But the effort to close her thighs had died. All she could do was breathe, breathe hard. When she opened her eyes, just once, she glimpsed the back of Rachael’s head, the shiny black hair, filling her “V” down there. Then, she cried aloud and her body jerked.
“No!” she gasped. Or perhaps she whispered it. Or just thought it. Rachael’s tongue did not stop.
She struggled away. Or perhaps just lifted her loins, pushing upward. The tongue had arrived at a place and begun to circle, circle softly, and each trip plucked some tighter string in her belly until the notes were shrill. She couldn’t have imagined it even at the height of the teasing that had made her feel that her mind would snap. The tongue had found one spot, now, and would not let it alone. Hannah’s hands were moving, but she couldn’t concentrate on what to do with them; they kept jumping from her nipples to her face, covering it, and to the head pressed into her furrow.
What if it stopped? As it had before? She heard Lilly ask, close to her ear, so close the breath tickled her: “What did you say, puss?”
She had not realized she had spoken aloud. Now, she tried to say it again. But the sensations were seizing her; she felt her loins thrashing. What had she said? What?
She screamed it. “Don’t stop!”
Lilly giggled near her ear. “Not this time, puss.”
“Tell her…” murmured Hannah. “Tell her…” And then, she closed her eyes and gave it up. She had been gripping something at the edge of an unknown, bottomless place—a place where she might vanish. But she could hold on no longer, couldn’t, didn’t want to, wanted to let…
Her body stiffened, right to her toes, and she knew she couldn’t stand it and please, please wanted it not to stop. It had to stop! She fought to close her thighs to save herself; she couldn’t. She started to scream, but Lilly’s hand clapped over her mouth. Lilly’s other hand was taking revenge on Hannah’s pink nipples, screwing them around, but Hannah barely noticed. The thrills that shot into her belly, over and over, made her sob, and the sobbing became alarmed. “Stop, now!” But Lilly’s hand was over her mouth.
Hannah’s body twitched as though bitten by flies. She knew she would faint. And then it stopped, almost, moved away from the tormenting spot as the tongue pressed and soothed other flesh. The relaxation felt like a collapse through her whole body. She still panted, but more easily.
Lilly was pressing her cheek to the ravaged tits. “Did I kill you, puss?” Hannah didn’t want to talk or admit anything into that place in her mind where nothing could be wrong or bad or hurt her. She shook her head slightly, eyes closed. “Poor pink candies,” whispered Lilly.
They were caressing her. Occasionally they giggled. Once a impish finger flicked the spot and Hannah jumped, but they only laughed and went back to soothing her.
Evening chill forced them rise, reluctantly. Hannah’s muscles still functioned although everything, everywhere, felt soft. She smiled shyly at Rachael, who looked even more bashful. As they reached for their clothes, Hannah looked at the two nude women. Was she already feeling excited again?
And as she dressed, she thought: “Thank God I will never get out of here. I will try—yes, try—but never will succeed. Because no one ‘out there’—she thought of her mother, sisters, the minister—will have to know I did this. Will have to know the way I am. They will think that I died.”
They walked silently, sometimes holding hands, up the slope through the woods. At the open lawn, they saw many lights in the windows of the mansion and the lights brought dusk.
Chapter 17
“And He’s A Jew!”
Over two months, Hannah worked with so many instructors—most of them women—that she concluded there were almost as many instructors as students. Could all be life-long prisoners? None were more than 15-years her senior, she guessed, and all acted as though this elegant asylum were home. But if they had arrived as students, none spoke of it. She learned, though, that they did take part in the entertainments and in them were spared nothing.
But if they, too, were prisoners, had the hope survived in any of them to see the world, again, before they died? Might some be allies? If she spoke, hinted, at that without some unmistakable signal of understanding, she might find herself that night the naked, writhing plaything of the guards.
