The Innocent

by John Argus

  He slipped out into the hall, his pulse racing, and moved carefully to the door to try the handle. It was not locked; there was no reason it should be, so slowly, ever so slowly, he eased the handle around and slowly opened the door. The sound of cascading water grew louder, and with it the music, but as his poor luck would have it the door opened to the left and the shower was on the right, yet he dared to push his head through the gap and peer around.

  Her shower door was opaque, but only just, and he could clearly see the pink outline of her naked flesh as she stood beneath the steaming water pouring down over her head. He stared, spellbound, watching from her left as she drew her hands up into her hair and arched her back. Her breasts thrust up and out, and the silhouette of her body made him instantly hard again. She bent forward, he saw the outline of her breasts as they hung, then she straightened up and the water shut off. He gasped and withdrew, quietly pulling the door closed before creeping back into the wardrobe and slithering up the ladder. Moments later, the hatch was raised and his eye was pressed against the hole again as he anxiously awaited her return.

  ‘Who the hell is that?’ Weatherby asked out loud as he spied the man in the girl’s flat standing in the hall outside her bathroom door. He watched him standing with his hand on the doorknob for the longest time, and then saw his head and shoulders disappear around the door as he looked into the bathroom. Weatherby wondered if he was talking to the girl, and if so why he did not step in all the way. Because she was naked, he thought, which meant this was no lover but someone else – her father perhaps. He looked old enough, yet his movements were skulking and covert, as if he feared discovery. And then he jerked back suddenly, closed the door and scurried back into the bedroom.

  Weatherby felt both jealous and excited, wondering who the fellow was and how much he had seen in the shower.

  The girl emerged from the bathroom, but as usual she disappeared from view before stripping. Every night and morning she went to the same corner of the bedroom to dress and undress. Before going to bed, she picked out her next day’s wardrobe and carried it over to the corner, and each night she returned to change into the nightshirt she always left there. It was extremely frustrating, but he was sure she would eventually appear naked somewhere else, and so he persevered.

  This, unfortunately, was not the night, and he was disappointed, though not entirely so. He had his pictures, after all, and he would go to his darkroom now and develop them. There was also this curious new fellow on the scene, and the intriguing notion that he might be able to get him to cooperate in fully exposing the nubile young body to both of them.

  The mirrored door opened behind Selina and she raised her head to stare at the woman reflected before her. She was quite handsome, though clearly much older than her. She was full-busted but slender, with high cheekbones and an aristocratic nose. Her long silk dress fell to her ankles and hugged a figure that would interest men of any age, had she shown the slightest interest in men, that is.

  ‘How are you feeling, dear?’ she asked, elegantly squatting down behind her, and Selina felt a sudden rush of embarrassment. She pulled self-consciously against the silk binding her wrists, her face flushing as the calm and composed older woman examined her.

  ‘Let me go, please,’ she begged softly, unable to meet the refined woman’s gaze in any of the surrounding mirrors.

  ‘Of course, dear, but not just yet,’ the woman cooed. ‘Allison has asked us to educate you a little first.’

  ‘Educate me?’ She tried to shift her knees closer together, as if this might to some extent hide the thick cylinder thrusting obscenely up into her slight body, but the woman’s arms slipped around her, her hands grasping her thighs and holding them in place.

  ‘Yes, dear, Allison is very concerned about you,’ the woman elucidated. ‘She cares about you and feels you’re on the edge of doing something dreadful.’

  ‘No, I’m not,’ Selina denied the unfair accusation, despite being unsure of its meaning.

  ‘Of course you are,’ the woman insisted, ‘you’re about to marry a man.’

  ‘Of course, I’m not a lesbian,’ she said desperately.

  ‘Darling child, you may not be entirely gay, but you certainly aren’t the obedient little traditional woman this man is seeking. Your life would be miserable with him.’ Her fingers deftly kneaded the flesh of Selina’s inner thighs as she held them open. ‘You know you would be dreadfully unhappy trying to force yourself into the mould of the traditional wife,’ she went on kindly. ‘You’re a modern woman, strong and self-confident. You can’t go back into the past and pretend the twentieth century never happened.’

