a little ball. She wanted to beg and plead to be released, to be given her freedom, to have her nightmarish journey come to a different end. She wanted to beg the hand to slow down, grant her mercy, pity, kindness. She was stumbling again and again and each time the hand yanked at her collar fiercely, wrenching her neck and lifting her to the next step.

  They reached a landing and she was propelled forward. The floor now was carpeted. She couldn’t help think of her nakedness, her grotesque bindings, and she felt the imaginary eyes of whoever inhabited this place scouring her, mocking her, finding amusement and satisfaction in her plight.

  They came to a door, pausing only momentarily. She was pulled forward again and the door slammed shut behind her. She was brought about 20’ or so into the room and then to a halt. The leash was unhooked from her collar. Something was attached to the back, to the top of the leather that enwrapped her arms, and pulled taut. Hands fiddled with the straps to her hood, disconnecting them. In a flash, it was off, pulling her gag with it, and for the first time in hours and hours she could see.

  A tall, slender, but well-muscled man was standing in front of her. His skin was sallow and his visage hard. He had short gray hair and looked to be somewhere in his mid-fifties. He was wearing a short, black toreador jacket with gold braid around the collar and down the broad lapels. His shirt was white and he was wearing a long, black string tie. His eyes were dark and piercing; his mouth small and terse, with thin lips. His nose was narrow and long. He had on black, well pressed pants and black shoes with a military shine. There was no kindness in the face, just a cold, steely look that made a chill run down the young girl’s spine.

  Carly felt her lips quivering. Tears were creeping down her face. She wanted to beg the man to release her, to let her go, please, please, please let her go, please, but before even a whisper could cross her lips, the man’s large, bony right hand flashed out and he slapped her fiercely across the face.

  The blow stunned her. She cried out, “Oooooooouuuuu!” and stumbled. The chain connected to her back held her up, but wrenched her shoulders harshly, sending pain shooting through her body.

  “¡Silencio!” the voice boomed. “Stupid whores like you don’t talk unless spoken to! ¿Comprende?”

  Carly was sobbing. Her lips were curled and she was shaking as she regained her feet. She nodded her head dolefully. The man was staring at her harshly, measuring her, exuding his power over her. A second later, his left hand flashed out, catching her on her right cheek and making her head snap back. There was a loud, ‘crack!’ as his skin met hers. She howled and lost her balance again, wrenching her shoulders. This time the man reached out and took hold of her hair, shortened and red, but long enough to give him a good grasp. He yanked at it hard until Carly came to rest again on her feet. She was bawling now, trembling and shaking. The man shook her head and bellowed again, “¡Silencio, puta! Or I’ll get out my whip! ¡Silencio!”

  At the word whip, Carly cringed. She would be whipped! They were going to whip her! “Oh my god! Oh my god!” she thought frantically. She bit her lip and brought her sobs to silence. She couldn’t stop crying though and the tears were pouring down her face.

  The cruel man grasping her hair tighter, so tight that her scalp screamed and she was afraid that he might tear out a large swath. He brought his forbidding face closer to hers, so close that she could smell his stale breath and see the tiny specks of red in the corners of his eyes. “My name is Vincenzo,” he growled harshly, slowly, as if wanting every word he spat at her to sink deeply into her psyche. “I am Seňor Lorenzo’s valet, his ayudante de cámara. It is my job to see to it that all of his wants and desires are satisfied and that all of his property pleases him. Seňor Lorenzo will give you ample reason to fear him, but I recommend that you fear me more.” He shook her head and bent her neck back until it was strained. Carly was trembling and shivering with fright.

  “If you fail to please your new master,” he continued, his voice low and fearsome, “Seňor Lorenzo’s anger will be fierce and his punishments will be harsh, but it is I who rule you and my retributions will be implacable and excruciating. You are Seňor Lorenzo’s whore now, his property, and you had best forget everything you ever learned about the world until this very moment. ¿Comprende?”

  Carly’s mind received the man’s information and it whirled and whirled and whirled around in her head, making her nauseous and causing her whole body to sicken. She nodded frantically, too afraid to vocalize her reception and understanding of the man’s terrible message.

  He shook her head again viciously. “I asked you a question, whore, I expect an answer!”

  “Yes! Yes! Yes!” Carly blurted out desperately. “I understand! Please don’t hurt me! Please!”

  He reared his right hand back and slapped her again, making her screech. She stumbled and he caught her again by her hair.

  “¡Si o no! That’s all I want to hear from you. ¡Si maestro o no maestro!” he exclaimed. He shook her head again. “¡Eres la esclava, you are the slave!” he yelled. “Yo soy el maestro, I am the master. Señor Lorenzo es tu maestro. Todo el mundo es tu maestro. Everyone in the world is your master. ¿Comprende, puta?”

