by Leo Sullivan
A voice spoke with impeccable English. “Thank you, Miss Fox and Mister Thugstin, for accepting the invitation to be my guests. I do hope you won’t mind if I address you by your first names?”
Freddy heard his voice respond, “No.”
“No,” Marilyn echoed.
“Excellent! You may call me Bob.” A car passed, its headlights luminously exposing the figure. Mysteriously, he continued to caress and affectionately pat whatever it was that rested in his lap. The tiny, beady eyes stared back with disturbing alertness.
“I took the liberty of ascertaining all the information I could to verify your real identities. Mr. Dawson and I have been acquaintances for a number of years, and I have always supported our system of free enterprise. Being a man of great influence and possessing certain epicurean inclinations, I often take my leisure in the enjoyment of the aesthetics of exoticism, the quiet esoteric sensuosity of black femininity serving well to break the monotonous rigors of--”
“Listen mister,” Marilyn rudely interrupted, “Since you took the liberty to investigate me, then you already know that I wasn’t head over heels to be here in the first place.”
He chuckled at her audacity. “Yes, Ms. Fox, and I commend you for your shrewd bargaining. I am paying you almost one-hundred times the money I would normally pay, and for a while, I though you might be so brash as to break off negotiations and actually turn me down.”
The limousine came to a stop at a light. Freddy had not paid much attention to their verbal exchange, as his concern was mainly for that which occupied the man’s damn lap.
“Your relentless bidding was insane.”
“How so, Ms. Fox? Would you have accepted an invitation with an insane man?” His words hung in the air, catching her off guard. She smacked her lips and crossed her legs. The man laughed haughtily at her, the way the rich do to their subordinates.
The limousine headed for its destination, the aristocratic residences of the affluent and powerful. They rode in silence, but for some reason, Freddy pictured the big-headed man sitting across from him wearing a sinister grin.
About twenty minutes later the limo veered sharply left and then slowed as it came to rest in front of a tall gate with a security booth in front. The gate opened to reveal a fortress of posh, sprawling landscape. A quarter moon hung in the sky like a hole in the black canvas of the night. In the gloom of the backdrop, a castle-like mansion stood gigantic in the dense fog.
It had stopped raining and the fog covered most of the landscape. The car came to rest atop a hill. The engine died along with the classical music. Although Freddy could barely see his hand in front of his face, a beam of light cut through the night, attracting his attention. Bug-eyed, he put his face to the glass and stared out. The chauffeur appeared with a flashlight in his hand, and the door opened. The scent of freshly mowed grass and blooming flowers invaded the vehicle while crickets crooned in the distance and the night waited.
The chauffeur extended a gloved hand in Marilyn’s direction. She hesitated… Suddenly, something grabbed Freddy’s ankle, or at least it felt that way. Something definitely crawled under his legs. He shrieked, screaming and kicking violently at his unseen attacker. Marilyn swung her purse in defense, hitting only Freddy.
The scene was getting out of hand until Bob said, with a trace of giddy humor in his well-polished voice, “I assure you, there is no need for fright. That was only my dog, Socrates.”
“Dog?” Freddy said, confused.
“Yes, he’s the last of a dying breed. There are only a few hundred left in existence today. Many years ago, I had him imported from China. He is very expensive and trained to perform feats that would amaze you.” Bob gestured with a wave of his hands for them to exit.
Marilyn looked up at the chauffeur’s outstretched hand and politely accepted it as she got out of the car. Freddy stumbled beside Marilyn as they followed the chauffeur up the walkway.
A twelve-foot tall bronze statute of Circe spouted water into a pond. Scattered about were a number of antique cars in mint condition. As Freddy walked, he had the uncanny feeling that eyes were watching him. They approached two very large archaic doors with a brass lion’s head on each.
Just as they neared, the door opened slowly, and there stood Bob. He had hanged clothes and now wore a gray smoking jacket and matching slacks. The ugly dog with the strange, beady eyes was perched in his arms.
