by Jay Lawrence
"Look at your bottom, April."
Gingerly, Susan opened her eyes and looked. She saw a small white figure, still bound by her wrists to the bedpost, with a harshly reddened, swollen behind. Jack stood over her, caressing the strap with the forefinger of one hand. She felt as if she had fallen into a nettle patch, then been stung by a nest of hornets. Her bottom throbbed steadily. She stared at her reflection, as if unable to tear her gaze away. The hypnotist drew the leather belt across the perspiration-stained base of her spine and she shivered violently. Jack laughed.
"As I thought. Oh April, you are going to be so easy to train. Tomorrow we'll repeat the session, only you'll be fully naked and take double the strokes. Run her a bath, Louise."
The redhead started to unfasten Susan's wrists. Confused and deeply frustrated, the young woman sobbed quietly into her mouthful of wet silk. He had barely touched her with his hands. He seemed to have no intention of taking her in a more predictable way. Did he really just want to beat her every night? How long could she suffer that kind of treatment?
The moment Louise untied the gag, Susan cried out.
"Please–"
Jack was rolling down his sleeves, refastening his cuffs. He looked at Susan's distress then raised his eyebrows.
"My dear, if you want that too, you're going to have to learn to beg."
Louise laughed harshly, already lighting another cigarette.
"You should take her to that house in St. John's Wood, Jack. They'd soon teach her a trick or two."
The hypnotist nodded, without the trace of a smile.
"So, they would, Louise. So they would."
* * * *
Monday was a different kettle of fish. They had left the hotel immediately after breakfast, Louise getting into one taxi cab, the hypnotist and his ward another. So what comes next? wondered Susan, having relinquished the soigné evening suit and high-heeled shoes to the brusque redhead who appeared to be Jack's assistant in crime if not his love interest. They had made her telephone Clarke, Clarke, Fry & Watt at precisely nine o' clock ("can't have any drama about you going missing, can we?" said Jack) and she calmly uttered her pre-rehearsed lines into the receiver, claiming an illness caused by bereavement stress.
"In a few days, you will send a letter, tendering your resignation. Your future has changed."
"Yes."
Susan nodded, quietly listening to the murmured instructions the older man listed as they sat in the back of the rattling taxi cab. She had decided not to ask any questions, a tactic that he appeared to like. On several occasions he laid a fatherly hand upon her primly gloved one and said she was a good girl. Each time he spoke those words, she felt a warm, happy rush. Anyone else but Jack would sound patronizing, telling her she had performed like a well-trained dog. Rapidly, she realized that she wanted to perform for the hypnotist. She needed to be his most obedient girl. This concept was so at odds with her life view and experience that it almost took her breath away. In truth, she was so pleased at the Cinderella-like transformation of her dismal life that she would have done anything for her new master. He had mentioned begging. In her mind's eye, she imagined herself, nude and chastised, humbly groveling at her owner's feet. The daydream made her quite excited and she had to cross her legs.
"Clothes, April. Ordinary everyday clothes, evening clothes. Make-up, perfume, hats, shoes, gloves and – most important – underwear."
"Yes, Jack."
It was like winning the big prize in a lottery. She, who had always had to make do with castoffs and her mother's slightly frumpy dressmaking efforts, found herself enveloped in a scented world of glamour. They tottered from one vast emporium to the next, hallowed names that Susan recognized from advertisements in newspapers and magazines. Harrods, Lewis's, Fortnum & Mason's. A veritable army of shop assistants fussed and cooed and clucked about her like a brood of little hens. The hypnotist was apparently a man of means and she was a young and pretty girl with the slender, well-proportioned form of a mannequin. The perfect combination. Jack signed checks drawn on a smart City account and Susan made a mental list of the items to be sent to an unknown address. For each time an assistant inquired about delivery, the hypnotist simply handed her a small engraved card.
"Send it here, please. This afternoon at four, if possible."
"Certainly, sir. We'll do our best."
