Marcus van Heller - The House of Borgia, book1

He and his men, he mused, would ride back — with suitable scouts-along the tracks made by the princess and her cortege on the out-coming journey. Near the fringe of the woods they would have to separate into pairs and ride off in different directions, getting back to their quarters at different times and from different directions. They would leave the women tied to trees with the dead for company. By nightfall the King's men would be scouring the woods in search of them and their cries would soon bring about their rescue. He'd have them left naked so that Louis' men would also have a very astonishing eyeful-an eyeful they would hardly be able to keep to themselves. And so the story would be quickly spread.

Whistling softly, Cesare finished the checking of the lookouts, and strolled back to the spot where Carlotta was finding over and again that her flesh was not inviolate.

The sun was still splaying through the leaves, though from a more acute angle. Perhaps he had time for one more act of revenge. Perhaps if he screwed his prick into her ass that would be the crowning indignity.

He skirted the clearing, avoiding the locked couples from whom gasps and screams emitted at intervals in a more or less regular accompaniment to their rustle of movement.

The last of his men was reaching the climax to which Carlotta's well-gripping passage had brought him and Cesare squatted down with his other two henchmen and watched the man from the back view, his balls dangling, his behind tensing as it swept forward and his rod widened her. Carlotta no longer showed any emotion except for an occasional gasp as an extra-hard thrust took her by surprise.

In a low voice Cesare gave orders to his men.

“When he's finished you can leave me with her for a short time. Go back and help the others lash the women to trees. Make sure that they remain blindfolded-and not a word if there's any chance you'll be heard.”

The buttocks of the ravisher were whipping in faster and faster, the backs of his thighs trembling. He gave a staccato series of coughing barks in which his body straightened and jerked convulsively. Then he staggered back from her on his knees and rested, kneeling, with his head dropped forward onto his chest.

Nobody hurried him and after a minute or two he turned, grinned without embarrassment at his companions and began to dress.

Cesare waited until all three were disappearing through the trees and then he stood up and walked over to Carlotta. Her body exuded an air of crushed and beaten animal. She could go no lower-she thought.

He took his knife from his belt and cut through the cords binding her wrists. She lay there, motionless. He pushed her with his foot and she seemed to come to her senses. She moved her hands up to the blindfold but he knocked them down.

Carlotta cringed in terror, completely subdued by the treatment to which she'd been subjected. He watched her, a cruel smile on his lips, until she moved her wrists and began to massage one with the other. She made no further attempt to remove the blindfold.

Watching her, ready for any movement to release her eyes from their confinement, he cut the bonds from her ankles and, painfully, she moved her legs together and wriggled her feet. She gave a little moan as she sat up and her vagina brushed the ground.

For a few minutes he allowed her to move her limbs and then he gathered the pieces of cord and knotted them into lengths again.

When he seized her, she made no effort to struggle. He turned her over so that she was lying face down on the ground. She lay pressed into the leaves, lifeless while he ended her brief freedom by fastening her wrists to the stakes once more.

He stood up and looked at her buttocks. They were like swollen buds preparing to burst into bloom-a little soiled from their contact with the ground-inviting a touch, to be fondled and held.

She had made no attempt to press her buttocks together or even to close her legs. She lay limp, exhausted, legs and arms slack, waiting for whatever was to come. She'll never be the same again, he thought with grim satisfaction; something in her will be broken forever-apart from her maidenhead.

He undressed for the second time that day. Desire was welling up^: in him again like a dried-up river suddenly growing again with the floods.

His penis when it flipped into view was still pink, with veins standing out on it prominently. It was hot, too, and heavy, needing a fresh release.

It was still warm in the spots where the sun's rays crept through the tangled branches, but the air was cooling. He braced his wiry body. His penis was the hottest part of him.

Carlotta stirred and groaned. He bent toward her to hear.

“No more…” she murmured. “No more… have pity… please.”

Her helpless throwing of herself on his mercy produced an opposite effect to the one she desired. It made a nervous throb pulse in his chest, a little crest of sexual excitement, which began to break over his body like the surf on a shoreline.

He kicked her thighs apart with his feet. She let them flop where he kicked them. She had no more strength to resist.

On her thighs he could see the layer of slight, fair down, but her bottom, so smooth as to be almost glossed with a sheen, held his gaze. He gripped his organ in his hand. It felt enormous. He wondered how women could take it all. It moved in his hand involuntarily, a little jerk over which he had no control.

He sank to his knees on the soft bed of leaves and stroked her buttocks with a hand that quivered. He caught each of the glossy hillocks and pulled them apart. She stiffened, tried to close them together and then gave up as he jerked at them rudely again.

Her anus was disclosed like the center of a flower whose petals are pulled apart. He gazed at it. It was hairless, simply a small garden of the same slight, fair down leading up to its crinkled edge. From the crinkled edge, the little pouchy slit curved into itself redly.

Cesare ran his tongue over his lips. He settled down on her back, kissing her spine. He slid his hands between them and drew the buttocks apart like curtains and wriggled his prick between them. Alongside his prick he let his fingers glide, feeling the way. His index finger encountered the sudden rubbery point of her posterior opening and he nosed his knob after it, prodding tentatively.

“No, no… please, no!” he heard Carlotta's weak, muffled appeal beneath him.

He pressed down vertically with his stand of rigidity. He felt it come in contact with the spot and took his hands under her loins, gripping her tightly.

For a number of little strokes which were just rebuffed pressures on her anus, he jogged up and down, pushing his loins at the soft cushion of her rump. In, out, in, out, he sawed without any specific feeling but a growing sense of pressure, vague and ill-defined in his genital region.

The princess, who might have been his wife, lay quivering under him, knowing that he was about to sodomize her, not knowing what it would be like, only aware of the intense shame which burned in her like a disease.

Cesare pushed, pushed, levering his whole body on his stiff stem of flesh until it suddenly broke through with a great grip on his knob. Carlotta uttered an agonized cry which sputtered into a gurgle.

He pushed down, thrusting into her, feeling his prick sliding in, now, the slapping pressure fitting tightly and strongly-defined along his inflated flesh.

Carlotta began to struggle, trying to press her thighs together under his, finding new strength to twist and fight against her bonds, “No, no! I can't bear it!” she cried.

But Cesare held her in spite of her struggles and plunged more and more thickly into her with a slow swampy advance which seemed to be tearing his rod to shreds.