Barbara refuses to go without a fight!!!
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1492
- Thread starter Barbaria1
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Loxuru
Graf von Kreuzigung
Like she recently did in Singapore too?
Harsh Martinet
Consul
What an INCREDIBLE waste this will be!
Harsh Martinet
Consul
Of course I'm talking about the waste of your great MIND Barb.
Praefectus Praetorio
R.I.P. Brother of the Quill
Don't you just hate it when they leave a good execution to amateurs? I bet this kind of thing wouldn't happen at a Changi Prison execution.
Last edited:
windar
Teller of Tales
I just happened to tune in to 60 Minutes (a news magazine on the American network CBS, for those not familiar with it) just now. They had a piece on the letter that Columbus wrote to Ferdinand and Isabella on the voyage home describing his discoveries (apparently he couldn't get a Wi-Fi signal out there at sea). The original letter no longer exists, but many of the copies that were printed at the time and sent to libraries all over Europe do. Each one is estimated to be worth at least $1 million. Well, it seems that someone has been stealing them and replacing them with very high quality forgeries, including one in the Vatican Library. https://www.cbsnews.com/news/christ...aries-around-the-world-60-minutes-2019-10-20/
Oddly, the letter makes no mention of the incident with a certain Barbara Morales, something old Chris was hoping to hide, until this story busted it all open. The case is still unsolved, but Detectives Goldman and Moore are closing in on the suspect, with help from Stan's Italian Carabinieri contact, Roberto (Bob) Speroni. As you guys know, theyalways usually occasionally arrest the culprit, so stay tuned.
Oddly, the letter makes no mention of the incident with a certain Barbara Morales, something old Chris was hoping to hide, until this story busted it all open. The case is still unsolved, but Detectives Goldman and Moore are closing in on the suspect, with help from Stan's Italian Carabinieri contact, Roberto (Bob) Speroni. As you guys know, they
Harsh Martinet
Consul
I also watched this...the worldly members of the forum are so well informed...too bad we put our knowledge to such unseemly use
Harsh Martinet
Consul
I just happened to tune in to 60 Minutes (a news magazine on the American network CBS, for those not familiar with it) just now. They had a piece on the letter that Columbus wrote to Ferdinand and Isabella on the voyage home describing his discoveries (apparently he couldn't get a Wi-Fi signal out there at sea). The original letter no longer exists, but many of the copies that were printed at the time and sent to libraries all over Europe do. Each one is estimated to be worth at least $1 million. Well, it seems that someone has been stealing them and replacing them with very high quality forgeries, including one in the Vatican Library. https://www.cbsnews.com/news/christ...aries-around-the-world-60-minutes-2019-10-20/
Oddly, the letter makes no mention of the incident with a certain Barbara Morales, something old Chris was hoping to hide, until this story busted it all open. The case is still unsolved, but Detectives Goldman and Moore are closing in on the suspect, with help from Stan's Italian Carabinieri contact, Roberto (Bob) Speroni. As you guys know, theyalwaysusuallyoccasionally arrest the culprit, so stay tuned.
Barb is at this very moment dashing off an angry letter to CBS... indignant at her omission from this story
Fossy
SEXPIOGENTUS
Following further consultation with Barb, we have agreed once more that there are certain entries in the recently uncovered diaries of Bárbara Morales that need to be shared in order to shed light on why she ran away from the workhouse and into the unscrupulous lives of men at sea. The following entry being one of them … it was also the final entry the poor girl made.
Senorita Morales took the time to write in detail about the monstrous actions of her Master, Tomas, and one can only surmise that she did so because she wished to fully indict him in the eyes of future readers. So, dear future reader, please read the text in full should you wish to glean a deeper understanding of why Bárbara took the action she did.
I now know how these valuable and insightful diaries came to be my possession. It appears that the hapless and luckless Bárbara Morales of Palos de la Frontera had taken these loosely bound sheets of crude paper with her when she fled form the home of Tomas de Deza Taverna of Palos de la Frontera in the hope of maintaining some kind of record of her so-called, adventures. You might ask … why would she do this? Why would a young girl, one who had been so mistreated, have the presence of mind or desire to take her diary with her when escaping from the abusive clutches of her menacing and mal-intended Master. It is a question that we will never know the true answer to, but, all these many centuries later, one can only surmise, and the educated assumption would be that she wanted to keep a documented record given the ambiguous nature of her future existence, and for that we, the modern day reader, will be forever grateful.
The book was left on the harsh, wooden floor amongst the casks and food stores, when Senorita Morales decided to reveal herself to the crew of the Santa Maria and become exposed to the mercies of these hardened seamen.
The final entry is, of course, the most poignant, and that was made, it seems, just a few hours, or maybe even a shorter span of time, before she gathered herself up, smoothed her long rumpled skirt, pulled her hair back from her face and made her way to the ladder leading to the deck above.
It was via a tortuous and contrived route that the diary found its way from the Santa Maria all those many years ago and into the loft space of an elderly relative of mine currently living in the southwestern Spanish province of Huelva, where, when clearing out that same space following her passing, we discovered the dusty and not recently read record of this young girl from so long ago.
