The House of Borgia, book 2

CHAPTER 7

A great wood fire had been made in the dungeons. Its red and sparkling heat was fighting to keep the chill of the thick, stone walls at bay. Along one wall a couch had been placed on which Cesare was lying eating the meat from a leg of chicken. On mats on the floor his four or five principal lieutenants were quaffing wine, filling their glasses from a barrel which had been brought from the stores, and themselves devouring pieces of fowl which they were roasting on spits over the fire.

“When are we going to get up this beauty, Sire,” one of them asked with a slight slur to his speech as he rose and crossed the dungeon. Cesare followed him with his eyes and his glance took in the defenseless form of the proud Countess. She was naked, stripped of all her austere covering. She was stretched out on the great wheel of a rack to one side of the gloomy, shadowed room.

“When I've finished with her,” he said, swigging a draught of wine and passing his glass to one of the men for a refill.

“Seems such a pity to keep her waiting,” the man replied. “She obviously loves us.”

A gust of laughter greeted his words.

The eyes of the Countess were still able to give a feeble reflection of their earlier glitter although by now she was hurt and exhausted and thoroughly humiliated.

Cesare looked at her as his strong teeth pulled at the chicken flesh. Would any of her subordinates have expected quite such a physical beauty? When she lashed them with her tongue would they have pictured those glossy, firm breasts, high and perky with their small impudent nipples? When she scowled and barked an order would they have thought of that tight waist with its rather sinewy, muscular stomach? When she ordered men to the dungeons and had them hanged from battlements would they have thought of those soft, feminine buttocks, that bottom which asked for caresses? When she rode through the town to order a massacre of reprisal, supervising its execution, would they have considered those warm thighs and those fleshy hips with the moss of pale hair and the heavy overlap of flesh between those white, tapering columns? She was really a beauty. She could have taken her place in an elegant court as one of its prime beauties at any time, except that her attitude had decided that lines of severity were to be drawn between her brows, that her mouth was to be hardened into grimness and her eyes, which could blaze and spark like any insulted courtesan's, should grow to contain the disgust for her fellow creatures which gleamed constantly in them.

They had watched her writhe on the rack? and it had to be admitted she had borne her punishment like a martyr. They had humiliated her, her eyes wide with horror had revealed just how much, with their mauling of her breasts and the supple contours of her naked body. But Cesare had reserved her principal humiliation for himself. He had yet personally to repay her for the near loss of his life on the drawbridge and also he was impressed with her looks and hauteur.

He grinned as his lieutenant took the leg of fowl he was munching and with a quick movement thrust it up between her straddled thighs into her cunt. The Countess gasped and swore. The lips of her vagina opened and then closed over the knobby, half-chewed meat.

“You wouldn't think a chicken would have enough guts to do that to a Countess,” his lieutenant jested, and there were fresh guffaws from the spectators. The man moved the fleshy bone around in her for a few seconds and then, tiring of the game?or perhaps being made too hot by it?withdrew the leg and flung it across to a corner of the room.

“Well seasoned,” called another. “Why didn't you eat it.”

“By the look of her Ladyship it might have poisoned me.”

Cesare swung himself off the couch and crossed to the rack. He stared at the inert body spread-eagled across it. The Countess glared back at him. All she wanted was a dagger, her eyes seemed to say, and he'd regret these humiliating tortures and liberties to which he'd subjected her.

Cesare lowered his eyes over her body. He could see the small blue veins on her white breasts and on the taut flesh where her thighs ran into her hips. He reached out his hand and stroked it softly over her breast, gently savoring the butteriness of the firm skin beneath his fingers. He could feel his lust rising in confined warmth at his loins. His eyes glittered and he looked up at hers again and saw something like fear in them for the first time.

“Leave us,” he commanded.

His men ceased their jesting immediately and began to gather their belongings prior to departure.

“Later, perhaps, we too may pay her out for her treachery to you, Sire,” murmured his principal lieutenant as they passed the rack on their way to the steep stone steps that led up the wall to the dungeon exit.

“Did you not know it was an offense to have any kind of intercourse with a corpse?” Cesare asked.

His lieutenant roared with laughter, laughter which was taken up by the others and followed them up the steps and beyond the citadel, leaving only a wan glinting echo of itself in Cesare's ears.

“They tell me, Madam,” he said softly, “that you have had three husbands. I wonder were they afraid of you?such a woman as could hang from the battlements two of her most respected citizens in the face of a besieging army.”

Her eyes blazed at him and she made no reply.

