Depravity's Child Read online

  Table of Contents

  Title Page

  Chapter One

  Chapter Two

  Chapter Three

  Chapter Four

  Chapter Five

  Chapter Six

  Chapter Seven

  Chapter Eight

  Chapter Nine

  Chapter Ten

  Chapter Eleven

  Chapter Twelve

  Chapter Thirteen

  Chapter Fourteen

  Chapter Fifteen

  Chapter Sixteen

  Chapter Seventeen

  Depravity’s Child

  by Lizbeth Dusseau

  ISBN 10: 0-9766519-2-0

  A Pink Flamingo Publications Ebook Publication

  Copyright ©2003 Lizbeth Dusseau, All rights reserved

  Chapter One

  In the countryside of Spain, Benito del Gallo’s villa could be seen for miles; farmland vineyards, orchards and, of course, his opulent casa, glowing on the rise of rolling hills, overlooking the valley below. Whitewashed walls appeared pristine against a glacial blue sky; while a terracotta roofline framed the sprawling structure. One would expect gracious civility in a mansion so magnificent, its occupants languidly spending their days in the pursuits befitting gracious gentlemen and ladies; art, theater, fine wines and elegant food filling the days of those with too much time on their hands.

  Rupert Reyes thought this, as his tawny-colored convertible Mercedes sped along the road leading to the gated entrance of the estate. The wrought iron gate had been opened for him. He smiled—he was expected. He gunned the powerful engine and shot up the long winding drive. He was just this close to tumbling his vehicle over several steep embankments, sending it crashing through the brush-laden hillsides. If he had, life at the villa might well have been significantly different. Lives would have been irrevocably changed. Most particularly, Antonia del Gallo would have found herself in far different circumstances in the days ahead.

  But, sandy brown hair blowing in the breeze, shirtsleeves rolled to the elbow, tie flapping behind him, a smile across his handsome, sculpted features, Rupert took the hairpin turns as if he’d been racing the Grand Prix for years, and arriving at the top of the hill, abruptly applied the efficient brakes directly in front of the casa’s double oak doors.

  He opened the car door and pulled his stylishly robust physique from his seat, staring upwards in awe at the splendid structure, noting the sculptured plaster ornamentation some artisan had painstakingly created and the centuries old, hand painted tiles trimming the windows and doorways. Gazing beyond the casa to the north, he noticed the postcard perfect rose garden in bloom. As he inhaled, he believed he could smell the fresh and pungent floral scent. Invigorated by the drive and the conditions under which he visited this day, Rupert took all significant steps to neaten his attire. He tucked his shirt, straightened his tie and unrolled his sleeves, redoing his gold cufflinks before threading his arms through his suit coat. He groomed his hair, running his fingers through the thick wavy tresses, leaving the look imperfect by design. The lustrous gleam in his eyes revealed a man of constant victories; today would be another conquest to add to his many. And yet, his eyes were filled with more than the glow of triumph; they were intensely deep and often so unsympathetic that some would find them difficult to gaze at for any length of time.

  For now, however, the unsettling expression disappeared. He created a picture of affable affluence, a handsome, courtly, if not a bit overly formal style, making himself ready to enter Benito del Gallo’s world. He stood at the door and gave the doorknocker a hearty rap.

  ***

  Benito Del Gallo strolled about his study, beaming, feeling contented and perhaps somewhat relieved.

  “I knew, sir,” he spoke to his guest, “that this would be a perfect arrangement.”

  He was a man of nearly sixty years, with a robust well-fed body, a hearty laugh and luminous black eyes that could effectively court a woman or snap any wavering soul to attention. It was natural for him, holding court in this richly paneled study. Its imported cherry wood gleamed from layers of polish. Walls, desk, tables, chairs were richly detailed with ornate scrollwork, hand done to his specific orders. The Moroccan carpet came from the East, given to him as a present by a visiting tribal dignitary some years before. His maid had served the men tea poured from a teapot handcrafted from Mexican silver. It was easy to get distracted in a room where abundance seemed to drip from the air like rain.

