I Chained Up the Prisoner the Governor Forgot

The wine is gone. I look at the pouch hanging from my belt; I still have a few coins left. I could ask for another jug. I know I shouldn’t. I greet the innkeeper and leave the tavern, dodging drunks and pickpockets.

There are women in here, half a dozen of them, all with deep necklines and bare shoulders. They offer smiles to any man who passes. To everyone except me. They’re afraid of me. I don’t care. Smiles are free; the rest is sold in the upstairs rooms, where a hard cock is worth a few coins and a wet cunt a few more.

I walk two hundred steps down the unpaved street. At the end stands my house, my workplace, the place everyone fears: one of the towers of the wall, the tallest one, four floors of dark stone. They call it the Blind Tower, because its dungeons have not a single window.

I am the jailer. I was a soldier, a sergeant, decorated. I was nearly made an officer the day a spear went through my leg while I was saving a captain of good breeding. I’ve limped ever since. The governor gave me this job almost twenty years ago, and here I still am.

The tower has three uses. On the floor where I live, I receive the prisoners brought by the guard. On the cell floor, I lock up the petty criminals: bread thieves, drunks, women who make a scene. And below, in the two basements, are the dungeons. Damp, blind, full of rotten air. In the second basement, in the middle, there is a well. The priest does not bury the condemned in consecrated ground, so I throw them there. That well is a heap of bones now.

***

When I reach my quarters, the sun is high. I don’t have to cook: the city pays an innkeeper from a neighboring district to feed its guards, and that includes me. She always comes in person. I’m always the last stop on her route.

—Hello, Brígida —I say when I hear her steps on the wooden stair.

—Hello! —she answers, already smiling.

Brígida is a strong woman, generously built, five years younger than I am. She uncovers the clay pot and the smell of beans with bacon fills the room. She sits at my table, as always. She’s brought wine, as always.

We eat and drink. She loosens the laces of her bodice and toys with a lock of her black hair. When she drains the last swallow, she spreads her legs, closes her eyes, and lets her breasts spill over the fabric. They’re heavy, white, with broad dark nipples that harden from nothing more than the air in the room. Nothing more is needed.

I pull her into my arms and kiss her. My tongue goes into her mouth with the sour taste of wine. I slip my hand inside her bodice and cup a whole breast; I pinch the nipple until she lets out a moan. We strip like two animals, tugging at laces and skirts, and tumble onto the pile of straw covered by a blanket that serves me as a bed. She already has her hand on my cock before I finish taking off my drawers. She grips it, strokes it slowly, spits on it so it will slide better between her rough fingers.

—It’s hard as an axe handle —she murmurs, laughing—. Put it in me already.

—Not yet.

I kiss her neck, bite her breasts, suck each nipple until they’re red and swollen. I work my way down her soft belly, part her thick thighs, and bury my face in her cunt. It’s hairy, dark, with a strong mature-woman smell. I drag my tongue from bottom to top, unhurried, tasting the salt of her skin. I press the tip against her clit and lick it in circles, first gently, then with my whole tongue flat. I hear her gasping, holding back a cry, gripping the blanket with her fingers.

—Keep going, keep going, don’t stop —she pants—. Eat me out, damn it, all of me.

I slip two fingers into her while I suck her. I feel them slide through her wetness, push against the warm walls of her cunt. She thrusts her hips against my mouth, and she comes like that, howling softly, her thighs clamping my head. My tongue fills with a thick juice I swallow without disgust.

She turns over and offers me her ass. It’s big, white, with red marks from the fabric still on her skin. I spread her cheeks with both hands and look at her cunt, open and shining, and the tight little hole higher up. I spit between her ass cheeks, spit on my cock, and run it along the cleft, up and down, sliding through the wetness. When I can’t stand it anymore, I enter her slowly, pushing all the way in, feeling her open to take me completely.

—Oh, my jailer… —she moans—. Break me. Fuck me like I’m a bitch.

