Chapter 19 Ernie's Revenge
"On your feet, sweetie," Ernie balked at the fallen Latina. "We ain't
quite done with you yet. And we won't be until I get my dough! On yer feet, I
said!"
Jack's second savage blow to her rope-encased breasts had left Teresa
crumpled over a barstool trying to catch her breath, waiting for the pain that
raged through them to subside. Supporting herself on the stool, Teresa once
again pulled herself upright, her ebony hair wild around her head and shoulders.
Her face was streaked with tears, her breathing ragged.
"N-n-no ... please.."
Ernie moved forward and used his left hand to brush Teresa's dark, wavy
tresses away from her artfully bound breasts, even as his right hand produced
the objects he had been hiding behind his back. Teresa stared uncomprehendingly
at Ernie's tobacco-stained fingers as the Weasel rattled two crude metal forks
against each other. He slipped one of them into his shirt pocket, and gripped
the other one tightly in his grimy hand. "Hold her steady for me, Jack."
Teresa squirmed helplessly as Black Jack Slocum's powerful hands tightened
on her upper arms. Despite her struggles, Slocum held her in his iron grasp as
El Raton lifted the fork to the level of her swollen right breast. Playfully, he
tried to insert a tine of the fork beneath the ropes which encircled Teresa's
bulging pain-melons, but Jack had done his work well -- the ropes were far too
tight.
"Where's the money, darlin'?" Ernie whispered fiercely again. When Teresa
shook her head despairingly, Ernie snarled and captured her cane-creased right
nipple between his ragged yellow fingernails, and pulled it toward him. Then, as
Teresa writhed in pain, he held the fork horizontally so that its prongs curved
toward him, and then mashed the edges of its tines against the tender bud.
Jack could see clearly that Teresa's dark nipple, in its engorged state,
was slightly larger than the gap between the tines of the peculiarly-shaped
fork. But that didn't stop Ernie the Weasel from trying to trap the swollen
lust-nugget between them.
"It ain't never gonna fit, Ern," said Jack shaking his head doubtfully.
"I'll make the sonofabitch fit, Jack. You just watch me!"
"No it won't.... Stop!! Aaaiiiiee!! Please ... Dios!.... Stop, for
God's ... Aaaagghhhh!!"
Heedless of Teresa's tortured cries, Ernie had twisted and pulled and
mashed the tender nugget until he had squeezed it into the narrow opening
between the middle two tines of the fork.
"Nice, Ern," Black Jack Slocum admitted grudgingly. He wasn't much for
compliments, but there was no denying that Ernie had used his damn-fool head for
once. Not only were Teresa's boobs imprisoned in his own fiendishly tight
nooses of torment, but now the slightly over-sized fork held the lovely Latina's
love-buds in a Mexican deathlock.
Drenched from the water and still shivering with cold, Teresa's eyes rolled
in agony, and her mouth dripped the saliva of the damned onto her tortured
breasts, even as her dark, distended breast tip was imprisoned in this fiendish
vise.
Bu Teresa's nipple pain had only begun. Moments later, the grinning
gargoyle was poised, ready to force her deliciously taut left nipple between the
tines of the other fork.
The evil little man paused again to demand, "Where's the money?" When
Teresa shook her head, 'No', Ernie gave Jack a knowing wink, as if to say, 'I'm
kinda glad she's making this difficult, partner. Cause I'm enjoying the hell
out of this!'
"No....no....! Ooouuuhhhhhh!! Ayuda-me, Guadalupe," Teresa prayed to the
Virgin, as Ernie the Weasel began to crush her blood-stained left nipple between
the unyielding metal tines of the second fork.
Teresa erupted into a wail that might have woken the souls in the
graveyard across the street. Ernie's exertions caused another trail of blood to
billow forth from the laceration below her crinkly aureole. Teresa could only
watch in horror as Ernie gave her a cruel smile and bent and licked at her
breast-blood. And then, seeming to like the flavor of her coconut-scented flesh,
he buried his crooked yellow teeth in Teresa's drum-taut right breast.
"Aooauuugggghhhhhh!!" Teresa gasped as Ernie's fangs dug into her tender
flesh.
A moment later the grim-faced little man pulled away and renewed his
relentless effort to force her other swollen brown nugget into the too-small
opening, and succeeded, thanks to the application of brutal force, at the
anatomical equivalent of putting a round peg in a square hole.
Once both of Teresa's excruciatingly sore nipple-nuggets had been safely
secured between the ends of the tines, Ernie began working them deeper into the
gaps between the tines. Jack watched, torn between his desire to head out for
the relative safety of the Arizona border, and his grudging admiration for the
punishment Ernie was inflicting on their voluptuous captive's tightly-bound
breasts.
