The Reluctant Stripper

by Lady Alice McCloud

  ‘Now put it on,’ Quigley instructed, his voice thick with lust but also amusement.

  Thrift responded with a rueful nod and began to arrange the towel around her hips, pulling it tight up between her legs and tying off one side and then the other to create a huge but convincing nappy. The towelling bulged over her quim and around the tuck of her bottom, concealing everything but leaving her feeling both ridiculous and vulnerable, far more so than when she had been merely naked.

  ‘Yes, that is a look I can enjoy,’ Quigley remarked, struggling not to laugh. ‘Now come back over my knee, as I know you like to be spanked in your nappies.’

  Back in spanking position, Thrift obediently lifted her bottom and braced her feet and hands on the carpet, once more allowing him to attend to her rear and confidently expecting her nappy to be pulled down, perhaps after a brief grope. Instead he took hold of the back and pulled it tight up between her thighs, baring the sides of her cheeks and forcing her to spread her legs. He then began to spank, applying sharp slaps to both her bottom and the insides of her thighs to quickly leave her gasping and kicking once more.

  Her heat had faded, but quickly returned as the smacks grew harder, with the added humiliation of being in nappies making her reaction stronger still. In no time she was pushing up her bottom to the slaps and moaning with pleasure, while her cunt felt ready for cock. He carried on, as patient as the first time he’d had her, making a thorough job of her bottom, all the while with her nappy pulled up tight before he at last slid a hand in under the towelling to let his fingers delve into the her slit.

  Thrift let out a sob of mingled shame and pleasure as one thick fingertip found her anus, pushing in at the mouth of the sweaty little hole to penetrate her. She remembered how he’d buggered her, and wondered if she was going to get the same treatment once more, only with her improvised nappy still on as he worked his cock in her bottom hole from behind. It seemed likely, his finger working deeper into her rectum as he began to spank her once more with his free hand. She pushed her bottom higher still in response, lost to all sense of decency. He responded by sticking a second finger up her now gaping bottom hole, making her gasp and wriggle herself against him.

  ‘I shall do this to Mimi,’ he sighed, still delving in Thrift’s rectum, ‘perhaps to the two of you, side by side. Yes, I shall have you strip and put in nappies. I shall let you drink Champagne until you can take no more and wet yourselves. I shall take off your wet nappies and powder your bottoms. I shall spank you both well and I shall put my cock up your delightful bottoms, one at a time as I did with you and little Coco, only this time it will be your bottom I use last, Chastity my darling, and the mouth I shall spunk in shall be that of Mimi Caze... Mimi Caze...’

  He finished with a grunt and before Thrift had time to get up she had been tumbled from his knee. She landed hard on her bottom, squeaking in shock, but he was tearing at his fly and before she could protest at his treatment he had thrust his erection into her mouth. Twisting around to her knees, she did her best to suck him, although he seemed to have lost all restraint, thrusting himself into her mouth and muttering Mimi’s name over and over.

  Thrift wanted to come, her bottom warm, her cunt hot and ready, the feel of a man’s cock in her mouth a nice touch, especially as he had just spanked her. Only her chagrin at his obvious preference for Mimi Caze damped her ardour, but not enough to prevent her slipping a hand down the front of her nappy to play with herself. Her other hand found one heavy breast, she let her thoughts move to the humiliating situation she was in, on her knees, naked but for a big, towelling nappy and sucking cock for a man who had just spanked her bottom.

  It would have worked, but even as her muscles began to contract in the onset of orgasm he suddenly jerked his cock free of her mouth, to grab her by the hair, twist her around and force her face into the carpet. Her bottom was now stuck high, red cheeks spilling from the sides of her nappy, and then to all intents and purposes bare as the towelling was pulled roughly aside. His cock touched her anus, pushing easily in up the already wet hole and thrust deep until she felt his balls squash to her empty cunt.

