Recently separated from his faithless wife Jonathon Rose accepts an invitation from David, an old journalist friend, to visit him in Buenos Aires.
But when he arrives his enigmatic friend isn't there! It is left to Andrea, David's beautiful wife, to initiate Jonathon into the extreme and unexpected pleasures of the city. But where is David? And what dark secrets lie concealed in Andrea's past...?
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|Age Range:||18 Years|
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Andrea began to tell me about her childhood, speaking mainly in English, but occasionally she would slip back into her native language, making sure I had fully understood every detail that she related.
'I told you I came from Cordoba: that is where my parents lived and where I grew up. But when I was fifteen I was sent away to a boarding school in the countryside, a very religious school run by nuns and priests. It was in the middle of nowhere, surrounded by miles and miles of pampas.
'At first I was terrified. The place was run like a prison. It was hundreds of years old, founded by some Christian brothers, although our teachers no longer knew what the meaning of Christianity was. They were cruel and heartless. Most of the girls there were orphans or they were abandoned. The priests and nuns could do whatever they wanted to them.
'Every morning I had to get up at daybreak for matins, and after I would have to scrub and clean the cloisters before our school day began properly.
We could be punished for anything: if our shoes were not polished, if a button was missing on our tunic, if our dormitory was untidy in the slightest way.'
'Why did your parents send you there?' I asked, curious that Andrea, who had spoken kindly about her family, should have endured such a draconian adolescence.
'It was a terrible time in Argentina. My parents had to flee the country for their lives. They left me in the charge of my uncle. They had no choice.
He sent me to that horrible place. Being such a pious man, he thought I needed a religious education. He also thought it a way of hiding me away.
Coward that he was, he did not want to be associated in any way with his sister or her husband while the military were still in power. He even changed my name, my papers, everything. Once I was there, and feeling he had done his Christian duty by his sister, he could completely ignore me. He never even wrote me. So, thanks to him, I was in exactly the same position as most of the other girls.
'At first I hated that place. I rebelled, of course, but it was futile.
They locked me in a dark room for a day; they beat me with a cane across my hand. So I behaved better. I could only tolerate my suffering because I knew that one day my parents would come back and take me away and I would leave the treacherous school forever.'
Looking at her, I would never have imagined that the beautiful woman had suffered so much.
'In the afternoon they would bring the bad girls into the school assembly to cane them before our eyes, as an example, to make us behave in the way that they wanted. We would all sit in rows: two hundred girls in neat navy blue uniforms, our eyes transfixed on the small raised stage where our teachers sat waiting for the girls to be called for their punishment.
'Some girls could not stand to watch; they would shut their eyes tight and wait until the ordeal was over. But this could be worse, because inattentiveness was a crime, too, and any girl that did not watch could be summoned to the stage for a thrashing. I would glance around when the caning started and watch the terrified girls flinch with every cruel stroke of the cane, their mouths twisting in fear and disgust.
'And then one day there was a new head teacher, a middle-aged priest, a cold distant man that nobody liked, not even the other teachers. He was cruel, very cruel. He was also handsome. Very virile-looking, very strong, with thick grey hair and beautiful blue eyes. You would never think that a man who looked like that could be so merciless.
'The headmaster was responsible for disciplining us. I am sure that the other priests enjoyed caning the older girls too, but this priest, Father Stefano, loved it. You could see how he watched them; his eyes would widen and brighten when he brought the rod down hard, much harder than the others.
'The girls tried not to scream but the pain was always too much. They could not help it, but the more they cried, the more he hit them. By the time he was finished, his face would be red and his breathing heavy. I could see from his eyes that he would like to hurt these girls more; he always seemed disappointed when there was nobody left for him to thrash.
'I must have been about seventeen when he came to the school. Seeing such pleasure in his eyes made me very curious. There was a dramatic change in my
attitude: I realised that it excited me to watch the girls being caned on the stage, to watch the priest lift the long stick above his head, to hear the swish through the air. I started to look forward to it. I felt my heart beat with each stroke; my skin would prickle as I listened to the muffled sobs of the supposed guilty, their hands raised straight to shoulder level, trembling in fear.
'He began to obsess me. I would do bad things just to be one of the girls to be caned by him, but it was never enough. However hard I was caned, I craved more. I couldn't sleep at nights for thinking about Father Stefano, dreaming of his strong firm hands on my tender body, imagining the subtle and unsubtle ways he could punish me. Eventually I could bear it no longer:
I devised a plan.
'On Thursday evenings he heard confessions until eight o'clock. I made sure I was the last girl to go into him. I remember how my heart throbbed in my chest as I waited to see him. My palms were slicked with sweat and there was a terrible mingling of excitement and fear as I entered the confessional.
