SMARTS!

by Jay Lawrence

  "Why are you doing this? Why?"

  The bulky shape in the upper bunk rolled over, with a squeak of worn bedsprings and a sleepy sigh.

  "Because I can. Don't worry, your virtue is still intact. That will change soon but not today. Defloration is a special occasion that demands sharper lucidity than you possessed this evening. Go back to sleep."

  Susan opened her mouth to object, then closed it again. Terrible images of what the hypnotist might do to her if she tried to draw attention to her plight coursed through her brain. His voice issued wearily from above her head, muffled by the pillow.

  "That's a good girl. Everything will look different in the morning, you know. It always does."

  With a piercing shriek, the night train rushed into a tunnel, mere darkness swiftly consumed and deepened to a suffocating inky pit.

  * * * *

  Warm water cascaded over Susan's head and lithe strong fingers began to massage her scalp. The beauty salon was the latest pleasurable if confusing event in a series of luxurious treats. They had arrived in London as a dull sooty dawn dawned over the sprawling city. King's Cross station was a noisy, clattering blur that jarred the young woman's senses as she was hurriedly ushered into a waiting taxi cab, the hypnotist's hand a steely shackle about her faintly strap-marked wrist. She had found that she had little inclination to struggle or make a fuss. He hadn't really harmed her yet and curiosity was rapidly replacing trepidation. They had breakfasted at a large grand hotel, with dainty triangles of toast served in a silver-plated rack and a view of a busy-looking street. Jack ate steadily and heartily, occasionally pausing to instruct Susan quietly on her posture and table manners. Once, she blushed, as she spilled her tea into the saucer, suddenly afflicted by nerves.

  "You're such a little provincial, child. I must take you to Louise."

  "Louise?"

  Susan's heart skipped a beat, suddenly frantic that Louise must be her captor's girlfriend, or worse, his wife, but Jack simply dabbed at his mouth with his napkin and fixed her with a knowing smile.

  "Louise has a beauty salon in Knightsbridge, my dear. I think I'd prefer you as a peroxide blonde. You're way too thin to be a Marilyn but Kim Novak, perhaps. What is your name, anyway? I keep forgetting to ask."

  When she told him, he frowned and shook his head.

  "No, I don't think so. That's much too prosaic. Leave it with me. I'll come up with something much more suitable."

  And so Susan found herself reclining in a yielding leather chair, while a pretty young woman massaged divinely scented shampoo through her short dark hair. It was Sunday morning yet Jack possessed the influence to persuade this woman, Louise, to open her salon outside of normal hours. Susan sat meekly, passively allowing the girl to towel dry her locks, then apply a pungent paste to her head. A platinum blonde! How different she would look. If you looked different, you acted differently. Indeed, you were different. Well, she had wanted to start afresh with a new life. She could never, in her wildest dreams, have imagined this. Idly, she spoke to the busy stylist.

  "Are you Louise?"

  The hairdresser smiled, as if at a private joke.

  "Oh no, dear! I expect you'll meet her later tonight, though. Sit still, there's a good girl."

  Why is everyone treating me like a child?

  Later, when her brunette tresses had been bleached to a pale cool silver and artfully curled with heated tongs, Jack took Susan to a restaurant overlooking the river Thames. Delightedly, she kept spying her new reflection upon a variety of surfaces – mirrors, the French doors of the dining room when the light caught them a certain way. On the sparkling contours of her wine glass, a gilded angel gazed coquettishly at her generous benefactor.

  "I feel so different, Jack!"

  The hypnotist looked at her appraisingly, pausing to slice his steak. Bloody juice seeped from the rare beef, staining the clean white plate.

  "You are different, April."

  The soft, tentative beginnings of erotic pleasure began to tease the young woman's loins. On several occasions since they had met, a mere twenty-four hours prior, she had felt aroused. Guiltily at first, as such yearnings had been well repressed, then willingly, wantonly even, as she had submitted to his strange overwhelming mind control. There was profound and intense pleasure to be found in saying "yes" and opening oneself to possibilities both known and uncertain.

  "I look like an April now?"

