Chapter 5
Eunice Mordaunt uttered a sigh of relief. The plump, pleasant-faced Negro porter had come in obsequiously, made up the beds in the compartment, asked if there was anything he could bring for the lady and then pocketed the tip Jack gave him and eased out the door, leaving them alone together.
"Go ahead and take the bathroom first, honey and get to bed. I'll sit up and smoke. I want to be rested when we get to Mexico," he said.
Startled, Eunice eyed him. Was he really so considerate? Had she erred in her judgment of him? She bit her lips, confronted by this contradictory evidence. Finally she said, "Thank you. It's very decent of you."
She rose and went to the private bathroom of the pullman compartment. She couldn't know that his eyes were feasting on the oval cheeks of her backside, moving tightly against the pleated shirt which shaped out hose juicy ass-globes. Because he was a connoisseur of cunt, Jack Mordaunt found a great deal of relish in telling himself that there was no hurry in bringing Eunice to the point of submission. The longer he waited to make his first emprise of her luscious, lithe, firm and supple body, the more humiliation and anguish she would suffer. And yet he could hardly wait to see the clothes stripped away, to see those sculptured, marble-like hillocks of her virgin ass streaked with a whip, reddened by the palm of his striking hand, the cheeks drawn asunder by her own trembling fingers as she bared the dainty, crinkly rosette of her virgin asshole and let him see not only that maiden jewel, but also the appetizing fur-framed lips of her maiden cunthole ... all his to enjoy in so many exquisite and perverse ways.
Yes, rather than fucking her right now and imposing his husbandly rights upon her, Jack Mordaunt decided to prolong his feast of fuckery until Eunice would be like a captive deer in a trap, watching the hunger slowly glide toward her, not knowing when the excruciating moment of supreme sacrifice would be demanded of her.
When she emerged in her nightgown, with a modest grey cotton bathrobe over it, the belt tightly tied, she turned scarlet to find his eyes fixed on her. He was still seated directly across from the little door from which she emerged. He had been sitting there all the time, she suddenly realized, smoking his cigarette and waiting for her to come out. Her breath tremblingly rose and fell beneath the thin nightgown and the robe. She felt her very flesh crawl, as if his eyes were fingers, touching her in places that no man had ever done before. Between her legs, in that furry little spot ... she knew very well, at least from books, what men and woman did together. Until this actual moment, even during the ceremony of the marriage at the City Hall, she had not actually realized that when she became the wife of Jack Mordaunt, her soft slit between her quivering thighs became his to pry into with that big, hard thing between his legs.
"Well, I'll sleep in the seat. It's wide enough to put my legs up on, Eunice. You take the whole bed to yourself. I want you to get rid of that headache so you can have on your honeymoon."
Again her eyes widened with surprise. She hadn't expected any consideration at all, even though she had come out and told him that she was indisposed.
"Th - thank you, J-Jack. It's very good of you to be so understanding."
"You'll find me a very understanding fellow, Eunice baby," he said with a voice that jarred her with its almost flippant familiarity. It was precisely the tone he wanted to let her know that she wasn't a statue up on a pedestal, or wouldn't be for very much longer. Rather, in his fantasy, he could see her up on a pedestal with the bathrobe and the nightgown fallen to the floor, standing there and shrinking under his eyes, with maybe a spotlight on her that would bring out the finely grained naked skin, the hairs over her cunthole. Yes, she was going to be his statue, his bedbitch, his naked thing, his sloven slut. And what she didn't team from him, Luis and Dolores could teach her!
When he turned out the light, after she had quickly gotten into bed and pulled the sheets up to her neck, (despite the warm weather outside, the train's air conditioning wasn't as cool as it might have been) she saw the continuing glow of his cigarette before she finally fell asleep. It was like a baleful eye regarding her. Once again she dreamed ... she dreamed that she was in a darkened room and could hear the slithering of some animal or person or serpent in the distance, but she could see nothing. Nothing until out of the darkness there came a terrible red eye fixed on her, stripping away her clothes and then growing larger and larger as if to bum her to a crisp. She clutched her hands to her cunthole, in her dream, wanting to protect that at all costs. Cold sweat pearled on her forehead and she moaned.
Jack Mordaunt raised his head from his bed on the long lounge-seat. Then he chuckled softly and went back to sleep.
Eunice had slept fitfully during the night, troubled by her disturbing subconscious anxieties over this hasty, loveless marriage. When she wakened, Jack Mordaunt already shaved and dressed and was smoking a cigar, the fumes of which made her wrinkle her nose.
"Would you mind going out into the club car, Jack, please? Father never smoked cigars at home because the smell of them bothers me a good deal," she explained.
