The Reluctant Stripper

by Lady Alice McCloud

  ‘The guillotine!?’

  Mimi laughed.

  ‘It is what Fleurette calls her clysopomp, you foolish little thing. We are not going to execute you on stage!’

  ‘And what is a clysopomp?’

  ‘A machine for giving girls enemas. Are you really so naive?’

  ‘A little, perhaps.’

  ‘Very, I would say, which will make giving you your punishment all the more pleasurable. So yes, that night. The house will be full, which will keep Fleurette busy.’

  And Monsieur Mazoyères?

  Eugène? He is like a puppy at my heel, as all men are.

  ‘Very well, I will make the arrangements.’

  ‘Do so. Now get out. I am on stage as soon as those two little idiots have finished pouring custard over each other.’

  Thrift curtsied and left, peering cautiously from the door before closing it behind her. Nobody was about, but the audience could be heard applauding vigorously and she risked a glance from the wings onto the stage. Yseult and Apolline were on all fours, both in the torn remnants of their Pierrot costumes, bottoms and breasts fully bare, scrubbing at a mixture of what appeared to be chocolate flavoured custard and fruit. They seemed to have been fighting each other, both their bodies filthy with custard, their beautiful hair matted and dripping, while what little of their bottom flesh showed at all clearly was red from spanking. Yseult had an orange in her vagina, Apolline an apple, both fruit showing in the stretched pink holes.

  Knowing that Mimi would shortly be coming out on stage, which presumably meant the corridors would be empty save perhaps for other girls, Thrift withdrew. Pierre was sure to be on the door, making it inadvisable to exit via the foyer, so she used the same route she had before, mulling over her conversation with Mimi Caze as she climbed to the attics. She had hoped to escape the punishment ordained for her by M’selle Laroche, which now seemed unavoidable. Yet while the thought of being given a public enema on some nightmare machine made her stomach lurch and her anus tighten it was something she knew she would have to accept in the line of duty.

  More problematic was the presence of Mimi’s bodyguard, Bruno, who she had met when he escorted her from L’Huître Rose to Baudelaire’s. He was a giant of a man, far too large for her to hope to overcome physically, for all her training, while she knew that it would be foolish to assume that he did not take precautions against such elementary tactics as a kick in the balls. Nor, she suspected, would she have the heart to kill him by knife or poison, which in any event would create new problems. Some more subtle device would be required.

  Then there was Quigley, who expected to pay a thousand francs and would no doubt baulk at the prospect of paying out a million, even if he had access to such a sum. Yet Mimi Caze wanted to see the money before she surrendered herself, and even if she could overcome the problem there were sure to be difficulties when Quigley suggested a spanking, to say nothing of putting the haughty, self-satisfied M’selle Caze in nappies. Fortunately, Thrift reflected as she tucked her dress into her pantalettes in order to negotiate the fire escape, she had no need to take matters to the point at which Godfrey Quigley got to indulge himself with Mimi Caze.

  Paris, Baudelaire’s, April 30th 2010

  Thrift gave a little wiggle as she settled her bottom onto Godfrey Quigley’s lap. Her time at Baudelaire’s was almost at an end and her sense of apprehension at the prospect of putting her plan into operation had grown so strong it occupied her every waking moment. It took all her art to continue to play her part, both when stripping on stage each night and afterwards in the salon when she came out to entertain the men. With Quigley she had become a firm favourite, taken upstairs to be spanked and sodomised for three nights running, also fucked, put in nappies for a second time and made to suck his penis, and others, so often that she now felt something was missing when she didn’t have her mouth agape on the shaft of a cock. Despite repeated questions she had refused to tell Quigley the details until she had arranged every aspect of the plan in as much detail as she could.

  That was now done, and rather more. During the afternoon she had made a trip to her drop, a litter bin in the Champs de Mars, and delivered a message, then walked to an ordinary post office and sent a letter to her father. Events in Épernay strongly suggested that she had been betrayed to the Bureau, but he at least she could trust. A great deal still remained in the hands of fate, or outside her control, far more than she would have liked, but she now needed to take matters forward.

