The heirs of Dominicus the Debaucher of Santorini could not all be traced historically. Some for one reason or another changed their names and tried to live appropriate lives in the nations they inhabited. Others which exhibited a bit too much bizarre behavior suffered imprisonment, crucifixion, beatings, and confinement in asylums throughout the world. One descendant however realized what fate he would meet based on the rise of Christianity throughout the world and the fate of those who were outside the umbrella of the church.
He was born in Calaruega in 1170. His mother named him Dominic after an illustrious ancestor who she had heard tales of; "He had been with Jesus” she would say, and “married the daughter of Magdalene." she would tell people. So it was that Dominic Guzman was readied for service to the church at an early age. Unfortunately not all of his thoughts were pure. He used his Clerics robe to protect himself and to persecute others. In 1206 he became the companion of a Bishop charged with the conversion of the Albigenses heretics. It is believed that Dominic may have been the first Inquisitor of the Holy Empire, but others deny it because the official Inquisition began in 1231 and Dominic or St. Dominic died in 1221.
The truth be told Dominic wasn't the first Inquisitor; he just realized the power of his position and loved inventing new ways to get people to cry out "I Love Jesus". He was a twisted man that had too loves; torture and women. So if women were being ravaged by him and cried out "Oh God, My God" they were deemed moved by the Holy Spirit and thus converted, saved and were spared. Men of the other hand were subject to any sort of torture imaginable and usually dispatched. Many of the women became pregnant by this religious icon; none told him about it. On the contrary, once they realized they were with child they moved as far away as possible.
In 1221, on the day of his father’s death; Dominic Santos was born. His mother told him that he was the son of a Saint. He was told of his heritage and of his father's battle for the salvation of heretics. He studied all that he could about his father and decided that it was better to be the giver of a heretics spike than the receiver. Dominic grew to manhood and rather than face any of the rigors of simple life entered into the Royal Guard of the Spanish Crown. He served with valor and was knighted by King Alphonso X De Castile(of course valor meant dispatching those who represented a problem for the King and servicing the Queen as often as she desired.)
The Queen desired that he be kept close at hand and to ensure his fidelity had him married to a one of her ladies in waiting. The bride was the daughter of a noble with a considerable estate, a young girl of 18. Dominic was nearing his 58th birthday when the ceremony took place. Since the marriage had been “arranged” by the Queen, there had been no courtship or romantic encounters. On the contrary his only romantic tryst to date had been with Her Majesty while His Majesty tended some affair of state. The Queen told him that the girl was a gift for services rendered, but that he must never wear himself to the extent that a command performance might be turned down. Tonight however, he knew the Queen wanted him to enjoy himself and to “break-in” his youthful bride. Being the obedient servant of the Crown that he was, he decided to do just that.
He entered the room after her servant had helped her to undress and slip into some nightgown that hid both her figure and virgin treasures. Dominic was a man of action, a warrior who seldom dallied with prisoner protocol and in the bed chamber he saw this blushing child as his prisoner. Unlike many older men of his period he had resolve and he had the constitution of a much younger man. The poor bride when brought to the wedding chamber expected an encounter with a frail man. What she experienced was a much energized man who used her body like a finely tuned instrument. It is said that when he entered the bed chamber he was carrying, manacles, shackles, his dagger and was wearing his spurs. All servants were removed from that wing of the castle and only appeared when summoned to produce wine or food. The newlyweds were in their bed chamber for 7 days before they emerged.
The bride’s female servant reported that lady was quite taken with her knight; he had taught her well and though not gentle was very astute at not leaving a bruise, cut, bite or any other mark where it might be seen. Instead he left ribbons of scratches on her back, a necklace of bites about her neck and shoulders not to mention the insides of her thighs. there were bruises on her wrists and ankles created when on the first night she struggled, but that struggle soon gave way to elation as the cum dripped from her savaged vagina. The maid rubbed her with oils and lotions and applied leeches to the bruises, while the bride grinned from ear to ear.
It was almost nine months to the day after their wedding when Dominic Santos II was born. He was educated by members of the Dominican Order (his Grandfathers Order though no priest would admit it) in academics and religion. His father trained him in the use of the sword and other armament and when the time came in the use of women. His father’s castle had many rooms but it was the dungeon that served as his classroom as willing whores served the elder and serviced the younger.
