Antonio Wayne snapped his wrist with precision, his narrowed eyes tracking the whip as it snapped off the concrete floor with a sharp crack! Years of practice had honed his expertise with his favorite torture implement. No one else wielded a whip with the same mastery, even artistry, that came so naturally to him.

Arturo had heard the horror stories about Antonio Wayne Ramirez and the beatings he’d given, but tonight, chained to the wall, he would experience it firsthand.

The next snap of Antonio Wayne’s wrist brought the tip of the whip in contact with the concrete wall next to the Arturo’s head. He yelped in alarm, his body jerking against his restraints, his eyes squeezing shut. One more crack of the whip on the other side of his semi-nude body caused him to scream out in fear.

Antonio Wayne took a step back, flexing his fingers around the handle of the whip as he regarded the man with contempt. Slowly tapping his thumb against the leather grip, he pondered where he would make his first cut into Arturo’s back. The fool had fallen asleep at his post—this little ‘discussion’ would ensure it never happened again.

Pleasure warmed Antonio Wayne’s chest as he surveyed the options available to him. His mind was constantly coming up with new ways to brutalize his fellow man. This was his favorite room in the house. The dungeon was set aside for torture and interrogation. Though it was sparsely furnished, it had everything needed to glean information, discipline rebellion or exact retribution. There was also an adjoining room designed for more intimate, erotic torture sessions, which he reserved for his wife. His cock surged impatiently at the thought of how easily her alabaster skin reddened under his hand.

Iron shackles were bolted into the wall next to a long table with cuffs dangling from each corner. A crude meat hook hung from the ceiling but was rarely used; the sight of it was usually all that was required to gain a subject’s cooperation. Another wall housed a display of crude implements and tools, some of which looked like they’d come from the Middle Ages.

The first crack of the whip connected with Arturo’s lower back. His scream echoed off the crude concrete walls and floor. There would be ten lashes. Antonio Wayne would be certain not to overlap them. This wasn’t an enemy of the cartel so he wasn’t interested in skinning him, not really; this was one of his own men so he was simply sending a message that one’s cartel responsibilities were not to be taken lightly.

But he didn’t hold back either, getting the maximum effect from each stroke of the whip. By the tenth lash, Arturo was slipping in and out of consciousness, slumped over and hanging limply from the manacles. Antonio Wayne nodded at the two guards who stood at attention on either side of the door. “Take him up to the infirmary and then stay the fuck out of here—I’ve got more pressing business to attend to.”

He waited until one of the guards tossed the man’s unresponsive body over his shoulder like a sack of potatoes. When the heavy iron door opened and then scraped closed behind them, he looked down at the whip handle in his hand, smiled, and ventured deeper into the dungeon.

The adjoining room was far more lavishly decorated. Instead of concrete, the fully stocked and furnished BDSM playroom featured mahogany wall paneling and luxurious carpet. Along the wall was an array of implements carefully handcrafted by the best in the business.

“Ah, there you are,” he said genially, as if greeting an eagerly awaited dinner guest. “I hope I didn’t keep you waiting long. I know I told you twenty minutes, give or take, but my meeting lasted longer than I expected. I’m sure you were anxious for my return, so here I am. Comfortable?”

His wife glared at him from where she dangled by her wrists, her hands secured above her head by manacles that were attached to the bottom of a heavy length of chain. Her body was stretched to its limits, toes barely grazing the floor as she twirled this way and that, struggling in vain to gain solid footing.

“Be still,” he commanded quietly as he approached, shamelessly leering at the curves he knew so intimately. He circled her slowly, pausing from time to time to insolently squeeze a breast or stroke a thigh. He held the whip low at his side, letting its sleek length slither around his feet like a serpent.

Roxanne knew this game all too well. She could read his agitated state of mind in a single glance, having long ago become intimately acquainted with her husband’s sadistic nature. Judging by the hard-on tenting the front of his pants, he had probably just beaten the shit out of someone in the dungeon and was likely seething with raw sexual aggression. He needed an outlet, some form of release. The physical encounter they were about to have would be intense, sadistic…and, no doubt, infinitely satisfying for them both.