  Thrift was panting as he began to bugger her, still with her fingers between her legs, working in her slippery cunt as her anus pulled in and out to the thrusts of his cock. It was perfect, the final humiliating touch to her abuse, stripped and made to go in nappies, spanked and molested, made to suck cock and finally sodomised. She began to come almost immediately, but he was no less urgent, thrusting into her as hard as he could with his fingers locked in the flesh of her hips. He came first, with a loud grunt and a final exclamation of Mimi’s name, holding himself deep as the spunk pumped into Thrift’s rectum and her anus began to squeeze on his shaft with the onset of her own orgasm.

  She cried out in perfect ecstasy, even the insult of knowing he was thinking of another women as he sodomised her now an added thrill, and her fingers were snatching furiously at her cunt as she rode her orgasm, now slippery with the spunk oozing from her well buggered anus as he rocked back to let his cock slip from her body.

  Paris, Salon L’Huître Rose, April 24th 2010

  Thrift paused as she turned into the Rue des Branleuses. When she had set out from Baudelaire’s, climbing down a fire escape to avoid detection, the streets had been busy with people spilling out from the theatres, while the seats outside the restaurants, cafés and bars had been almost universally occupied. The crowds had thinned as she walked, chin high and ignoring all offers, until now only a few stragglers remained. Most of the lights of L’Huître Rose were still burning, including those in the foyer, salon and the director’s suite.

  She could guess what would be going on, most of the audience now gone, one or two of the girls entertaining men in the private rooms, the remainder relaxing over a final drink in the salon or already upstairs in the dormitory. Pierre remained at his post, his bulky figure clearly visible against the yellow light as he glanced at his watch. He would lock up when he went to bed, which meant she would have to get in at the back but that was no great difficulty. The problem was to find Mimi Caze without being caught, then to persuade the notoriously highly-strung and capricious striptease star to accept an assignation with Godfrey Quigley.

  It seemed reasonable to assume that Mimi Caze had been given a suite of her own, perhaps even the director’s, but unless she was entertaining her lover she would almost certainly sleep alone. If Monsieur Mazoyères was in attendance then the plan would have to be postponed, but when a dozen other things might go wrong in any event it was a risk she had to take. At the very least it was worth finding out where the starlet was sleeping for future reference.

  Moving out from the shadows of one alley mouth, Thrift slipped across the street to another. Pierre remained as before, shifting his weight from one foot to the other in his boredom and no doubt thinking of bed, perhaps with his favourite, Zara, to warm it for him if she were not otherwise engaged. The alley led between L’Huître Rose and the next building, allowing Thrift to merge with the near darkness until she reached where the fire escape came down, the ladder now poised six feet above her head.

  As she stripped off her tawdry scarlet dress she had begun to feel more alive than at any time since she had fought the Bureau agent by the banks of the Marne. This was what she was trained to do, acting with silence and skill as she unwound a coil of rope from around her waist. All she wore was a black leather catsuit, skin tight and decorated with whiskers and a turned up nose. It was designed for striptease, but functioned equally well to keep her concealed as she threw up her rope, made it fast to the bottom of the fire escape and swarmed up.

  Nobody had seen, and she was quickly on the roof, from where a skylight allowed her to climb down into a darkened corridor. The girls’ dormitory was on the opposite side of the building, but she was near the space under the eaves which she had made her own. She had left her rectule there, safely concealed, reasoning
that as her job involved being sodomised on frequent but unpredictable occasions it was best not to have to keep taking the thing in and out. Extracting a dozen gold one hundred franc pieces, she slipped them into a small, black velvet bag and moved on, taking every step with caution as she descended the stairs.

  Very few people were about, and with the hood of her cat suit in place it was not at all obvious who she was. M’selle Laroche would have recognised her, or one of the other girls, but to any passing customer she was simply one more pretty doll and while she might well expect to have her bottom slapped or her breasts squeezed, she was not about to be asked what she was doing.

  Nevertheless she was taking a risk, and her heart was pounding in her chest by the time she reached the director’s suite. The passage was empty, but she could hear voices from within, feminine giggles and a hoarse, lust-filled baritone singing a song about stealing girls’ pantalettes from washing lines. Thrift was fairly sure that the female voice belonged to Narcisse, but could not be certain. Kneeling down, she pressed her face to the keyhole, to be rewarded by the sight of Monsieur Brochon’s enormous, flabby buttocks as he stood in the centre of the room, marking time to his song with an empty Champagne bottle and masturbating into the black girl’s face as she kissed and licked at his cock and balls.

