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  “Good day to you! My wife and I are in the market for a few things. Tell him, honey, exactly what you need and exactly what it will be used for,” Lord Eiotan commanded, his voice firm.

  Ayala squeaked.

  “Don’t you dare make me repeat myself, young lady. We can go back to that alley right now, and then we will return to this lovely man’s table for you to tell him what you need.”

  “Please, sir…” Ayala slowly responded, forcing herself to say the words before he dragged her off, spanked her, and made her come back. “My husband would like me to pick out a nice wooden spoon and wooden paddle to…” she paused, “to… spank me with when I misbehave, sir.” She was silent, hoping the ground would open up and swallow her, when a massive grin broke out on the wood carver’s face.

  “I see! I used to make things to spank my own wife with; in fact, I still do!” He picked two things off the table—a heavy solid wooden spoon, and a small dark cherry wood paddle, no larger than her hairbrush—and handed them to Lord Eiotan.

  “This paddle seems very light,” he replied.

  “Don’t you worry, sir! Both of these are guaranteed to get a right sorry response real quick. Would you like to test them? Feel free! Good solid merchandise!”

  “Don’t mind if I do!” He quickly directed Ayala to bend over the table, picking up the wooden paddle first. He rested it on her bottom over her dress. She shivered as the place between her legs began to throb. Quickly, the hard wood left her bottom and came down swiftly on her left cheek. She yelped and waited.

  “Forgetting my instructions already?”

  Ayala rose to look at him and was quickly pushed down back into position. She felt a cool breeze on the back of her legs before she suddenly realized Lord Eiotan was raising her dress.

  “Please, sir! Don’t!” she cried out, hating that her tender breasts hardened, nervous butterflies circling inside her.

  “Quiet. Now count the rest, starting from one. If you fail to follow my directions again, I will take down your panties. Is that clear?”

  “Yes, sir,” she quietly replied. Again the cold wood lay on her bottom and quickly disappeared, coming down with a god-awful sting.

  “One, sir.” Another spank rained down on her other cheek. The sting radiated through her. Spanks two through four went rather quickly, and she counted with each one, her voice becoming increasingly strained as the sting rose to worrying proportions.

  “Arch your back.”

  She complied, and two more quickly came down on both her sit spots. She cried out, but stayed in position.

  “Five and six, sir,” she said quietly. She heard him put down the paddle, and assumed he picked up the wooden spoon.

  “I’m going to give you six with the spoon as well, but they will be very quick. You do not have to count.”

  “But sir! Please!” she pleaded, trying to rise again.

  In response, he quickly pushed her back in position and pulled down her panties, leaving her bare for the world to see.

  “You just made it ten,” he said before grasping hold of her hips and lighting into her. Every stroke landed solidly, the wooden spoon burning like crazy. The last few spanks again concentrated on her sit spots, which made Ayala howl in response, apologizing and hoping he wouldn’t spank her more.

  “Next time, you take your spanks like a good girl, and I won’t have to bare your bottom,” he said as his hands rubbed over her bottom cheeks. He let his hand slip in between her thighs, sliding over the wetness gathered there. He slowly pulled her panties back up and pulled her dress down, helping her stand up.

  He looked at the wood carver, who had clearly enjoyed the show, and said, “We’ll take both! I have a feeling that my cheeky little wife here will be feeling both of these on her bottom again very soon.”

  “I sure hope so!” the wood carver replied. “That bottom of hers takes beautifully to punishment. Turns awfully red very quickly.”

  Ayala blushed and kept her eyes down. The entire market had seen her bare bottom, and not just that, had seen it getting a spanking! She wanted the ground to swallow her up. She was even more embarrassed that Lord Eiotan had felt how wet the whole spectacle had made her. Her body’s betrayal guaranteed that Lord Eiotan would spank her again in public. Ayala wanted so much to hate it, but couldn’t bring herself to. Her need was throbbing too deeply throughout her entire body.

  The wood carver bagged their purchases and handed them to Lord Eiotan. He took the bag, as well as her hand, and started leading her away from the market.

