House of Temptations

by Yvonne Strickland

  Their lips met and he wanted to devour her with passion. His body and limbs sang like steel wires played by a strong breeze. She was irresistible. She was burning him. Cheryl pushed away his arms and stood up without speaking. The vinyl suit creaked softly. He knew he was expected to undertake the ritual in the bathroom and he would do it without question. He turned to leave her, hesitating only for a moment. But in that moment, his eyes encompassed all that had been laid out upon the green leather chair, and the small table which stood at its side. There was no dress to be seen, but lingerie in black and red lace and sheer nylon was set out with the stiletto-heeled shoes, and a number of rubber masks. The restraints in bright steel and black leather lay close by, sinister, purposeful, waiting. He would never have dared admit to the arousal which coursed through his body. He felt blushing shame in admitting it to himself.

  'Did you get through OK?' asked Josephine.

  'Yes,' replied Karen, putting down the coffee cup and seeing a young couple hesitate to peer in through the shop window, i spoke to Sonia straight away.'

  "And how is she?'

  'Oh, she's fine, and she sends her love to you and Armand. I think she's got a few problems at the London end though.'

  'What kind of problems?' asked Josephine, placing the empty china cups and saucers on to the small brass tray.

  'She didn't want to go into too much detail, but Annette flew from Montpellier to Gatwick the day after I left. I offered to go back but she said there was nothing anyone could do at the house.'

  'No, well,' said Josephine, 'do not spoil your time with us. Armand and I would be unhappy if you leave us too soon. Already we must leave you alone this evening for we have a meeting with our printers and agents at St. Germain-des-Pres. You must come with us if you do not want to stay here, but perhaps it will not for you be very interesting.'

  'That's OK,' said Karen, i think I could do with a rest anyway. I've got a few things to read and I can watch your television if that's all right.'

  'But of course,' replied Josephine. 'I feel bad about leaving you, but we cannot cancel this meeting. Press deadlines are press deadlines. I hate them.' She looked about the shop and continued with a hint of mischief in her eyes, 'On Saturday we will go to a club where people wear the most outrageous clothes, like the party at the house where you first met Armand and me. You can take part or you can stay in the audience if you prefer. Whilst we are away this evening, you go around all the things in the shop or in the back. Find something exciting to wear, yes?'

  "Well what about you two?' asked Karen. Til do whatever you think.'

  'Ah, no. The evening is for you to enjoy the way you wish. If you prefer an ordinary dress then we too will be ordinary. We can go whenever we like because it is not so far away. For you it will be a special visit/ Josephine's eyes glittered as she laughed.

  "Josephine, I've really never been spoiled and pampered so much in my life. I can never repay you.'

  LMa cherie,' said Josephine, kissing her gently on the lips, it is not a question of repayment. You belong with us. I knew that when we first met you, long before you understood it yourself. And now you are with us, you must share all we have.

  It was seven o'clock and they had shared a light meal and a glass of wine in Josephine's room. A car horn sounded outside and Josephine, now in a black two-piece suit and blue satin blouse, said, That will be Armand. He will drive around to the back where he can park, so I will leave that way.'

  She held Karen by the shoulders for a moment and kissed her. 'Please, ma cherie, do not waste the wine now it is opened. We may return inside two hours but it may be four, or even midnight, so do not stay up for us unless you wish to.'

  "Don't fuss. I'll see you later.' And with that Karen kissed her goodbye.

  For a time, Karen sat reading, occasionally refilling the wine glass until the bottle of chablis was empty. Only an hour and ten minutes had gone by when she decided to take a shower.

  With her body warm and tingling fresh, she pulled the bathrobe about her and headed for the shop. She did not at first switch on the shop lights but stood at the bottom of the stairs, listening, and feeling utterly at ease with the effects of the alcohol. It was now dark outside, for the only light which gained access to the secret enclave of the shop was the occasional stab of a car headlight through a gap at the top of the blinds. Little of the street sounds percolated through, and what did only served to emphasise the quiet intimacy within. She reached out to the light switch and the shadows retreated in the warm illumination.

