Back in Service (4 page)

‘First we must ensure the slave is biddable.’ He beckoned to a servant hovering nearby, and selected a supple cane from the instruments offered to him on a pink velvet cushion. ‘We must make sure we can discipline our slave girl,
n’est-ce pas?
’
He handed the cane to the woman’s new master. ‘A girl who will not subject herself willingly to correction is hardly worth ten francs, let alone a hundred. Put Mademoiselle Therese to the test, if you please.’

Hetty watched with growing excitement as the woman was made to bend over a low stool with her bare bottom exposed. The man who was about to claim her surveyed his purchase with relish, licking his lips. His right hand held the cane aloft, and then it came swishing down across her defenceless buttocks, cracking against them with a resounding smack that elicited a ripple of appreciative murmurs from the assembly. Twice more the cane fell, making Therese writhe and moan as her breasts swung freely over her loose corsage from the force of the impacts. Hetty could understand why the men present found the spectacle attractive. She was feeling quite aroused herself, and yet her pleasure was tainted by fear of being treated in the same harsh manner when it came her turn to be auctioned off.

After the correction was performed and Therese’s new owner pronounced himself well satisfied, Milord suggested she should now show her gratitude to her new master. This time, it was the man’s turn to perch himself on the stool while his new slave knelt before him and unbuttoned his trousers with deft fingers. Kneeling with her back to the audience, the evidence of her recent ordeal was clearly visible on her buttocks in the form of deepening red welts. And it was obvious the man had found the experience of chastising her very arousing for his member appeared in all its glory, stalwart and imminently serviceable. Therese took the scarlet tip of his cock into her even redder mouth and began fervently licking and sucking it. A low groan passed through the male section of the crowd as they imagined how her agile tongue would feel when applied to their own genitalia, while Hetty merely felt embarrassed. It was a long time since she had been forced to witness such a lewd scene as this, and it reminded her of the debauched parties at Longton Hall where her depraved father-in-law sated his lust on any available female in as many ways as his fertile imagination could devise.

The partygoers cheered as the lucky recipient of Therese’s attentions groaned his ultimate fulfilment, and breathily proclaimed himself well satisfied with his new slave. He sheathed his manhood back in his trousers, stood up, and handed over a small purse to Milord, who ceremoniously passed it on to Therese. She slipped the purse into her cleavage, and then the pair stepped off the platform and disappeared through a door, doubtless to further their mutual acquaintance in private.

Hetty watched in trepidation as their host’s dark eyes scanned the room looking for his next victim. Although she tried to shrink into the crowd, she felt all too conspicuous in her black and pink creation, and the high heels also made her stand out quite literally. Inexorably, Milord’s gaze fell upon her and this time did not move on.

‘Mademoiselle!’ he called peremptorily. ‘Step up on the podium,
s’il vous plaît
.’

Hetty’s legs threatened to dissolve beneath her. She tottered towards him on her precarious heels and nearly twisted her ankle, but there was no lack of willing male hands to prevent her from falling and help her on her way. Slowly she ascended the three steps until she stood beside the master of ceremonies feeling very shy and awkward. Therese, obviously accustomed to such lewd displays, had conducted herself with a certain sensual bravado, and Hetty tried to emulate her now by holding her head high, but she failed miserably; one whistle from the crowd and she was blushing and hanging her head in shame. Her bashful attitude only seemed to encourage the bidders, however, and she was astonished to find her price going up by leaps and bounds. When it reached one hundred and fifty francs, Milord looked quite pleased, and she guessed he had taken a gamble by inviting a naïve young woman to this sophisticated gathering, a gamble that was now paying off handsomely.

The man who finally claimed her made her heart sink, for he was by no means young and handsome, as Therese’s master had been. In fact, he reminded her a little of Sir Victor, her former tormentor, with his complexion ruined by port wine and pox, his fat paunch and his leering expression.

As before, Milord selected an instrument from the sinister pink cushion. This time he decided upon an innocuous looking slipper, perhaps to spare the
ingénue
undue pain. Little did he know what her poor long suffering posterior had endured in the past at Longton.