“Difficult to think those husbands were ever permitted to mount you,” he mused on, “but I'm told you have some fine sons safely out of harm's way. Were you afraid I might take them and train them for my army?”

Caterina Sforza-Riario moved her lips in a grimace of fury and loathing. Her voice was soft and a little strained and hoarse.

“Your army,” she mocked. “Your rabble, a horde of barbarians like their leader, an upstart drunk with power.”

Cesare almost raised his hand to strike her, but instead, with unerring instinct to humiliate her further, he stroked her breast instead and pinched her nipple between his thumb and forefinger.

“Were those husbands of yours allowed to see the body they entered?” he went on. “Or were they allowed only shamefacedly to slip their pricks up under your skirts and do their best to produce children for their lord and mistress?”

“They were weak and wretched?but each was a better man than you,” she spat.

Cesare sighed and let his fingers slide down over her muscular belly to dabble in the hair around her crotch.

“Madam, your desire to be brave seems to have injured your reasoning capacity.”

“Take your hands off me you vile beast,” she flared.

For answer Cesare bent and kissed a nipple and his fingers slipped into her crotch and penetrated her vagina which he tickled, grinning into her eyes.

She turned her face away from him. He saw a light muscle twitching in her cheek.

“And your body was so meant for spending days and nights in the throbbing heat of bed,” he went on, knowing that his words and attitude were making her desperate with fury and humiliation. “You have such a moist and ready cunt. I do believe you'd like to tryst with every man in my army.”

“Beast… swine…”

The words were faded echoes of her recent outburst. She was exhausted, physically and psychologically.

Cesare gloated over her helpless body. Now, he felt just like it. But a mere fuck wouldn't be sufficiently humiliating for her. He could feel his penis, large, hot and pushing to escape. With an image of soft, juicy entry into her and the relief it would bring to his lusting loins, he began to unstrap her legs.

She turned her face back to him, her eyes questioning.

Her legs flapped freely in a few seconds. She seemed to have lost the use of them. He untied her wrists which were stretched out above her head and she slid down over the wheel and crumpled to the floor, her eyes open and alive, but her weakened body refusing to obey her.

On the cold stone floor, she tried to move and stand up, but her ankles were stiff and dead, her arms numb, so she lay there where she'd slid, moving her hands weakly to restore the circulation.

For a few minutes, Cesare allowed her a little respite. He wanted her to recover so that nothing was lost on her. Then, when she was able, rather stiffly, to move her limbs and sit up, he pulled her to her feet, letting her stand a moment to get used to the pressure. She leaned on him, helpless to pull herself away. He breathed heavily with the touch of her flesh along him and moved her over toward the rack again.

She began to struggle weakly and with little gasps of pain as she realized that he was going to attach her once more to that instrument of torture, but, especially in her enfeebled state, she was no match for him and he pressed her face forward against the wheel while he tied her hands to it high above her head once again.

Her body moved fleshily against him as she tried to escape and he felt the spongy warmth of her buttocks squeezing against his organ as he pressed into her to hold her fast.

With her wrists firmly attached, he moved and caught one of her ankles, drawing it up around the side of the great wheel to attach it to the hub. She lost balance with the other foot and sagged down to the floor, held up only by her wrists as the wheel swung around with her weight.

Dexterously, Cesare fastened one ankle to the hub and then moved around to the other side and fastened the other. Then he pulled the wheel back to its original position, fixed it with a prop of wood and stood back.

The Countess was now in more or less a sitting position against and around the rack. Her body was held in against it, her legs spread wide and wrapped around the wheel at an angle of something more than 60 degrees with the floor. Her hanging behind was the lowest part of her.

“Now we'll see what your husbands should have done to teach you a little obedience and your place as a woman, wife and mother,” Cesare said.

Her eyes were closed, all the weight of her body on her fastened wrists. She was white and subdued and said nothing.

Quickly, Cesare pulled off his clothes until he was standing naked on the cold floor. His prick was tingling and the foreskin had drawn back to reveal the ardent, almost purpling knob. A little seminal fluid was already moistening its hot expanse in anticipation. He held it with his hand for a moment and he could feel its throbbing desire. Its heat was like an aura of red-hot lust around his genitals.

Around the fire, still blazing merrily, were the carpets and rugs on which his lieutenants had been reclining. He arranged them rapidly near the wheel under the Countess' behind which hovered a couple of feet above the ground. He knelt down on the thick rugs and ran his hands down the smooth lines of her back until they flared out over the soft cushion of her buttocks. The skin was smooth and sweating slightly with the strain she was undergoing. He ran his fingers between her buttocks where a few fine hairs straggled and the skin was suddenly softer, more tender feeling, like a raw steak. He dug his finger gently against her anus and felt it tight and denying like a pursed, puritanical mouth.

