Sinful Seduction (22 page)

‘What's that for?' Maggie asked nervously.

Mrs Wilkes raised her eyebrows. ‘To bind your breasts, of course,' she said. ‘Flatten you out a bit.'

‘But... but won't the gentleman who...' she paused, barely able to say the words, ‘...who buys me, suspect something?'

‘Mrs Wilkes laughed coarsely. ‘Don't you worry, my girl. By the time he gets the clothes off your back he'll be too far gone to notice if you had tits like a sow.' She snapped her fingers. ‘Come on, Millie, don't just stand there. Give me a hand.'

Between them they wrapped the bindings so tightly that Maggie's breasts were squashed flat and she could scarcely breathe. Once that was done, they slipped a lace-edged chemise over the top. White stockings and frilly pantaloons followed, then finally the short white dress, complete with wide blue sash around the waist - and a pair of black patent leather shoes with a strap that buttoned over the instep.

Next, Mrs Wilkes rummaged in the bottom of the bag and produced a pair of curling tongs. ‘Stick those in the coals,' she told Millie, handing them over. ‘We'll get her hair brushed while they're heating.' She then pushed Maggie into the chair in front of the mirror and began to brush her hair until it gleamed.

Satisfied, she clicked her fingers again and Millie gingerly handed over the tongs. Mrs Wilkes spat on them to check they were hot enough, then deftly transformed Maggie's hair into a mass of ringlets and topped it with a little straw boater with a ribbon that matched the sash.

Stepping back she admired her handiwork and smiled. ‘There,' she chuckled. ‘You look as if butter wouldn't melt in your mouth. Now stand up and look at yourself. Who could possibly resist such a charmingly innocent creature?'

Maggie stared at her reflection in disbelief and shuddered. What kind of inhuman scoundrel would pay to ravage such innocence - even if it was merely a façade?

She was soon to find out.

‘Come along then,' ordered Mrs Wilkes. ‘Your eager suitors await you.' Trembling, Maggie hung back, and the wicked old harridan gave her an evil grin. ‘Or would you prefer Jebediah and Arthur to “escort” you? I am sure it would add a little frisson to the gentlemen's pleasure if you were to be dragged in kicking and screaming.' Maggie bit her lip and shook her head. There was no way she would give them the satisfaction of seeing her any more humiliated than she already was. ‘Well then,' Mrs Wilkes continued, ‘follow me and no more of this nonsense.' Turning on her heel she sailed from the room with Maggie stumbling reluctantly in her wake.

She could hear the so-called ‘gentlemen' before they even reached the salon. The jeers and catcalls and coarse laughter made her cringe inside. They sounded like a pack of wild animals baying for blood. Her blood!

Mrs Wilkes pushed the door open. Silence fell for a moment as they entered - then the noise redoubled as they caught sight of Maggie. Ignoring it all, Mrs Wilkes led her to a chair on a dias at the front of the room and took her place at a lectern beside it. Surveying the room, she picked up a gavel and banged it on the lectern. Silence fell for the second time.

‘Good evening, gentlemen,' she began. ‘And welcome to the auction. I trust you will enjoy yourselves.' A few hoots were instantly quelled by her cold smile. She waved her gavel at Maggie. ‘Here we have tonight's prize - as sweet a young virgin as ever I saw in all my years as mistress of this house.' She gave a lewd smile. ‘The gentleman who has the privilege of breaking in this little treasure will be a lucky man - the envy of his peers.' She smiled round. ‘Now who will it be, I wonder?'

‘Let's have a feel of the merchandise first,' bellowed a man at the front. Grinning, he made a lunge towards Maggie and she shrank back in terror.

‘Naughty, naughty!' said Mrs Wilkes, sternly wagging a finger at him until he subsided. ‘Untouched she is, and untouched she shall remain until her lucky purchaser deflowers her.' She looked round. ‘Now, do I have any bids?'

‘Ten guineas!' called a voice from the back, and Maggie stared in dismay at the man who had spoken. Grossly fat, his sweaty red face showed years of self-indulgence. He eyed her greedily and she groaned inwardly as she imagined that bloated body thrusting into her own. Dear God, please don't let him be the winner!

