Thongs Page 13

  He was lying on top of me now with his whole body, his cock still sunk in me at my vital center, our legs entwined, our bellies met, my breasts securely within his hollowed shoulders, and our mouths feeding on each other, gently.

  The movement came slowly, like an earthquake gathering its power in the earth's bowels, a slight stiffening at the thighs answered at mine by a softening, by a concurrence of the soft flesh. His member slid tentatively out and in, just once. As though to echo, my buttocks moved, just a tremor, but it made the sweat pad of my belly vibrate against his and showed him I was ready for despoiling.

  "Now!" I whispered, rubbing my soft neck against his chin.

  Ram. To the hilt. And then up like a fish spraying water and down into the deep! His movements began furtively and were answered with furtive consent. They continued with increasing violence, our bellies together, my mound nuzzling like a great black bull trying to push down a fence, and my cunt stuck and struck, a prickfuck.

  Again he didn't take long to come, a few moments of frenzied passion and his semen leapt boiling from his groin. I received him with a moan, as though he had touched me at my inmost nerve. And then I held him, my belly slithering and shuddering against his, until my cunt sucked the last drop from his prick. It was becoming dark. I covered us with a counterpane of silk. I took his head on my breast and we slept.

  -4-

  I was wakened by exploring hands.

  The lips fitted around my nipple like a vice and the small bead was sucked inwards and stretched. My thighs twitched and a controlling finger took me like a hook. Meat on a hook. The image stuck with me and I groaned and slid my belly against his.

  We had sweated. The weather was cold, but unlike most rooms in Spain, the rooms of this villa were well heated.

  "Fuck me, darling!" I whispered in the darkness. "Fuck me to death!"

  His cock was in again, hard, greasy, his hot hair in mine.

  A delicious hot sensation of well-being grew at my loins as his vibrating strokes increased. It seemed to be endless, the pushing and the sliding and the slime.

  He muttered something as he came, quivering as the strength left him, and he fell asleep at once in my arms.

  I lay awake in the darkness, wondering at the tender passion this gentle lover inspired in me. Was my life a mistake? Was it here in these doting arms that I was intended by nature to find fulfillment?

  What if he made me pregnant with all this doting love? How could he help doing so?

  We had not yet spoken of the pledge. Would he keep it? Certainly not if I was against it, if I asked him to take me away to safety and to love.

  I almost convinced myself.

  But how foolish of me! How could this passion last? What if I bore his child? Gradually the fire would turn to cinders and he would look about speculatively at other women. And then would I take a lover? Or more than one?

  Futility. Life held nothing more for me than anticlimax, to be raised periodically to a high level of passion and then to sink once more, to the depths. My body suddenly sickened of this cloying love. Gradually, like a shadow in my blood, moved the absolute knowledge of the thongs.

  Thongs.

  Thongs.

  Thongs.

  What was the soft, docile beast lying at my side, simulating rape according to rite and instruction? Do this. Do that.

  With no sting of the real.

  With no butcher's red hands.

  Imagine hands. Broad and thick. The nails clogged with blood. Of other victims.

  Imagine a woman's white belly, its soft blotting-paper finish. The black cunt. And glimmering underneath, red, like a centipede. Soft lover, you forget history, and the claw.

  I was staring up into darkness at the ceiling above. The man beside me no longer existed. He was void. A civilized creature.

  Oh Miguel, after this sickly hell the gore and triumph of the cross!

  Come! Live in the present. Many weeks till the cross. This man who sleeps at your side like a great tame brute, excite him, strike him to the quick, make him turn; perhaps yet he will have a readiness to do murder...

  "My darling!" I whispered. "Wake up! Your Carmencita wants to speak to you!" I sensed his eyes flicker.

  "Carmencita!"

  "El toro..." I whispered.

  In Spain, the man dies in agony in the form of the bull. The woman with her subtle changes of tone, the flirt, the repulser of advances, the one who piques, the one who controls and kills. It is all there in the bull ring, in the sun of the late afternoon. The romantic passion, the striving after the absolute, tends towards death. This is the passion of the decadent Spanish men, the lovers: sadness, ecstasy, tragedy.

  "El toro..."

  And this man beside me was a Spaniard. For all his youth he is old. He is tired. He wants to be mastered and tamed. He wants to be taught to accept death. Kill me now, quickly, you have flirted extravagantly with the cape when I was most wild, you have repulsed me with the horses and the pike to show me you are another with an alien brute strength. You have piqued me, offered to take control. And now with the shadow of the red cape when my head is hanging low and my nostrils drip saliva on the sand, you are declaring yourself my master and asking me humbly to accept defeat. Come, you are saying, I understand your passion, I will dispatch you quickly, like a lover...

  But he is the bull.

  And who is to be dispatched, he or myself?

  "Carmencita!"

  "Yes, little bull?"

  "Nothing. Just Carmencita."

  Communion. So?

