Caribbean Reign Ch. 19-20

I keep waiting for my eyes to adjust to the darkness. They reveal nothing but the blur of shadows. I have been buried underground, a place where Rafael doesn't have to think about me or even breathe the same air. Does any treachery truly merit such treatment?

Finally, a key turns in the lock. A familiar voice calls down from the top of the stairs.

"You've done it now."

"Isabel?" I call, rousing from a half-haze.

How long will I be kept below? It's impossible to glean any sense of time in this dungeon. Already Isabel's simple light source strains my eyes as if I've become some fetid swamp monster.

"He was finally starting to trust you." She raises her candle but does not continue further down the stairs. "I thought that you would be the one to change him. Now, he'll be even worse than before. Already, he's started again with Maria."

Must it be a member of the Trio that takes my place? Did my affections mean so little to him that in a blink of an eye he wraps himself in the arms of another? My only consolation is that escaping will require his attention to be elsewhere. Isabel could be my redemption, yet. She has free reign to every room in the estate, access to horses and footmen.

"Isabel, I never meant for this to happen. You are a dear friend and - "

She cuts me off sharply. "We are not friends, Catherine. Were we friends, you would have trusted me with the truth."

I bite back tears. "I have erred greatly in judgment, and I will carry those sins to my grave, but you have to know that I harbor no ill will against your family. What sorts of things have I learned here other than how to lace another's stays?"

Isabel opens her mouth to reply.

Instead of continuing, she promptly turns and leaves. The heavy door slams shut behind her.

There is nothing I can do to make anyone listen. They will assess me on actions they can never understand, the impossible choices and curses of fate.

Her dim candlelight is missed once it is gone. No one shall hear my screams when the rats choose to feast upon me. On that day, my cotton shift will be little protection. It was no less than a miracle that those ruffians had left me even these.

To be without covering, in this hell, might unleash a savagery upon me from which I could never return.

What shall be done with me? The disdain of my closest companion burns in my chest. And yet, Isabel's anger can be no match for the viscount's fury, a solemn injury to both heart and reputation.

***

I dread his presence the moment I feel it gathering above the stairs, radiating through his footsteps. The cellar door swings open. I wince as light swallows the darkness. The quick, uniform thuds. A jangle of keys. He comes to my cell with a gas lamp in one hand and a knife in the other. His posture is not that of a man amenable to an explanation. By now, I know better than to offer one.

The knife slips between his teeth, as he unlocks the door. Silently, I strain against my bonds, every muscle stiff, but the chain sways helplessly. I am trapped in a cage with a lion, and the lion holds the keys to the cage.

Without so much as a greeting, Rafael digs his blade into my shift and begins cutting upward. The thin cotton falls away. I keep my gaze to the floor. The knife's tip grazes the small of my back. Does he intend to draw blood? For all his cruelty, I never took the viscount as a man who enjoys the torture of innocent women, and yet, I know that he no longer considers me innocent.

I recite a familiar psalm under my breath.

"Quand je marche dans la vallée de l'ombre de la mort, Je ne crains aucun mal, car tu es avec moi."

Though I've never been terribly religious, right now, I would accept assistance from anyone willing to guide me through this dark valley.

Soon, his blade is under my chin, and I am staring down the beast head-on.

"One more word and I'll have your tongue. You may not fear death, but you ought to fear me."

There is not one hint of affection in his scalding eyes. He resumes cutting without pursuing the matter further. A healthy dose of bewilderment joins my ever-growing reserve of fears. Rafael understands French fairly well, and yet he insisted on taking me with him on his voyage.

He speaks as if reading my mind, "Do you really think I needed a translator in Port Royal? I needed a whore."

His words sting, but I know that they cannot all be true. He was about to set me free. He must have held some small love for me in that cold heart of his. Now that I have been found out, he will say what he needs to rescue his ego. I am merely collateral damage.

Rafael grabs a fistful of my rear's flesh and squeezes until it hurts. I whimper.

He whispers in my ear, "Whilst you were masquerading as Ana, you were always so nervous about such things. I believe that now you'll be much more amenable."

His erection presses against my navel. The viscount promised never to take me by force, but that was a promise made to Ana. I can see from the soulless look in his eyes that it was also a promise from a very different man.

"Will you overcome me?" I ask quietly.

For a moment, his face softens. I see a glimmer of heartbreak, of tenderness. I try to savor it and let it bring me comfort. It quickly becomes cruel again.

"Pray, why would I take that which comes willingly?"

He moves closer allowing nothing between us but a thin sliver of air. "From now on, I only want to hear two words from your pretty little mouth."

When I fail to respond to his liking, he grips my jaw between his forefingers. He rips the chain from my neck. It clinks to the ground outside the cage.

"Yes, master," I sputter.

