by RJ Hunter
He saw that her top button had come undone, and let his eyes hungrily explore her ample cleavage, so beautifully encased in a delicate, white lace bra. Pauline sighed with pure contentment, and held him tighter.
Frank continued with his mission, and let his hands slowly work their way back downwards. Her blouse was made of silk, and he could feel the smoothness of her skin through the soft material. He reached her hips, and let his eyes close, as he searched for the tell-tale signs of a suspender belt. Feeling himself beginning to grow, he shifted position so that Pauline would feel the hardness of his erection pressing against her.
The song ended and Pauline felt as if she were about to faint. Her skirt was very tight, and she had never been in such close proximity with a man before. She wished she hadn't drank so much and made a fool of herself. She wanted to go home, and was just about to ask him to drive her back, when he grabbed her hand.
"Come on, let's go out and get some air," and before she knew what was happening, he was pulling her out into the cold garden. No sooner had they got out, when Frank spun her around and began to kiss her passionately.
At first she responded, and allowed his tongue to delve inside her mouth. Then, his hands were all over her again, like during the dance, only this time, worse. He was breathing heavily and stank strongly of stale drink and cigarettes. Pauline felt the wind being knocked out of her, as he pushed her back against a stack of folding chairs. His hands were on her breasts, and squeezing hard. It hurt her, and she reached up and tried to pull them off, only to discover they were now burrowing their way up her skirt. Again, she removed his hands, and told him to stop, but he simply lunged at her breasts again. There was a sudden clatter as Pauline's glasses fell to the ground. While she was off guard, Frank managed to get most of the buttons undone on her blouse, and began licking and biting her neck and shoulders as he crouched over her.
"Frank, please stop it, you're hurting me." Begged Pauline.
Frank did stop, but it wasn't because of Pauline - it was because of the other couple who had been in the restaurant. They had also come out into the garden, but after recognising Frank, they quickly went back inside.
Frank picked up Pauline's broken glasses, "Look, I'm sorry, I'll buy you a new pair. Are you alright? I was only messing around - you see the effect you have on me!" He then laughed and reached into his inside pocket to take out a joint. "Here, do you want some of this?"
Pauline was cold and trying to button her blouse, "No, I don't smoke. I want to go home now."
"Come on, everyone smokes weed these days, Pauline."
"Please Frank, can we go back inside?"
He sat on a low brick wall and lit the joint. After taking two long pulls, he offered it again to Pauline. She took the joint, and tried to scrutinise it without her glasses, before passing it back to him.
"Well, you're a real square Pauline, I thought you would be more fun than this?"
She began to sob, and Frank took his jacket off, and hurled it across to her.
"Here, put this on"
"I'm sorry, I've been a disappointment to you," she whimpered, reaching out to catch the jacket. Frank ignored her, but as she turned the jacket around to put it over her shoulders, something fell out of the pocket. Pauline looked down at the gold necklace, laying next to the empty box. She picked it up and saw that a heavy pearl was attached to the chain. It was gripped in an elaborately-decorated clasp, shaped like an eagle's claw.
She looked excitedly to Frank.
"It's beautiful - is it for me?" Then, getting no answer, she realised she was being far too presumptuous, and went to hand it back to him.
Frank was seething. He had planned to give his mother's 18ct gold necklace to Sally over dinner. He would then seduce her, start a row, ask for the necklace back - then return it as good as new. It was as simple as that. But now he was beginning to realise, he could do the same to Pauline.
"I was going to give it to you after the last dance, but now's a good a time as any. Here, let me put it on for you." He squirmed at what he'd just said, but now he wanted her desperately, and was prepared to go to any lengths to bed her that night.
"Frank, I just don't know what to say. No-one has ever given me anything like this before!"
"You're worth it, Pauline. Listen, I'm sorry for all that business about the joint. It's just no fun being stoned by myself. You could always eat a little piece?"
There was a brief, uncertain pause. "I'll do it for you Frank, but only this once."
They returned to the dance, and Frank got more drinks, spiking Pauline's in the process.