  “¡Si, maestro! ¡Si! ¡Si!” Carly stammered through her sobs.

  This seemed to calm the man. He released her hair. She stared at him, wide eyed and terrified. Her hands squirmed in their confines. A vision of her terrible and miserable future passed through her brain. She knew she could never live through it. She would rather die, but she knew too, that the only death they would ever deign to grant her would be a grotesque and horrible one. She had to live through her torment somehow! She just had to! Somehow, she would get away! She just had to!

  The man grabbed her face and turned her head this way and that as if looking at her for the first time. Her cheeks burned where she had been slapped, but she did not complain. He dropped his hands and took hold of her breasts, measuring them, groping and kneading them, assessing them. He ran his hands over her belly and over her hips. “Abre tus piernas, open your legs�
�� he told her curtly.

  She spread them wide and his hand descended to her sex, pinching it, rubbing it. “Esto es tu coño, this is your cunt,” he told her. “Never touch it without permission. Pertenece a Maestro Lorenzo. It belongs to Master Lorenzo. ¿Entiende?”

  “¡Si, maestro! ¡Si!” Carly answered quickly and unhappily.

  The man took hold of her cheeks again with his right hand and pinched them. He brought his mouth forward and kissed her, thrusting his tongue inside. He kissed her hard and long. His left hand stroked and petted her sex while his right hand dropped and began caressing her breasts, softly, almost tenderly. It took Carly by surprise. She tried to hold back her whine of dismay, but it eked out. The man ignored it and continued kissing her. She knew she had to please him, him, apparently, above all, and so she began kissing him back.

  Slowly, her pussy began to warm and she felt a familiar sensation deep in her belly. She didn’t want it, tried desperately to suppress it. His fingers slipped along the line of her crevasse, dipping between her labia. She felt them glide easily and knew that she had gotten wet. His finger slipped over her little bud and began to torment it lightly, rubbing around and around, flitting over it again and again. The moan escaped her throat before she could stop it.

  He broke their kiss. “Bueno,” he said, a broad grin across his face. “Maybe you’ll make a good toy for El Maestro after all. We’ll see. If not, well, you will deal with me”

  He removed his hand from her quim and stepped away from her. He went to a cabinet near what looked to be the entrance to the bathroom and he opened it. He came back with a small, deep pan and a cloth. He thrust the pan under her sex. “Mea, piss,” he told her bluntly.

  Carly looked at him and then down at the pan. She knew that she had to perform for him or she would suffer. Her bladder was full to burst, but when she pressed, nothing came out. She bit her lip and whined. She looked at the man. He was staring at her sternly, expectantly. She closed her eyes and tried again. She pushed and pushed, praying, begging for the liquid to flow. “Please! Please! Please!” she begged the universe.

  And then, like a miracle, it began to flow. She sighed as she felt its release. “Thank you! Thank you! Thank You!” she thought. When the last few drops were spent, she opened her eyes and looked at the man again. He was amused.

  He took away the pan and wiped her pussy with the cloth. He brought them into the bathroom and she heard the pan being emptied and the flush of the toilet. Then the splash of water at the sink. A moment later he came out. He put the pan back into the cabinet. He drew something else out and closed the door. He brought it over to her. He showed it to her. It was a black rubber gag in the shape of a penis with black leather straps and shield over it.

  “It’s from a cast made from tu maestro’s verga, his cock,” he told her. “Its best you start getting used to it. Abre tu boca, open your mouth.”

  She obeyed unhappily. He slid the penis like prong over her lips and lodged it in her mouth, pressing the leather shield against her face. He stepped behind her and fastened the straps together, pulling them tight, so tight that she felt the pressure on her teeth. The prong was thick and soft and stiff. Its head pushed against the back of her mouth. There was no mistaking what it was. She coughed and whined.

  He stepped around to her front again. “Suck on that a while,” he said almost merrily. “Your master will be here soon, after he has some fun with the new whores. Then you’ll get a taste of the real thing. And you better be good or tomorrow morning you’ll have to do a little dance for me. ¿Comprende?”

  “…i, …a-o,” Carly mumbled through the gag sadly.

  He patted her on the cheek. “Nos vemos en la mañana ,” he told her. “See you in the morning.”

  He smiled and left the room.

  When the door shut, Carly burst into woeful sobs. The reality of her arrival so far had met with all of her dire expectations. What was she going to do? What was she going to do? If only her captor had taken her out into the desert and shot her. All of her torment would be over. Now she was going to have to suffer untold misery. And for how long? How long would it be until the man, Lorenzo, her new master, tired of her? And what would be left of her then? And how much pain and misery and humiliation would she have to suffer first?

