Chapter 6
Valerie's friend was a sensible woman and a good friend who shared a similar social position. She called Valerie's family lawyer immediately and had him come over even before the doctor.
The lawyer would discreetly report the burglary, demanding that no questions should be asked of Mrs. Colby. The family was wealthy enough and powerful enough to manipulate matters that way.
Valerie could feel herself going to pieces as the day progressed. She was afraid to turn, afraid to move from one room to the other, for fear that someone would be there to attack her.
Things were brought to her from the bedroom when she asked for them, but she never entered that room again. Someone went into the room and packed her suitcases for her.
That evening Valerie was on a train heading south. She would go down to a friend's place in Virginia. It would be a little rest. It turned out to be a long rest. She sold the New York apartment without even traveling back up there.
When her husband was found innocent of the charges brought against him, even though she knew that he was guilty, the two of them bought a place in North Carolina and settled there.
The furniture from the New York house was placed into storage and forgotten about for many years.
It wasn't until the middle of the nineteen-fifties that a new family lawyer asked about the items in storage in New York. When he remarked, "Get rid of the stuff if you're never going to use it again. It's silly to keep it," the couple took his advice.
He got rid of the furniture for them. There were many beautiful pieces which got a lot of attention from furniture dealers. The brass four-poster bed was neglected by many in favor of the pieces that had certain prestige attached to them.
After the high bidding was done on the Louis XV chairs and the Colonial dining table, the brass four-poster was put into a lot with a bunch of other things from the house.
Granted, the salesmen figured that they would attract the attention of the furniture buyers to that particular lot of items due to the presence of the brass bed. They were right. It went for a good price and soon the bed was featured in an antique showroom in Manhattan.
No one there knew the history. No one had even bothered to mention that this had been the Colby furniture that was being sold. Mr. Colby's name had stopped being mentioned once he was found innocent of the charges of war profiteering, and, since Mrs. Colby had disappeared suddenly from New York and into the backwoods of North Carolina, her name stopped meaning anything in society.
No one imagined the lurid past the bed had had, the way this sensual piece of craftsmanship had driven more than one person mad with erotic passion that grew directly from the brass fittings.
Somehow this bed had inspired thoughts of bondage and discipline in more than one person.
And the bed's life was far from done. It was to see many more owners and more years of use.
Once again, the beauty of the bed was seen. As it sat in the antique showroom there were offers for it. It was soon purchased and it was shipped to the new owners.
"This'll be perfect in the room at the far end," the large woman laughed as the moving men carried the bed inside.
The eyes of the moving men were wide when they looked around them. This was very obviously one of the high priced whorehouses that they had heard so much about on the east side.
The setting was opulent and as they passed different doors they saw different scenes inside each of them. There was no sex on display, only settings. One room was done completely in mirrors and another room was done with pink satin on the walls. Still another room looked for all the world as if it was an old farmhouse with wooden walls and domestic paintings.
It was the room at the end of the hall that was their goal.
The large woman, the one who ran the house, pushed the door open for them. This was the most impressive room of all. The heavy black velvet covered all the walls and was only broken by the clear, frameless mirrors that reflected each other and any image a hundred times.
"I know just where I need it!" the woman said as she ran to the other side of the room.
Although this was the largest of all the rooms, it had the least furniture. The stark look was obviously part of the whole atmosphere of this one, the masochist's room.
The ceiling had concealed lights and was painted in a high-gloss black.
There were, in the room, only two small stools, covered in black velvet, the same as the walls, and two brass stands for hanging clothes. The bed was positioned against the far wall of the room in a position that made it perfectly symmetrical to the room.
"Perfect!" the large woman shouted, clapping her hands. "Worth every penny."
The two working men laughed and told her what a pleasure it was being there. She winked at them and laughed, "Maybe I'll give you a special tip, boys." They giggled, thinking of what it would be. "The tip is. . . never give a sucker an even break." Then the woman laughed hysterically.
She slapped both workers before they had a chance to take offense and said, "Come into the parlor and have a drink with me and my girls. You've done a fine job."
Actually she had no intention of giving them any money for a tip. Actually, although they were of a lower class than her normal clients, she was hoping that since they were men and since they were there she might be able to get them to spend some money at her place.
