Chapter 9
Diane Wilson turned with a cry, for Gregson Torrance and Myrna Johnson had released her arms and stepped back.
"What does this mean?" she shrilled. "Why did you bring me down here? Who are these niggers?"
"I would advise you from now on, Diane dear," the banker said with an ingratiating smile, "not to make the mistake of using that term to Joe or Ben or Myrna here. They resent it. As for what you are doing here, you are her to learn a much needed lesson. You have had your way a good many years, and you have ridden roughshod over everyone. I might have been inclined to be a little less drastic with you, for I thought that perhaps you would have some saving grace. But having heard you talk to Myrna, and now listening to you insult these very capable and genial friends of mine, I have utterly no compunction in turning you over to their tender mercies."
"Oooohhhhh!! What do you mean by that? are you going to kidnap me or hold me for ransom? I see it all now-you want to get hold of my money-I ought to have known. You're a filthy crook, and you got me out here-" but before Diane Wilson could finish her angry tirade, Myrna had walked up to the indignant heiress and calmly slapped her twice across the right cheek, then twice more across the left.
"And that, Diane, is for calling me what you did and for slapping me, plus interest," the mulatress purred.
"Ohhhh! You-you dared to strike me! Oh, you bitch, you dirty little nigger bitch-you're in on this scheme too-you just wait, the police are going to know about all this," Diane stormed.
"If they hear of it, my dear," Gregson Torrance blandly corrected. "Joe and Ben, will you be kind enough to help the little lady undress? I would like to have her down to her underwear. After that, we'll see. And I think for the night, she ought to go to bed with a good sound spanking to think about and be locked in the smallest cell at the end of the basement."
"That's a good idea, Mr. Torrance," Joe, a wiry, light-colored Negro of about forty, chuckled. He winked at his crony, Ben, who was about thirty-two, rotund, with his head shaved clean as a billiard ball and who looked like a pugilist, which he had been for several years, retiring when he found that his slugging wasn't enough to keep him from being knocked out by most of his opponents because he was too slow-footed and cumbersome.
"I-likes that myself," Ben volunteered with a lascivious cackle which made Diane Wilson's blood run cold.
"Now you look here, Mr. Torrance," the light-brown-haired heiress cried angrily, again stamping her foot, "you dare to hurt me, and you'll get the death sentence in court. I know something about the laws out here in California. You've tricked me, and you're trying to get my money, and all these people are in with you and you've had it planned all the time."
"You really show more intelligence than I had assumed, my dear Diane," he said as he lit a cigar and took off his suit coat. "And that's quite true. Before I finish with you, you will be quite happy to sign a waiver, making a free gift of all that is coming to you from the trust fund six months from now-a gift to me and to my little sweetheart, Myrna here. Yes, she has been my girl for some little time and I take it amiss of you to have called her what you did and to have slapped her. Even if she hadn't wanted revenge, I'm afraid I should have taken some myself on her behalf."
"Ohhhhhh!" Again, all Diane Wilson could so was gasp, so horrified and stupefied was she by the sudden reversal of her situation.
"And now I think the time has come to proceed to direct action," Gregson Torrance continued. "Joe, Ben, see what you can do about persuading this stubborn girl to removed her clothes, down at least to her bra and panties. After that, we'll see."
"Dat's right, honeygal," Ben chuckled evilly as he moved forward. Suddenly taking from behind his back a short leather dogwhip with a plaited tip, he continued, "You sees dis, Diane gal? I'se gwine to use it on your ass effen you don't start doin' wut Mistah Torrance say. Start peeling right now, effen you know whut's good fer you."
Diane turned to regard the two Negroes, her large eyes frightenedly widened, her face a mask of absolute consternation and disbelief. Until this moment, she had not dreamed that such a thing was possible. But now, seeing the sturdy naked bodies of these Negro guards, and seeing a whip raised up against her, who considered herself so aloof and untouchable, she was very close to panic.
"Oh no-this is all a joke-for God's sake, Mr. Torrance, you can't let them do this-they haven't any right-my God, why are you trying to brutalize me like this?"