Thankfully Mrs Wilkes was not impressed. ‘Ten guineas?' she smiled, raising her eyebrows. ‘For a gem like this? Come now, Sir Oswald, you've wagered more than that on a hand of cards.'

‘Twenty!' yelled another, and Maggie's eyes searched the room until she found the caller. It was difficult. A scrawny runt of a man, he could barely have come up to her shoulder. She drew in a shuddering breath as she recognised him as the one she'd watched through the peephole, beating that unfortunate girl. She closed her eyes. If he won, she would be the one spreadeagled as he took his vile pleasures on her helpless body.

As if the first two callers had released the floodgates, bids began to come fast and furious, from all corners of the room. Maggie's eyes darted frantically from face to face, trying to keep up, but it was impossible. They all blended into one nightmare entity. Wet, cawing mouths opened and closed as the bids were called and the price mounted.

Gradually they began to drop off as the cost soared beyond the pockets of most of those present. ‘One hundred and fifty guineas,' said Mrs Wilkes with satisfaction. ‘Do I hear two hundred?'

‘Two hundred,' agreed a man in the second row.

‘Do I hear two hundred and fifty?' asked Mrs Wilkes. She looked round enquiringly. ‘Come, come gentlemen. A mere two hundred and fifty guineas for the pleasure of deflowering this lovely virgin? Cheap at twice the price.' She waited expectantly, but there were no further bids.

Maggie breathed a sigh of relief as she looked at the man who had purchased her. He might be the best of a bad bunch, but at least he was young and neither grossly fat or horrendously ugly. The ordeal of her ‘defloration' might not be enjoyable, but at least it would be bearable.

Mrs Wilkes raised her gavel. ‘One prime young virgin, sold to Lord Harris for two hundred guineas. Going once... Going twice... So...'

‘Five hundred,' a voice called casually from the back.

There was a gasp from the room and all eyes turned towards the door. A tall bony figure stood there, leaning on a cane. Maggie stared in horror. He looked like a living skeleton that had just been dug up from a tomb! His raddled face was like a canvas on which some mad artist had depicted all that was depraved in humanity. But it was his eyes that were the worst; they glinted with cruel life as if denying the ravages of time.

Even Mrs Wilkes was flustered.

‘F-five hundred guineas?' she repeated in disbelief, but then a satisfied smile crossed her face at the magnitude of the bid. She raised her gavel again. ‘One prime young virgin,' she repeated triumphantly. ‘Sold to Lord Anston for the sum of five hundred guineas. Going once... Going twice... Sold!'

Maggie stared at the man in horror as the words penetrated her befuddled brain. Lord Anston? Wasn't he the one Millie had refused to talk about? The one who'd been responsible for confining her to her bed for three days?

‘No...' she said quietly, shaking her head in denial as she stumbled to her feet. ‘Please... no!'

The room whirled round her for a moment - then everything went dark as she crumpled to the floor in a dead faint.

 

 

 

When she came to the first thing that met her eyes was a pale, helpless girl, floating upside down above her on a silk-covered bed. For a moment she thought she'd gone mad. Her mind whirled madly as it fought to make sense of what she was seeing - until it finally dawned on her that she was looking at her own reflection in a mirror on the ceiling. She became even more confused. Why would anyone want to put a mirror there?

Then the events of the last few hours rushed back and the question was pushed out of her mind by more important considerations. Sitting up with a start, she stared around wildly. Where was she - and even more to the point, where was Lord Anston?

The room appeared to be empty and she relaxed and began to take in her surroundings. She gasped. The predominant colour was scarlet. Scarlet silk hangings draped the windows. Scarlet turkey carpet covered the floors. Scarlet satin cushions covered the scarlet velvet sofa in the corner. It was like being inside some monstrous womb.

The reflection in the overhead mirror drew her eyes with dreadful fascination and she shuddered again; she lay upon the blood-coloured bedspread like a sacrifice on some pagan altar, her slender figure shockingly white against the scarlet silk.

Just then a figure loomed out of the darkness and she cringed back - then sighed with relief as she realised it was only Millie.