The room fell silent as she was obliged to bend over the stool and raise her skirt and petticoat. Milord then pulled down her cotton drawers to reveal her bare bottom, and Hetty braced herself for the inevitable. The old gaffer who had bought her huffed and puffed his way up the steps onto the platform, and she doubted he would have the strength to put much effort into her correction, which was a blessing. Yet when the first of her three allotted blows fell, she realised at once the old man’s lust for administering discipline was lending an unnatural burst of energy to his aged arm. The slipper made such a
thwack
as it landed against her defenceless cheeks all the air was knocked out of her lungs as she gasped in shock. Then a further moan of agony escaped her lips as the painful consequences – once referred to ironically by Sir Victor and his cronies as the ‘afterglow’ – set her lower regions aflame. The next stinging blow increased her ordeal and a deep shame was added to her physical pain. The third whack brought tears of agony and humiliation to her eyes, but she blinked them back furiously, and when Milord pulled up her drawers again, she fancied he gave her inflamed buttocks a brief caress as if to make amends for her suffering.

‘One hundred and fifty francs,’ he repeated. ‘For that sum I think monsieur should have the privilege of enjoying mademoiselle in private.’

There were angry cries of ‘
Pas encore!
’ and ‘
Zut alors!
’ from the crowd, but to Hetty’s relief, their host stood firm. He handed her the heavy clinking purse, and she clutched it gladly as he ushered her and her new master off the platform without subjecting her to further public embarrassment. No doubt he considered she had endured enough, yet she was uncertain what would happen next as the old man offered her his arm and she was obliged to allow him to escort her from the room.

‘Now you will come home with me,’ he said as soon as they left the ballroom, his voice quavering with emotion.

‘Go to your
home?
’ Hetty surveyed him with horror. ‘Oh no, I cannot!’

‘That is the bargain,’ the old man informed her, somewhat testily. ‘You are being well paid for your services, mademoiselle. Do you wish to make a complaint?’

‘No,’ she said hastily, remembering she was only doing this for the money, after all. ‘I just wondered how we would get to your home, and how far away it might be.’

‘It is not too far, and I have my own private
barouche
,’ he said with pride. ‘Now tell me your name, please.’

‘I am called Louise,’ she lied.

‘And you may call me Raoul.’ His knowing smile suggested he suspected Louise was not her real name, and she guessed he had not given her
his
real name either. He led her out into the cool night, and when she shivered, he put his own cloak around her shoulders. His four-wheeled carriage was waiting for them in the street outside, the horses pawing the ground impatiently. When they had climbed up into the double seat the driver pulled the top over them, hiding them from view, and a moment later the horses set off at a steady pace.

‘Now, my dear, we are quite alone,’ Raoul said, pushing aside the cloak to grasp one of her breasts through her gown. ‘You are making an old fellow very happy, you know, and no doubt I shall be quite delirious with joy before the night is out.’

‘Where are we heading, sir?’ she asked innocently, a plan of escape slowly forming in her mind.

‘I live in the
Rue La Fayette
. Of course, that is only my town apartment. I have a chateau in Burgundy, and…’

He went on and on about his properties and Hetty soon lost interest. Her spirits had risen when she realised their destination was but a stone’s throw from the attic she shared with Leo. If only she could give this old lecher the slip… but first she must allay his suspicions by making good use of her feminine wiles.

‘Raoul, hold me close,’ she urged him breathlessly. ‘I love to be in your arms.’ Closing her eyes, she prepared herself to endure his intimate caresses. His groping fingers found their way into her dress to her bosom, and he pinched her nipples so hard it made her eyes water. But she stopped herself from crying out, gripping the small moneybag all the more tightly to remind herself why she was putting up with such treatment. ‘I think you are quite excited, Raoul, are you not?’ she cooed. ‘Let me feel your manly vigour.’

‘I am not sure quite what state I am in,’ he hedged, and she knew he was not yet stiff, perhaps unable to attain a tumid state by reason of his age.

‘No matter,’ she said sweetly. ‘If you are slow in coming to the boil, I shall put a head of steam on you, never fear.’

