The Latigo

The Latigo

Reviewer: My thanks to aggydagnome for evaluating the story, pointing out poorly structured sentences and plot weaknesses, some I acknowledged some not.

Editor: alexiskiara, came to my aid by correcting my spelling and grammar mistakes, thanks Alexis. All other mistakes are mine.

Disclaimer: All characters involved in sexual situations are 18 years of age or older and this is a copyright work of fiction.

Note:This story contains two heterosexual scenes and one of incest. It is NOT an incest story.

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PROLOGUE

It was in the Spanish Christian year of 1488. The Muslim leaders were squabbling between themselves. Abu Al-Zagal had lost prestige after the fall of Malaga, and Abu Abdallah took over. The King Ferdinando of Aragon assembled a small army to push the remaining Muslims into the Emirate of Granada, their last stronghold.

Our small band of Spanish Muslims refugees from the village of Baeza loaded up all their worldly goods onto three small donkey-drawn wagons. The village elder cautioned taking too much, saying, "We need to move quickly for Ferdinando. The feared General Rafael de Bayona and his soldiers are coming our way." As it was, we left a day late on our two hundred milla trek to the city of Granada.

Somehow our guide had lost his way during the night. At sunrise, the guide led us into a valley with a tight turn to the left. Only just enough room on the valley floor for single file wagons. No sooner had the group entered the valley entrance, they saw, a quarter of a mile ahead, a solid rock face. The sides were too steep, and the only way out was the way we came in. The guide called out, "turn around! It's a dead end."

But when they did, they heard the sound of horse hooves and the clanging of metal armour. Ferdinando rode into the valley entrance - beside him was General Rafael de Bayona, followed by twenty-five soldiers. Most carried swords, a couple with the new muskets. The General had his feared whip, the Latigo.

The elder stood unarmed in front of the men and boys who held their swords, bows, and arrows, ready to stand off an attack. They stood in a line across the valley floor facing our enemy, women and children, at the rear.

A silence fell over the valley - there was no breeze as the sun came over the ridge to light up the valley floor. The elder held his hands up in surrender and stepped forward to address King Ferdinando. That's when the boy beside me let fly his arrow straight towards the King. Its intended trajectory was the King's face where no armour existed, with only two vara from the King when the General flicked his Latigo, snatching it from the air.

Enraged, King Ferdinando screamed out, "Kill them! Kill them all! Leave no survivors."

Before the elder could take another step to stop this madness, a musket ball hit his chest, piercing his heart. He dropped to the ground like a stone and watched the carnage unfold - until everything went black.

After the blood lust stopped, the soldiers stood and looked around them. Bodies with missing heads, arms, blood, weeping from sword wounds. All dead to a man, woman and child. Regardless on their religion, they were still Spanish people. The soldiers dropped to their knees, praying for forgiveness, weeping at what they had done in the name of the Holy Roman Church.

The General shouted the command, "en attencion," the soldiers lined up as taught. Then he ordered, "empty the wagons. Load all the bodies onto them, including all their weapons". He consulted with Ferdinando. They could not leave the bodies here on the ground, and it would be too hard to dig, so they set out to find a more convenient burial site. Arriving at the bank of the Rio Alama, the General pointed out a sight on the far south bank of the river above the flood marks, where the soil would be easy to dig.

The General ordered the soldiers to dig a hole, ten by five vara and five vara deep. All the bodies and weapons were placed into the hole. Large boulders were placed on top, should floodwaters ever reach the site. Next, the gravesite was backfilled, then planted with willow tree cuttings around the burial site spaced one vara apart to form a Willow grove.

Happy with this result, Ferdinando decreed, "all the lands north, east, south and west for fifty milla will belong to General Rafael de Bayona, and he will be titled, Count Rafael de Bayona. All you soldiers are to build a village on the opposite side of the river on the hillside. It will be your duty to watch over this reminder. The Count will build a villa on the hilltop to the east so he can watch both the monument and the village."

Ferdinando's final words, before departing for the Principality of Catalonia, "first you must build a church, and when I arrive at the palace in Barcelona, I will send a priest to serve you."