Despite our pretty subject not being very old when the tortuous adventure that we are currently reading about in the main narrative occurred, there are earlier entries in that intriguing tome of hers, that go back to her childhood and teenage years. I may well deem some of those entries appropriate to share in the future, so that we can discover, for example, why poor Bárbara ended up in this malicious Merchant’s workhouse. But for now, I wanted you all, those of you that are devouring every update of her currently narrated plight, eagerly awaiting and then consuming each instalment, to know a little more of that time immediately prior to Bárbara stowing away. And in doing so maybe begin to understand why such a beautiful and vulnerable girl thrust herself into the uncertain situation that she did.
August 3rd 1492
It was almost two weeks to the day that the Master had thrashed me black, blue and beyond. Each of my workhouse colleagues, some of them my so-called friends, or so I thought, had delighted in carrying out their misbehaviour, enabling them to watch me take their whipping, the severe beating that by the end of the day had almost killed me.
The Master was not a kind man and showed no mercy with his strokes. Each time he was finished I was sent back to my station to continue with my duty, but as my body became more and more maltreated, my abilities to conform with his stringent workplace requirements became less, and so the frequency of my punishments increased.
By the time the day had drawn to a close I could barely walk and my blood, pouring freely from the lacerations to my skin, needed to be scrubbed from the harsh, splinter ridden, wooden floor. But yet he still fastened me into the slatted frame and laid the lash upon my naked body. However, that final time, when he unfastened me, and I fell motionless into his arms, he pulled me out of the main room and into the small adjacent store space. A petite cubicle that had no door and so it, despite not being visible to the girls in the main room, was open enough such that every sound could be plainly heard.
And there, without any concern for my battered and bleeding body, he raped me. His lust had accumulated over the day and the bulge in his breeches indicated his intentions long before he pushed me against the cold stone wall and split my thighs.
When his rudimentary but very effective assault on my body was complete, I was on the verge of losing my consciousness. I ought to have felt doubly humiliated knowing that the girls had heard every plea, every grunt and every sob of my suffering, but my mind was now as mistreated as my body and I cared not one jot.
“You and you, get her to the infirmary …” were the last words I heard the Master say before I lost my fight against the conscious world and slipped into a welcome oblivion.
That stay in his small hospital tended to by the angel that worked there, was a most agreeable period. It wasn’t worth the beatings and assaults that I endured just to get there, but as I lay sick and feverous, receiving nought but love and care, I began to feel whole once more. My body was scarred, that would never change, but those marks had not been made by the cat, and so would fade to almost nothing, especially with the aid of the creams and potions that she applied.
As the presence of my mind returned, I watched as my nurse pounded bishopwort, garlic, wormwood, helenium, cropleek and hollowleek, and then boiled them in butter with celandine and red nettle, before massaging the concoction gently into my skin. It was heaven to me and as my eyes would close, I wished that I could die here rather than be returned to the hellish workhouse whereupon I knew that my unbearable ordeal would begin once more.
It was two weeks before my beloved Angel agreed with the Master, over whom she seemed to hold some sway, that I could be released, and he wasted no time in renewing his enjoyment of me.
I was allowed to rest in my small cell-like room on the day of my discharge, due to be returned to the station of my work on the following morning at sun rise.
Still in need of further recovery, especially the replenishment of my energy, I slept soundly for most of that day and into the evening, and so I did not hear the click of the metal door catch, nor did I hear his silent entrance into my bedroom. All I heard was a short cough. I sprang upright in my bed, letting my eyes adjust to the hypnotizing darkness. I sat there for a few seconds, sharply turning my head at the sound of every creak only to feel reassured that it was the old, large house and work factory building creaking. But then, before resuming my slumber, I saw an almost invisible figure in the dark …
My Master, the monstrous Tomas de Deza Taverna, had visited me. It could mean only one thing and I knew only too well what that was. Leaning into my kneeling body, his mouth at the side of my head, he gently bit my earlobe and said, "I intend to have you this night, do you understand me Bárbara Morales?"
I glanced down at my semi nakedness and saw the way my skimpy nightdress had wrapped itself around certain crevices of my body exposing my breasts to his gaze.
Pulling the scant covering around me I tried to turn and face the Master, but was rewarded with a harsh slap to my cheek. His strong force then flung me to the floor, face down, and I tried to blink out the tears burning in my eyes as the fire in my struck skin burned harshly. He got on one knee beside me and pulled my head up by my hair.
"Don't make me do that again. I do so hate hurting you..." his duplicitous smirk trailed off, his grip letting go of my hair as he asked me once again if I understood him.
I nodded my head in response, what choice did I have.
"Good girl and so now you will keep quiet my whore and I will not harm you beyond the parting of your thighs," the deep voice whispered into my ear as his hand had come around and pressed firmly over my mouth.
"Get up," he instructed, and I followed his directions … too afraid not to. My bottom lip trembled as he pushed me out through the door into the dark hallway beyond.
“You will make not a sound,” he instructed me. “The Mistress is in her own chamber this night and she leaves me feeling the need for company. I do not want her nor the other girls to know of what we do. After all we would not want them becoming green with envy now would we?” His chuckle terrorised me through and through.
I was only clothed in my night wear, a covering so flimsy and translucent that it may well have not been there at all, in fact its very presence most likely acted as further provocation to the desire that inflamed my Master’s evil ardour.
As we entered his much larger, and altogether more decadent bedchamber, I lowered my head in shame and fear as I was given another command.
