She nodded. “Yes. In the valise.”
“Put them on.”
“Now?” she asked.
“Now,” he said.
She stood up and took the valise down from the overhead rack and opened it. Quickly she took out the black lingerie and started for the toilet compartment.
He stopped her. “No. I want you to put it on here in front of me.”
She glanced at him silently, then at the open window of the compartment.
He read her glance. “You can pull down the shades. And lock the door.”
She didn’t move.
He raised a threatening hand. Quickly she pulled down the shades and locked the door. She turned back to him. “Now,” he said.
Slowly she undid the buttons of her middy blouse and shrugged it from her shoulders, then the side buttons of her skirt, and let it fall to the floor. She stepped over it. She picked her clothes from the floor and folded them neatly, placing them in the open valise. With her back to him, she began to undo the brassiere.
“Turn around and look at me!” he snapped.
She met his gaze for a moment, then her eyes fell, and still looking down, she undid her brassiere and stepped out of the panties. Silently she put on the black lace brassiere and sheer silk panties. She turned to pick up the middy blouse.
“You’re not finished yet,” he said. “Where are the garter belt and silk stockings?”
Without answering, she took them from the valise. She snapped the belt closed around her hips, then sat down to put on the stockings. A moment later she stood up again to fasten the clips to the stocking tops. Again she reached for the middy blouse.
“No,” he said. “Go back to your seat.”
“Like this?” she asked.
“Like that,” he said shortly. “I’ll tell you when to get dressed.”
“But it’s cold,” she said.
“You’ll get used to it,” he said.
Silently she sank back on the banquette opposite him. He sucked on the cigarette, letting the smoke drift idly from his nose as he looked at her. “Your tits have grown too big for your brassiere already,” he said almost conversationally. “You’ve got a whore’s body, just like your mother.”
She didn’t answer.
“Spread your legs!” he snapped.
Automatically she opened her knees. She felt the pull of the thin silk moving to one side and put a hand down to cover herself.
He slapped her hand away. “I didn’t tell you you could do that.” He laughed suddenly. “You’ve got a big bushy whore’s cunt too. Just like your mother.”
She felt the tears coming to her eyes. She kept her mouth tightly shut as they began to roll down her cheeks.
“Tears?” he asked sarcastically.
She didn’t answer.
He leaned forward and unexpectedly thrust his hand between her legs. Startled, she almost jumped, then the hot wave of an instant orgasm left her weak and trembling while the wetness of her flooded down on his probing fingers.
He leaned back on his banquette, laughing. “You are like your mother, Janette. Wet eyes and wet cunt.”
The sound of the first call for dinner came from the corridor outside. He got to his feet and went into the tiny toilet where he began to wash his hands meticulously.
He looked over his shoulder at her reflected in the mirror. “You can get dressed now, Janette,” he said casually. “I’m hungry and I find it’s always best to eat early on these damn trains. If you wait too long, you’ll find the best dishes are always gone.”
The train arrived in Paris an hour and a half late due to the pouring rain. Jerry was on the platform waiting for them and it was two o’clock in the morning when he stopped the small car in front of the apartment on the Ile Saint-Louis.
“I have some cold cuts if you’re hungry,” he said in the small elevator as they made their way up to the fifth floor.
“I’m not hungry,” Janette said. She looked at Maurice. “Why didn’t you take me home?”
Maurice’s hand flashed across her face. “Nobody spoke to you,” he said. “You speak when I tell you to.”
She stared at him silently as the elevator stopped, then followed them out onto the landing. Jerry fumbled with his keys and opened the door. She was surprised at the lavishness of the apartment. From the outside of the building it seemed like nothing, but inside there was everything. The finest of furnishings, carpets, even new American heating-air-conditioning units in the walls.
Maurice led the way through the living room and the dining room, then through his bedroom to a small room located in a corridor between his room and Jerry’s. There was no door on the room and the only furniture was a small bed, a chair and a washstand in the corner of the room. It was obviously a servant’s room. “Put your things in here,” Maurice said.
“When am I going to see my mother?” she asked.
He looked at her. “I’ll let you know when.” He turned to Jerry. “I’m hungry.”
“I’ll get the food out of the refrigerator,” Jerry said.
“No,” Maurice said. “You show her where it is. She’ll do it.”
“I’m tired,” Janette said. “I want to sleep.”
Maurice slapped her. She half fell across the bed. “That will wake you up,” he said. “Now, get out of that stupid school outfit and come and set the table.”
“But I didn’t bring anything else to wear,” she cried.
“You’ll wear what you wore on the train,” he said. “You won’t need anything else.” He turned to Jerry. “Wait here for her. Then show her what to do. I’m going to have a shower and get out of these clothes. They stink from the train.”
After Maurice left the room, she got up from the bed. Jerry stood there, watching her. “Turn around,” she said.
“What for?” Jerry grinned. “I’m going to see you anyway.”
She stood there without moving.
“Maurice wouldn’t like it if I have to call him back,” he said.
Quickly she undressed, her back toward him. When she finally turned around, he let out a low whistle. “Maurice was right. You are built like your mother.”
She stared at him. “You saw my mother too?”