  ‘I’m not… we aren’t…’

  ‘Don’t hide it from yourself, dear, nor from me. Look at it. Look at the big hard thing thrust up into your lovely young body. Do you want that for a future, some ignorant male beast stuffing his erection into you every night after you’ve made his dinner, cleaned his house and looked after his children?’ Her finger traced the taut outline of Selina’s pubic lips where they were strained around the metal cylinder. Selina gasped and tried to twist her head away to keep from looking, but she felt a hot dagger of excitement stab her as one of the woman’s fingers pressed skilfully against her clitoris.

  ‘You were meant for better things, my dear,’ the woman went on, her voice soft and musical in Selina’s ear. ‘You were meant for a life of fun and laughter, of adventures and pleasure. You’re having just such an adventure now, and won’t it be a thing to remember when you’re old and have almost forgotten what it was like to be young and wild and alive.’

  Selina squirmed mentally and physically against the raw sensations surging up through her impaled flesh. She had been in a state of heightened sexual arousal for quite some time, staring at her impaled body in the soft light and feeling that terrible thing thrust up so deeply inside her. Now the woman’s artful finger was setting fire to her loins… and within seconds she disgraced herself by climaxing, shuddering and crying out helplessly as her body spasmed around the robust tube.

  The woman stood, patted her gently on the head, and left, closing the door behind her.

  Zoe crossed the tiny hall to the kitchen to make dinner, and she never heard the sound of Normand Miller creeping down the ladder, nor of the wardrobe door, and then her front door, opening and closing behind him.

  She sighed as she set the microwave, ran fingers lightly through her recently washed hair, and wandered barefoot across the hardwood floor onto the soft rug beyond. She turned and made her way to the telephone table by the front door, suddenly remembering the mail she had dropped there as she came in with her arms filled with purchases and her mind intent on trying on her new lingerie.

  Bills, junk mail, a letter from her friend, Cynthia, and… she froze as she recognised another of the gilt-edged postcards and felt a tightening in her tummy as she made her way over to the sofa with it. The other two cards were on the coffee table, and sitting on the edge of the couch, she reached for one showing a girl in a leather corset, feeling her breathing tighten as she examined it. The girl’s arms were forced high above her, and her body was bent forward so her full breasts hung towards the floor. She had remembered the card earlier that day when her own arms were lifted above her head, and she had been forced to bend forward just like that.

  The bound young woman looked so desirable and so helpless. Could she possibly have looked as eerily alluring in Mr Erasmus’s office? She stared at the muscles on the girl’s bowed back, and the way her breasts hung, and her cheeks felt hot as she thought of him looking at her in that position.

  Then she experienced a shocked delight that she, Zoe Quincanon, unsophisticated girl of no particular grace, could possibly look so darkly, exotically beautiful and sensual. Mr Erasmus had sent the cards; it simply had to be him. Were they hints of what was to come, as the last card had been? Were they teasing instruc
tions on how a female was supposed to submit to a powerful male?

  She eagerly ripped open the envelope containing the new card and stared at the picture.

  Like the others, it was an artistic black-and-white drawing that made use of light and shadows to create a haunting feeling of depth. As before, the girl depicted looked beautiful, with her hair pulled up into a stylish twist on her head. Her face was exotically made-up, elegantly prepared for a night out. She was wearing a thick leather collar, from the centre of which dangled a metal ring, and two matching leather bands were fitted tightly around her wrists.

  She was on the floor, her hands beneath her, and her mouth was open, her tongue protruding as she licked the polished leather boot before her. Her pose was utterly submissive, but there was a catlike confidence in her eyes.

  Then Zoe swallowed hard as she noticed the rings dangling from the female’s nipples. At first she was bemused, and then she recalled a bizarre documentary she had seen months earlier, and heat filled her belly as she realised the girl’s nipples were pierced.

