A moment later I was lifted gently off the table and helped over to my cot. Something burning was forced between my lips. I had the swimming vision of Hazel holding a glass there and I realized it was whiskey. I swallowed, and then my body, reacting mechanically to all the cruelty of the last hour, I vomited until I could vomit no more. I lay quivering on the camp bed. Hazel was running her fingers through my hair. That night she said only one word to me, softly, and repeated over and over again. Her head was between my thighs and her tongue darting smoothly against my clitoris. "Come!" she was saying. "Come ... come ... come..."
-8-
I was in bed off and on for a week. Johnnie asked me more than once who it was who had interfered with me. I said I didn't know. Finally he lost interest. Razor King ignored me. Only Hazel seemed to take an interest in me. She had drawn closer to me. She had become like an older sister. She got the whole story out of me, how I had gone after the man into the lane and how I had knelt before him and sucked him fervently. I also told her about the condom.
"You liked being belted, didn't you, hen?" she said one night when we were sitting alone by the fire.
I was taken aback. How had she guessed my guilty secret? My words came haltingly. I did and I didn't. It had been terribly painful. But deep down I had a hunger for it, an obscene animal hunger that filled my body like a nausea.
"It's nothing to be ashamed of, hen," Hazel whispered. "Some women like it. They get their pleasure that way."
"Was that possible?"
Hazel put her hand on my thigh and squeezed it.
"I've a date on Thursday night in the west end," she said. "I'll take you with me if you like."
"Will you? Oh, please, Hazel!"
"I said I would, didn't I? But mind you behave, and don't breathe a word to your father or that brother o'yours."
I promised.
Hazel still referred to Johnnie as "that brother o'yours." It was not until nearly two years later that she became his mistress. And a great deal happened in those two years.
The following Thursday Razor King was off on one of his periodic bouts of drunkenness. He would spend all his time for many days in the pubs and in the brothels. Johnnie, too, was out of the way with a gang of younger men who were planning a raid on a dance hall in the Plantation district.
We left the house at seven. That morning Hazel had gone out and bought me some new clothes, a sleek black skirt with a cut up one side, a red polo-neck pullover, and some frilly underwear. Just before we left, she handed me a pair of sheer black nylons. As soon as we were out of the Gorbals, Hazel called a taxi. I was thrilled. I had never been in a taxi in my life before. She gave an address somewhere in the west end and we sat back comfortably. She said we were going to have a good time, that I needn't worry about that. I was already having a good time. I had never looked so pretty and I was smoking a cigarette openly. "Just you do as I tell ye, hen, and everything'll be fine," Hazel said.
We drove up a quiet avenue. The houses, each in its own grounds, were hardly visible from the street. For some reason or other, Hazel stopped the taxi, paid off the driver, and we went the last hundred yards on foot. We turned in at a massive gate hung upon stone columns covered with climbing ivy. She pulled the chain of the bell. "It wouldn't be safe to drive right up here," she said. "We've got to be careful. There's too many busybodies in this world." I didn't know what she meant, but I didn't care. I had every confidence in her. To think she knew the people who lived in this mansion!
A man in a butler's uniform approached us down the short drive. He bowed politely to Hazel as he ushered us in. In the large hall he took our coats. In the rear, a wide marble staircase led up to the floors above. Even the hall was richly furnished with parquet flooring and vividly colored rugs. We were shown into one of the rooms at the side.
A serious young man with spectacles came into the room at once. He was dressed in a black suit with drainpipe trousers. He wore a white shirt with a large flopping violet cravat. He went at once to Hazel and kissed her hand.
"Mr. Oakes is not here yet," he said apologetically. "He was detained in the city. We might have a drink until he comes. I believe he is bringing some friends with him."
Hazel nodded as if she knew what he was talking about. I was looking around the room. It was almost empty except for half a dozen armchairs and the silky black rug in front of the massive open fire. The walls were entirely bare except for one large painting which hung in the center at one end. It looked like a crucifixion. When I examined it later I was amazed to find that a woman was nailed to the cross in place of Christ and that every detail of superbly rounded torso, the heavy mass of the crotch, the navel, the breasts, even the hairs under the armpits, had been painted minutely in. But from where I stood at that moment, I couldn't make out the detail, and the arc-light which was placed on the floor underneath it was not switched on.
