“Sasha, it’s time to clear the air, there can be no secrets between us.” Rick said as he took a couple of deep breaths to compose himself. “Those are my parents, Miguel and Helen Hernandez”The air in the room suddenly became very oppressive. He struggled to find the right words.“They died when their light plane crashed enroute to their vacation home in Flagstaff. This was their home, the house I grew up in.”“I don’t understand, why would you lie to me?”“I couldn’t tell you the truth, not when I first met you. I wanted to get to know you better, and I wanted you to get to know me. I wanted to make sure that you were falling in love with me, who you thought I was, not all of this.” He said indicating everything that surrounded them.“When I graduated high school, my father explained to me that we had a responsibility to our ancestors who settled in this land and ultimately prospered here and to all those who will come after us, to keep our wealth within the family. He said that too
She was scared.I could see it in her eyes. They were frozen and still and they stared at me like the shudder of silence.But it wasn't just fear. There was something else. More. She was petrified."Stay ... stay away," she stammered, shrinking back into the darkness, her arms outstretched and her fingers exploring frantically for the crevices in the wall. "D ... don ... don't come any closer!"The involuntary wobble of her jaw echoed through her shoulders towards her flattened breasts and belly, and then a gentle roll of her midriff and a shake of her hips whacked her fear down her legs to her feet.Have you ever seen a bitch that's afraid? One that's shitting and crapping in her pants? If so, you'll know. This one was scared."Please!" she screeched. "Don't touch me!"Her high-pitched squeals came as putty to my sad, decaying ears.Who was she, I wondered, this troubled, colorful delusion? And why had she gate crashed so abruptly into my old forgotten life? Was she an angel of the L
I know such freedom, and in the words of my tongue: j'accuse!I know the freedom to watch a wife's humiliation, of enduring it, of watching dirty men's hands playing with her buttons, laces and zips, caressing her skin, their cocks exploding in her holes and pounding her pussy like canons. Clods of mortar fix my prison and layers of limestone protect it, unyielding and impermeable - and I'm glad. I cry out and shriek to the Gods - deny me my freedom!What interest have I in watching strangers torturing my wife, striking her with whips and tearing at her skin, in hearing her cries and being unable to help her?"Look at how he's enjoying it," they sneer, pressing their paws into the jaws of her sex. They tickle her slit. They kiss and lick and pinch her pearl with their nails. "Look at how his knob throbs for release! Look how purple and bulbous it stands! Let's thrust it into her mouth while we fuck her! Maybe she'll suck him and he'll cum!"Oh God! Have mercy on this wretch and deny m
Should I hurt her? Should I play with her like a cat with a bird, teasing her garments from her body as if with a knife?It's an idea and I could if I wanted. Have you ever been tempted to do something like that, I mean if you had the power and there were no one to stop you? Most men have. They dream of it. They imagine the power."I ... I don't know," she babbles, horror and foreboding churning in her stomach. "F ... father said this was a safe place, that I should come here if ... if ... I had to and there were no alternative ... but ... mon dieu. This isn't safe ... It's beneath human creation and I don't understand why I'm here. Oh Papa! Papa! What have you done?"She lifted her dress and examined her knee, using her petticoats to shield her stocking as a Matador would use a cape with a bull. But I managed to side step her guard and I peered at her knee and the heaven above it, the red garter and the bare white thigh and the flash of pink silk. But because I did so she called me i
I tipped my head casually to the side as a gentleman does when he's standing before a lady, because the woman in the bright red dress was in front of me, frightened, covering her pretty little breasts with her arms. "Who's chasing you?" I growled, staring at her dress while wondering how best to remove it. I hesitated, and then I smiled, imagining it gone. "What have you done, my lady?" I drawled. "Have you broken the law or something? There must be a powerful reason for you to have fled here.""I've done nothing!" she protested, blushing in sweet, girlish confusion because I was peering at her tits and apparently this wasn't good manners.I reminded myself that I must be patient, and that while I wanted to undress her and study every inch of her flesh close-up, touch it and hump her, I mustn't be rude. Good manners are the foundation of a polite society and these manners shouldn't be ignored simply because a man is divorced from it.Patience is a virtue.I tried again."Why are you r
"I told you what happened, monsieur. They started with the servant girls because they wanted to prolong the misery for those such as myself of the upper classes. So these less fortunate women were told to undress and forced to the ground." She was breathing deeply, puffing out her cheeks. "I saw three men attacking one girl. Can you believe that? While one of them was attacking her from the front another would be doing it from behind, in the rear - you imagine such a thing? It was terrible. I'd not known that a man could do such a thing. And another one had his thing in her mouth. Can you imagine? They were like animals. Worse. They did it in the streets and the gutters with people watching, and there were boys joining in: young boys attacking grown women and doing it just because they were allowed to. And then, when they were finished with the rape, they did worse."She paused because she was finding it difficult to talk now. Her voice was faint, shaky and broken. Her poise was haph
I reflected that this was a pointless, futile exclamation, but before I could make my respectful observation, even as I slithered along the ground in the direction of her voice, she added plaintively: "Down here. You don't know what's been going on in the world, how terrible things have become. Of course not. How could you know, but, France is not what she was. There's been a revolution and it's dangerous out there for the rich and for those with property or title. There have been changes that you wouldn't believe, so many changes. And there's been bloodshed. The king is dead and our nation has become a republic, and everywhere is terror."I stopped, my fingers and toes curling in the gravel, caught in the middle of their journey, my belly hovering and hesitating in mid air. What could I say? Incredible? Bizarre?I never would have expected it and I was in awe: silenced.A revolution? I tilted my head. What kind of revolution did she mean? I didn't know because the world on the other
For some minutes we sat in separate kaleidoscopes of emotion, not knowing what either should do. Her expression was cautious yet careful - although unfortunately not lustful - yet it did contain angst and the beginnings of empathy, and I sensed that it was born of something hidden within her soul that maybe I could foster. I was a brute and she was a lady, and yet there was an unspoken contradiction that connected us - something indeterminate, intuitively innate and incandescent, something spiritual, and because of it, she seemed to relax.She took the weight from her leg and sat upon a large boulder. She was still a little distance from me but she was calmer, lighter, but still half in darkness and half in reflection of the light. "I know what it's like to lose someone you love," she sniffed somberly, looking around and studying the layout of my home, admiring its domed ceiling and its thousands of dagger like stalactites.The fact that she was looking at it made me look too, and as