  “Next time we visit the market, maybe we should visit a leather maker. I bet we could find some things to spank naughty girls with there too,” he warned, smirking.

  Ayala blushed again, speechless. Lord Eiotan laughed and led her back to his home. He handed her the wooden paddle and told her to put it on her nightstand, beside her hairbrush.

  “What about the wooden spoon?” she hesitantly asked.

  “That will stay here in the kitchen, just in case I decide you need a spanking right away and we can’t make it to the bedroom.”

  “Sir!” she exclaimed, to which he raised an eyebrow.

  “Do we need a reminder?”

  “No, sir! I’ll be good!”

  “Then raise your skirts, pull down your panties, and bend over the kitchen table. Now.”

  Ayala froze, but when Lord Eiotan narrowed his eyes, she quickly did what she was told. When she was bare and bent over the table, her bottom on display, she felt a warm and happy feeling rush over her. Even though he could spank her at any moment, and probably would, she felt safe in his hands. She felt him move behind her and she shivered.

  His fingers grazed her inner thighs, making their way across her very wet lips.

  “Seems my little wife is enjoying her spankings.” She shuddered as his fingers grasped her pussy, sliding between her lips. His fingers circled her nub, causing pleasure to build within her.

  Her body responded extremely quickly to him, climaxing with pleasure, pulsing onto his fingers. He put a hand on her lower back, holding down her hips. His other fingers slid back to circle around her core before slowly pressing his finger inside. Slowly he worked his way in, Ayala moaning with abandon. When one finger was completely inside her, he pulled out, and then gently slid in a second finger.

  She moaned as he filled her, moving her hips to meet his thrusts. She had never felt this full, and the pleasure within her built as never before. Her moans grew in intensity, desperate for release.

  He lifted his other hand off her back, quickly landed two sharp spanks to each side of her bottom, and her world shattered. Pleasure cascaded through her in waves and his fingers continued to work inside her. Her last moan was deep and satisfied, desire working its way within her body. When the waves finally subsided, she felt like jelly, bent over the table as she was.

  Lord Eiotan slowly pulled out his fingers from her and softly ran his hands across her skin, kneading her bottom that was still ripe with sting from the attention it had received from her punishment last night, their time at the bathhouse, and her public spanking at the market.

  Her breath hissed as his hands continued to squeeze her well-spanked backside. He bent down and kissed each sit spot, and landed a third on the pearl that lay within her lips. She moaned and arched to him, which earned her a quick flurry of spanks across her bottom. She cried out, and then quickly realized that they were hard enough to make a lot of noise, but soft enough to jolt her deep within the cleft between her legs.

  He stopped and slowly tugged her panties back into place. He pulled down her dress and helped her to stand.

  “Now that’s my good girl. Seems you can follow directions,” he said, his eyes smiling at her obedience, but a mischievous look passed over his face. “It’s time to go. We have to give Cortés a tour of the places he would like to see, and entertain him for the evening. I want you on your best behavior, is that clear?”

  “Yes, sir, of course,” she replied si
ncerely. She would do her best to be his very good girl.

  Chapter Seven

  Ayala and Lord Eiotan met Cortés at the palace, and Moctezuma led them into a small intimate dining room. The dining table was set with amazing silver dishes and goblets filled with wine, and servants were standing against the walls with jugs of more wine.

  “Please sit,” Moctezuma commanded. Lord Eiotan held out a seat for her, and she gracefully sat down, dutifully keeping her eyes in her lap. Lord Eiotan sat next to her and Cortés was directly across from her. Her eyes remained fully on her plate. She knew her place tonight was to observe, listen, and learn as much as she could.

  A few other noblemen and women were led into the room and were seated with them. Ayala did not know their names, but Lord Eiotan greeted each one with reverence so she knew they must be high-standing men. He introduced them but Ayala didn’t catch their names. She watched their eyes, watching where they looked when they were introduced, the wary glances directed toward Cortés. The women with them were quiet and demure, sneaking lustful glances in the Spanish lord’s direction.

  In no time at all, everyone was seated, and fresh fruit was brought in.