  Even her voice was beginning to change, to soften, deepen a little, become more modulated, graceful. The word "acquiescence" kept running through her mind. Every time she thought it she smiled and felt content. The twelfth time she smiled she had an orgasm, eyes wide, suddenly gasping for air, her fingers grasping the narrow stem of her glass. It was her first experience of ecstasy and she thought she might faint.

  "Good." said Jack Shepherd.

  * * * *

  "Why are you doing this? Why me?"

  They spent the afternoon strolling in a large, neatly tailored park, watching ducks and swans ruffle the glassy surface of a boating pond. The hypnotist wore his daytime disguise of the long dowdy raincoat and it kept threatening to rain but never quite happening. A sense of expectancy seemed to hang in the air. Susan, re-christened April, wore a fur jacket graciously loaned by the mysterious Louise. Its soft black collar delicately tickled the silky skin beneath her chin and formed a dramatic foil to her new hair color. Jack Shepherd walked with his hands thrust deeply into his pockets. His profile resembled a morose bird of prey.

  "Why you? Why not? Aren't you having fun?"

  The young woman looked searchingly into his dark brown eyes. They paused on the gravel path that circled the little man-made lake. Susan could see her reflection again, barely distorted by the still water. It almost seemed to have developed a life of its own, this other side of her, her brand new pretty self. What had happened to the independent woman of the world?

  "It's more than I ever dreamed, Jack, but it's wrong, isn't it? You've kidnapped me. You may be treating me like a film star but it's still not right–"

  Her complaints were silenced by a stern paternal finger placed firmly against her startled lips.

  "I know what you need, April. I'm rarely wrong about people and I'm more than certain I'm right about you. All the fake independence, the stoic, doughty struggling to be no-one's serf. All that was just a smoke-screen, wasn't it? Deep down, you're desperately longing for a father figure to pick you up, dust you off and set you on the right track."

  Susan gasped. Complex emotions surged through her as she tried to absorb what he had said. Fear, embarrassment, humiliation, relief, joy, ecstasy, formed and reformed in her head like the glass beads in some crazy kaleidoscope.

  "Bend over this fence, as if you're looking for something you've dropped in the water."

  Confused, she obeyed immediately, leaning over the cold metal rail that guarded the edge of the pond. In the distance, a lady in a scarlet coat played with her little boy who carried a toy boat in his mittened hands. Susan saw her blonde haloed head eclipsed by the darker figure behind her. In shock, she realized that he was lifting the skirt of her dress, exposing her panty-clad bottom to the chilly air. She couldn't move. Once again, he had immobilized her. Helpless tears welled up in her eyes as he briskly tugged down her underwear and gave her three short sharp spanks on her naked buttocks.

  "That's better. Isn't it?"

  "I–"

  She couldn't speak. She was shocked, violated. She had never been spanked, not even as a child. Her stepfather had longed to give her a slippering, she suspected, but wouldn't have dared to cross her mother. Almost fiercely, Jack turned her around and grasped her by the shoulders. He spoke quietly, but insistently.

  "That's better. Isn't it, April?"

  Her response was almost whispered.

  "Yes, Jack. Thank you."

  They continued to walk. She had the sense of having passed some important test. Her bottom tingled and the private place between her legs was oddly mo
ist, as if she had wet herself.

  * * * *

  Louise was a buxom redhead whose sly scarlet mouth formed a garish slash in her mask-like face. She appeared to be around the same age as Jack, a fact that made Susan relax a little. Didn't men always want younger girls? They had gone out to dinner the three of them, at another fancy venue (how quickly one gets used to luxury, Susan thought to herself) and the hypnotist had joked that it was his day off, he was allowed to be spoiled. Susan sat quietly, passively observing the older woman who was dressed just on the outer limits of good taste. There was something about her, a touch of the ghetto, as if she had worked her way up from an impoverished start. Her jewelry was a little too ostentatious, her perfume overly strong. Mutton dressed as lamb, Susan's mother would have said. Idly, she sipped her first Martini, hardly listening to her companions' conversation. They seemed to be talking in low voices much of the time, as if arranging something. What next, Susan wondered, toying with the olive on a little spear and musing how a single drink could be so potent. Her head was starting to swim. Louise had loaned an evening suit, quite modest, in powder blue, with sparkling silver buttons and high-heeled shoes to match. They were just the kind of clothes Susan had planned in her impecunious past, so recently departed, the grim years when she plotted and planned and scrimped and saved and pored longingly over fashion journals in the library. Louise had ushered the young woman into the ladies' bathroom at the latest hotel, passed Susan a bundle of finery and instructed her to go into a cubicle and change.