They took just one outfit directly from a store, Jack declaring that Susan must have something elegant to wear that day. It was a black lambs-wool dress with a draped cowl neck and a figure-hugging style that made Susan feel aroused. She watched herself in the changing-room mirror. She had already become quite a different person. Money and love did that to you. When you felt wanted – she allowed herself to think 'desired' – by another, then you could relax and be whatever you wanted to be. Or whatever your lover chose you to be, if he was so inclined. Suddenly, it seemed a straightforward equation. The young woman admired her smooth, softly curving hips, formerly hidden beneath yards of much more prosaic cloth. Briefly, she touched her bottom. She was still aware of the whipping she had received. She felt it quite distinctly each time she sat in a firm seated chair. He was going to do it again, but more strokes of the strap, and upon her naked flesh. Gasping, she clutched at the walls of the cubicle, suddenly overpowered by another unexpected orgasm.
* * * *
"Manicure. Pedicure. Is there no end to the artful maintenance of your feminine wiles?"
The hypnotist was enjoying himself immensely. He had stationed himself, with the morning edition of "The Times," in the foyer of another beauty salon. He loved the intensive but infinitely satisfying regimens of sculpting his "finds" into stunningly gorgeous odalisques any sultan would be proud to own. There hadn't been many girls, not really. He had realized his "needs" quite late in life and, at first, had extricated himself from a loveless marriage and slaked his thirst for sadism at expensive bordellos. But it wasn't what he really desired, the neutered half-life of buying a whipping girl and paying her to scream. Theatrical submission was something of an oxymoron and he felt cheated, no matter the price.
"Give me a girl at an impressionable age and she will be mine for life."
There had been a florist from Covent Garden, slyly lifted from her bower of roses and carried off to a much more thorny bed. That was when his Henry Higgins phase commenced, his Pygmalion-esque desire to take a pretty but dowdy girl and transform her into a beauty queen. He had sold Giselle, (nee Alice Grimes), to an aging Lord with a penchant for blood-sports. She loved to be ridden like a pony at a point to point, her satiny rump seared by a long and savage crop.
The world was full of these girls, if you knew where and how to look.
"What do you think?"
April, nee Susan, almost danced out of the beauty salon. Like a child with a new toy, she proffered her hands, the nails shaped and lacquered with scarlet varnish.
He examined her fingers, at once delighted by her simple joy and suddenly determined to make her suffer a bit. It was all too easy. The really repressed and deprived ones blossomed the swiftest, leaping like manic Jack-in-the-boxes from their dowdy wretched lairs. She had to remember that there was a price to pay.
"That's a bit better."
He watched her face fall as she waited for an enthusiastic approbation which did not arrive. He had already spoiled her. He experienced an overpowering urge to turn her over his knees and spank her squirming lambs-wool coated rear in front of the manicurist. With a rising excitement, he realized that he could do anything with this girl. He decided then and there to have a prostitute beat her that evening. His protégé must not get out of hand.
* * * *
"Welcome to my humble home."
Feeling slightly awed, Susan stood in the drawing room of the hypnotist's house, a rambling surprisingly friendly-looking villa in a leafy northern suburb of the city. What had she expected? Jack was such an oddball, a maverick. Somehow he didn't fit anywhere. She wouldn't have been surprised if he had no home at all and si
mply lived from hotel to luxurious hotel, like some rakish gambling adventurer. Yet he owned a solid and respectable house, with a long lawn edged by beech trees and even a goldfish pond.
"What did you expect, April? A forbidding Gothic hall, with gargoyles and a one-eyed butler?"
Jack was laughing at her, arms folded, leaning casually against his spotless mantelpiece. A fire began to take root in the fireplace logs, the dry wood cracking and popping. Susan blushed but did not reply. She could see her reflection in the large mirror behind Jack's head. She looked both svelte and embarrassed, an odd combination. Helplessly, she examined the framed photographs on the sideboard for clues to Jack's parentage. The hypnotist followed her gaze.
"Oh, I'm a one-off, April. Found on a doorstep – or was it tucked inside a carpet bag?"
He was making a fool of her. Susan allowed the needling sensations of humiliation to wash over her without leaving a mark. If he liked playing with her as a cat toys with a mouse, well, why not? Perhaps she could even get to enjoy it... She crossed the room and looked out of the French doors to the wintry lawn. Conversationally, she inquired whether stage hypnotism was a lucrative business.
