Chapter 5
Francie leaned back contentedly in the sleek Riley as it sped out of London into Sussex. Beside him Johnny chewed gum over the wheel.
"'Ow do you like our new boy, Johnny?"
'"E's all right, Francie. Good bloke in a round he seemed to become aware of the other o' thing."
"That's right, Johnny. He's got what we all want and you know what that is."
If he doesn't stop talking about his bloody class, I'll go bleedin' well nuts, Johnny thought.
"And those that don't have it from birth, Johnny, they 'ave to acquire it. That's what we're going to do now: acquire a little class through our observation of the upper strata." He chuckled.
"That sort of thing's the same in any class."
The words had come from the back seat and Francie twisted around, good-humoredly to look at the person who'd uttered them. She was a tall, bony woman, unattractive but with strong features. She was about sixty.
"My dear Hilda," he said patronizingly. "What we're going to observe is not how they act, but how they break down." He chuckled again.
"You know, with their stiff upper lip losing its starch and hating to do anything that the gardener shouldn't see."
"I don't know why you want me to do it. Why can't you do it yourself?"
"Don't I pay you enough, Hilda dear?"
"Aw, shut up." Francie chuckled and Johnny echoed the chuckle.
The Riley purred through the outskirts of London and into the country like a smooth, fast-moving insect and silence reigned in the car for a number of miles. Before long they were racing along broad country lanes with ferns sweeping down to the very edges of the Tarmac road and the woods developing behind.
Dotted about in this area were big country houses with well-kept grounds and ivy over the walls.
"The aristocracy aren't as poor as they're supposed to be," Francie murmured. "Still, they're poor enough not to be able to pay the full price for their little presents in money."
"What does her husband think?" Johnny asked.
"Her husband's never there," Francie said contemptuously. "The Lady Anne will be pleased to see me," he mused. "She's rung me up eight times in the last fortnight. She's really getting desperate."
After another half hour's driving, Johnny pulled in through gates in a long ivy-covered wall and they climbed a sandy drive bordered by woods until they shot into open land and were confronted by a big stone house.
"They're getting cheaper and cheaper, these places," Francie said. "And, we're getting richer and richer."
He left Johnny in the car on the little gravel square in front of the house and went up the steps with Hilda, A butler answered their ring and conducted them into a spacious and comfortable reception room. Francie took out a cigarette and offered one to Hilda.
They were kept waiting only a few minutes before the door opened and a striking woman in riding breeches and blouse came in. She was about thirty and her face had frequently adorned the Tattler and the covers of better women's magazines. She was dark-haired, hair caught in a horse-tail, had the proverbial milk and rose complexion, heightened by outdoor activities and dark, soulful eyes. Her hips filled out the riding breeches and each buttock rounded nicely in the tight, confining material while above her breasts swept out from the flat line of belly and ribs to strain urgently at the blouse.
"Hello, Francie," she said as he stood up. "How nice to see you."
As she put down her riding crop on a table, he noticed that her hands were shaking visibly.
"Hello, my dear," he said. "You look better every time I see you."
She smiled and looked questioningly at Hilda.
"Oh, this is Hilda," Francie said. "Meet the Honorable Lady Anne," he added to the older woman. "We won't go into details."
"Have you er . . .?"
"It's all right, Hilda's a friend of mine - and you're going to know her much more intimately soon. Yes, I've brought the stuff."
He took a package out of his pocket.
"There's enough to last you a couple of months if you're not greedy."
Her eyes fixed on the package, avidly, and she stretched out a hand for it. Francie kept it firmly in his.
"The money's up in my bedroom," Lady Anne said, "I'll get it first, if like?"
"We'll come up with you," Francie said.
Lady Anne looked doubtfully at Hilda and then led the way through the door and they followed her up the broad carpeted stairway.
The bedroom looked out over the grounds at the back. It was large and light, fitted with pink, papered in gray. Lady Anne unlocked a drawer and took out a large bundle of notes, and then another, and a third. Francie flicked through them expertly.
"All correct, my dear," he said. "But we're getting a little tired of money. So, we want a little performance."
Lady Anne looked at him with fear lurking in her dark eyes. She recognized the power he had over her. She'd been in a cold sweat of yearning for three weeks - ever since something had gone wrong with the last delivery and it hadn't come about.
Francie saw the fear and it sent a surge of pleasure through him. This was his power over a titled woman, a woman of class.
"So, my dear," he continued. "You're going to give a little performance with Hilda."
"How dare you," Lady Anne said weakly. "I won't have any part of it. You have your money."
Francie stepped to the dressing table and picked up the package she'd laid there. In its place he flung down the money she'd given him.
"Okay by me," he said cheerfully. "Plenty of other clients on the waiting list."