  "Don't keep Jack waiting," she had exhorted, with schoolmistressy accent on the don't, "we haven't got all night."

  They had had a marvelous dinner, with oysters, Martinis, roast pheasant and Champagne. Jack had insisted that Susan finish her meal with an ice cream sundae, the kind that came layered with jewel-like strata of fruit and chopped jelly in a tall glass with whipped cream and a cherry on top. He told her to eat her pudding slowly and they both watched her intently as she licked the delicious concoction from a long-handled spoon. Finally, when she had finished, Jack and Louise exchanged knowing looks and the hypnotist asked," What do you think?"

  Louise stubbed out the last of a series of pastel colored Russian cigarettes.

  "I think, dear Jack, that you've excelled yourself. As always, I might add. The Knickerbocker Glory was just the perfect touch. Let's take her upstairs."

  Susan allowed herself to be escorted out of the elegant restaurant, along a hallway thickly lined with a plush crimson carpet and up a sweeping flight of stairs. She vaguely recognized the grand foyer of the hotel, as if she had seen drawings or photographs in a magazine. Gravely, she paused to look down the stairwell at the uniformed doormen and potted palms below. She knew that they were taking her to a bedroom and that Jack would have his way with her. Part of her was afraid, as she steadily, solemnly climbed the broad carpeted stairs, past darkly paneled walls studded with (most appropriate) gilt-framed prints of hunting scenes. The other half of her embraced the change that was to come, accepted it as the inevitable price of the luxuries that had so abruptly come her way.

  "Here we are. I took a suite this time."

  Louise retrieved a key from her sequined evening bag and Susan idly considered the words, "this time". How many virgins did the hypnotist deflower in fancy hotels? Was she the second or the fifty-second? They entered a large sitting room with an adjoining bedroom visible through open French doors. Jack removed his jacket and gestured to an armchair.

  "Sit down, April. I want you to relax."

  They poured her another drink, a tot of brandy in a swollen glass like a miniature goldfish bowl. Susan sipped it politely, though she detested the taste, calmly examining her surroundings, the dark green wallpaper, the heavy mahogany furniture. Her gaze kept returning to the vast bed. When would Louise leave? Surely she didn't mean to watch?

  The young woman looked at Jack. She could make out the vague outline of his shoulders and chest beneath his white dress shirt. He didn't look trim and defined, like a younger man, but that didn't matter to her. Indeed, there was something almost comforting about his maturity, as if his added weight, his substance, could keep her safe from the cold, cold world. He began to undo his cufflinks, to methodically roll up his sleeves. Her heart seemed to turn over in her chest. Soon, very soon, he would take her. Fear began to rise. She knew nothing about such things. Was that why he had picked her?

  "Come along, April."

  Louise removed the brandy glass from Susan's hands and jerked her to unsteady feet. Suddenly, the young woman felt faintly sick, nauseated by the redhead's aura of cigarette smoke and powerful scent.

  "I don't think I can–"

  Louise laughed, then, to Susan's horror, the older woman slapped her sharply across one cheek.

  "You'll do as you're told, my girl."

  They were in the bedroom, which seemed very warm. Swiftly, Louise undressed Susan like a child, carefully removing the pretty blue suit. Susan began to shiver violently, although she wasn't cold. She wanted the hypnotist to touch her. She longed for the brash redhead to go away and leave them alone. She realized, with a growing sense of shock, that she had no choice.