"Put your hands together behind your back and lock your elbows. I want to see those tits pushed forward towards me."
When I couldn't bring myself to do the required task, he pushed me backwards with enough force to knock me over. I didn't realise how uncoordinated I had become. Thankfully, I was still standing in front of his bed and I simply fell onto the soft cushion of his crimson bedspread.
Apparently, he had changed his mind about how to restrain me. He stood up again and looked down at me, looking up at him with fear showing in my eyes.
"No, no I think that I shall leave you free of any bindings. You've been a very bad girl leaving me for so long and wallowing in the comfort of my infirmary, taking advantage of my soft heart and caring attitude. Bad girls deserve to be punished, do they not?" he asked me, his words so filled with falsehoods and fabrications as to be rendered meaningless save for the way in which they underpinned his impending intent.
I didn't respond, still so scared of him and his obvious control and power over me. "I asked you a question!" he spat with violence and vigour.
"Y-y-yes," I mustered up in reply.
"Yes what?" he asked.
"Yes, bad girls deserve to be punished," I said; my embarrassment showing in my flustered cheeks.
"And have you been a bad girl?"
"Yes."
"Yes what? Who am I?"
"Yes, Master?" I stated quietly.
He smiled and nodded. “And now Bárbara Morales, now you are to be fucked.”
When I had calmed down from the distress that flowed freely throughout my mind and body, he leaned down onto the bed and grabbed my ankle pulling me towards him, causing my shift to rise and expose my nudity from my stomach downwards.
I felt him grab my other ankle with the same harsh grip and pull it relentlessly towards him. I let out a loud whimper and my legs were spread wide, the muscles in my face contorted in pain as I was stretched out so expansively for him.
Then, clearly considering his next action, no doubt pondering exactly how he would take me, he pushed my ankles together and pulled my legs high, exposing my bottom to his full and unblemished gaze.
The Master gently caressed my firm flesh as he lowered one hand to the small hole of my bottom. I bucked and mewed quietly as his finger entered easily and without lubrication.
"Mmmmmm, this is nice. You're so open for me, just like a whore should be. I could just fuck you right here between those peachy cheeks, without any lubrication."
Having pulled the nightdress away from my body with the grip of one hand and the aid of a sweeping movement that took it off over my head, I heard him scramble to remove his own clothing, which consisted of a night robe with a long thick cotton night shirt underneath.
There was a candle, in a glass, bowl-like candle holder, lit on his bedside table. The mesmerising flicker of the dancing flame was the last distraction I had before he settled his erection against the entrance to my bowels.
I tried to move out of his way, but his unwanted intimacy was relentless, and I felt the tears roll down my cheeks to drip onto his bedspread.
An involuntary sharp breath whistled between my teeth when he pushed forward, his movements only aided by what I guessed must be the pre-release of the soon-to-be interminable juices from his attendant shaft.
He placed his hands down onto my buttock cheeks and began to massage them, moving the swollen end of his hard rigidity into the dark shadow that divided my bottom, letting it occasionally dip down to brush against my pussy.
Then I gasped, holding my breath when I felt the head of his cock find my entrance and he began to push against my small rosebud like hole. His shaft had enormous girth, I knew that from my previous encounters with it, and as he entered me, penetrating that so small space, I involuntarily clenched my buttocks and forced him to withdraw – I couldn’t help myself.
"Now, unless you wish to be beaten against, you mustn't do that my whore," he said to me, in an almost mocking tone. So, once again my Master pushed himself against my hole, and held it there just pulsing at the hitherto secret entrance to my insides.
"Or this is what happens..." and he bent down sideways to retrieve the candle, before pouring a few drops of molten hot wax onto my pussy which allowed the painful liquid to run as far the sensitive skin above my smaller hole before it solidified.
I bucked and my cry would have woken the dead had he not pressed his large hand over my mouth to drowned out my pitiful exclamations.
Instinctively, my bottom pushed outwards and his swollen head gained entrance into the desired place. I tried to push him out of my body, but to no avail. He wasn't going to let me escape again. Tears began to gather in my eyes as I felt him scrape the now cooled wax away and set the candle back onto a table beside him.
"Can I trust you enough not to resist me again?" He looked down at me and I nodded - my bottom still burning from the hot wax.
"Good. Now push yourself out again whore, like you did before," My docility complete, I did as I was told and I felt his erection go another few inches into my stretched hole. My eyes clenched themselves shut as I shuddered in pain. Then he pushed a little further as I pushed out again, involuntarily.
"Ah, that's a good whore, Bárbara Morales. Almost half way in now."
Half way in?! I swear he was already filling me. This was awful. He had never taken me like this before, and I turned my head away and bit hard into my shoulder.
Then I groaned and felt his hand on my mouth once more as he thrust the rest of his shaft into me. I lunged upwards with the force, trying to escape this invasion as he penetrated me in this unnatural manner. My breathing was very erratic and I could feel the warmth dripping down over my upturned cheeks. It was not the release of his own juices, not yet, and so it must be blood, my blood!
"Oh my God, please take me from this world," I mumbled the short, spontaneous prayer under my breath.
The pain was simply unbearable. I felt like I couldn't move; even the natural task of breathing hurt my chest. My bastard Master, Tomas de Deza Taverna, didn't even give me the time to adjust before he began to pull himself out of my torn bottom.
