Lost in Lisbon

"Sweet torture with sugar and spice"

This new chapter of "Lost in Lisbon" continues from Chapter 6, when Sara, Sofia's former student and now also Miguel's slave, finishes her treatment at Carla's Spa. It takes place during the same time period when Miguel and Sofia are participating in the afternoon talk show "A Tininha."

It can be read as a stand alone story.

But those who have read "The Terrorist" series and Lost in Lisbon will enjoy it more. Anyway, chapters "Lost in Lisbon 5-7" are my most recent works. I hope you like them and vote, and especially that you leave comments. I'm trying to avoid my tendency to write very long chapters.

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Sara's POV:

My body still tingled as Mariana wiped down the massage table, her movements efficient but unhurried. "Looks like I'll have to take you back to the gym and give you another shower," she said, a knowing smile playing at her lips. My second orgasm had been explosive - nothing like I'd ever experienced before. Two days of denial had turned my body into a live wire.

"No!" I pushed myself up on shaky arms. "I'll help clean up and I can perfectly well use a cloth to clean my legs and cunt - don't make me take another shower." Cunt. It was a vulgar word, one I'd usually spit out to trash-talk other women rather than refer to my own vulva, but that's what I felt like now - a whore who couldn't live without getting railed, just a loose cunt. I shifted uncomfortably, still sensitive from the treatment. Sex had always been natural to me since I first discovered it - first alone, then with my friends, and finally with my girlfriend. My parents had always spoken openly about these things, and our home library had various books that answered a teenager's natural curiosity. I suspect my mother, who despite appearances had always been the head of the household, selected the books I would casually find and then read about this and other subjects. But this... this hunger wasn't natural - it was the result of the torture women were subjected to in prison, just like my new aversion to water.

Mariana's voice cut through my thoughts. "OK, then clean yourself up and get dressed - we'll show the results to your owner," she said while I cleaned myself.

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"No. Don't forget what we agreed on - it's crucial Sofia knows nothing about this. She's at her best when... One moment..."

Mariana and I lingered in the doorway of the office, her knuckles hovering over the rich mahogany desk. "May we come in, boss?"

"Yes, come in - I'm just on the phone with Miguel," said the fat woman in her silk kimono, turning back to her call. "Your skinny little slave just arrived... Is she pretty?... Well, at least her hair isn't blue anymore... Yes, I'll send you a photo..." Her eyes narrowed as she looked me over. "Mariana, why is the slave dressed?"

"We came through the main area..." Mariana started to explain, but was cut off sharply.

"You - strip! Are you deaf?" she barked at me. "Your owner wants to see how you turned out."

I quickly peeled off my clothes, hating every second of it. But I'd learned that my owner's orders were to be obeyed without question nor delay.

She approached me with her phone in hand, and started taking pictures.

"Hands behind your neck and legs spread," she ordered while running her fingers across my armpits.

"See? What do you think? It feels like velvet," she said into the phone, her voice carrying that particular tone older women use when discussing their expertise.

"Her pussy... I'll send you a video..." she brought the phone closer, its lens uncomfortably near as her fingers assessed the quality of the waxing, spreading my labia with practiced efficiency. "Smooth as a baby's bottom... No she's not wet... But her fanny's still quite swollen... I'll ask."

"How did the massage go?" she asked Mariana, as if I weren't even there, naked and exposed.

"Very well, boss. She was only uncomfortable during the shower, but caused no trouble and... and had two orgasms during the massage." Mariana answered with evident pride in her work.

"Two orgasms? Hmm, I need to book a massage with you." A hungry look crossed her face that made me wonder about her real intentions.

"Did you hear that? Your skinny girl came twice... how do you want to arrange dinner? I was thinking dinner at my place before the second talk show... yes something light... Ok, 6:30, better make it 7... Yes, yes, I'll bring your slave... Can I play with her? You know how much I love young bodies... Oh no, no more orgasms for her, I promise... That thing you like? Of course I remember how to do it... Mmm, remember last time? You naughty, naughty man... God, you still know exactly what to say to make a girl wet... kisses darling, see you soon." Her voice had gone from hard businesslike to pure bedroom silk.