"Say, what kind of guys want this room here where we put the brass bed?" the younger workman asked.
The large woman chuckled and said, "Didn't you ever get turned on by seeing a big woman in black leather boots with a whip? This is for that kind of scene."
"Wow!" the younger of the two workers said, turning back and looking into the room.
And so, the bed had a new home. It was the most luxurious setting yet. This was surely the ring that was treating the gem as a true gem which was permitted to shine on its own.
The stark contrast of the shimmering brass with the black velvet of the walls made the bed look even more beautiful than it was. It was truly a thing of beauty.
But, it was not a happy home for the beautiful bed. The bed was not content at all with the new surroundings.
It was put to work, earning money, that very first night that it was in the bad house.
The door was pushed open early that evening and a hand turned the lights on very dim. Then the couple entered the room. She had long black hair and was wearing a black dress that was showing ever ripple in her sensually formed body. He was a nervous man.
His clothes were obviously expensive. His suit was obviously cashmere. His tie obviously had a designer's name imprinted in the middle of the design. In other words, he was a very obvious man.
"My name is Serena," the black-haired beauty said in a voice that was deep and musty. "You shall call me Mistress, with a capital 'M', do you understand?" She spoke everything in one breath. It was clearly a well-rehearsed scene that she knew well.
"Yes, Mistress," he said, bowing his head slightly and shuffling his feet.
"I cannot hear you! Louder!" Again it was a rehearsed line.
"Yes, Mistress. Anything you say, Mistress." He fell to his knees and his tongue was on her high black boots in an instant. He was licking at the hot black leather.
"Lick my black boots," Serena hissed, really getting into the dominance aspect of what she was doing. The fact that she was being paid for it was, as far as she was concerned, only right. She believed in female domination. She was a dominant woman who wanted to humiliate men.
That was why she did such a good job of it. She believed that the men ought to pay her as a love offering because they should be forced to prove that they are worms under her feet.
The fact that she worked in a classy brothel was merely a pragmatic consideration. She liked having a clean and secure place where she was able to know that the cops were paid off. In fact, she had sometimes given free sessions to a couple of the policemen. However, she never even told the manager, she had humiliated them and forced them to give her money even though, as cops, they were supposed to get her for free.
Serena knew that any man who chose her had something specific in mind. She didn't smile like the other girls. She stood tall and always wore black which accented her black hair and her pale features. She wasn't sweet and smiling like the other girls.
Any man who wanted Serena wanted to be a sex slave and that was the end of that.
This nervous man hadn't been with her before, but she was glad that she was off to such a good start. He was already sucking and licking on her shoes.
But, it was time for her to move on to the next step. "You may remove my boots, slave."
"Thank you for that honor, Mistress," he said, eagerly pulling at her boots.
She slapped his hand, very hard, and he brought it to his lips as he looked at her. His wide eyes seemed as if they were the eyes of a sad puppy. But, no, that was a bad metaphor. Serena always treated puppies with great kindness and tenderness.
There would be no tenderness for this crawling slave. She brought the toe of her boot right up toward the man's balls and stopped less than an inch away, letting the man know that she had the skill to kick him in the nuts at any time she chose to do so.
"You put your hands there, slave! How dare you try to interfere with my actions."
He was shaking his head and whimpering softly. "And, besides, you're not naked yet. You cannot hope to be given the honor of removing my boots until you are naked."
When the man stripped he revealed that he was really only in his early thirties. It was just his classy clothes that made him seem older and more worldly.
His clothes were bunched up together and he was bunched up and hunched over on his knees.
"Now, get down like a dog and take off my boots through your legs."
He figured out the position she was demanding and he got down with his back to her, grabbing her boot through his legs and pulling on it. "One hand behind the heel and the other hand at the top of the toes. Now pull, slave. Pull off my boots."
As he pulled on her first boot she leaned her ass down on the bed and she dug the heel of the second boot against the crack of the man's ass. He actually felt the tip of her high heel digging in against his sphincter as he pulled one boot off and drove himself back against the spiked heel.
Then she switched feet. This time as he pulled off the second boot he only had her bare foot to press against the cheeks of his ass. But that was sensual enough.
