‘That was a great shoot, Sarah, especially when you’re new. You’re a natural, you really are, and I just know you’re going to be popular. So how about a tie-in, to get readers buying new titles? This is how it works. We advertise you as a super-sexy new artist in the text for your shoot in Hotties at Home, which is great too, ’cause it shows you’re not a professional model and that’s important. Then in Hot Gun we say the artist for “Graverobbers” is appearing nude in Hotties at Home. How’s that?’
‘It seems to make sense,’ Sarah admitted.
‘Great,’ Hugh went on. ‘And then to bring the two together we’ll do a big shoot for Hot Gun, just tasteful nudie stuff, nothing heavy but mostly outdoors, in Paris.’
Ten
With the next issue of Hot Gun in the shops and on the newsstands, Sarah found herself constantly looking over her shoulder and starting nervously at every sound. She knew perfectly well that she had only drawn a few pictures, and that even then she had shown Céleste as willing, if perhaps rather resentful, yet she felt as if she had committed some terrible crime for which justice was inevitable.
Despite not being in Paris, she expected at any moment to be set upon by three men identical to the horrid characters she had created, dragged into a suitably sordid alley and put to their cocks. Céleste, after all, didn’t have to come herself, and would know that Sarah would feel too guilty to put up a fight. Telling herself that she was being silly made no difference whatsoever. To make matters worse, she was going to Paris at the weekend, and when one day and a second passed without incident she was soon telling herself that Céleste was merely waiting until Sarah came to her.
She hadn’t told anybody, knowing it would only make her look foolish, especially if she tried to use Céleste as an excuse not to go to Paris. Giles and Mak, who shared a rational view of life, would think she was mad, while the more cynical Hugh would immediately assume she had got cold feet and was trying to back out of the contract she had signed. Her only hope seemed to lie in numbers, as it was hardly going to happen in front of five men.
As the weekend drew closer she found herself growing ever more nervous, and her resistance weakening. Part of her had always wanted it to happen, even as she drew the pictures, and she was repeatedly telling herself that if it was going to happen anyway, then she might as well give in. That in turn made her feel bad about Giles, because however liberal he might be about what she did, he was hardly going to be happy about her being taken into an alley and bonked senseless by three rough Frenchmen.
Her nervousness showed, but he put it down to apprehension at her coming photoshoot and having to strip off in public, which turned him on. Sarah didn’t trouble to contradict him, but as she knelt with his erection deep in her sex from behind, while he told her how good he would feel watching her walk naked down a Parisian street, she was wondering if he’d be quite so happy watching her suck cock in a Parisian alley.
She was also delaying the next episode, sure it would only get her into further trouble, but once they were on the train there was no escaping it; with the full journey ahead of them, and Hugh and the others further down the carriage, there was nothing to do but talk to Giles.
‘Where have we got to?’ Giles asked as they began to gather speed through south-west London, speaking more to himself than to Sarah. ‘We know Céleste has hired the thugs, and that d’Orsay knows what she’s up to. Next comes the actual grave robbing.’
‘I ought to make that a full-page scene,’ Sarah responded, hoping to keep the sexual content to a minimum. ‘After all, it is the scene we’ve taken the title from.’
‘Yes,’ Giles said thoughtfully, ‘but if we do we’ll have to have plenty of sex on the second page.’
‘Couldn’t Céleste entertain the men afterwards?’ Sarah suggested, already picturing the scene in her mind, and the likely consequences, yet knowing she had it coming anyway.
‘It would be too similar to the previous episode,’ Giles objected. ‘We need something different, something hard … hmm, perhaps it was a mistake to let them get so heavy with her in the last episode.’
‘That’s true,’ Sarah agreed ruefully.
‘At least we should have spared her bottom.’
‘Very true.’
‘Never mind, it was a great scene. So what can we do? Come on, it has to be dirty and it has to fit the story.’