She gestured for me to sit, my bare skin goosebumping against the cold black leather chair, while she handed Mariana a thick envelope. "Two orgasms, don't forget," she said with a greedy smile. Mariana practically floated out of the office, pausing at the door to throw me a conspiratorial wink - we had both received an excellent bonus, though of very different kinds.

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Carla's pov.

Miguel turned out even better than I hoped - first he rams his cock up my cunt just once, then zips up and walks out with Sofia, leaving me wet and throbbing with need. And now he leaves me alone with his new slave. The little slut gets two orgasms while I'm left here sucking my fingers, I chuckled bitterly to myself, looking again at the naked teenager sitting in my office. I bring my fingers to my face, inhaling the scent of sex still lingering on them.

Miguel and now this slave of his had awakened all my appetite all my appetites. I picked up the phone to call "Rio Coura." it was a typical restaurant just across the Sé cathedral.

"Good afternoon, Mr. Manuel... Yes, it's Carla... No, for delivery this time, to my office... Yes, your delicious cod à minhota... A bottle of vinho verde, the one I like... And a rice pudding, lots of cinnamon please... How long? Perfect, I'll have someone waiting at reception... Cheers, love." I could already taste it - the salted cod fried to perfection, layered with golden rounds of potatoes and swimming in garlicky olive oil, topped with those sweet caramelized onions and fresh parsley - and I could just as easily imagine Sara's tongue between my thighs. Miguel had told me how she'd woken him up, how good she was at sucking cock - it was the least he could do to make it up to me.

I observed Sara carefully. Sofia and Miguel had told me about her, and I'd researched Sara Messias via Google. Sofia believed she deserved salvation and considered her one of her best pupils, alongside Vasco (see "Back to School" and "Lost in Lisbon Ch.1"). Vasco was indeed a brilliant student and quite an interesting young man, who continues to give me immense pleasure during our long summer afternoons. I must say Vasco and Miguel stand at the top among my numerous lovers over the years. My dear friend Sofia hasn't the faintest idea of the pleasure she gives me, beyond the pleasure she herself provides.

"Your name is Sara, isn't it? Miguel told me you were a gift for Sofia. How are you adapting to your new life?" She looked at me with that typical teenage expression, perhaps intensified by the humiliation of having to be naked in front of a stranger.

"Why ask something you already know? Yes, my name is Sara, and yours is Carla. You're the girlfriend of my teach... of Sofia and Miguel." Her tone was as dry as possible, filled with anger and rebellion against her situation, but also envy or jealousy, and a desperate need to maintain posture and dignity in the most undignified of situations.

"We're going to spend the afternoon together. I thought we could chat. As you said, I'm Sofia and Miguel's girlfriend - we'll be spending a lot of time together." Girlfriend? I wasn't really a girlfriend, but I was more than a friend. Miguel and Sofia were a couple, and Sofia and I were intimate friends and lovers, while Miguel and I were lovers but also business partners. There wasn't really a term to define me socially.

"Talk?" she challenged, her naked body tense despite her attempt at defiance. "I heard what my owner said on the phone. Should we discuss your plans to use me as your plaything? Or maybe what you and him are plotting behind Miss Sofia's back?" Her tone mixed teenage rebellion with genuine anger.

"We could discuss all of that," I replied casually, moving closer while pretending to focus on my orchids. "Or we could talk about you, about anything really. Though I wonder - why maintain this hostility? It won't change your situation, it only makes you look... unrefined." I let my eyes drift over her body as I spoke, enjoying how it made her shift uncomfortably."

"How would you react if you were the one naked in my living room, knowing that a girl you've never met in your life is going to use you to satisfy her carnal desires? And believe me, if I were in your position, you'd already have your mouth on my vulva." Her voice mixed challenge with a hint of bitterness, her body tense despite her attempt at maintaining dignity.

"Perhaps exactly as you are," I replied thoughtfully, moving around my orchids, letting their delicate petals brush my fingers. "Though honestly, I don't know - I'd like to think I'd be more rational about it." I approached her slowly, like a cat studying its prey. "But tell me - do you want my mouth on your pussy because you find me attractive? Or because you're craving orgasms like a smoker craves cigarettes?"

"Both reasons - I crave orgasms, it's how the prison system controls female inmates, but I also find you attractive and know you're a woman capable of giving me the orgasms I need." I smiled and loosened my kimono.

