Katie's
costume appeared ordinary enough, at first glance. She was wearing
sports gear: a tiny white skirt, suitable for tennis, except that
every time she moved it was to display her naked beneath. Her top
was tiny, a mere strip of jersey cotton stretched over her breasts,
and to complete the picture, her coltish honey-brown legs ended in
white ankle socks and trainers.
There was a
general buzz of approval when they walked onto the stage. They
postured and preened, and while they entertained, two stagehands
quietly manoeuvred a wooden triangular frame - one angle at the
bottom, the other two at head height - to the back of the stage.
And then Roberta, wearing a spangled, figure-hugging gown, a pink
feather boa and a ringletted, platinum blonde wig, stepped to the
fore.
'Now for the high spot of the evening, gentleman,' he
announced, flanked by the beautiful girls. 'The
pièce de résistance
. We're about to
present Julia, our very own virgin bride. Yes, gentlemen, I tell
you no lies. She truly is a virgin - our sacrificial
virgin.'
Julia didn't
like the sound of that at all. Her stomach knotted with
trepidation, and she was on the verge of bolting when Gina and
Vesta grabbed her arms and pulled her into the unremitting glare of
the spotlights. None of this had been rehearsed. 'Wh-what are you
doing?' Julia whispered frantically. She could see nothing in
detail beyond the lights, the auditorium black, cigarette and cigar
smoke drifting in layers above the shadows that sat there -
watching.
'Just be quiet
and don't resist,' Gina hissed, and the two girls moved her to the
front of the stage, where she stood, in full few of everyone. This
was a show put on for fashion buyers? Somehow Julia doubted it. She
was on to something more than the theft of her friend's designs
here.
Gina lifted
the veil, laying it back over Julia's hair, to general murmurs of
approval from the inky shadows.
Roberta tossed
his shimmering mane and snapped his fingers at Gina, who held
Julia's forearms while Vesta snapped two metal bands to her wrists.
Roberta snapped his fingers again and the macabre wooden crosspiece
was trundled forward and positioned precisely in front of Julia,
who stared at it, eyes wide with dismay.
Chains hung
from the cuffs, and as Julia stood aghast at the scene that was
unfolding - with her as the main attraction - Gina and Vesta lifted
her arms and attached the chains to the crosspiece of the
triangular frame, pressing Julia's cheek to its smoothly polished
surface in doing so. Her ankles were gripped, forced apart and
fastened with two more metal bands and chains that, in turn, were
fed through iron rings at the base of the wooden structure. She was
at their mercy, arms strained out to the sides at head level, her
ankles parted wide and also secured. It was uncomfortable, her arm
muscles already beginning to ache, and the cross felt somewhat
unstable, cunningly contrived so that it was rooted in a
turntable.
Somebody was
close, pressing against her back, and without opening her eyes
Julia knew it was Vincent Gabor. He was there behind her; she knew
it, could sense it, and instinctively accepted that it was he who
was to lead her through the ordeal. She could feel him, erect
against her buttocks, even through his trousers and the material of
her dress, and she instinctively eased back a fraction against it.
For some reason, despite the horror of her situation, she wanted
him; yearned for his mastery.
'Shall I take
your virginity like this?' he whispered, his dark velvet voice
filling her head. 'Here, in front of all these people? Or later, in
private?'
'I...'
'Whatever I
decide,' he went on, so quietly she could barely hear him, 'you
must be chastised first. You know that, my dear, don't you?'
'I... why?'
she managed, choking back the sobs that threatened to overwhelm
her. 'What have I done wrong? Why would you punish me?'
'Because you
need it,' he murmured enigmatically, and then withdrew, leaving
her, eyes closed and holding her breath with apprehension... and
inexplicable excitement.
Strong hands
lifted the skirt of her dress and fixed it just above her waist,
and then he moved away, leaving a chill where his warm body had
been. The onlookers waited with a menacing, brooding, quiet. The
music was no more. The cross was slowly turned, until it faced the
back of the stage. Roberta was there, one hand on hip, one leg
thrust out through the slit in his dress. Grace was with him, an
austere figure in black. Their unblinking eyes were fixed on Julia,
pinning her as effectively as the chains that held her to the
odious frame.