  She felt a little guilty about exploring Josephine's shop on her own, the way she had been uneasy in the beauty parlour back at the house when Valerie and Kim were not there. But she realised that Josephine would find it odd if she did not take her at her word. So she moved quietly about the shop for some minutes, examining clothes and other items hanging on the racks, all the time aware of the all too life-like mannequins eyeing her dumbly from the other side of the stairs. It was quite illogical for her to find their presence so disconcerting, but she did. At length she walked into the store room and switched on the light. It was even more private, despite the brighter illumination. She felt at ease, even though the rich odour of that sinister garment of restraint hanging outside still lingered in her nostrils.

  One of the dresses on the rack caught her eye. She lifted it out and held it out in front of her to examine it. It was made of a deep pink latex, and was very short. It was obviously not intended to be worn in public. She slipped off the bathrobe and stood naked, seeing herself reflected in the tall mirror at the end of the room. Perusing the little dress further, she decided that a garment of such delicate elasticity might need the help of another to put it on without the risk of damage to the material. She carefully replaced it. Turning to the drawers beneath the racks, she pulled open the one nearest to her and regarded the contents. Most, if not all of the items within appeared to be designed for the studio, for erotic photography or for the stage of some private nightclub, perhaps the Club Marat. She was about to close the drawer when curiosity prompted her to look further inside.

  Some of the items were not wrapped up, though none appeared to have been used. Perhaps they had at some time been displayed on the mannequins. She had taken only a passing notice of them during her stay, but was aware that Josephine liked to vary some of the things in the shop on almost a daily basis. What next attracted her was a pair of stockings, different to any she had seen or worn before. She decided to try them on, knowing that she would feel obliged to pay Josephine and keep for herself any such delicate items afterwards.

  The stockings required no suspender belt but stayed up by virtue of their elasticated lace tops. So sheer were they, that they would have been all but invisible had it not been for the fine, black pinstripe pattern running down their length from the lace tops to the shadow toe. Regarding her image in the mirror, she saw how they flattered her legs in a way that made her determined to keep them for the special night out.

  The next item she laid her hand upon brought a smile to her face. At first glance, she had thought it to be a thin garter in black, ruffled lace. When fully withdrawn, she saw it was not. It resembled the tiny garment she had been given to wear by Sophie and Danielle for her excursion into the labyrinthine domain of the mannequins. That had been brief enough. This was utterly frivolous. She began to laugh and heard herself say, 'God, I have to see what this looks like/

  The black satin ruffle passed snugly down under the cheeks of her behind and nestled against the warmth of her sex, then passed up over the silky smooth flesh above it to join the waistband. Karen walked up and down the room, feeling the elasticated material pull intimately against her with each step. She watched her own reflection and imagined with a slight shiver, the faces of Armand and Josephine if they were to discover her like this. Had she not been devoid of hair, it would have been unsightly. There was something missing; something without which the image she had created for herself would not be complete. The shoes
. It wouldn't matter about those. She could choose anything, any style. No one would know. The silver sandals, with their glitter finish, were not for practical wear. The stiletto heels were too high, too precarious to do anything other than to be simply seen in. Nevertheless, she wanted to do just that whilst the mood was upon her and the effects of the wine were still inhibiting her natural caution. She had to sit down on the small stool in order to fasten the thin silver straps about her ankles. To have made the attempt whilst standing would have been at least risky, and probably impossible. And, once more in front of the mirror, she posed, turned about and posed again, imagining the cameras, the ogling faces, the desirous stares. She practised walking with the correct poise in the shoes, and found them not quite as difficult as she had feared initially. She realised that some of the footwear she had worn at the house had helped prepare her for these.

  Suddenly in the office next to the store room, a door closed. There were voices.

  There was not enough time to remove the things she had put on. Any moment, Armand and Josephine would come through and find her. So she reached out and took the bathrobe, hastily pulling it on and doing up the belt. Having opened the door, she looked out into the shop. They were still in the office, for she heard drawers open and close and then a thud, as though someone had carelessly pushed aside a chair. The voices were subdued and sounded not at all happy. Perhaps Armand and Josephine had not had a good meeting. Perhaps they would not wish her to interrupt. The office door swung open unexpectedly and Karen's face broke into a smile. The smile froze. She found herself face to face with a total stranger.