  ‘All is arranged,’ she said, bending close to kiss Quigley and then whisper into his ear, ‘take me upstairs and I will tell you.’

  ‘My pleasure,’ he responded.

  With the usual arrangements made, Thrift was led up to a private room. He was eager, not even bothering to have her strip or pour him a drink before demanding to know what she had arranged.

  ‘It is to be tomorrow,’ she told him, ‘on the first of May, at La Fête du Muguet? It is the day I am to be punished on stage, by M’selle Caze herself. Your assignation is arranged for later that evening.’

  ‘Splendid!’ he chuckled. ‘And there’s nothing like a good show to whet the old carnal appetite, especially a punishment, with all due sympathy to you of course, my dear, but you no doubt understand the delight a man cannot help but take in seeing a woman physically chastised, let alone in such an erotic fashion?’

  ‘I think I am beginning to understand,’ Thrift told him, ‘but that is how it will be, by request of M’selle Caze herself, who no doubt knows you will enjoy what is done to me, while she too seems to see my punishment as if it were an appetiser.’

  ‘A most apt analogy,’ Quigley answered her. ‘Is it to be at LHuître Rose then? A trifle incautious, I would have thought, if we are to avoid the jealous attentions of Monsieur Mazoyères?

  ‘No,’ Thrift told him. ‘I will introduce you to M’selle Caze at LHuître Rose, but you will leave separately. I will escort you myself, to where she will meet you, on a barge.’

  ‘A barge?’ he queried.

  ‘A barge,’ Thrift confirmed. ‘What could be safer, or more amicable? The two of you will be alone on the Seine, save for myself...’

  ‘Who will be operating the barge?’

  ‘I will.’

  ‘You can operate a barge?’

  ‘It is no great matter. My brother is a bargee.’

  ‘I see. So then, alone with the delectable Mimi Caze on a Seine pleasure barge. What a delight! And the accessories are ready? Nappies, powder, cream?’

  ‘Already aboard, although you must pay another two-hundred and fifty francs to cover expenses.’

  Quigley dismissed the demand with an airy gesture then lay back on the bed with a long, wistful sigh.

  ‘The money?’ Thrift enquired.

  ‘You don’t expect me to pay it now, do you?’ he responded. ‘What, and then find the entire thing has been an elaborate confidence trick? Oh no, my dear, you shall have your money, rest assured, but not until that gorgeous little minx Caze has been over my knee. Speaking of which, come along, it is high time you were spanked, and just in case you have been trying to trick me, it will be extra hard tonight, with a hairbrush.’

  He had produced the item from the pocket of his coat as he spoke, a wooden hairbrush with a flat back and a handle, short but perfectly serviceable as a spanking implement, as Thrift new from innumerable encounters with similar articles. She swallowed hard and began to protest, but then thought better of it, knowing that while the beating would hurt a great deal more than a hand spanking she would soon be warm and willing. In the end he would make her come. He always did, and besides, in the circumstances it seemed unnecessarily cruel to deny him the pleasure of her bottom. Pushing down her pantalettes, she draped herself across Quigley’s knee for what she imagined would be her last spanking for quite a while, also the last spanking
he got to dish out, perhaps forever.

  Paris, Salon L’Huître Rose, May 1st 2010

  Nodding to Pierre at the door, Thrift entered the Salon L’Huître Rose. Everything was much as always, save that the foyer, instead of being merely crowded, was packed. She already knew that every seat in the house was sold out, and that the prospect of she and Coco being punished by Mimi Caze had drawn an audience of a calibre that would have been unusual at Baudelaire’s. They recognised her too, her entrance provoking a buzz of excited conversation as heads turned. All eyes were on her as she crossed the foyer, the men lustful and amused, the women no less so but with here and there a trace of sympathy. Some made remarks, others offers, joking or serious, of money to have her provide later entertainment, to come up on stage while she was being punished, or simply to cream her bottom when it was all over. She walked on, doing her best to remain calm despite the frantic fluttering of her heart. M’selle Laroche was by the theatre doors and turned to Thrift with a cool nod as she approached.