It seemed to be such a long unbearable period before I was free from his hardness, save for the large, swollen head holding me open and maintaining the agonies already entreated to my body. Then he slowly pushed back in, and then out again. He began a steady rhythm and didn't show any sign of speeding up when I heard him say, "Ready yourself whore …"
His words were spoken in such soft tones, that I wondered if maybe I wasn’t supposed to hear them. But then, just as my tortured mind was trying to figure out what he was going to do, he pulled out of me all the way and then immediately plunged back in using only one powerful thrust!
The breath was knocked out of me and I couldn't hold back the scream when I felt his hips slam against my ass.
"Shhhhhhh," he said, his tone surprisingly gentle.
"Get ready whore, I'm doing it again." He wasn't lying; I felt him pull out all the way and slam back into me again. My screams began to get softer as he repeated this new painful rhythm over and over, releasing more of his initial juices and thus making his movements easier inside me.
He began to speed up even more, but only taking out half of his hard shaft and so the bastard man could go faster and faster with each plunge into the ever widening hole.
Still fucking me hard and fast in this manner appropriate to the most lust hungry of bestial creatures, I began to feel the tremble of his orgasm as it surfaced. And then he came in long, powerful thrusts that filled me all the way to my bowels many times over. He groaned as I felt his seed go through his shaft and shoot into my body. He mumbled something unintelligible under his breath as he slowly pulled his cock out of me, releasing the residual sperm to flow slowly and freely over my bottom cheeks and onward down my thighs …
It was much later, with the whole house in slumber induced silence, that my consciousness fully returned. I grimaced as the slightest movement, even against his soft sheets, reminded me of exactly how and where I had been violated. His using of me in this beast-like manner had not only further strengthened my resolve to leave this place, but I was now determined to do so this very night.
And so, with concentrated stealth I eased my naked body away from the vile, sleeping bulk beside me, and crept quietly from his bed, mopped the abhorrent juices and residual blood from my loins and around my poor, torn bottom and retrieved the thin, linen night dress from his floor.
Returning to my own room, being ever conscious of the slightest sound that might wake the Master, keeping the nightdress on, I slipped on my simple dress over it. And then, without even a breath louder than a silent whisper, taking nothing but my beloved diary, I slipped quietly out into the street and made my way down to the quay …
Senorita Morales took the time to write in detail about the monstrous actions of her Master, Tomas, and one can only surmise that she did so because she wished to fully indict him in the eyes of future readers. So, dear future reader, please read the text in full should you wish to glean a deeper understanding of why Bárbara took the action she did.
I now know how these valuable and insightful diaries came to be my possession. It appears that the hapless and luckless Bárbara Morales of Palos de la Frontera had taken these loosely bound sheets of crude paper with her when she fled form the home of Tomas de Deza Taverna of Palos de la Frontera in the hope of maintaining some kind of record of her so-called, adventures. You might ask … why would she do this? Why would a young girl, one who had been so mistreated, have the presence of mind or desire to take her diary with her when escaping from the abusive clutches of her menacing and mal-intended Master. It is a question that we will never know the true answer to, but, all these many centuries later, one can only surmise, and the educated assumption would be that she wanted to keep a documented record given the ambiguous nature of her future existence, and for that we, the modern day reader, will be forever grateful.
The book was left on the harsh, wooden floor amongst the casks and food stores, when Senorita Morales decided to reveal herself to the crew of the Santa Maria and become exposed to the mercies of these hardened seamen.
The final entry is, of course, the most poignant, and that was made, it seems, just a few hours, or maybe even a shorter span of time, before she gathered herself up, smoothed her long rumpled skirt, pulled her hair back from her face and made her way to the ladder leading to the deck above.
It was via a tortuous and contrived route that the diary found its way from the Santa Maria all those many years ago and into the loft space of an elderly relative of mine currently living in the southwestern Spanish province of Huelva, where, when clearing out that same space following her passing, we discovered the dusty and not recently read record of this young girl from so long ago.
Despite our pretty subject not being very old when the tortuous adventure that we are currently reading about in the main narrative occurred, there are earlier entries in that intriguing tome of hers, that go back to her childhood and teenage years. I may well deem some of those entries appropriate to share in the future, so that we can discover, for example, why poor Bárbara ended up in this malicious Merchant’s workhouse. But for now, I wanted you all, those of you that are devouring every update of her currently narrated plight, eagerly awaiting and then consuming each instalment, to know a little more of that time immediately prior to Bárbara stowing away. And in doing so maybe begin to understand why such a beautiful and vulnerable girl thrust herself into the uncertain situation that she did.
August 3rd 1492
It was almost two weeks to the day that the Master had thrashed me black, blue and beyond. Each of my workhouse colleagues, some of them my so-called friends, or so I thought, had delighted in carrying out their misbehaviour, enabling them to watch me take their whipping, the severe beating that by the end of the day had almost killed me.
The Master was not a kind man and showed no mercy with his strokes. Each time he was finished I was sent back to my station to continue with my duty, but as my body became more and more maltreated, my abilities to conform with his stringent workplace requirements became less, and so the frequency of my punishments increased.