‘About time too,' she said, looking down at Maggie. ‘I thought you were going to lie there like a dead ‘un till kingdom come. Mind you,' she went on judiciously, ‘that was a smart trick you pulled. I couldn't have done it better meself.'

‘Trick?' Maggie echoed. ‘What do you mean?'

‘Conking out like that,' said Millie, and she winked. ‘Nothing quite like a fit of the vapours to convince the punters of your maidenly modesty.' She pulled a wry face. ‘Shame you hadn't thought of it before the bidding started. It'd have shoved the price up no end.'

At the mention of the bidding Maggie looked round and shuddered. ‘Where's Lord Anston?' she gasped.

Millie shrugged. ‘Knocking back the booze and bragging to his cronies about what a stud he is, no doubt. Why, you ain't panting for him to come and claim his rights, are you?'

‘Oh no,' Maggie said fervently. ‘I wouldn't care if he dropped dead right now.' She shivered. ‘In fact, I wish he would.'

‘Wouldn't we all,' Millie said bitterly. ‘Vicious bastard.' She rubbed the fading bruises on her arms. ‘God knows, most of them as comes through that front door are bad enough, but he's the worst. Half the girls in this house would pay a year's money to piss on the fucker's grave.'

She looked at Maggie's white face and softened. ‘Sorry, love, didn't mean ter frighten yer. It's bad, but it don't last forever.' Her lips twisted. ‘Remember what I told yer before; just close yer eyes and think of England.'

‘But I don't understand,' wailed Maggie. ‘Why is he so cruel? What pleasure does he get out of it?'

‘The only pleasure he can,' said Millie with a coarse laugh. ‘Ain't it a pisser? There he is, the lord of bleedin' creation; money, land, a title - and every street corner bullyboy without two ha'pennies to rub together is a better man than he is. Makes you think there's a God after all, don't it?'

Maggie stared at her in total incomprehension. ‘What do you mean?' she quavered.

‘You really are an innocent, ain'tcher?' scoffed Millie. ‘What do you think I mean? The bastard can't get it up, that's what!' She held up her hand, quirked her little finger downwards and cackled gleefully. ‘He's got a limp noodle. His John Thomas don't work!' She cackled again. ‘Poor bugger. He's that desperate, if it ever stood he'd starch it!'

Her fit of laughter vanished as soon as it had come. ‘Only trouble is,' she said grimly, ‘he takes it out on us, don't he?' She snorted. ‘Can't be his fault, can it? Gotta be ours then. And my gawd, he don't half make you pay for it.'

‘What does he do?' asked Maggie, terrified of knowing but even more terrified of not knowing.

‘Whatever he bleeding well likes,' said Millie cynically. ‘He's paid for yer, ain't he? Got ter get his money's worth.'

Maggie buried her head in her hands. ‘Oh,' she moaned, ‘how will I ever bear it?'

Millie patted her shoulder. ‘Same way as I do, love.' She grinned as she produced the bottle of brandy. ‘Didn't think I'd let yer down, did yer? I brought a little something to help dull the pain.' She grimaced. ‘Tastes like liquid shit, but drink enough of it and yer won't even notice what the bastard's doing to yer.'

Maggie reached for it gratefully, and the bottle was halfway to her lips when the door burst open and Mrs Wilkes flew in like a whirlwind. ‘Give that to me this instant,' she snapped, grabbing it from Maggie's fingers. ‘How dare you? Lord Anston paid for an innocent virgin, not some drunken trollop! I have a reputation to maintain.' She spun round to Millie. ‘As for you, my lady,' she snarled, ‘one more act of defiance and you'll be out on your ear so fast it'll make your head spin.' Her lip curled in a sneer. ‘You won't be quite so headstrong when you're on your knees down the docks, sucking Lascar cocks for fourpence a throw! You can say goodbye to your little hat shop then!'

Cowed, Millie slunk from the room, leaving Maggie alone with Mrs Wilkes. ‘That's better,' she said, straightening her black silk apron. ‘You're a privileged girl, so let's have no more of this silly nonsense.' She looked Maggie over calculatingly. ‘Come along now, sit up straight, brush your hair and tidy your frock. Lord Anston will be here any minute and we want you looking your best for him.'