True to his word, a priest duly arrived a year later to find a half-built church and hut in which he was to live. He noticed the villages had planted olive trees on the high side of the river and vegetable gardens on the river's edges. There was a small earth dam to hold water for drinking and irrigation of garden beds. The Count de Bayona villa was under construction. Many village men appeared to have women living with them in their stone huts, and they immediately partitioned Father Michael to marry them as a top priority.

Before Father Michael left the monastery, he had read up on the Valley of the Rio Alama. The river was at the foothills of Sierra Nevada and flooded the valley every summer when the snow melted on the mountain peaks. Winters were cold, and summers sweltering and dry. The soil along the river was fertile.

Father Michael had brought grapevines and lemon tree cuttings for the villages to plant, and two goats for milk. Furthermore, he carried all the necessary ceremonial regalia to conduct mass service each Sunday. In addition, he was the bearer of a letter from King Ferdinando for Count de Bayona. Shortly after reading the letter, the Count left for Barcelona.

Count Rafael returned some six months later, accompanied by his newlywed wife Countess Francesca and two female servants - two large wagons followed, carrying many trunks and much furniture.

A month after, my wife, Countess Francesca, and I had settled into our villa. I called a meeting of my former soldiers. I explained to my fellow compatriots at being dismayed to find the King indulging himself with wine, women and song, while we were living like peasants. I was afraid he might inadvertently leak our secret, and we would find ourselves under arrest for the massacre. To forestall this eventuality, I have written a journal covering the events of that day, from my point of view. I now want each of you to dictate your side of the tragedy. If the King goes back on his word and sends an army to arrest us, we have written evidence of his complicity in the massacre. I have with me a steel safe that uses two keys that require turning in a specific order to open the door. I want you men to secretly install the safe into the church building wall to keep the journal safe.

As each generation proceeds the next, the outgoing Count passes the keys to his eldest son, allowing him to read the story of their family history. So the past events will never be repeated. However, two hundred years later, the old Count dies while visiting this mistress in Barcelona. So the keys and story are never passed on. Only village rumours of a massacre remain.

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Henry Prescott's story.

After completing my degree in Economics and Management at Oxford University, I started working in the London financial centre. Over the past few years, I have shown my skill at making suitable investments, having a knack for picking the right time to invest sums of money, and making a reasonable profit for clients. However, I soon became frustrated with my employers, who would not let me invest large sums, stalling my career.

Then, I had a fortuitous meeting at the pub one evening with a university colleague who also thought his career had stalled. So we both decided to branch out on our own and establish Prescott & Wharton Finance and Accounting in 1950. Together managed to bring a few old clients to the new firm and soon became very successful. Before long, my investments were making huge profits in the millions of pounds for clients while Wharton looked after their accounting needs.

At twenty-six I married my childhood sweetheart, Nell Smith. Six years later and we were expecting our first child any day now. Nell called me at the office, "darling I am having my contractions. The taxi had just arrived, meet you at the hospital."

I was full of excitement when I arrived, asking the hospital information counter to find my wife, who was in childbirth. In the maternity waiting room, I paced anxiously, waiting for news of her delivery. Finally, some three hours later, the doctor came to see me with a solemn look on his face. He bluntly told me both my wife and baby had died during childbirth?

I was devastated. I received no real reason why this could happen in the modern era of medical knowledge. The doctor's explanation was, "it happens sometimes." After her funeral, I took a month's leave of absence and ended up moping around the house, drinking too much. The loss of both my wife and child was overwhelming.

Three weeks later, on a Monday morning around ten, the house phone rang. The female voice asked if I was Henry Prescott. Answering in the affirmative, she announced it was the Spanish Embassy calling. She put me through to the Ambassador, who asked, "Senor Prescott, would you be interested in a financial consultancy job in Spain? If so, will you come to the embassy tomorrow morning at eleven?" Of course, as I had nothing to lose, I said, "Yes."