For some minutes he played with her anus while she sagged, seeming almost lifeless, then he felt it give and she gave a repressed squeal as his finger penetrated the tiny hole and moved like an animal in the soft portals of her rectum. She gasped again as he dug farther in up to the first finger joint and then the second. He squeezed in another finger and she cried out and her head fell back from the rack and then swung forward against the wood again.

Cesare moved his fingers around in her bottom, pressing out and up alternately, broadening, preparing the nether hole that was to receive the issue of his lust. The Countess wriggled her ankles against the hub of the wheel, but was unable to escape. Her widely spread legs and widely spread buttocks prevented her totally from escaping that foreign invasion of her private domain.

Easier and yet more easily Cesare's finger slipped and explored in the softening, yielding depths of her anus. His two fingers had easy access now and he thrust them right in to their full extent. In front of him, his prick carved the air like a sword, hard and ready for action. His balls seemed to ache and in his loins there was a ferment of sharp, spiraling coils of sensation. A drop of seminal fluid had dripped to the floor and he felt he could wait no longer.

Carefully he lay down under her and moved into position so that her dark, little hole would descend onto his rearing mast. Then, with his foot he deftly kicked aside the prop, reached up to catch her hips as she swung down toward him and pulled her down onto his prick.

The trembling arm of flesh battered in at first thrust and he felt her buttocks tense and try to close the slit to him. She cried out in pain and struggled with her bonds, but could do nothing.

Cesare pushed her upwards gently and the wheel swung back so that all the weight was on her wrists again. Then she fell slowly back with the turning wheel onto his prick once more.

The breach was made and broadened. Cesare felt her tight, rasping back channel tearing at his penis as he surged into the squeezing depths. He gritted his teeth and flexed his hips upward, sighing with the excruciating sensation. He heard her moan and pushed up again with his hands. Her anus slid off his prick and she swung up a little and then wheeled back again, her bottom meeting his hands and the spread crack between the buttocks enclosing his penis once again.

Her anus was becoming easier. He was already half buried in her and encountering no resistance with the exploring forepart of his rod. Only around the entrance, with the thickening dimension of his sex down to its root, was the pressure still enormous and every further tearing inch thrust into her drawing fresh groans from her open lips.

The great squeezing pressure, the tight contraction of her unused back passage around his long arm of violation began to draw panting gasps from Cesare. He had never felt such overwhelming pressure before. He wriggled as his prick thrust in and pulled her right down so that she yelled out in exhausted pain.

Now he didn't push her up very far each time, but allowed the rocking movement of the wheel to do it for him, simply guiding her gently with his hands.

Every time she came down and her behind rested for a moment on his belly its elastic entrance crushed the base of his penis. His loins were in fiery turmoil and his knob seemed to itch with desire to rid itself of his load. He wanted to get farther and farther into her and he spread her buttocks wide with his hands and screwed in for all he was worth.

The strain on the Countess' wrists when he pushed her up was so great that she was relieved each time she sagged back. She began to resist his efforts to push her up away from him and he let her rest on his loins while he wriggled his prick around inside her and she gasped and moaned and began to feel a strange, unanticipated tingling.

The Countess hated herself for this unexpected reaction on her part, but she couldn't help herself. In her exhausted condition there was little resistance left and it was easier to let herself be carried away on a sexual tide, to allow this creeping in her loins to crawl forward and farther forward, tingling her inside and pulsating in her vagina. His great invasion of her backside no longer seemed so vile nor yet so painful. It was producing these sexual feelings in her which she more normally associated with ordinary sex. She could hardly believe that it could happen, but it was.

She knew that he filled her behind like a spear, not sparing her at all, shagging her pitilessly, but she almost wanted more. It was such a relief on her wrists to be able to rest on his hairy stomach and to feel that fleshy wand digging into her.

She felt his hands clasping the fleshy rotundities of her buttocks, clasping them so hard that his fingers dug into her deeply and must have made deep weals in the soft flesh. His action was becoming more and more rapid; he was virtually pummeling her with thrusts and she could feel his hard belly, rising up, straining up to meet her downward rush so that they met in a clashing embrace and his spear tore in making her shriek with the shattering advance of it.

She heard him grunting and gasping, heavy masculine grunts with a certain savage brutality in them. With the growing desire in her belly she felt an outgoing to him, to Cesare Borgia, who had dared to submit her to this fantastic experience, who respected her not one jot and was not afraid to use her as he wished.

