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CHAPTER 8
It was two days later. It was two days after Dawson had delivered “The Inheritance” when the knock arrived on his front door. It was early morning, far too early for Dawson , especially as he had had a busy evening the previous day.
It had been a good evening. The Martinelli brothers were well pleased with the video they had received. They knew that Correlli would soon be history so far as they were concerned. He could not face down the thought of his wife being a prostitute appearing on some sleazy video, nor could he take the risk. That evening the Martinelli's had been very grateful, yet they had a problem. One of their close colleagues had a wife who was, as they called it, showing disrespect, and her husband was concerned about just where her loyalties lay. Smooth and fine talking had failed to change the woman's attitude and now, with the success of the Correlli situation having proven Dawson's worth to the Martinelli's, they wanted him to persuade the woman as to where her duties lay.
Dawson had been unprepared for this. Yes, he'd expected the thanks, and his payment, but not a request for a floor show.
Dominique Careva was a fine looking woman. Long, dark hair flowed down her slender, Latinesque figure as she was hauled into the room and made to stand in front of Dawson .
“Senor Dawson, this is our problem. She is an unruly bitch who is in need of your attentions. She is called Dominique, and she has the hot-blooded fire of the Italian in her. It is a fire which we need to tame. Can you help us?”
“Of course I can.”
“No, Senore, I mean can you help us now?” The question left Dawson momentarily speechless.
“I, I don't have my things.”
“It is of no importance, we can supply whatever you need.”
“I see. Well, first, Dominique, I need to know what the problem is.”
“There is no problem, Senor Dawson. I am a free woman and I am entitled to speak my mind.”
So much like his ex-wife, Dawson thought.
“But, these men say you do not show them respect.”
“Respect, bah,” she spat on the ground. “They do not earn my respect and neither does that stupid pig of a husband.”
“I see, so you do not see things their way.”
“No, Senor, I do not.” She stood there shaking, her defiance an obvious mask for what she feared was about to happen.
“Well, gentlemen,” Dawson continued, “this will be tricky. What alternatives are there?”
Quickly it became apparent there were no real alternatives. The woman had to learn to curb her defiance and her tongue. She knew too much about the “mob” and she had to either be got rid of or made to see the error of her ways. When faced with the starkness of the choice the woman buckled.
“Very well, Senor Dawson, it seems I have no choice. You will have to do what is necessary.” She stood there pouting her lips, looking with anger at the men who stood around her.
“I promise you, Mrs Careva, after we have finished here this evening you will want to respect every man in this room, especially your husband. Now, as you are aware, my particular form of therapy is designed to cause respect, and it is a strict form of discipline. This begins now. You will not speak unless I ask you to, and though you may cry out you must not swear or your discipline will be increased. Do you understand?”
She stood there looking sullen, an act of defiance. She nodded her head slowly.
“In that case, you will remove your dress and your underclothes.”
“Senor, in front of all these men?”
“Yes, they say you have no respect for them, now you will learn some.”
Dominique Careva undressed slowly. She was attractive with olive-coloured skin. Her Mediterranean tan enhanced her beauty. In less than two minutes she was standing naked facing Dawson .
“Go and stand over there facing the wall. Stretch your hands up to the ceiling and spread your legs.”
Again she did as she was instructed. Dawson called the four men over to where she was standing.
“Right, two of you hold onto her arms. Stretch them out so she can't move. The other two take a leg each and make sure she doesn't move them.” Dawson was unbuckling the belt around his trousers. He folded the belt in two lengthways and ran the leather middle across the woman's buttocks.
Crack! The sound of leather on Italian hide was loud and drew a gasp of shock from the woman. Dawson figured she had taken punishment before and knew what was about to happen. Crack, crack, crack! Three swift strokes followed, covering the same portion of flesh as the first stroke. The woman gasped again and momentarily tried to move. The four men were far too strong for her and as a result, her efforts were in vain.
Dawson applied ten more strokes of the belt to her buttocks, causing the cheeks to swell up and turn dark red. By the time the final stroke landed the woman was crying.
“Now, Senora Careva, do you wish to show these men some respect?”
“No, they are pigs and so are you for striking me.”
“I see, well we have only just started, and this can be as hard on you as you like. Senor Martinelli, may we have use of your desk top?”
“Of course.” Martinelli had not been holding the woman, rather sitting behind the desk watching the proceedings, the bulge in his pants indicating the effect they were having on him.
“Right, Senora, we will now bend you over the desk. When you wish to show respect you need only ask.”
The woman was half frogmarched over to the desk. Her legs were pushed against the desktop and then a firm hand pushed her naked breasts onto the cold, wooden surface.
“Senor Careva, please take your wife's hands and prevent them from covering her backside. One of you other men can place your hands on her shoulders to stop her from rising.”