"And after my tongue is between your thighs, after I give you your first orgasm, your second, your third... what would you do with the naked woman in your office?" I said this while kneeling before her, my loosened kimono exposing my body.

"I don't know what I'd do, I haven't thought beyond that point, but I know you won't give me any orgasms - I heard my owner's orders not to." I spread her legs and my lips kissed her thighs. I saw how her body responded, legs opening instinctively before quickly clamping shut. "NO! Stop! I know you can't, so please don't torture me. I'll do whatever you order, and don't worry, I'm very good at eating pussy, but please don't do this, don't torture me!" she exclaimed.

"Sara my dear, I love sex, and I love the foreplay even more - it's almost as pleasurable as sex itself. If you don't want me to give you pleasure, I won't force you. But if you want me to place my tongue between your legs, you can be certain you'll come." I told her while rising, letting my sex remain half-exposed. Sara's brown eyes fixed on my center before meeting my gaze.

"But my owner's orders?" she asked, fear in her voice.

I tugged her leash, making her stand. Despite her hard expression, I felt her body trembling as I caressed her face.

"Miguel spoke to me, not to you. Whatever happens this afternoon stays between us," I whispered conspiratorially, my hand casually sliding down to cup her small breast.

"Why all this? Why not just spread your legs and order me to eat you out, without these word games?"

"Because I'm not a rapist, darling. Pleasure should be shared, not stolen or forced. And because," I smiled, "the game of seduction pleases me."

"I know what you'd do if our positions were reversed. You'd force me to eat your cunt," I said with a knowing smile. "Tell me, what crime would I be convicted of? How many years of slavery would I serve?" I moved languidly to the sofa, stretching out with my arms behind my head, my left leg dangling to the floor, my body a study in strategic revelation.

"Your crime... Treason," Sara answered with youthful righteousness.

"The worst of all crimes. And tell me, little Sara, who did I betray? What would my punishment be?" I smiled, waiting for her answer, knowing full well treason could have only one sentence.

"Do I really need to tell you?" Her voice trembled with righteous anger. "Don't you know you're a traitor to all women? Even to yourself. How can you do this, turning your sisters into sexual objects for men's pleasure? For profit? Look at yourself in the mirror - your breasts mutilated to fit the patriarchy's beauty standards, your vulva stripped of the hair that defines you as a woman. You've let them reduce you to either a child or a whore, but never an adult woman with her own sexual identity independent from patriarchal control."

I listened to her passionate condemnation, one I'd heard before in feminist circles, though never delivered with such raw conviction. She was brave, my little radical feminazi - most people would never dare speak these words to my face, especially not while naked and leashed.

"And what would my sentence be, after committing such treachery against all women?" I asked her again ironically. "Would my breasts be torn off with red-hot irons? My hair ripped out by the roots? My naked body dragged through the streets? And after the dogs had devoured my mutilated corpse, would women be better off, happier?" I yanked her leash, pulling her close to my body, and took her hand, pressing it against my bare breast. "Does this breast offend you so much? Or perhaps my vulva?" I guided her trembling hand down to my sex - a whore's sex, according to her inflamed rhetoric.

She withdrew her hand as if burned, shocked by my crude description of the logical conclusion to her accusation. I watched her struggle for a response, her revolutionary certainties crumbling slightly. Despite her fierce rhetoric, I was certain that tearing off my breasts with red-hot irons hadn't been part of her actual plans.

KNOCK! KNOCK! The sound at my office door broke our intensity. I adjusted my kimono with practiced elegance and rose to answer - likely my receptionist announcing lunch delivery. I looked back at Sara, still naked and flushed from our encounter, and smiled to myself. How I would enjoy eating her sweet cod later, but for now I'd have to satisfy myself with the minhota style cod first.

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Sara's POV:

Saved by the bell, or in this case by lunch, at least temporarily. But the truth was that this cat and mouse game would end with eating pussy, but was she telling the truth about giving me pleasure? Should I accept when my owner forbade it? She was clearly plotting something with my owner behind Miss Sofia's back - could I trust someone like that?

"Thank you, Lu. I hope you gave the delivery boy a good tip," I heard her tell the receptionist as she carried in the tray. The aroma of garlic, olive oil, and fried cod made my mouth water and my empty stomach tighten. I waited anxiously to see if she would have the decency to offer me food. She took an ice bucket from the small office fridge, opened a bottle of Anselmo Mendes 2021, and poured two glasses.