"This is Gertrude Gault," Hazel said, interrupting my reverie. And then, to my horror, she added: "She's Razor King's daughter."
"His daughter!"
The young man, whose name turned out to be Harry Prentice, came up to me at once and kissed my hand. I must have looked startled for, as his head came up, his eyes looked into mine, curious and penetrating behind his thick spectacles.
"I have heard a great deal about your father, Miss Gault," he said, "but I'm sorry to say I've never seen him in action."
I was even more surprised. Could it possibly be that there was nothing to be ashamed of?
"Well, well!" the young man was saying. "His mistress and his daughter in one night! Mr. Oakes will certainly be pleased!"
Hazel stood with her tightly-clad young haunches turned to the fire. I thought she was really beautiful.
"And now, what will you drink?" Harry Prentice said.
"Gin and lime for me," Hazel said.
I didn't know what to say.
"She'll take the same," Hazel said.
Harry seemed to pull a cocktail cabinet out of the wall. A few moments later we were all seated near the fire with the drinks in our hands. After a while Harry Prentice noticed that my attention was drawn to the painting at the end of the room. He said at once: "Just a moment and I'll switch on the light." He did so by pressing a button under the mantelpiece. I got up hesitantly and walked slowly across the room toward the picture. It was as I approached that I suddenly realized it was a woman. Close up, I was able to see the beautiful radiance of her expression. She seemed to be dying and smiling at the same time. At that time I didn't know that the face was like one painted by Botticelli. The light from below had the effect of making her seem to bend backwards like a bow on the cross to which her hands and feet were nailed. The entire body, the proud breasts, the subtle mold of belly, the flat thighs, were scored with narrow red weals. As I stared at it uneasily, a shaft of doubt moved silently within me. What did this mean? And why did I feel so intimately involved with the beautiful victim on the unholy cross? I felt myself blushing.
And then a new voice, the voice of an older man who must have entered the room while I stared at the picture, spoke out beside me: "Well, my dear? What do you think of her?"
Almost without thinking I replied at once: "She's beautiful!"
And then I turned to face them.
The older man was not alone. Three other men dressed in dark jackets and gray striped trousers stood expectantly near the door. They were all tall men between forty and sixty.
The man who had spoken, Mr. Oakes, was also tall and slim. He had an ageless face with penetrating gray eyes. His well-kept hair and moustache were flecked handsomely with gray. He reminded me of a British Prime Minister and I realized at once that I was in the presence of a man at least as impressive.
He laughed lightly at my answer and turned to his friends. "Come in gentlemen! Harry will get you something to drink." He turned back to me. "I believe your name is Gertrude, my dear, and that your father is the ... er, Razor King! I want you to know how delighted I am to have you as a gu
est tonight! My name is Charles Oakes. I am a good friend of your friend, Hazel."
I glanced across at the fireplace where Hazel still stood smoking a cigarette in a long black holder. I wondered again at her. How did she ever get to know these men?
"Thank you, sir," I said.
A fleeting expression of displeasure passed across Mr. Oakes' distinguished features. But it passed quickly.
"Come, my dear," he said gently, "I wish to introduce you to these other gentlemen." We returned near the fire. "Mr. Bing, Mr. Duval, and Mr. Coldstream. Miss Gertrude Gault."
The gentleman bowed.
We ate in another room, much larger than the first reception room. The long wooden table was candlelit and, although the table itself was bright enough, I found it difficult to make out the rest of the furniture and decorations. Mr. Oakes sat at one end of the long table and I was surprised that I was given the place at the other end, opposite him. Mr. Bing, Hazel, and Mr. Duval sat on Mr. Oakes' right, and Mr. Coldstream and Harry Prentice on his left. It was a copious meal with many courses served professionally by two footmen. But I had no appetite. I was too excited. Over and over again I asked myself what it was all about. Why was I here? Why was Mr. Oakes interested in me?
