The policeman said something to Raoul, a joke on Sarah’s willingness. Raoul chuckled in response and he too took his cock out, which was every bit as huge and wrinkled and ugly as Sarah had drawn it. He laughed as he saw the shock in her eyes, and pushed close, offering himself to her mouth as he made a polite request to the policeman, who responded in kind, twisted a hand into Sarah’s hair and pulled her off his own cock and onto Raoul’s.
Sarah’s eyes popped as the huge cock was fed into her mouth and down her throat. She was gagging immediately as the policeman began to move her back and forth by her hair, using her head as a fuck toy for Raoul’s outsize cock. Marcel, watching, gave a cruel laugh at the sight, and as Sarah’s head was finally pulled back a great gout of saliva exploded from her mouth, all down her breasts and belly.
Marcel immediately came round to the side, twisting Sarah’s body so that he could get at her cleavage. The policeman’s cock was back in her mouth as Marcel folded her breasts around his long bent erection and began to fuck them. Sarah felt an odd burst of pride, knowing that Céleste was physically incapable of what she was having done to her and she sucked harder, beginning to enjoy her ordeal.
The policeman promptly came in her mouth, unexpectedly and deep, so that she went into a violent coughing fit, a mixture of spunk and saliva and snot exploding from her nose, and more from her mouth as he withdrew to toss himself off in her face. As the mess slithered down into Sarah’s cleavage, Marcel gave a pleased grunt and began to fuck in it. His father made a joke as he fed his cock back into Sarah’s mouth and the two of them shared a grin as they began to use her together.
Lamond was pushing forward, cock in hand and eager for his go. The policeman stepped aside with a courteous gesture, Raoul withdrew, and Sarah found herself faced with the younger man’s bulging hairy belly and short thick cock. She took it in, sucking quickly to get rid of a taste suspiciously like cheap paté and heavily mixed with unwashed man. He immediately took hold of her head, pulling her close to force his fat knob down her throat and making her gag again, now blowing spunk bubbles out of her nose as she struggled to breathe.
Raoul had got behind her, lifting her bottom in his hands as he slid his body in to make a seat for her, a seat with his cock sticking up out of the middle. She felt it press between her bum cheeks and her anus went tight by instinct, but he slid in up her pussy, allowing her to settle her bottom onto him. Abandoning one more level of dignity and self-respect, she began to bounce on his cock, the feel of his thick shaft inside her simply too good to resist.
Her new position made it hard for Marcel, who stood up, speaking rapidly to his father. Raoul grunted, settled himself to the ground and took a firm grip on Sarah’s hips, holding her steady, his thumbs dug deep to spread her anus for buggering as Marcel straddled her. Sarah gave a muffled sob around her mouthful of penis as Marcel’s bendy cock settled between her bum cheeks, briefly rutting in her crease before pushing lower. She felt his helmet press to her anus and forced herself to relax, knowing full well that it was going up her bum whether she liked it or not.
Marcel pushed as Sarah’s anal ring spread on his cock, entering her with a sudden shove. She was already slippery, and loose from all the buggerings Giles had given her, and he went up easily, jamming the full length of his erection into her gut with a few firm shoves. All three were in her, rocking her on their cocks just the way she had shown Céleste getting it, save that the men were in different holes and with her hands securely cuffed behind her back she wasn’t going to be able to masturbate.
She knew she’d have been doing it. Possibly she’d already have come, and as Raoul erupted inside her she knew that before they were done she’d be begging for it. Most of his come had squashed out around his cock, soiling her pussy and making her want to rub in it. Even her slimy breasts felt good, slapping together and bouncing wildly as with her cunt now vacant the thrusts of Marcel’s cock in her rectum grew harder.
Raoul rolled out from underneath her and she was lifted, slipping off both cocks as the brothers bent her across one of the dustbins, her breasts and belly pressed to the filthy contents, her bottom and head sticking out to either side. Others had come close, creating a barrier of erect cocks between Sarah and the alley mouth, but it was the brothers who entered her again, bumhole and mouth as before, Sarah realising too late that they had swapped places.