As Ernie worked the dreadful fork back and forth, each millimeter of
progress brought fresh waves of pain to Teresa's tortured breasts. And fresh
cries of pain from her too-dry lips. The other once tiny cane-cut had widened a
little more, too; the thin trail of blood lengthened across the upper contour of
her sculpted right breast.
Finally, Ernie succeeded in wedging both bullet-hard nipples right up
against the base of the tines. And then, with a crazed expression in his eyes
and a hearty "Yeaahh!!" the evil little gnome gripped the handles of both forks
and twisted them downward, exerting terrible torque on the captive nuggets,
bringing new agony to every nerve cell in Teresa's mouthwatering melons.
"Eeeaaghhh!!!" Teresa screamed in despair. The trail of blood lengthened
still more, forming a crimson arc that slowly spread across the upper curve of
her breast.
"Talk, bitch!! Or I swear, I'll I twist 'em off!" She was near breaking
now; she had to be. Ernie let go of one of the forks, allowing it to dangle
from her breast, so that he could give the other one a vicious, nearly
180-degree turn.
Teresa cried out in the agonized scream of a wounded animal. But there was
no friendly ear to hear and no hint of mercy in Black Jack's reptilian
countenance or the rheumy greenish eyes of Ernie the Weasel. "Was this how it
would end?" she wondered.
And then she heard the bell.
Ernie and Jack both looked up in surprise at the unmistakable sound of a
bell ringing. Ringing loudly, even though it was still a little before sunrise.
"What the f... ?" Ernie asked, speechless for once in his life.
The bell tolled again, twice, deeply, sonorously, in rapid succession.
"The church," Jack whispered slowly. Across the street. It must be coming from
the church."
"Can't be. You saw it, Jack" said Ernie. The damn place is abandoned.
Weeds five feet high all around it. It don't look like anybody's been there for
years. And besides, it's still fuckin' dark out."
"What's goin' on, Teresa?" asked Jack. "What's with the bell?"
"It is the ... the campana grande - the great bell - in the belltower
overlooking the ... como se dice ... the ... the cemetery."
"What about the fucking cemetery?" demanded Ernie the Weasel as he grabbed
for the forks and gave Teresa's beautiful breasts another vicious wrench.
"Agghhhhh!" she cried again in agony. It felt as if the sadistic outlaw
was trying to rip her firm young breasts from her body. "It is ..." she
struggled to get the words out, "El Dia de Los Muertos."
"Speak American, whore!" Ernie answered, as he jerked the forks violently
again.
"Ohhh ... godddddddd! I can't take any more."
The churchbell clanged again, just then, causing both men to look around
nervously. Jack turned away for a moment to look out the cantina window toward
the ghostly mission.
"Unnngggggghhhh!! Teresa cried out once more, as Gibbs gave the forks
another wrench, before he relented for a moment, allowing her to catch her
breath. "Talk, mija!"
"It ... is the ... Day of the Dead," she choked out through her pain.
"Actualmente," she panted, "Today is El Dia de Todos los Santos --
Oooouuwwwwwww!!!," she groaned in anguish as Ernie twisted a fork with his free
hand when she lapsed into Spanish. "You call it the Day of All the Saints, I
think."
"What's all that got to do with that damn bell-ringing in a deserted
church?"
Teresa struggled to catch her breath and to find the English words. "The
padre must be ringing la campana grande to ... summon the people. Here we ...
honor the dead by ... visiting their graves. On the Day of All the Saints we
.... remember Los Angelitos -- Nooo... Dios!!.....stop!!.. por favor
...ooowwwwwww!!" she moaned as Ernie took hold of both horizontal forks and gave
them ninety degrees of torque. "I mean the .... 'little angels' - all of the
children ... who have died. There was an ... epidemico of ... como se dice --
cholera? eight or nine years ago," she continued haltingly. "Almost every ...
familia ... around here lost a child. Today the people will come to ...
decorate the graves, to show los ninos we... remember. And later there will be
a fiesta. For two days."
"A fiesta for dead brats? Stupid Mexicans!"
"We ... celebrate their lives, and because they are with La Santisima
Virgen de Guadalupe now, y con Dios ... with God."
Jack looked at Ernie. "C'mon, Ern. We gotta get outa here -- it sounds
like there's gonna be a hundred Mexicans swarming around this place in no time.
We'd better make ourselves scarce, pronto."
"But my money!" Ernie's eyes looked positively deranged. "Damn that
fucking bell! It's making my head hurt." He held a hand to his disfigured
temple.
"Fuck your money, stupid -- it ain't gonna do you any damn good, if you're
swinging from a rope. Bring one of those chairs back over here."