By the time the day had drawn to a close I could barely walk and my blood, pouring freely from the lacerations to my skin, needed to be scrubbed from the harsh, splinter ridden, wooden floor. But yet he still fastened me into the slatted frame and laid the lash upon my naked body. However, that final time, when he unfastened me, and I fell motionless into his arms, he pulled me out of the main room and into the small adjacent store space. A petite cubicle that had no door and so it, despite not being visible to the girls in the main room, was open enough such that every sound could be plainly heard.
And there, without any concern for my battered and bleeding body, he raped me. His lust had accumulated over the day and the bulge in his breeches indicated his intentions long before he pushed me against the cold stone wall and split my thighs.
When his rudimentary but very effective assault on my body was complete, I was on the verge of losing my consciousness. I ought to have felt doubly humiliated knowing that the girls had heard every plea, every grunt and every sob of my suffering, but my mind was now as mistreated as my body and I cared not one jot.
“You and you, get her to the infirmary …” were the last words I heard the Master say before I lost my fight against the conscious world and slipped into a welcome oblivion.
That stay in his small hospital tended to by the angel that worked there, was a most agreeable period. It wasn’t worth the beatings and assaults that I endured just to get there, but as I lay sick and feverous, receiving nought but love and care, I began to feel whole once more. My body was scarred, that would never change, but those marks had not been made by the cat, and so would fade to almost nothing, especially with the aid of the creams and potions that she applied.
As the presence of my mind returned, I watched as my nurse pounded bishopwort, garlic, wormwood, helenium, cropleek and hollowleek, and then boiled them in butter with celandine and red nettle, before massaging the concoction gently into my skin. It was heaven to me and as my eyes would close, I wished that I could die here rather than be returned to the hellish workhouse whereupon I knew that my unbearable ordeal would begin once more.
It was two weeks before my beloved Angel agreed with the Master, over whom she seemed to hold some sway, that I could be released, and he wasted no time in renewing his enjoyment of me.
I was allowed to rest in my small cell-like room on the day of my discharge, due to be returned to the station of my work on the following morning at sun rise.
Still in need of further recovery, especially the replenishment of my energy, I slept soundly for most of that day and into the evening, and so I did not hear the click of the metal door catch, nor did I hear his silent entrance into my bedroom. All I heard was a short cough. I sprang upright in my bed, letting my eyes adjust to the hypnotizing darkness. I sat there for a few seconds, sharply turning my head at the sound of every creak only to feel reassured that it was the old, large house and work factory building creaking. But then, before resuming my slumber, I saw an almost invisible figure in the dark …
My Master, the monstrous Tomas de Deza Taverna, had visited me. It could mean only one thing and I knew only too well what that was. Leaning into my kneeling body, his mouth at the side of my head, he gently bit my earlobe and said, "I intend to have you this night, do you understand me Bárbara Morales?"
I glanced down at my semi nakedness and saw the way my skimpy nightdress had wrapped itself around certain crevices of my body exposing my breasts to his gaze.
Pulling the scant covering around me I tried to turn and face the Master, but was rewarded with a harsh slap to my cheek. His strong force then flung me to the floor, face down, and I tried to blink out the tears burning in my eyes as the fire in my struck skin burned harshly. He got on one knee beside me and pulled my head up by my hair.
"Don't make me do that again. I do so hate hurting you..." his duplicitous smirk trailed off, his grip letting go of my hair as he asked me once again if I understood him.
I nodded my head in response, what choice did I have.
"Good girl and so now you will keep quiet my whore and I will not harm you beyond the parting of your thighs," the deep voice whispered into my ear as his hand had come around and pressed firmly over my mouth.
"Get up," he instructed, and I followed his directions … too afraid not to. My bottom lip trembled as he pushed me out through the door into the dark hallway beyond.
“You will make not a sound,” he instructed me. “The Mistress is in her own chamber this night and she leaves me feeling the need for company. I do not want her nor the other girls to know of what we do. After all we would not want them becoming green with envy now would we?” His chuckle terrorised me through and through.
I was only clothed in my night wear, a covering so flimsy and translucent that it may well have not been there at all, in fact its very presence most likely acted as further provocation to the desire that inflamed my Master’s evil ardour.
As we entered his much larger, and altogether more decadent bedchamber, I lowered my head in shame and fear as I was given another command.
"Put your hands together behind your back and lock your elbows. I want to see those tits pushed forward towards me."
When I couldn't bring myself to do the required task, he pushed me backwards with enough force to knock me over. I didn't realise how uncoordinated I had become. Thankfully, I was still standing in front of his bed and I simply fell onto the soft cushion of his crimson bedspread.
Apparently, he had changed his mind about how to restrain me. He stood up again and looked down at me, looking up at him with fear showing in my eyes.
"No, no I think that I shall leave you free of any bindings. You've been a very bad girl leaving me for so long and wallowing in the comfort of my infirmary, taking advantage of my soft heart and caring attitude. Bad girls deserve to be punished, do they not?" he asked me, his words so filled with falsehoods and fabrications as to be rendered meaningless save for the way in which they underpinned his impending intent.
I didn't respond, still so scared of him and his obvious control and power over me. "I asked you a question!" he spat with violence and vigour.
"Y-y-yes," I mustered up in reply.
"Yes what?" he asked.
"Yes, bad girls deserve to be punished," I said; my embarrassment showing in my flustered cheeks.
"And have you been a bad girl?"
"Yes."
"Yes what? Who am I?"
"Yes, Master?" I stated quietly.
