Armando reserved his attack on the woman’s fur covered mons for last. He paused to catch his breath and so that the girl could consider what was next. He stepped up to her and laid his hand on the tender flesh, running his fingers between the as yet unmarred lips and stroked her until, despite her fear and agony, the slender slit began to moisten and dilate. From the girl’s widened eyes and miserable face he could see that she realized what was now coming. She sobbed heavily and closed her eyes. “Don’t worry, petita,” he thought. “It won’t kill you. But it will hurt.”
The cruel man stepped back and swung the strap at the tender target. When it struck, the blond woman’s shriek was blood curdling. He limited himself to five well aimed blows, thirty seconds apart. Each time the hard, leather
