Views: 297 Created: 2017.03.24 Updated: 2017.03.24

Arabella and the rod by stephen rawlings


It was a lovely day, although it was November again, just exactly a year since Arabella had first landed in Sicily could all that had happened to her really have been packed into only twelve months? and now she was going with Carlo to the Cathedral, dressed in her stylish best, letting the crowds see her blooming beauty, and sumptuous finery in the open carriage that the mild day permitted, for this was an important occasion in the city.

They were going to a wedding to unite two of the greatest clans in the island for, when Carlo had returned, he had brought with him the impetuous young man whose sexual assault of the young Malcardi virgin had so nearly led to bloodshed, had indeed done so in one woman's case, thought Arabella, squirming at the memory. By some obscure chance, the young couple had met again, and had discovered a passion for each other so intense that nothing would satisfy them but to get married immediately, so as to slake their lust between the sheets of a conjugal bed.

When their respective families had recovered from the shock, they greeted the idea enthusiastically, swearing great oaths of eternal friendship, declaring that their tribes had always been allies, and that this new bond would only serve to bring even closer the historic friendship between them, and much more to the same effect. Arabella had listened to them, remembering how near they had come to outright war, and thinking, ruefully, that if she had only known, her sacrifice had been unnecessary, and Carlo's subsequent punishment avoidable.

For he had cut her deep. Though he had comforted her after, with his arms and his penis, he had first reduced her to a mewling cringing animal, its voice hoarse from screaming, its buttocks streaming blood from a solid mass of livid, welted flesh. Twice she had fallen from the table over which he had bent her, and twice he had driven her back with the whiplash of his tongue, to cut again and again into her livid nether cheeks. Even now, two months later, her wounds showed, and she would carry thin white scars for many years to come.

And his other disciplinary measure had gone deep, too. She had missed two periods already, and was conscious of the first subtle changes in her body. This correction would not reach its climax for another seven months or so yet, and its effects would last a lifetime. Well, perhaps she had deserved it. Certainly, she needed steadying, but could one small baby curb her impulsive and adventurous nature? Only time could tell.