'I said, "Father, I cannot fight my lust. I masturbate, Father. Every night when the others are asleep in the dormitory, I masturbate and masturbate. I have terrible dreams. I dream of men touching me. I dream of touching men. What can I do? I crave their flesh, their touch, their love!"
I couldn't make out his face through the metal grill, but I could imagine his lascivious eyes boring into me.
'"And how do you touch these men in your sinful dreams, Andrea?" he asked.
'"I touch them between the legs, on their penna. I go down on my knees and lick them with my tongue. I kiss them, Father." I don't know why I said this, exactly. I suppose, because I had a good imagination and it was the most sinful thing that I could think of.
'"And who are these men?" he asked.
'"I don't know how to say this, Father - but it is you, Father, that I dream about. I cannot stop it. I dream of kissing you, there, Father."
'I don't think the priest knew exactly what to do. He was not used to girls talking to him like this; confessions in the school were compulsory, but confessionals were rarely repositories of honesty. For a seventeen-year-old girl to confess that she masturbated about him must have excited the priest very much. I continued, "I think I must be punished, Father. I want to be punished, to make my soul pure for God."
'There was a painfully long silence. He perfunctorily went through the process of advising me to think only pure thoughts; then, in mumbled Latin, he said the prayer of absolution.
'When he was finished, I asked him: "And my penance, Father? What should my penance be?"
'"Andrea, you must wait by my door," he said.
'He took me to his little room. There was nothing much inside: a metal bed, a small desk, an oak wardrobe and two wooden chairs. A sacred heart picture hung on the wall above the headboard. It was a matter of pride that even the headmaster lived humbly.
'At seventeen I was already very beautiful. My legs were long and slender, my breasts were big and firm. He examined me under the fading dusk light, his eyes roamed my body as I had seen him do a hundred times before when he was up on the stage, gently tapping a cane in his hand, anticipating his sadistic pleasure.
'He placed the two chairs in the centre of the room, back to back, so they were half a metre apart. "You were right, girl, to come to me. We must drive the devil from your soul. I am going to punish you very hard to purge your evil mind of its sins. Now kneel on the chair."
'I knelt as he instructed, resting my hands on the seat of the other chair. My back was now perfectly horizontal. I was facing the small latticed window looking out onto the empty darkness of the sky. I turned my head to see him fetch the long wooden cane from behind the wardrobe.
'He stood behind me, tapping the cane to his palm, taking in the view of my teenage body. What a wonderful sight I must have been for him! I wear a navy blue blouse over a white vest and a matching navy blue school skirt, my bottom pushing out the flimsy fabric.
'He walk up to me and roughly lifted my skirt until it hung from around my waist. I was wearing little cotton panties. I hear his heavy breathing beside me, and smell a faint trace of communion wine on his lips. He was shaking a little. My panties were already wet. My heart was beating. I wanted him to start. The anticipation was good.
'Suddenly he tugged my panties down my thighs. I felt his callused hands clasping my bottom as he crouched down, pulling the cheeks of my buttocks apart so he could look at the tiny hole of my anus.
'He stood up. I hear the noise of the cane as he bent it between his strong hands, then swished it through the air. I was so wet. I was dying for my punishment. I hear another swish as he raised the cane behind him and brought it down onto my bare bottom with all the force he could muster.
'It was such a beautiful feeling, that first sharp sting of pain sending my flesh tingling, the pain receding, then the swish of the cane in the air again and the hard clear sting as he tanned me again. It was so exhilarating to feel this cruel man's power, to submit to his iron will, to know that he could do anything he want with my body.
'I did not make a sound, my teeth gritting, savouring every stroke on my naked flesh. Stroke followed stroke until the pain was so unbearable I thought that I was going to faint.
'"Now, my wicked girl, we must cleanse your evil mouth. You must suffer for your sins," he said, his breathing heavy with his exertions.
'"Yes, Father," I humbly replied as he stood in front of me, his crotch half a metre from my eyes. He unbuttoned his trousers to expose a huge erection, and took the thick rod in his hand.
'"Do you know what to do, girl? You must take it in your mouth." He pulled down the foreskin to reveal his smooth dome and, holding my nape of the neck, he pushed his whole penis into my mouth. He was big - very big - and I was frightened that I would not be able to take it all, but he pushed into me, rocking my head back and forward. He did it harder and harder until I felt his creamy seed shoot inside my mouth, hitting the back of my throat.
He held my head there until I had swallowed every drop.
'"If you feel sinful again, you must come to me without delay," he said as he buttoned up his trousers.
'"Father," I said, "there are others who need to be punished in the same way. I see them looking at you with lust. They should be thrashed, too." I could see his eyes light up as I spoke.
'"You must bring them to me, then," he answered, "but remember, do not speak of your special punishment to anyone else, because then you are in danger of committing the sin of pride. Now go, Andrea."