Through her
anxiety and confusion Julia was vaguely conscious of a stirring in
the air behind her - not so much a sound, as a breath of
movement... and it was followed by a searing explosion of agony.
Too shocked to cry out, she convulsed against her bonds. Vincent
Gabor had laid the lash low, deliberately catching her in the
crease between toned buttock and thigh, and before she could
recover a second blow bit mercilessly, placed an inch higher than
the first. This time a howl was wrenched from her lips. Her
buttocks were bathed in fire, the heat spreading down through her
loins and up to her breasts, her clit and nipples echoing the pain,
but on the brink of twisted pleasure, too.
Julia's world
shrunk to that moment, as though she and Gabor were in the eye of a
hurricane and everyone else had vanished. Alone, just the two of
them, the teacher and his pupil, the master and his slave. And for
some bizarre reason she would have had it no other way, even when
the whip bit into her flesh again, and again, and again. She
embraced the crosspiece, welcoming its solid support, nearly
fainting as she slumped there feeling the drag on her wrists and
the discomfort of her ankles, and the breathtaking pain of the
brands Gabor had whipped into her as surely as if he'd used a hot
iron. They would fade physically, but their marks would remain
imprinted on her soul for all eternity...
Julia was
vaguely aware of hands freeing her from the frame and someone - she
knew it was Vincent Gabor - carrying her away from the scene of her
cruel ordeal.
Now she was
somewhere quiet, too drained and bewildered to open her eyes, but
feeling a soft mattress under her, as he laid her on her front. An
astringent coolness laved her stripes, taking away the heat, and he
was spreading lotion over her buttocks, massaging it in, his hands
gentle - hands that, a short time ago, had brandished the whip,
punishing her most cruelly. He was an enigma, and she was
intrigued, falling ever deeper under his spell.
She dared to
open her eyes, squinting sideways, her tearstained cheek pressed
into a satin pillow. The light was subdued, but she glimpsed a
carved bedhead and, to one side, drapes pulled across the windows.
Of course, it would be dark outside by now. She had been in the
penthouse suite for hours. Would Arlene be worried and send out a
search party, headed by Will? For some inexplicable reason, she
rather hoped not. She and Vincent Gabor had unfinished
business.
'You took your
introduction to pain very well, my dear,' she heard him say, and
felt his hands lightly working the balm into her skin. 'Don't
worry. This is a secret prescription made up for me by a Chinese
doctor. The welts and bruises will fade in a day or two.'
He rolled her
over. The finest linen caressed her tender rear, and she smelt the
aroma of herbs and spices, oils and incense. It was pungent, almost
narcotic, and she relaxed, wanting never to leave this place.
Vincent Gabor sat on the side of the bed, smoothing her hair back
from her flushed forehead and looking deeply into her eyes. The
throbbing of her bottom receded, the ointment working as he
promised. He lifted a glass of wine from the nearby bedside
cabinet, supported her while she sat up a little, and she drank
gratefully. It was red and full-bodied, and delicious.
When she'd
finished he replaced the glass, then gently and skilfully removed
her clothes. Feeling too lethargic to utter a sound or move a
muscle, Julia watched him, the wine making her a little woozy. In
her investigative mind she wondered dreamily if he'd added anything
to it, but no longer cared, content to be gazing up at a very
powerful and very attractive man.
Then he stood
and, without taking his steely eyes from her supine form, started
to undress himself.
The evening
jacket came off, and the crisp white shirt was unbuttoned and
tugged from his waistband. He had the body of an athlete, kept in
superb condition by regular training. Broad shoulders tapered to a
narrow waist, and his skin was copper-brown. He was hirsute, but
not unpleasantly so, chest furred, arms as well, but not on his
back or shoulders. Julia was glad of that; hairy men were not her
favourite.
His shoes and
socks were slipped off, his trousers unfastened and lowered over
his trim hips and down his muscled legs, before being discarded
where they fell in a crumpled heap. Now he wore nothing but the
briefest of pouches, the front weighted by the size and hardness of
his tumescent penis.