"Look at that. The whore is capable of learning."

Thwack. He slaps me across the cheek. "What is your place here?"

My cheek stings. "Are you truly not even the slightest bit curious about how I got here?" I retort.

"Perhaps when I tire of you, princesa, you can entertain me with those tales."

It is an unfortunate nickname. Where is the knight to come to my rescue? Where are the softening effects of a true love's kiss?

He kicks my legs open. Each thigh is soon marked with a red handprint.

"Let us try again. What is your place here?"

"As your slave," I mumble.

If he insists upon rote responses, then he shall have them. His finger trails across my collarbone. Nowhere that he hasn't been before. Still, heat rises to my cheeks.

He is viewing my naked body with the lust of a horned devil.

"Very good, Catherine. Now, what did my slave do wrong?"

What didn't I do wrong? I was wrong to venture to the other side of Saint-Michel. I was wrong to incriminate myself in a poorly hidden letter. I was wrong to trust Sebastián. And most importantly, I was wrong to think this cruel, vindictive bastard ever had any feelings beyond what grows between his legs.

Of course, none of those are appropriate answers. I settle on the least offensive choice.

"I lied."

He nods sincerely. "And not only that, you lied to your master. Now, don't you believe a lying slave deserves to be punished?"

There is only one correct answer here.

"Yes, master," I reply meekly.

Rafael clutches his chest. "Then I must do my part to keep you in line."

It is only then that I notice the coiled whip at his belt, the leather rolled upon itself like a poisonous snake. I've managed to evade the whip throughout my entire imprisonment. However, now there is nothing I can take for granted. He unhooks the whip and holds it out to me in his palms.

"Thank me for your punishment, Catherine." The name is venom in his mouth. If I were still Ana, he might allow me to take his retribution silently.

"Thank you for my punishment, master."

The leather unfurls in front of him. It divides his face into two, each half as evil as the one beside it.

"Kiss it," he says.

With my wrists suspended above my head, I am in no position to refuse. No sooner does the leather meets my lips does he yank it away. I sincerely hope that my family has never been so cruel to our slaves but I have my doubts.

Rafael stands behind me, getting into position, letting the unbearable fear overtake me. He takes a lazy swing that barely fights through the air.

Shhzzzwp.

The whip nearly rends the flesh from my skin, setting every piece of me aflame. It's as if he's sliced me open from the inside out and poured alcohol over the whole thing. And that was only the first stroke. I must deny him further satisfaction while I am strong enough to do so.

"Thank you, master," I eke out, forcing my back straight and trying not to think about the unsightly scars that shall result. That is if I even manage to live through this ordeal.

He adjusts his stance and takes another swing.

Zzsshhhtt.

Blood fills my mouth as I bite into my lip. This time, my right leg is the victim of his scorching, the touch of leather one thousand times hotter than a dripping candle.

The intensity of his stroke has increased, testing my resolve. Worse yet, I can tell that he is still holding back his stroke. There are a thousand more hells for him to rain upon me.

"Thank you, master," I say, through gritted teeth. I have not the constitution to handle torture. My skin is not even fit to withstand the prick of a rose's thorns.

He takes a step back. Sssshwrp.

The leather tongue snaps around my waist. Pain scrambles the sensation in my limbs. In the fields, I watched as Rafael's overseers whip that old man bloody. My skin is yet intact, although reddening quickly. Despite the physical anguish, I sense that he's toying with me. A death by flaying is hardly any fun to a man like him. The viscount's preferred method of torment is more barbaric than what happened to poor Marsyas.

"Nothing to say? Very well." Rafael swings backward allowing the whip's tail to graze the floor.

I am certain that I cannot withstand another stroke. Stumbling out of here, disgraced and forced to serve at his feet can be no worse than the alternative.

"Master, please," I cry out, genuine tears forming in my eyes. Has it truly come to this?

I pause, "Allow me to satisfy your anger some other way."

"I am content with this," he scoffs. And yet, the whip remains still.

I press further. "As you wish, master. I only thought that you might prefer to - enjoy your slave." Rafael knows how I detest speaking of myself as if I were an object.

Perhaps it will pacify his rage.

He places his hand on his chest. "Catherine, are you whoring yourself out to avoid your punishment?"

His expression is gleeful. Demonic, even. He begins unbuttoning his waistcoat.

My letter might have been a bit overdramatic at the time it was composed, Now, every word rings true. This man has me strung up like a piece of meat, and yet, he wants me to croon over his handsomeness and sing his praises. Saving myself will require crawling under his boot for the rest of my life. I think I'd rather the whip.

Zsssshhhtp.

I would not prefer the whip.

I beg, "Please, master. Your slave would do anything to please you."