“Yes,” he said. He was silent for a moment, then turned. “Come.”
She followed him into the kitchen. They had just finished setting the table when Maurice came into the dining room, wearing a black silk robe and velvet slippers.
He looked down at the table. “Where are the candles?”
“I forgot them,” Jerry said quickly. “I’ll get them.” He went to the sideboard. A moment later the candles were glowing on the table. He turned off the electric lights.
Maurice reached for the bottle of wine. “We’ll have a glass of wine while you change,” he said to Jerry. He filled two glasses and held one toward her as Jerry left the room. “Here.”
She shook her head. “I don’t want any wine.”
“I didn’t ask you,” Maurice said. “Drink it.”
She took the glass and held it to her lips and sipped slowly, then began to put it down.
“All of it,” Maurice snapped.
She picked up the glass again and drained it, feeling the warmth of the dark red wine seeping into her. She put the glass down.
Maurice refilled it. “That’s better,” he said. “Just do as I tell you and we won’t have any problems.” He began to fill his plate with cold ham, tongue, pâté and cheese. Breaking off a piece of bread, he began to eat hungrily. “This is good,” he said. “Why don’t you have some?”
“I’m not hungry,” she said. “Just tired.”
“Food will make you feel better,” he said as Jerry returned.
Janette stared at him. Jerry was in drag, wearing a sheer paneled chiffon dress with nothing underneath that exposed his privates with every motion. He had made up his face—lipstick, mascaraed lashes, shadowed eyes, rouged cheeks.
Maurice saw the expression on
her face and laughed. “What’s the matter? Don’t you think he makes a pretty girl?”
She didn’t answer. Jerry laughed, a thin falsetto laugh, and sank into a chair, his legs akimbo. The panels of the dress fell open away from his hips, revealing the pale length of his penis.
Maurice smiled, still eating. “Don’t you think he has a pretty prick?” he asked. “Not as large as mine, of course, but quite graceful.
She took a deep breath. “Maurice,” she said.
He shook a gently chiding finger. “Papa.”
She met his eyes. “Papa.”
“That’s better, Janette. Now, what is it you want to say?”
“Why?” she asked. “I don’t understand. Why?”
“There’s nothing to understand, Janette,” he said. “Your mother is a whore. And when you leave here, you’ll be even a bigger whore than she is.”
“You can’t keep me here!” she cried, starting to run from the room.
With one leap, he caught her arm before she reached the door. He dragged her back into the room. “It seems to me, Janette, that you’re acting like a baby. And you know what they do to babies when they don’t behave? They get spanked!”
He sat down on a chair and pulled her across his lap face down. His hand rose and fell with an even rhythm. At first there was pain, then she felt a warmth spreading through her buttocks into her loins. Her cries began to turn to a soft moan.
Maurice laughed. “Do you want to be spanked?”
She shook her head violently.
He laughed again and suddenly thrust his hand between her legs underneath her and began to massage her vulva at the same time continuing the rhythmic slapping on her buttocks. She began to gasp for breath, unable to control her spastic reactions.
“Look what you’ve done, you naughty girl,” Maurice said. “You’ve gotten Jerry all excited and jealous. He’s got a big hard on.”
Suddenly she was aware that Jerry was standing in front of her, masturbating his penis violently. She shook her head to turn away from him.
“Stick it in her mouth, Jerry!” Maurice almost shouted. “Choke her with it!”
Jerry grabbed her by the hair, pulling her head back, forcing her to open her mouth. He pushed his penis into her mouth just as he began to come.
She began to choke and gasp trying to cry out when suddenly she felt herself in the grip of an orgasm so violent, so strong, that she had never imagined anything could have ever created such spasms of agony, pleasure and pain.
Suddenly, Maurice stood up, spilling her from his lap to the floor. She lay there, gasping and crying, unable to move. He smiled down at her. “That’s lesson number one, dear child,” he said. “There will be many more. And you will learn to love all of them in time. You’ll see.”
He turned to Jerry. “Get her into her bed.”
Jerry picked her up and carried her into the bedroom and threw her down. Maurice came from behind him and picked up her arm. She heard a click. Then stared at her arm. A handcuff fastened her to the brass bedpost. She turned to look up at Maurice.
“That’s just so that you don’t get any funny ideas in the night,” he said. “Like trying to run away.”
Then he turned and left the room, followed by Jerry. The light suddenly went out, leaving her sobbing alone in the night.
She never knew whether it was day or night. When they came to take her from the bed, the drapes were always closed; even the bathroom windows were covered. The meals seemed to be always the same. Never a breakfast, lunch or dinner. A variety of cold cuts on the table. Bread. Wine. Strange things were happening in her head. Now the only thing she resented was lying alone, handcuffed to the bed in the dark. She began to await the times they would come for her. Even to look forward to the pain, because always with it came the exquisite agony of release.
Maurice’s words kept turning over and over in her mind. “Remember, Janette, without pain there is no pleasure. The two go together, heighten each other, each contributing to the ultimate bliss.”
It always began with a spanking. Once she had heard Jerry ask, “Why don’t you use the cat?”