King Alphonso X had been called Alphonso the Wise, and had focused his life on the Arts and the Law; his son Sancho IV ascended the throne in 1282 and was called “The Brave”. Dominic Santos II became a Knight and a Crusader against the Moors. His duty to king and country and his duty to God had been instilled in him by the Dominicans; his father instilled his fervor for passion and perversion. Fortunately Sancho’s crusades allowed him to satisfy his desire under the banner of the Castillian throne. In 1291 the Knights of Alcántara under the command of Sancho IV attacked the Moors and took the Tarifa in what is now Cadiz.
While their was much loot to be taken in this crusade, Dominic brought back only one prize to his castle; a Moorish girl named Katara. Spanish Arabs were indeed the flower of the Mahometan races; centuries of wars and conquest had entered their blood. It was said that their women were harder to conquer than their warriors. Their dark eyes could pierce a knight’s armor and their bodies could either lift a man into paradise and the arms of Allah or take his eternal soul. When Dominic’s eyes fell on Katara, she was in the tent of the Moorish leader bent over his lifeless body. She felt Dominic’s presence and raised her dead father’s dagger to plunge it into the heart of this Castillian invader. When she raised the dagger, he grabbed her wrist and forced the blade from her hand. He wrestled her to the ground and restrained her wrist behind her back.
Having heard the stories about their eyes, he blindfolded, shackled and manacled her. He put her in the back of one of the wagons with the rest of the plunder and returned her to his castle. Guzman the Good and the Knights of Calatrava maintained their presence in Tarifa to hold the prize for King Sancho. Dominic had his own prize to conquer and with all the vigor of a crusader went about it.
She was taken to a chamber in the dungeon and chained at the ankle. Her bloodied clothing was removed as she fought and a robe was placed on her. Food was set out daily and for the first week she routinely threw the plate. She was given water and she drank it knowing that she might survive without the Christians food, but could neither survive nor avenge her father without water.
Eventually she began to eat; she would need her strength she thought as she sat alone in her cell. Dominic’s only contact with her was when he shoved the food through the bottom of the cell door and when he peered at her through the little window at it’s top.
During the third week he opened the door and entered. Instinctively she lunged at him with her arms raised. He stood just beyond her reach and smiled. “You are a wildcat aren’t you?”, he said as he looked into her eyes. “Those eyes might kill if I left my gaze there too long, so I won’t. I am not your enemy, I am your captor and owner; you will serve me well, get used to the idea.”, he told her as he turned to leave. “I will kill you, but never serve!”, she responded in his own tongue. “Ahhh good she speaks. We will talk later.”, he said and with that departed.
She seethed as she sat there thinking of the arrogance of this man. He thought only about what he had just experienced and his heart raced. She was like the horses of the Arabian people, beautiful to look at and spirited. An Arabian it is said can never be fully broke and he thought “the same can be said of this woman.” With that in mind he set about first gentling her, and then gaining control of her. Every day for a month he would enter her cell and let her strain at the chain trying to attack him. He would look at her and smile and say “I am not your enemy”. “You are!.”, she would hiss and he would say “no” and leave. One morning her response was different though. After the usual exchange she said “You killed my father!”.
I didn’t kill your father, your father was a very brave man who fell in battle and died honorably. I only hope my death is as honorable and that someone loves me at the time as you did him”, he said. There was no mocking smile on his face and no anger in his voice. What she heard was his sincerity and with that she cried for the first time since her capture. He looked at her and as he assessed her saw that her struggling had caused a sore at her ankle. “I am going to bring water, soap and a compote for your ankle. I will also bring you a comb and fresh robe. You are a Moorish Princess, you require grooming.” He turned and left as she continued to sob.
Within an hour two servants brought a metal tub and buckets of water. Two servant girls came with the soap, oils and a compote. “Our Master wishes us to assist you”. Once the men had left the room the two women (both supple and in their late teens) approached her. At first she glared at them. They were pale compared to her and truly servants. In her home there were girls just like them though the dress was different; the demeanor was the same. She looked at her filthy robe and at her hands that still showed signs of her father’s crusted blood. She could also smell her body and the smell repulsed her. She was a princess and now looked like a beggar; she agreed to let the girls tend her and stood. As she slipped from her robe and into the tub Dominic watched through the little window. She was a prize and a true thing of beauty.