He smiled and nodded. “And now Bárbara Morales, now you are to be fucked.”
When I had calmed down from the distress that flowed freely throughout my mind and body, he leaned down onto the bed and grabbed my ankle pulling me towards him, causing my shift to rise and expose my nudity from my stomach downwards.
I felt him grab my other ankle with the same harsh grip and pull it relentlessly towards him. I let out a loud whimper and my legs were spread wide, the muscles in my face contorted in pain as I was stretched out so expansively for him.
Then, clearly considering his next action, no doubt pondering exactly how he would take me, he pushed my ankles together and pulled my legs high, exposing my bottom to his full and unblemished gaze.
The Master gently caressed my firm flesh as he lowered one hand to the small hole of my bottom. I bucked and mewed quietly as his finger entered easily and without lubrication.
"Mmmmmm, this is nice. You're so open for me, just like a whore should be. I could just fuck you right here between those peachy cheeks, without any lubrication."
Having pulled the nightdress away from my body with the grip of one hand and the aid of a sweeping movement that took it off over my head, I heard him scramble to remove his own clothing, which consisted of a night robe with a long thick cotton night shirt underneath.
There was a candle, in a glass, bowl-like candle holder, lit on his bedside table. The mesmerising flicker of the dancing flame was the last distraction I had before he settled his erection against the entrance to my bowels.
I tried to move out of his way, but his unwanted intimacy was relentless, and I felt the tears roll down my cheeks to drip onto his bedspread.
An involuntary sharp breath whistled between my teeth when he pushed forward, his movements only aided by what I guessed must be the pre-release of the soon-to-be interminable juices from his attendant shaft.
He placed his hands down onto my buttock cheeks and began to massage them, moving the swollen end of his hard rigidity into the dark shadow that divided my bottom, letting it occasionally dip down to brush against my pussy.
Then I gasped, holding my breath when I felt the head of his cock find my entrance and he began to push against my small rosebud like hole. His shaft had enormous girth, I knew that from my previous encounters with it, and as he entered me, penetrating that so small space, I involuntarily clenched my buttocks and forced him to withdraw – I couldn’t help myself.
"Now, unless you wish to be beaten against, you mustn't do that my whore," he said to me, in an almost mocking tone. So, once again my Master pushed himself against my hole, and held it there just pulsing at the hitherto secret entrance to my insides.
"Or this is what happens..." and he bent down sideways to retrieve the candle, before pouring a few drops of molten hot wax onto my pussy which allowed the painful liquid to run as far the sensitive skin above my smaller hole before it solidified.
I bucked and my cry would have woken the dead had he not pressed his large hand over my mouth to drowned out my pitiful exclamations.
Instinctively, my bottom pushed outwards and his swollen head gained entrance into the desired place. I tried to push him out of my body, but to no avail. He wasn't going to let me escape again. Tears began to gather in my eyes as I felt him scrape the now cooled wax away and set the candle back onto a table beside him.
"Can I trust you enough not to resist me again?" He looked down at me and I nodded - my bottom still burning from the hot wax.
"Good. Now push yourself out again whore, like you did before," My docility complete, I did as I was told and I felt his erection go another few inches into my stretched hole. My eyes clenched themselves shut as I shuddered in pain. Then he pushed a little further as I pushed out again, involuntarily.
"Ah, that's a good whore, Bárbara Morales. Almost half way in now."
Half way in?! I swear he was already filling me. This was awful. He had never taken me like this before, and I turned my head away and bit hard into my shoulder.
Then I groaned and felt his hand on my mouth once more as he thrust the rest of his shaft into me. I lunged upwards with the force, trying to escape this invasion as he penetrated me in this unnatural manner. My breathing was very erratic and I could feel the warmth dripping down over my upturned cheeks. It was not the release of his own juices, not yet, and so it must be blood, my blood!
"Oh my God, please take me from this world," I mumbled the short, spontaneous prayer under my breath.
The pain was simply unbearable. I felt like I couldn't move; even the natural task of breathing hurt my chest. My bastard Master, Tomas de Deza Taverna, didn't even give me the time to adjust before he began to pull himself out of my torn bottom.
It seemed to be such a long unbearable period before I was free from his hardness, save for the large, swollen head holding me open and maintaining the agonies already entreated to my body. Then he slowly pushed back in, and then out again. He began a steady rhythm and didn't show any sign of speeding up when I heard him say, "Ready yourself whore …"
His words were spoken in such soft tones, that I wondered if maybe I wasn’t supposed to hear them. But then, just as my tortured mind was trying to figure out what he was going to do, he pulled out of me all the way and then immediately plunged back in using only one powerful thrust!
The breath was knocked out of me and I couldn't hold back the scream when I felt his hips slam against my ass.
"Shhhhhhh," he said, his tone surprisingly gentle.
"Get ready whore, I'm doing it again." He wasn't lying; I felt him pull out all the way and slam back into me again. My screams began to get softer as he repeated this new painful rhythm over and over, releasing more of his initial juices and thus making his movements easier inside me.
He began to speed up even more, but only taking out half of his hard shaft and so the bastard man could go faster and faster with each plunge into the ever widening hole.