  But despite Benito’s gallant and imposing manner, despite his obvious wealth and all the accoutrements that wealth granted him, the man’s hands revealed a rough-hewn character, a fact contrary to his surroundings. His thick, gnarled fingers suggested that he had worked his property, his ranch and vineyards, that he’d labored long hard hours for his success. He’d mastered his world by his own sweat as much as he’d mastered it through the efforts of those who served him. This made him quite unlike his gentleman visitor who had no such earthy ties, whose wealth was newly made, a product of the times. Rupert had a good head for investments and managed an impressive portfolio of assets with hardly lifting a finger.

  Benito did not hold it against him, that Rupert was the polished city professional. Instead, he was impressed by the handsome, significantly younger fellow whose trim and neatly suited body now rested comfortably in one of his leather chairs. He admired the man’s business acumen, his poise under fire, which he’d had occasion to witness, and of course his ideas about male female relationships.

  Rupert shifted in his seat, while Benito listened to the sumptuous sound of the creaking leather and relished once again how much he enjoyed the subtleties of his opulent life.

  “I certainly hope the arrangements can be made with little fuss,” Rupert added.

  “I have no fear about that. The girl’s been primed since childhood for this day.”

  “Has she now?”

  “And with her mother as her mentor, she should easily become a model wife in the traditional Old World role.”

  “You suggested that her character is naturally acquiescent?”

  “Very much so.”

  “I’m looking forward to meeting her.”

  “And you will, shortly. But first, I’d like you to meet her mother, my Honoria. I think a small demonstration of our relationship will give you the idea I’m hoping for with you and Antonia.”

  “I’m intrigued,” Rupert said. “You have spoken about your wife at length.”

  Benito moved to the side of the room and rang the bell that would call his wife to his study. A few moments later, the two men heard a timid knock at the study door.

  “Come in,” Benito said.

  The door opened. “Sir, you called for me?”

  “Indeed, my dear.”

  Benito extended his hand to a flower of a Spanish lady who glided into the room like a vision from a different century. Honoria could easily charm; that was apparent immediately. Just one look at her stunning face—the flawless, creamy complexion, the dark eyes framed by high arched brows, her hair swept back elegantly into a comb—most men would find it difficult not to stare at this alluring vision.

  She nodded first to her husband and then to the man who sat in the leather chair by the window. Because the blinds were nearly shut, the man’s face was bathed in shadows and she could not easily read his expression. Perhaps for that very reason, the mysterious fellow intrigued her.

  The lovely Honoria dressed well, though unusually for a 21st century female. Her dress was long; in the style of a 1940’s dressing gown that softly draped her voluptuous form. The dress fit tightly at the waist, hugged her well-rounded, womanly hips, and then flared to its long skirt. Above her waist, the draping effect showed little of the seeming
abundance beneath. From her neck to the waistband, large silk-covered buttons kept secret what lay beyond the lustrous fabric.

  Honoria’s bearing was quite elegant, even startling. Not exactly what Rupert Reyes, expected of the woman he’d heard so much about. Yet, he could tell from the kind look in her eyes that she was not in the slightest a haughty or combative woman. This he did expect given the reports of her relationship with her very traditional husband.

  “Honoria, do our guest the honor of presenting yourself,” Benito told her.

  Where other wives might question such a request, Honoria knew exactly what her husband wanted. Moving unthinkingly toward the man in the leather chair, she knelt at his feet and placed her hands in her lap, palms open, keeping her back regally straight, and her head bowed yieldingly.

  “Please now, if you’ll open your dress, I’m sure Mr. Reyes would be most intrigued by what he finds there,” Benito said.

  Without batting an eye, without so much as a twinge of trepidation, Honoria’s hands moved to her throat and began unbuttoning the large buttons, all five of them, until the soft fabric of her dress fell away like tissue. She shook the dress from her shoulders to bare her entire bodice from neck to waist, where the last button remained tightly fastened.

