A Gentleman's Property

by Toby Abbott

  It was difficult to introduce much eroticism into the removal of the crinoline. That was more like mechanical engineering than striptease, involving the detachment of the frame from the belt, and the unhinging of the section that allowed her to wriggle free from the hateful contraption. The long frilly knickers gave much more scope for effective business, with hesitations, pleadings, turnings of the back, and attempts to sidle behind the stage bush all drawing out the process of pulling them down her legs. The bodice had already been half undone by Tommy is his role of Bandit Chief, but Mary gave full value to what remained by portraying Mary Smith as a girl who had never before had to undress herself, and was all thumbs when attempting to cope with buttons in a state of terminal embarrassment. The reluctant surrender of the bodice left only stockings and a chemise. Aubrey had taught Mary to introduce some pratfalls into the routine by attempting to remove her garters and stockings without bending over. Her stumbles were of course more revealing than any stooping could have been, and gave the audience (and Mr Morimoto) a first tantalising glimpse of her luxuriant bush. For the climactic chemise Aubrey had prescribed a sudden show of defiance. Mary was to draw it over her head in a single fluid movement, hurl it to one side, and fling wide her arms with a brave cry of “There”.

  As Aubrey had anticipated, this end to the striptease, rather out of character, but dramatic, produced an enthusiastic burst of applause, less for the acting than in tribute to Mary’s beauty, the founding glory of her pubic hair, and the extraordinary prominence of her nipples and sex lips. It was some minutes before the goggling Mr Morimoto (who could scarcely believe his luck) found enough composure to continue with his part. When he could drag his eyes away from Mary’s cunt the Samurai sprung his second trap.

  “Now you only have to present the fee, with the customary couplet in praise of my valour, and that part of your obligation is discharged.”

  “Customary couplet, my lord? But I do not know it.”

  “How could you know it, barbarian? It has to be extemporised to fit the persons and circumstances. No thanksgiving couplet could be the same as any other. As long as it follows the prescribed metrical rules, and is appropriate, original, and beautiful, nothing more is required.”

  “But I have no gift for poetry, my lord. I am sure I could never think of anything appropriate, let alone original or beautiful, even if I knew the rules.”

  “Another difficulty. I fear that after all it may have to be decap...”

  “O please, my lord, I beg you! I will do anything within my power.”

  “Well, let me see. I wish to be merciful. One has heard of the phrase, ‘the poetry of motion’. If you were to kneel down with your clothes piled on your back and wriggle your bottom until they had all been shaken off, that would constitute a poetic sight. Then you would only have to repeat the words, ‘Please fuck me, my lord,’ which would be poetry in my ears.”

  “Spare me, my lord, a poor virgin!”

  “Or would it be less trouble simply to de...?”

  Before the warrior could complete the word Mary was on her knees, the discarded clothes resting across her back, and gyrating her naked bottom wildly in the faces of the audience. “Please fuck me, my lord, please fuck me my lord,” she intoned over and over until her clothes were once more scattered about the stage.

  “The Samurai’s code will not permit him to refuse any just demand of a woman,” said the warrior unctuously.

  He turned the kneeling Mary sideways to the audience, collared and cuffed her, and attached the cuffs to the back of the collar, pressing her face and breasts firmly into the stage, and raising her bottom even higher.

  As he had written the scene, Mr Morimoto intended the warrior to keep Mary and the audience waiting while he made a business of removing his sword and belt, and loosening his heavy robes, but the first exciting glimpse of her extraordinary cunt had put paid to that part of the script. Morimoto’s erect little cock was twitching, and he was afraid of ruining the climax if he delayed any longer. So merely pushing the sword out of his way, and hitching up his robes in front, the Samurai squatted hastily behind Mary and thrust downwards into her gaping cunt without any preamble.

  “O, my lord, it is so big, I cannot bear it,” squealed Mary, who in reality only realised she had been penetrated (which was her cue) when she felt pubic hair scratching her clit.