He was still addressing himself as much as her, and turned to stare out of the window as he finished. They were somewhere out in the suburbs, with long rows of brick houses at the bottom of the embankment and beyond, with the occasional clump of taller, concrete blocks of flats standing among them. Sarah tried to think, hoping to come up with something that she could at least cope with before Giles’ devious perverted mind came up with something she couldn’t.
‘Maybe the roughs tie her up?’ she suggested on sudden inspiration. ‘That way we could make her more sympathetic to the readers because when she pins the crime on them she’s just getting her own back. Obviously if they tie her up against her will they can’t have sex with her, but her clothes could be a bit disarranged, maybe?’
‘It takes the sting out of it,’ Giles objected. ‘I think we need to make her a real bitch, and that’s definitely how the readers will want to see her, only not as bad as the other characters. I like the idea of her tied up though, hmm …’
He went silent, then continued with sudden enthusiasm.
‘I’ve got it, that’s how she pins the blame on the roughs. Once she’s hidden the money she says she’ll go with them to celebrate. They already know she likes it rough, so they won’t be suspicious when she asks to be had in bondage. That way they can tie her up and really use her without us getting into any problems with consent, then in the last frame the police burst in and in the next episode the roughs have been arrested, but because Céleste’s been found tied up and well used the police are sure to believe her story. What do you think?’
‘Good,’ Sarah admitted weakly, ‘great.’
‘It is, isn’t it?’ Giles responded, immodest as ever. ‘We don’t really need a full-page graverobbing scene after all, but that’s your area so I’ll leave it to you, just as long as it’s plain that Céleste has taken them back to wherever they live for sex, then you can get into the bondage. Perhaps finish with her tied up and sucking one man’s cock while another cuts her clothes off, so the readers know it’s going to get really hard next month.’
‘What about the money?’ Sarah asked, desperate to at least postpone her fate. ‘Céleste would need to hide it somewhere they didn’t know about, wouldn’t she?’
‘I suppose so,’ Giles admitted. ‘No, because once they’d been arrested she could come back and get it. After all, they’re not going to tell the police where it is, not immediately, and they needn’t even know she’s set them up.’
‘Surely –’
‘No, because they’d just think she was trying to get herself off the hook by saying she was their victim. But … but meanwhile, d’Orsay knows what’s really happened. Maybe he’s even got photographs, so he can blackmail Céleste into being his sex slave. Oh yes, wonderful! We can have her made to suck his balls, lick his arsehole, suck his cock after it’s been up her bum …’
‘I don’t think Hugh would let us get away with that, would he?’ Sarah queried, now completely horrified.
‘No,’ Giles admitted. ‘Damn.’
He turned to stare out of the window again, now frowning. Sarah sat back, picturing a future of rough dirty sex and wondering just what she’d let herself in for by choosing Giles as her boyfriend. That morning she’d been buggered before breakfast, Giles applying some of the lubricant he now kept by the bed to his morning erection and prodding it up between her cheeks while she was still half asleep. Her bottom hole still didn’t feel quite right, but she tried to tell herself that if the Frenchmen caught her at least Raoul or Marcel or Lamond would be able to penetrate her anally without it hurting too much.
She
shook her head. There were no men, except in the cartoon, so they couldn’t catch her and bugger her, or anything else. Yet there was no Céleste either, nor a Monsieur d’Orsay, and she’d been spanked by one and sucked cock for the other. It had happened, and therefore there had to be a rational explanation, simple logic as Giles would have said. On the other hand, if she threw logic out of the window, it raised some interesting possibilities.
Sarah frowned as she looked down the Rue Claude Magnien. It was simply not as it should have been, not as she saw it in her imagination, and therefore not the place she wanted to go nude outdoors in Paris. She had accepted that she was going to do it, and that it could be done safely enough at dawn on a summer’s day and on a quiet street, which left only the actual choice of location.
Most of the morning had been spent posing in the hotel room, from fully dressed to nude, with the windows open so that the Eiffel Tower was visible in the background just to make absolutely certain the readers knew she was in Paris. She had felt the same mixture of excitement and embarrassment as before, especially when they had made her go out on the balcony, which had left her not merely willing, but eager. She was also determined to get it right.