This character of the pitiful seductress is nauseating. He couldn't possibly crave such fake attention, except - it isn't completely fake. The pain has heightened all of my senses. Our prior attraction is hard to separate from the current reality. My slit, now awakened many marvelous and terrifying things, has been bombarded with cold air for long enough that its slickness has wandered from safety.

Rafael plunges two fingers into my wetness. The cavity yields easily. Though I desire Rafael to die a terrible, gruesome death, it wouldn't be so bad if entered me once more.

"I'll have to be careful," he says, "Or this isn't going to be a punishment for you."

He hangs the whip around my neck and then lifts my shackles over the hook.

Unceremoniously, my bare bottom lands on the stone floor. I wish that I could have held out longer, endured under the lash like so many of the virgin saints. Even more, I detest the sense of relief at his touch. I suppose if the viscount has already taken my virtue, there isn't much more for me to lose.

He gives me only a few moments to shake the feeling back into my arms before teasing my legs apart with his boot, knocking me this way and that, inspecting his property. The present circumstances bear an unfortunate resemblance to the day we met.

"Get up," he commands.

I scramble to my feet. Before I can relish the relative freedom of standing, I am pinned against the bars, his bare torso pressing against my breasts. He has managed to undress his lower half while I was otherwise distracted.

He holds moistened fingers under my nose. The pungent liquid is thick with betrayal. "Whipped and shackled, and you're creaming yourself at the mere thought of me. How dare you claim that you are any better than this?"

I try to turn from him. He grabs my chin.

The viscount slams his lips against mine until we are practically knocking teeth.

Rivulets of saliva slide down my neck, a precursor of what is to come. The taste is bitter and outrageous. This time, it is Catherine's mouth enduring his passion. I return his kisses. Without Ana, there are no secrets to redeem me and no honor to hold me back.

How can I possibly feel anything for this villain? A demented, unfit daughter have I been to my parents. An incorrigible, shameless fiancée to Monsieur Dupré.

Perhaps there is a perverted justice in my destruction at the hands of a wicked libertine. This kiss tramples any memories of friendship or goodwill between us.

Our houses can only ever be enemies. We can only ever be enemies. I was a fool to imagine otherwise. And he was a fool to trust me. Surely, I would betray him if it came down to it. We must have it out here, burning up before we suffocate in the smoke.

His teeth make their way to my nipples, biting down so hard they almost pop off.

"God, Rafael," I cry.

He rears up to his full height. His first name is not within the vocabulary of a proper slave.

"I am going to pretend that you didn't just earn fifteen lashes," he says, "And you are going to put that mouth to better use."

I kneel, half-knowing what to expect until he wraps my hair around his knuckles.

He growls, "If I feel any teeth, you'll lose them."

I shiver and do my best to take his full length in my mouth. I have no choice in the matter. I am caught between the beast and the cage. His large cock scrapes the back of my throat and obstructs my breathing. He holds me there, even as I gag, waiting for me to accept its invasion.

He allows me to suck tenderly for a moment before taking control. With a firm grip on my scalp, his length pumps, in and out. My choking is none of his concern. I release my jaw and focus on breathing. After I get the rhythm, the position becomes easier to maintain. Unfortunately, there is no remedy for the shame of kneeling in one's enemy's cellar.

My shackled hands slip down, trying to capture some sensation for myself. I know that even the viscount's discarded women are granted that much.

"Hands on your head," he barks.

I raise my tired arms, ashamed to have tried to derive pleasure from such a disgusting act. I return to the task at hand, bitterly hating him even as my lower regions long for his touch. To encourage me, he shoves his knee between my leg. I accept the paltry gift and wriggle back and forth.

"Mmhmm, the little slut is rubbing one out like a bitch in heat."

His comments, though degrading and demoralizing, somehow encourage me to suck harder. What else is there but to accept my fate? It is evident from his tightening muscles that he approves of the change. For all my pride and folly, the heavens have cursed me with this ignoble destiny.

Any moment now, he will show me a new cruelty, a harsher punishment, and have me wondering why I ever craved his cock in the first place. But for now, I might just be rewarded. One sweet note of pleasure before I descend further into hell.

He shudders, "Ay Dios."

As he pulls out, he sprays his come across my chest. The liquid falls from my breasts and precipitously dangles off my face. He exhales sharply.

Before I can clean up, he grabs me by the shackles and deposits me once more onto the hook, leaving my arms taut. He has used me as he sees fit.

My cheeks drip with his seed. My limbs beg for release. And yet, I dare not beg.

The viscount turns toward the door, but at the last minute, he changes his mind and allows me down from the chain. My beaten body is carelessly tossed over a wooden stool.

He picks the gas lamp off the floor and casts light on my dirtied face. "See if any other man would want you now."

The cage door slams shut behind him, and I sob for my future. He's right.

Who would want such a pitiful thing?