His steps slowed until he stood close behind her. A fingertip trailed softly down her spine until he was cupping her ass. He stroked and squeezed each cheek, then centered his hand and lightly pressed the length of his middle finger between them. Her breath caught in her throat as he slid his hand lower, between her legs, and slipped the thick finger inside her pussy. His finger was slick with her arousal as he ever-so-slowly slid his hand back to lightly stroke her rear entrance. He circled the tight rosette, slathered it with her cream, then pushed his finger in up to the knuckle.

Her body jerked in response to the intrusion, causing her to lose her already precarious footing. Without any contact with the floor, she was once again dangling freely at the end of the chain – only this time with her husband’s finger up her ass.

Antonio Wayne pressed his whip-wielding hand over her stomach and pulled her back against him. With her back to his front, he pulled his finger partially out, then added a second. He pushed them past the tight ring of muscle and began thrusting in and out. “Been a while since I’ve taken this ass properly. Do you still enjoy anal play, Roxanne?”

“You know I do…oh, God…take my ass…take it…,” she moaned as she arched back against his hand, moving her hips in a slow, wanton circle as he scissored his fingers inside her tight channel.

He tucked the whip under his arm and brought his free hand down on her ass, giving it a sharp smack. “You don’t give the orders here. Trust me, when I fuck your ass there won’t be any warning.” With a sly smile, he withdrew his fingers from her asshole and stepped away, staying out of her field of vision as he discreetly cleaned up at the sink. It was going to be a full-contact kind of night, and he was nothing if not thorough. At her wail of frustration, he cracked the whip so close to her bare feet that she could feel the air shifting as it passed by.

“You’re scaring me, Sir.” Her voice was husky, filled with need and longing for her Master’s touch. Wet heat surged from her pussy down her inner thighs as she arched her back and thrust her ass out, straining toward him even as she pleaded for mercy.

He grabbed her chin, squeezing cruelly as he jerked her face toward him. “Aww, what’s the matter? Are you scared of your Colombian gangster?”

He ran his tongue up the side of her face, inhaling deeply as he pressed his nose against her cheek, closing his eyes. “I can smell your need for me. Fear gets you off and we both know it.” He stepped back and cracked the whip again as he considered her, much like a predator stalking its prey.

He knelt in front of her, spread her legs, and placed them over his shoulders. His tongue slid through her slit slowly as he looked up at Roxanne through dark lashes and hooded eyes. He fucking loved eating her out. He felt like a fucking king every time he went down on his wife. Some men only did it because they felt obligated, thought it was expected, considered it a means to an end. Not him; he ate her pussy as much for his pleasure as hers.

He pulled back slightly, a sly smile curving his lips. She whimpered at the loss, only to gasp and cry out as he inserted the handle of the whip into her pussy. He began to fuck her with it while he alternated sucking and licking her clit like she was the most delectable dessert.

“You’re going to make me come, baby,” she moaned as she arched her back. A growl rumbled from deep in his chest and he smacked her ass three times in quick succession. “You’re m-making me cum, Sir,” she wept, correcting herself as she prepared to let the climax sweep her away. But he stopped just as she approached the point of release--

“Maybe I should fuck you into submission, woman, because you damn sure don’t do what I say,” he muttered as he bit her inner thigh. He resumed thrusting the handle inside her, faster and harder than before, then stopped. “I want you to fuck it,” he ordered harshly. He held the handle still, making her do all the work. “That’s it. Fuck it! Harder!”

Her hips bucked and twisted as she tried to push the handle against her G-spot and rub her clit against his face, but she was unable to achieve the contact she so desperately needed.

“You’re so needy, baby. Beg me. Beg me to take care of you.”

“Please, Sir,” she begged, appealing to the Dom that was always lurking just beneath the surface of her husband’s dark nature. “Please taste me again, please put your mouth on me.”