Ernie quickly retrieved the chair that he had sat in the night he'd
watched Teresa dance. He dragged it back into a corner where it was out of
sight from the windows, expecting Jack to push their prisoner toward him.
But instead Black Jack Slocum inserted his powerful right hand under the
knotted double strand of rope that formed the midpoint of the figure-eight of
white cord that linked Teresa's magnificently bound breasts. Jack gripped the
strands of rope tightly; Teresa prepared herself to be dragged halfway across
the room by her breast-ropes.
But what followed was even worse. Much worse. With a sudden powerful jerk
of his muscular right arm, and a lusty "YEAAHHHH!!" the rangy desperado lifted
Teresa directly up, about six or eight inches off the floor. So that he could
look directly into her beautiful brown eyes when she felt the entire weight of
her body being borne by her luscious melons, so ingeniously encased in Black
Jack Slocum's breast harness.
Ernie watched in awe, both in unfeigned jealousy of Black Jack Slocum's
herculean strength, and with unfeigned admiration at how with one abrupt
movement his partner had increased the pain of Teresa's breast bondage by
orders of magnitude.
The agony was epochal, excruciating. And Teresa's screams did full
justice to her anguish as she erupted into a series of agonized squeals. Her
long, lithe legs danced wildly in the air, reaching desperately but unavailingly
for a grip on terra firma.
For second after interminable second Jack held her high, glancing in turn
at Teresa's tawny globes almost as if he were waiting for them to burst from the
horrendous pressure, and then back into her tear-filled brown eyes. For her
part she stared back at him, thinking that Satan himself could not have eyes any
blacker than those of her tormentor. And that the pangs of hell could hardly be
worse than the agonies she had endured this night.
Mercifully, Jack's arm finally began to tire from his prodigious
weight-lifting feat, and he began to carry her across the room by her tits.
When he got to the chair Ernie had positioned he threw Teresa roughly into the
chair.
Jack was lightning fast with a rope; in less than two minutes, Teresa was
gagged and bound hand and foot to the chair in the corner.
"There, that oughta keep you outa sight for a coupla hours," Jack observed.
And then he retrieved the big blue knapsack from the bedroom and hurriedly
stuffed the quirt, Ernie's four-tongued whip and the two canes back into it. He
closed the bag and stalked quickly to the door, intent on a quick departure.
"One more minute, Jack. Please! She's ready to break, I know she is."
Outside, the bell, which had been silent for a minute or two, began to ring
again.
And without waiting for an answer, the half-crazed little man dashed off to
the kitchen. Jack noticed that each time Ernie strode into the kitchen,
Teresa's brown eyes seemed to follow him fearfully. As well they might, Jack
figured, since each time he returned from there, he seemed to bring fresh
instruments of torture.
And this time Ernie returned carrying a carving knife, the blade pointed
down, held safely away from his right leg. Ernie had chosen the biggest knife
in the kitchen. A nine-inch blade attached to a heavy five-inch-long wooden
handle.
Jack was pissed. Ernie knew damn well about his superstitious conviction
that cutting or scarring a woman permanently would bring him more of the same
bad luck it had brought him in the past.
"C'mon, Ern. Now! Let's go!"
"I ain't gonna cut her, Jack!" There was a greenish glow in Ernie's
feverish eyes. "I just want my damn money." And Ernie held the knife out, with
the blade extended. And for the first time, Jack and Teresa understood what
crazy Ernie had been up to. The last inch of the gleaming iron carving knife
was glowing hot and red from the fire in the kitchen that Ernie had started
earlier.
It struck Jack that it really wasn't about the money any more; it was a
battle of wills between tormentor and the tormented. But what was the point? If
Teresa had had the lousy fifty bucks, she'd have talked long ago. Wouldn't she?
"Ernie, now! Dammit!"
But Ernie was standing in front of his trussed up prisoner, grinning
psychotically, the tip of the glowing knife some six inches from Teresa's
rope-choked breasts.
"Where is it, sweetheart?" Ernie cackled insanely. "Where's my dough?"
Ernie noticed that Teresa's dark eyes were looking wildly, disorientedly,
over his shoulder. "I gotta hand it to you, darlin', you got guts." And then
with excruciating deliberation, intent on savoring every intense millisecond of
the moment, the grinning gargoyle slowly moved the red-hot knife toward the
red-streaked roundness of Teresa's plump right breast.
"Where, honey?" the sibilant voice demanded again. "Or am I gonna have'ta
turn these," and he jiggled her left breast with his free hand, "into knockers
al carbon?" as he emitted a maniacal high-pitched giggle.