"I hope your radical ideas don't prevent you from enjoying good cod, or at least sharing a chilled glass of vinho verde," she said, offering me a wine glass after placing the bottle in the ice bucket to keep it chilled.

"I'm not vegan - vegans are false environmentalists who deny human nature. Besides, I love meat and fish... though I wasn't expecting you to share your meal with a slave." My tongue betrayed me - Sara control your tongue if you don't want to go hungry, I said to myself.

"I'd be delighted to share my food with a slave, unless you object to dining with a capitalist whore," she retorted with a provocative look. My fingers hesitated for a moment before taking the glass, the cool crystal a stark contrast to my warm skin. I smiled back, trying to match her provocative tone.

"Jesus dined with slaves and prostitutes - aren't we both..."

"A toast to whores and slaves," said Carla, raising her glass to meet mine, her eyes glittering with amusement at her own provocative toast.

We sat at the mahogany desk, and a complete set of glasses, plates, and cutlery in her office revealed this as a regular ritual. I waited for her to serve herself cod before helping myself - the amount of cod and potatoes would have easily fed two more people. As I tasted my first forkful of fried cod and potatoes, I was transported back to my childhood summers spent with my parents and grandparents in Alto Minho. The only difference was that now I didn't have to wait for my mother to be distracted to sneak sips of vinho verde. It was incredible how a fish caught thousands of kilometers away in Norwegian seas and a tuber brought from the Andes had combined with olive oil and garlic to become the foundation of a people's cuisine. I took another sip of wine, completely absorbed in this culinary trip, momentarily forgetting my situation.

"Thank you, it's delicious. I haven't had cod à minhota this good in ages, and the wine reminds me of what my grandfather made - fresh with fruit flavors and the coolness of summer afternoons by the river." The truth was that after three weeks in prison eating recycled urban waste protein, even a Big Mac would taste divine, but this was truly an exceptional lunch.

"I wouldn't be so poetic about it, but yes, it's excellent wine and the cod is divine - the fruits of my work as a capitalist whore, molding women to fit patriarchal aesthetics," she replied dryly. "Wait until you try the rice pudding - you might have another orgasm, especially with the astronomical amounts of cinnamon powder."

She was right - it was truly excellent, the rice pudding creamy and sweet, and the cinnamon invaded my nostrils with its heady aroma. No wonder we had sailed all the way to Ceylon to bring back this spice, the true cinnamon that only exists on that island. The cinnamon and wine were making me light-headed, my thoughts growing hazier - was that her intention all along? The spice had been one of the few natural aphrodisiacs before Viagra came along, I remembered from my readings, though in my current state, I couldn't recall if that was fact or fiction.

"Thank you for the lunch. The rice pudding was wonderful, and you were right - the cinnamon gave it a special, different flavor." She smiled while taking a small spoonful of rice pudding in her mouth.

"You should eat more slowly, savor the pleasures of the table - good wine, dessert, taking more time with each bite." She held out her spoon. "Would you like some of mine?"

"No thank you, I'm full," I said politely, though in reality I could have eaten two or three more bowls of rice pudding.

She laughed, my hungry gaze betraying my words. "Here, you're too skinny." Her arm extended with a spoonful of rice pudding, generously dusted with cinnamon. When I leaned forward and opened my mouth, the spoon hit my chin, and I dropped the contents down my body, most of it landing on my naked thigh.

"I'm sorry, it was an accident. I'll clean it up - at least I didn't stain any clothes," I said embarrassed, using the spoon to scrape the rice pudding from my thigh.

"How I envy that rice pudding, it must be even sweeter now," she said, watching me clean my body awkwardly. "Let me help you." She removed the bit that had fallen on my small breast, then slowly sucked her fingers clean in a sensual way. "You know Sara, this isn't how I planned it, but sometimes unplanned things are the best." She scooped up more rice pudding and spread it across my breasts while I remained still, frozen. So this was how it would happen - the time had come for me to pay for my meal.

"Kiss me. If you're going to fuck me, at least kiss me first." It was a challenge, but also a desire, and truth be told, the way she touched my breasts wasn't unpleasant at all. The grains of rice against my nipples - it was abusive, but she wasn't a rapist. The whore knew what she was doing.