She heard his gasping become a heavy whine of exploding breath, felt his body tense along her buttocks and press there.

Then, with a sense of disappointment and the reality of her captive situation, she felt him relax on the floor under her and she rested, sagging on his stomach as he lay for a moment, motionless, breathing heavily.

When he slipped from under her and got to his feet, she became aware of the ache at her anus. She felt sore all the way up inside her; her back passage seemed to be burning and around its portals she felt wet and open and exposed.

She had slipped down to the rugs and hung there, trying to take the weight off her wrists, with her legs up in the air toward the hub of the rack. She opened her eyes and looked sideways at Cesare Borgia. He had climbed to his feet and was looking at her with a smile of satisfaction. Her eyes dropped to his long, limp, white prick which swung down between his hairy thighs.

“How was that, my proud Countess?” he asked.

She didn't answer. She looked away from him back to the wooden slats of the rack. The desire in her loins was still there, albeit ebbing. She could not remember having felt so sexy before. It was like confession under torture only this was sexiness under torture.

She heard him pad away to a corner of the dungeon and she opened her eyes which she'd closed for a moment in an attempt to clear her head. She saw him, still nude, returning through the flame-stabbed gloom. He was carrying a short-handled whip with a dozen narrow thongs. Her eyes opened wider in fear and her throat felt constricted. She felt as if there was nothing of her left that was real; she was exposed and helpless in a way she'd never been before. She could only hope that this man would eventually spare her.

Cesare replaced the wooden prop and she found herself again hanging in midair with the straps biting into her aching wrists, the muscles of her back aching under the strain. She could hardly move at all, only press her body into the wooden wheel as she prepared for the punishment he had designed for her.

She heard the thongs swishing in the air, but nothing happened. He was tantalizing her. There was silence. She bit her lips and rested her head against the slats which were hard and unfriendly.

Suddenly she cried out and flattened involuntarily into the wood as the first lash of the dozen-thonged whip wrapped around her body, stinging it and leaping away again to leave an unbearable stinging in its wake.

Her chest and stomach cringed under the pain and then she flattened into the wood a second time as the lash flicked all over her back and buttocks. No sound would get past her lips but a deflated “Ouff.”

The next lash was around her thighs, curling in a weal-tracing embrace with a pain that sickened and made her bite her tongue.

Tears of pain forced their way from under her lashes, her belly felt like a void and down in her loins was a strange, frightened, tingling, tickling, sick, sexy reaction to the beating. The humiliation of being whipped like a slave was lost in a horror of the pain and her reaction to it. She began to sob softly as the lash rose and fell, stroking her back, buttocks and thighs in flesh-cutting caresses.

When he'd stopped and she slowly became aware of the fact, she felt the individual strands of pain across her body and that unfinished symphony of aching in her loins which craved for fulfillment. In an unreal world of pain and longing and humility she was capable of strange reactions.

“Well, Madam, now you see how it is to be a slave, to be a city councillor who can be tortured and hanged from the ramparts of your citadel.”

“Fuck me,” she croaked.

There was a brief silence and then Cesare broke into peals of astonished laughter.

“A disguised pain-lover of the first order!” he exclaimed. “Such ardent wishes should never be spurned?even though the spurning would make the torture greater.”

The act of flagellation had sparked off erotic feelings deep in his core and his penis had risen once again and was jutting out toward his prey. The proud Caterina was begging him to fuck her!

He walked over to where she sagged with the thin pattern of weals across her back. She looked exhausted. It was difficult to believe she would have the energy to make love. He untied her hands and then her ankles and she fell back onto the rugs to roll over immediately onto her stomach away from the pain of the lashes.

She lay there for some minutes with him standing over her, looking down on her pink-grooved flesh. She moved her hands and feet gently and groaned a couple of times. Then she raised her tear-washed face and looked at him. There was no hostility in her eyes, nothing but desire and her eyes dropped meaningfully to his ramrod of a prick.

“So you desire a good length of male strength inside you, my proud Madam,” Cesare mocked.

His taunting brought no reaction but a nod of almost desperate agreement. She climbed painfully to her knees. The ache of anticipation had shifted from her loins and seemed to flame all over her.

Cesare helped her to her feet. If her citizens could see this, he thought, their proud, haughty tyrant begging to be upthrust by the enemy chief!

She pressed hard against him and his prick ran up between them, crushing against the soft flesh of her hips and the sinewy mound of her belly. She joggled against him and he felt the prickling of reciprocation swimming about in his long length of rigidity.