  After the poetry of motion, here was an example of extreme poetic license, but although the words produced some raised eyebrows and conspiratorial glances around the audience, esprit de corps prevented anyone from laughing out loud. The warrior was now perched insecurely on the high point of Mary’s buttocks, looking rather like a jockey in an ostrich race. Here again the author had to modify his script. The warrior was supposed to ravish the virgin with vigorous strokes of his massive cock, but Mr Morimoto was afraid to move for fear of triggering immediate ejaculation. Mary, not knowing whether she was being ravished or not, continued with her lines as written.

  “O, please stop, my lord!” she sobbed. “I cannot bear it! Your noble sword is tearing me apart!”

  Suppressed titters ran round the audience, but Mr Morimoto was too far gone to notice. Mary’s words, with all the extra resonance they carried in an author’s ears, were more than his self-control could master. Throwing back his head, and giving vent to a stream of Japanese obscenities, he came immediately. At the last second writers’ vanity gave him the presence of mind to withdraw a little, and show the audience his semen spattering Mary’s cunt. This timely gesture turned their titters to cheers.

  Morimoto acknowledged the Club’s applause with as stately a round of Samurai bows as he could muster. Mary would have been glad to remain out of the limelight, but he insisted on her stepping forward too for some naked curtseys. The action caused sperm to drip onto the stage from her dangling labia.

  Mary Is Decorated

  Some of the audience supposed that the fucking of Mary marked the end of the performance, but the entrance of Tommy, Mark, and Reggie in fresh costumes and masks indicated that there was more to come. Now they were excise officers in search of any contraband goods or persons landed from the recent wreck. Reggie played their leader and spokesman. Tommy and Mark, as his assistants, carried enormous spades.

  “Greetings, noble sir,” said Reggie. “We are sorry to interrupt your honour in what appears to be very pressing and enjoyable business. Official duty must be our excuse. We have received information that a young barbarian woman was seen escaping (against all rules) from the ship wrecked on this coast. We have been detailed to find her and exact the punishment prescribed in such cases of unlawful intrusion. Has your honour chanced to see such a woman?”

  “Remind me, officer, what is the prescribed punishment?”

  “Burial alive,” shouted Tommy and Mark, brandishing their spades.

  “Burial alive?” said the warrior.

  “Burial alive!” quavered Mary.

  “Burial alive,” confirmed Reggie. “Have you seen such a woman, sir?”

  “I don’t think so, officer. Have you seen a strange barbarian woman today, slave?” he added, turning to Mary.

  “No, my lord,” said Mary, trying to look as slavish as possible.

  “Because I cannot help noticing, sir, that this woman is not Japanese. Whether or not she is the one we seek, that makes her liable to the prescribed punishment.”

  “Burial alive,” chorused Tommy and Mark, as before.

  “But this woman is my slave, officer. Is that not so, slave?”

  “Yes, oh yes, my lord.”

  “And as such, barbarian or not, she is exempt from the prescribed punishment.”

  “But your honour must be aware that no woman can claim the status and exemptions of a slave unless she wears a slave’s insignia. Where are her rings, her chains?”

  “I am perfectly familiar with t
he law, officer,” said the warrior, drawing himself up as much as Mr Morimoto could manage. “Surely you are aware that it allows a master time to have his slave marked. I was in search of a piercer when you interrupted me, but even such essential tradesmen are scarce in this desert region.”

  “I beg your pardon, sir, you are quite right about the law, of course. But in that case I am in a position to help your honour. A blacksmith and piercer, an excellent practitioner” (pronounced ‘prack-tit-he-on-her’ by Reggie, to the delight of the audience and disgust of the author) “lives but a stone’s throw from here. May I lead you to him?”

  “My lord, my lord,” said the agitated Mary, tugging on his sleeve with her teeth, “you told me to remind you of an urgent appointment in only ten minutes’ time.”

  “Thank you, slave, but personal business must give way to compliance with the law. I would not want you to fall foul of it. My memory is poor today, officer. What is the penalty for a master who neglects to pierce his slave?”