  ‘So you didn’t take the chance to run? I knew you wouldn’t. You are a born whore and you know it, don’t you?’

  Thrift merely hung her head, accepting the verdict. M’selle Laroche took her arm, leading her to the corner of the foyer before she continued.

  ‘As you know, you are to be given enemas, yourself and Coco. This is being done to you as a punishment, also to teach you to obey my rules, but it is more than that. It is a performance, and one which a great many important people have paid to see. You must perform, and with skill, a skill I know you have from your performances, but to which you now need to give full rein. Do not attempt to take your punishment stoically, which will bore the audience. Do not over react, crying and screaming at the least little thing, or they will realise that you are faking. Let your emotions show, your fear and disgust in particular, which always goes down well, but most especially your arousal, and do not try to pretend you will not grow excited. I have spoken with Georgette, who has told me how the girls piddled on you and made you mop it up but you were playing with your cunt while they made you lick them. Is that clear?’

  Thrift gave a miserable nod, unable to deny the accusation.

  ‘Good,’ M’selle Laroche went on, ‘because there is nothing men enjoy more than to see a women grow aroused over her own degradation, believe me.’

  Again Thrift nodded, ignoring the temptation to remark that many women were no better.

  ‘As an added amusement,’ M’selle Laroche continued, ‘one suggested by Georgette as it happens, you will have your hands tied before the performance, allowing our patrons to enjoy your breasts, and perhaps rather more. Put them behind your back, crossed.’

  Reluctantly, Thrift obeyed, telling herself that as just about everybody at L’Huître Rose seemed to feel that they had a right to touch her breasts and bottom as they pleased it would make very little difference whether her hands were tied or not. That didn’t prevent the blood rushing to her face as her bodice was tugged down and her chemise pulled wide to bare her breasts, nor her feelings of vulnerability to rise steeply as her hands were lashed behind her back with a ribbon.

  With Thrift securely bound, M’selle Laroche walked away, responding to a greeting by an elderly man with the face of a hungry vulture whom Thrift recognised as Vice-President Mazoyères himself. Left to her own devices, she looked around, hoping to locate Godfrey Quigley and Mimi Caze in order to make the promised introduction. Conditions were perfect. If Godfrey Quigley spoke to Mimi Caze in private and the sum of a million francs was mentioned it would be disastrous, but with each believing in the assignation and too many people about to risk being overheard there was every chance that Thrift’s duplicity would go undetected.

  It was impossible to make out who was or was not there among the dense throng, but a cluster of men at the far side of the room suggested the presence of Mimi Caze, while it seemed most likely that Quigley would be near the bar. She started forward, only to be brought up short as one elbow was taken in a firm grip. Turning, she found herself looking at Georgette, with Zara beyond her.

  ‘There you are,’ Georgette said. ‘I was hoping to find you in time. Come with us.’

  ‘I have to be on stage in...’ Thrift began as Zara took her other arm.

  ‘We know,’ Georgette assured her, ‘and believe me, we intend to enjoy the show, but as it won’t be either of us assisting M’selle Laroche we thought it might be fun to have a private performance first.’

  As she spoke they had bustled Thrift out into the corridor. Narcisse followed, immediately pulling off her banana yellow pantalettes as Georgette and Zara tightened their grip on Thrift’s arms.

  ‘I really need to stay...,’ Thrift began, breaking off as Narcisse squeezed her face to force her mouth wide and jam in the pantalettes.

  Thrift was still making muffled protests as she was urged down the corridor and up the narrow spiral staircase towards the dormitory. With her hands tied it was impossible to fight, and she realised that Georgette had evidently arranged it all in advance, suggesting Thrift’s hands be tied for her own purposes rather than for the benefit of the patrons. She was now helpless anyway, making acquiescence the most sensible course of action, so that the three girls could subject her to whatever torment they pleased and get it over with as speedily as possible. As they entered the dormitory she stood meekly on the old green carpet.

  ‘Strip her, girls,’ Georgette instructed, ‘stark naked, then pin her out on a bed.’