"You're not eating, my dear!" Mr. Oakes called gently from time to time from his end of the table. I blushed and replied that I wasn't hungry.
Mr. Oakes made some remark which I didn't understand, something about spiritual hunger, to Mr. Coldstream, a blond man with a red and slightly beefy face. Mr. Coldstream laughed in a funny way: "Ha, ha ... ha, ha ... ha, ha!" and twinkled at me from his side of the table. I blushed.
From time to time one of the footmen filled one of the many wine glasses in front of me, but unlike the others, I hardly touched the wine.
After the last course, before coffee, Harry Prentice got up, nodded to Hazel who got up also, and they both left the room. I made as if to follow, but Mr. Oakes beckoned me to remain seated by raising his finger.
"We shall join your friend later," he said reassuringly.
Coffee was served, and few moments later, brandy in huge brandy glasses.
The men talked among themselves. They seemed at first to be oblivious of me. After a while I became conscious that my end of the table was brighter than the other. When I looked up, I noticed that a soft light was being shed upon me from the ceiling. This gave me quite a start. I darted a look along the table at Mr. Oakes. It was then that I realized they were all looking at me.
"Don't be frightened, Gertrude," Mr. Oakes said, calling me by name for the first time. "We are about to ask you some questions. I want you to answer them truthfully. If you tell any lies, you won't be invited here again. We shall know. These gentlemen and I have a way of knowing."
I felt afraid, even more afraid than I was when I was taken to the headmaster's office at school. That was for writing something on the wall of the girls' lavatory in the playground.
"What age are you?" Mr. Oakes said.
"I was nineteen yesterday."
"She's still young," Mr. Bing said.
"That is excellent!" said Mr. Duval.
"Have you ever had anything to do with a boy or a man?" Mr. Coldstream said.
Before I could answer, Mr. Oakes held up his hand.
"One moment please, gentlemen! I think we should impress upon Gertrude that we are already in possession of the true answers to all the questions we pose. A childish indiscretion could ruin everything. I have great hopes for Gertrude. We should be careful."
"I entirely agree," Mr. Bing said.
Mr. Duval and Mr. Coldstream nodded.
"Listen carefully, Gertrude," Mr. Oakes said. "A short while ago you left your father's flat one night. Your father had just made love to Hazel and they had fallen asleep. You went out alone into the street. It was very late. You were driven by a great sexual need. You saw a man turn out of the street into a dark lane. You followed. The man had begun to masturbate under a lamp when you arrived. Of your own free will you got down on your knees and took his sex in your mouth. Later the man struck you with a belt. When you returned home your father held you naked on the table while he flogged you. You took pleasure from everything that happened. We know all this already. That is why you have been invited here tonight."
I realized at once that Hazel had betrayed me. I hated her! Now everyone knew my secret shame!
"What did you feel when you took the big prick in your mouth?"
"Did you swallow his semen?"
"Did he touch your cunt?"
"Do you often masturbate?"
"What would you like to do most?"
"Would you like to be whipped with leather thongs?"
"Has a man ever put his prick into you?"
"What do you feel when you hear your father make love to Hazel?"
"Did you enjoy it when Hazel made you come with her tongue?"
"You feel guilty, don't you?"
"You feel that you ought to be whipped, don't you?"
"And you would enjoy that more than anything, wouldn't you?"
"What do you do to yourself in the lavatory?"
"You carried a used condom in your cunt for a while, didn't you?"
"You're feeling sexy even now, aren't you?"
The questions were thrown at me in rapid succession. I was in tears as I answered. Yes, yes, no, yes, yes, no, yes! YES! YES! YES! I answered frantically, but I did not tell a lie.
Half an hour later my interrogators seemed satisfied.
"She is a virgin," Mr. Coldstream said at last.
"Our virgin, I hope," Mr. Oakes said seriously.
The others agreed heartily.