He watched as the girls washed the dirt from her body and hair. When she rose from the tub they began rubbing a fragrant oil over her olive skin. She was transformed once again from a beggar to a lady. A fresh robe was placed on her and she sat on the edge of her straw mattress. They dressed the wound at her ankle and began to remove the items they had brought. Dominic watched as the pride came back into her face. When they had finished, the men returned to empty the dirty water, remove the tub and clean the cell. When they were done the girls returned with a fresh feather bed and removed the straw mattress. Dominic walked into the cell, “Is this better?”, he asked. “I am still your prisoner” she responded. “Your freedom must be earned. We will talk tomorrow.”, were his parting words.
That night was the first night she had been clean since she joined her father on the battlefield and it was the first time in countless days that she had slept in a clean bed and she did sleep overcome by sheer exhaustion. Her dreams were sporadic and segmented. She saw her home, her father and the battle, then she saw a winged knight descend and carry her over the encampments. “A messenger from Allah”, she thought, but she knew it was her captor.
In the morning one of the servant girls returned with her food. This morning she felt like eating; it was as if a storm had passed and she was now getting her bearing on a vast ocean with no shore in sight. She knew to gain her freedom that she would have to navigate through this ordeal wisely. When the girl returned for the plate Katara asked her to stay a moment. “Tell me about my captor, your Master.”, she said. The girl looked uneasy and said, “I don’t know if I should, for if he finds out I may be punished.” “So he is brutal then?”, Katara asked, but the girl shook her head “No”. “He isn’t brutal; he is just and I know that any punishment he gives is punishment I deserve. His chamber has all sorts of wicked devices that could cause real pain, but when I am punished he simply bares my back and bottom an flogs me. When he finishes he runs his hand over the welts he created and asked “Will you be a good girl now?”, "I always reply, yes my Lord”, she said, "Is he married, or is he a member of a Monastic Order that makes him celibate”, Katara asked knowing that many Knights were in fact warrior Monks. “Neither, My lady; he is sought by many of the Queen’s ladies, but has as he put it “Always avoided the noose.”, the girl responded and then giggled. “Why do you laugh?”, Katara asked. “Oh it is because the Master, has had many of the Queen’s ladies and found them to be as pale on the inside as they appeared on the outside. The Master has some unusual taste and hasn’t found one who was ready to take what he desired to give.” the girl now showed a broad smile and said “They may be ladies, but they aren’t “good” girls. Now I’ve said enough” she said and scurried out of the cell.
Katara hadn’t gleaned much from her conversation with the maid; he was not, brutal, not celibate and not married. She wondered what it was that made the women of the court unsuitable and she wondered how she was going to escape.
When Dominic entered the cell that morning he asked if her night had been easier. She didn’t run to assault him this morning; instead she sat on the edge of her featherbed and said, “I had as enjoyable a night as one can in a cell, in a dungeon, in a foreign land as a prisoner.” Her voice was calm and she was sitting with her back erect and her shoulders back; her demeanor was that of defiance.
He looked at her and said, “would you like to go for a walk outside? Of course you will be on a chain and collared to prevent your escape but I see no reason why you can’t feel the sun on that lovely face again.” He left the room and returned a short time later; in his hand was a metal collar made from pure gold. He fastened it around her neck and turned the key locking it there. In his other hand was a long chain (the kind used to chain a dog). She looked at the chain and asked, “Must you?”. “ I must, until I know you will not try to escape”, he responded. She seethed and glared at him; “I am a Moorish Princess and you are treating me like an animal” she said. “My animals are loyal to me and allowed to run free, because I know that when called they will come. Would you come if called?”, he asked. “No” was all she said. “Then this is as much freedom as you will have” he said as he fastened the chain to the collar.
He led her out of the cell, up a torch lit spiral staircase and into the great room of his castle. The room was bright and hurt her eyes. When she was able to focus she looked around the room at tapestries hanging from walls and paintings of Knights with a resemblance and a painting at the top of the stairs of his illustrious grandfather St. Dominic. There was a shield on the wall and in the center was painted a circle of thorns, in the center of the circle were three curved thorny stems leading to three red roses; beneath the circle were the words “Dolor Enim Iucunditas”. He saw her staring at the shield and said, “It is my family’s crest. It means “Pain For Pleasure””. She looked at him and tried to understand the meaning of the words, “how could pain be pleasurable”.