  Rupert Reyes made a bit of start seeing the unexpected picture before him. He had no doubt that the woman’s display would reveal a sight to behold, in particular, large well-formed breasts, with small peaked nipples. He even expected, knowing Benito’s sexual habits that there might be some marks on her otherwise perfect skin. What he did not expect to see was a pair of painfully bound breasts, the flesh cruelly crisscrossed with rope in a fashion that clashed boldly with her womanly attire and demure attitude. The ropes were neatly wrapped around her torso above and below her breasts then connected at the sides and between the two. Their appearance was so altered that it was difficult to tell exactly how well endowed the woman was. To anchor the bondage, more rope was wrapped around her neck and shoulders, creating a neatly fashioned harness that would remain secure regardless of her movement.

  Rupert sat up a bit straighter in the chair and stared at this bizarre picture of submission, noting how Honoria’s already surrendering mood seemed to shift even further into a subservient and docile state. Her head remained slightly bowed, though now she occasionally glanced up at him through her long dark lashes. Her lips parted as if thirsting. And to accentuate the look of complete surrender, she clasped her hands behind her back, which forced Honoria’s bound breasts into a lurid and inviting display.

  “You amaze me, Benito,” Rupert looked to the smiling fellow who had yet to sit down.

  “Is this not what we discussed?”

  “Exactly.”

  “And are you not acquainted with restraint and discipline—the rudiments of dominating the female?”

  “I am, indeed, although I never expected such a exhibit as this today.” His smirk revealed his prurient interest.

  “I think it’s important,” Benito jumped in. “I want to be very clear with my intentions. Although I assume that as my daughter’s husband, you’ll direct the girl in the manner you see fit, I wanted to assure you that I have no qualms about heavy-handed methods of control. Pain is a great teacher. I suspect that like her mother, the girl has unbridled passions that must be channeled appropriately—fixated on your desires, not hers. After our many discussions, I have come to trust you above all the other candidates I considered. Of course, your references remain impeccable,” he added with a knowing twinkle in his eye, suggesting that they already shared some indelicate secrets.

  Benito returned his attention to his submissively posed wife and her bared, bound breasts. Her pink flesh gleamed in its rigid splendor, seeming to darken before their eyes, as if her breasts themselves blushed, not just her pretty face. “In these many years of my relationship with Honoria, I have been ruthless about her need to conform to my will, rigorously putting off the modern notion that she has a right to make her own decisions. I rarely seek her opinion, or let her thoughts sway mine. To reinforce in her mind this subservient role, I often, very graphically, demonstrate my dominance over her with various corporal practices. It may seem extreme, but we met and married with a staunchly patriarchal relationship in mind and it has served us well. I can think of nothing I want more for my daughter than the same security she will have with a man who will keep her so contained. And this,” he alluded to the bondage, “may or may not be to your taste, but it is certainly not out of bounds in relationships that enjoy such peculiar characteristics.”

  “Sir, it will be my honor and my pleasure to rule your daughter in similar ways,” Rupert said, in a somewhat amused but deferential tone.

  Both men beamed as if that was enough to seal the contract, and they returned their attention to the submissive beauty who sat humbly at Rupert’s feet.

  “May I?” Rupert finally broke the silent interlude, looking from Benito to Honoria’s breasts, while leaning forward to communicate his desire to touch her.

  “By all means. Make her hurt if you so desire. She will take what you give and be glad that it pleases you.”

  Rupert took the challenge gratefully, and for several moments, while Honoria flinched ever so slightly, turning her head away, the gentleman Master fondled a distended breast, noting its flushed pink color and the way in which the skin was soft to touch but the flesh beneath quite firm from the restraining rope. In a like manner, he’d bound a woman’s breasts on several occasions. But those situations were more casual and sexually prompted; while this moment was peculiarly extraordinary—a proud husband binding his wife and then displaying her smugly for leering eyes to enjoy.

