Chapter V Black Betsy
Teresa glared at the horrible little man with the misshapen face and the
swollen eye, and took a deep breath, determined to hold on to the molding for
dear life. For his part, Ernie grinned sadistically and continued to fondle her
mouthwatering breasts, every now and then dropping one of his tobacco-stained
hands to the juncture of her thighs, where he pried open the soft lips of her
womanhood and worked his fingers inside.
Jack, meanwhile stood patiently behind her, black belt in hand, waiting for
her to falter, as falter she eventually must. And he thought back on how he had
come to own the punishing belt, whose frightful kiss no woman who'd felt it
would ever forget.
Jack had gotten "Black Betsy" from an ancient Indian who had told him that
he'd discovered a mysterious leather-tanning process that produced the toughest,
meanest, most devastating leather in the world. Jack had been eager but
skeptical. But after trying the strap out on the soft skin of Black Crow's
nubile grand-daughter he had been convinced. Her frenzied writhings and
anguished cries as he'd ripped into her shapely buttocks with the strap Black
Crow had offered him had borne ample witness to the bitterness of Betsy's bite.
Strangely, whether because of some mystical Indian mumbo-jumbo or some
cryptic chemistry, the Indian's leather, he had been assured, left marks that,
however deep, however lurid, faded within hours or at most a few days. Jack had
come back, at the old man's invite, a few days later, and sure enough the nasty
marks he had left on the young girl's heart-shaped bottom had almost completely
faded away. And Black Jack liked that -- he liked marking young girls up with
his belt -- liked it a lot. But it was nice to have a fresh canvas to paint on,
too.
Betsy's strange properties had been proven once again, Jack remembered, at
the Wilson ranch. Honey Wilson's beautifully sun-bronzed skin had indeed
recovered very quickly from the savage flogging he had given her on the first
night at the Wilson Ranch.
But tonight it was lovely Teresa's turn to feel the sharp kiss of Black
Betsy. Jack, standing slightly at an angle behind the stretching girl, studied
the graceful lines of Teresa's body. The bolero covered, but could not conceal,
her well-toned rounded shoulders partly covered by cascades of lustrous black
hair, and her graceful back The black top ended a few inches below her breast
line, displaying an expanse of golden skin and the inviting hollow just above
the base of her elegant spine. Her back tapered to a tiny waist whose diameter
he could have almost spanned with one of his huge hands. Below her trim waist,
her hips swelled nicely. Teresa's taut arms quivered with fatigue while Jack
studied her ripely rounded buttocks, aquiver with apprehension.
Jack's lips parted in a wolfish grin as he patiently watch the helpless
nude beauty struggle to keep her arms aloft. But time, time at its most
relentless and inexorable, eventually took its toll, and gradually the strength
ebbed from her shoulders, and a deep, dull ache began to growl louder and louder
from every muscle, until at last she could take no more, and her weary arms gave
out and fell limply to her sides.
With a quick motion Jack took the big black belt back and whipped it down
hard until it exploded like a gunshot -- CRAACKK!! on the base of Teresa's
nicely-curved bottom. "Unnggh" she grunted through the gag. Her heart-shaped
culo was on fire!
Ernie had seen her weakening and his hands had returned to breasts. When
the blow fell, he felt her jugs jiggle deliciously in his hands. This was gonna
be a night to remember, he thought to himself. "Get 'em back up there, bitch!"
he warned.
Teresa tried but there was little strength left in her arms, and less than
a minute later her strength gave out again.
CRAACCKK!! Jack smoked her again, this time punishing the ripest curves of
her ass, drawing another plaintive "Unngghh" in response. Meanwhile Ernie's
ragged nails had honed in on her tender nipples.
""Get 'em up!" the little man threatened. "And think of somethin'
sexy,darlin'" he said as he clawed at her cocoa-colored nipples. I want these
babies hard!"
Teresa frantically lifted her burning arms once again. While he waited,
Jack eyed her golden bottom rounds, and the inviting shadowy cleft between them.
Two dark streaks now marred their plump perfection. Just then his mind thought
back to Morales, the sadistic Mexican prison guard; his complexion had been much
the same as Teresa's. When her strength faded and her arms fell again, the
thought of Morales gave added force to Jack's next blow which blistered her
cafe-au-lait buttcheeks again. Three reddish-brown streaks now. "She'd have a
lot more before the night was through," Jack thought with a grin. He was just
getting warmed up!
"Get 'em back up, you lazy whore" Ernie's mocking voice rang out, even as
he worked on Teresa's stiffening nipples, tweaking and twisting them, while Jack
gave her another bolt of black leather lightning across her buttcurves. Teresa
lifted her lifeless arms slowly once again. Suddenly Ernie backed away,
grimaced, and held a hand to his left temple, obviously in great pain.
"What's wrong, pard?" Jack asked, pausing in mid-stroke.
"I'm havin' me another of one them spells; ever since they slugged me with
that fuckin' bottle, I been gettin' 'em off and on. Feels like I got a fuckin'
railroad spike in my eye."
"Well, sit down and rest a spell; pour yerself a drink. I think I got
things purty well under control here. Don't I, Teresa?"
The Latin beauty's hands trembled as she tried to retain her contact with
the molding. She fought the pain for long torturous seconds, but gravity
eventually won out, and she dropped her arms. And as soon as she did she felt
the terrible leather leave a sizzling stripe across the small of her back. "When
you goin' to learn to keep them arms up, honey?" Jack taunted her. "And get
back up on yer fuckin' toes!"
Ernie grabbed a bottle from behind the bar and took a seat at the nearest
table. He took a long pull from the bottle, hoping the strong liquor would ease
the pain. And then he watched as the raven-haired goddess extended her arms
upward again. But there was almost no strength left in her shoulders, and when
she soon faltered, she was rewarded with a vicious downward slash across her
sleek, straining calves. Then, when she was still unable to respond, Black
Jack Slocum unleashed a powerful blow across her hitherto unscathed shoulders,
ripping a hole in the satin bolero.
Jack watched as his tortured prisoner fought the pain and once again
reached heavenward. A long, low rumble of thunder rolled through the summer
night, tailing away, and then swelling once again before exploding into a
violent thunderclap.
The disturbance in the cosmos seemed an evil omen to Teresa; and so it
proved to be. Somehow the Spanish word for storm - la tormenta - seemed eerily
appropriate.
It was only a moment later that she heard the two words that she had been
dreading to hear since the beginning of the 'game'.
"Turn around." Jack's voice was soft, but dripping with malignant intent.