He led her through a door to a balcony that overlooked a rose garden. She could smell the scent of the roses in the air, just as she could feel the sun on her face. She closed her eyes and put her head back to take in the experience. In her mind she was free if only for the moment. As she stood there, Dominic examined her. She was as tall as him, she had dark hair that trailed down to a point just above her ass. He remembered viewing the contour of her body, her full breast and rounded ass. In several generations Francisco De Goya would paint one of her descendants and capture the beauty of her line in “the Naked Maja”, but Dominic’s interest was not in painting her body with a brush; it was in using her body for her pleasure. With that, he took his hand and put it in her flowing hair and pulled her mouth to his.
The shock of the assault was over in a heartbeat. She bit his lip and when he held his hand to his mouth; she bolted. She ran, but he put his foot down on the chain jerking her back and making her fall. Before she could turn to pull on the chain, he had it firmly in his grasp. As he approached she lunged and found herself once again restrained in his arms. After a brief struggle he used the chain to restrain her wrists behind her back. He used this as a way to walk her in front of him as he led her away from the sun filled room and back down the spiral staircase. This time however, he did not lead her back to her cell.
He took her down one more level to a hall heavily lit with torches, and to a room at the end of the hall. When he opened the door her eyes widened. He locked the door behind him and let go of her chain. She immediately ran and crouched down, trying not to be seen, but she was. The Iron Maiden could not hide her and when he was done preparing the St. Andrews Cross he knew exactly where to look to find her. He led her to the large wooden cross and had her face it; with his weight pressing against her he freed her wrist from the chains, but held them as they were pressed into the manacles attached to the upper arms of the cross. Her legs were spread and affixed to the shackles at the bottom and once that was done he reached up and tore the robe from her body.<
Though naked and bound, she was still defiant. “Is this how you treat a Princess, you Christian pig”, she screamed. “This is how I treat an animal that bites the hand that feeds it” he said. “You need to be taught manners and that you are mine; I intend on being your teacher”, he said. The heat from the torches heated the room, but her nipples tightened as if a cold breeze had crossed them. Her heart was pounding inside her full breast as she felt the sting of the flogger against her back; she refused to cry out. A second and third blow came in rapid succession. The stinging sensation spread across her back, by the time the tenth blow crossed her back she could not feel it anymore. Her mind had transcended the pain and she relaxed. At that exact moment he brought the flogger down on her ass; the nerves here were not dead and she tightened. Then as with her back she accustomed herself to it until he was done
“You have beaten me, but you have not broke me”, she cried. “I know” he said, “I will never be able to break you and that is why I want you”. He put down the flogger and rubbed his hand over the welts; she sensed the question the maid had told her about coming, but it didn’t. Instead he said, “I know you can not be trusted to be good, so I am sure we will come here often” He had put his mouth very close to her ear as he uttered what she could only assume was a promise. He then brought his mouth down on her neck and kissed it. She felt his hot breath as his mouth traveled down to the nape of her neck, he opened his mouth and put her flesh between his teeth and bit down. This time she let out a yell and turned her head violently. “Bite for bite”, he said, and having tasted mine I must say yours is much tastier.
“Bastard”, she screamed. “Yes”, he replied; “as were all my ancestors” and he laughed. He walked to a cabinet on the other side of the room, took out two objects and returned. “You will be mine, but first I must pierce your maidenhead; to do that I will use a tool handed down to me by my illustrious ancestor St. Dominic. It was a tool he employed to rescue heretic women from damnation. My grandmother took it as a souvenir and when my father was old enough gave it to him with instructions, when I was old enough it was given to me.” Katara gazed at the instrument in his hand and strained at her restraints. What he held was shaped like a crucifix except the long pole was a phallus about 7 inches long; the cross held the carved image of Christ.
He approached her and ran his free hand down her back and over her tightened ass; she struggled and moved her hips in an attempt to escape the inevitable. His hand came down between her thighs which she tried in vein to close. He brought his fingers up until he could feel her slit and parted it with ease. He could feel her moistness and began to rub. He felt and found her clit and breathed a sigh of relief; she was intact. Some of the Muslim tribes circumcised their young women to prohibit promiscuity. The clit was desensitized so that no pleasure could be had and then her lips were sewn together to prevent any kind of entry. Whether it was due to her station in life or the fact her father loved her, he didn’t know, but she was in fact untouched and he assumed still a virgin.