  I can love my murderer. I am certain of his intentions. I can trust him.

  I slipped out from his arms before he became aware I was going.

  "Carmencita!"

  "I am going to bathe, darling. Will you bathe with me?"

  "Of course!"

  "Come then, put your hands on my hips and follow me in the dark. I know the way!"

  We walked over the thick carpets to the door of my private bathroom. I turned on the light.

  "Run the water," I said.

  He bent down at once to the great black sunken bath and the water gushed in through the faucet.

  We stepped in, one at either end, and locked our thighs. The water lapped up as far as my breasts which floated on top like water lilies.

  "Passionate love is the fear of death, Prince! You want to sink out of existence under another's control."

  He was stroking my left calf.

  "You talk so much of death, Carmencita!"

  "Our honeymoon ends in death, Prince."

  "It is unbelievable!"

  "It is certain."

  He didn't reply.

  "You'll break your word?"

  "No."

  "I shall be crucified, Prince, and tortured to death on the cross. I want death because I also fear it. To accept it in its most hideous form is to conquer it."

  I smiled, pleased with myself.

  "That is the contradiction of human existence, its negation is its affirmation and its affirmation is its negation."

  "Let me kill you," he said quietly.

  I stared at him.

  "Would you, Prince? Would you?"

  He paled.

  I smiled.

  "There is plenty of time, Prince. Soap my breasts and watch the bubbles break on my nipples!"

  As he came over me with the soap, it occurred to me that if I knew such a man were capable of killing me, I might not find it necessary to leave him. Oh, foolish Prince...

  -5-

  Later, while we were making love in the bath, coiling about under the warm and softened water, I whispered: "Will you really kill me, my darling?"

  He replied only in body movements. He refused to answer. And then he came and his slime hung in the water like a strange sea creature, drifting like an amoeba just under the surface where I laid my waiting mouth.

  He watched, fascinated, and my eyes which held his were curtained with lust when the soft amorphous mass slipped in.


  -6-

  I slipped into a lethargy where lust made no response to his gentle caresses.

  I tried hard to simulate it, but he sensed that I was no longer with him and he became jealous and suspicious. He began to whine.

  At that point I became cruel.

  I told him that either he must whip me or I would whip him. I told him that he must obey or else I would break the pledge and leave at once. What did I care? I could walk out on both of them, on Miguel and himself, and return to the brothel where any night I could meet death by knife at the hands of a drunken sailor. Why not?

  My Prince put on a soldierly air.

  He would not raise a finger against me. He would consent to be whipped.

  I made him hold the two posts of the big bedstead, thrust his rump slightly backwards and stand with his feet apart.

  I selected a thin cane. This man would either die by my hand or he would consent to kill me. What happened after that didn't matter. It would be interesting.

  I looked professionally at his tightly-packed buttocks, poor child that he was in reality!

  I put my whole strength into the first stroke. He gasped with pain. I struck again, aiming at the mark of the first. This time he flinched, but obviously he had decided to prohibit himself from registering pain. Good enough. I would reduce him. My third stroke was perfect. In spite of himself, his mouth burst opened and he gasped. Terror was in his eyes at the fourth. I supposed he dimly realized that if I went on long enough I would kill him.

  My fifth stroke was my second perfect one. It hurt him so much that he lifted one foot off the floor and, his hands losing their grip at the same time, he fell down on the floor beside the bed.

  "Get up!" I hissed.

  When he took his time, either pretending to be, or in fact, in great pain, I slashed him once beautifully across his naked belly and brought a delicate curtain of blood sprinkling down.

  He stared at it with a shocked expression in his eyes. His hand touched it and his fingers came away red.

  "Do you still wish to be my lover?" I said.

  "Yes!"

  "And will you whip me or must I continue?"

  He gritted his teeth.

  "I will not whip you!"

  "In that case, please be good enough to resume your former position; your hands on the bedposts."

  He tried to unnerve me with a look, but I gazed at him coldly, without pity.

  I struck him six further times before he fell again in a heap, this time weeping freely and hiding his head in his arms. When he fell, I struck him twice and after an interval of about five seconds, a third time. Then I threw the cane at his bleeding body and left the room.

  That night I passed alone, locked in another bedroom. Twice during the night he knocked at the door and implored me to let him in. "Go away," I said in a tired voice. "I may see you tomorrow if you obey me."

  In the morning he waited for me outside the door.

  "Carmencita!"

  "You haven't slept?"

  "Not a wink!"

  "So much the worse for you! We have a long day ahead of us. Immediately after breakfast I intend to whip or be whipped. I have a lust for thongs."

  "Good God, how long must this go on!" the demented man cried.

  "It is your own choice, Prince. You may leave the estate when you will. Or you may stay here and live your own life. But if you wish to have anything to do with me, you must obey. You are much weaker than I, and I am no democrat! It is all very simple. Don't pretend you don't understand!"

  "I believe you really mean to kill me!" he said with pretended awe.

