'But... but I
thought this was to be a business meeting where I'd sign a
modelling contract,' Julia began, daring to raise her eyes to his
face and drowning in the hypnotic glint of his ink-black
pupils.
'So it is,' he
stated. 'Are you wearing any panties,' he asked suddenly, the
forthright question taking her by surprise.'
'I - um - yes,
I am, but I don't see—'
'Then you are
breaking the rules of my house. You are to wear no panties when in
my presence,' and reacting instantly to the click of his fingers,
the maid lifted her short skirt and bared her beautiful bare
bottom.
'Oh, but I
wasn't told,' Julia said, her wide eyes transfixed by the six
fading parallel welts etched on the girl's lovely pale
buttocks.
'Nonetheless,
you will be punished,' he insisted.
'But, Mr
Gabor, that's not fair,' Julia protested, looking back to him.
'Do you dare
to question my decisions?' he said, then called over his shoulder
without freeing her from his stare. 'Marty, come and meet Julia
Jones, your latest model... You've just earned yourself six lashes,
my dear.'
Things weren't
going as she'd hoped and planned, and Julia felt sick as Marty
Blake appeared.
He took her
hand and led her to the middle of the vault. 'Walk up and down,' he
commanded, scrutinising her closely. 'I watched you last night,
being whipped,' he disclosed, and although she'd suspected as much,
it still made Julia feel even worse to think this arrogant man had
witnessed her public chastisement and humiliation. 'It made me
extremely horny, and it's your very quality of injured innocence
that will appeal to the punters. I recognised it the moment I saw
those first pictures of you - and don't worry; we'll acquire the
negatives from that creep, Comby. He won't be flogging them on the
porn market.
'I see you as
the rising star of the woman's magazines,' he went on. 'Beautiful,
talented, the face of the millennium. And you'll be wearing my
designs, too.'
'I...' Julia
felt she should say something, but didn't know what, and so she
just stood there in the flickering candlelight, the word caught in
her throat, her moist lips slightly parted, as she gazed at each of
them in turn.
'But before
all that,' Gabor broke the tense silence, 'she must be punished, as
I just explained. Take off the offending garment, my dear, bend
over, and grip your ankles.'
It was on the
tip of Julia's tongue to refuse; if the whole scenario wasn't so
alarming it would have been ridiculous, but then she glimpsed
Grace's taut expression and knew there was nothing she could do but
obey. She blessed the shadowy twilight in which they existed, the
candles more discreet than the glare of electricity. But even so,
as she slipped her hands beneath her dress, hooked her thumbs into
her panties and bent over from the waist, easing them down her legs
to her ankles, she was terribly conscious of the soft blue hem
rising up the backs of her thighs, certain that all in the dank
chamber could glimpse a sight of the undercurves of her
buttocks.
Somehow she
just knew she was expected to lift the material higher and fold it
over her hips, and as she did, despite her misgivings, her nipples
were erect and sensitive, and then she waited, holding her breath
and trembling, for the first cut. Somehow it was worse than when
she was bound to that horrible wooden frame, because there was
nothing tangible to stop her from refusing to take her undeserved
punishment... nothing except the inexplicable devotion she now felt
for Vincent Gabor, her bewildering need to be controlled by him,
and her incomprehensible desire to yield to him, body and soul. She
prayed he would be the one to chastise her, not Blake, Grace, or
the other weird creep.
The cellar had
gone eerily quiet, and when the lash finally exploded on her
vulnerable flesh with vicious severity, its crack roused the
echoes. Julia thought she was ready for it, but was unprepared for
the white-hot agony that forced a wail from her throat. The pain
wrapped round her, across her tummy and down into her groin. Before
it had time to settle the whip hissed and bit again, making her
jerk, almost rocking her off her feet. She wanted to scream but
held it back, gripping her ankles till her knuckles drained white
as the pain built in her poor bottom.
Run, her mind
frantically urged. You don't have to endure this.
But that dark
sensual side of her that she was only just discovering insisted she
stay. Vaguely she heard the others through her inner turmoil, and
then wailed a feeble protestation as the cruel whip struck again.