As he rubbed she fought the urge to relax and enjoy it; she would not give up that jewel that rested inside of her without a fight although she knew that to struggle was useless. His rubbing and penetration seemed to go on forever, and though she fought mentally her body responded by becoming increasingly wet. He brought his sticky fingers to his mouth and tasted her, “delightful” he said as he brought his hand to her mouth. She could smell herself on his fingers and attempted to bite them, but he pulled his hand away. “Still trying to bite the hand that feeds you my love? You must realize that you will be mine, and I have no qualms about how I accomplish the feat.” His hand returned to her still wet orifice and began to spread it with his fingers. He slowly brought the tool down and began to penetrate her as his fingers kept her lips parted. He slid it in until he felt the resistance of her maidenhead. With a firm steady push he felt it give way. When he removed his fingers from her he saw the virgin’s blood on them and he licked it off. He continued to fuck her with the cross, with each stroke the body of Christ entered her and his mouth rubbed against her clit.
He felt her begin to respond as she was stimulated beyond her own control. “Now you are starting to behave”, he whispered as he increase the speed of his strokes. “Never” she cried as she felt her excitement and desire grow to an almost painful level. She resisted the feeling as long as she could and then when she could no longer control it she screamed out “Allah, my god Allah, save me from this Christian bastard”, and them her mind gave way to her first climax. She had been defiled by the Knight, forsaken by her god and betrayed by her own body. She felt herself fill with fluid and release it into her sensitized orifice. She felt the product of her lust running down her leg as he withdrew the cross. Her body quivered as she continued to experience small orgasms.
“Now that Christ has had you, I will have you”, her tormentor said. She hung from the cross covered with her own sweat and fluids. The knight removed the belt from his tunic and dropped his pantaloons exposing his engorged penis. He brought his body against hers and with little effort against her struggling, entered her. Unlike the hard cross his flesh was warm and smooth. He began slowly at first with measured thrust. He felt her begin to respond to his cock as it filled her. Still reeling from the rape by the cross she felt that same sensation coming over her. He felt her tightening around him and begin to move with his hips. He felt his own climax coming and sped up his strokes until he could no longer keep back his cum. With one hard thrust he released himself into her and as if her body was no longer under her control she came and he felt the war flow about his cock. “You are an uncivilized bastard”, she cried, “and I hate you!”. “I am a very civilized bastard”, he responded “and at least one part of you doesn’t hate me.
As he removed his cock from her he noticed only a faint trace of pink; a remnant of her virginity. He reached down inside of her as she tightened and dipped the better part of his hand in her. He brought his fingers to his mouth and licked off the product of their union. “I wish I could share this with you, with your sweetness and my love, but alas I know my fingers would be lost to your teeth.” he whispered. “As would your cock if ever I have the opportunity”, she sobbed. “I would hope that you learn that I am not your enemy, that I saved you during that battle; for if my footmen had found you first, you would have been passed around and used like a whore and then sent to Allah defiled and disgraced.” he said. “And what is different about what just happened?”, she said; to which he responded, “You are still alive, and will be harmed no more than need be to make you a proper Knight’s consort.
He removed her from the cross and took her across the chamber to a door that was bolted shut. “Your new home, at least for the present” he said as he swung open the door. Inside was a room fit for a princess, there was a real bed and linens, a dressing table with a brush and comb, oils and soap and a wardrobe closet with a variety of robes. “I think you will be more comfortable here”, he said as he seated her. In the corner there was hole in the floor with an iron pipe protruding about six inches out of the wall, the pipe had a cap on it. “This is your privy, once you have done what you must in the hole, just remove the cap to cleanse yourself.” he told her and then he point up and said “This is for showering, you pull the chain and water from a cistern on the castle roof will be released to bathe”. There was also a barred window that allowed natural light in and looked out on the moat and woods beyond. Though the room was more pleasant than her previous cell; it was still a cell. She looked out the window at the freedom beyond and understood how a caged bird must feel.