"Because, my dear girl, you have never taken an order in your life and because you have absolutely no sense of humility," the banker interposed as he puffed at his cigar and seated himself on a tall footstool near the stairway which had led down to this basement prison. . .and so it would be for Diane Wilson henceforth. "Because force is the only argument that a creature like you can understand or appreciate or obey. Now you'd better do exactly what you've been told, because Ben and Joe have strict orders to whip any nonsense out of you, and they're already mad at you for calling them niggers."
"Sho is, Mistah Torrance," the baldheaded Negro growled as he took a step closer to Diane and drew back his right arm to threaten her with the dogwhip. "I don't let nobuddy call me dat, even in fun. You hear dat, Diane gal? You gonna take off dat stuff you got on, or does I have to whup you inta doin' it?"
So saying, he stepped forward and sept the dog-whip around Diane's waist with a loud crack. She uttered a shriek of consternation, not really believing that he would attack her with the instrument of servitude, and rubbed her waist frantically because her thin clothes hardly dissembled the slender thong's bitting sting.
"You-you h-hit me!" she finally gasped, staring at Ben as if she couldn't believe the testimony of her senses.
"Dat's right, Diane gal. And I'm gwine to do it lots more, 'less you start doin' what you're told, you hear me?" he growled. Then stooping, he slashed at her calves with the dogwhip, wrapping the leather thong around her left calf, and Diane shrieked and jerked her leg away, then bent over and began to rub it frantically, tears springing to her dilated eyes and her cheeks flaming with the ignominy of this assault.
"She sure doesn't understand the King's English, honey," Myrna purred to her banker lover.
"She will. Just give her time," Gregson Torrance chuckled, as he puffed leisurely at his cigar.
"Git dat skirt off fast," Ben now commanded, angry authority in his voice, and once again the dogwhip lashed out, this time biting the consternated heiress right over her bubbies. She uttered a shriek of pain, rubbing her titties frantically, starting back until she bumped against the hard brick wall of the basement, and a frightened glance down the corridor showed her there were several iron-barred cells of varying sizes. The thought that she was to be incarcerated here, completely helpless, to be taunted and mocked at by these niggers drove her absolutely wild. Sobbing, she suddenly rushed at Ben and tired to wrest away the dogwhip. With a bellow of amused laughter, the stocky baldheaded Negro cuffed her across the mouth with his left palm, turned to one side and cut at her hips with the dogwhip as she stumbled by, wedding the thong to the lithe contours of her right haunch. Again she shrieked, because the leather thong had bitten viciously, and one of her hands reached to rub the wounded place as she turned again to the banker, to implore reprieve.
"My God-don't let him hit me with that awful whip, Gregson! For God's sake, let's talk this over-we can work it out-I'll keep you as my administrator-I'm sorry if I offended you and that girl, but for God's sake, you can't mean to keep me a prisoner and keep me down here at the mercy of those awful men!"
"I see that you are already learning some humility. Now you call them men instead of niggers. But you'll do better than that before we're finished with you, you insolent, offensive, overbearing bitch!" was Gregson Torrance's mocking answer.
And even as she stood there with her arms thrust out in supplication to him, Ben moved behind her and the dogwhip again crashed against her bottom, the thong biting just across the tops of the upper summits. Under the lash, Diane shrieked again and twisted frantically, stumbling away, her eyes mad with pain and shame.
"Aiiiii! Don't, you're hurting me! Oh, stop it, for God's sake, Greg, make him stop!"
"When you obey, he'll stop, but not before," was the banker's curt response.
"Take off that skirt like I told you to, bitch," Ben growled, and followed the sobbing, whimpering young woman as she backed against the wall, pretending to strike at her calves as she stooped, and he suddenly curled the thong around her titties again, and Diane Wilson screamed in pain as both hands clutched madly at her titties and she twisted herself this way and that, tears running down her cheeks.
"Awrrrr! Oh, not there! Oh my God, Greg, do you see what he's doing to me? Oh God, don't beat me-don't torture me-please, Greg, listen to me-
I-'m sorry-I didn't mean to insult any of them-won't you please have them stop? I-I'll pay you for your services-please be reasonable-you brought me out here all this way-oh please, you can't mean what you say!"
"But I do. You're going to be a slave to someone else for the first time in your life, Diane. You're going to be humiliated and whipped like a naughty child whenever you deserve it. Your only hope of easing your situation is to do absolutely and blindly, even, whatever you are told by any of the four of us. Is that clear?" The banker stared mockingly at her.