She stood up then and peeled off her dress. She revealed that underneath she was wearing nothing but a black leather garter belt and a pair of high net stockings.
Spreading her legs apart, she pulled on the man's thin hair and said, "Suck my hole."
The man's lips pressed right up against her pussy slit and then he sucked hard, stuffing his tongue into her as far as it would go. She could feel her pussy being spread open by the pressure of the tongue. It was a pleasure for her, but she wanted more.
Grabbing his hands, she said, "On the bed, slave."
He climbed onto the bed and she quickly pulled rope from under the mattress. It was kept there for the times when it was needed. But, she stopped with the ropes in her hand.
"You stay right where you are, slave." This was a good one and he was worth a little effort on her part. She ran to a closet that was hidden in the wall and she pulled out some items she wanted to use. She brought back a bunch of leather cuffs and a riding crop.
Snapping one leather cuff onto one of his . wrists, she pulled the chain around the outside of the brass vertical bar and then she pulled the other leather cuff around his other wrist.
He was bound with his hands over his head. "Okay," she hissed, producing a dildo from underneath the bed. "Now I'm gonna have a little fun with you and see how good you are at being a slave."
She worked the dildo, using a little grease, into the guy's ass. He squirmed as if he weren't willing to take it. But, since he had paid for this session and he had the option to get out anytime he wanted to, she knew that he was willing.
When she pushed a little bit more of the dildo inside his body she felt the man squirming under her. She felt his cock and knew that it was hard. The nerve endings all around his anal opening were being massaged, stimulated by the pressure of the dildo in his ass.
And then, beyond the nerve endings, there was his prostate. His prostate was the spot right behind his balls, where all of his spunk was stored, where it mixed with the thick white cream that helped it to spew out of the hard rammer. The tip of the dildo massaged his prostate.
His cock was stiff as a metal rod and there was white liquid that was oozing out of the head of it because of the pressure against his prostate. The man was going wild as she worked the dildo in and out of the tender hole, knowing just what she was doing all the time.
Then, she left the dildo stuffed inside him with no fear that it would go soft.
She spread herself out over his crotch and then she pressed the head of his dick against the lips of her pussy. She could feel the sensual massage that was driving her wild and then she plunged downward. "Yes, slave. Serve me. Serve me, you lowly, unworthy slave."
"Oh, yes, Mistress. Oh! Mistress! Yes! Oh!" He was writhing his hips up and down as hard as he could. He was slamming the stiffness against the insides of the woman's body.
And then, his arms tied over his head and the woman riding on his cock, he felt her cunt pulling and nipping on his cock and then he started to shoot deep inside her hole.
She pulled off him. This was the problem of being a prostitute and doing it on a paying basis. She knew that there were other men waiting. She had brought this man to his orgasm, which was his goal in paying. There were other men who would bring her money this night. So what if she left this man without having gotten her full satisfaction. She had to get to the others anyway.
And so, Serena ordered the man to dress and she slipped her own dress back on. Then she stood in the doorway and stopped the man from leaving by holding out her hand.
He handed her the forty dollars that was demanded for such a special session in those days. But, she remained where she was and said, "The price here is forty. That is correct. But, if someone really wants to see me again they will give me a little something special so that I remember them next time. . . My memory is apt to wane with so many unworthy slaves."
When she held out her hand to him again, he reached in his pocket and flushed. "I'm a little short right now, but would another. . . uh, ten dollars.. . be okay?"
"It will do for now," she said, holding out her hand and not grabbing for the money.
He rushed out of the room and rushed, ashamed, from the apartment. But, what great harm is there for a man to be ashamed, when he finds great pleasure merely in the chance to be ashamed.
Things went basically like that for the brass four-poster over the following years. Of course, with changes in political winds, the house on the East side was closed. But, another house was opened by the same people on a nearby block within a week.
That was the way things went. At regular intervals a place would close down and another place would open up. The bed would be moved. But, it seemed, each new hope was progressively shabbier.
Oh, it was nothing that was really noticeable at first. Perhaps the first place was only a little bit less than the one before. It was just that after it had been moved ten times even the mute and dumb brass of the bed could tell that it was in a seedier place.