With each week, more was demanded of her. They guided her, drove her, toward some ideal she only glimpsed; but she gave herself totally. Here, away from the world, she yet was thrust into the world in a way inconceivable to the girl she had been. Even reading—more books than she had known existed—became part of all she did. She hadn’t imagined such books to open to her paintings, stories, poetry—the words of men and women from times Hannah had not known existed.
The daily challenge to her body never ceased, but now she scarcely could imagine a day without it. She ran from the class, naked, covered with sweat, but fueled with energy that drove her through the day. And when afternoon bells echoed through the corridors and chimed outside the open windows, she was free, at liberty in her prison to swim with Lilly and Rachael at every chance, walk the gardens, linger over dinner gossiping.
In late June, the performances began. Almost every evening the young men and women vanished to a part of the compound Hannah never saw, a part off-limits, where the summering elite of the realm were delivered in their carriages, ladies in unimaginably fine clothes, all laughing and chattering, to take their seats in some theater where lights dimmed and the curtain rose on Hannah’s classmates. But Hannah would not be considered for any performance until she had trained at least a year. The troupe was forbidden to discuss, even mention, the glittering evenings, the audience. All remained a mystery to Hannah.
Evenings of the performances, Hannah walked deserted halls, free to observe, note, even measure by her steps the dimensions of her prison. The web of captivity held her tenderly, now; she seldom encountered a guard or a locked door if she avoided areas banned to her. Yet, often her classmates returned exhilarated from their performances, whispering excitedly, though not when Hannah appeared to be within earshot. They whispered of applause, this or that personage, the tension, humor, and who had been “requested.” Hannah learned how to hear scraps of conversation that cumulatively told her a great deal.
Once, she overheard Charlotte—so excited perhaps she forgot Hannah—tell Darlene: “When Charles and Myra did the rape scene, last night, Myra came—really came!” And Darlene asked, in the drawl of pretended lack of interest, “Yes, but did Charles come?” And both giggled wildly.
On stage! With the duke watching! And ladies of unimaginable class! It could not be true. In a year? She told herself grimly that in a year she would not be here! Then, she heard Charlotte say, “Charles is furious that Myra came with his prick in her. She stole a cum! He only likes to tease!”
“Good for Myra!” said Charlotte.
“Someone says the duke has asked to put Myra in more plays.”
“She should be careful, they will be requesting her every night like they used to ask for Maria. And you know what happened.”
Darlene paled, and said, quickly, “Oh, no, they can’t do that, now.”
“And who tells the duke what he cannot do?”
“Don’t say that, even about Myra. It makes me shiver.”
They looked up and spotted Hannah, apparently absorbed in eating, head lowered. For a moment, they watched her, and then Charlotte said, in a slightly louder than normal voice, “Let’s talk about something other than exercise class.”
That afternoon, Lilly and Rachael came to Hannah’s room. The three liked fussing over each other as they experimented with their hair, then applied the powders and rouges and lipsticks that Hannah now knew well. They seemed never to tire of it, commenting, gossiping, and laughing—girls doing girl things. Today, though, almost before she was through Hannah’s door, Lilly burst out with: “There is a new man! He comes to class tomorrow!” Then she said, lowering her voice in awe, her face reddening: “And then w
e are going to do him!”
Hannah had come to cherish Lilly. She was normality. She brought enthusiasm and cheer to things. When Hannah slid into the melancholy hopelessness that always lurked just ahead, Lilly was sunshine. But Lilly also frightened her. There, in Lilly’s energy, smile, and unfailing cheer, Hannah glimpsed her fate--to see Hannah cease to exist and in her place an ebullient slave.
Still, she hadn’t the heart to crush Lilly’s pleasure. She said, “Oh! Tell me!” and glanced at Rachael. Rachael nodded, eyebrows raised in a pantomime of excitement, and said: “That’s right.” She lowered her voice and said, “And he’s a Jew!”
“Oh!” exclaimed Hannah, embarrassed that she didn’t understand the cause of the excitement.
“No one has seen it!” said Lilly in an excited whisper.