  The stirrings of Rupert’s darker nature rose as he softly tapped the side of Honoria’s right breast with his hand. Invigorated, he raised his arm and brought it down, slapping the flesh with a stinging smack. Repeated blows of his palm threatened to knock the woman off balance, but she held firm, knowing how displeased Benito would be if she failed at this moment. The breast slapping continued with her left breast taking a resounding beating. Then he moved back and forth from one to the other, sharply slapping the lovely things until they turned purple from the effort.

  Aroused by the hurt he inflicted on the woman, Rupert continued as if he might go on with the beating for the next hour. Honoria barely flinched at the start; only a slight whimper escaped her lips. As the hurt expanded, silent tears streamed down her cheeks. Her lips trembled with anguish. But, as difficult as it was to do, she remained steadfastly in place on her knees, making no overt sign of protest.

  The beating caused her watching husband to flush with excitement and satisfaction. Yes, he thought to himself, this man would do, the proper sort to keep his one child from ruining herself on the whims of a world that could so easily lead the naïve astray.

  For a time, the zealous Rupert quivered with uncertainty, a mountain of energy welled-up in him. He had to forcefully restrain himself. If this was not another man’s wife… but his… He saw himself beating this fine example of surrender until her breasts were deeply marked in a way that would remain for days. How much he desired that! Thankfully, just imagining the sight of them so wounded managed to settle his deep cravings and he could quit the punishment before they were so brutally marked. Gathering his wits, he abruptly removed himself from the fervent heat and sat back in the leather chair, absorbed with the task of quelling his labored breathing.

  “I am much obliged to you, Benito,” he said as he calmed.

  “And I to you,” Benito politely followed.

  Honoria sat back on her heels feeling the blood racing through her chest, her poor breasts throbbing, and her sexual passions on edge. He might have actually made her orgasm had he gone on longer. Such a handsome, crisp and quixotic fellow. Made her bones quake. He was so like Benito when they first met—and even more the sensuous scoundrel villain she learned to love.

  Of course, the hurt he inflicted alarmed her. She wiped h
er eyes with the back of her hand, startled at seeing the remnants of her tears glisten on her white skin. What a powerful man this one was! To be her daughter’s husband, lord and master. She wasn’t sure whether to envy her, or fear for the untested, innocent Antonia.

  “I will be instructing my wife to speak to my daughter this evening. I think tomorrow morning we should be able to finish our business.”

  “And I’ll see her then?”

  “Yes, then,” Benito said, firmly.

  This was not to Rupert’s liking. He wanted his hands on his future bride, but he was in no position to argue. Anxious as he was to meet the girl, he saw that the father would not be moved.

  Chapter Two

  “My darling, your Papa has such a surprise for you,” Honoria literally bounced on the girl’s bed with the excitement of a girl half her thirty-eight years.

  “It’s that man, isn’t it?” Antonia exclaimed.

  “What man?”

  “The one in the convertible Mercedes.”

  “You saw him?”

  “I did.”

  The girl’s large black eyes widened excitedly. Antonia was just nineteen years old, and in some respects, she was still childlike and pure, having been sheltered by her domineering father her entire life. But in other ways, she was very much a woman. Her body had developed early, blossoming into a delectable shape accentuated by large, rounded breasts much like her mother’s, a trim sensuous waist and belly, and curvaceous hips that tapered to her shapely legs. She was not as pretty as her mother in the classical sense of beauty. But by 21st century standards, she was a sexually alluring young woman. Her facial features were bold, her eyes steamy eyes, her lashes long and dark, her lips full and tempting. When she was seventeen, she’d stolen a forbidden fashion magazine from the back of a convertible sports car that was parked in the villa drive, its owner being one of many guests attending her father’s gala party that night. She’d learned makeup tips from the enticing pages of Vogue, hairstyles from its bewitching models, and spent hours before her mirror mimicking haughty, seductive and worldly expressions, changing them with each new experimental hairdo. She found her unruly shoulder-length tresses were perfect for the ‘just-fucked’ bedroom look of popular rock stars. The tangle of ebony curls framed her face in a halo of darkness to match the look of obscurity in her smoldering eyes.