He chuckled as he fumbled with his fly and then led her hand to his cock. It lay bent and wrinkled in his trousers, but she fondled it gently as she forced herself to kiss his withered cheek.

‘We shall soon have him looking lively,’ she promised. ‘By the time we get to your home, he will be up and ready for the sport that awaits us both.’

‘My dear Louise, I am starting to believe you,’ he sighed. ‘Such clever little fingers and such luscious lips… I knew when I made my bid tonight I had picked the best of the bunch.’

Hetty felt almost sorry for him even as she pretended to grow more passionate, pressing her lips to his and doing her best to ignore his fetid breath. As she embraced him, she felt something hard press against her arm and guessed it was his pocket watch. A wicked plan evolved in her mind, and she began murmuring distracting endearments whilst continuing to play with his flaccid privates and dotting his parchment-dry cheek with kisses.

Then the carriage gave a sudden lurch as the horses trotted over a hole in the road, and Hetty found her opportunity. She surreptitiously grabbed for the watch and pulled it free, deftly transferring it to the same hand clutching her moneybag so she could continue playing with his limp cock. His ancient organ began twitching to life beneath her ministrations, and in order to distract him further, she began paying him extravagant compliments. ‘Oh, Sir Raoul, your manliness grows by the second,’ she cooed softly. ‘Seldom have I been so impressed by a man of your age.’

‘Really?’ He sounded childishly pleased. ‘I do try to keep myself in trim.’

‘You succeed well, sir, and I am sure once we are alone in your bedroom you will have no difficulty in satisfying me completely.’

‘Oh, if only…’ he sighed wistfully.

‘Such a sweet little fellow… here let me give him the kiss of life.’ She bent her head to the task, although it made her quite ill to think of taking such a vile little worm into her mouth. But a quick glance aside told her where they were in Paris, and she knew this was the nearest they would come to her street. She sucked his flaccid organ until it stirred a little in her mouth, causing him to emit a loud moan of surprised pleasure. She licked and mouthed it for a few more seconds, and then replaced her lips with her fingers to give him a long and passionate kiss on the mouth. He seemed near to fainting with anticipation as she pulled away, his penis showing increasing signs of life, and she knew she could risk no more of this dangerous foreplay.

The carriage slowed to round the corner of the
Rue de Bellefono
, a street she knew well. She opened the door on her side, and before the horses increased their pace leapt out onto the road, slamming the door closed behind her. A roar of outrage like the sound of a bellowing bull followed her for a few yards as she darted along the gutter in her treacherous heels. She paused to kick them off and kept running in her bare feet. She could hear Raoul yelling instructions to his coachman to follow her, so she slipped into an alleyway, one of a warren of narrow passages running between the apartment blocks.

It was easy to find her way through the labyrinth and give her pursuer the slip, and at last she arrived at the tall building where she and Leo had their humble residence. She nodded to the concierge, who stared at her wide-eyed, clearly dumbfounded by her attire, and then she raced up the stairs until she arrived, panting breathlessly, at her door. She retrieved the key from beneath the mat and let herself into the apartment.

Faint moonlight shone through the skylight, filling the room with an eerie glow. She heard Leo stir in the curtained-off bed and desperately hoped she could quickly strip off her damning costume and slip in beside him before he noticed she had been gone. As she started undoing the laces of her basque, however, the curtains were drawn back with a rasping sound. ‘Oh!’ she exclaimed, startled by her husband’s abrupt appearance.

‘Is that you, Hetty?’ His voice sounded harsh. ‘Where the hell have you been?’

‘I… err… I was just up the road, dear.’ Her original idea of using her ailing friend as an alibi now sounded ridiculous considering the fantastic clothes she was wearing. She wondered how much of a tissue of lies she could weave, something along the lines of Marie having given her the clothes, but it seemed pointless, so instead she decided to try and placate his wrath by showing him the fruits of her labours. ‘See what I have brought back for us, my love?’ She held up the purse full of money in one hand and the pocket watch in the other. The gold of the expensive timepiece gleamed with almost magical brightness in the moonlight as he approached her, and snatched it out of her grasp.