The Blue Jets finished another song and Frank practically had to carry her back to the table.
"I can walk you know, I'm not a baby," slurred Pauline, as she slumped down heavily on the chair. She looked at him with glazed eyes and head swaying from side-to-side, "When's that dope stuff going to work? I swallowed it ages ago."
"You wont know until it hits you," he replied, himself now slurring. He then reached across to pick up his drink, only to spill it into her lap. Pauline let out a gasp of surprise, then began to giggle hysterically. "Oh look, Frank, I've wet myself on our first date!"
"I think it's starting to work!" Laughed Frank, feeling slightly embarrassed by her giggling.
Pauline could hardly stand now, and Frank was thankful the band was playing a slow number as he hauled her across the dance floor, towards the elevator.
"Frank, I don't feel well, I need to lie down," she muttered incoherently, but he either couldn't hear her above the music, or didn't want to. She clung to him tightly, not daring to trust her legs, in case they buckled beneath her. The whole of the bar seemed like one big blur, and Pauline had to keep opening and closing her eyes in an effort to control the spinning.
The singer spoke into the microphone, as he watched Frank and Pauline's progress with amusement. "Thank-you all for being such a great audience. We hope you've enjoyed the evening - now it's time for our last song, and we go back to that wonderful Drifters hit, 'Save The Last Dance For Me'. Goodnight folks!"
Pauline was carried over Frank's shoulder for the last part of the journey. She could vaguely recall him slapping her hard across the bottom, as he staggered from the elevator towards the suite. She thought she was falling into a deep, dark void and struggled to remain conscious. She had no idea where they were, but knew Frank was there, with her, to keep her safe.
Pauline bounced several times as she hit the bed. It was soft, and the eiderdown felt refreshingly cool. Thinking she was at home, and in her own bed, she started to let the powerful urge to sleep have its way. It was then, that she felt her clothes being roughly yanked off. First, her shoes, then she was rocked side-to-side, and felt her damp, tight skirt being tugged down past her hips.
"Jenny! Jenny!" She called out in her confused state of mind, wrongly thinking her friend was helping her. She felt the strong hands again, those same hands she had fought off before, grabbing and clawing at her.
"Please don't hurt me," she pleaded, her voice weak and muffled. She was pushed, face-down onto the bed, and her blouse and bra were torn off. Feeling cold, she tried to cover herself with the eiderdown, but Frank's hands were on her again - now working their way down her body, rolling and pulling. She reached down and desperately tried to hold on to the elastic top of her knickers, but she couldn't resist him, he had too much strength.
Pauline could smell the same breath again, close to her face. She thought she could make out Frank's features in the dim light, before he buried his tongue into her mouth. She struggled for breath, and forced her head away from him.
She tried to will her mind to work, to think clearly, so she could awake from this horrific nightmare. She gasped as a razor-sharp pain shot through her breast, and felt his teeth gnawing at her nipples. Again, she pushed him away, only to feel the stubble on his chin, as it scraped down across her stomach.
She then felt his burrowing tongue begin licking around the insides of her t
highs, like some rabid animal trying to devour her. She heard him moan as his tongue found its way inside her. In other circumstances she may have enjoyed this new sensation, but Frank was far too rough, and she begged him to stop.
She brought her arms up to the top half of her body, in an attempt to hide her nakedness. Her skin was sore and sticky from Frank's saliva, and she tried to crawl up the bed, away from his intrusive invasion of her privacy. She was viciously grabbed and pulled back down, and then felt the whole of Frank's weight, as he clumsily lowered himself down on top of her. She felt his manhood, large and erect trying to find its way between her legs. She wriggled and tried to get out from beneath him, but now he was pushing hard, in a piston-like, rhythmic motion. Unable to move, Pauline gasped, and let out a short scream as he finally entered her. The pain was excruciating, and she remembered shouting, "No! No!" As she cried, and dug her finger nails into his flesh.
She didn't know how long it took, as she kept drifting in and out of consciousness, but she knew it was finally over, when his body seemed to go into spasm, and he let out a long moan of pleasure, before spurting his seed inside her body.