I ride her. At first slowly, measured, then harder, faster, until the sound of my thighs slapping her ass fills the room like applause. I grab her hips with both hands and haul her against me with every thrust. She reaches down and rubs her clit while I fuck her. She comes again, squeezing my cock with hot convulsions of her cunt. I hold on for three more strokes and spill inside her, stream after stream, my head thrown back and a harsh roar between my teeth. I feel my seed run down her thighs when I pull my cock out.

Then I stroke her for a long while, in silence. I like seeing her breathe naked, with her tits hanging to one side and my cum shining between her ass cheeks. She’s no longer young or beautiful, but when she’s near I don’t desire a thing else in the world.

I know what they say about her in the neighborhood: that she sleeps with young travelers who pass through her inn, that she sucks off merchants under the table if they pay well. I don’t judge her. I just want her to keep coming.

***

It was already night and the tower door was shut when they knocked. The guard had brought a young woman, dressed like a peasant, her face covered in bruises and her hands bound.

—What has she done? —I asked.

—She stole a jewel from the Virgin. Straight to the deepest dungeon.

—What?

—You heard me. The governor was at mass and judged her there and then. He ordered her hanged from the plaza tree and changed his mind when the executioner was already tying the rope. His exact words were “straight to the deepest dungeon.” And he added: “for life.”

Dungeons are always for life. I took the woman by the arm and brought her into the tower. I shut the door. Those brutes no longer gave orders; now I did.

In the torchlight I saw a small woman, with tanned skin and black hair, curly and unruly around her face. Her green dress was ripped in several places, no doubt from the soldiers’ handling. I couldn’t help looking at her breasts, round and firm, with a brown nipple peeking through a tear in the fabric. Like Brígida’s with fifteen years taken off them. I felt a tug in my groin that I couldn’t decide whether to hide.

I sat her on the wooden bench. I took a sack and made a hole in the bottom and two in the corners with my dagger.

—This is going to be your dress —I said—. I’m going to cut your bonds.

I saw relief on her face as she rubbed her wrists. Then I frightened her again.

—Take off all your clothes and sandals and put the sack on. You can do it behind that cabinet.

She didn’t answer. Only fear. But she obeyed.

She came back barefoot, in the sack that barely covered her body. I was waiting by the fire with a pair of small bronze shackles, covered in green patina. They were the only ones of that size; someone had forged them long ago for a lady’s ankles. When she saw them dangling from my hand, she panicked.

—Here, on your knees.

She obeyed without protest. I set the metal hoops around her ankles and secured them with a hemp cord. I heated a lead rivet almost to the point of melting.

—If you don’t want to burn yourself, don’t move.

I placed the rivet in the clasp and struck it with the hammer. One blow, sharp and dry. The hot metal warped like butter. I cooled it with water, which burst into steam. She trembled from head to toe, but she didn’t move. I repeated the operation on the other ankle. This time the steam hit her face and she burst into tears.

—I didn’t do it —she kept saying—. I didn’t do it.

For some reason I let her cry by the fire. Then I led her downstairs, to the second basement. “The deepest dungeon,” they had said. I sat her beside a column, under one of the tiny skylights, and hooked her shackles to a seven-foot chain fixed into the stone. That would be her freedom from then on.

—The torch will last an hour. Eat and drink if you want to live —I left her bread, water, and a blanket—. Tomorrow I’ll bring more.

She didn’t open her mouth. She only stared at the iron on her ankles with sad eyes.

***

The next morning I went down with a bowl of hot food. Before I got there I heard a soft voice. I peeked through the skylight unseen: she was sitting on the straw, holding a skull in her hand, talking to it. She changed her voice to answer herself, like two young women flirting at a fair. She had stretched the chain all the way to the well and pulled the skull out. First night and she already seemed mad.

When she saw me, she hid the skull under the blanket. I held out the bowl to her. I sat waiting, not knowing why; maybe she needed to see someone, even if it was me. When she finished, she began speaking to herself.