“Bathe”, he told her, “wash our fluids from your body, rid yourself of me”. “I would love to rid myself of you, may I borrow your blade?” she asked while looking down at his dagger. “You are relentless, and I am resolute about making you mine in body and mind if not spirit”, he said to her and he walked through the door to her room. She heard the bolt slide and knew that the heavy door was locked. She looked about the room for anything that could be used as a weapon or as a tool to remove a bar from the window, but he had insured that nothing would be available. The chair at the dressing table was too heavy to lift and everything else to brittle. She looked at the bed, a heavy four poster with a canopy. She noticed large iron rings had been mounted in a couple of locations on each post; she could only imagine what their purpose was. She bathed, laid on her clean bed, thought about her plight and sobbed. Every aspect of her life had changed; she had lost everything including her purity and was now a prisoner of a man who professed to be her savior. If the circumstances had been any different she may have liked him, perhaps even loved him, but he had taken her as a trophy not for love. He had ravaged her land and then her body and expected her gratitude in return; if all Christians were not pigs, this one certainly was. Fatigued and sore she finally fell asleep.
At dusk her captor returned with food and wine. He sat with her as she ate and tried to console her. “I have afforded no other woman, what I have chosen to give you.” he said. “What is that?” she replied, “a bruised defiled body, a murdered family a cage for a home?”. “This cage needn’t be your home; you may have a room with no bars and a door with no lock, but first you must freely surrender to me and accept me as your lord and master.” he told her. “Then this will be my cage forever.” she responded glaring at him. “I will see you in the morning. I will not put you on the cross unless you make it necessary, but I will have you and you will be mine.” He made the comment and removed the plate and goblet. He reached in his tunic and pulled out a book, “here I assume you can read.” he said as he laid the book on the bed, “It’s the Koran, I thought you might find some comfort in it.” With those words he departed. She sat on the bed with the book in her hand and looked at the door. Of all the gifts he had bestowed on her; this was the most precious.
In the morning when he returned, he found her just as defiant as when he had left her. He removed the robe she was wearing and took her back into the chamber. “Why do you make this necessary? Submit and there will be no more pain!” he growled. Her response was simple, “Never, and you can not break me!” With that he forced her onto a wooden horse with stocks at its head; her hands and head were secured and her ankles were restrained to the legs. Once he had secured her, he removed his clothing and said, “If you wish to be treated like a wild horse, so be it. I will and I will mount you as if I were your stallion.”. He took a crop from the wall and began to lay lash after lash on her well rounded ass. With each stroke she tensed , but would not cry out. When he was done whipping her, he brought his hand to her pussy and felt the moisture. He began with one finger and then two. He penetrated and rubbed, and again her body betrayed her. He mounted her as he said he would and fucked her mercilessly. With each thrust she tried to stop her body from responding, but in the end she came and as he felt her fluids wash over him he gave her his seed.
This scenario continued daily for three months, once or twice a day he would force himself on her and she would resist. He could not force her submission and she could not escape. on a morning in the fourth month he entered and ordered her to the bed. She lay on the bed with outstretched arms and spread legs (she knew to fight was to lose and so she won by passively laying there). He cuffed her wrist to the post at the head and her ankles to the post at the bottom. He walked away leaving her exposed. He returned and went to a torch; there he placed an object into the fire. He went to the bed and sat looking at her body and inventorying every inch of his property. Her breast rose and fell and he bent down ad sucked at her perfect nipples. They seemed fuller like ripe melons. He told her that he would not mount her today, but instead had another gift to prove his ownership. He rose and went back to the torch and with a gloved hand removed the object. He returned to the bed and sat beside her, when she saw what was in his hand she screamed “NO”. It was too late he took the branding iron and burned it into her hip. The hiss of the burning flesh mingled with the smell. The pain was at once intense and then non-existent. When he removed it the charred message was there a ring of thorns with three roses, his family’s crest.
Her resentment of her captor grew, but something else was growing as well. She had not had a period of bleeding in some time; her breast were tender and growing; her nipples were even more sensitive and the roundness of her stomach was noticeable. She knew she was pregnant and that this child must be born. When she told him that she was pregnant, he smiled. He had hoped that being the mother of his child would mellow her. She told him that in order to insure the baby’s safe arrival that she would not struggle against him, but that her submission was temporary. He understood, and he too wanted to see this baby born.