  "I should think it's quite obvious, Prince! Either you kill me or I kill you or we go our separate ways!'

  "I don't believe you're serious, Carmencita!"

  We were already half way through breakfast before I condescended to reply.

  "Will you whip or be whipped?" I said, cold and sudden.

  "I..."

  Again he shot me this childish glance that was meant to unnerve me, the tragic hero glance, pretending he was powerless before fate.

  "I take it that I flog you," I said brutally. "Good. It is leather today. It is quite different. You will soon be able to tell the difference blindfolded."

  "Do you mean you're going to flog me again?"

  This was his last entreaty. His world was governed by certain conventions. He couldn't understand. Or didn't want to.

  I spat in his face.

  "Get out!" I said. "I will not see you today. I despise your cowardice. You are afraid of freedom. Then be like a good bull. I'll be your butcher."

  With that I left him struck dumb in the parlor.

  I avoided him for the rest of the day.

  -7-

  It took him three days to come 'round. Three wasted days!

  "I'm ready for the leather," he said.

  "Ah, I'm so glad, my darling!" I said huskily, slipped naked into his arms.

  He kissed me desperately.

  "Do you love me a little, Carmencita?"

  "I adore you, my wonderful Prince!" I breathed. "Come, fuck me first! Show me you worship my cunt!"

  Of course he came quickly. He was so afraid to come, for he was afraid of after.

  Yes, there is always an after.

  He was lying helpless, his emission quick and leaving him empty and unsatisfied.

  I reached up to the wall and brought down the thongs.

  "Oh, Carmencita!"

  "Yes, my darling?"

  "Could we not forget it, just for today?"

  "Are you afraid?"

  "No!"

  "Then come! Today it will be easier for you. I am going to tie your hands and feet with thongs."

  He got into position like a ghost. I bound him securely at his four extremities.

  "But today I'm going to gag you," I said.

  "No, Carmencita! Not that!"

  "But why not? I will stop only when I feel like stopping anyway. I am taking my pleasure. Your noises distract me."

  "I believe you're mad! Oh, Carmencita!"

  "In that case, you had better leave the estate, sir. It is certainly not safe to be alone with a madwoman."

  He fell silent.

  I thrust a handkerchief in his mouth and tied it firmly in place with the silk belt of his dressing gown.

  I took four thongs and began slowly.

  This time his cock rose as he tried to enjoy the pain. I went 'round and sucked him off. He wriggled deliriously. But I was not finished. I beat him until he was unconscious. Then I cut him down, threw a rug over him, and took a walk about the grounds.

  When I returned he had come to.

  He was lying on the divan in his dressing gown, breathing heavily. I walked across to him and stroked his hair. Tears came to his eyes but he said nothing. I lay down beside him, brought my body close to his, and in that way we fell asleep.

  That night we walked in the garden in the moonlight. He held my hand. I could feel that he was trying to say something but he did not seem to be able to speak. Perhaps he was not sure what it was he wanted to say, or perhaps it was something he had said before and which I had already treated with scorn.

  "Three days until the full moon," I said, gazing up at the moon racing among cirrus clouds, little white wisps which seemed to be given off by the moon itself in traveling.

  I sensed his desperation.

  "It will be all over after the full moon," I said. "You will be well again and you will fall in love with some brilliant woman at court and you will marry."

  "Never." He spoke quietly, without hope. I liked him.

  "That's your affair," I said.

  "And it means nothing to you?"

  "Should it after I am dead?"

  "There is no need for you to die."

  "What about your word of honor?"

  "I would break it ten times over. But if you decide to live, my word is not affected. I promised to do nothing to hinder you, nor to speak of it afterwards, but I didn't promise to
drag you to the cross if you yourself chose against it. You would be safe, darling!" He took me in his arms and gazed down sadly into my eyes. "Miguel and his whole bloody crew would be at my mercy without you, for I am at your mercy and so at his. If you died, I would no longer be at his mercy but he would be protected by my promise. If you choose to live, he can touch neither you nor me and I can withhold my protection. Did he tell you this? No? Ah, I see he didn't. Yes Carmencita, upon you depends the future of the entire infamous Order. Yes, Count Miguel is making his last terrible bid to make it survive. He thinks that if he can marry his own reputation to that of the miracle of the crucified virgin – there is a great deal of superstition in Spain – he will be strong enough to foil any official attempt to break up the Order. He may be correct. It would harden his own Cardinals, very powerful men, against the more Liberal elements who are trying to break it up. There has lately been dissension even among the Cardinals. Miguel's predecessor was a weak old man who had not the authority to stem the fear that arose in his own ranks from the rising public opinion. They have reason to fear. If they are exposed, there will no doubt be some grave criminal proceedings against them. Seven Cardinals have already deserted and four of those have joined ranks with the Liberals." He stopped. "Oh, Carmencita, why not marry me? I can give you everything!"