  She felt, rather than heard herself cry out. His hand darted inside his jacket and produced a small, black pistol which he pointed directly at her.

  'What do you want? Who are you?' she demanded, clutching defensively at the belt of the bathrobe.

  'Oh, you are English,' he replied with a heavy accent. He was aged about thirty, swarthy in appearance and had thick black hair. His jeans and black shirt gave him the aspect of a Sicilian bandit.

  'Pierre!' came a girl's voice from behind him. 'Qui est-ce?"

  'What do you want here?' demanded Karen again as the girl looked over his shoulder.

  She was perhaps a little younger than Karen herself, round-faced, attractive and slim, with short brown hair. She too wore jeans but with a dark blue jumper.

  They began a rapid dialogue with each other in French. Karen could only follow in outline but it seemed they were deciding how to deal with her. Behind them she could see the small office in a state of disarray, with papers strewn about on the desk and files lying open on the floor.

  'We - we don't keep money here!' offered Karen, having no idea whether there was any cash on the premises or not.

  it is not money we wish to find,' replied the girl in good English as she moved to the side of her companion. She looked at him for a moment, her face wearing an expression of uncertainty.

  He ignored her, waved the pistol and said, gruffly, 'You will come with us now!'

  'No, no! I'm not going anywhere!' Karen protested, backing away from them.

  'Yes!' shouted the girl. 'You must do as you are told or Pierre will shoot! He does not care!'

  The grim smile which crossed Pierre's tight mouth was not by any means a smile of reassurance.

  'Wh - where do you want me to ...?' began Karen.

  But the girl was not paying any attention. Instead, her gaze had shifted to the object hanging on its hook next to the store room. 'Ah, yes, I know what this is for!' she pronounced, it is very convenient now, I think.'

  Pierre glanced at it and scowled. 'Yes, get it on her. Quickly!'

  Karen backed away further, staring in trepidation as the sinister black garment was lifted down to the swish of leather and the ominous chink of metal. Pierre levelled the gun at her head and stepped closer. 'Stay still! Do as you are told!'

  The girl moved to her side and laid the straitjacket on the end of the counter. At once she tugged hard at the belt on Karen's bathrobe. Pierre, with his free hand, took hold of the collar and wrenched the towelling down over her shoulders. The girl pulled it down her arms and whisked it away from her body. Karen covered her breasts defensively and the girl said, 'Oh, la-la! You are from the stage at the Crazy Horse Saloon, I think!'

  She slid the ominous leather garment from the counter and, moving around to face Karen, said, 'Pierre, please! Put that thing down and hold her from behind. I will do this quickly!'

  'No!' begged Karen, looking desperately at the garment held open before her. 'Please let me get dressed first!'

  There is not time!' shouted the girl as Pierre's hands gripped Karen's elbows. Tut your arms into the sleeve. Quickly or Pierre will hurt you! I do not wish for him to do that!'

  Karen, her mind reeling, pushed her arms through each end of the internal sleeve until they were crossed over within. Quickly and without a word, the garment was drawn about her shoulders and upper body; it held her arms folded across her stomach as it continued to tighten.

  'Ah,' came the girls voice from behind as she changed places with Pierre, 'there are no buckles, only these locks. Well, it will have to do.'

  Pierre held her firmly now at the front and kept his narrow eyes fixed upon hers as the girl, working from the collar down to the waist, pulled each strap through its metal slot and secured it firmly with its padlock. There sounded in her ears as many soft clicks as there were letters in the word 'despair'. Pierre released her and the girl moved back into view. 'Good,' she pronounced, touching the front of the black leather cocoon, 'she will be easy to control now she has this on and you will not need the gun.' The girl turned about and regarded the hook which had held the straitjacket. 'Where are the keys?'

  'I - 1 don't know,' answered Karen.