Careva stood in front of his wife. The table was not that wide and the way she was stretched meant her head came to the edge of the table top. Dawson unfurled the belt until it was fully extended. He placed the tip of the leather thong against the woman's buttocks, withdrew and lashed her. She screamed as the pain coursed through her body.
Dawson could see Careva was aroused. Swish! The second stroke landed about an inch lower than the first and in the next two minutes a further six lashings landed across the woman's glowing orbs. Finally, in amongst the tears she relented.
“Okay, I'll show respect. What must I do?”
Dawson looked at Careva who wasted no time. His fly was unzipped and his member exposed, all seven inches of it. He offered it to the woman who looked quizzically at him for a moment.
While she did so, Dawson stroked her buttocks as if he was inspecting the damage he had inflicted. As she failed to respond to the phallus in front of her face, Dawson let his hand drift between her cheeks, his finger searching out her vulva. She winced as he touched her and then the horror of what was about to happen sank in.
Dawson 's middle finger sought out her entrance and pushed into her, stroking her softly. Suddenly there was a hand on her hair, yanking her head backwards until all she could see was her husband's purple-headed cock. He pushed it against her mouth and reluctantly she opened it. She took him inside, closing her lips around his length. Dawson was still probing her and now she was moaning softly. He removed his finger and looked at Careva.
“Gentlemen,” he continued, “I think the Senora wishes to show you all some respect.” Careva nodded his agreement, though at that moment he was enjoying the delights of his wife's oral ministrations.
One of the minders edged Dawson out of the way and stood behind the hapless woman. He was clearly aroused, large, bulging, and the look in his eye was one of revenge.
“Senor Careva,” he half asked for permission.
“Go right ahead.” The bouncer needed no further encouragement. He parted the hapless woman's cheeks and in less than ten seconds, causing her to cry out from under her mouth full of cock, he thrust his own eight inches deep into her anus. He stroked her firmly until his orgasm came. All the time she kept her husband inside her mouth, teasing him.
Suddenly a new menace was attacking her from behind. This menace felt thicker than the last, and it was not heading up her arse but lower down. She knew the feel of this cock, she'd had it before, and not that long ago. Now, though, with her husband nearing his own climax, it was a special thrill for the woman as the phallus penetrated her vulva. She moaned as it rubbed her inner walls and she sucked the cock in her mouth with greater vigour.
Suddenly both her assailants were coming. She felt the thick, sticky liquid spurt into the back of hr mouth at the same time as the cock up her fanny sprang into an orgasmic crescendo of its own.
Both men withdrew. Dawson stood there waiting, unsure as to what would happen next. One of the bouncers was waiting by the side and the Martinelli brothers were sitting on the couch watching every motion.
“Bring the woman over here,” the older brother called. Dawson did as instructed. “Make her kneel.”
“Now, woman, are you going to cause us any more trouble?”
“No, Senor Martinelli. I understand now and will cause you no more grief.”
“Good, well we'd best be sure. As you know, Donatonio is a strong man. We have saved him and ourselves for you for the end. Donatonio has great staying power. You will take him and us brothers at the same time and when we have finished, Senor Dawson will give you some final therapy.”
Dawson watched as the two brothers got off the couch. The woman seemed to know what was required and lay on the cushions, her head hanging off the edge of the sofa. The brute of a man called Donatonio had been removing his clothes and now he mounted the couch, entering the woman. He smiled as he established the purposeful, powerful, thrusting motion he desired. She offered no resistance. The younger Martinelli brother walked round to her head, ordered her to open her mouth and masturbated himself to an orgasm in front of her. His white liquid spurted over her face, some of the cream dripping into her still-opened mouth. She knew better than to close it – such would be seen as very disrespectful. When he'd finished, the older brother took up position in his place. The woman was treated to a second cum bath, her face covered in the sticky white liquid.
Meanwhile, down between her legs, Donatonio was pounding her body. She felt not the slightest bit aroused by the actions of the man, rather she was longing for her ordeal to be over. Certainly Donatonio was large, thick and powerful. Suddenly she felt him tense. With a final thrust that plunged deep into her body, causing her to gasp loudly, he came. He pulsed maybe ten times with considerable force before his release was complete.
When he had come, he lifted his body off of hers and re-dressed.
“Senor Dawson, will you know apply the final treatment so this woman remembers she must show respect at all times.”
“Certainly, Senor Martinelli. Do you have a cane, or a pool cue I can use?”
“There is a cane over there in the cupboard. See if it is suitable.”
Dawson located the cane and after a few practice strokes returned to the woman.
“Stand up and touch your toes, keeping your legs straight.”
The woman did as she was told. She had already made up her mind to escape the mob and had decided the best way was to simply play along with them.
“Now gentlemen, as a thank you to the Senora, I will administer two strokes of this cane to her backside for each of us. Stand still, Senora. If you move, the stroke will not count.”