Pauline knew she was going to be sick, but even if she could get away from Frank - there was no way she could manage the few feet to the bathroom.
Frank rolled off, and began fumbling for his cigarettes. He noticed Pauline clumsily trying to get off the bed.
"Look at the state of you, Pauline - you look like a trollop!" He smirked.
"I feel so ill - I think I'm going to be sick," she gasped weakly.
Frank tried to move out of the way, but he wasn't quick enough. He leapt off the bed and looked down angrily at his soiled shirt.
"You disgusting bitch - see what you've done!"
Not being able to help herself, Pauline managed to flop her head over the side of the bed, and without realising, vomited over Frank's jacket, which was lying on the floor.
"Cost me forty guineas, that fucking suit, now look at it! Bloody ruined - you fat slut!" He clenched his fist and moved to strike her, but when he saw the state of her face, he stopped himself just in time, not wanting to get his knuckles dirtied.
Frank hopped around the hotel room in a drunken rage, trying to pull his trousers on. He staggered, and fell against a low table, sending bottles and glasses crashing to the floor. Then, as he was about to leave, he paused in the doorway, and looked down at Pauline, her head dangling limply over the side of the bed. He walked across to her and calmly unfastened the necklace, and put it back in his pocket.
"Frank! Frank! Are you there? Please help me, I think I need a doctor." Whimpered Pauline, as she heaved once more. But Frank never heard her, for he had already gone.
Edward turned the page of his newspaper. He had been glaring at it for the last fifteen minutes as he sat at the breakfast table - but his mind had been elsewhere. He poked his head around the large pages and forced a brief smile at Pamela, who remained silent. She knew after all these years as his secretary, how much Edward enjoyed his moments of peace and quiet. He looked at Pamela again and watched as she went about her usual breakfast routine. She always had a generous helping of prunes, followed by orange juice, a soft boiled egg, with a slice of toast, and finally, tea. However, today Pamela seemed content to just sip her orange juice. She became aware of him staring, and became embarrassed, as if she were a child again.
"What's the matter, dear? You haven't touched your egg, and Mrs. Gardener always does them exactly how you like them."
Pamela sighed, and put her napkin down.
"It's all that bad feeling last night. I wish I could have done something to help."
"I know dear, damned unpleasant business all around. I was a total ass last night, and I know it. I handled the situation with Lizzie absurdly. God knows, I've turned her completely against me now."
He left the table and went out through the French windows into the garden. Edward had taken quite a bit of time off recently, to attend to matters with Margaret. Now he missed his work sorely and felt utterly frustrated. There had been a sharp frost that morning, and the well-manicured lawn bore a crisp, white carpet of ice. He stepped onto the patio, reached into the pocket of his tweed sports jacket, and produced his pipe. After he'd filled the pipe with tobacco, he lit it and began to think about some of his up-coming legal cases, and decided it might be prudent to shut himself away in his study for a while.
He could clearly hear Mrs. Gardener's voice coming from one of the upstairs windows, as she got Margaret up, and ready for another abysmal day of emptiness. Edward hadn't seen his wife that morning. Normally, during a working week, he would call in and see her, before heading off to the office. Although, she would be in bed, she was always awake and always staring blankly. It made him wonder if anything was going through her once, brilliant mind. At weekends, he would wait until Mrs. Gardener had got Margaret dressed and presentable, before going in. It was nice to see her in one of her better dresses and wearing a little make-up, as if for a moment, things were back to normal.
His mind turned to last night once more, and he realised that he should have spoken to Lizzie just as he had always done, which was more like a friend than a daughter. They had always been able to take each other into their confidence, it was a special bond that existed between them. But last night, he had spoken to her like she were a stranger, and had failed in every way to get his true feelings across.
He had wanted to tell her how much he loved his family, and how difficult it was for him to accept that he had lost his wife forever, and all that remained of her was a seemingly empty shell. Edward kept his grief to himself, but he wasn't the type of man who could live a full life without having his physical needs met by a woman whom he could love, and love like he had once loved Margaret. He had mistakenly assumed his children would just automatically accept Pamela into the family, especially since they seemed to like her, and she was practically a part of the family already. He knew Lizzie would have understood his feelings. She would have respected his honesty and candidness, and would have hugged him, knowing that whatever he decided, would be the right thing for all of them.