For the next five months he took her morning and night. He had her bound to the bed and took her until her roundness prohibited that method. He took her like a dog would a bitch in heat and he took her bent over the railing. She closed her eyes and went to another place and imagined the baby in her growing. At the end of eight months he had a midwife standing by; a Moorish woman like herself named Marta. In the ninth month while fucking her bent over, her water broke and washed over him. He was both angry and pleased for his child would soon be born. The midwife tended her and she delivered a healthy boy. He was named Dominic Osama (for her father) Santos. Dominic Santos had an heir and leverage to assure Katara’s continued obedience. She was told that as long as she submitted to him that she could raise her baby. If she refused the child would be raised by a midwife. With this threat hanging over her head she agreed.
For 12 years she submitted to his indignities. The boy drank from his mother’s breast for four of those years; Dominic enjoyed that luxury too. Her son learned to read and had tutors. The boy was introduced to the court as his ward, the son of a dead family member. Dominic showed his son the secrets of the castle and the treasures hidden within. At night the boy shared his mother’s bed and her love. The only time they were apart was when his father entered the chamber, and the mid-wife took the boy away. When he returned he would see the tear stains on his mothers face and often see the welts on her body. On one occasion he was able to sneak away from the mid-wife and return to the outer chamber. He examined the devices and then heard sounds coming from his mother’s room. He heard his father’s laugh and his mother’s moans and screams, he peered through the key hole and saw his mother tied to the end of the bed with her arms raised high above her head and tied to the post. Her legs were spread and tied to the legs of the bed, his father stood behind her grasping her breast his cock buried deep inside of her. The boy turned and ran.
When next he saw his mother, he ran to her and threw his arms around her. “Why, mother!” he said holding her. “Why what my darling?” she said stroking his head. “Why does he treat you like an animal; why does he hurt you, why can’t you leave this room? Is this love?” She held him a minute and then said, “Because he sees me like an animal, some sort of chattel owned or possessed; but not broken. This room is my cage.” The boy looked at her and said, “I hate him for treating you like this!” “He is still your father and only allows me to see you if I submit.” she told him lowering her gaze. “I will not allow him to keep us apart, I will free you from your prison.” the boy responded.
Katara looked at this boy and saw the man inside. “You are like your grandfather; a brave warrior.” she told him. “Tell me about him.” The boy’s eyes gazed upon her and she knew that it was time. She told him of his heritage and of the Moors. She told him of the battle that took her fathers life and of her capture and imprisonment. She wept and her son comforted her. “He is not my father; he has told all that I am his ward.” “But you no the truth, my son” she said. “I would not have a man like that for my father, but I can think of no better mother.” the boy told her as he embraced her. They sat on her bed embracing for what seemed like hours, until they heard Dominic return. “I will save you.” the boy whispered and left the room without a word to his father.
“What is bothering the boy”, her tormentor asked. “He’s just unhappy; you know how boys are.” she said as she removed her robe to offer herself to him. “You are not so feisty now, have I finally broken your spirit?” he asked. “You have broken nothing, but I will give myself to you just to be done with you.” she responded. “It makes no difference I will have you anyway I can and I enjoy your screams.” he said as he took down the cane. He whipped her across the back and ass and then bent her over the bed. When he was done he put on his clothes and left without a word. “Bastard, I will see you dead.” she hissed.
He was trained in the use of a sword and dagger. His tutors taught him alchemy and the sciences as well as history. He absorbed everything he could. On his 15th birthday his father took him to the chamber and locked his mother’s door. “Why have you locked her in.” the boy asked; his anger welling. “Because with this birthday you have attained manhood and I will teach you as my father taught me. I have two special gifts for you; the first a relic handed down for generations and the second something new and fresh.” He summoned his servant and gave him directions, when the servant left he took the boy to the locked cabinet. When the cabinet was opened the boy saw devices he could not understand. One shelf sat two implements that looked like male members. His father handed him the one shaped like a cross. “This is for you, handed down for generations from father to son. It is yours now and I will show you how it is used.” At that moment the servant returned; with him was a country girl about the age of young Dominic. “Is she pure.” his father asked. “Untouched”, said the servant. The servant was told to leave and the girl stood frightened looking around the room.
“I am giving you as a gift to my son. In return I have promised your father his own piece of land to farm.” Dominic said to the girl. “You will be returned home when we are done with you.” The boy could not believe what he was hearing; could not believe what he was seeing. His father took the girl to the cross and restrained her. He tore her dress from her body exposing her untouched flesh, then proceeded to grope her as if he was examining an animal before buying it. “Come here boy! Look at how she trembles with anticipation; feel how soft yet firm her breast are.” The boy just glared. “Who shall go first? She is your present, but maybe I should show you how to weaken her first.” the beast said. He was a beast, and the boy saw no trace of the man he had once called father.