Her eyes popped and her cheeks bulged as Marcel’s cock went in, filling her mouth with the taste of her own bottom, and again as his brother’s much thicker cock was jammed into her anus with a single hard shove. They began to rock her back and forth, Lamond fondling her rear cheeks as he buggered her and occasionally spreading them to admire the junction between cock and anus, Marcel with his hands pushed down into the rubbish to grope her breasts and plaster them with refuse.
Sarah was praying they’d come quickly, a wish she had granted as Lamond jammed himself deep to spunk in her rectum almost at the same instant Marcel whipped his cock out of her mouth and tossed off in her face, squeezing himself to control the jets of semen which he deliberately used to blind her, laughing as she was left with both eyes plastered with thick yellowish come and more running down her face.
Exhausted, dizzy and sore, Sarah could only lie helpless over the dustbin as more men moved in to take the brothers’ places, a cock stuck in her mouth and another in her cunt almost before she could draw breath. She didn’t know the men, she couldn’t even see them, only suck as best she could and squirm her bottom on the belly of the man thrusting into her from behind. Others moved in too, one groping her breasts as he rubbed his cock on her now sweat-slick skin and tried to fuck her armpit, another masturbating over her bottom and slapping his erection on her still-hot cheeks.
Spunk erupted in her mouth and one cock was instantly replaced by another. One of them came all over her back and in her hair. The man inside her whipped himself free at the last instant to do it over her bottom, but instead of replacing him, the one who been wanking slipped a hand under her belly, rubbing her cunt as he positioned himself behind her.
Deep gratitude welled up in Sarah’s head as she realised she was to be brought off, and she was immediately wriggling her bottom to encourage him. In answer, he poked the head of his cock up her bumhole and began to wank into her rectum even as he manipulated her cunt. It was too much for Sarah, who came instantly, a truly filthy climax to the way she’d been used, nude and in handcuffs, spanked in a public street, dragged into an alley and made to suck men off, fucked at their leisure, buggered and made to suck a cock just drawn from her rectum, and finally masturbated while a man she didn’t even know tossed off up her bottom.
She was still coming as she was given a mouthful of spunk, which erupted all over the man who’d been in her mouth and she began to scream in ecstasy, her whole body jerking violently, her tits bouncing in the contents of the rubbish bin, her bumhole in spasm on the cock inside it as he too came, milking spunk into her full rectum.
Eleven
Sarah sat at her art desk, sucking meditatively on the end of her 4B pencil and staring at the sheet of paper before her, although her thoughts were not focused on the piece of artwork she was supposed to be doing but on Giles Compton-Bassett. He had let her down, so badly it had damaged her feelings for him beyond repair. Running off when the policeman appeared had been bad enough, but his pathetic excuses when she had finally returned to the hotel had been the last straw.
She had told him, and the others, that she’d managed to talk her way out of it, which they had readily accepted. Their excuse for deserting her was that she’d have been in bigger trouble if the police had realised she was being photographed, but it was quite evident to her that their main concern had been for themselves, the camera, and the pictures, in that order, with her welfare coming a long way behind. From Hugh and Sid that was bad enough, but from Giles it was intolerable.
Admitting to the truth had been out of the question, and not only because she preferred not to tell t
hem that she’d been dragged into an alley and gang-banged. She knew that from their perspective it hadn’t even happened, no more than the men who’d used her had helped her clean up in the nearest café and bought her a glass of absinthe to help her cope. The policeman had even shown her how to make it, pouring from a clearly labelled bottle and trickling ice-cold water into it over a sugar cube on a special spoon, an act illegal in France for nearly a hundred years, but not in the France of her imagination, which was where she had been.