In her mind the scene was clear. It would be a narrow street somewhere in the Latin Quarter, with high buildings in the classic Parisian style and no hint of modernity. There would be a double line of trees and boxes of geraniums on the window sills, swept paving stones, a perfectly blue sky. There would be posters advertising ballet and theatre, perhaps clubs if sufficiently stylish. There would be a stall selling pictures, another selling flowers, tables outside cafés with chequered cloths. There would be no cars, but perhaps an old-fashioned delivery van.
She knew what she was going to do as well. The morning sun would be striking down the length of the street, illuminating her perfectly as she stepped forward, wearing nothing but a fake-fur coat and smart shoes. First she would shrug the coat from her shoulders, showing her cleavage and her legs as she walked, then let it drop, to walk naked and proud down the centre of the street as Sid photographed her, front, side and back.
They had agreed to everything she wanted as long as she could provide the location, which she had promised to do. Unfortunately it didn’t seem to be as easy as she had expected, despite the fact that on her first visit she had seen half a dozen perfect streets just in the vicinity of her hotel. Now she couldn’t even find the hotel, and the men were beginning to get impatient, Hugh Bowle in particular.
‘What’s wrong this time?’ he demanded, seeing her expression. ‘It looks all right to me, very froggy in fact. Look, there’s even a big picture of a snail outside that restaurant.’
‘The light will be perfect, first thing,’ Sid added.
‘It … it’s just not right,’ Sarah insisted. ‘There are too many cars, and too much neon. I wanted more colour.’
‘The neon’s pretty colourful,’ Hugh pointed out. ‘Look, doll, all this arty stuff’s all very well, but this looks like Paris to me, and what the readers really want to see is you getting your tits out.’
‘I know,’ Sarah admitted. ‘I just want somewhere … somewhere special.’
Hugh glanced at his watch.
‘All right, seeing as we’re not doing it now anyway you can look around until it’s time for tea, but if you don’t find anything better we’re going for it here, got it? And remember what Sid said about the light. Me, I’m going for a beer.’
He started towards the nearest bar, the sign for which was in pink neon, and to Sarah’s taste completely unacceptable. She glanced up and down once more, but altogether too many details jarred with the image in her mind. Hugh and Sid disappeared into the café, Giles hesitating.
‘Are you coming?’ she asked.
‘Actually I could rather do with a beer,’ he admitted.
Sarah pursed her mouth, thinking of Céleste, who seemed to have a knack of turning up the moment Sarah was alone. Then again, they had been zigzagging back and forth for ever since lunch and, had it not been for Hugh’s detailed street map, would have been comprehensively lost. Besides, in the two days since their arrival there had been no sign of Céleste, nor Monsieur d’Orsay, nor any men closely resembling Raoul, Marcel and Lamond, despite the occasional shock.
‘Wait here for me then,’ she said.
Giles moved gratefully towards the bar and Sarah set off down the street. The far end looked promising, with a small fountain visible and at least one window box. On reaching the fountain she found that it was at a little crossroads, and that the street it crossed was perfect, almost exactly as she would have drawn it herself. So, in fact, was the continuation of the Rue Claude Magnien, better even, because it was closed to cars.
Yes, it was easy to imagine herself dropping her coat from naked shoulders and stepping free and nude into the morning sunlight, even the afternoon sunlight, because there were very few people about, and those that were didn’t look as if they’d mind – just the opposite. Now feeling deliciously daring, she began to walk down the centre of the street, telling herself she’d do it both ways, so that Sid could get the best light for her rear view as well as from the front. After all, Giles insisted her bottom was her best feature and it would be a shame to disappoint him.
At the end of the street she turned sharply around on her heel, meaning to walk back exactly as she would need to in the morning, only to almost bump into somebody coming the other way. She had already begun to apologise when she realised it was Céleste and her words froze on her lips.