Julia clung to the thought that he had said six strokes, no more.
She cried silently, fighting to hold back the tears that were
squeezing from her tightly shut eyes, not wanting the onlookers to
see them.
Then Gabor
stopped and she felt his hands stroking her ravished buttocks,
caressing the reddened orbs that had taken so much punishment. Fire
radiated through her welts, and she longed for the balm he had used
before.
'Get up,' he
ordered, and groaning, she straightened, feeling weak and dizzy and
distraught. He put a strong arm around her trembling shoulder. 'Are
you feeling it?' he asked. 'Is your bottom stinging?'
'Yes...
intensely,' she gasped, hardly able to speak.
Gabor nodded
and looked pleased. 'I'm pleased to hear it,' he said. 'I think
you'll be a valuable member of our team. Don't you, Marty?'
'I think so,'
Marty Blake concurred. 'But I'd like to test her further, in my own
way...' His eyes glinted hungrily and he leered at her from the
shadows cast by the candles.
'This is my
room whenever I stay overnight,' Marty Blake conversationally told
Julia, as he checked she was properly secured to the four-poster
bed. Her forearms and knees sinking into the soft mattress, she
strained to try and see him over her shoulder. She was naked now,
the blue dress a tiny crumpled heap discarded in one dark corner of
the room.
'What are you
going to do?' she asked timidly. She didn't trust or like Marty
Blake at all, and wished Vincent Gabor was with them, but he'd
dismayed her by permitting his friend to bring her up to the room,
just the two of them.
'Don't worry,
my dear,' he crooned from behind her, 'you'll love it... as I
will.'
He appeared
beside her, naked, climbed onto the bed and shuffled forward on his
knees, his semi-erect penis swaying between his thighs. Without
pausing he gained a grip in her hair, lifted her head, prised open
her mouth with his free fingers, and fed his cock into her
mouth.
'Good girl,'
he grunted. 'Now suck... that's good...' and he started to move her
head back and forth as she obeyed his commands, his swelling
erection stretching her lips wider and wider. 'Ooh,' he croaked,
slipping his fully erect cock from the haven of her warm wet mouth,
'too much of that and I'll miss out on my special treat.'
Blake moved
away, and Julia whimpered as the mattress sank again, this time
between her bound and parted ankles. He edged forward. His erection
bobbed against the back of her thigh and then her buttock, leaving
a sticky emission there, and she buried her face in the silk
coverlet, defeated and waiting for the man to take his pleasure
from her body. Deep down she'd always known her undercover work
made this very happening highly likely, and she'd succumbed to
Vincent Gabor quite contentedly, but Marty Blake was a different
animal altogether.
He leaned over
her, covering her back, his penis lodging itself between her
buttocks. 'Have you ever been fucked in the arse, my dear?' he
whispered harshly in her ear. 'I know you were a virgin until Vince
got his hands on you, but what about your arse?'
Julia was
stunned, her stomach knotting with horror. 'N-no,' she blurted.
'No, I haven't!'
'Oh good,' he
gloated, anointing his penis in the juices that were seeping from
her traitorous sex. 'Then your virgin arse will be my little treat
to myself,' he sniggered, and licked her cheek, leaving it horribly
wet with his saliva.
'But -
aaahhh...' Julia's protest faded as Blake stabbed expertly with his
hips and lodged the lubricated and swollen tip of his cock just
inside the tight muscle of her anus. The shock forced the air from
her lungs and her back arched, making her breasts and erect nipples
available for his groping hand. She tried to rock forward, but he
followed until she was sandwiched between the enveloping mattress
and him. Then he raised himself on straightened arms, his weight on
his hands and knees, the tip of his cock the only contact between
them, and gazed down at her lustrous hair, the beautiful curves of
her shoulders, back and hips, and the soft buttocks moulded around
his spear of an erection, which disappeared into the deep valley
between them.
'I... I don't
think I can...' she mumbled, almost incoherently, into the
mattress. 'Don't make me... not that way...'
'But you are,
dear Julia,' he gloried. 'Now, be quiet and enjoy...'