He began to lead her to the couch. Her eyes showed no reaction to him, no feeling, but that of an inturned yearning. It was as if she were drugged.

As they stepped slowly toward the divan, she stroked his penis tenderly as if she adored every inch of it. He made way for her to lie down on the couch, but she intimated that he was to lie down himself. Her back was too sore.

Cesare stretched out, tensed his buttocks and jutted his organ massively up toward the gloomy roof of the dungeon. The fire had begun to diminish and the glow was now a centralized one, surrounded by a half-pierced gloom.

When he tensed his behind, a live desire moved like a solid thing along from his loins to the base of his reaching rod.

For a moment the Countess looked at him. She ran her fingers softly up his hot tube of flesh and then swung herself painfully astride him, poising above his prick, arranging her vagina directly above it. She leaned forward, resting her hands on either side of his face while she positioned herself. Her knees brushed his ribs. And then with a long-drawn moan of deliverance, she sank down onto the prick that seared up into her belly like a jet of oil.

Her head rolled on her neck and she felt giddy and out of control as it raced up inside her and she sank down, until her buttocks met his thighs. Her movement was mechanical, dictated only by the feeling brain in his loins. She rose up and sank again with a broken sob of relief. She began to squirm and skewer her buttocks on his thighs, feeling the point of his prick at its summit pressing and poking at her cervix. She rolled about on his body like a puppet, a puppet crazed with human desire for the orgasm which was so agonizingly slow in coming.

Cesare brought his thighs up from the horizontal and contained her buttock and hips in them. He reached down with his tingling hands and grasped her thighs in which he could feel the light muscles flexing and unflexing with her movement.

My God, he thought, this woman was made for one thing only and all her life by all accounts she's lived a lie.

Her breasts swayed and jumped over her heaving belly and her mouth hung open, under flared nostrils and closed eyes. Her long, fair hair swung across her face each time she descended and with her uprise she shook her head so that it swung away.

Cesare tensed his buttocks and felt sensation tremble and palpitate at the base of his prick. All the way up, his organ was alive with pinpricks and the knob almost hurt with the treatment, the ferocity she was subjecting it to. He knew he wasn't far off and he dug his fingers into her thighs so hard that he brought a murmur of shock from her puppet lips.

As she bobbed on him, the Countess tensed her loins, aching for the sensation to flee. She couldn't stand it much longer, that yearning, bursting ball of flame inside her. She had to have release.

She clasped his hips with her thighs and squirmed her bottom from side to side as she fell. She had forgotten the pain of her thrashing, all sensation was in that long, wet channel in which his prick was like a great, drumming barge-pole. His penis was spreading and battering her belly. It hurt, it was wonderful, it was hateful, it was necessary to be over or she would die.

As if she were drowning, her past life seemed to mist into the sensation that racked her. This moment seemed to be what she had always lived for, this moment when thinking was painful and the only thing that mattered was the prick in her quim and the manflesh consuming her in its embrace. If there were only this moment it was all that she had ever desired, this acuteness of sensation, this beyond-reality that she had never truly experienced with her tired, frightened, fawning, subservient husbands of before.

The name of the man who had subjected her fused with her gasps of pain and love: “Cesare, Borgia, Cesare Borgia…” It was inevitably this man that everybody had said was just the way he was? and she had thought to feel differently from everybody else.

There were times when she'd wondered what it was that would tie her to a man so that she felt no longer free and strong. It was no physical beauty, it was not intellectual strength? both those had been embodied in various of her husbands. It was?what could one say??a je ne sais quois which was nothing more than an animal force in a man, an understanding in a man that he would lead, a lack of fright in a man, of doubt, of hesitation in his certainty that he would stand by his acts.

These thoughts moved through her head like a phantom, not clear, felt rather. In a feeling connected like cause and result with the wide, scourging opening of her loins which was beginning to happen now, now, now. In a maze of wild, swimming confusion in head and loins, she heard, like a distant train, his breath growing under her, recognized his climax trembling. With a great giving thrust down in which she contracted her loins and concentrated them on the pole down which she slid, she felt the fire within her burst out into a great conflagration as she moaned in delirium and seemed to die and die and die again…

She was aware after some seconds which were like darkness, that he had held her up with his strong arms and that his staccato gasping was flailing the cooling air of the dungeon as his prick jerked quickly into her in its fading heat.

Her last thought before she flopped exhausted along the length of his hot, strong body was that she was his for as long as he wanted her.