The first stroke landed across the middle of her cheeks, a fresh welt soon starting to appear. The woman groaned and fresh tears appeared on her face. The second stroke cut viciously into her causing her to yelp. The power of the stroke made her body sway, but she managed to right herself quickly. The third and fourth strokes also cut into her, and for the first time her blood seeped through one of the flesh wounds. She was crying out with each fresh strike but determined not to move. She gritted her teeth as the fifth and sixth strokes landed, her resolve to escape the mob strengthened with each fresh blow. Her tears mixed with the salty semen on her face as she continued to cry out. The seventh and eighth strokes cut into the tops of her legs. Dawson was doing a fine job – the onlookers could not fault his enthusiasm and dedication to duty, it was a fine performance. The ninth and tenth strokes created fresh welts. By now the woman's whole backside was burning, her buttocks two brightly glowing orbs of tortured flesh.
Crack! The eleventh stroke landed right on the top of her buttocks causing her to howl even more loudly. Dawson wasted no time in delivering the final stroke, a real blood-curdling scream hissed from the woman as the cane slammed into her buttocks.
“Stand up and get dressed,” Dawson commanded, still aroused. He needed release too, and normally he would have taken his victim, but under the present circumstances he decided to desist – it was a wise choice.
The woman straightened up and struggled to collect her clothing. She walked backwards out of the room muttering something in Italian under her breath.
“We'll have no more trouble from her,” the younger Martinelli said after she'd gone.
“I wouldn't be so sure,” the woman's husband responded. “She's a stubborn bitch when she wants to be.”
“We'll see,” Martinelli rejoined. “She is either very stupid or she ahs learned her lesson. Senor Dawson, we are indebted to you. You have helped us enormously. Now, it is getting late. I must check on business and no doubt you have your own affairs to attend to.”
“I do, Senor Martinelli.”
“In that case we will not detain you further, Senor Dawson. Once again we bid you good night.” Martinelli waved a hand of dismissal in the direction of Dawson who took the hint and left the room and the mob. Dawson drove home and polished off half a bottle of whisky before retiring for the night.
***
The second knock rattled the frame of his front door and Dawson stirred into action. He looked out of his bedroom window and saw the black limo parked outside. His pulse rate began to increase as he reached out for the bathrobe on his side chair.
Dawson was descending the stairs when the third assault on the door reached his ears. Clearly the person outside was agitated at being kept waiting. Still half-asleep, Dawson unbolted the door and released the latch.
“Senor Dawson,” the voice was familiar – it was that of Donatonio. Gripped securely in his right hand and held roughly by the back of her neck, the woman looked more bruised and beaten than she should have done. “She tried to escape last night after she told her husband their marriage was over. The boss thinks she needs a further lesson to teach her some respect. He is away on business today but would like you to do whatever you have to do to ensure she is respectful when he returns tomorrow.” Donatonio spoke without emotion, without concern, with the lack of compassion that makes ice form on the breath that carries the words.
As he spoke, Dawson opened the door, rubbing his head, trying to remove the lingering effects of the whisky.
“I see, and this is a matter of importance to your boss?” The question was almost unnecessary.
“It is of the gravest importance. Senor Martinelli is most insistent that she learns respect. She knows too much to not be respectful, and we can not dispose of her because of her other connections. She must learn respect.”
“Do you hear that, Senora? Do you understand the trouble you are causing? Why can't you learn?”
She tried to speak but Donatonio's grip around her neck was vice-like and only a gurgle was emitted.
“Very well, Senor Martinelli will have his wish. Leave her here today and collect her at ten tonight. By then she will have learned her lesson.”
“Senor Martinelli would like me to stay, to make sure she does not escape again. He has sworn to kill me if she leaves my sight.”
“Very well, if that is what Senor Martinelli wants, that is what he will get. Bring the girl with you and follow me.”
Dawson led the Italian thug through his house and into the basement. Donatonio looked impressed when they entered the chamber. He looked round the room and smiled at the thought of what would be taking place that day.
“The cage, Donatonio, put her in there while I get ready. Then you and I can have coffee. There is plenty of time and locked in there, she will go nowhere.”
Donatonio did as instructed and the woman was soon crouching on her knees with the metal frame ensuring she was as snared like an animal in a cage.
“This time, Senora,” Dawson addressed her, “there will be no mistake. You will wish you had learned your lesson from last night.”
She looked up at him, fear in her eyes, knowing that she was about to be subjected to a further bout of pain, degradation and humiliation. She knew too that Dawson and Donatonio would relish the day ahead of them.
Unknown to her, she was about to become the second person to receive an ‘Ex-Wives Inheritance'.
The End …
Read the next story in this series: “Dominique's Taming”
From the Richard Stryker library at http://www.a1adultebooks.com
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