Why on earth didn't he drive to Wales and speak to Lizzie himself? Yes, that's what he should have done - tell her the truth. Now he was guilty of acting in a most despicable manner by allowing her to learn the details from Janice, who was not averse to over-exaggeration.
He put his hand up to his brow and walked out onto the lawn, the frosty grass crunched beneath the thick, leather soles of his brogues, as he wearily searched his mind for an adequate solution.
Some sort of commotion then rudely shook him out of his soul-searching. Edward heard shouting, which appeared to come from back inside the house.
Lizzie and Janice had let themselves in through the front door. Ignoring Poppy's protestations, they ventured towards the living room. They heard the sound of someone humming, and presumed it was Mrs. Gardener doing some light cleaning. They certainly didn't expect to find Pamela, wearing rubber gloves and packing family photographs into a carrier bag. One photograph was of Edward and Margaret's wedding day, the rest were mainly of the children at various stages of their childhood. A cardboard box had been placed on the table, and this contained many of Margaret's personal items. One set of shelves had been completely cleared, only to be replaced by Pamela's collection of ornaments and trinkets. In fact, downstairs, there was very little evidence to suggest Margaret still even lived at the house.
"Oh stop yapping, Poppy. It's probably just the dustmen!" Called out Pamela, as she petted the tiny dog, before dropping a photograph of Margaret, waterskiing in 1946, into the bag. "If you don't behave yourself, we wont be able to live here. Now stop your barking this instance!" Pamela then heard something behind her, and turned to see Lizzie and Janice staring coldly at her from the doorway.
Janice charged straight at Pamela, violently knocking the smaller woman to the floor. She snatched the carrier bag and screamed at Pamela; "Look, you witch - this is o
ur lives you're stuffing into this bag. Don't you realise that you're destroying our family? I hate you! Get out!"
Pamela looked absolutely terrified and brought her hands up to protect herself as Janice then began kicking out at her wildly. Poppy ran bravely to Pamela's defence and snapped at Janice's heels as the onslaught continued.
Mrs. Gardener came rushing into the room and pushed the assailant away. "Janice! Janice! Stop! You'll kill her. Please! Your mother's in a dreadful state upstairs."
"I wont stop until this bitch is out of our home!" Roared Janice, her eyes almost red with anger.
Lizzie, feeling that she too ought to be making her presence felt, went and stood loyally beside her sister. She looked down at Pamela, and was about to say her piece, when she saw blood was oozing from Pamela's lip, and she seemed to be having some sort of a shaking fit. Lizzie put her hands to her face in shame, and sank to her knees next to the stricken Pamela. Now, for some unexplained reason, she wanted to hold Pamela, to help her, to protect her, but Poppy growled viciously at Lizzie, and kept her at bay.
Edward sat on the floor holding Pamela tightly in his arms, gently stroking her hair. Any sudden movement would make her cry out with pain and cling to him for dear life. Poppy sat next to them, and every so often would jump onto Edward's lap to lick his face.
"Will she be alright?" Asked Lizzie, breaking the awful silence, "Perhaps we should call an ambulance?"
There was no response from Edward, he didn't even look up at her. Lizzie was about to ask again, but thought better of it, and went into the lounge where Janice was anxiously pacing.
"I think you really hurt Pamela, kicking her like that."
"I didn't mean to. I just saw her with the photo and saw red," replied Janice, feeling ashamed of herself.
They waited an hour before Edward finally came out of the living room with Pamela. She was deathly pale and still obviously very shaken up. He called Mrs. Gardener to him and whispered some instructions before dismissing her. Edward remained quite calm and collected, in fact even solemn as he cleared his throat and stood in the centre of the room, supporting his unsteady mistress. He motioned for both Lizzie and Janice to sit down, and the two sisters went over to the settee, looking at each other, not sure what to expect.