"Noooooooo!!!!!" she screamed, "Not there... please God .. don't burn me
there..."
Teresa watched frantically as the sizzling blade inched its way closer.
Five inches ... four inches ... three inches, -- she could feel the heat now --
two inches -- her sensitive nipple, though still untouched, was baking from the
nearness of the knife. Teresa opened her mouth to...
And just at that moment, the church bell, which had been tolling all the
while, suddenly began to ring with new-found fervor, faster and louder, faster
and louder.
A fraction of a second later, with all her hopes and dreams collapsing
about her, Teresa saw a long, black-clad arm reach out and slap the knife away,
sending it spinning across the bare wooden floor of the cantina, its red-hot tip
sizzling against the floorboards.
"I said, now, dammit, you crazy son-of-a-bitch!" Jack's black lizard-eyes,
so deadly calm and cold all night long, were brighter now, and looked wildly
about him as the churchbell pealed still louder. "She don't know nothin' or
she'd a told us long ago. Besides that, you're gonna jinx us both. I'm ridin'
outa this three-peso town right now; if you wanna stay here and swing for rapin'
her, that's your look-out."
Jack angrily turned and stalked toward the outer door of the cantina; he
looked out to see that Cyclone, his black stallion, was waiting patiently
outside.
Ernie, who was visibly shaking with ... what? Wrath? Excitement?
Frustration? watched as Jack walked toward the door. Jack turned to face him,
his eyes once again imperious, and said, "Well?"
Ernie, wearing a rueful but rebellious expression, walked over and picked
the knife up. "All right, Jack, I'm comin'." But as he passed the chair where
Teresa sat, naked and bound, trussed hand and foot, he saw, or thought he saw, a
faint trace of contempt in her lustrous brown eyes.
In a flash Ernie Gibbs had adroitly flipped the knife handle in his hand
and caught it in stabbing position. He stood above his helpless nude victim for
a long second, his loathsome face a hideous mask of hatred, his eyes wild, tiny
bubbles of froth seeping from the corners of his mouth. Ernie held the knife
cocked at shoulder level, ready to plunge. A moment later, he issued a bestial
growl and stabbed downward, his elbow moving forward in a swift and dreadful
arc, bringing the tip of the still-sizzling carving knife flashing down between
Teresa's widespread legs. Teresa Martinez screamed for the last time, as Ernie
Gibbs snarled again and continued onward toward the door where Jack was waiting.
But then Teresa heard the churchbell ring, and realized that, somehow, she
was still alive. The trembling young woman looked down at the knife lodged
deeply in the wooden seat of the chair, faint curls of smoke rising from it. So
close had it come to her invitingly raven-fringed pussy that a few stray wisps
of pubic hair were melting from their momentary contact with the fast-moving
blade.
Ernie had almost reached the door, when he turned suddenly, and ignoring
Jack Slocum's disgusted, "Geesus, Ernie!!" walked back over toward his captive.
Despite everything, the beatings, the rapes, the tortures, Teresa's was an
inextinguishable beauty. Her hair was wet and wild, her eyes tear-streaked, her
body bathed in pearls of perspiration and streaks of scarlet, and criss-crossed
with angry marks. But her features, her eyes, her cheekbones, her lips, were as
lovely as ever, and her body was still ravishingly desirable, notwithstanding
the ropes that still choked her perfect young breasts and the dreadful forks
that ravaged her flinty brown nipples.
"I still think you're lying about the money, you Mexican cunt," Ernie the
Weasel growled as he gave both forked nipples a last vindictive wrench, as
Teresa stoically absorbed this final torment. "But I guess we got our money's
worth. And you keep your mouth shut about this -- or you'll never see your
fuckin' 'hermanos' again!"
Ernie was bluffing; he and Jack had no time or intention of returning to
the cabin where Jack had tied up Teresa's brothers. Last night, after Jack had
bound them securely and left for the cantina, Ernie had pistol-whipped both of
them both into unconsciousness in his quest to get his money back. That was why
he had felt so sure the girl was lying -- her gutless brothers had blamed
everything on her from the beginning. But when they came to, they'd be able to
free themselves eventually.
Ernie joined Jack at the door, and then, after a quick glance around, the
two desperados slipped outside into the pre-dawn dimness. Day was just minutes
from breaking as Jack leapt astride Cyclone, and Ernie mounted his own horse,
and they headed north, bound for the relative safety of the Arizona Territory.
Author's note: I hope you've enjoyed the story so far. If you have,
please do me the favor of hanging in there for one more chapter and a brief
epilogue, even though Jack and Ernie appear to have ridden off into the sunrise.
I think you'll be glad that you did.
Much obliged,
Big Jake