“James that will be all,” Bob said to the chauffeur as they entered what looked like a museum. The mansion’s thirty-foot ceilings were decorated with sparkling crystal chandeliers hanging from the ceiling and paintings of various famous artists adorning the walls. The palatial décor was magnificent. A white grand piano sat in front of a picture window that overlooked an Olympic-sized swimming pool.
As they walked, Freddy was able to steal a close look at Bob. He was old and hunched from the turbulence of time. Almost all his hair had fallen out and the gray strands that remained were brushed over the top of a shiny baldpate. A few unruly tufts stood up at the front. His ears were massive, matched by an aquiline nose and droopy eyes set in a cherubic face. He exuded an air of competence, that of a man who had over the decades accumulated millions of dollars.
“Please be seated,” he said. Freddy did not move and Bob seemed to read his mind. “It’s okay, have a seat.”
“I’ll be okay,” Marilyn reassured Freddy as she tried to smile, but her grim expression caused him even more concern.
“I can assure you that the lady will be quite all right. Perhaps you would care for something to eat or drink?” Freddy ignored him and flopped down on the couch in disgust.
Miss Fox, I will now show you to the boudoir.”
Freddy sat there trying to discern the situation as it played out before his eyes.
The dog sniffed at Marilyn. She noticed that it was completely hairless and looked like a cross between a bad pedigree monkey and a rat. It stared at her with almost human eyes. Marilyn gave Freddy her purse and winked at him furtively, then turned to look at Bob.
He smiled ingratiatingly, displaying large, white dentures while at the same time taking her elbow, leading her to the sprawling staircase. Once at the top, he escorted her to a room. They stood outside. “Everything you need is inside.” He caressed her arm affectionately.
Marilyn cringed, feeling a cold shiver run down her back. The dog whined a low sound as he sniffed the air frantically, trying to get the scent of her. She smiled as she backed away, opening the door at the same time she stepped inside, quickly closing it and barricading it with her body. She exhaled deeply. “Damn!”
Chapter Ten
The boudoir was decorated exquisitely, made for a princess. There was a dazzling array of clothes and other expensive materials, gowns of all kinds, of all shades and textures, each inviting her to touch and feel. She could not resist. She felt like a little girl as she walked around examining everything. So this is how the rich and famous lived?
On one side of the room was a handsome antique étagère frame in gold with a full-length mirror and a matching chair. She looked in the drawer where jewelry and accessories sparkled. Her hand began to shake. She was tempted to try on some of the elegant jewelry. “No!” She said to herself out loud and stood back. With the motion, her body took a hop as if she had been released from a magnetic pull.
She began to undress, neatly placing each garment on the étagère. When she was down to her panties and bra, she was sure she felt eyes watching her. She unsnapped her bra and her firm, pendulous breasts sprung free. She then stepped out of her panties and stood in front of the mirror, looking at her small, petite waist and perfectly round and plump behind. Tears began to well in her eyes. She still could not believe what she was doing.
She ruminated over how she had finally given in, accepting the old bastard’s money. She had never done anything like this in her entire life. He just wanted to view her body nude. While he did admit that he was into sexual perversion, he promised not t
o touch her. She did not fully trust him. He had warned her that he was into sadomasochism, so she had expected something weird in store. The man had paid her far too much money to simply look at her body. She prayed she was wrong.
There was a rap at the door. Marilyn jumped, her nerves on edge. A muffled voice asked, “Miss Fox, are you ready yet?”
She looked at her nude body in the mirror and decided that she couldn’t go through with it. Her heart pounded in her chest, but she was surprised to hear a squeaky voice reply, “Yes.” She grabbed a gown and quickly put it on, its lengthy fabric dragging the floor. She took one last look in the mirror, smoothing her hair. Inhaling deeply, she headed for the door, opening it.
His paper-thin lips creased into a smile. His face turned red. “You look ravishing, my dear. The gown compliments your sublime beauty. It suits you well. You may keep it.”
