The Humbled

An apartment, Juarez, Mexico

An apartment, Juarez, Mexico

“I will cut your t**s off and laugh as I feed them to my dogs!”

For the woman of color, listening to the bellicose invective brings a smile and the slight tug of her hand. Her action transforms the vocal attack of words to squeamish shrieks as the leash chain tightens and the nose ring imparts bone jarring pain to the many nerve endings in the septum.

“Be a good boy for me, Roberto. Silence is best since you no longer have the upper hand,” she admonishes as tears stream to mix with the blood of the recent piercing.

The woman mercifully loosens her grip, turns and cuts open a final clear plastic bag of white powder. Exceeding Roberto’s physical anguish is the mental torment of watching as hundreds of thousands of dollars of cocaine are flushed down the toilet.

“Surely you realized the hazards of competing with Pedro Anguila... and trying to do so with his own product is rather shameless. Stolen drugs. Very brazen, Roberto.”

Another kilo splashes into the bowl and is flushed.

“Stealing from drug dealers, Roberto... tsk... tsk. Must be a better way for a boy like you to earn his keep. And I believe I will find one for you.”

Roberto recovers from the instant of trauma... slightly more reasoned.

“I have cash. Whatever Pedro has offered I will top it.”

The woman laughs.

“You think I handle bad boys like you just for money?”

The cocaine disposed, the woman gently gathers the slack of the chain leash.

“Come let’s take a little walk. You’ll begin to better understand why I do this.”

Roberto, stripped naked, dons the curious collection of steel shackles and cuffs that have come to symbolize the woman’s avocation. His balls bear the tight scrotal cuff. Two chains lead to ankle cuffs right and left, the limited lengths forcing him to kneel. His neck is encircled with the signature steel collar and connecting bar. His arms are secured, upwards with elbows pointed toward the ceiling, biceps attached together and forcibly held behind his head by the length of metal protruding left and right over his shoulders. This immobilizes his arms, makes his hands useless and forces Roberto to keep his head bowed.

The woman offers the slightest tension on the chain connected to Roberto’s hastily pierced nose. The inserted ring functions well, bringing another yelp.

“Come, come, my pet. It’s time to become accustomed to a woman’s controlling hand. Your adversary Pedro has mandated that you live a life of servitude.”

With the words, the guiding hand pulls in a simple demonstration of feminine empowerment. The tension slowly mounts and a futilely resisting Roberto finally shuffles forth one knee to relieve the pain. He is chagrined to have to obey.

“To the balcony. I want you to show yourself while a woman enjoys her governance.”

The woman slides open the wide glass door leading to the sun deck of the seventh floor luxury apartment.

“No! Not like this!” comes a feeble protest.

She snickers. “Oh, Roberto, a hardened gangster like you... so shy.”

His mind occupied, Roberto does not notice the small black device in the woman’s free hand.

“Mr. Anguila wants proof that the deed is done. He’s in the black car at the corner. Sorry you won’t be able to wave good bye to him.”

Into the Mexican sunlight the woman forces the vicious drug dealer to shuffle left knee then right, exposing him to all. He mentally formulates another threat, visualizing the feeding of other female anatomical parts to his canines. Yet, he has quickly learned obedience and remains silent. The woman is implacable... that he has also quickly learned.

The woman ensures that Roberto is positioned to fully display his bound nakedness then cruelly pulls straight upward on the leash, forcing an agonizing wrenching of his head. The free hand palming the black box reaches down and gruffly pokes Roberto’s manhood through the iron bars of the balcony railing. He is huge... and hardening... the tight scrotal cuff and jostling chains bringing strange sensations and an unexpected reaction... or perhaps it is the woman’s strict supervision that brings stiffness.

At the street corner below, the horn of the waiting black car honks in acknowledgment, the lights flash. The woman laughs picturing the gleeful occupants enjoying the sight... sweet vengeance... a most ignominious end for a vexatious antagonist. She smiles and waves. Then she de-telescopes the small antenna from the black box in her hand.

“Say good bye, Roberto. The revelry of Mr. Anguila’s revenge will be short.”

The flash of light arrives first. Then a shock wave and deafening explosion. The car instantly disintegrates and erupts in flames.

“We leave no trails, Roberto. Not even your most ardent enemies will tell of your destiny.”

Realization dawns on a mind fogged by a multitude of traumatic events. Stripped naked, limbs encumbered, illicit wealth destroyed, led about and displayed collared and leashed, Roberto quivers with the wicked simplicity of the mayhem he has just witnessed. The woman is his superior! She rules!

The woman flips up the hem of her short skirt. For the first time a well tamed Roberto notes the alluring combination of muscle and smooth mocha flesh. A hand delves then reappears, the fingers glistening with the fragrant moisture of feminine arousal. She reaches to smear Roberto’s blood encrusted upper lip. The hand is tender and caring, curiously composed after callously pressing a button to bring death. Roberto inhales the muskiness. Oddly, it serves to calm.

“Beginning to understand? Now let’s practice a little more with the leash shall we? We have another hour before flight time. And I’ll need some photos of that nice big p***s of yours...”