  She tried to imagine herself in the same position, collared and yet rebelliously free, kneeling at Mr Erasmus’s feet, licking his polished brogues. She didn’t think she could do such a thing, yet she also didn’t think the gesture so outrageous as she might have only a week before. Clearly the pose was meant as a sign of complete submission, and yet the female did not look at all submissive.

  What was Mr Erasmus trying to tell her with the images, that this was the compliance he required of a woman? The collared girl looked darkly exotic with her nipple rings, yet Zoe felt faint at the thought of having her own pierced, for it must hurt terribly. Her nipples throbbed at the mere thought, and she remembered how they had stung as Mr Erasmus used the ruler on them. Even now they remained tender and exquisitely sensitive.

  Her hand stole slowly down her body and her fingers felt the similar subtle tenderness of her sex, and a spasm of wicked excitement crept up her spine as she recalled again, with delicious outrage, how he had slapped her pussy with the ruler. What a terrible thing to do, but he was a strong willed man who tolerated no impertinence or weakness in others. He was exactly the kind of man a dissolute girl like her needed.

  Chapter Eleven

  ‘I want you to be very nice to Patrick Stewart today, Zoe,’ Steven Erasmus said, and she looked at him with her usual endearing expression of surprise that almost – almost – had him locking his door again.

  ‘Sir Patrick?’ she said. ‘Is he coming here?’

  He shook his head. ‘No, we’re going to a little function north of the city, and Sir Patrick will be there. It’s very important that you spend as much time with him as possible. I want you to see what you can learn about his plans.’

  ‘I – I don’t understand, sir.’ Zoe never felt comfortable with such agendas.

  ‘Sir Patrick and I, regrettably, are not the great friends we once were,’ he expanded, just a little. ‘I would like to make amends, however, for whatever past slights he imagines I gave him. But he does not forgive easily, I’m afraid. Thus it is important to build bridges between us. So if I can get a better idea of what Sir Patrick’s problems are, and perhaps resolve some for him, then he’ll feel more amenable to making up with me.’

  She thought that made sense, and nodded uncertainly.

  ‘He’s an old friend of your father’s, isn’t he?’ Mr Erasmus went on breezily, and she nodded again. ‘Then he’ll certainly be pleased to see you. Simply look lovely and be friendly, as you always are. That’s all I ask.’

  ‘Well, if you say so, sir,’ she agreed, and he smiled determinedly.

  ‘Oh, I do, my dear girl,’ he said pensively. ‘I do.’

  The drive out to the function was in a chauffeured government car, and Steven Erasmus quickly slid the glass up so they could speak privately. ‘How do you feel, Zoe?’ he asked.

  ‘Fine, thank you, sir,’ she replied.

  ‘That’s good. I had a hard time getting to sleep last night fearing I had caused you undue discomfort.’

  ‘Oh no,’ she assured him quickly. ‘I mean, it only hurt a little.’ She blushed at the memory and looked away shyly.

  ‘It was all necessary,’ he stated. ‘I do hope you understand that. I should hate to think you blamed or hated me for doing what was required to instil the proper sense of discipline in you, my dear.’

  ‘Oh, I don’t blame you at all, Mr Erasmus,’ she assured him fervently.

  ‘You’re such a sweet girl, Zoe, and in private you may call me Steven.’

  She tried not to show her joy. ‘Oh, I couldn’t,’ she said.

  ‘Yes, you could,’ he said. ‘I want you to.’

  ‘But it doesn’t seem right…’

  He smiled and patted her leg. ‘I prefer it, really, and after all,’ he glanced at the back of the chauffeur’s head, ‘we are on rather intimate terms now.’

  She blushed. ‘Well, all right… Steven.’

  ‘So I didn’t upset you when I took you that way?’ he asked solicitously.

  ‘No,’ she said, squirming.

  ‘I shouldn’t have, and I hope you don’t hold it against me.’

  ‘No, of course not…’

  ‘I fear I grew rather excited when confronted with your beauty. After all, I’m just a man.’ He leaned in to whisper in her ear. ‘You’re a girl who needs to be used with strength, Zoe, who needs to be mounted by an experienced jockey and whipped to a lather.’

