As she continued to watch, Arabella noticed Alejandro’s c**k was erect, shoving out against the soft fabric of his loincloth. This exercise of power and mastery clearly aroused him, giving him gratification from even the symbolic taking of a virgin sacrifice. The more she saw of the Mexican, the more uncomfortable and distrustful she became. An aura of absolute dissolute and wicked malice seemed to glow around him like a foul parody of sanctified radiance.
Finally, he drew the wand back, took up the knife, again drew the knifepoint the length of Marisol’s nude body, and then stepped back. After a moment, the young woman arose, retrieved a simple white smock from the floor and slipped it on. She crossed the room to where Arabella and her mother stood, steps slow and not quite steady. Her e
