Sunday, April 24, 2011

A new chapter of the new book

My level of frustration grew more as time passed. My visit to William Pierce had, I believe, the desired effect. Shortly after I returned home, I had a conversation with Paul that would, I feared, or hoped, change everything.
"Paul, I have changed my mind," I said.
"How so?"
"I give you not only my breasts, but my whole body. You can have everything."
"Are you sure of that?" his questioning look spoke volumes.
"I love you," I answered, "and I am sorry I did not do this before, but I am yours, forever, without any reservations."
"I am sure," I added.
Lovemaking that night was awesome; he used my pussy with reckless abandon, as he used my ass.
But that was about it. Life returned to normal and, except for our lovemaking being a bit more intense, there was not much difference. Sometimes he tortured my breasts; sometimes enough for me to achieve the mega orgasms I craved, but that only happened now and then. Enough for me to remember them, to miss them, but not frequently enough for me to be satisfied.
I could not take it anymore/
"Why don't you play with me?" I asked him one evening.
"I do play with you," he replied.
"You know what I mean. I gave you everything, but you use me so rarely, and so carefully that, I might as well not have done it at all."
"Maybe I don't want to break my toy," he said.
"Maybe your toy wants to be broken," I replied.
Nothing more happened for a few weeks. At times, in bed, touching myself, I looked at his nightstand and thought of the miniature pliers lying forgotten in the drawer, and thought of using them on myself. I did not because I knew that did not work. I tried to hurt myself, with a hairbrush, but it did not help.
My summer vacation was approaching and, despite my sexual frustration, I looked forward to it. I wondered where we would go.
"Take next month off," Paul said one night.
"I only have two weeks," I answered.
"So take them without pay, or even better, quit," he said.
I looked at him in wonder. What was he about.
"I thought about what you said," he smiled. "I think I want to break my toy."
A river of juice spurted from my innards.
He gave me my instructions later in the week. My insides turned into ice when I heard them. He handed me an airline ticket.
It was a round trip ticket to San Jose, Guatemala.
"You will fly to Ciudad de Guatemala, and from there to San Jose," he ordered.
At the San Jose airport I would take a cab to a villa near the ocean, at a place called Pie de la Cuesta. The villa had been rented in my name, with my credit card. What chilled my insides was that I would be travelling alone, he would not come with me. I would travel alone into the country with the highest murder rate for women in the world, and the lowest conviction rate.
He did intend to break me.
I couldn't blame him. I had asked him to.
I did not have the courage to ask what his intentions were. I set no limits, put no conditions. I wasn't going to balk at the agreement even if I wanted to; besides, something inside me did not want to. Something inside me squirmed, deep in my pelvis. My rational mind wondered if it would be worth it. My pelvis churned and asked no questions.
"Yes Paul," I said with downcast eyes as I picked up the travel documents.
At work, I resigned my position and said I would be moving away. We had no real friends in town, so I would not be missed. I packed my bags and took a cab for the airport. Paul had left for Chiapas, Mexico two days earlier. I did not expect to need the return trip ticket.
At least he bought me a first class ticket all the way to San Jose.
I tipped the cabbie generously when he left me at the door of the empty villa with my baggage. He gave me his card and asked me to call him when it was time to return to the airport. Little did he know...
The villa turned out to be an old colonial mansion. The front gate was closed but there was a door on the side. I tried it and it opened. The mansion was set a way back from the road. I hung my carry on bag from my suitcase and pulled them behind me on the cracked asphalt of the driveway. Tall royal palms framed the driveway. I took a deep breath; it felt like hot soup. The air was alive with the humming of insects and, from the rainforest behind the mansion, I heard the screeching of birds.
The white paint on the outside of the mansion was peeling in places. A wide verandah surrounded the front of the house. Several trees dotted the wide front garden; it really could not be called a lawn. The scent of tropical flowers was heavy in the humid air. By the time I reached the front door, I was soaked through.
I rang the doorbell.
A ravishing young woman opened the door. She was no taller than five foot two and her skin was the color of the cafe con leche they serve at street stands in Miami, Her long flowing hair reached down to her waist and her almond shaped eyes were the color of  clover honey. She wore a white linen dress that enhanced her breasts reaching down to the upper thighs. On her feet she wore high heeled espadrilles called "alpargatas" here.