  The man, in the car before they got on the plane had called her his little doggie. Was he going to make her live her life as an animal? But that’s what she was now, wasn’t it? What matter did the form take? She was a beast to be owned and used and thrown away. It would not surprise her if, at the end, they cooked her and ate her, or maybe fed her to their pigs.

  She struggled to get control of herself. She realized that if she was to ever have any chance of escape she had to be wholly alert to what went on around her at all times. Somehow, somewhere they would make a mistake and, if she was smart enough, quick enough and daring enough, she might be able to get away. But to do what? She doubted that she could go to the police. They were probably in the drug lords’ pockets. To an American embassy or consulate? That all depended where she was. To a church? That might seem the best solution. Surely the priest there would protect her. Wouldn’t he? They couldn’t have corrupted the priests too, could they?

  She looked about the room for the first time. It was very large, about 40’ by 40’. There was a broad, king sized bed with heavy, dark brown, oaken bedposts. There were six or seven plump, overstuffed pillows on it covered with cases of bright yellow with delicate, dark red fringe around them. The bedspread was light beige with multicolored designs that looked like they were Aztec. She was not surprised to see an assortment of brass rings located around the bed at strategic intervals, to the bed posts, high and low, on the foot and headboards, on the sides.

  At the foot of the bed was a small cage. Its bars were shiny brass. On its bottom was a dark green pad. Carly’s heart sank when she saw it. She had no doubt that she would be spending time in it. It looked almost too small to put a person in, but, just by its mere presence, she was certain that’s its functionality was well tested. She issued a moan of unhappiness.

  The furniture around the room was heavy, dark and oaken, like the bed. The rug was thick and soft, except for where she was standing. Smooth white stone tiles had been laid in a six foot wide circle. The edge, all along the circumference, was made up of small decorative ones, with colorful flowers painted on them. There was a blood red rose in the center, under her feet. When she looked down, she saw rings attached there too, one on each side to keep her legs spread, and one in the middle, to make sure that she did not move and dance and twist and turn when she was whipped. The functionality of the tiled floor was not difficult to discern. Her blood and piss from when she was whipped would be easier to clean up this way and would not stain the rug.

  Above the bed, amidst fiery yellows and reds, was a powerful rampaging bull. Its body was turned slightly like it was pivoting after a frantic charge at a toreador. Its horns were long, curving upwards and terminating into lethal points. Several colorful pics had already been thrust into its back, crimson blood running from them. The bull’s eyes were a fierce red. Dust was flying up around its hooves. And, as if Carly needed a reminder of what she was here for, its large cock was prominent and stiffened.

  The room was lit by a large crystal chandelier in the middle of the ceiling. Along the walls there were several sconces which, she was sure, would allow the lights to be lowered to what her ‘maestro’ would consider a romantic glow.

  Two large windows sat in the wall opposite her. She couldn’t see out of them, but she could see the bars which would inhibit any escape through them. The windows were tall, almost all the way to the ceiling. Thick, golden drapes were mounted on each side. The windows were open and a breeze was blowing in cool night air.

  The door was on the wall behind her, to her left. Carly turned and, to her dismay, saw mounted on the wall just opposite where she stood an array of whips. On the wall to her left were two tall dressers with seve
ral jeweled boxes on top of them along with other miscellanea. To her right was the cabinet the valet had taken her gag out of, a large, walk-in closet and the door to the bathroom.

  It took all of a minute for Carly to appraise her surroundings. No doubt she would become very familiar with them. She looked at the bed. There she would be fucked. She had a vision of herself there, her legs lifted into the air, her master’s body atop her, pumping away madly at her quim. She would be expected to please him, do whatever he wanted, fuck him back passionately. Any lack of enthusiasm would be harshly punished.

  She moaned again. Her pussy had juiced when the valet had stroked her. That was what the man Blackjack had done to her. Her body craved humiliation, use, abuse. He had planted a devil inside her and she was sure she would moan and cry out as her owner fucked her, just as she had with her captor and that man, Ike. Maybe she had found her true destiny after all. Maybe she was a whore, a puta, like the valet had called her. An éstupida puta who had allowed herself to get caught and sold as a slave. Maybe she deserved what she had coming to her. “Oh, God, please, please, please get me out of here! Please! Please! Please!”

  She stood there for a long time. Her legs began to ache. She couldn’t lower herself more than a few inches because of the chain attached to the top of the sleeve that held her arms captive. And she couldn’t let her weight rest upon the chain since, when she tried it, it pulled harshly at her shoulders. She just had to stand there and wait, as if she were waiting for a street car, or an execution. It was terribly frustrating to be able to move her body around, to move her feet, to be able to turn around, but still be such a helpless prisoner. It was like she was being mocked. “See how easy it is to bend you to our will?” it said. “See how helpless you are? See how we can do anything we want with you and how powerless you are to prevent it?”