“Thank you.”
“I wish that the world was different. Black women are among the most lovely creatures that God has ever created, and that gown cost a small fortune.” His facial expression changed suddenly. She tried to smile congenially, but it was fake. She was sure that he knew it. He had changed clothes again and now wore a red robe with matching loafers. The dog was still in his arms, and Marilyn thought that to be very strange. In his other hand he held a black velvet bag, a purse of some kind. “Please follow me.” He said as he led her down the hall.
She entered a spacious room behind him. The dog leaped from his arms and scurried to a stool and sat atop it as if he had performed the act many times before. There was a bed in the center of the room. It was small and appeared to be a child’s bed. It was elegantly decorated with brass posts at each corner and adorned with large pillows and a fluffy quilted cover. He summoned her with a wave of his hand. She stepped close, but not within his reach.
“You may disrobe now.”
She looked into his face and saw his tongue sliding around in his mouth and over his dentures in anticipation. Slowly her hand untied the noose and the gown slithered to the floor in a silky whisper. Bob’s jaw dropped, his lips moving, but no words coming out of his mouth. Finally, he spoke. “You are gorgeous.”
Marilyn just stood there, stolid, still not believing this could be happening to her. She looked between him and the door, fighting to keep her composure.
“Please lie on the bed.” A dribble of saliva ran from the corner of his mouth and she could see his tongue searching his cheeks the way old people habitually do. His body suddenly became hyperactive as he watched her ease back onto the soft fabric of the silky, quilted material. The dog started pacing back and forth frantically on his stool. Nude, she lay on her back with a feeling of utter helplessness. He began to rub his hands together like some kind of man-fly. A jingling sound came from the bag that he was carrying, and the dog howled, the echo resonating throughout the mansion. Marilyn felt her body start to tremble. She bit down on her bottom lip.
“I want you to play a little game with me.”
“As long as you don’t touch me.” She tried to sound commanding and authoritative, but she was nervous. No, she was frightened to death. Her conical breasts rose and fell with each breath. She seemed to gulp down air, forcing herself to stay calm.
He reached into the bag; the sound of metal clanging against metal could be heard loud like bells. She listened, trying to discern just what the old man had in the bag. The dog stopped pacing and sat on the edge of the stool and wagged its rat’s tail, an obedient audience. The man pulled out what looked to be jewelry of some kind. Gold chains and bracelets rattled, the length falling to the floor in a tumble. As he began to untangle them, like the pieces of a gory puzzle, the reality of what he had dawned on her, and her body shot straight up in one swift motion.
“What in the hell are you planning to do with those?! You must be going to use them on yourself because you sure as hell aren’t going to put those on me.”
“I can assure you, I will not harm a hair on your lovely body. In fact, instead of the eight hours that I paid you for your services, if you will allow me to engage myself for only a few moments of trivial fantasizing with your body, you will then be free to leave within the hour. I am not touching you. I am merely partaking in a fantasy of bondage.” He stopped and wiped the slobber off the corners of his mouth. Marilyn was just about ready to call it quits.
“I’ll give you a bonus,” he offered.
“Bonus?”
“Yes.”
“How much of a bonus?”
“A substantial bonus, enough to compensate you generously for any inconvenience.” The room was overcome with silence. Somewhere in the distance Marilyn could hear a clock chime the time in bongs and the dog cocked his head sideways, as if he too awaited her response.
“You promise that you’re not going to touch me?”
“I give you my word.” He bowed his head at her in sincerity.
“And I can leave within the hour?”
“Yes,” the fly said as he rubbed his hands together and began to shackle her arms and legs to the brass posts. The bed and handcuffs had been specially customized and designed for this purpose.
Freddy peeked around a corner, straining on his tiptoes. His mind staggered as he drank in the scene with amazement. He wiped at his eyes, trying to clear his vision as unbelievably he stared at Marilyn’s nude body carved out in the distance, chained to the bedposts. The old man stood over her, a feral grin creasing his face. He removed his robe and stood effete; his weathered old body ashen and wrinkled.