Lady Anne's forehead was glistening, she felt hot under her eyes.
"No, no, you can't do that. We have an arrangement," she burst out. Her breasts heaved tightly against the blouse, her hands clenched.
"We have an arrangement just as long as I decide we have," he said nonchalantly. "If you don't agree to the conditions then we haven't time to hang around."
Hilda stood impassively watching. She needed the money, but apart from that she wasn't interested. She didn't see why Francie couldn't have got a Lesbian. There were plenty of them about. Some funny little quirk of his.
Lady Anne put a hand on her right breast and Francie followed the movement appreciatively. She removed the hand and put it on the dressing table to steady herself. Then she looked at Hilda and there were tears in her eyes.
Francie tapped the packet absentmindedly and turned it over in his hands.
"All right," Lady Anne said, just as he'd known she would. "What do you want me to do?" Her hands were trembling and there was an involuntary quiver to her lips.
"That's more like it," Francie said contentedly. "First of all, you have to get undressed. Then you have to lie on the bed. And then Hilda will do things to you. Not that she wants to," he added, maliciously. "But, like you, she needs something I have."
Lady Anne felt her head go dizzy and steadied herself against the dressing table. It was as if she were crying in her mind without tears coming from her eyes. This was terrible. Even with a Lesbian, who was going to be involved, it would have been better. But to have this woman, who also probably found the whole thing rather distasteful, mauling her about in front of this suave thug was revolting.
I can't do it. I can't do it! she told herself fiercely. But the package in Francie's hands and the craving in her body changed the "can't" to "must." She dug her nails into her palms and then looked up at Francie.
"Go ahead," Francie said, and his eyes were cruel and avaricious. "Get them off."
She put a hand uncertainly up to the top button on the high neck of her blouse. But the hand wouldn't seem to function.
"Help her, Hilda," Francie ordered.
The bony woman went over to her and pulled open the button. Lady Anne gave a little start and shrank back. But Hilda began to undo the other buttons and she submitted herself to the deftly moving fingers.
Francie sank into a big arm chair near the bed, watching them. There was a grin on his face and the sensual mouth was twisted.
Lady Anne allowed her arms to be slipped out of the blouse and shivered at the cool touch of the woman's fingers on her flesh as she unhooked the brassiere. She wanted to cry, but couldn't. Hilda whisked off the brassiere and flung it on the bed. The big breasts dropped into view and then tautened as Lady Anne pulled herself upright.
"Beautiful," Francie murmured.
Hilda tweaked the nipples. She was determined to give Francie his money's worth so that he couldn't complain and be mean afterwards; Lady Anne bit her lips.
"All right Hilda," Francie said. "Let's see what else she's got." The snarl was back in his voice, mixed with excitement.
Hilda pulled off the riding boots, having sat her victim on the bed. Lady Anne let her carry on, her bulbous breasts shivering slightly, her face pale.
After the boots, the breeches and then the pink briefs underneath. Francie licked his lips.
"Stand up, my dear," he said.
Lady Anne stood up and Francie thought how beautiful she'd look like that in the Tattler! Her figure was perfect, so perfect it seemed to call for destruction. Such perfection was too disturbing. The rib lines above the waist where the skin pulled in under the big bulge of the breasts. The little belly button with the thin line of down running down like a pointer to the sleek curls of black hair against which the white tops of her thighs pressed in an effort at concealment. The rounding of the hips with the slight bulge of the thighbones continuing up in a V. The thighs themselves, white and vulnerable with the well-shaped legs tapering below. She was all breasts, hips and thighs, made to be seized and crushed and destroyed in wild, tear-filled, legs awry, arms awry, belly-searing rape. Francie moved in the chair, his chest was rising and falling more rapidly than usual in spite of his attempt to appear nonchalant.
"Turn around," he snarled.
Without looking at him, Lady Anne turned slowly, profiling for a moment the forward jut, backward push of breasts and buttocks, the shallow S-shape of body and then her back was presented to him with the slimness from the shoulders into the waist accentuated by the tightness of the flesh over her frame and by the full, bulging of the behind into soft, warm-looking milk and white buttocks and the long, milk thighs tapering again below. She was shivering all over now.
"Beautiful," Francie murmured again between his teeth. "All right, Hilda - go ahead," he ordered.
Hilda stepped up behind Lady Anne, who shuddered again as the long, bony hands felt her behind, smoothing themselves over the buttocks whose flesh bulged out before them and then disappeared underneath.
"It's a beauty, Hilda, isn't it?" Francie gritted. "Don't you wish you had a prick to shove in it?"
Hilda grunted. "Smooth as wax," she said.
She passed her hands down Lady Anne's back as if feeling her for a slave market.