"My dear child, that has absolutely nothing whatsoever to do with you."
The young woman half-turned from her vista of dead leaves and bare branches. The hypnotist was watching her as intently as a hawk might observe its prey.
"I see–"
"You don't see at all, I'm afraid, but you will be made to see, April. Whether you like it or not. Do you comprehend?"
Susan looked at her feet, neatly clad in ebony patent leather pumps. The heels were rather high and narrow and it was taking her a while to feel accustomed to the change in balance.
"Yes, Jack."
"Excellent. I believe it's almost four o' clock. Time for our purchases to arrive. What fun we're going to have. I intend to take you out and show you off."
She smiled at him, all pink and glowing. 'God, if you only knew!' he thought, a wry smile hovering about his lips.
* * * *
Susan wanted to ask where Jack was taking her. However, it had been made very clear that questions were both undesirable and unnecessary. She had been instructed to take a bath, to powder herself lavishly with scented talc – it was Chanel Number 5, what a treat! – and to don the satin underwear Jack had laid out for her upon his bed. There was a very low-cut brassiere and a girdle, terribly tight even for Susan's slender hips. She gasped and grunted softly as she pulled the stringent garment up her thighs and over her bottom. They hadn't selected the underwear together but she knew she couldn't ask about it. Such things were not for her to know. The hypnotist's game was not so complex, she mused. He wanted a plaything, a pretty possession to treasure and abuse, because she was his and his alone. She could understand that. The dresser mirror revealed a lovely young woman with a nipped-in waist and pert, uplifted breasts. Susan added long, sheer stockings, fastening their tops to the too-tight girdle. It was hard to bend forwards, so she lifted her legs up to coat them with the fine tan nylon, turning them this way and that to admire the effect. She had never considered that she had lovely legs. They were long and slim with very trim ankles. She was becoming so vain! Finally, she stepped into the evening dress that Jack had dictated she wear. It was scarlet, with a plunging V-neckline and a graceful softly pleated skirt that flowed Greek goddess style down to the floor. Her cleavage was visible but nothing else, which gave the young woman the odd sensation of being exposed and concealed at the very same time. The girdle's tightness made her long to be strapped, drawing her focus to her bottom. Carefully, Susan slipped on her new stiletto sandals. The heels were so thin and tall that she was certain she would fall over. What were they – four inches, five? Her hand trembled slightly as she applied bright red lipstick and clipped on the dangling earrings Jack had laid out on the dresser top.
He barely looked up when she entered the drawing room, simply grunted something prosaic as he read the evening newspaper in a comfortable chair. She stood expectantly before him on the large Turkish rug. Her reflection was gorgeous, a platinum blonde in a ravishing movie-star gown. Susan wished she had larger breasts. If she had a bigger bust, she'd look just like Jayne Mansfield. She wondered if Jack would allow her to wear a padded bra. As if to answer her unspoken thought, the hypnotist grasped her about the hips to draw her to him, then pulled the bodice of her dress aside to reveal her modest breasts. She watched the top of his head as his mouth found her nipples and rimmed them with his tongue. Suddenly, the satin crotch of the girdle was soaked, a tiny but persistent fluttering beat within the wet place between her legs. Susan wanted to scream, to beg the hypnotist to take her virginity then and there. She couldn't stand his tormenting teasing. Swiftly, Jack tidied the young woman's bodice, then turned her over his knees. Susan orgasmed, sobbing, as he gave her three hard spanks through her layers of clothes.
* * * *
"Well now, what have we here?"
Susan realized what kind of a house it was as soon as the young woman opened the door. A taxi cab had deposited them further down the apparently respectable St. John's Wood road. They had walked (Susan with some difficulty, due to the precipitous height of her heels) past several hedge-enclosed villas, finally stopping at a tall, narrow house, the ground floor of which was obscured by a dense wall of privet. As she tottered up the garden path, she noticed that all the house's windows were shielded by heavy blinds, as if the occupants could not bear the light of the sun. Then, as Jack gave an elaborate knock and the glossy door opened to reveal a dimly lit hall, the young woman sensed the reason for concealment.