  “A fine, your honour, one piece of bronze.”

  “And for a woman masquerading as a slave?”

  “Burial alive,” said Tommy and Mark.

  “Then perhaps I could venture to omit the ceremony, since the penalty is so light. What do you think, slave?”

  “Oh, please, my lord, no, do not run such a risk I could not bear to think of your paying such a dreadful fine for my sake. I l-l-long to see the blacksmith.”

  The journey to the forge was managed by the simple device of the warrior, Mary, and the excise men trudging round and round the small stage obliviously, while two crewmen lugged on a furnace and various piercing tools of a surprisingly modern appearance for old Japan. When the props were in place the blacksmith made his entry. He was masked, but from his diminutive stature, his peculiar strutting walk, and the glasses built into the mask, the audience had no trouble in identifying him as Helmut Holle. He cut a ridiculously inadequate figure as a blacksmith. He looked like a boy beside the excise men, and even Mr Morimoto was half a head taller; but then, Helmut had been cast in this role for his prowess with piercing tools rather than the hammer.

  Among the props brought on to constitute the forge was an object like a small, sturdy blackboard, hinged in the middle so that it could be rotated within its frame. It faced the audience square-on in the centre of the stage. After the excise officer had introduced the warrior to the blacksmith and explained his business, Mary’s hands were unfastened from her collar and she was ordered to stand against the board. Its top was at the level of her shoulders, its bottom just above her knees. Her arms were pulled back over the top and fed down behind. At the bottom of the board, near its outer edges, were fixed two U-shaped objects like downward-pointing rowlocks. Mary’s legs were aligned with these, and while the two excisemen supported her weight, her knees were bent back behind the board and her ankles hogtied to her wrists. The ‘rowlocks’ now trapped her legs far apart. When Mark and Reggie stepped away Mary’s whole weight was thrown for an agonising moment onto her shoulders, but her pain was reduced immediately when the blacksmith tilted the board back to an angle of about thirty degrees and locked it in position.

  The audience now had an excellent view up between Mary’s legs to her remarkable cunt. Above that they could see her breasts and extravagant nipples, but not much of her face. The blacksmith improved their view by pushing a concave wedge from the top of the board behind Mary’s head and neck, forcing her to squint down between her breasts, and also severely limiting her ability to turn her head to either side. A small block attached to a belt was forced into the small of Mary’s back and buckled in place, lifting her bottom a few inches from the board to give free access to her cunt. Her bondage was completed by a combination strap and gag that held her firmly against the wedge while also trapping her tongue and forcing it out of her mouth to an uncomfortable extent.

  While the furnace and the various piercing irons were heating up the blacksmith prepared his shaving kit. The public pubic denuding of Mary deserved to be an entertainment in itself, not just an episode in a play. Nobody present had ever seen such a hairy cunt. The man who took locks of intimate hair from all his conquests, and eventually used the collection to stuff a pillow, could have gathered enough material instantly from Mary alone. Helmut spent some time trimming the amazing bush with his scissors. The cuttings were carefully gathered and passed to slaves waiting in the wings. Before the play ended they had worked them up into locks, neatly bound with ribbon, which were handed out to the members of the audience as souvenirs when they left the saloon.

  Mr Morimoto’s script had called for the hairs to be plucked, but Aubrey eventually convinced him that such a process would last longer than the patience of any audience. As a compromise it was agreed that most of the work should be done with the scissors and razor, leaving a few of the most delicately situated hairs for ritual plucking. Mary should have felt grateful, but the shaving was done with the minimum of soap and water, to improve the view of the audience and to increase the scraping pain for Mary, and as for the plucking, it was an agony the like of which Mary had not imagined in her worst moments of slavery.