"On the bed, dear," she said at last, "and open your legs wide 'cos Francie and I want to see how big you've been stretched through the years of pleasure."
Obediently Lady Anne sat and then lay on the bed. A tear of shame was coursing down a soft cheek. She lay back, had to be told again to open her legs and then did so reluctantly a few inches.
"More than that, dear. We can't see your cranny properly," Hilda said quietly.
Lady Anne spread her thighs wider and then Hilda, as if losing patience, grabbed her knees and pressed them sharply apart, bringing a hopeless cry of protest from Lady Anne and exposing the raw flesh of the vulnerable spot between her legs.
"Don't cry, dear. It's not as if you're going to be fucked by some vile prick." Hilda heard Francie squirm on the chair as she spoke and she laughed coarsely.
"Wouldn't you love to, eh, Francie? Look at that soft, pink opening. It'll be getting all excited in a minute - just asking for something to split it an inch wider."
"Tell me what it's like, Hilda," Francie rasped.
Lying with her legs apart, feeling more naked and shamed than she'd ever felt before, Lady Anne didn't try to stop the tears rolling down her face. Her heart was pounding with a mixture of feelings. Her armpits and crotch were hot and moist. She knew Francie was staring at the bare flesh of her vagina, that Hilda was standing above her, fully clothed and foreign and was about to do things to her. She was no child, but she felt like one now, like an adolescent who has been trapped by some dirty old man and can't escape seduction, can only yield with bitter, inner tears and shame and accept his filthy, vile embraces.
And the next moment she cried out and jerked away as the bony fingertips brushed the little sacks of tender flesh on either side of the portal.
"Very sensitive, Francie," Hilda said. "Get her excited and she'd be a very good screw. Do a turn with real abandon."
"She looks a bit hurt about being mauled," Francie snarled. "She needs a lot more before she forgets everything but her body."
The bony fingers pursued her and Lady Anne forced herself to lie still. The sooner it was over the better, and it would be over the sooner if she didn't try to resist.
Slowly, expertly, the fingers insinuated themselves, hurting slightly at first so that she gasped and bit her lips again. And then they were smoothing round inside her and playing with her clitoris, while the other hand moved under her buttocks to hold them and push them towards the probing fingers.
"It's a lovely, soft behind to hold, Francie," Hilda was continuing. "Wouldn't you like to have a hand under each buttock so that you could feel your own prick moving in."
"You get coarser every day 'Ilda. That's no way to speak in front of a lady." Francie laughed harshly and stood up. He approached the bed and Lady Anne who had closed her eyes to shut out the sight of Hilda's face, opened them again and saw the sadistic twist to his mouth, the great erection which bulged against his trousers.
The fingers were working on her clitoris and she closed her eyes again to shut Francie out. Her face was burning. She would carry this shame with her throughout her life - and in spite of herself her vagina was moistening. She could feel the fingers wetly slipping against its walls.
Suddenly they plunged up - a couple of them - through the tight ring of flesh and into the cavity and she cried out and her legs strained away, but Hilda pushed her buttocks up, keeping a tight hold on them as she persisted in the penetration.
"Not all that big," she heard her say to Francie. "Be a nice fit for any man, I should imagine."
"She's getting excited," Francie said. "Bet she didn't know she 'ad such tendencies."
Lady Anne pursed her lips, biting on the insides. There was some perverse thrill in the shame of being treated in this way. The fingers had moved back to her clitoris and she had to fight down an urge to tense and untense her legs in rhythm with the gentle caressing. The coarse words from both her torturers began to have the effect of making her want to wallow in the shame, to think "to hell with them - why should I care." Her legs began to slither gently against the counterpane, outwards, wide, away from her open vagina.
She heard Francie's breathing.
"Yes, she's opening up wide now," Hilda chuckled, giving her clitoris a pinch which sent a shiver right up her spine. "She's beginning to enjoy it. I told you she'd be a good screw, Francie."
"Christ," Francie murmured. "Christ."
She tried again to control herself, feeling a sudden spasm of shame at her plight in front of these searching eyes, this obscene studying of her. And then it was no good. Her vagina seemed wide and longing, her clitoris was an ache of delight. Her buttocks began to strain together on the hand that was under them, her thighs to jacknife and squirm. Little moans began to trickle unwanted from her lips and her mouth opened in accompaniment to her vagina. Every word they said now only added to her desire. She was too far gone to fight against it.
"She's wet, very wet," Hilda said. And she poked a finger between her buttocks as they relaxed on her hand. It wormed itself into Lady Anne's anus. First knuckle joint, then second. Lady Anne didn't care. The pain doubled the perversity of the pleasure. It was as if a penis was moving in there, but a slim penis, not a great thick penis that would have split her apart.