  Zara and Narcisse moved forward as one, to grab Thrift. Her hands were untied and her dress hauled up over her head, her corset removed, her pantalettes pulled down and off, taking her shoes with them. Her stockings came last rolled off as she was spread her out on her own bed with her arms above her head and her legs well apart to leave her sex open and vulnerable. Narcisse and Zara held Thrift in place, one to either side of the bed as Georgette stepped close.

  ‘Good work,’ Georgette declared. ‘Now, Udders, this is what is going to happen. You are expected on stage in twenty minutes, give or take a few, which gives us just enough time to play a little game I’ve invented. It’s rather sweet of me, I think, because it will get you ready for what that bitch Caze and M’selle Laroche plan to do to you. Who knows, if you ask politely I might even spank that big fat bottom of yours so you’ll be nice and warm. Well?’

  Thrift remained obstinately silent, knowing that all she could manage with Narcisse’s pantalettes stuffed in her mouth would be a feeble mumbling, which would not only amuse the girls but was sure to be taken for assent.

  ‘Well?’ Georgette repeated.

  ‘Go on, Georgette!’ Zara urged. ‘Roll her up and spank her bottom!’

  As she spoke she had already hauled one of Thrift’s legs up, placing her in a ridiculous position, with one leg extended and one held up to twist the meat of her cunt and expose the underside of one bottom cheek.

  ‘She’s already been spanked, I see,’ Georgette remarked, ‘recently, and quite hard. Roll her up properly.’

  Narcisse pulled up Thrift’s other leg, fully exposing her bottom with her anus stretched between her open cheeks and the bruises Quigley had inflicted with his hairbrush plainly visible.

  ‘My oh my, you must have been a naughty girl,’ Georgette remarked, ‘or did you ask for it? I bet you did, you little slut, but considering the state of your bottom I shall spare you further punishment, or at least, further spanking. Isn’t that nice of me? Now then...’

  She had turned to the dormitory wash basket, and began to pull out discarded stockings, which she passed to the others. Thrift lay still, allowing them to secure her ankles to the bedstead, with one arm also stretched high above her head and lashed in place but the other still free. Georgette watched all this with a cool smile, speaking only when Thrift was fully secure

  ‘Are you quite comfortable? Then we can play, and there�
��s a little wager too, just to make it more fun. You may have guessed that we’ve left a hand free so you can masturbate that dirty little cunt, and that is what you’re going to do, unless you’d rather I took a cane to your tits?’

  Thrift shook her head urgently.

  ‘No, I didn’t think even you would like that, but I do think you’ll like what I’m going to do to you, and that you’ll come, because you won’t be able to stop yourself. Narcisse thinks it’s going too far, and that you can’t be that dirty. If I’m right I get to spank her, but if she’s right she gets to spank Zara. Won’t that be fun?’

  ‘I get spanked?’ Zara queried. ‘But, Georgette...’

  ‘You get spanked,’ Georgette said firmly as she began to undress. ‘You hardly expect me to take it, would you?’

  ‘No, Georgette. Sorry, Georgette,’ Zara responded, pouting, but quickly happy again as she tugged Narcisse’s pantalettes from Thrift’s mouth. ‘Anyway, I’m sure she’ll like it!’

  ‘Like what?’ Thrift asked.

  ‘A drink,’ Georgette responded, tugging down her own pantalettes and tossing them aside.

  The other girls immediately burst into excited giggles, making Thrift wonder what Georgette was talking about, but only for a moment. As the tall girl climbed onto the bed and threw one elegant leg across Thrift’s body her intentions became painfully obvious. Georgette’s cunt was directly over Thrift’s mouth, the bright pink slit moist with excitement, her scent thick in the air.

  ‘Not that, please, Georgette!’ Thrift begged between tight lips. ‘Please!’

  ‘Open your mouth,’ Georgette ordered.

  Thrift shook her head, which was turned as far to one side as she could go.

  ‘There are worse things I can do,’ Georgette pointed out calmly. ‘Now open your mouth, Udders.’