  “So how are you enjoying your time in Tenochtitlan?” Moctezuma began, looking expectantly at Cortés. A great headdress of green feathers adorned his head, tied with a headband of blues and greens. He looked regal. His clothes consisted of simple cream cloth fabric. Its simplicity accentuated his nobility.

  Cortés met his gaze, his own eyes growing bold.

  Ayala allowed her eyes to rise, observing Cortés as he looked hungrily at Moctezuma. He had the look of a pirate, about to take over a ship or open a trunk filled with treasure. He looked ravenous.

  “Your city is very grand, very rich! There is gold everywhere I look; the luxury your nobility is enjoying is intoxicating. But I wish to see more. I wish to see your army and armories. I want to see your sacred holy temples. And I would like to visit your markets, see how the common folk live.”

  Ayala narrowed her eyes slightly. Why would he want to see the army? The armories? Was Cortés trying to compare his army to theirs?

  “You see, Moctezuma, I’m sure you’ve heard the rumors, and I’m sure you observed that my army does not only consist of white men, but men of your skin tone as well. They call themselves the Confederacy of Tlaxcala.” Cortés glanced around the room, waiting for a reaction. The ladies gasped, but Ayala remained silent, not wanting to play into his games.

  The Confederacy of Tlaxcala was the Aztecs’ long-time enemy. They had fought battle after battle over territory, and at the moment, the Aztecs stood the strongest in the land of Mexico. An alliance between Cortés and his men and the Tlaxcalan army could be extremely dangerous, and upset the peace that had fallen over the land for the past few years.

  “This is news to us,” Moctezuma cautiously replied. “What made you choose to ally yourself with a weak nation like the Tlaxcalans, when we, the Aztec people, are much stronger and richer, and could be a proper ally to you?”

  The room was silent for a while, until Cortés cleared his throat, glaring dangerously in Ayala’s direction.

  “They made me an offer that I could not refuse at the time, but I must say, that was before I met your wonderful people. But… I must say, they’ve told me some horrific stories about you people, from human sacrifices to stories about how you have attacked their towns, and then how you sacrificed their people.”

  Ayala stayed silent, knowing the truth of what Cortés said. She herself had come from one of these Aztec raids from Tlaxcala. She had been much younger at the time, only in her early teens, when her town had been raided, burned to the ground.

  She remembered that night. Screams sounded in the dark, and her mother came running into the room, yelling for her to wake, for her to run. She had woken up, groggy and slow-moving. Her mother shook her, screaming at her to run, to stay safe in the woods. Ayala saw her mother’s tearful, scared face and jumped out of bed. Her mother was throwing clothes into a bag, grabbing food from their small kitchen, and shoved it all into her arms.

  “Run, baby girl. Don’t let them catch you,” she said, tears running down her face. “Quick, through the back.” Her mother led her through their small little house and pushed her out the back door. The door slammed behind her. Ayala turned around in order to grab her mother’s hand, but she wasn’t there. She heard screams coming from inside the house. Terrible screams, her mother’s pleading and crying. Ayala slowly backed away as she heard her mother sobbing, men grunting and yelling at her in a language she didn’t understand. She heard cloth tearing and could only imagine the worst. She didn’t know what was happening to her mother, but she was scared. Ayala turned and ran away, heading for the woods. She made it into the trees and hid, watching the fires burn down the only home she had ever known.

  She fell asleep eventually, and woke up to a man shaking her awake. He wasn’t anyone she knew from home. He was strong and mean-looking. He grabbed her arm and forced her back into the ashes left from her childhood home. There was a line of women, young boys, and young girls being herded away from her home.

  She remembered that miserable walk. She was one of the lucky ones to still have a pair of shoes. When they arrived in the city of Tenochtitlan, she was sold to Lord Eiotan’s estate, and had worked the fields ever since.

  Ayala mentally shook herself, coming back to the present time and the dinner she was currently attending with her master. She looked lovingly at him and reached for his hand underneath the table, and he took it and squeezed her fingers. With his assurance, she turned her attention back to the conversation.

  Cortés met her gaze and narrowed his eyes. He had seen her exchange with Lord Eiotan and jealousy raged across his features.