  What happened next was unexpected. She had imagined being pressed against the pristine velvety coverlet but Louise made her kneel at the end of the enormous bed and raise her arms above her head, as if she were praying to some Eastern deity. What on earth were they doing? She blushed as she realized she still wore her old bra and panties, contrasting ridiculously with the sheer stockings and stilettos Louise had loaned with the suit.

  "Place the palms of your hands against the bedpost."

  Susan gasped as her wrists were bound to the heavy mahogany column with what appeared to be a dressing-gown cord. She was kneeling, arms raised as far as they would reach, as if in supplication. Suddenly, she was terrified, more vulnerable than she had ever felt in her entire lifetime. There was a cheval mirror in one corner of the room. Susan could see her reflection quite clearly in the soft reddish light from the lamp by the bed. Her eyes looked huge, like a deer's. Her body was very white and slender, her breasts and hips barely swelling the silhouette. She watched Louise unwind a long scarf from her neck and opened her mouth to cry out as the older woman gagged her with the narrow piece of silk. She didn't understand. She wouldn't have screamed. Didn't they know that she wouldn't have made a fuss? The silk smelled and even tasted of perfume, acrid against her tongue. She could feel the knot of the gag, tight against the back of her head. She was helpless with terror but there was something else, something beyond fear...

  "You see, darling, I have rather a different taste in sex."

  Susan looked up at the hypnotist. He stood at the foot of the bed, sleeves rolled up beyond his elbows, tie loosened, as if he were about to perform some manual task. His stance thrilled her, carved through her wall of fear.

  "I'm going to punish you now, April. Do you understand why?"

  She felt as if she would disappear altogether, melt like softened chocolate into his deep brown eyes. She could not reply. In one hand, Jack held a narrow leather strap. He continued to talk to her in a calm level tone, with no trace of anger.

  "You see, my dear, you've been asking for this. Simply begging for it–"

  Instinctively, Susan closed her eyes as she sensed him raise his hand. She wondered if he would pull down her underwear to chastise her or leave her as she was, partly dressed. The answer arrived swiftly and painfully upon the cotton-clad curves of her trembling bottom. She cried out in pain but the sound of her anguish was almost totally suppressed by the moist wad of cloth that filled her mouth. All that issued from behind the gag was a kind of impotent gurgle. Again and again the strap snapped against her buttocks and the sensitive creamy backs of her thighs. Jack seemed adept at aiming the belt at the several exposed inches of tender flesh between her stocking tops and panties. Rarely did the lash catch the smooth dry nylon of the stockings. Inside her head, Susan screamed in agony, her ravaged mouth
forming strange almost animalistic sounds. She pulled at her wrist-bonds and instinctively tried to swing her hips away from the swinging strap. Each time she attempted to avoid a stroke, Louise's warm, moist hands grasped her hips so tightly she could feel the ten sharp indentations of the older woman's varnished nails. Jack was beginning to breathe quite hard. Once, Susan opened her eyes and saw nothing more than a blurred impression of his white shirtfront, immediately behind the bed. She couldn't tell how many lashes he had delivered to her vulnerable rear. It was impossible to count them, merely to endure, as best she could, praying that it would soon be over.

  I have rather a different taste in sex.

  The hypnotist had called her darling in that same sentence, the charming endearment sweetening the bitter draught he urged her to swallow in the name of pleasure. What more could he do to her?

  Suddenly, Susan realized that he had stopped whipping her with the strap. A peculiar empty sensation rapidly replaced the pain of being chastised. Strange – it was almost as if she could not bear to be punished, yet she also couldn't stand the lack of sensation after he ceased. Her bottom was on fire. Heavens, it had to be scarlet! Slowly, Louise eased down Susan's panties, revealing the twin crimson mounds of her disciplined buttocks. Susan wriggled in desperate frustration as she felt the air upon her bottom and her private parts. She was exceptionally moist between the legs – the term slick came to mind – and she found to her surprise and near-disgust that she wanted more of the hypnotist's different sex. She certainly needed something. Tiny sensuous flames of arousal lapped around the plump contours of her downy virgin cleft. She felt she was ready for him, ready for something – but what? Louise's taloned fingers clasped Susan's head and turned it in the direction of the mirror.