  Thrift withdrew, content that Mimi Caze was not in the director’s suite. The two rooms to either side had been dark when she checked from the street, but she entered both to make sure they were indeed unoccupied. There was no sign of Mimi Caze, nor her belongings. M’selle Laroche had her own quarters on the floor above, and it seemed unlikely that the great Mimi Caze had been put in one of the rooms reserved for girls and their clients. That left the dormitory, even more unlikely, and the possibility that Mimi Caze wasn’t at L’Huître Rose at all, but had been put up in a hotel. If so, then the girls would presumably know, but Thrift had hoped to avoid them.

  She moved into the doorway of an empty room as she considered her options. Georgette would undoubtedly report her to M’selle Laroche, which would mean having to explain herself and probably further punishment, both at L’Huître Rose and Baudelaire’s. Zara in turn was fiercely loyal to Georgette, while Narcisse was not only unpredictable but currently busy. Coco was at Baudelaire’s, which left the twins, who were truly loyal only to each other and also greedy for money. Fifty francs each and the promise of more would buy their silence.

  Yseult and Apolline were usually the first to leave the salon, both far preferring each other’s company to that of anybody else, although it was well known that they were more than willing to play together and so it was common for a client to take both upstairs. Nevertheless there was a fair chance that they were alone in the dormitory and Thrift was already moving for the stairs as she reached her decision.

  The corridors were empty, although low moans of pleasure and once a sharp cry issued from behind the doors of various rooms, and Thrift reached the dormitory stair without incident. Above, all was silence, and she mounted quickly, pausing again in the corridor to listen. A faint, moist sound caught her ears, then a low sigh, and she was blushing as she moved forward.

  As she had hoped, Yseult and Apolline were in the dormitory, curled together on a bed, each sister’s thighs cocked wide around the other’s head as they licked cunt in mutual ecstasy. Thrift waited, feeling it impolite to disturb them, and before long both cried out in unison as they came beneath each others’ tongues. Ignoring the sudden need between her own thighs, Thrift stepped forward.

  ‘Yseult, Apolline. It’s me, Chastity. Do you care to earn a hundred francs each?’

  ‘A hundred francs?’ Yseult replied as Apolline wiped a smear of her sister’s juice from her nose.

  ‘A hundred francs,’ Thrift repeated, extending one of the gold coins. ‘I need to know where Mimi Caze is sleeping, but neither of you must tell anybody I was here. Do you promise?’

  ‘We promise,’ the twins assured her and Apolline went on. ‘The little bitch is sleeping with M’selle Laroche, and Monsieur Mazoyères also. They are together now, I would imagine, no doubt sharing his cock...’

  ‘...or licking each other for his amusement,’ Yseult added.

  ‘Will they be together all night?’ Thrift asked.

  ‘Not Mazoyères,’ Apolline replied. ‘He will go back to his wife when he has spent his load. Caze will stay with M’selle Laroche.’

  ‘And in the day?’ Thrift queried. ‘I need to speak to M’selle Caze.’

  The twins shrugged as one.

  ‘They are having a grand affair,’ Apolline stated, ‘but I suppose you might catch Caze when she comes off stage, or perhaps in her dressing room before a show. But why would you want to speak to her?’

  ‘She is a vicious little bitch,’ Yseult added, ‘and most likely to have you whipped for impertinence, even flushed out.’

  ‘If you so much as speak to her,’ Apolline went on, ‘at least, not without bowing and scraping and grovelling. She had Pierre spank us both...’

  ‘...in the foyer...’

  ‘...merely for addressing Monsieur Mazoyères as Eugène.’

  ‘We were overly familiar, she said...’

  ‘...and needed to be spanked.’

  ‘But then,’ Yseult pointed out, ‘you are to be punished anyway, by her. Apparently you failed to curtsey properly when she arrived.’