"And now, Gertrude, we shall join the others," Mr. Oakes said.
All the men stood up. I did likewise. Mr. Oakes took me gently by the arm and we led the way down a flight of stairs to a cellar corridor in the basement. At the end of the corridor we passed through a double doorway into a large, brightly lit room. The floor was covered with straw and the walls and ceiling were thickly padded with a kind of canvas quilting. On the far wall hung a painting identical to the one in the first reception room. But there the resemblance of the two rooms ended. This room was filled with big wooden blocks scooped out in places to fit the shape of the human body, with leather thongs and belts, and innumerable chains.
Hazel stood beside Harry Prentice near a large wooden board which was held firmly at the perpendicular by wire guy ropes. It was about six feet broad and seven feet high with thongs of leather hanging from it at various levels. A hole, about nine inches in diameter, was cut in the heavy wood at a level of about three feet off the ground. I heard the double doors close softly behind us. I looked at Hazel.
She was entirely naked except for a diminutive skirt of knotted leather thongs, about the thickness of the laces of football boots, which lay loosely round her hips and failed to cover the hairy mound of her sex. She also wore sandals of thonged leather and metal-studded leather cuffs at the wrists. Her whole body was made up to accentuate the voluptuous curves and her eyes had been treated with mascara to look twice their normal size. In her right hand and falling down against her right leg she held a vicious-looking cat-o'nine-tails.
Harry Prentice was also naked except for a leather belt heavily studded with iron which he wore 'round his waist. He too wore sandals. On his head was a black skullcap which fell into a shaped mask over his eyes. He was already rampant, his big prick standing stiff like a ship's boom at his middle. Instead of leather cuffs, he wore gauntlets. He carried what looked like a fat candle from which a thousand fine wire tails, about eighteen inches in length, sprouted softly.
"Excellent!" said Mr. Oakes, who still held me gently by the arm. "We have been longer than we expected and there isn't a great deal of time. Mr. Bing and I have to be off to London tonight."
"We are ready, Mr. Oakes," Harry Prentice said.
"Good." He turned to Mr. Coldstream. "Will you go first, Coldstream?"
Coldstrea
m nodded without speaking.
"And you take your clothes off, my dear," Mr. Oakes said to me.
A terrible panic seized me. Hazel noticed it and came quickly to my side. "Don't you worry," she said. "You won't get anything you don't want." She began to help me off with my clothes. The cat-o'-nine-tails dangled from a loop on her wrist as she did so.
Coldstream was already naked. He too had a massive hard-on. He was breathing heavily, his red face even redder. When he walked over to the board and stood with his front flat against it, the holes on a level with his lower belly and his rampant member protruding at the other side of it, I was shocked to see the state of his back and buttocks. New redder scars were laid across the old pinker ones. From the back of his knees to his neck, his body was a mass of lacerations. It was then that I noticed the holes for the feet at the base of the board. His feet passed through them and his ankles were bound tightly with leather thongs. His arms were stretched sideways and upwards and similarly bound.
I too was now naked. Harry gripped me by the upper arm and led me to the other side of the board. I had just time to see Hazel take up her position behind Coldstream with the poised cat-o'-nine-tails.
In front of me now was the circular hole filled with Coldstream's white front with its chevron of fair hairs, from the navel to the tops of the thighs, and jutting forward the swaying cock and the tight pink pack of his testicles.
Suddenly I heard the first swoosh of the cat. I heard Coldstream groan. The cock quivered. Harry threw me down on the straw and gave me a light whack on the buttocks with his wire scourge. It didn't hurt. It tingled pleasantly, tantalizingly. "Go on, take it!" his voice said gently.
I crept on my knees closer to the quivering penis and held it in my hands. It gave me an indescribable thrill. The cat swooshed again, and Coldstream's voice barked out like a pistol shot: "Suck it!" Harry gave me a harder swipe on the bare buttocks to encourage me. I moved forward at once, taking the shining knob in my mouth and cupping, compressing the testicles in my hands.
Thongs Page 5