Céleste’s expression was icy, save for a hint of a cruel smile as she looked down on Sarah. Already close to panic, Sarah glanced around, her fear rising as she saw Raoul, standing outside a café, Marcel, pretending to admire the paintings at a stall, and Lamond, idly picking his nose, each unmistakable. There was no direction in which she could run. As Sarah’s helplessness sank in, Céleste gave a light chuckle and raised one aristocratic eyebrow.
‘Why the trepidation, cocotte?’ Céleste asked. ‘This is only justice, no?’
‘You’re – you’re not going to do this to me,’ Sarah answered, forcing the words out despite the urge to sink to her knees and beg forgiveness.
‘No?’ Céleste queried as the men began to close in. ‘You think, perhaps, that it is not just?’
‘If you do …’ Sarah began, and stopped.
Céleste had placed a single finger beneath Sarah’s chin. As her face was tilted up to leave her looking directly into Céleste’s eyes, Sarah found herself unable to speak.
‘Do not threaten me, my little whore,’ Céleste said quietly. ‘What you had me do, I intend to have done to you. Is that not justice?’
All the things she’d planned to say were running through Sarah’s head, but she found herself nodding meekly.
‘Good,’ Céleste went on. ‘I am glad you understand, and perhaps this time you will learn your lesson, yes?’
Again Sarah nodded, unable to do otherwise. Céleste continued.
‘I wonder. You enjoyed that foul old roué d’Orsay, didn’t you? Perhaps you will enjoy these three dirty pigs as well, no?’
‘No,’ Sarah managed, struggling to tell herself it was true.
‘And yet you made me?’ Céleste answered, a touch of anger now showing in her voice. ‘You made me do … do unspeakable things, and when I had expressly forbidden it.’
‘I … can’t help it,’ Sarah responded, starting to babble, ‘I really can’t … Giles makes me do it … my writer … I just draw the pictures.’
‘Yes,’ Céleste grated, tilting Sarah’s head yet further back, ‘you draw the pictures, of me being despoiled in every way, for money, you filthy little whore!’
Céleste’s voice had been rising, and as she finished with an angry click of her tongue she grabbed Sarah’s wrist, twisting her around. Sarah squealed in dismay as her body was forced down over a large open litter bin, and in an instant her dress had been turned up and her panties whipped down, baring her b
ottom to the public gaze one more time. As she was exposed she began to struggle, but Céleste merely tightened her grip, forcing Sarah’s face in among the litter, squashing a half-eaten custard tart over her nose and one eye.
‘Hold her down,’ Céleste snapped, and immediately strong male hands took grips on Sarah’s body, her hair and her arms, pinning her down in the rubbish.
She was still struggling, in blind panic, with her thighs kicking in her lowered panties and her bottom cheeks wobbling frantically. The piece of custard tart was now smeared over half her face and her breasts were in among the rubbish too, with something cold and wet soaking into her top over one fat globe. A smack landed on her bottom and she gave a despairing shriek as the spanking began, only to stop almost immediately. She caught Céleste’s voice.
‘Merci, Monsieur, ça c’est gentil.’
‘C’est rien,’ a man’s voice answered as a stinging pain lanced through Sarah’s bottom.
All three of the men holding her in the litter bin laughed, and others joined in, bringing Sarah a harsh stab of shame as she realised her spanking was being watched by what seemed like quite a crowd. That didn’t stop her squealing, kicking and generally making an exhibition of herself. Whatever she was being beaten with hurt too much, each stroke seeming to sting more than the last until she was writhing and thrashing in the litter, in which she was now so deeply immersed that her bottom was the highest part of her body.
Céleste continued to apply the strokes, with Sarah bleating pathetically into her faceful of soggy custard and pastry. Not one person moved to help her, or even spoke up for her; instead they were laughing at her and doubtless making crude remarks about how big her bottom was, how comic she looked, and soon how wet her sex was getting. At that her struggles renewed, the thought that they knew she was getting excited over her punishment too much to bear, while she knew it would be all to easy for Raoul or one of his sons to push a stiff cock up her once the beating was over.
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