"Is that so?" he insolently replied, his eyes fixed on her with a mocking attentiveness. "I'm sorry, but I have to have my morning cigar, especially before I have breakfast. I've been waiting for you to get up and dress so we can order it. We get to Amarillo late tomorrow afternoon, so while you're in this compartment, honey, you'll have to learn some of my little foibles. It will help make our marriage go smoother, if you know what I mean."
"I understand," she replied, trying to keep a smile on her lips, though she didn't feel like smiling at all. "But I really can't bear that awful cigar. Won't you be nice and smoke it somewhere else?"
"No. Now get in the bathroom and get dressed, because I want my breakfast," he said curtly.
Eunice paled again and a vivid blush suffused her cheeks, as she caught her breath at his insolence. She started at him for a moment, almost ready to cry out to him that he was behaving like an utter boor. But strangely, though she couldn't explain it herself, there was something in his look which held back her tirade at the last moment. It was a brooding, baleful look ... now she remembered. It was like that terrible red eye which pursued her in the nightmare.
With a sigh which was audible to him and a shrug of her beautiful shoulders, Eunice Mordaunt went into the bathroom, closed the door and then locked it.
Jack Mordaunt leaned back in his seat, put the cigar to his lips, and leaning his head back, blew a thick blue wreath up at the ceiling. There was a cruel grin on his sensual mouth. He was anticipating his first domination of his beautiful wife ... the wife who destined to be his slave, his bitch, his prick-adorer, the humble, servile creature who would perform at his bidding and in terror for the sanctions he would otherwise interpose, the most odious and obscene of acts.
When Eunice came out of the bathroom clad in the white pleated dress which had been her wedding gown, the compartment was thick and acrid with cigar fumes. She grimaced with disgust and put a cologne-soaked handkerchief to her dainty, aquiline nose, a gesture which Jack Mordaunt did not miss.
"Well, ready for breakfast now?" he asked jovially.
"If you like," she said coldly. "But frankly, I'd rather eat in the dining room and be away from this dreadful smoke."
"We're going to stay in this compartment until we reach Amarillo, Eunice, so get that through your pretty head. Now sit down and behave yourself."
"How dare you?"
"You forget you're married to me and that in this state, as well as the one we just passed through last night, a husband can punish his wife any time she acts up and makes a fool of herself. Just remember that, beautiful."
He lolled back in his seat, his legs sprawled, puffing away at the stub of his cigar. Eunice felt her blood pressure going up. She was furious with him. He was doing this on purpose, just to anger and humble her. The offensive boor! Yes, that was exactly what he was. She had been right the very first time she had met him, in that judgment of his nature. And to think she was married to this oaf, when there were so many distinguished young men back in Asheville who could have courted her. Oh, the ignominy of it!
But there was something in his mockingly jovial attitude and the watchful glint in his eyes which made her, despite herself, sit down in front of him, her hands folded on her knees and regard him with a kind of frightened anticipation.
Indolently he reached over and pushed the button to summon the Pullman porter.
"What would you like for breakfast, darling? I would suggest a good hearty one. I like a woman who eats. It means she fucks like a mink when it's bedtime. You know, that's really true, baby."
"What did you say?" Eunice's cheeks were flaming again and her eyes were building, while her partner lips curled in a grimace of revulsion.
"I said," he patiently replied, "that I like a woman who eats, because it means she fucks good in bed. Or don't you understand the terminology? Don't tell me you've never fucked before, Eunice baby."
"Ohhhh! You - insufferable beast! You filthy scoundrel, to dare to speak to me that way!"
"Well, well, well," he chuckled as he took another irritatingly deliberate puff at what was left of the cigar. "I wouldn't have guessed in a million years that haughty Miss Eunice Norton would know what the word 'fuck' means. Maybe I've got you all wrong, honey. Maybe you aren't cherry after all. Well, to tell you the truth, I'm sort of looking forward to that, because it's always messy when you're doing it for the first time as man and wife. Now, don't sit there starting at me like that. Here's the porter at the door."
"Ohhhh, why-you-you-" Eunice spluttered, at a loss for words for the first time in her sheltered young wife. But she sat down, fuming, magnificent pear-titties rising and falling in angry rhythm, while he leisurely rose and strode to the door of the compartment and opened it.
"Come in, boy. What's your name?"
The Negro porter, who was about fifty, portly, with a friendly plump face and horn-rimmed glasses, smiled at him.
"Benny, suh. At your service. Cain oh git you 'n re lady sompin for brekfus'?"
"I think so, Benny." Jack Mordaunt reached into his trousers and pulled out a fat wallet. He pulled out a bill and handed it to the porter. "I want you to see to it that we're your best customers, Benny."
"Yassuh. You don't have to worry none 'bout dat." The beaming porter pocketed the bill and bowed his thanks.