As Marty
Blake's hips sank Julia clutched the coverlet desperately. The pain
was intense, but as his hairy groin nestled down against her
buttocks and her bottom was fully impaled, it rapidly eased and
transformed into undeniable pleasure. He paused for a moment,
allowing her to get accustomed to the new sensation, and savouring
the tightness of her virgin rear passage, not wanting to spill his
seed too soon and deny himself such sublime delight.
'That's very
nice, my dear,' he grunted. 'You're a natural, and no mistake.' And
then he started to move, just his hips, nothing more, the muscles
of his arms knotted as they took his weight.
Julia moaned
feeble protests, her head rolling from side to side on the bed, and
then, very slowly, she began to lift her bottom, tentatively
meeting his thrusts.
'Good girl,' he gasped. 'I told you you'd love it.
Hell
, you're so lovely and
tight!'
His crude
words suddenly triggered something inside her, spurring her on.
'Don't stop,' she sobbed desperately, her orgasm upon her. 'Please
don't stop!' and as she shuddered in blissful release Blake
grunted, stabbed aggressively with his hips, and came deep in her
clutching bottom.
The pace was hotting up. Marty's collection was to be shown at
Mayfair's prestigious
Majestic Hotel
in a week's time. Tickets were on sale, the
proceeds to go to charity.
Julia spent
most of her days and much of her evenings rehearsing in Gabor's
penthouse. Roberta was at a high pitch of tension that transferred
itself to the models. He and Kevin were always getting at each
other, two bitchy queens who were jealous as hell. If Blake gave
one too much attention, the other threw a tantrum.
'It's fun, but
exhausting,' Julia said to Arlene over coffee in a corner café
where they had paused for a rest between browsing in boutiques and
charity shops. It was Saturday and they were catching up on
themselves, doing the mundane chores like food shopping, washing
and cleaning house.
'Have you seen
anything that looks like my work?' Arlene asked anxiously, her hair
coiled up and kept in place by fancy plastic clips.
Julia knew her
friend's anger wouldn't be appeased until justice had been done.
She'd lived with her long enough to be aware of the paranoia that
existed amongst designers. Terms like copying, templates and
ripping off, underpinned Arlene's conversations. 'Not yet, but I'm
not called to be in every session,' she said. 'I know Blake's
planning something special, which is strictly under wraps.
'I know what
you're thinking,' Arlene said, scowling through a haze of cigarette
smoke, so strung out that any attempt at giving up on nicotine had
gone to the wall. 'For every designer having a successful season,
there's a rival convinced that his or her idea, style or whatever,
has been hi-jacked. But I don't care. This isn't the case with me,
and Marty Blake won't get away with it, the bastard.'
Julia looked
longingly at the counter where, under little glass domes, a
selection of iced cakes, gateaux piped with cream and crumbly
pastries beckoned. She had to refuse their seduction. At this stage
in the preparations Roberta would go berserk if any of the girls
put on as much as an ounce.
'I'm doing my
best to trap him, but it's not easy,' she told her friend. 'He has
his special people about him and no one can get through if they're
not meant to.'
'I hope you
are doing your best, darling. I'm not talking counterfeit T-shirts
here; those items that were stolen from me were my babies, my hope
for the future. He had no right - no right at all to take them.'
Arlene glared balefully at her coffee. 'And if I ever catch him
out, then he won't know what's hit him.'
'You'll report
him to the police?'
'Oh, no,'
Arlene mused slowly. 'I have my own way of dealing with Mr Marty
Blake. Leave that part of it to me. But first I need proof. Can't
you get close to him?'
'It's difficult, Arlene. I
am
doing my best, but he's so aloof.'
'I know, I
know,' Arlene said quickly, knowing it was unfair to badger her
friend, who was doing her best, she knew. 'Come on, we've still got
the crush at the supermarket to negotiate,' and she finished off
her coffee and stubbed out her cigarette in the foil ashtray that
had been grudgingly provided by a waiter.
Julia was
saddened by the bleak look in her friend's eyes and, having now met
and experienced Marty Blake, could understand how much he had upset
her. He was too handsome for his own good, and despite his
unscrupulous tendencies, Arlene had admitted to fancying him
something rotten.