Her magnificent titties rose and fell with erratic turbulence as she choked back her sobs. But the impatient baldheaded Negro was not content. Once more the dogwhip cracked over her titties, and she uttered a wild cry of pain and, rubbing her bubbies, sank down on her knees and writhed this way and that as the atrocious pangs of the lash seared her virgin flesh.
"I'm gittin' sick of all this futzing around, honey gal," Ben growled as he advanced, the whip again upraised. "I'm gonna learn you to do whatcha're told right off, git me? Now you either take off that skirt or I'll take it off for ya, and ya won't like that one little bit, wil she, Joe?"
"Nosirree!" the taller Negro cackled.
Tears running down her cheeks, Diane Wilson tremblingly put her hands behind her to the fastening of her skirt, but not in time, alas, to prevent another persuasive, smacking cut of the plaited leather dogwhip which curled around the top of her chest just above her bosom. And once again her hands madly scrabbled at the rising welt left by that ignominious lash, as she frantically began to unhook the skirt, her tear-blinded eyes staring apprehensively at her executioner.
"My God, my God, don't let him do this to me-oh please, Mr. Torrance, please-I-I-I-if it's more money you want, we can talk it over-I've got more than I need-"
"Of that I'm quite certain, but you're going to need even less, as you'll soon find out, Diane," Gregson Torrance chuckled, puffing at his cigar and cynically blowing a wreath of pungent thick blue smoke right into the face of the pampered heiress. And at the same moment, Ben applied a whistling cut of the dogwhip across her dimpled shoulders, and Diane screamed again with pain, bending and twisting herself under the burning sting of the lash.
Seeing the exit beyond her and the stairway down which she had come, she suddenly made a desperate lunge towards it, but Myrna Johnson, with a mocking little laugh, thrust out her foot and tripped the frantic brown-haired beauty, who sprawled ignominiously on her face with a bruising thud and a cry of pain and terror. For now she knew that she was in the ands of those who would be pitiless towards her, and all her threats and pleas and tears would not move them from their fell purpose. Or at least, if she was not entirely convinced as yet, the terrifying awareness that she had thus far not succeeded in arguing them out of this incredible and dastardly scheme began to stun her insolent and hitherto unhampered ego.
"You're just going to hurt yourself, Diane honey," the mulatress drawled as she contemptuously stared down at the sobbing young woman. "You might just as well give in now, because Ben and Joe are her to make sure you learn your little lesson. Now get right up and take off that skirt, and then you can take off the suit coat. Give her a couple more cuts of that good whip, Ben honey. She doesn't seem to like it the least little bit."
"Ah kin see dat real good, Myrna honey," the stocky Negro grinned with a broad wink at the delectable mulatress. He moved towards the shuddering heiress, who had now got to all fours, one of her knees bruised and aching from the fall she had taken, thanks to the alert mistress of Gregson Torrance. Seeing him approach with the whip upraised, she uttered a shriek.
"Oh don't! For God's sake, don't whip me any more! Let me have time to know what you want of me-for God's sake, Mr. Torrance, call him off!"
"You will be whipped until you obey, that's the long and short of it, Diane. You don't know what obedience is, and therefore we don't trust you to make up your mind to it," the gray-haired banker mocked her. "Stand up now, and get that skirt off, or Ben will really let you feel what a whip is like. And after that, of course, you'll get extra punishment for disobeying. Now do what I told you to, at once! I'll count to ten, and if that skirt isn't off, Ben is going to take you over his lap, pull your skirt up and your panties down, and give you the whip twenty-times on your bare behind."
"Ohhhh! Oh dear God in heaven, can this be happening to me-oh, it's not possible-oh, it's horrible!" Diane Wilson wailed as she slowly staggered to her feet, her eyes haggard, her face pale and tearstained, looking around at those four faces on which there was not the slightest sign of mercy.
Gregson Torrance took a long puff at his cigar,-once again sent the wreath of smoke into her face, and counted out: "One. . .two. . .three. . .four-I mean business, Diane, and Ben is really going to spank your naked seat if you don't have the skirt off by ten ... five ... six-"
As she saw Ben take a step closer to her, grinning cruelly to show his yellowish, strong teeth, some of which were inlaid with gold foil, Diane shuddered and fumbled with the fastenings of the skirt until at last it fell to the floor.