  'Forget about the damned keys!' responded Pierre with undisguised irritation. We have no time to look.'

  'Very well,' the girl answered, 'but let me put the bathrobe about her and then we can get out of here.'

  Karen made no protest until her near nakedness was covered and the belt done up. Then she twisted about and cried, 'Look, just go away and leave me alone! I don't know who you are! I can't call the police, so what does it matter?'

  They ignored her pleas and pushed her towards the wrecked office.

  'No!' she cried again. 'No, no!'

  'MerdeV breathed the girl. 'She must be silenced. Hold her for a moment!'

  'Adelle, vite.r hissed Pierre as the girl hurried back into the shop.

  Moments later Adelle returned and said, 'Pierre, make her close her mouth.'

  Karen saw him reach into his pocket and raise the pistol. She closed her mouth and eyes, trembling uncontrollably as she heard the small packet being ripped open. Even the possibility of calling for help was to be denied her as the oblong patch of smooth white tape was pressed and sealed securely over her mouth.

  They realised she could not move too quickly because of the high heels, but the walk out of the office, across the courtyard and along the alleyway was only a short distance. At the end of the passage, Pierre moved ahead and glanced quickly each way along the street.' ViteV he called, and Adelle forced Karen on. She hoped desperately that they would be spotted by someone, anyone, as they emerged on to the street but saw that, despite a number of parked cars, there was nobody to be seen. A few steps across the pavement and she was confronted by the open rear door of a black saloon car. Adelle climbed inside first and helped Pierre to ease Karen in after her. They pulled quickly away and the car was soon out in the bright lights and moving down the Boulevard de Clichy. That was as much as Karen saw, for Adelle, reaching down into a side pocket, produced a patterned cotton scarf which she

  wound about their prisoner's eyes.

  * * *

  She tried to guess how long the journey lasted. She felt the car turn, speed up, slow down and stop several times, presumably at traffic lights. There were other sounds; car horns, police sirens, music from bars and occasionally
, people calling. It could have been twenty minutes, perhaps more, perhaps less. Eventually the sounds outside diminished and only the murmur of the engine remained. The car slowed, turned sharply, and continued on for a short way, then stopped.

  The scarf was pulled away and Karen could see again. But seeing gave no clue as to where they might be. She hardly knew Paris well enough to even guess which district they had brought her to.

  Pierre climbed from the car and opened the rear door to help Adelle ease Karen out. There was little time for her to take in her surroundings, but she saw that they were in a quiet, tree-lined street with elegant old houses, some four or five storeys high. As they approached the front door of one, Adelle glanced over her shoulder as a car passed slowly by. Karen let out a long grunt and tried to pull away. They held her tightly and forced her on. The car disappeared around the end of the street.

  Adelle unlocked the front door and they passed inside, closing it before the light was switched on. The hallway was sparsely furnished, though newly decorated, as though the owners had not finished moving in. They passed along to the staircase, a grand affair which swept upward in an elegant curve to the first-floor landing. Karen experienced some difficulty walking up the stairs without the use of her arms and with the extra high heels. She wondered if they might remove the shoes from her but realised that her difficulty in walking quickly would be an asset to them if not to her. At the end of the first-floor landing, directly ahead of them, was a large and imposing door. Karen expected that this was to be their destination, but no, for they stopped at a smaller door on their left and waited whilst Adelle knocked. A voice from beyond called in perfect English, 'Come in!'

  The door swung open and they entered. The interior appeared to be a makeshift office, with nothing standing quite in the right place but up and working nevertheless. A figure was busy at the desk, its face obscured as it leant aside to place some files into a lower drawer. As they approached, it arose and turned to face them.

  Karen froze with a look of dismay in her eyes. The face, which regarded her with initial surprise was framed in a pageboy hairstyle of platinum blonde. The eyes were limpid blue and wide, opening wider still as recognition swept across the face. Slowly, the full, red lips curved into an enforced smile and the voice, with more than a hint of irony said, 'Well, if it isn't little Miss Prim-and-bloody-Proper come to pay us a visit!'