by Leo Barton
The finger squirms inside her, momentarily making her jerk upwards, and sigh at the sensation. Hyde-Lee pulls out of her and leaves the room.
She thinks his absence has broken the spell.
'What am I doing here? Why are you all looking at me?'
Nobody moves. She doesn't move. She feels that she can only voice her rebellion. To move, to leave the room would somehow be an unconscionable insolence.
Hyde-Lee returns.
'You mustn't talk, dear. That is not part of the bargain. If you talk then we will of course have to gag you and we would prefer to hear your pretty little voice sigh and moan as I cane you.'
She does not have time to respond before the thwack of the cane rings in her ears as it lands on her exposed bottom. The sharp sting is the most intense pain she has ever felt. Occasionally Mauro has pulled her over his knee and spanked her bare bottom with the flat of his hand, but that has always been playful. This really hurts. The first clear impact makes her jolt. She imagines one thick red line of pain being etched into the white cheeks of her bottom.
As with her underwear, it appears that each man is to cane her once. Hyde-Lee passes the cane to Willingham. She notices how his eyes light up with the prospect. The wait is as much of an agony as the actual blow, because she is not sure when she is to be hit. Willingham prods her a little before he cane's her, pushing the end of the cane on each cheek of her bottom and then in between, pressing first against her perineum and then on the tender flesh of her anus.
The cane lands again. It is even more violent than Hyde-Lee's blow, catching her in the middle of her bottom.
The cane is then passed to the next man and then the next. Her wait gets longer, as each man has to walk further to stand behind her, sometimes they prod her first in the way that Willingham did, others rub the long stick between her legs, press against her vulva, others just stroke her with the cane.
Her pain is accumulative. Each trounce surpasses the last, overlays her throbbing flesh with even more pain. She rides each stroke, hoping that soon it will be over. Five, six, she counts, clenching her teeth, waiting, waiting for it to end. The pain burns into her, sears through her. Eight, nine... It is the German boy's turn. Something about this is different. He is not standing like the other men. Then suddenly she realizes what it is as the cane lands vertically over her bottom, intersecting with all the other strokes. The pain is momentarily agonizing.
Eleven! This is the last one. After this it is all over. After this maybe they will let her go. The cane comes down on her for the last time. The agony recedes, leaving in its wake a deep red soreness.
'Now my dear, you were fantastic. We are going to play another game. It's like a party game. I'm sure that this is not just an English game. I am convinced it is universal. It's a bit of a hybrid, a cross between Postman's Knock, Blind Man's Bluff, Musical Chairs and Pass the Parcel. Quite ingenious of our Lord Willingham here to invent it. Don't look so alarmed, my dear, you don't have to do anything. Nothing, that is, except enjoy. What will happen is that we will blindfold you. Oh, by the way, you don't have to do anything, but there is one thing that you mustn't do at any cost and that is remove your blindfold, because if you do, and so far we have had no need to resort to threats, you will undoubtedly suffer. Another round of caning perhaps. Do you understand?'
Anna nods her head. She knows she has no choice. Hyde-Lee pulls her up from her kneeling position so that she is sitting on the edge of the table. He attaches a blindfold to her. She cannot see anything. It is so cunningly designed that it stretches down her cheeks. There are no gaps. Automatically she moves her hands up to adjust it, feeling that it has been tied too tight. Hyde-Lee grabs hold of her hand and tosses it aside. 'No touching,' he tuts.
'Right gentlemen, we can now move places in whatever way you please.'
She hears the scraping of the chairs as the men reposition themselves around the dining table. She feels a man standing in front of her, although she is not sure who it is. It is not Hyde-Lee, she recognizes him from his smell.
The man seems quite short. Maybe it is one of the Orientals. He is pulling the zip down on her black dress, and then with all the care that Hyde-Lee had showed to her as he removed her panties, he carefully unbuttons the neck of her dress, pulling it totally off her at the waist, so that she is left sitting in only her bra and stockings. Something cold and metallic is touching her nipples, is biting into them, making them throb. Both her nipples! It is as painful as the caning was, but this pain is relentless. It doesn't stop. Somehow not being able to see what is being done to her makes it worse. She knew that she was being caned. She does not know what horrible object has been attached to her.
Then another man! Is it the same man or is it somebody different? She does not know. She cannot know. He is spreading her legs. She feels something like wood this time, although she cannot be sure, nipping at her labial lips. Another shooting pain to add to the weight of pain she feels in her chest, and the remnant of pain that covers the skin of her bottom. Her hand reaches across to remove the offending objects, but she is grabbed by the wrist. She knows that the only thing she can do is suffer the moment, this moment that seems to stretch to an infinity.
How long it lasts she has no idea. She is moved from her sitting position, made to lie prone on the table, the clamps have not been removed. Two sets of hands are pressing down on her; other hands are splaying the cheeks of her bottom. Another object, very cold, is being inserted in her rear. It is large, so large. She has never been entered like this before. She feels a hand, a knuckle press down on the sore cheeks of her bottom as it manipulates the long thick object inside her, pushing further up her.