“There must be no marks,” Maurice had answered.
That had been the first time they had taken her to Maurice’s bed, her hands tied with long silken ropes to the wooden bedposts. “You take her first,” Maurice said. “Get her ready for me.”
He held her legs apart while Jerry knelt on his knees before her. Quickly he masturbated, trying to make himself erect, then suddenly pushed himself into her. She cried out with the sharp quick pain but then Jerry went suddenly limp and fell out of her. He turned to Maurice. “I told you I can’t make it with a woman!”
With an angry gesture, Maurice pushed him away. He dropped his robe and got on the bed, positioning himself between her legs. He was already erect.
Janette stared up at him, unable to take her eyes from his phallus. “I’m afraid,” she cried.
Maurice put his hand down between her legs, then brought it up and looked at it. His fingers glistened with moisture and a faint tinge of pale blood. “Your big wet whore’s cunt belies your words,” he said.
“You’ll hurt me!”
He smiled, “Remember, Janette, without pain there is no pleasure.” He put his hands under her buttocks and raised her toward him.
She stared down with wide eyes as he slowly moved himself into her. She could not believe that she could open wide enough to receive him. He seemed to pause for a moment as he came to an obstruction. He looked into her eyes, then, without warning, gave a violent shove.
The pain tore through her and she screamed. He put a hand over her mouth, holding her motionless against him with the other hand. After a moment, she opened her eyes, staring up into his face, then slowly lowered her gaze. He felt her lungs fill with air as she came to the realization that he was completely buried inside her. Her eyes slowly moved back up to him, beginning to fill with a strange kind of wonder. He stared at her for a moment, then took his hand away from her mouth and pulled the cords that bound her to the bedposts, freeing her hand.
She stared at him for a moment more, then, suddenly, threw her arms around him clinging to him tightly. She began slow tentative movements, then as she grew more frenetic, she squeezed her eyes tightly shut so that the tears forced their way through her closed lids. Her voice was a whisper turning to a screaming shout in her ears. “Papa! Papa! Papa!”
Her eyes opened staring up at him. “Slap my face!”
His open hand cracked across her cheek.
“Again!”
This time there were white handprints on her cheek. She smiled up at him. “You do love me, don’t you, Papa?” she asked.
He laughed aloud. “You’re Papa’s little whore!” he said.
“Yes,” she whispered. “Yes. You knew it all the time. That’s what I always wanted to be.”
After that she never went back to the bed in the small room. She slept in Maurice’s big bed with the two of them. One morning she woke up and there was daylight flooding into the room. She blinked her eyes.
Maurice was standing next to the bed, already dressed. “Your mother came home from the clinic last night,” he said. “I’ll have Jerry drop you off at the house.”
“I don’t want to see her,” she said.
“Then you’ll have to go back to school,” he said.
“Can’t I stay here?” she asked.
He shook his head. “No. If you don’t go back to school there will be too many questions.”
“But I want to stay with you,” she said.
“You can’t,” he said. He put his hands in his pocket and came out with a key ring. “But I had a set of keys made for you. Next month when you have the Easter holidays you can come down here, and if we’re not home you can let yourself in.”
That afternoon she boarded the train back to school.
The late April sunshine was fading from the windows when Jacques sank exhausted into a chair in the large
flower-filled living room. He looked up at Tanya and Johann. “I’m dead. I’m glad it’s over.”
Johann nodded. “I thought the press conference went very well.”
“The best idea I had was holding it here in your house,” Jacques said to Tanya. “I think everyone appreciated the personal touch. They’re so bored with salons and hotel conference rooms.”
“Do you think they liked the advance preview of some of Shiki’s designs?” Tanya asked.
“From what I heard,” Jacques answered, “they all loved them. Now they’ll all turn out for the showing at collection time. They know you’re serious.”
“Did Shiki leave already?” she asked.
“Yes,” Jacques answered. “He was gone as soon as the last reporter disappeared.” He got to his feet. “And that’s what I’d better be doing. Let you get some rest. It will be a hectic day at the office tomorrow.”
“I’ll be leaving too,” Johann said. “Congratulations.”
Tanya smiled. “It’s too soon for that. We’d better wait until after the showings.”
“I’m not worried anymore,” Johann said. “It will be all right.”
She saw them to the door, they kissed her cheek goodbye, then she turned and started for the staircase. Henri came toward her. “Madame,” he said hesitantly.
“Yes?”
“Mademoiselle Janette is in her room,” he said.
“Janette! Here?” The surprise echoed in her voice. “Why didn’t you tell me before?”
“She arrived in the midst of the conference, Madame, and asked me not to disturb you.”
Without another word she ran up the stairs. The door to Janette’s room was closed. She knocked politely, then entered. Janette was standing at the window, looking out. “Janette!” Tanya exclaimed.
Janette turned toward her mother. Her eyes were expressionless. “Hello, Mother,” she said in a dull voice.
Tanya stared at her. The girl’s face was thin and drawn and there were deep blue circles under her eyes. “Janette,” she cried. “What’s the matter with you?”
Janette made no move to come toward her. She met her mother’s eyes defiantly. “I’m pregnant,” she said.
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