  “We sacrifice in order to honor the gods, and people die in wars every day. The Tlaxcala are an angry people who cannot abide by a single ruler. They are an unruly people. They are upset that they are no longer the strongest people in Mexico. We can offer you so much more, Lord Cortés. We are a strong people, a united people. We are a rich nation. I beg of you, enjoy your time here, and open your mind to the power of the Aztecs,” Moctezuma confidently replied to Cortés.

  Ayala observed a look passing over his face, one of disbelief that implied that he was just humoring Moctezuma. The look was gone in an instant and calm complacency replaced it. He ran his hand through his beard.

  “I can’t wait to see what you have to offer,” he said, and turned to face Ayala. He met her eyes and held her gaze. “I really can’t wait.”

  She quickly looked down at her hands. Thankfully, servants next brought out roasted duck on silver trays, and poured a lovely orange sauce on top of it after it was served. Steamed corn was served on the side. She took a small bite, and enjoyed the treat as it melted in her mouth. Picking up her wineglass, she took a healthy sip, enjoying the sweet red wine as it made its way down her throat. Ayala took another bite and looked around her, watching as the husbands fed their wives, noticing the small conversations that were taking place between men and women, and she caught Cortés watching it all. A sick feeling of danger washed over her.

  Moctezuma observed this as well and cleared his throat, raising his glass. The room respectfully quieted, waiting for Moctezuma to speak.

  “To Lord Cortés. Might we show him the might and loyalty of the Aztecs.”

  The room cheered in response, and Ayala joined in the cheer. All the while, a smug look flashed across Cortés’ face as she watched her people worship him. She could tell that he relished the attention. She didn’t trust him, and this dinner further solidified that notion.

  As she raised her glass along with the rest of them, she feigned happiness, but a deep wariness began to grow in her belly the longer she was in this man’s presence. Quiet conversation ensued, as each nobleman told Cortés of his standing in the city, as well as the riches they had amassed and the lands they owned.

  Ayala sat quietly, listening to
the various conversations and the quiet chatter around the table, but did not pick up on anything more important from this. She slowly sipped her wine and ate the rest of her dinner, savoring every bite.

  Every once in a while, she would catch Cortés watching her as she ate and drank. She didn’t meet his eyes at all, focusing on her dinner and her lord.

  Lord Eiotan met her eyes and nodded, clearly approving of her behavior. Dessert—a creamy orange dish in silver bowls—was brought to the table. She picked up a small spoon and took a little taste; orange and cream flavors melted over her tongue.

  “Lord Eiotan,” Cortés began. “I hear that you and your lovely wife will be offering me the real tour of the city this evening.” A sinister smile came to his lips as he looked Ayala up and down, finally moving his gaze to meet Lord Eiotan’s eyes.

  “That is true, my lord,” Eiotan answered carefully while bringing an arm around Ayala, deliberately making his ownership known. Cortés looked back and forth between them, a dangerous look in his eyes.

  “What would you like to see first?” Eiotan continued, treading carefully.

  “I think I would first want to see your temples, see if there is any truth to these rumors the Tlaxcala have told me,” Cortés said boldly, bloodlust visible all over his face. Tension around the table seemed at an all-time high. Nervous glances passed between the women, while the men seemed ready to meet any challenge about to come forth. Ayala decided something must be done, and she began to speak, slowly catching the attention of the room.

  “Our temples are ones of beauty and Lord Eiotan and I can certainly show you many,” Ayala softly replied. “In regards to the rumors the Tlaxcala have murmured in your ear, sacrifices only occur during times of great need here in our great city, to appease the gods. What they probably didn’t tell you is that this practice of human sacrifice is widespread throughout the region, including their own. They have sacrificed our people as well to appease their own gods. But I digress.” She paused as Cortés directed his full attention at her. “There are no preparations to prepare any sacrifices to the gods on this day. Now is not one of those desperate times, as food and drink are plentiful. So let us give thanks to the gods for this wonderful meal, and look forward to an exciting evening.” Silence reigned over the table in response to her soft voice, and the dangerous look Cortés had in his eyes simmered into something calmer, seemingly satisfied with her answer.