—My name is Leonor, daughter of Elvira and Rodrigo, free peasants. Yesterday was market day and procession day. They took the Virgin through the square and, when she passed beside me, I saw a gold necklace with a red stone on the ground, one of her jewels. I bent down and picked it up. I was going to return it, I swear. Then a friar started shouting and pointing at me: thief, sacrilegious woman. The guards grabbed me, one of them shoved his hand down my neckline and took out the jewel.

She stopped, swallowed, and went on.

—They took me before the governor. I swore I was going to return it. He didn’t believe me. While the procession was moving off, two soldiers locked me in a sacristy room. They yanked my dress off, yanked off my underwear, bent me over a cold stone table. The first one kicked my legs apart and shoved his cock into me at once. I screamed from the pain when he tore me open inside; I felt blood running down my thighs. He was fucking me while the other covered my mouth with his hand and groped my tits underneath. When the first one came inside me, he pulled away and the second one shoved himself into the same hole, not caring about the blood. He rammed me until he emptied himself. When they were done, they dragged me by the hair to the tree, my thighs sticky with semen and blood. The executioner already had the noose open over my head when the governor shouted “stop,” said he didn’t want to spoil the festival, and ordered them to bring me here. For life.

She rested her head against the column. I sat beside her and let her lean against me. Her body was cold. I held her in silence until she fell asleep. I went up the stairs not knowing what to think. Did she really mean to return the jewel? Why does the governor have absolute power over life and death? For the first time in twenty years, I doubted the justice I served.

***

That afternoon I brought her dinner. Brígida had sent extra food, as if to make up for not coming in person. When I reached Leonor, she pulled the blanket off herself. She was naked. She smiled at me and started eating.

—Why are you naked? —I asked.

—The sack itches and doesn’t keep me warm. Down here there’s no one I need to be ashamed of. —She looked at me—. Only you.

I didn’t dislike looking at her: a young body, fresh, curvy, with two small firm tits topped by dark nipples, a narrow waist, a flat belly, and a patch of black hair between her thighs. I thought of doing what the soldiers had done. Who’s going to stop me? Who would care? I stopped myself. Something inside me.

When she finished, she lifted the blanket on one side and invited me to lie down with her. I accepted, uncertain. I felt her skin, now warm and soft. I closed my eyes and tried to sleep. She stayed pressed against me, curled up, her eyes closed.

Almost an hour passed. I couldn’t sleep. Then she moved, pressed her ass against my groin, and began to rub slowly, side to side. I felt my cock wake under the fabric and grow against her hard buttocks.

—Penetrate me —she said, with a strangely firm voice—. I know you want to. I can feel your cock stabbing my ass.

—Why? —Wasn’t she a decent girl? Had she lied to me? She doesn’t look like a freshly forced virgin.

—Down here I can only be with you or talk to the skulls. I’d rather have you, even if you’re older. You’ve treated me better than the soldiers. And being a virgin until the day before yesterday doesn’t mean I hadn’t played with the boys in the village. I used to suck their cocks in the haylofts, let them come on my tits. I just didn’t let them put anything in me. Now it doesn’t matter anymore.

I couldn’t hold back any longer. I lifted my tunic and took her from behind. I caressed her nipples, pinched them until I heard her sigh, bit her back, licked the nape of her neck. I dropped one hand and searched between her legs with my fingers. She was soaked, her cunt open and hot as if she had been waiting for hours. I ran my middle finger along the cleft, up and down, until I found her small, hard clit. I rubbed it in circles while she gasped and pushed her hips against my hand.

—Put it in already, please —she whispered—. I need you inside me.

I took my cock in my hand and searched for her entrance. The tip sank into her wetness. I pushed slowly, feeling her open for me, tight, burning. She let out a long moan when I reached the bottom. I stayed still for a moment, holding her against my chest, one hand on her breast and the other between her thighs.

Then I started moving. Coming almost all the way out and plunging back in to the hilt. She matched every thrust with a gasp. I covered her mouth from time to time, in case her cries rose through the skylight. I fucked her from the side, slowly at first, then hard. I bit her shoulder, squeezed her tits, sank my fingers between her legs to touch her clit at the same time I drove into her.