Still fucking me hard and fast in this manner appropriate to the most lust hungry of bestial creatures, I began to feel the tremble of his orgasm as it surfaced. And then he came in long, powerful thrusts that filled me all the way to my bowels many times over. He groaned as I felt his seed go through his shaft and shoot into my body. He mumbled something unintelligible under his breath as he slowly pulled his cock out of me, releasing the residual sperm to flow slowly and freely over my bottom cheeks and onward down my thighs …
It was much later, with the whole house in slumber induced silence, that my consciousness fully returned. I grimaced as the slightest movement, even against his soft sheets, reminded me of exactly how and where I had been violated. His using of me in this beast-like manner had not only further strengthened my resolve to leave this place, but I was now determined to do so this very night.
And so, with concentrated stealth I eased my naked body away from the vile, sleeping bulk beside me, and crept quietly from his bed, mopped the abhorrent juices and residual blood from my loins and around my poor, torn bottom and retrieved the thin, linen night dress from his floor.
Returning to my own room, being ever conscious of the slightest sound that might wake the Master, keeping the nightdress on, I slipped on my simple dress over it. And then, without even a breath louder than a silent whisper, taking nothing but my beloved diary, I slipped quietly out into the street and made my way down to the quay …
Attachments
Loxuru
Graf von Kreuzigung
He could, but he didn't, since his IPhone was Made in China, and hence contained spyware that would have alerted China's emperor about his discovery!
13.
San Sebastián’s jam-packed market square erupted into complete bedlam when the executioner toppled from the scaffolding into the arms of the crowd below ... or rather, toppled smack down on the hard pavement below as onlookers backed instinctively away.
What went unnoticed ... at least briefly ... was that his ax, which the executioner had stooped to retrieve just as Diego managed to knee him in the face, had flown, cartwheeling into the air, only to come down on the Governor’s left foot, which the blade neatly cleaved in two just above the toes.
Sending at that moment a laxness in the grip of the astounded henchman at his side, Diego broke free and hastened to Bárbara’s side, urging her to rise to her feet, which she hastily did, taking wide-eyed shelter close to his side.
It was also at that time that Beatriz de Babadilla y Ossario, Countess of La Gomera, had seen enough and signaled to her personal man-at-arms, Carlos Garcia, to mount the scaffolding and bring a hasty end to the disrupted proceedings.
In leaps and bounds he mounted the scaffolding, and bypassing the Governor ... who was bellowing with pain as two henchmen, with the Bishop looking on, struggled to remove the ax blade from his mangled foot ... strode to the edge of the scaffolding and raised both hands high in the air in an attempt to bring relative quiet and order to the madding crowd.
Once he had achieved a semblance of their attention, he began to speak, shouting, “By the authority invested in me by Her Grace, Beatriz de Babadilla y Ossario, Countess of La Gomera, I hereby declare that today’s executions be suspended. Let it be known that the Countess also orders, pending her review regarding the fates of the condemned ... Diego de Arna and Bárbara Morales ... that they both be remanded ... in chains ... to the temporary custody of Cristobal Colon, Master of the carrack, Santa Maria.”
At that point, a phalanx of Colon’s men swept onto the scaffolding to take possession of Diego and Bárbara and hustle them away.
The ensuing riot on the market square lasted well into the night, with peace and tranquillity restored only after the armed intervention of garrison soldiers.
**********
Deep in the hold of the Santa Maria, naked and restrained by neck irons chained to opposite sides of the hold’s massive central supporting timber, Bárbara and Diego sat in silence, too stunned to think of anything to say to one another. The heat in the bowels of the carrack was oppressive, the air stale, their situation grim, despite their unexpected last minute reprieve from the executioner’s ax.
Far into the night they sat in total darkness. The only sounds being the creaking of timbers, the scurrying of rats, and their own breathing.
But then, there were footsteps ... and the swinging light of an approaching lantern.
And then, in its glow, the face of Cristobal Colon, come to pay them a late night visit.
“Well, Diego, a most fortunate turn of events for you and your little whore!” he announced cheerfully. “Fortunate to be alive, you are, thanks to the intervention of the good Countess ... for which I can also claim some credit. Also fortunate, my dear Diego, that you are, however temporarily, under her protection. For if you weren’t, I’d have you executed here on board for dereliction and desertion.”
Diego face could be seen in the flickering lantern light, glaring at Colon in an open show of defiance and contempt.
“And as for you,” Colon continued, turning toward Bárbara, and prodding her flank with the toe of his shoe, “You too appear to be temporarily under the Countess’ protection, but that does not preclude me from ordering the completion of your unfinished punishment of 30 lashes with the cat for an earlier offense against this ship. I can assure you that we shall see to that in the morning!”
Bárbara looked away, studiously refusing to acknowledge the man’s presence.
“What? No gratitude? No matter. I’ll take my thanks my way,” he sneered, undoing the front of his breeches.
In response, Bárbara spat contemptuously on the decking.
“On your side!” he roared, grabbing her by an ankle, flipping her half over, and lowering himself down behind her.
Realizing what he had in mind, she began to squirm and thrash, but was impeded by the fact that her wrists were bound behind her back as well as by the short chain that fettered her neck iron to the timber support.
Memories of her days in his quarters, chained to the bed and abused, flooded her mind as he grappled with her and eventually succeeded both subduing her and in positioning himself where he wanted to be.