"That's better," Gregson Torrance approved. "And now the suit coat, if you please. And you'll get just a count of five for that tone ... two ... three ... "
Once again Diane obeyed, and when that fell to the floor to join the skirt, she was revealed in her blouse, half-slip and the provocative and gauzy lingerie beneath. But for her this was a dreadful ordeal, almost worse than nakedness itself. For she had a kind of phobia about Negroes, and the thought that this mulatress girl and those two horrid men, one with a whip, were watching her degradation was almost anathema to her.
"That's better," the banker smiled. "Now the blouse, if you please. Ben, stand close by, just in case she gives us any trouble."
"Oh please, what are you going to do to me? Oh dear God in heaven, don't do this, Mr. Torrance, I'll do anything you want, I'll pay you well-only please call these horrid people off, I beg of you!" Diane moaned, clasping her hands and staring at the gray-haired roue with agonized, tear-filled eyes.
"Ben!" he said sharply. The Negro cackled, nodded, and struck Diane Wilson around the waist with the dogwhip, its plaited tip curling inwards toward her belly. With a shriek she jerked away from its terrible caress and began to tear wildly at the buttons, glancing back over her shoulder, panting and sobbing, until at last she flung the blouse to the floor to join the skirt and the suit coat.
"Oh for God's sake, don't let him hit me any more with that dreadful whip-I'll do what you want-but please, please explain why you're doing this to me, Mr. Torrance!" she implored.
"As I said once before, to teach you a good lesson in humiliation. You know, you really are a lovely girl. We're doing this to teach you the essentials, now. I want that half-slip off this minute!" Gregson Torrance ordered.
Diane Wilson shuddered, looking pathetically first at Myrna, who tossed her head with an impertinent little laugh, then at the two Negro men. As she saw Ben take a step towards her with the whip uplifted, she uttered a cry and groped frantically for the fastenings of the half-slip, until it too dropped to the floor. Gregson Torrance sucked in his breath, while the two Negroes feasted their glittering eyes of her lithe virginal loveliness, all the more delectable in this deshabille of bra and panty set and with the tight, narrow garter belt's tabs hugging her gauzy nylon hose.
Diane Wilson stood there shivering, her face scarlet with shame, her fingers twisting to and fro in her desperate anguish, conscious of the lewd appraisals of the two Negro guards and of the contemptuous young mulatress whom she had already mortally offended. She stared with tear-blurred eyes at the nonchalantly seated banker who sat relaxed on his stool, contemplating her coolly through the smoke of his cigar.
"Oh please," she moaned feverishly, "please stop! How-how much money do you want me to pay you to call this whole thing off and let me go back to New York?"
"Money couldn't buy it, Diane, I'm sorry," he said curtly as he raised his eyes to study her. Then, with another puff at his cigar, once more blowing the smoke across her face, making her cough and gasp and twist her face around in despair, he added, "And now the problem is purely an academic one. You've insulted Myrna here by calling her a nigger, calling her a bitch, and by slapping her. You've equally insulted Ben and Joe, and I think that each of them are entitled to one satisfaction from you. On the other hand, you've behaved quite audaciously and arrogantly towards me, and since I'm calling the turn in this little episode, perhaps my decision should take precedence. Now, don't be impatient, Ben Joe-each of you will have ample opportunity to be avenged for Diane's insults to you. Let's see now-how shall we begin her humiliation? I think a good spanking by Myrna in front of me would be excellent. Joe, bring another stool, a taller one, and a set of buckling straps."
"I sure will, Mistah Torrance," the taller Negro grinned and licked his lips with relish.
Diane Wilson stood there, not believing the testimony of her ears, and then a slow blush suffused her cheeks and forehead, even the lobes of her ears as she panted: "Oh dear God! Oh no-you couldn't be so cruel-oh, Mr. Torrance, don't let her do that to me-I'll die of shame-oh, it's horrible-please, for God's sake, have mercy on me-I'll pay you whatever you want-I swear I will! I won't tell anybody about this if you'll only let me get dressed and go back to New York-I swear I won't!"
"Sorry, Diane. Joe, get it, please," was the laconic answer.