The pain is accumulating inside her. Why didn't Mauro explain all this? If Mauro had explained, she wouldn't have come here.
The dildo and the clamps are all removed, much to her relief. She lets out a sigh, but then she is moved again. This time she is made to lie supine on the table. She has the sense that there is somebody over her. She feels a hot cock, the head tracing along her lips. Somebody else is plucking at her already pained nipples. Another man enters her. Somebody is grabbing her thighs, but she does not know whether it is the same man who is fucking her. The cock on her lips slips into her mouth. She sucks on it. It is almost a comfort to her. She sucks on the cock harder and harder. Somewhere inside her is the idea that the sooner she sates these men then they will leave her alone.
And then there is the feeling that she is beginning to be aroused by all of this, as one cock slides down her throat and another shunts deep inside her quim.
She sucks hard on the man kneeling above her. She feels him bulging in her mouth. He quickly withdraws from her and aims his jism so that it lands in the hollow of her throat. A hand comes down to massage it into her skin, trailing down to the swell of her breasts.
She is still being fucked hard, as another replaces the cock that was in her mouth. She feels a tingle inside her. Maybe it is fear, or even disgust that has excited her so much, but she feels an orgasm mounting inside her, building up gradually from her sexual organs, spreading through her, suffusing her skin.
The man who was fucking her withdraws. She feels his seed matting the thin wisps of her pubic hair. Another man enters. It seems like some eternal punishment, but in her punishment the pleasure is becoming intense. This man fucks her more forcefully, seemingly reaching further inside her, touching the pressure points that will eventually lead to orgasmic release.
And so it goes on. Another man spreads his seed all over her breasts. Two heavy balls are placed in her mouth for her to suck on. She can taste the thick curled hair, and the heavy, rough skin of his scrotum. Her body explodes in orgasm and this propels the man to pull out of her and shoot his juice over the flat of her stomach.
She wants to writhe in her ecstasy, but one cock is replaced by another, and too many hands are holding on to her, holding her down. The pure ecstatic joy of her orgasm shoots through her, another cock is inserted in he
r mouth. She is being fucked steadily by another man.
It seems to last an age. She has lost count of how many men she has already pleasured. Then she is placed back into a prone position and a man enters her from behind. Another one climbs under her haunches. No, surely she thinks, this is not possible as she is entered in both orifices. The initial pain is immense, but recedes to orgiastic pleasure. She feels that she is going to come again. Two cocks buried deep inside her. It is too much for her. She comes again and as she does, a cock shoots juice into her open mouth. The two men still fucking her come, as her muscles clench around their cocks and they shoot their seed deep inside her.
She lies on the table. There is silence again. How long does it last? She doesn't know. She is totally exhausted.
Eventually, and without speaking, the men carry her up the stairs to her room. Without removing her blindfold they lay her on the bed, sponge her body down and then leave her. She wants to run away now. She wants to escape, but she is too tired. She must fight her tiredness. She must leave now. For how long is her ordeal going to last? Maybe this is just the beginning. It is the end of her and Mauro, that's for sure. She no longer cares abort her career in cinema. She no longer cares about anything. She must leave, but it is impossible; she is naked. She removes the blinds, but the room is pitch black. She fumbles to the door but it is locked. She slumps back onto the bed and falls into a deep sleep.
After Anna had finished Lillian looked over to her, amazed by the story she had told.
'So what happened when you woke up?'
'Nothing happened, that was it. My clothes were all there, the door was open. I wasn't going to leave, though, without speaking to Hyde-Lee. I found him in the conservatory. And there, strangely, began our long friendship,' Anna said bitterly, ironically.
'Hyde-Lee has, or had, a lot of charm. He started to speak to me as if nothing had happened, as if I'd dreamt it. I looked at him outraged by his nonchalance. He turned to me and said, "Do you know what your problem is, my dear?" "What's that?" I asked. I still couldn't help being angry with him. "Your problem is that you are not a true submissive, not really. I think your pleasure is probably inflicting pain, not having it inflicted on you." And although I didn't see it at the time, Hyde-Lee was right. He proved it to me. It was partly his perceptive comments - for I had thought about inflicting pain on others before - and partly the fact that I thought Hyde-Lee might be useful for my career that I decided to get to know him. He never explained anything regarding what all that business was about. He fobbed me off by saying that was more Willingham's department, but I never quite believed him.'
'But you know that he was involved?'
'From what I heard I don't think there is much that Jimmy was not involved in. I've told you everything I know. I have been very honest with you. I wouldn't want any of this, anything about what I've told you or anything else that you know about me, to become public property. It really would ruin my career.'
'I don't see just because I tell the story of a man's life why everybody who knew him should suffer. I might repeat the story, but I'll protect you, as best as I can.'
'But you said there is evidence?'
'I lied. If there is any kind of evidence then I will try to find it for you.'
'And destroy it?'
'Of course.'