  ‘Although the truth is that she is jealous of your popularity,’ Apolline added, ‘and no doubt wishes to take her spite out on you.’

  ‘Oh,’ Thrift responded.

  Paris, Salon L’Huître Rose, April 27th 2010

  Quickening her pace, Thrift managed to use the bulk of Monsieur Brochon to shield herself as she slipped in at the door of L’Huître Rose. He failed to see her, his pale, puffy face set in its usual expression of solemn detachment as people filed in, like a stuffed frog. In the foyer, Thrift quickly moved to the wings and beyond the area where the public were permitted. The curtain was due to go up in a quarter of an hour, which presumably meant that M’selle Laroche would be busy greeting the more important members of the night’s audience while Mimi Caze would be getting ready in her dressing room.

  That allowed her to avoid M’selle Laroche, but there seemed to be no way of avoiding the other girls, who were equally certain to be backstage. All she could do was try her best and accept the consequences if things went wrong, but then if things went to plan she would be far away before the time came for her punishment in any case.

  She was soon backstage, where the twins were getting into Pierrot costumes for the slapstick striptease they often used to open the show. Zara was also there, but with her back to Thrift as she sewed the seam of a peacock green bustle designed to stick out above her bare bottom without actually concealing anything at all. Thrift hushed the twins to silence and moved quickly on, scanning the dressing rooms doors until she saw one on which a new sign had been affixed. It read simply Caze.

  Without hesitation she pushed in, to find Mimi Caze sat at her dressing table, already fully dressed in the style of an empress from the Grand Siècle, when France rather than Great Britain had dominated the world. She looked around, startled, and was about to call out when Thrift hushed her with a carefully chosen introduction.

  ‘A moment, M’selle Caze. I have an offer for you, an assignation, worth one million francs.’

  ‘One million francs?’ Mimi Caze demanded. ‘Who are you? What is this?’

  ‘I am Chastity,’ Thrift told her, ‘one of the girls on exchange at Baudelaire’s. We met briefly, but never mind that. I have an offer, from an English Lord, a very wealthy man. One million francs.’

  ‘One million?’ Mimi Caze repeated incredulously. ‘For a single assignation?’

  ‘He expects there to be more, I would suppose,’ Thrift responded, ‘but he will pay if it is one time only, that is his promise.�
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  ‘Extraordinary,’ Mimi said, ‘but then, perhaps not so very extraordinary. Lola Montez was made a queen.’

  She went quiet, drumming her fingernails gently on her dressing table, her face creased in thought. Thrift waited, watching and trying to divine what it was about Mimi Caze that aroused such extravagant desires in men. She was beautiful, certainly, with full, exotic features in a heart shaped face, a full chest and tiny waist currently exaggerated by her dress. Her bottom was also said to represent perfection and her legs to be the longest in proportion to her body of any woman. Both claims seemed unlikely, the first as it was inherently subjective, the second statistically. Besides, there was a quality about Mimi that was more than physical, a radiance that seemed ethereal and yet earthy, filling Thrift with desire and envy all at once. Only then, at the thought of what it would be like to go to bed together did Thrift realise the truth. Mimi Caze exuded sex, as strongly and as naturally as a lion did power.

  ‘What shall I say?’ she asked.

  ‘I must be sure,’ Mimi responded. ‘Attempt to play me for a fool and both he and you will regret your own birth. First I must see the money...’

  ‘I have here one thousand francs, in gold, as a surety for my client’s faith.’

  ‘A thousand only?’ Mimi queried, but the took the velvet bag from Thrift, smiling as she inspected the contents. ‘Very well, but I must see the million, in full, and it is to be held in keeping by my own man.’

  ‘Would you not prefer to keep matters to yourself?’ Thrift queried. ‘What if your man told Monsieur Mazoyères, or sought to blackmail you?’

  ‘Bruno is loyal,’ Mimi answered. ‘I am to punish you, am I not, next week at La Fête du Muguet?

  ‘Yes,’ Thrift admitted with a sudden sinking feeling.

  ‘Arrange the assignation for that same evening. I will be expected to whisper little cruelties into your ear while you are on the guillotine...’