Dominic slid his hand over the girls ass and down between her thighs. His excitement was beginning to show as he brought his finger up to her slit. The girl whimpered and then peed on his hand. “Bitch” he screamed, “I will teach you how to hold your water and what that hole is good for other than peeing” he said as he struck her. The girl cried out and the man put his hand over her mouth. “Silence or I will gag you". The brutality of what the boy saw was overwhelming him. As his father tried to loosen his belt the boy saw his opportunity. He took a club from the wall and brought it down on the mans head; his father fell to the ground. The boy went to the girl and comforted her. He opened his mother’s door and said “You are about to be freed.” He gathered a robe from her closet and draped it over the shaking girl. “You are to say nothing of this when you return home. Tell your father that the land is his.”, the boy said. The girl wept and kissed his hand. With eyes lowered she said “I am your servant Sir” “You will be returned home and life will go on. Someday you will fall in love and give yourself to a man, but never let yourself be treated like an animal.” the boy told her. He took her to the door and summoned the servant. “Take her away, I am done with her” the boy commanded, “Then go to your home, my father is preparing for a journey at the King’s request. I will prepare him and send him off.” The servant looked puzzled, but did as commanded.
The boy returned to his mother’s room, “Prepare yourself for a journey My Lady” he told her. She was dazed and could only ask “How?” “Do as I request mother speed is of the essence.” The boy returned to the outer chamber where his unconscious father lay. He removed the keys he carried and left. When he returned he carried a small vial. He put it to his father’s lips and tilted his head back so the fluid would trickle in. His mother emerged from her room dressed and saw her tormentor on the floor. “What have you done” she cried out. “I have rescued two damsels; is that not what a knight does.” he said. “I have prepared myself for this moment for three years and tonight I saw my opportunity. His servant has left and I have his keys. I have just given him an elixir of poppy nectar and belladonna; he will be unconscious for some time. We have work to do.” The boy spoke like a leader of men and his mother was at once full of pride and afraid.
As Dominic Santos slept, everything of value from his treasure room was placed on the top of his carriage. Their was gold and priceless gems liberated during countless battles and handed down through generations. The chest were heavy and barely manageable, but the boy told the stableman that it was for his father’s journey and got his help. When all was prepared he went back to the chamber. He carried in his hand the dagger that had belonged to his grandfather. “A gift mother.” The woman looked at the dagger and wept. It was as if 17 years had been washed away; she was holding the dagger except this time her attacker was unable to restrain her. “Will you kill him mother?” the boy asked. “No because death brings no suffering with it” she said, “I want him to know my suffering.”
She went to the open cabinet and removed two items. The first was a device that went around the head and held the moth open; making it impossible for the wearer to scream. She put the other down and turned to her son. “Help me remove his tunic and pantaloons.” she said. The man was stripped and a metal waistband with restraints on either side attached to him. His wrist were secured and the head piece applied. She pulled a piece of leather from the flogger and wetted it then tied it securely in a noose around his flaccid cock. They lifted the man as he began to stir and put him in the Gibbet.
Once the Gibbet was hoisted; the boy dressed in his father’s tunic, and applied his armor. His mother gathered some twine and tied one end to the leather noose and the other was thrown over a beam and attached to an iron ball. She saw the man awakening and took the second device from its place on the floor. Like the cross it was a phallus only not as smooth and with a set of balls. As her son held the iron ball she walked around the backside of the maiden. “You could never break me. ” she whispered, as she drove it into his ass. His eyes widened and he tried to scream as if it would wake him from this nightmare. The pain was immense and he had trouble focusing, but he saw them let the ball dangle as it pulled on his cock. They extinguished every torch except one and as they left the room the boy picked up the cross and said, “thank you for the present father, goodnight”. They could hear his muffled cries as the chamber door was closed and locked.
They left that night and traveled to France where they purchased an estate with a castle called La Coste. They had papers forged creating a new name and title. Dominic Osama Santos became Donatien Alphonse François and was the given the title Count. His family remained in for generations and became famous when his great, great, great grandson achieved dubious notoriety. It seems the bloodline was never really cleansed as his descendant the Marquis De Sade would one day write.