Poncho Ilia - With this ring, I thee lust

"You don't have to be so goddamned rough," I shouted. "Don't worry, I will not bruise me."

"You touch me again, you dumb wop sonofabitch and I'm going to kill you," I said, my arm aching and my gut hurting like hell.

He slung his hand at me, trying to connect with my face and I ducked. I mean, I grew up with two rough boys. I mean, if you'd put this wop movie maker and old Ruf in a room and say sic 'em, you'd have nothing left of the wop but a little greasy spot and I'd learned to defend myself a little. I ducked his slap and rolled off the bed, landing on my hands and knees and scurrying away from a kick he aimed at my ass and then I was on my feet and I surprised him. Instead of moving away, I moved in. I moved in fast and low and then, when I was right up to him and he was about to shove me, I brought up my knee, hard. Wham. Right in the jewels. The wop doubled up and grunted and his face was white and he was straining and then he started crying and I was hurting so bad I kicked him in the face with my foot, turning it sideways so I wouldn't break a toe. I had on fancy, heavy high heels and he went over backward, his nose smashed and bleeding.

I guess I went a-little crazy, because I'd never had a man treat me that way before. I started kicking and hitting him as he cowered there and he was sobbing and moaning and holding his ruined jewels and not offering to defend himself.

I tired myself out and hurt my fists hitting him. I stopped and stood back, breathing hard and sobbing. He sat up and looked at me. There was a smear of blood on, his upper lip. He smiled. "In the closet, darling."

Jesus Christ. I'd just ruined him and he was calling me darling. "I'm getting out of here, you crazy sonofabitch."

"I've hurt you," he said, "you must hurt me in return. It is the law of the jungle."

I couldn't figure that one. "Look in the closet," he said.

Well, I'm just a country girl in Rome, Italy. These wops have strange ways. I went to the closet and opened the door and saw the goddamnedest assortment of things I've ever seen. There were whips and big belts and like that. There were switches and handcuffs and ropes and like that.

"I like the big belt with the studs," he said, limping over, taking off his clothing. He kissed me tenderly on the shoulder. I was a little leery of him, but he didn't offer to hurt me. "Let me get this straight," I said. "You knocked me 129 around so that you'd make me mad enough to beat you with this fucking belt?" "Ah," he said.

"You're nuts," I said. The belt was leather and it was studded with soft little tufts of suede. It was sort of heavy, but big and fiat so that it wouldn't leave cuts or anything. "You want me to beat your ass with this?" I asked.

He nodded, and he was panting. He was naked now and I hadn't ruined him after all. I decided then and there that I'd practice more, because the knee lift I had for him should have smashed his balls, but they were intact and his cock, a good, big one, was hard.

"I don't dig this shit," I said. "You try to lay one lick on me again and you'll lose your balls for sure."

"Come," he said. He fell down onto the bed. I stood beside it. What the hell. Ms. Viv said do anything to slick the judges and win. I gave him a whop with the belt and he squirmed. It was wierd. I let him have another and he cried out, but not in pain. The sonofa-bitch was lying on his stomach and screwing his hard cock into the bed with each lick. I shrugged mentally and laid it on him and he started moaning and crying and saying, "Oh, mama, please, mama."

It takes all kinds. Those were about the same words old man Worth used when I was walking on him with needle sharp high heels. So I figured that Carlo was just a crazy old man like Worth and I did my bit, beating the shit out of him, all over his ass and his back and his legs and when he rolled over his cock was hard and it was oozing passion juice.

"Once or twice, lightly, here," he said, indicating the soft flat skin over his hip joints. I hit him there a few times and he was moaning and saying, "Oh, please, mama."

"Look," I said, because I was getting sort of hot, looking at him all heated up, even if it was from being whipped, "are you gonna fuck me at all?"

"Ah," he moaned, reaching for me. He pulled and guided me. I straddled him. His belly and legs were red from the whipping. His cock was creaming and hard. He wanted it in me and I wanted it in me and I sat on it, driving it damned near up to my liver the first sitting, taking it with one swift, downward, hard plunge. I was cockfull, I used him. I ground my cunt on him and felt his hardness way up inside and I came like a rocket.

He rolled me off and crawled on, his cock still hard. He put the fallen belt back into my hands. I didn't know what he wanted. He made motions, showing me. So while he topped me, I reached up over his shoulder and beat his ass with the belt. I discovered that the harder I hit the harder he fucked me and I was steaming and hot and I didn't think I could ever get enough of his cock. I beat the shit out of him and with each stroke he'd sob and cry and moan and then drive two or three quick, hard thrusts right into my throbbing, fire-hot cunt.

We started down the home stretch and I was beating him as fast as I could to make hilt-deep and lightening fast raids into my soft cunt by his cock and he screamed and moaned when I went, starting a come which lasted about five minutes and was the sexiest thing that had ever happened to me. I mean, when I came, my whole body came, and my cunt almost bit his cock off throbbing and biting it and then he cried out again as I struck him and the point of the belt went down on some of the licks and hit my thighs and the pain made my climax peak and peak again and then I deliberately started hitting myself and him together and his come was flushing out and filling me and we were sobbing and crying and fighting and coming like the world was going to end and this was the last glorious fuck. I mean, whee.

I still don't like much pain, but that was a wild one. And we were both completely spent when it ended. And I rubbed him with soothing stuff and he cooed and then he did something which sent me up the wall. He was feeling better, his red patches fading where I'd whipped him, and we were lying side by side.

"Now I will clean you," he said. I thought he was going to go get a wash cloth or something, but he went down between my legs and began to lick the come which had run out of my twat, and he'd come a quart or so. I thought that was sexy, because it'd never happened before, I mean, a man cleaning my cunt after he'd fucked me with his mouth. I lay there and soaked it up and he licked and sucked and then I tightened my muscles inside and sent out a little flood of come and he lapped and licked it up and begged for more. I came.

Then I went home, success one judge closer. And that was not the last I was to see of Carlo.

Lately the head shrinkers and some M.D.'s liave gotten onto this kick that screwing keeps you thin. Hell, I formed that theory before any of the college types even thought oЈ it. I was making love, not fat, when I was in Rome, Italy, as a contestant in the Miss One World Contest. Now I'll be the first to say that merely screwing a lot won't keep you thin unless you use a bit of common, sense. They had this delicious food in Rome and I went for it in a big way. Carlo liked to eat. He said the secret was to eat Italian food all the time. He said, "Eat pasta dishes all the time, not just one or two times a week, you won't gain weight." He was trim and nice, so maybe he had something, but I suspect he just had one of these marvelous metabolisms which doesn't store fat but burns It off. I tried eating the Italian foods and in the first week I began to put on weight. It was just a pound or so, but it showed in the shape of my hips and on the scales which Pearl and 5- carried everywhere with us. I started cutting my portions by one half and then by