'You know, Lillian, you frightened me today. I wasn't sure about you at all, or what you wanted from me, but somehow, strangely, and I really do exist in a world where I don't trust anybody, I do somehow feel I can trust you.' Anna's eyes smiled warmly. Lillian wondered whether she was acting, putting on the little girl next door act, the 'butter wouldn't melt' face that Sonia had described.
'I'm glad,' Lillian answered noncommittally, gazing into the lustrous sheen of Anna Bertini's eyes.
After they had parted Lillian went walking around the streets of Rome, starting her tour with a visit to Shelley's House by the Spanish Steps where Keats had died. It made her feel sad to be there, because she remembered her father talking about it at great length after a summer visit. Her father's enthusiasm for Keats's work never waned, not even when he was dying. There was a passage too! Yes, there was a passage from Hyde-Lee's book, his memoir of his wife where the house plays a central role. She could not actually remember what Hyde-Lee had written, only that it had been deeply affecting, partly because the context was so sad.
Not that Hyde-Lee knew it at the time, but the passage described his and his wife's last visit to Rome. He recalled how they stared out of the wood-panelled room onto the Spanish Steps, the tourists drinking their fizzy drinks, eating their hamburgers, the alienation they felt from the crowd, a happy alienation, Hyde-Lee had called it, cocooned as they were by their intimate and enduring love. Three weeks later she was killed in a car crash.
Lillian walked down the Via Condotti in the general direction of the Coliseum, thinking about the conundrum that Hyde-Lee was. How could such a gentle, tender man, such a man who had so dearly cared for his wife be the same rogue that Anna Bertini had described. Hyde-Lee reminded her of her father in so many ways, the general lucidity of his speech, the erudite words trickling off the tongue, the kind and gentle admonition he would lightly bestow on those with which he did not agree.
Could it be that her father was also a Janus, had dark and terrible secrets? She knew that this was always going to be the reason she returned to Forte Dei Marmi. She must find out the truth about him. She must find out everything. She must spend her time here bracing herself for the unpleasant revelations she suspected she was about to discover.
Having turned down the Via Del Corso, she stopped at a café in Pallazio Venettia, which overlooked the gross monument to Vittorio Immanuel, what the locals called 'the typewriter', and the American soldiers had called 'the wedding cake' during the liberation. It was a horrendous piece of fascist art, huge and bold, a work of power, a symbolism of strength. There was something quite frightening about it, and the minds that had created it.
A city was like a person, or vice-versa, she thought to herself. No, multidimensional! There was the delicate carvings, the beautiful serene streets around Travestere, the intricacies of La Pieta and there was this, this terrible ugly monstrosity. We live our lives as if there was some concrete truth, or identity, but there wasn't, there was only incongruence, discrepancy, confusion.
She only needed to look at herself, to think back to the previous night and how she had enjoyed being laid out on that table, been belted and abused by those vulgar boys. How thrilling she had found it, how wonderful. That was part of her too. She could not deny it. She could not deny any aspect of herself, for they all, however distressing it might be for her to understand, formed part of who she was. And what was true of herself might also be true of her father.
From the Pallazio she walked slowly back to her hotel, looking at all the excavations of emperors, the columns, the statues, the flesh cast in stone, life reduced to marble glorification. Is this what Hyde-Lee wanted from her, from this biography?
She saw Everton as soon as entered the foyer, sitting up as straight as he could on a plush leather sofa.
She was terrified by his presence. How did he know she was here? There was something different about his face, an edge of anxiety in the eyes, betraying the usual implacable calm. He stood up nervously and went to greet her. She momentarily froze on the spot.
'Everton, what are you doing here?'
'It's Mr Hyde-Lee.'
'Yes, what about him?'
'You must come. He's dying.'
11: Lord Willingham Punishes Sonia for Her Insolence
Willingham was absolutely furious. On his brother's return, Willingham had been informed that somebody had been through his brother's personal things and that a volume of his secret diaries was missing.
'What diaries?' he said.
'I've been keeping diaries all these years of the things, you know, some of the things we have got up to.'
'You never told me. Why didn't you put
them under lock and key?'
'They were! Well they were in my room. I was in the process of locking them in the safe when I had to go to the hospital.'
'It's the girl, isn't it? Where is she?'
'I don't know.'
'You mean she was left here all alone when you went into the hospital.'
'I didn't have any choice. You were away...'
'I had to go away,' Willingham's voice was getting increasingly loud. 'I had to take the Polish girl back, didn't I?'
'But I left her here with Sonia.'
'Where is Sonia then?'
'Downstairs, I think.'
Willingham stormed out of the room and went to fetch Sonia. He dragged her back three minutes later, pulling her into the room by her raven-black hair.
'What on earth are you doing letting the English girl walk around the house like that?'
'Oh... I didn't, I...'
'But you did, you silly girl!' Willingham flung her across the room, and as he did she lost her balance and landed on the parquet floor.
'Where is she now?'
'I don't know.'
It was obvious to Willingham that the girl was lying. 'I will not have such insubordination in my house, my girl,' he screamed at her, dragging her to her feet by her hair and then pushing her against the back of a black leather sofa. 'Go and fetch the whip!'