Thongs

— 6-

I slipped into a lethargy where lust made no response to his gentle caresses.

I tried hard to simulate it, but he sensed that I was no longer with him and he became jealous and suspicious. He began to whine.

At that point I became cruel.

I told him that either he must whip me or I would whip him. I told him that he must obey or else I would break the pledge and leave at once. What did I care? I could walk out on both of them, on Miguel and himself, and return to the brothel where any night I could meet death by knife at the hands of a drunken sailor. Why not?

My Prince put on a soldierly air.

He would not raise a finger against me. He would consent to be whipped.

I made him hold the two posts of the big bedstead, thrust his rump slightly backwards and stand with his feet apart.

I selected a thin cane. This man would either die by my hand or he would consent to kill me. What happened after that didn't matter. It would be interesting.

I looked professionally at his tightly-packed buttocks, poor child that he was in reality!

I put my whole strength into the first stroke. He gasped with pain. I struck again, aiming at the mark of the first. This time he flinched, but obviously he had decided to prohibit himself from registering pain. Good enough. I would reduce him. My third stroke was perfect. In spite of himself, his mouth burst opened and he gasped. Terror was in his eyes at the fourth. I supposed he dimly realized that if I went on long enough I would kill him.

My fifth stroke was my second perfect one. It hurt him so much that he lifted one foot off the floor and, his hands losing their grip at the same time, he fell down on the floor beside the bed.

"Get up!" I hissed.

When he took his time, either pretending to be, or in fact, in great pain, I slashed him once beautifully across his naked belly and brought a delicate curtain of blood sprinkling down.

He stared at it with a shocked expression in his eyes. His hand touched it and his fingers came away red.

"Do you still wish to be my lover?" I said.

"Yes!"

"And will you whip me or must I continue?"

He gritted his teeth.

"I will not whip you!"

"In that case, please be good enough to resume your former position; your hands on the bedposts."

He tried to unnerve me with a look, but I gazed at him coldly, without pity.

I struck him six further times before he fell again in a heap, this time weeping freely and hiding his head in his arms. When he fell, I struck him twice and after an interval of about five seconds, a third time. Then I threw the cane at his bleeding body and left the room.

That night I passed alone, locked in another bedroom. Twice during the night he knocked at the door and implored me to let him in. "Go away," I said in a tired voice. "I may see you tomorrow if you obey me."

In the morning he waited for me outside the door.

"Carmencita!"

"You haven't slept?"

"Not a wink!"

"So much the worse for you! We have a long day ahead of us. Immediately after breakfast I intend to whip or be whipped. I have a lust for thongs."

"Good God, how long must this go on!" the demented man cried.

"It is your own choice, Prince. You may leave the estate when you will. Or you may stay here and live your own life. But if you wish to have anything to do with me, you must obey. You are much weaker than I, and I am no democrat! It is all very simple. Don't pretend you don't understand!"

"I believe you really mean to kill me!" he said with pretended awe.

"I should think it's quite obvious, Prince! Either you kill me or I kill you or we go our separate ways!'

"I don't believe you're serious, Carmencita!"

We were already half way through breakfast before I condescended to reply.

"Will you whip or be whipped?" I said, cold and sudden.

"I…"

Again he shot me this childish glance that was meant to unnerve me, the tragic hero glance, pretending he was powerless before fate.

"I take it that I flog you," I said brutally. "Good. It is leather today. It is quite different. You will soon be able to tell the difference blindfolded."

"Do you mean you're going to flog me again?"

This was his last entreaty. His world was governed by certain conventions. He couldn't understand. Or didn't want to.

I spat in his face.

"Get out!" I said. "I will not see you today. I despise your cowardice. You are afraid of freedom. Then be like a good bull. I'll be your butcher."

With that I left him struck dumb in the parlor.

I avoided him for the rest of the day.