Julia propped
herself up on one elbow, the better to see him, and a dart of
desire pierced her to the womb. Thumbs hooked into the brief
garment, eased down, and his manhood sprang from its snug den,
thrusting potently towards her. Brown-skinned and veined, it curved
upwards with no foreskin to protect the swollen twin lobes of his
glans. He let her look for a while, and then knelt on the bed,
looming over her.
His face
lowered towards hers and then her took possession of her mouth, his
tongue performing a dance of desire with hers. She moaned against
his lips, and heaved her body up so that her naked breasts met his
softly pelted chest. His kiss was perfect. She'd never known
anything like it, aching with longing, her nipples peaks of
passion, and her clitoris hard and needy.
He raised his
head and swept a hand down over her breasts, her tensed tummy, and
down between her thighs. He found her clitoris and teased it, then
dipped into her entrance, testing it with two fingers. She wriggled
against the invasion, wanting more.
'Oh, yes...
please,' she gasped, the discomfort in her buttocks augmenting the
pleasure as he took her to the heights with all the skill of an
experienced lover, carrying her upwards on liquid wings until her
orgasm peaked and shattered.
He eased his
knees between her limp thighs and she felt his cock nudging at her.
She wanted it, hooked her legs around his waist and pulled him in
closer. Her hands slipped up and down the sinews of his arms, her
nails dug into his back, and he rocked against her, then thrust
hard, his cock slicing into her enveloping depths. She felt her
membrane resisting and the pain was intense. She closed her eyes
and bit her lip, sobbing, but not prepared to let the moment slip
away. He thrust harder, pushing his cock with his lithe hips. There
was a moment's pause and then he prevailed, sinking into her.
She whimpered,
her stripes and her plundered vagina combining in pain. She was
overwhelmed, his huge penis stretching her narrow channel, the
bulbous tip butting harshly against her cervix.
'You're too
big...' she moaned.
'Don't be
silly,' he grunted, moving more rapidly, dragging his cock out then
plunging back in again.
And,
gradually, the pain melted into a dull ache that turned into utter
pleasure as his pubic bone ground against her clitoris and she felt
his heavy balls brushing the insides of her thighs. He was moving
in a steady tempo and without conscious thought, and she kept up
with it, tightening her legs around him, wanting more, embracing
the size and girth of his shaft. She could feel the sweet
beginnings of another orgasm. She had never known such ecstasy, the
feel of his cock inside her an awesome sensation, until she wanted
to remain linked with him forever, her life dedicated to his
service.
And Vincent
Gabor was showing great passion and a need that matched hers. She
revelled in the feel of him, the smell of him, the joy of that
rigid muscle pistoning inside her, and she didn't care when
suddenly all gentleness was gone. He took his pleasure ruthlessly,
and his roughness excited her unbearably. She squeezed even tighter
with her legs, wanting to get closer and closer, even if it meant
he speared her to the heart.
She sobbed
into his mouth as her crisis came, sending fiery arrows throughout
her writhing body. He gave a harsh bark and stiffened, head back,
body arched, and she felt the heat of his seed erupting deep inside
her.
Julia gave a
deep contented sigh, happy to be crushed beneath him, his face
buried against her throat, his rasping breath gradually returning
to normal.
Then he raised
himself, resting on his elbows and staring down into her face, his
spent penis slipping from between her legs. 'Now you know what it's
all about,' he said casually.
'Can... can I
stay with you tonight?' she asked carefully, sensing him becoming
distant, making her feel cold and empty.
'No, I've
business to attend to,' he said dismissively. 'But I will see you
tomorrow; we have much to discuss, and a contract to be drafted and
signed.'
'And?' Will
pressed.
'And what?'
Julia responded, and he didn't much care for her defensive
tone.
'And, aren't
you going to tell me what's going on?'
He hated being
hard on her; he was nothing like as tough has he liked to portray.
This lovely girl with the big round eyes that could change from
blue to violet according to her mood had really got to him. He'd
even had a furious row with that sleazebag George, who'd been
angling to sell the nude pictures of her to a porn magazine.