"She has a nice little rectum, too, Francie," Hilda was saying. "I bet you wouldn't mind that either - a titled ass to go up."
Then lips were down on her breasts, sucking the nipples which seemed to strain up towards the lips and she could feel Hilda's face between the orbs. Her loins were squirming on the hand, under the hand around the hand. She had one more coherent thought that this was disgusting, terrible, unbelievable and then she was almost swooning. Her eyes opened in the swoon and she realized her body was all over the place, her legs flailing. She saw Francie had a little camera and was taking photographs of her. This, too, seemed to add to her passion, her abandon, as she watched him bend between her legs to snap her from vagina upwards, watched his twisted face rise up above to shoot down on her and Hilda.
"I'm lost, I'm lost," she thought, but she couldn't do anything about it. The growing pressure in her naked loins was intense. She heard Hilda talking, could hardly make out the words . . . "Told you, Francie . . . wonderful screw . . . real abandon . . . doesn't even know . . . why don't you? . . . she's coming now . . . Heh, heh . . ."
Then Francie's voice saying . . . "Look at that cunt . . . Christ is she wild . . . that's class . . . Heh, heh."
Her hips were forcing themselves up and up as the finger worked quickly and firmly in her vagina, the other moving in her behind making her strain as if to empty her bowels. She was lost, lost, no longer any shame, only an awareness that where shame should be it was contained in an overpowering desire to reach that point, the point that was coming, coming, vagina breaking, bursting, juices inside, coming, coming, hips forcing up, up, coming and . . . Oh-oh-oh-oh-oh-oh-oh on and on in a beautiful flowing relief as her eyes closed in bliss shutting out Hilda, Francie, the shame and disgust which played no part in this beautiful moment.
Watching her in her choking climax, Francie thought, with a strangled frustration at his loins that he'd never seen a woman so abandoned. She'd forgotten them, she'd contorted, convulsed as if she wanted to show herself off to them, show them just how wild it was possible to get. His mouth was dry, his penis, stuck against his pants, was turbulent. He wished he'd got stuck in her. But then, maybe, that was why she'd seemed so sublimely abandoned - because he wasn't actively involved, had nothing to cloud his view.
He looked at the thin, sticky liquid coming down her thighs. Hilda had straightened up now and he had the photographs. Lady Anne was in his power for ever. Francie watched her coming back to reality, with eyes opening, seeing them there and closing again, the shame flushing back over the face, into the mind. He motioned to Hilda and she went out quietly. Francie walked over behind her and locked the 'door. He went back to the bed where Lady Anne was lying with her eyes still closed, face pale. He took off his clothes and looked at himself in the mirror, wiry frame with a big, stiff, wiry penis. He touched himself and then looked back at the bed. Lady Anne was looking at him and there was new fear on her face. He grinned at her sadistically. He went over to the bed and slapped her across the breasts again and again. He put his hand over her mouth when she tried to cry out and slapped her belly, her hips, again, again, again, bringing out hot, red marks on her flesh. He forced her over onto her belly and slashed her bare buttocks and thighs, a thrill of pleasure running through his naked body and jerking his penis up every time his hand sank into the soft flesh. Lady Anne was crying into the bed, her cries muffled. He wished the riding crop had not been left downstairs. He glanced up and saw a hairbrush on the dressing table.
He crossed to the dressing table and seized it. When he turned she had jumped up from the bed and was moving to the door. But she was swaying dazedly and he caught her. He threw her back over the edge of the bed, stretching her so that he could see the rosy anus. He began to wield the brush down across her buttocks with fury, letting it sink in, pushing her face into the bed, holding her with a grip of surprising strength. This was class, here, he kept telling himself, and this was his hand holding the brush which was slashing her behind, beautiful behind, beautiful body, to be destroyed, too perfect, to be beaten and slashed and mutilated. She was fighting him, but he held her too hard. And then he forced her legs apart with his and jammed the handle of the hairbrush at her anus. He watched her squirming furiously, vainly as the handle began to penetrate. His teeth clenched and a savage grin twisted his face. Her muffled groans hammered on his ears like pleading for more. The brush was well in and he moved it savagely in and out like a saw, watching the incredible stretch of the slit in her behind with eyes that blazed.
At last, when she was coughing and practically vomiting over the bed, he pulled it out and flung it on the floor.
When he turned her over, her eyes were screwed up with fear and pain, but she made no attempt to resist when he dragged her thighs apart, climbed between them and thrust savagely into her vagina, losing his penis with the first stroke.
As his passion began to rise and he twisted her savagely this way and that, the old masochism rekindled and she began to writhe in abandon under him, groaning and mouthing.
Only this time he was not aware of it.