Hannah could fool Lilly, most of the time, but not Rachael. Rachael smiled and said, passing her hand over her loins, “He has no skin covering the end of his prick. They cut it off—when they are babies.”
“Yes!” breathed Lilly.
“Oh!” said Hannah, “cut it?” Foreskins were no mystery to her. She had bathed her brothers and satisfied her curiosity by saying, “We must wash here, too,” and pulling back the cowl over the little red bulb. She thought it curious, the whole arrangement, and wondered why God had created it. For what? But to cut it off? That sounded awful.
“We’ll see it,” said Lilly.
Rachael added, “Tomorrow in class.”
“Well, yes,” said Lilly, a little deflated, “but tomorrow night…”
“We play with it,” said Rachael. Her smile had failed.
Hannah was curious. “What do they do—to the boys? I never knew.”
Rachael said, “Darlene gives them ‘this is the duke’s…’ just as Charles does with the girls. Darlene, Hannah knew, had seniority among the girls as Charles did among the boys. Hannah managed, with her residual enthusiasm: “Well, we’ll see, then,” and hoped they would move on to the afternoon’s activity.
Lilly was harder to squelch. “Will Darlene touch it?”
“We’ll see,” Hannah repeated with still less animation.
Hannah had wondered: When a new man was led to class did a wardress bring him—or a man, perhaps a guard? What if he resisted? They had stripped her that first day. Could Lucile and the others overpower a man? She had thrown off her clothes and hung them on a hook when the dressing-room door opened. All the students, naked by now, turned to look. The answer, at least in this case, was a man, two men. But the young man seemed cooperative, dressed in the usual two-piece white cotton outfit. But by then the others were crowding into the great hall and Hannah ran after them. She never had been last.
The exercises barely had begun when the door opened and the new boy walked in, now naked, followed by one guard. Hannah saw far fewer male guards than females, but the presence of a man meant nothing to her. Her nakedness, the nakedness of all of them, was for all eyes. The young man walked slowly; the guard nudged him ahead. Still he walked at his own pace, head up, observing everything, and his brown eyes, so prominent in his face, seemed to Hannah both the most implacable and tender she ever had seen. They were beautiful! She leaped and bent, her breasts jouncing because she could not hold them, but never took her eyes off him. And then, he seemed to notice her and his examination of the room paused on her. For the first time in many days, she felt modesty. What could she do? All of her, breasts, bush, were there for his inspection.
And he, too, was exposed and Hannah noticed many heads were turned. Maria raised her voice, snapping directions, but the scrutiny continued. He was not tall—taller than Hannah, but not as tall as Charles—and his dark body seemed strong. From the shock of black hair that set off the fascinating brown eyes, her gaze slid to his chest, matted with hair, and to the drizzle of hair leading to his navel, and beyond, to join the luxuriant undergrowth from which the object of all attention hung. Well, yes, the dark bulb had no cover—as Charles’s had not, when he became stiff with her touching. But his had been cut off!
The guard had seated him on the bench. Were his eyes still on her? The impatient rhythm of exercise continued; no one could spare more attention for the newcomer. Occasionally, though, she glanced at him and he seemed to meet her eyes. Was she the most alluring woman among the beautiful, naked, leaping girls in the room?
Dinnertime came quickly. Darlene had told Hannah to be ready. She was next-to-newest; she must be there. Why? To show her she had gotten no more than equal treatment? And so, when others began slipping, one by one, out of the dining hall, as the new one ate at his table, Hannah left in turn. Did she want to do this? She admitted that she did. Not all would leave to join the initiation party. Some must stay so he would not notice that the dining hall suddenly cleared. Hannah was made to understand she had been given a privilege. She hated to go; she longed to go.
They were waiting, silent, when the doorknob turned and he entered. The women sat in a semi-circle, facing into the room; the men, four of them, were pressed against the wall beside the door.