The dog sprang from his stool and landed within inches of her face. Startled, she flinched and screamed loudly, “Get this damn dog off the bed!” The dog was already at her pubic area, sniffing with purposeful intent.
“Bad boy, Socrates! Get back on your stool,” Bob lambasted. His monotone sounded as if he had just chastised a two-year old child. The dog winced and jumped back onto the stool.
“Listen, mister. You need to keep that creepy dog out of the bed.” As once again she fought to keep her composure, she forced herself to calm down and reminded herself that he was only a pervert. For the amount of money he was paying her, he should be allowed to fulfill his licentious peccadilloes. She watched him, feeling like a bird trapped in a cage. Still, she tried to feign a provocative smile. Her full lips posed to please as she lied, “Honey, I want you to enjoy yourself, but baby I can’t stay shackled to this bed for an hour.” She then displayed all thirty-two of her pearly whites. The dog started to growl and bark.
“Stop that, Socrates. That is no way to treat our guest.” Strangely, the dog obeyed. Satisfied, Bob walked over to the dresser and picked something up.
Freddy was still on the stairs, his young mind suspended in the weird act as it unfolded. He could not believe that Marilyn was doing this as he watched her lie sprawled on the bed, naked, her face turned from him now as she paid close attention to Bob. What Freddy found the most disturbing was not so much the act itself, but the dog. It sat and watched like a human.
Bob suddenly turned and faced Marilyn, his cubby cheeks pale as chalk. He had a shiny, red apple in his hand. It glistened with his movements as he began to caress it affectionately, his eyes now slits of whiteness. He shoved the apple in her face. “Here, spit on this.”
Marilyn looked at him incredulously. Whatever, she thought, as she searched her mouth for saliva that was not there.
“Spit!” He demanded, as he began to bounce back and forth from foot to foot. She spit on the apple. He turned it to expose the other side and told her to spit again. She did, this time partially hitting him in the face. With saliva trickling down his fingers, he stepped back with a satisfied smile.
The dog chirped with approval as Bob prepared his performance. Mischievously, he established piercing eye contact with her. With the apple in his right hand, he squatted down and the apple disappeared behind his back. He grimaced and grunted and then stood back up.
Marilyn’s eyes searched his hands as he stood. She smiled
thinking about the cute little disappearing trick the old man had just performed for her, but the painful expression on his face told her more. It only then dawned on her what he had done with the apple. Dear God, she thought, this can’t be real. He now stood in front of her, his legs bowed.
At first the sound was barely audible, a crescendo of whimpering agony, the pathos of a hostage being psychologically tortured by a sadomasochist. Her sinew shattering like glass, chained and manacled, Marilyn Fox cried hysterically, supplying Bob’s perverted pathological pleasure for feminine suffrage.
He smiled down at her, satisfied that he was getting all that he was paying for. Grinding his teeth, gnawing at his tongue, a thick, purple vein protruded from his bulbous nose as he hobbled towards her and then stopped, his body slowly lowering until he was in a squatting position, his face painfully contorting, straining…straining …straining…and then there was a thump!
The apple rolled across the floor. Momentarily, Marilyn stopped crying as they both looked at the stained apple, mired in feces. He searched her face, an appraisal of his labor. She clamored in the voice of a wounded animal. He smiled, very much satisfied. Marilyn Fox really knew how to play the game, he thought to himself. He limped out into the hallway and down the long corridor.
Chapter Eleven
Freddy looked up aghast, the old man nearly upon him. There was no way that he could make it down the long, sprawling stairs in time. Paralyzed with fear, he stood on the balls of his feet against the wall and watched Bob as he neared. Closer…closer…the old man was within a few yards, when he turned his head in search of something or someone. Freddy’s back stiffened in suspenseful anticipation. Bob stopped only a few feet away. Freddy realized that he had been holding his breath and allowed his lungs to breathe in air.