By the tenth move there was formica furniture and patterned, glossy wallpaper.
It was the start of the nineteen-sixties and fashions dictated that everything be sleek and modern. Customers, it was felt, didn't want to see something old-fashioned like a brass bed.
People wanted to see a whole room decorated with plastic. That was the modern thing. It wasn't a putdown to say that something was plastic. Rather, it was the age when plastic was considered the miracle of the world. People laughed at the brass bed.
And even the bed itself missed the initial days, the days on the East side with Serena. At least Serena had always gotten into the scene. Sometimes she would have a customer who really wouldn't do much for her, but she was able to work herself up into a good frenzy because of her love of domination. The bed had never come to truly appreciate that until he had to deal with some of the cheaper hookers who pretended to be dominants and giggled at the men they spanked.
Perhaps, though, part of the thrill for these men who craved humiliation, was that these women who were hookers were giggling at them, putting them down for the things that gave them pleasure.
Of course there was no one who was polishing the bed. The brass had been slammed into many times. It was scraped and scratched where there had been chains and cuffs hitting against it.
It was crushed where it had fallen down a flight of stairs. Actually everyone stopped and admired the bed after the fall. "Look at that.
It's just squashed in over there, but aside from that there's not a mark on it. They really built things to last back then."
"Oh, yeah," someone else said in a bored voice. "But, it's so fuckin' heavy to move." There was general laughter and as they carried the bed out to the moving truck one man told the other movers about this patio set that was made of plastic, that his wife had been able to carry home by herself.
No one could see the beauty of the brass any longer. It was dulled with time and battered. Finally it was not even good enough for a tacky whorehouse. It was moved into a tawdry hotel in the Times Square area. The landlord of the hotel was the same man who owned the whorehouses.
The bed had traveled a long way from the elegant suburban home that it had first graced. It was in a set of little rooms that smelled bad and then alternately smelled of Lysol. No sooner was it placed in the room than a group of people came in.
It was the hotel manager who swept his hand across the two room apartment and said, "This is the room folks." He didn't even sound encouraging about it.
The woman and the man and the girl looked around. "Will this couch be okay for you to sleep on, lamb?" the woman asked the girl who was obviously her daughter.
"I don't care, Momma. It'll be fine for me to sleep on."
The girl sounded bored. The man was silent. He let the two women argue about the matter. Actually it was only one woman who argued the matter. The woman argued everything. Her daughter always seemed tired, always seemed strung out on something. The man seemed amused by it all.
And so the three of them moved into the little sleazy apartment.
The first night there, as Ella was undressing to her satin slip, Guido, who had an Italian accent, was feeling the cold brass of the bed as he said, "I always wanted one of these."
Ella laughed and showed off her full figure. She was in her late thirties and she could have afforded to lose twenty pounds, but that was what Guido liked about her. He wasn't her husband and he didn't have any attachment to her other than the sexual one at the moment.
"Don't laugh. How do you think you'd look tied up to this for sex?"
"Oh, go stuff it!" she said, laughing a little bit more.
He suddenly turned angry and grabbed her wrists, pulling them over her head. "You don't laugh at me when I wanna do somethin'. You understand what I'm sayin'? "
"The kid'll hear you in the other room," she whispered in a hoarse voice.
"Then do what I tell you to do," he said, rubbing his fingers over her wrists and holding them up near the tarnished brass of the headboard. "You understand?"
"You wanna do that? You wanna tie me up?" Even though her voice was a whisper, there was a squeak to it.
Reaching into his pants pocket, he pulled out a big bandana that he had used to tie around his head earlier that day when he had played softball in the park. Now he used that same sweatband to tie the girl's wrists together and to tie them to the brass headboard.
Ella was stunned by the sudden response of the man. If she had known the history of the bed, if she had only known the history of the bed, then she wouldn't have been at all surprised. This was just another page, another step in the history of the brass four-poster.
Somehow the bed had that affect on people. It brought out the dominant strain in them. Except, of course, for those people whose submissive strain was brought out. The bed, being such an obvious instrument of bondage, loomed large in the psyches of all its owners.
But, for this night the bed merely loomed large in the cluttered room.