How it worked she didn’t know, and nor did it really matter. What did matter was that it worked, and of that there was no question. The alley had been the alley she’d drawn, right down to the dead rat, which could hardly be explained as a hidden memory from some earlier visit to Paris, leaving aside the fact that she was absolutely certain she had never visited the Rue Claude Magnien before. Also, the vivid and repulsive details of the Frenchmen’s cocks existed only in her imagination and had never even been published. Every detail of the scene had been originally created in her own imagination, including, now she thought about it, what the men had done to her, but only in her darkest fantasies, which she’d never told even to Giles.
One in particular stuck out – having a cock withdrawn from her bottom hole and put straight in her mouth, something she’d never even considered until he’d mentioned it, and which had shocked her then. Yet while they’d been having sex that night, both of them thoroughly horny and drunk too, just before she came, with her mind less inhibited and more receptive to dirty thoughts than at any other time, she had thought of how it would be, only to dismiss it as too disgusting to bear thinking about. Yet Marcel had done it to her.
She winced at the memory, but at the same time she felt a sudden tightening of her sex. It was hard to understand how anything so dirty could turn her on, yet there was no denying that it did, and to accept that gave her power. Whatever Céleste did to her, she could cope – more than cope, in fact, because while knowing that whatever she drew would be done to her in revenge was frightening, it was also immensely arousing.
A touch of guilt lingered for what she was about to do to Céleste, but she knew the solution to that. On a small table by her desk stood a bottle of vivid green absinthe, a tall glass, and a bowl holding three sugar cubes and a spoon of the proper design, all purchased in Paris. If wine was enough to make her shed her inhibitions and push back her awe of Céleste, then surely la fée verte would be more effective still?
She began to set out the drawing, making light pencil lines to give herself a rough idea of where the frames would go. There was a lot to get in, from the first with Céleste and the three men robbing the grave to the last, in which the police burst into the room. As she drew she was thinking forward into the story and wondering how to bring Monsieur d’Orsay into it without breaking the guidelines. There was also the drug cartel, who hadn’t even been mentioned.
Abruptly dissatisfied, Sarah sat back, her pencil in her mouth once more. It wasn’t even going to be obvious why the money was in the coffin, and the sudden appearance of a South American drugs cartel was going to looked uncomfortably like a deus ex machina. Nor was it obvious how Céleste had found out about the plot in the first place. Giles hadn’t done his job very well. Giles was useless.
The job still had to be done though, especially as Hugh knew what was going to happen in the episode. At least she could do that. Turning in her chair, she began to prepare a glass of absinthe, balancing a sugar cube carefully on the slotted spoon and pouring the green liquid over it, then water more slowly still, until her glass contained three fingers of cloudy pale-green liquid. She took a sip, letting the bittersweet, liquorice flavour fill her mouth as she considered how best to put Céleste in bondage.
It needed to look right to the police, something that left Céleste helpless for the men’s use without giving the impression of deliberate erotic bondage. The men liked to use a girl every way, and preferably all together, a nasty habit Sarah had first created, then come to reap the consequences of, as doubtless she would again.
She paused, wondering if she really wanted to be tied into some awkward position and used by the three rough Frenchmen, maybe others too, and almost certainly after a spanking. As usual the prospect filled her with a mixture of longing and fear, arousal and self-disgust. Céleste would be furious.
Sarah took a swallow of absinthe, unable to start, yet knowing it was too late to back out. At the least she was going to have to wait a little, so she put the sheet of paper aside and took another. She began to doodle as she thought of how Giles should have behaved, coming to her rescue either by explaining the situation to the policeman or, better still, distracting him to let Sarah escape.
A real man, she decided, would have flashed the policeman, thus assuring full attention as he fled. Being tall and lean and young, Giles – or the imaginary Giles – would easily have outrun his pursuer, or escaped by some clever ruse. The others would then have helped Sarah to safety, both from the police and from Céleste, who never appeared unless Sarah was alone.
Better still, a real hero might not only have distracted the police, but looped around and saved Sarah from Céleste. Not Giles, obviously, but the man Giles should have been, just as Céleste’s Paris was the Paris that should have been but was not. Yes, she could create her own deus ex machina, and there would be nobody to criticise, with the possible exception of Céleste.