"You must be Helen," her voice tinkled like Bohemian crystal, and her lips split in a wide open smile.
"Follow me," she said, helping me with the luggage.
The bedrooms were all on the second floor to take advantage of the sea breeze. From my window I could see the rainforest start where the property ended. Three large red birds flew across the green expanse screeching loudly.
"Guacamayos," she said.
"I am Melita," she extended her hand.
The introductions over, she opened the closet where a linen dress, much like hers hung.
"You'll be more comfortable if you wear this," she said before leaving.
I examined the large room. A gauzy mosquito net draped over the large, iron framed bed. There was no air conditioning and a ceiling fan hung from the ceiling. The breeze, blowing softly through the open windows smelled of salt and shellfish. The hardwood floor creaked slightly as I walked on the ancient timbers that had been polished through generations to a dark, almost black, shine. An iron tub had been wedged into the tiny bathroom, between the washstand and the toilet. I washed my face and removed my travel stained skirt and T shirt. After a moment, I also removed my bra.
Melita was right, of course. The linen dress was cool and more comfortable than a cotton one would be. There was a pair of high heeled alpargatas in the closet. I put them on; they were my size. They tied on to the calf with long baby blue ribbons. I looked at myself in the mirror surprised at how sexy I looked dressed with what were, in essence, peasant clothes.
I stepped out on the balcony. This place was so beautiful, a perfect place for a vacation. Instead, I came here to be broken, destroyed. A chill rose up my spine and I shivered in the warm air.
I returned to the ground floor. Melita and a second, taller, woman stood by a table in the white tiled kitchen. Melita approached me and offered me a large glass of chilled juice. It tasted delicious even though I could not identify what fruit it was made of.
The second woman wore a pale yellow linen dress and alpargatas; she was taller, and her white skin betrayed her European heritage. Her chestnut colored hair reached midway down her back and her large eyes were the darkest brown I'd ever seen.
"I am Marta," she said with the faintest Spanish accent.
She kissed me on the cheek, twice, the Spanish way.
"Where is Paul?" I did not know what role he planned for me, so I did not dare ask 'Where is my husband?"
"The men are out fishing," Marta said, "they will be back soon."
"Shall I show you the grounds?"
A gravel path led from the back door through the fruit trees that dotted the property. I recognized mango and avocado trees, but I could not recognize any of the others. Gravel replaced the grass where a picnic area and a gazebo had been built.
"It keeps snakes away," Marta said.
The grounds were well maintained and I realized that the peeling paint I'd noticed at the entrance was more a reflection on the climate and humidity than dilapidation.
"You know what will happen to you?" Marta asked me.
"Not the details," I answered with a quiver in my voice, "but in general, yes, I know."
"And you are OK with it?"
It took an immense effort to answer:
"I had to ask, you understand," she said.
"Of course."
"You will be tortured only between sunset and sunrise," she informed me. "It is too hot during the day."
"I see."
"You may rest during the day. You will need it."
Despite the heat and the humidity, I felt cold. I could not believe this conversation. I could not believe I was discussing what, in effect would be my destruction, in such fashion, as if we were planning a party, a social event.
"Melita will help the men if required," Marta continued, "she will also satisfy their needs. I hope you don't mind."
I shook my head.
"You will not be able to, most of the time."
My fear turned into terror. I felt acid gurgling up in the back of my throat. I could barely walk. Yet, with each passing moment, a pulse of heat throbbed inside me, fighting the icy fear, pushing it back.
Both sides of the property abutted on thick forest providing privacy. The property ended, in the back, on a creek where a small pier had been built. On the edge of the water, the largest alligator I had ever seen looked at us with uninterested eyes. He did not bother to even move as we approached the pier. Whether he regarded us as intruders to be ignored, or as a prospective snack, I could not tell. I thought he was looking at me, detecting my fear.
"Never fear the alligator that you can see," Marta said, "it's the one you can't see that will get you."
The hum of an engine approaching up the creek announced the men's return. As the fifteen foot cabin cruiser approached, the alligator decided it was getting too crowded and slid into the water.
Paul and Dr. Martin got off the boat. I did not know if this was reassuring or not.
The sun raced towards the western horizon.

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