"What a lovely girl, Jack!"
The maid wore an apron, daintily trimmed with a ruffled edge, and nothing else but stiletto shoes with matching lace rosettes. Instinctively, Susan held back but the hypnotist simply grasped her arm and propelled her into the heavily scented hall. Rooms opened to left and right and a carpeted staircase curved upwards to the upper floor. Everywhere, lovely young women in various stages of dress and undress, giggled and fawned over evening-clad men. Shocked, Susan thought she recognized a famous face – an actor on the stage – and another, aging man who might have sat in the House of Lords. She suspected that if she was not quite so gauche and from the north, she would likely recognize a decent proportion of the brothel's clientele.
"Isn't she pretty, now?"
Two of the girls swooped upon them, briefly caressing Susan's hair and her carefully made-up face. The young woman stood helplessly, rigid, unable to relax as they cooed over her before turning to Jack.
"What a naughty man you are, Jack! This one's a virgin, isn't she? Is that why you've brought her?"
Their voices were curious theatrical hybrids – Susan could tell that they'd come from poor neighborhoods, yet they'd obviously been trained to make a good impression. There was an exaggeration about every word, each syllable precisely formed. She looked at their beautiful bodies. One girl was naked from the waist up, exhibiting large, soft breasts with fat brown nipples; the other covered her bust with a chiffon scarf yet revealed her private parts, which were curiously devoid of hair as if they had been waxed. To Susan's horror, Jack slipped one arm about the busty girl's waist and looked longingly down at her wobbling delights.
"Some Champagne for Miss April, Lucy. As you can see, she needs defrosting."
The hairless girl swayed off through the chaotic party, her tight little buttocks squirming beneath the diaphanous tail of the chiffon scarf. Jack leaned towards Susan, so close that his breath was moist and heavy in her ear.
"Lucy likes to take it in the ass."
Susan tried to draw away from him but he had her arm in a vise-like grip, so hard that she knew his fingers would leave bruises. Her heart was thumping with anger and nerves as he continued to tease her.
"She enjoys nothing more than to go down on all fours and have a great thick cock stuffed inside her tight little bottom. She squeals like a stuck pig every time."
The hypnotist had begun to fondle the buxom girl's breasts. Susan watched, both aghast and perversely fascinated. The plump blonde's bosom was so different to her own pert little bust. She watched Jack lift one in his hand, as if judging the weight of a prize melon at a horticultural show. Her mind rebelled against his lack of loyalty, yet her body seemed to respond to the sight of his hands on another girl. After a minute, he moved behind the blonde and, placing both hands on her breasts, rapidly jiggled them up and down. She laughed uproariously, well-accustomed to being handled in such a casual way. Susan was mesmerized by the gyrating mounds of creamy flesh and terribly jealous of them. What on earth could Jack see in Susan/April, with her tiny little boobs?
"Here we are, Jack. Lovely bubbly for your little lady!"
Lucy returned, bearing a small silver tray with two glasses of Champagne. The hypnotist took them both and handed one to Susan. She took it meekly, deeply aware that he had no need to get her drunk to have his way with her. All he had to do was to gaze levelly into her clear blue eyes and issue his instructions. Suddenly, Susan felt terribly weak, as if her legs could barely support her. She swayed slightly and, in doing so, bumped into a gentleman who laughed and gave her a playful swat on her bottom. The sensation of the brief spank seemed to last forever, sending ripples of pleasure through her tightly girdle encased buttocks to tease the wet place between her legs.
"There are no rules here, April. Anyone can do just as they wish. Unless, of course, they belong to someone, as you belong to me. In that case, they do exactly as they are told."
"I see."
Susan sipped her Champagne. It was very dry and so gassy that she felt the bubbles might rush up her nose.
"May I do that again, sir? The young lady has such a divine behind!"
She turned to see the man who had spanked her. He looked older than Jack, a corpulent, red-faced type. She imagined him as the manager of an exclusive City bank. He wore a pin-striped suit, with a pocket watch on a chain. Jack smiled graciously.