Her imaginary hero would have come back, fought off the three Frenchmen and put Céleste across his knee for the spanking she so richly deserved. Sarah was smiling to herself as the absinthe began its work. Her thoughts started to take shape and her pencil to move on the paper, drawing rough forms, of the slender elegant Céleste across the knee of another figure, only to stop. Her expression changed to a sullen frown. It wouldn’t work. Her hero would be captivated by Céleste. Men were always captivated by Céleste. Sarah would be the one who ended up getting spanked, in front of her new-found hero.
Another swallow of absinthe and the solution had come to her. No man would dare to spank Céleste, but a woman might, a British woman, tall and strong, with fiery red hair and a temper to match, a bit like Rebecca Compton-Bassett in fact. She began to draw again, filling in her geometric outline with female features instead of male; a glorious mane of hair, full breasts – although not so large as to be impractical – womanly hips and long well-formed legs.
Her new creation was not Rebecca, but a super Rebecca, Rebecca as a heroine, bigger in every way, but a little more down to earth, and called Becky, Becky Wellington. Becky Wellington was six foot tall, Sarah decided, and a champion equestrian of Olympic standard. She was exceptionally strong for a woman, absolutely certain of her place in the world, the daughter of an old and wealthy family, and, above all, British. She would deal with Céleste, more or less the way her namesake had dealt with Napoleon, bold, forthright, absolutely determined. Like Napoleon, Céleste would put up a fight and, like Napoleon, she would lose.
The voice of reason was no more than the faintest of whispers in Sarah’s head as she began to draw in earnest. Only the occasional pause for a swallow of absinthe or to refill her glass was allowed to break her concentration as she sketched, and she quickly found that the legendary effect of absinthe was simple truth. She grew drunk, her inhibitions vanished, and yet her mind was still clear enough to think, and to allow her to ink in her sketches.
She completed the drawing of Céleste being spanked, then began another, adding yet more detail. Every humiliation inflicted on her had to be reproduced; the public setting, being held helpless as her bottom was laid bare, the deliberate exposure of both pussy and bumhole, every cruel subtlety of the spankings, including being masturbated and having her anus penetrated.
One by one, with drawing after drawing, Sarah filled in the details. There was Becky seated outside a café, the Café Anglais, having a cup of afternoon tea, with Céleste approaching in the background, as cool and haughty as ever. There was Becky giving Céleste a l
ecture on manners and telling her she was about to receive a dose of her own medicine for punishing Sarah. A close-up captured both faces, Becky’s nononsense manner and Céleste’s affronted dignity.
Then came the fight, with both women utterly convinced of their ability to win, and Céleste unwilling to concede defeat until she’d been forced facedown on the dirty ground. Becky was straddled across Céleste’s back, her blouse ripped to show one heavy breast, her hair dishevelled, her face marked with scratches but set in triumph.
It took several pictures to convey Céleste’s emotions as her bottom was unveiled: her face twisted into animal fury; disbelief at what was being done to her, and a consternation so vehement Sarah frightened herself with the result; and, last, screaming in rage as she came bare. Between each she put the reverse view: of Becky’s fingers on the hem of Céleste’s skirt; pulling it high to reveal the tops of seamed stockings; the skirt higher still, exposing the perfect apple-bottom clad in black silk panties with a border of finest lace. A whole series followed, showing the exposure of Céleste’s rear cheeks, with the expensive black panties a further inch down in each frame.
Another full-size drawing showed Céleste with her panties properly down, bum bare to a sizeable crowd including not only Monsieur d’Orsay and a dozen fellow roués, but several fashionable young men and women, assorted Japanese and American tourists each of whom had at least two cameras, and a large group of English football fans complete with scarves, rattles and loo rolls, all watching with deep interest. Céleste’s legs were scissored apart at a ridiculous angle, with her panties stretched taut between her knees. Her fists were beating on the cobbles in her fury, her newly-waxed cunt was on full show, and Becky was holding her trim bottom cheeks wide to display her tight brown anus.
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