  Helmut would use his silver tweezers to painstakingly select a single hair from her sensitive mount, and would stand tugging it and toying with it, coquetting with the audience and with Mary, till she wanted to scream at him. Then, without warning, he would yank out the hair by its roots, and she did scream at him behind her gag, scream and scream until she thought her voice must crack; but because her tongue was trapped so far out of her mouth, almost no sound was produced by all this passionate effort. She would finally regain some grip over herself, only to feel the tweezers searching for another strategically placed hair to destroy. The fact that the wedges at her neck and bottom forced her to watch every moment of Helmut’s teasing made things even worse.

  The audience enjoyed the first few demonstrations of this plucking technique, but then began to show signs of impatience. Mr Morimoto, anxious not to jeopardize the success of his play, whispered urgently in Helmut’s ear. Even if she had been in a fit state to weigh alternatives, Mary would not have been able to decide whether the accelerated style Helmut now adopted was more or less awful than the cat and mouse game. The mental torment was reduced, the physical agony increased. Now there was no possibility of recovering any kind of self-control between the sharp bursts of agony. The pain from one yank merged with the next. Mary was constantly trying to scream, constantly trying to move her cunt out of Helmut’s reach. She did not succeed with either aim, but the effort she put into these doomed attempts was enough to rekindle the audience’s enthusiasm..

  Even when the final hair had been plucked, Mary continued to writhe and moan while the blacksmith received compliments from the warrior and a burst of applause from the audience. When she was again able to take an intelligent interest in her surroundings, the first thing Mary saw was Helmut removing his red hot pincers and needles from the furnace. For this scene a ‘dress’ rehearsal had, of course, not been possible, but judging from the degree to which the plucking sequence had outdone her worst fears, Mary decided that she no longer wished to be an actress. Before Helmut could even turn from the furnace, the contained writhing and muffled screaming had begun again.

  In fact, these instruments of torture were merely for show. Once he was sure she had seen them and understood their threat, Helmut blindfolded Mary To keep her terror at its maximum height he had the excise men stoke up the furnace until it hissed, while he himself prepared a thoroughly modern and hygienic piercing kit. The picturesque was all very well, but the Millionaires did not believe in risking valuable livestock for its sake.

  Mary was very much the girl-in-pearls type, so her ears had been pierced long ago. Helmut therefore started with her tongue, so conveniently presented for his attention by the combination strap and gag. He positioned a spring clip (with strings attached) just behind the tip,
and snapped it shut with relish. Mary immediately began to waggle the protruding part of her tongue, as if she thought it possible to shake off the clip. Helmut put an end to that by getting the excise men to pull up firmly on the two strings, until the tongue was stretched, still, and horribly vulnerable. Helmut made the piercing just behind the clip using a standard punch, but Mary, in her terror-filled darkness, was convinced that red-hot pincers had gripped and pulled her martyred tongue, and that a red-hot skewer had burnt a hole through it. A sleeper stud was quickly put in place.

  The nose was next for treatment. The Club had little use for flimsy and unaesthetic nostril piercings, but Helmut made them anyway, as they could sometimes contribute to a fancy binding. But for the Millionaires the septum was of course the real thing, both for strength and symbolism. The eager assistants pulled Mary’s nostrils back out of the way while Helmut got the punch into position, but before making the piercing he remembered his part.

  “Barbarian, from your looks I guess that you have led many a man by the nose in your own benighted country. From now on the chain will be in another hand.”

  The punch snapped shut fiercely and Mary gave vent to a series of peculiar high-pitched squeals, while the ‘blackboard’ rattled and creaked.

  “Have you a name for this slave, Sir?” Helmut continued. “If not, may I recommend ‘Piggy’ as most appropriate.”

  The sleeper used this time was a down-curving piece of ivory, pointed at each end, that gave Mary something of the look of an Andaman Islander.

  Helmut proceeded methodically to Mary’s nipples. Extra straps were applied above and below her breasts to keep her trunk perfectly still. A ball of twine was produced and used to create a tourniquet around the base of each nipple, and the loose ends were again entrusted to the excise men. They pulled on them to stretch Mary’s breasts towards the ceiling, and to hold them still. The huge nipples were now swollen even further than usual, and utterly at Helmut’s mercy.