  She felt a thrill of forbidden excitement flash through her and her nipples began tingling.

  ‘Seldom have I encountered a girl whose sex grips my penis as strongly and as tightly as yours did.’

  His candid words, so shocking in the normality of their surroundings, made her blushed deeply, but her embarrassment was not as powerful as the pride she felt knowing her body had pleased him.

  The gathering was held at a country estate just north of the city, out of doors behind the grand house, around a large swimming pool. Many guests were wearing swimsuits, which encouraged a relaxed atmosphere. Their host, a genial man with red hair, wagged his finger at Zoe and Erasmus and insisted they each don one of the swimsuits set aside for people who arrived without one.

  A statuesque blonde named Allison led Zoe to a poolside cabana, and showed her a shelf of swimming costumes specifically purchased for the occasion.

  ‘I’m afraid I’m not very comfortable in a swimsuit,’ Zoe said sheepishly.

  ‘Oh, nonsense,’ the woman said, her eyes hidden behind dark sunglasses. ‘You have a lovely figure. I’m sure you’ll look great. Here.’ She handed Zoe a tiny red bikini with skimpy panties.

  ‘But I couldn’t possibly wear something like that,’ Zoe protested. ‘I’d actually prefer something like what you have on.’

  The woman was wearing a one-piece blue suit. ‘My dear girl,’ she said with a laugh, ‘I’m an old lady by comparison to you. What are you, barely in your twenties? Surely you want something sexier than I have on?’ and she held up another costume, a pink, slightly less revealing combination.

  Zoe shook her head frantically. She could not possibly go out amongst strangers wearing next to nothing. She spied a one-piece suit that looked her size, and before the woman could dig out something even more embarrassing, she reached for it. ‘I’ll try this one on,’ she said hastily.

  Allison frowned at the suit. ‘Well, it’s not one I’d recommend, but if you insist.’

  Zoe nodded firmly, and stepped behind a small screen to change. She stripped off her clothes, and put on the suit.

  ‘Come, let me look at you,’ the woman called, and Zoe stepped out obediently, feeling terrible as she was slowly and blatantly scrutinised. The swimsuit was a snug fit, but covered her as decently as she could expect – although she’d much rather be in her clothes and not wearin
g it at all.

  ‘Well, if that’s the one you want,’ Allison said, shrugging, then she took Zoe’s hand and led her out into the sunshine. ‘I believe you know Selina?’ she suddenly beamed conversationally, and Zoe looked at her with shocked surprise.

  ‘Yes, I – I do,’ she stammered, knocked off guard for a moment.

  ‘She’s a lovely girl.’

  Zoe nodded. She liked Selina immensely, but the topic embarrassed her somewhat considering what they had been up to together.

  ‘She works for me,’ Allison informed her.

  ‘Oh, really?’ Zoe absolutely didn’t feel like talking about Selina, and had the awful feeling that the overbearing blonde new something and was mocking her.

  ‘Yes, and she’d be here now except she’s rather tied up at the moment.’ Allison flashed Zoe a penetrating look, as if offering her the chance to respond.

  ‘Um, if you’ll excuse me, please,’ Zoe said, feeling the need to get away from the woman quickly. ‘I have to see Mr Erasmus.’

  ‘Of course, my dear,’ the woman purred, ‘I’ll catch up with you later…’

  Zoe made her way over to where Steven Erasmus stood talking with a younger man, and felt a little thrill when she saw him in his swimming trunks. Like her costume, they were conservative enough, but his surprisingly toned body was still pretty well exposed. He looked much better than most of the other men mingling about, the majority of whom were somewhat overweight.

  ‘Peter, this is Zoe Quincanon,’ he introduced her to his companion. ‘Zoe, this is Peter McNeil.’

  ‘How do you do, Mr McNeil?’ she said politely.

  ‘Very well now, thank you,’ the man smirked, his eyes arrogantly crawling all over her shapely curves. ‘I was just telling Steven we need to get more people in the water. They’re getting too hot under the sun and need to cool off.’