—Harder, harder —she moaned—. Fuck me like I’m a whore, don’t be afraid of me.

I put her on her back, spread her legs, and threw them over my shoulders. Her chained ankles dug into the back of my neck; the iron was cold. I looked into her eyes and drove into her again, deeper now, more brutally. Her small tits bounced with every thrust. I licked one, then the other, sucked her nipples until they were swollen and dark. She clung to my back with her nails, arching her hips to ask for more.

—Oh, yes, like that, you’re splitting me open —she panted through clenched teeth—. Don’t stop.

I felt her trembling all over. A long spasm shook her; her cunt clamped down on my cock in hot waves and tore a choked cry from her. I held on for a few more strokes, watching her come beneath me, and then I couldn’t hold myself back anymore. I buried myself to the hilt and let go without control, emptying into her in spurts I felt hammer against the walls of her cunt. We collapsed onto the straw, her chained ankles brushing mine, my seed leaking from her cleft while we panted against each other.

She curled against my chest, still with my cock inside her, and licked the sweat from my neck. We stayed like that, listening to the water drip between the stones, until my cock softened and slid out of her with a wet sound.

***

A week passed. Every night I went down to feed Leonor and stayed with her, sometimes for a while, sometimes until dawn. I learned her body better than my own. I knew where to touch her to make her tremble, how to eat her out so she came twice in a row, how to bend her legs to get to the deepest point. She learned to suck my cock as if she’d been doing it her whole life. She knelt between my legs, looked up at me with those dark eyes, and took my whole cock into her mouth until it hit the back of her throat. She licked my balls, took them into her mouth one by one, sucked me until I pulled her curls and came on her face, her tits, her tongue. She licked her lips afterward, smiling, with strings of cum running down her chin.

One night she got onto all fours on the straw and asked me to fuck her in the ass. I spat there, slipped a finger in first, then two, until she was open enough. When I buried my cock in her, she cried out in pain, but she begged me not to stop. I fucked her asshole with short, firm thrusts, holding her by the hips while she rubbed her cunt with her hand. She came like that, with my cock buried in her ass and her own fingers on her clit, shaken by spasms that almost dropped her to her knees. I came afterward, all the way in, and watched my seed leaking out of the hole when I pulled my cock free.

Brígida kept sending the food with other girls who came into the tower looking terrified and ran back out. I started hearing that there was a rich traveler at her inn courting her and controlling the business. She lives in the world; I live in the tower. Maybe she’ll come back, maybe she won’t. I didn’t care so much anymore. I had Leonor every night, naked, warm, with her legs open for me in the deepest dungeon.

One afternoon the guard brought up one of Beltrán’s tavern whores. Her name was Constanza. She had drunk too much and made a scene. I tied her up and locked her in the upper cell to await sentencing. When I went up with her food and to tell her the month of confinement she’d been given, I found her lying there, cold, pulseless. She had died.

I carried her body over my shoulder like a sack and threw it into the bones well. Then I went to Leonor. Her face was distorted with terror.

—She was imprisoned. They just sentenced her to a month. She was found dead in her cell —I explained, and took a chisel and hammer from the sack.

—What are you doing? —she asked when she saw me break the rivet on one of her shackles.

—That woman has your height and your build. She’s older, but in a month no one will be able to tell.

—I don’t understand…

—Leonor died today in the dungeon. From now on, you are Constanza. I’ve washed her clothes and I’ll give them to you. You’ll spend a month in the upper cell and after thirty days I’ll set you free. Don’t look for your parents or your friends. Leave the city. Go into service in a house or an inn, wherever you can. And if not, beg or sell your body. Anything will be better than rotting here, buried alive.

I broke the second shackle. For the first time in twenty years, the jailer of the Blind Tower opened a chain to give someone back their life instead of taking it away.

***

Completely fictional story, set in fictional places, with fictional characters who are adults.