"I'd like a cantaloupe, or a honey dew would be better if you have it, oatmeal - oatment with lots of cream, good rich cream, Benny - an omelet with about five eggs - no, make it six eggs. And about a dozen very crisp slices of bacon. Don't let a drop of grease be on that bacon either."
"Yes sir."
"Let's see. A couple of English muffins toasted almost black, a plate of whole wheat toast, the same way. And a couple of pots of coffee. Oh, yes, and get me six of these Perfecto Garcias, the panatela size. Bring it right away, Benny."
The negro porter bowed and left the compartment.
"You might have consulted me as to what I like to eat in the morning, Mr. Mordaunt." Eunice's tone was icy.
"I suppose I might have," he cheerfully agreed. "But if you and I had been to bed last night and had a good fuck for ourselves, I'd be much more inclined to gratify your wishes, my dear girl. As it is, we're still strangers and you're going to do what I do, eat what I eat and like what I like. If you don't, you're going to be a mighty sorry girl."
"All I want is some coffee and white toast, done very light. Will you kindly ring for that porter and tell him. I'm certainly not going to eat all that food. It's still summertime and I have a very delicate stomach."
He put his hands on his knees and leaned toward her, a little smile on his lips. "A delicate stomach, eh? Well, I wonder if your cunt and your asshole are as delicate. Are they?"
For a moment she sat there staring at him, as though she had not heard him right. Then with a frantic cry of rage and desperation, she sprang up from her seat, strode him and slapped him viciously across the lips.
"You scoundrel! You infamous scoundrel! To talk such filth to a decent woman! Just because I'm your wife I don't have to take this sort of thing! So far as I'm concerned, Mr. Mordaunt, I don't have to put up with this sort of thing at all, do you hear?"
"Clearly, baby," he drawled. "Now go back and sit down, now that you've delivered your little oration. I'll see you after breakfast."
The porter knocked, opened the door and deferentially set up the table and laid out the breakfast. Eunice glared and Jack Mordaunt blithely ignored these storm signals. He was working on a storm of his own, though she didn't know it. He poured out half a cup of black coffee for her, picked up one of the least browned pieces of toast and shoved it over to her place.
"There. If you'd like some melon, ask me nicely."
"This will be quite enough. I'll ask you for nothing, Mr. Mordaunt," she answered coldly.
He shrugged his shoulders and ate with gusto. By the time the porter once again respectfully knocked at the door to remove the table and take away the dishes, Jack Mordaunt had completely finished everything the chef had prepared, much to Eunice's astonishment.
"Take it way, then come back here, if you will, Benny," he said.
"Yasshh. Yassuh. Right away."
In a few moments the Negro porter was back, looking wonderingly at his munificent patron.
"Close the door and lock it after you, Benny. I want you to be a witness."
"Yassuh." The porter did as he was told and stood inside wonderingly.
"Benny, we've just been married - yesterday afternoon."
"Well, dat sho am nice, boss! Ah hopes you 'n de liddle lady'll be real happy now."
"Oh, I'm sure we will, Benny, after she's had a little lesson on how to act. Can you imagine, she didn't care for this nice breakfast."
"Mr. Mordaunt," Eunice interrupted, trembling with fury, "I would appreciate it if you wouldn't air our private lives in front of a stranger."
"I'm going to air something else in just a minute, so keep your pants on while you still can, Eunice honey."
"Ohhh!" the scandalized brunette gasped, again not able to give credence to her senses.
"So," Jack continued, as if she had not interrupted, "ever since we got married, Eunice here has done nothing but nag at me and make one scene after another. Now, if you were married to a woman like that, you'd want to teach her a lesson, wouldn't you?"
The Negro looked askance at the beautiful brunette. "Now, ah don't rightly know, boss," he stammered.
"Well, I do, Benny. That's why I want to teach her a lesson. I notice you have a fly swatter in your hand, Benny."
"Yassuh. The others, they're complaining there's lots of flies on dis here train."
"I'll just borrow that. You stand there and watch. Eunice, come here to me and lie down over my lap. I'm going to give you a spanking for being such a nasty little bitch."
"Oh! You - you must be insane. Porter, did you hear what he said? Oh, the brute! The filthy beast! Stop this train at once, Porter! I want to go back to Asheville! As for you, Mr. Mordaunt, you'd better not show your face around there or my father will horsewhip you!"
Jack Mordaunt chuckled. Laying the fly swatter down to his right along the broad lounge seat of the compartment, he winked at the Negro porter and then swiftly seized Eunice by her wrists before she could divine his intention and deftly flung her down across his lap. Her body lay along the lounge seat, which was not quite long enough to permit the full extension of her voluptuous body.
"Ah think ah'd better go now," the porter said uneasily.
"Don't. You stay right where you are. I want a witness. There's twenty bucks in it for you, Benny and I'm not going to kill her. Just teach her a little common sense and respect," Jack Mordaunt.