I was ushered into the Ambassador's large office and offered a seat. We waited in silence for five minutes until the red phone on his desk rang. Jumping to his feet, clicking his heels, the Ambassador picked up the phone, "Hola," then listened, "Si, General Franco, he is here." Looking at me, he said, "It's Presidente del Gobierno for you!" He offered me the phone. I sat stunned, not moving for a moment, and then he shook the phone in my direction.

The upshot was Spain's economy was stalling, and the Bank of Spain needed a financial consultant to lead a team of investment advisors to get the economy moving. Someone had recommended my name. Needing a change, I called Wharton and appraised him of the proposal. He was duly impressed, saying, "you would be a fool not to accept the offer."

I call the Spanish Ambassador and agree to a twelve-month initial term with the option for five years.

After a successful year on the job, I contacted Wharton and told him I would like to extend my option with the Spanish bank. I could either stay with P&W as a silent partner, or Wharton could buy me out. He agreed to purchase my shares in the firm. So I decided to sell my home, using the money to purchase one in Madrid.

Ten years later, I met and fell in love with Maria Gonzalez, a spinster at thirty-two. We dated for four years. At the age of forty-eight, I asked for her hand in marriage. Within twelve months of our marriage, Maria was pregnant and our son John, born in the Royal Madrid Hospital. I celebrated John's birth by depositing a hundred-thousand pounds in a bank account for John's future education.

Five years later, I retired, with more money than I could spend in my lifetime. Maria and I spent the next five years travelling the world while John commenced primaria education, living with his grandparents, the Gonzalez family.

After years of travelling at sixty years of age, fed-up with city life, Maria and I decided to purchase a farm to retire on.

The farmhouse had six bedrooms, a kitchen, outside laundry, one bathroom, no hot water unless the kitchen stove was alight. Drinking water came from house water tanks. I promised Maria to have the house renovated over the next few years.

The property was located on the west side of the Rio Alama, at the foothills of the Sierra Nevada mountain range in the province of Granada. The land all around was once owned by the Bayona family dating back to the 15th century. Over the years, various Counts had to sell portions of their lands because of economic hardships. The west side of the river was built about one hundred years ago.

The current was Count Ramon de Bayona, landlord of the village Guafix. Maria and I met his family one Sunday after church service. I estimated him to be in his late forties and Countess Marsha in her early thirties. They have three children, Fernando, Olivia and the youngest, Francesca.

The small village of Guafix settlement was on the hillside above the river to avoid flooding during spring when the snow melts in the mountains. In addition, a small weir across the river held back some of the water for irrigation of grapevines and olive trees planted along the river banks.

The only bituminised road bypassed the township following the river. Village streets were gravel with no curb and guttering, quite behind the times. The pueblo had five hundred people, with essential shops, a cantina, a church and a educacion primaria. A petrol station was located on the main road skirting the village.

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John's story.

I'm the son of Henry and Maria Prescott. In my early years, I was spoiled, being the only child of an older Englishman and his young Spanish wife. My father is a retired financial adviser for the Bank of Spain.

I attend a local primaria school in Madrid as a day student. Having English and Spanish parents, I was able to speak both languages fluently. Shortly after his retirement, Dad purchased a farm. My family spent many happy summers there, with me riding a horse over the hills and valleys. The homestead was across the river on the other side of a high ridge and hidden from sight from the village or the Count's villa. I often wondered why the previous landowner had not built the house overlooking the river?

Both dad and mum appeared happy here. They made a final move when I reached twelve. So off to boarding school for me.

During el Instituto years, I spent many happy summer holidays on the farm. Dad had slowly renovated the house each year while I was at boarding school. The six bedrooms converted into four - two of the bedrooms shared an ensuite. The master bedroom had a separate ensuite with a large walk-in wardrobe. The other room became the office. In addition, dad had built an extensive outdoor patio at the rear of the house covered with shade cloth, with vines growing up the sides providing shelter and cooling the air from the hot Spanish summer winds.