She could feel the tip of his erection probing her bottom. She gasped as it found its mark and forced its way inside of her ... after which she endured with gritted teeth the relentless and seemingly interminable thrusting and pounding ... until ... at long last ... he finally finished, grunted with satisfaction and withdrew.
And through it all, she was aware of Diego, on the other side of the timber upright, quietly cursing to himself.
TO BE CONTINUED
San Sebastián’s jam-packed market square erupted into complete bedlam when the executioner toppled from the scaffolding into the arms of the crowd below ... or rather, toppled smack down on the hard pavement below as onlookers backed instinctively away.
What went unnoticed ... at least briefly ... was that his ax, which the executioner had stooped to retrieve just as Diego managed to knee him in the face, had flown, cartwheeling into the air, only to come down on the Governor’s left foot, which the blade neatly cleaved in two just above the toes.
Sending at that moment a laxness in the grip of the astounded henchman at his side, Diego broke free and hastened to Bárbara’s side, urging her to rise to her feet, which she hastily did, taking wide-eyed shelter close to his side.
It was also at that time that Beatriz de Babadilla y Ossario, Countess of La Gomera, had seen enough and signaled to her personal man-at-arms, Carlos Garcia, to mount the scaffolding and bring a hasty end to the disrupted proceedings.
In leaps and bounds he mounted the scaffolding, and bypassing the Governor ... who was bellowing with pain as two henchmen, with the Bishop looking on, struggled to remove the ax blade from his mangled foot ... strode to the edge of the scaffolding and raised both hands high in the air in an attempt to bring relative quiet and order to the madding crowd.
Once he had achieved a semblance of their attention, he began to speak, shouting, “By the authority invested in me by Her Grace, Beatriz de Babadilla y Ossario, Countess of La Gomera, I hereby declare that today’s executions be suspended. Let it be known that the Countess also orders, pending her review regarding the fates of the condemned ... Diego de Arna and Bárbara Morales ... that they both be remanded ... in chains ... to the temporary custody of Cristobal Colon, Master of the carrack, Santa Maria.”
At that point, a phalanx of Colon’s men swept onto the scaffolding to take possession of Diego and Bárbara and hustle them away.
The ensuing riot on the market square lasted well into the night, with peace and tranquillity restored only after the armed intervention of garrison soldiers.
**********
Deep in the hold of the Santa Maria, naked and restrained by neck irons chained to opposite sides of the hold’s massive central supporting timber, Bárbara and Diego sat in silence, too stunned to think of anything to say to one another. The heat in the bowels of the carrack was oppressive, the air stale, their situation grim, despite their unexpected last minute reprieve from the executioner’s ax.
Far into the night they sat in total darkness. The only sounds being the creaking of timbers, the scurrying of rats, and their own breathing.
But then, there were footsteps ... and the swinging light of an approaching lantern.
And then, in its glow, the face of Cristobal Colon, come to pay them a late night visit.
“Well, Diego, a most fortunate turn of events for you and your little whore!” he announced cheerfully. “Fortunate to be alive, you are, thanks to the intervention of the good Countess ... for which I can also claim some credit. Also fortunate, my dear Diego, that you are, however temporarily, under her protection. For if you weren’t, I’d have you executed here on board for dereliction and desertion.”
Diego face could be seen in the flickering lantern light, glaring at Colon in an open show of defiance and contempt.
“And as for you,” Colon continued, turning toward Bárbara, and prodding her flank with the toe of his shoe, “You too appear to be temporarily under the Countess’ protection, but that does not preclude me from ordering the completion of your unfinished punishment of 30 lashes with the cat for an earlier offense against this ship. I can assure you that we shall see to that in the morning!”
Bárbara looked away, studiously refusing to acknowledge the man’s presence.
“What? No gratitude? No matter. I’ll take my thanks my way,” he sneered, undoing the front of his breeches.
In response, Bárbara spat contemptuously on the decking.
“On your side!” he roared, grabbing her by an ankle, flipping her half over, and lowering himself down behind her.
Realizing what he had in mind, she began to squirm and thrash, but was impeded by the fact that her wrists were bound behind her back as well as by the short chain that fettered her neck iron to the timber support.
Memories of her days in his quarters, chained to the bed and abused, flooded her mind as he grappled with her and eventually succeeded both subduing her and in positioning himself where he wanted to be.
She could feel the tip of his erection probing her bottom. She gasped as it found its mark and forced its way inside of her ... after which she endured with gritted teeth the relentless and seemingly interminable thrusting and pounding ... until ... at long last ... he finally finished, grunted with satisfaction and withdrew.
And through it all, she was aware of Diego, on the other side of the timber upright, quietly cursing to himself.
TO BE CONTINUED
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Harsh Martinet
Consul
Love the story...but Columbus Day is forever ruined... wondering now what kind of trash Barb will dig up on Leif Eriksson.
Fossy
SEXPIOGENTUS
That man is an evil bastard, no mistake. It's not as if poor Barbara has been free from rape and abuse in her past, goodness knows her malicious Master from the Merchant's workhouse took his pleasure whenever and however he wanted. But to be so treated in front of a chained Deigo added unthinkable humiliation to the nefarious ordeal. And come the 'morrow she is to be flogged ... again ... Damn!
And the description of that chaotic scene on the executioners platform!
Bloody brilliant Barb ...
Migoz2
Senator
A perfect example of why punctuation is important, kids!
'on the other side of the timber, upright'..........