Eunice shrieked her indignant fury and tried violently to roll off her husband's lap, but Jack Mordaunt, his arm around her waist, grabbed the pleated skirt with the other hand and roiled it up into a wad and fixed it with the arm so it wouldn't roll down and get in the way. Eunice gave another shriek of outrage.
"Oooohhh!!!! How dare you, in front of that nigger! Let me go, you dirty brute. You've no right, not in front of him! I'll kill you for this! My father will throw you in jail! Let me go - and pull my skirt back down!"
The Negro fidgeted, his eyes rolling. He had never seen anything like this in all his life. And somehow, he wanted to say, he didn't entirely believe in the twenty dollars Jack Mordaunt had promised him. But he didn't, for his eyes were riveted to the tossing, bounding backside of voluptuous Mr. Mordaunt; the two spacious, broadly firm and oval shaped hillocks of her virgin ass were jouncily and temptingly molded, snugly encased in the embrace of a pair of white silk panties, flounced with lace to the hem, which were modestly covering her upper thighs. Her flesh-covered nylons encased long, splendidly sculptured legs, beginning with the highest, sinuous calves whose rippling muscles told of her anguish and humiliation. Her dimpled, lovely hollows at the knees merged into spectacularly lissome thighs, velvet and nervously muscled. Between the tops of her stockings and the flounce of the panties, there was about an inch of creamy white flesh exposed, palpitating and shivering in the most voluptuous way. And clinging over it to secure the top of the stockings by a fastener, was a white elastic satin garter-belt.
She nearly managed to roll herself off his lap and Jack Mordaunt shifted her now, to let her legs dangle down towards the floor and promptly clamped his right leg over her calves, thus pinioning her firmly. He grabbed her left wrist as her hand thrust down to cover up her immodestly revealed backside and doubled her wrist back painfully, drawing a squeal of pain.
"Ahhhrrr - you're hurting me! Stop it! Stop it this minute! You detestable creature! You infamous beast - to shame a decent girl like this! Stop it, I tell you!"
"I'm not shaming you, Eunice. I'm chastising you. After you've had your lesson, you'll be amazed how pliable you're going to be. Of if you're not, well, you can always try and try again," Jack Mordaunt ironically retorted.
Now his left hand found the waistband of Eunice's panties and tugged at it. A long scream tore from the flabbergasted girl, as she realized what he was doing.
"Oh, not that! For God's sake, not in front of the nigger! I implore you! Stop it - Mr. Mordaunt! Oh my God, stop!"
"Well, well, well," Jack Mordaunt grinned as he kept her in suspense by tugging lasciviously at the waistband and watching how this traction jerked the thin clinging material of her panties up tightly along the sinuously wide cleft which led to her virgin asshole, "so it's Mr. Mordaunt now, is it? You're not quite so haughty now that you find you're dealing with a real man, are you, Eunice baby?"
And with this, to her wild, incredulous horror, with a single jerk of his strong right hand, he rucked down her panties to her knee-hollows, where they clung like a pinioning aureole of white fragile cloth, laying bare the magnificent creamy cheeks of her voluptuous virgin ass.
Eunice behaved like a demented creature, trying to free herself. Her free right arm flung up, madly groping, but in the position she was clamped in, with her other hand pinned back and held by his hand, her legs held by his strong ones, she was utterly helpless. All her struggling did was to jiggle the lovely naked white cheeks of her bare ass in the most fascinating manner and the negro porter's eyes gaggled to see peep out underneath, as her bare behind arched and wriggled and twisted, the thick black curls which framed the fascinatingly soft pink lips of her maiden cunthole.
His jaw dropped and he leaned forward to stare, quite unconscious of differences in race and station between himself and the helpless white beauty.
Jack Mordaunt noticed and chuckled. "That's it, Benny. Take it all in! I told you I wanted you to be a witness. She's going to get properly spanked and you'll get fifty bucks, not twenty, for staying around until she begs my pardon. Yes and yours, too, for making this little unnecessary domestic scene on the first day of our honeymoon."
"Aaaahhhhrrrrr!!! ohh, noooo!! For God's sake, pull my panties up! Oh, I'm going to die of shame! You dirty, filthy monster, to shame me in front of the nigger like this! Let me up, I tell you! Let me up!" she screamed, almost beside herself.
Jack Mordaunt's prick was throbbing vigorously now, inside his trousers, from the furious wriggling of Eunice's belly against his lap. His eyes drank in the contortions and the weavings and jerkings of her naked, creamy backside and the thought that he had at last this patrician and haughtily and prudish beauty at his mercy, with her naked ass and lovely legs exposed to the gleaming eyes of the Negro porter, transported him into a voluptuous paradise of lustful anticipation. For this was to be the first of many schemes he envisioned for the subjugation and the education of Eunice Norton.