Chapter 5
Cotton Salter drove recklessly. His car was black and shabby-a perfect minister's car-and if the cops stopped him, usually the clerical clothes were enough to get him off with a warning. Frequently the cops would even apologize for stopping him, especially when he told them he was on his way to comfort a dying woman. It always amazed him, the shit people believed about ministers. It was one of the few benefits of the trade.
He never really liked the drive into Pittsburg. Often he got lost, usually when he was feeling his homiest, and then he would have to stop and get directions. At times he just felt like asking where he could find Aunt Lydia's whorehouse. People would probably have been able to help him faster if he asked that way. But he always ended up by giving the street address and having to sit in the car while some asshole stopped and thought which direction was up. This time he was careful to make all the right turns. With the- girl in the trunk, he didn't want to get all screwed up. The mission was too urgent. He wanted to see her get fucked. And tonight he had the feeling that if he made a wrong turn and got lost, he would end up fucking her himself. He soon found the street.
Although customers usually parked on the street as a precaution against the infrequent but unpredictable raids conducted by the local police, Cotton drove into Lydia's driveway and around to the four-car garage at the back of the house. Although the neighbors paid little attention to Lydia's business, he was careful to park as close to the house as possible, even though it was dark. He left the car and went to the back door. Lydia was waiting for him.
"Have you got her?" she asked quickly, holding the door open for Cotton.
"She's in the trunk," he explained.
"The trunk!" Lydia asked, horrified that such a delicate cargo would be transported in such a gruff manner. "Couldn't you at least put her on the floor in the back?" She shook her head in disgust with the minister's lack of respect. "Oh well, go ahead and bring her in. We have a room ready for her in the basement, although she's probably tired of being locked off in the cellar. This one's soundproof, and usually they do scream the first time. At least when they aren't expecting it. And besides, this room has a hole where we can watch from. I think that you'll like it. Come on now, bring her down the cellar stairs."
Lydia opened the door to the cellar and Cotton went to the car to get his prize. He was pleased that she hadn't tried to bang on the trunk lid. The warning he had given must have scared her. That was good. He would warn her again before they left her in the room. Otherwise she might kill the old guy. He had a feeling that she still had some spunk in her, even though he had taken her down a few notches. He unlocked the trunk and saw that she was curled up in a little ball. Even with the lid up she didn't try to jump out. She waited for him, obviously terrified, and he had to jab her in the ribs to get her up.
"Come on," he told her. "Party's inside." Jane Hartley looked around and saw the Victorian three-story house with its peeling paint and weather-beaten look. She looked around at the other houses but it was too dark out for her to make out any details. She had no idea of where they were or why he had brought her here. She stood patiently by the car as he locked the trunk again. She knew that it was a chance to try to run but she also knew that her legs were stiff from being so cramped in the trunk. He would catch her in an instant. And then he would punish her.
"Inside," he said, pointing to the house. Jane walked toward it in an unsteady gait. Her legs felt weak, as though they would not support her. She climbed the wooden steps and went through the open door. Inside she saw the woman who was holding the door to the basement open for her. "Hello, dear," the woman said in greeting. Jane did not answer. She didn't like the way the woman was dressed, with only a dressing gown over her nightie. It reminded her of a woman in a movie she had seen. And that woman had been a prostitute.
"Downstairs," her minister told her. Jane followed his instructions without question. There was a light on at the bottom of the stairs and it guided her way. The stairs were rickety and she walked slowly. She was nervous about what she would find. She stopped at the bottom of the stairs and looked around. What Jane Hartley saw made her blood run cold. At one end of the basement she could see the furnace through an open door. It was the only furnishing of the basement which seemed at all normal. The other most obvious feature was a small stage with a movie screen behind it. In front of the stage were several worn sofas and armchairs. Behind the sofas was a movie projector and on the wall were two large oil paintings depicting obscene acts. Jane quickly looked away from them. As she turned, she caught sight of the whips. They were hanging along the other wall, all different kinds of them. Some of them actually were made out of wire and had barbs in them. Others were only made out of silk handkerchiefs but were fashioned in the same manner. She did not even ask herself what they were for. She didn't want to know. Nor did she want to know why there was an old-fashioned bedpan lying on a table by the wall, or why there was an enema bottle beside it.
"We'll go in there," Lydia said, pointing to a door on one side of the room. Jane noticed that there were three different doors along the far wall.
They all looked very solid, much more solid than the rest of the house. She wondered why that was. In fact, the wall that they were connected to looked unusually solid too.
Lydia held the door for her and Cotton pushed her in ahead of him. Although she had been terrified at what she might find in the room, Jane saw that it contained no more than an armchair and a large double bed with an old-fashioned canopy over it. The bed had been made up with fresh linen and there was an old-fashioned washstand with a basin and pitcher on top of it. It was just like an old-time hotel room. She wondered what this place could be. And she wondered why they had brought her here. They definitely seemed to have something in mind.
"Like it?" Cotton asked. Of course, she didn't know it yet, but it was the bed on which she was about to lose her virginity. They wanted everything in the room to be perfect for her when it happened. Jane looked around the room and Cotton could see that she was at a loss to understand why she was here. She did seem to understand that the room was a prison, that it had a lock on the door. But she still wondered why he had moved her from the church to this comfortable room. After all, she had probably thought that if he wanted to rape her, he could do it as well in the church. She probably thought that she was safe from that threat, at least for a while.
"Make yourself comfy," Lydia advised. "We'll see you in a while." With Jane still looking wondrously at her new surroundings, they turned and left her.
Lydia locked the door carefully behind them. "Want to see where we'll watch her from?" she asked the minister. Cotton told her he did. "It's this way," she said, guiding him to the next door down the row. She opened it and Cotton saw that it was quite similar to the room in which they had left the girl. There was only one difference. Although it had the same type armchair and washstand, in place of the bed was an old-fashioned torture rack, the kind that might be seen in a medieval movie. It was the first time he had seen the device, although Lydia had mentioned it to him. Occasionally, when somebody was willing to pay enough, they put one of the girls on it-usually a new one who needed some breaking in-and they stretched her just a little, just enough to make her joints crack. And then they let the customer tease her with a whip while a second girl sucked his cock. It was a treat for Lydia's customers, but not many of them could pay for the service.
"The window's over here," she told Cotton, turning him away from the rack. There was a sliding panel on the wall and she slid a bolt back and revealed a view of the other room through a two-way mirror. They both stood up to the wall and looked through. "I'll get you a chair when he comes," Lydia promised. "And I'll make sure that the door's locked behind you if you want. Or maybe you want Mindy to keep you company? Oh well, you think about it," Lydia. told him, seeing that he was not even listening to her but was already intently watching the girl in the other room. "Look, Cotton," Lydia said, looking at her watch. "He should be here any minute now. I'd better get back upstairs. Why don't you just use that chair over there if you want one. But don't let this john see you peeping, for God's sake don't do that. He's one of my best customers and he's damn nervous about even coming here."
Without turning away from the sight of the girl, Cotton assured Lydia he would do as she asked. He told her to close the door behind her. He promised not to open it until the coast was clear. He gave her no instructions on Mindy, and Lydia decided to forget about the other girl. After all, she could earn good money upstairs. She had been very popular, particularly with the teen-age kids who were coming here more frequently now. She turned and left Cotton peeping through the wall. She knew that by the time the act was over, her minister friend would be begging to get laid. If she was lucky she'd get a chance to fuck him herself. She always liked Cotton's insane hard-on. She could never get enough of it. But now she had work to do. She closed the door carefully behind her and hurried up the stairs.