He entered, stopped. Darlene rose. Hannah often wondered if Darlene would have been the darling of the opera, the stages of the West Side of London, the passion of a nobleman, if she were not here. She was of medium height, with chestnut hair and large green eyes and with legs that seemed extraordinarily long because they were too slim and breasts high and thrusting like Lilly’s but with large and yearning nipples. Hannah asked herself if God had fashioned a more desirable woman.
The man took two steps into his room. Behind him, the boys banged shut the door, but he seemed not to notice. The lock turned, but he only looked around the room, almost studiously. Then he said: “Oh, well, yes.”
He wore the white cotton two-piece garb they all did during the day. Charles came from behind him and said, “David, you know already that here you do what you’re told. Don’t you?”
After a moment, the man said, not looking around at Charles, “So far, I have done so.”
“Strip,” said Charles. When David did not move, he added, “We can do it for you. Is that what you want?”
“Get out of here.”
Charles stepped around in front of him. He reached for the collar of David’s blouse. “Don’t do it,” said David.
Charles’s hand closed over the collar. To Hannah, David’s hand seemed to move only inches, held low with his fingers stiff, but Charles folded instantly at the blow, as though sliced across the abdomen with a knife. He gripped his stomach with both arms and his breath came in quick, agonizing pants. David stood impassive.
Three men from behind him had jumped up. Darlene’s voice snapped like a whip: “No!” and they stopped. David had not even turned to look.
Darlene came toward him and Hannah held her breath. What could Darlene do? Close to David, Darlene halted and smiled, as though to smile were her only purpose. She was magnifcent, thought Hannah, and wondered if she felt jealous. “If not tonight, then it will go on,” said Darlene softly. “We all did it, sooner or later.”
David did not seem to acknowledge her. Darlene said, with the same soft insistence, “You saw us this morning, didn’t you? And we saw you?”
Still David gave no acknowledgment.
Darlene reached down to the bottom edge of her blouse, raised it over her head, and tossed it away as though it were trash. “See?” They were the breasts of a woman in a vision, dancing slowly around a desert fire under a desert moon, discarding a veil to command sheiks and kings. For a moment, she smiled at David, and then she said: “Then this?” Her hands took her waistband and slowly pushed it down. The glistening chestnut hair appeared. She glanced up, as though shyly, and murmured, “My pussy? Now, I have nothing else to show you, David.”
“All right,” he said. Hannah wondered why she felt no excitement but disappointment.
David lifted off the blouse, threw it aside. He pushed the trousers down to his hips and they fell. He kicked them off. Then he straightened up and
stood facing Darlene. Darlene’s smile sent a thrill even through Hannah.
Charles had seated himself, still slightly bent, and watched the drama unfold. Hannah turned to look at Lilly and Rachael; they watched, their lips parted.
“Yes,” said Darlene, her voice almost too soft to hear. She moved closer to David, her breasts bare. Just inches from him, she looked into his eyes; her hand came up and moved in circles over the hair matted on his chest, thick over his nipples. She said, “These are not your nipples, David; they are the duke’s nipples.”
He seemed unable to look away from Darlene’s eyes. Hannah decided that earlier in the day she had only imagined he gazed at her. He said, “I suppose you are right.”
Darlene said, “Now, you have to turn around, David.”
He turned, and Hannah saw his back was long, rising to powerful shoulders. Darlene put her hands on his shoulders. “Bend over,” she said, almost too softly for Hannah to hear.
David’s shoulders seemed to shrug. He bent over. Darlene’s hand slid down his back, lower, and paused on his buttocks. She murmured, “I have to do this, David,” and her fingers slipped into his crack. David started. “I must,” murmured Darlene.
Her fingers moved. She said, “David, this is not your arsehole. It is the duke’s asshole.”
He straightened up, and said, “All right?”
“All right,” said Darlene. Now, her breasts were pressed to his chest, her face raised to his, radiant. Her hand rested on his chest, then began to move downward. Hannah could not help staring, waiting. She was getting excited—and that, too, disappointed her.
The Price of Hannah Blake Page 12