“Well, since you asked so nicely…” He dove back between her legs, devouring her tender flesh and moving his tongue and lips in ways that had her coming unglued.

“Ahh, yes! That’s it, yes!” Her body writhed with mindless abandon as she lost herself in an earth-shattering orgasm.

Antonio Wayne barely gave her time to recover before he slipped the whip from between her legs and released her from the wrist restraints. He caught her in his arms, roughly positioning her on the floor on her hands and knees. He knelt behind her and efficiently unfastened his belt and pants. With a handful of her red hair clenched in his fist, he shoved her head down to the floor and lined up the swollen head of his cock at her entrance. With a single, brutal thrust, his cock was fully seated in her wet heat all the way to the root. He tilted his head back and closed his eyes, exhaling harshly at the primal male satisfaction he got from feeling the head of his cock rubbing against her cervix. Then he got to work, fiercely pumping his anger and rage into her body.

“That ass of yours needs to be marked again.” He brought his hand down hard, grunting with satisfaction at her gasp of pain and the vivid handprint he left behind. “That’s better,” he grunted, his voice becoming more guttural by the second, his chest heaving. “Mine. Every inch of you, inside and out.”

Roxanne’s knees dug into the carpet with each harsh thrust, and fresh rug burns bit into her skin. The stinging pain mingled seamlessly with the delicious friction of his thick cock moving inside her. It felt beyond good to her. As if reading her mind, he slipped his massive hand down her flat stomach and between her legs to manipulate her swollen clit. He groaned as she climaxed wildly and her tight, velvety walls clenched around his cock.

“That’s it, baby, come for me. Milk me with that tight pussy like only you can.” The sexy sounds she made called to his most primitive instincts. He gritted his teeth, fighting for control as he chased his own pleasure.

The sensation of her pussy rippling around his shaft pulled a raging climax out of him. His abs tightened, his balls pulled in close to his body, and that slow burn started way down deep in his lower back. It occurred to Antonio Wayne that the firing sequence that always signaled a powerful orgasm was almost as pleasurable as the climax itself. Then his mind blanked as the pleasure hit him like a freight train. Thick jets of cum released deep inside his wife, stealing his breath with so much force that he wondered if he might pass out.

Antonio Wayne curled his body over hers, resting his cheek between her shoulder blades as his breath slowly returned to normal. Pressing a kiss to her neck, he pulled out, giving a muffled groan at the delicious agony of the head of his cock clearing Roxanne’s entrance.

He stood, straightened his clothes, and crossed the room to get a blanket from the corner cabinet. He shook the fabric out as he returned to her, but stopped in his tracks, nostrils flaring at the sight of his cum trickling down her thighs.

He wrapped the blanket around her and scooped her into his arms. It didn’t take long to navigate the hidden staircase that led to their master bedroom suite.

After he laid her on the bed, he ran a warm bath and sprinkled those salts that Roxanne liked so much into the water. Soon the familiar scents of vanilla and lavender filled the air. He returned to the bedroom, unwrapped her like the precious gift she was, and carried her to the bathtub.

She practically purred as he lowered her into the water. He slid in behind her, cupping handfuls of water over her back and shoulders. “You’re mine—always have been—always will be.”

He would spend the remainder of the evening in aftercare with the only woman he’d ever loved. She was the only good and pure thing he’d ever had. In their early days, it had taken her some time to accept that his brutal sexuality in no way undermined or betrayed the depth of his devotion to her. She was the perfect wife for him: fiercely independent in their daily life, and an impeccable sub in their private moments. She took whatever he needed to give her, no matter how hardcore his physical needs got -- and afterwards, no one could take better care of her than he could.

“Such a good girl. My good, good girl.” Her Master’s reassuring words sounded far away to her, beckoning her like a lighthouse leading a ship home. She nestled her head against his chest, lazily stroking her fingertips over the big hand that possessively cupped her breast.

She wondered idly if the man her husband had beaten today had survived, but she knew better than to ask. Antonio Wayne had done what had to be done, as he always did. The Colombian cartel was a brutal taskmaster. Only the strong survived.