The highlight of my stay was the Harvest Festival held a week before I resumed boarding school. There were food stalls, an ice cream wagon, and sideshows. The Whizzer on which I had two turns. A small Ferris wheel. But my favourite was the Dodgem cars. Mum, Dad and I, each got separate cars. It was so much fun bumping into them, especially Mum, as she would scream and laugh simultaneously.

The final event of the festival was the Latigo competition. This Latigo is no ordinary whip - its history dates back to the original settlement. General Rafael de Bayona supposedly used the whip in the late 1480s.

Instead of being a cracking whip, on its end was a steel blade or hook that can inflict severe damage. Judging the Latigo competition is done by counting the number and depth of marks left by the whip and their location on a full-body sized plywood cutout. The four primary areas of interest were the throat, face, hands and arms.

Publicly Count Ramon de Bayona was away on business, but rumours abound, he was visiting his latest mistress in Barcelona. Therefore, it fell to his twenty-one-year-old son Fernando to do the trophy presentation. This perpetual trophy records the competition's winners' names and the year etched onto small round brass discs attached to a wooden plaque. This plaque was supposedly one hundred years old. Apparently, there are five of these in the Count's sports room, if you can believe that!

With the holidays' ending, it was time for me to return to boarding school for one last year.

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Countess Marsha

It was one of those late summer heatwaves - there was no breeze to move the air. I awoke sometime in the night and reached for the water jug, only to find it empty. A full moon shone through the open balcony doorway, illuminating the room.

I walked over to the balcony railing only dressed in a white cotton ankle-length nightie, not wearing any panties because of the heat. It was surprising how far I could see over the valley to the village. Picking up the jug, I headed for the kitchen to get more cool water. As I passed Fernando's room, I absently looked in. He lay on his bed naked, and his firm manly body took my breath away. I was so proud of him today for taking his father's place for the trophy presentation.

I hadn't seen him naked since he was a baby. Now a young man. I gazed at his strong chest, solid arms, muscular legs and broad shoulders. His penis, even soft, was much larger than his fathers. As a baby, it was big. It will be a gift to the woman he chooses to be his wife.

I found myself drawn in as the next thing I remember was standing beside his bed, gazing at his penis as it appeared to grow before my eyes. I reached down and gently took it in my hand, and started stroking it. I knew it was wrong of me, but I was mesmerised. His cock quickly reached its full length. I estimated six to seven inches, as I couldn't get my thumb and forefinger to touch. Kneeling, I had the urge to put it in my mouth, something I had never done for my husband but did it now. Running my tongue around the hot knob, sucking his cock deep into my mouth, I felt my vagina become wet in anticipation of sex.

While I sucked and licked his cock my mind wondered what it would feel like to have this monster inside my body. Having three children had stretched my vagina, and these days I no longer felt Ramon's penis enter my channel.

But with this cock I would know it was there. Before I had another thought, I was on the bed with my nightie around my waist and lowered my slick vagina down on that massive cock which fully stretched my vagina's entrance. I could feel every ripple along its shaft. I groaned out loud, finally waking Fernando. He started to protest. I put my hands on his shoulders to hold him down and proceeded to bounce up and down on the magnificent cock. His hands captured my swinging breasts, thumbs tweaked my hard nipples. Leaning down to kiss him with all the passion I had to reach my climax before he did. What I didn't take into consideration was his sexual inexperience. Before I could stop him, he ejaculated deep into me, triggering my orgasm, filling me with his potent baby making seed.

After the exhilaration we lay in each other's embrace for a few seconds before I came to my senses, jumped up, running back to my room, slamming the door. I could not sleep for the rest of the night, tossing and turning on my bed. The only thought going through my mind over and over again was, WHAT HAVE I DONE...what have I done? It all seems surreal - a nightmare. How could I have had sex with my son? It's against the church let alone the law. No penance can absolve my sin, I couldn't possible confess it to the priest. I'll live in guilt and shame for the rest of my life.

We skirted around each other for a few days -- then Fernando said he was off to do some study at the University of Catalonia. After that, we never spoke of it again. But a month later, I missed my period. So I made sure I had sex with Ramon just in case.

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John