Sinful Seduction (19 page)

Maggie's eyes widened in shock as she realised that her ordeal was not yet over. As she watched helplessly, he stripped to reveal a barrel chest, thick thighs and an incipient paunch, beneath which poked a rigid prick, as stubby and thickset as the rest of him.

‘Arthur used to be a bare-knuckle fighter, you know,' Mrs Wilkes said conversationally, and then gave a ladylike titter. ‘And I'm afraid his tastes are still a trifle vulgar.'

Maggie stared at the other woman. What on earth did she mean? She was soon to find out.

Grinning wolfishly, he leaned over and groped her breasts, squeezing and mauling her already tender nipples so roughly that she groaned. His hands then went lower and for a few minutes he entertained himself plundering her swollen vulva, still wet and sticky from Jebediah's seed. Maggie was just resigning herself to being ravished again when he suddenly flipped her over onto her belly as easily as a stranded fish. The movement made the cloth that held her wrists tighten further, trapping her even more. She twisted her neck to crane fearfully over her shoulder. What was he going to do?

In answer he wrenched the pillow from beneath her head, folded it in half and thrust it beneath her stomach so that her bottom lifted beautifully into the musky air. But instead of plunging into her vulnerable wet sex, he gripped the rosy cheeks and pulled them apart to reveal the puckered pink O of her anus.

‘Nooooo!' she wailed, stiffening in horror as it dawned on her what he was about to do. Then her wail became a shriek as he shoved his fingers roughly inside her again, coating them with her own juices, before forcing one into her arse. She squirmed as it slid slowly inside her, and the movement rubbed her breasts against the rough cotton of the sheets, exacerbating the tenderness of her swollen nipples. She groaned again, pain and pleasure mingling in exquisite torment as the probing finger awoke a host of new sensations in her weary body.

Satisfied, he withdrew it and rubbed his cock till it stood out like a rod of iron, its throbbing purple head glistening wetly. A bead of moisture leaked, showing his readiness. She whimpered again as he pushed against her and she felt her anus opening beneath the insistent pressure, then she sobbed as it gave and the whole length of his thick, stiff prick slid into her bottom.

It was as if a red-hot poker was impaling her. She writhed helplessly, her squirming serving only to excite him further. She mumbled incoherently as he began to pump his hips, grinding her breasts against the sheets, his balls slapping against her wet labia with every shunt. One hand slid beneath her to toy with her clitoris as he rutted against her, his humid groin grinding against her spanked buttocks, and she whined as a delicious heat filled her belly.

Forgetting herself once again, Maggie instinctively began to push back, meeting each thrust with one of her own as he heaved in and out of her, forcing him even deeper. He gave one final, convulsive lunge and she felt his cock jerk and spasm as his boiling seed erupted, and she moaned helplessly as a second orgasm shook her sweating body, then slumped weeping as he pulled away...

Maggie buried her head in shame. Her treacherous body had betrayed her, and the horrible old woman had triumphed again.

And she knew it too.

‘I take it you have come to your senses,' she said smugly. ‘Or do we have to repeat this lesson until you do?' She smiled. ‘I'm sure Arthur and Jebediah would be delighted to continue your instruction - and there are avenues we haven't even begun to explore yet.'

Maggie shuddered. Lifting her tearstained face she stared at the gloating woman. ‘You win,' she said dully.

‘Excellent, my dear,' she smiled. ‘I knew you'd see things my way eventually. What a pity we had to go through all this nonsense first.' She waved a hand at the two men. ‘Off you go, boys. I shan't be needing you again - for the moment, anyway.'

‘Now,' she went on briskly, leaning over to undo Maggie's bonds. ‘We'll just untie these silly knots and you can get yourself tidy again. I'll send someone with fresh clothes and something to eat. We don't want you fading away now, do we? Our gentlemen like a nice shapely figure.' She bustled out, leaving Maggie staring after her. On the threshold she paused and smiled again. ‘I'm sure you'll make an excellent strumpet, my dear.' She flung her parting barb, ‘You seem to take a real pleasure in your work.'

The door banged shut behind her and Maggie sat up rubbing her wrists where the bonds had chafed her skin. As the full horror of her future overwhelmed her she bowed her head and began to sob once more. If she ever saw Jeremy again, he would want nothing to do with her.

Not now she was a whore.

 

 

 

Maggie lay for what seemed like hours, staring blankly at the ceiling as the light slowly dimmed and day turned into evening. Sick at heart she did not even feel the lack of food or drink, and when the key turned in the lock again she barely had the strength to rouse herself. What could they do to her that had not already been done?

‘Come on, lazybones,' said Millie, putting down the bundle of clothes she was carrying and looking down at her friend, hands on hips. ‘You can't lie there, like a lady. Mrs Wilkes wants you downstairs.'

A wave of apprehension washed Maggie's lethargy away. ‘She... she doesn't want me to start...' she could barely bring herself to say it ‘...work... already?' she asked fearfully.

Millie shook her head. ‘Keep your hair on,' she grinned. ‘This ain't a tuppenny knocking shop. This is a high-class house. Take a look at yourself; you ain't fit to be seen in polite company just yet.'

Maggie examined her body for the first time since... it... had happened. She was a mess, and her wrists were still marked where she'd been bound and where rough hands had seized her.

‘Can't have you attending the gentlemen looking like you'd been pulled through a hedge backwards,' Millie went on. ‘They likes their young ladies lily-white and as pure as the driven snow.' Her lips twisted in a bitter smile. ‘Any marks on yer, they likes to put there themselves.'

She sat down beside Maggie and patted her hand sympathetically. ‘Bad, was it?' Maggie nodded and bit her lip. She'd managed to bear up so far, but Millie's unexpected kindness brought the tears to her eyes. ‘Never mind, love, it's over now,' Millie went on. ‘You're like me. One of life's survivors.' Her eyes took on a faraway look. ‘Not like some. I remember one girl,' she said softly. ‘Pretty little thing. Vicar's daughter, or summat. Couldn't take it.' She shivered. ‘Came up here afterwards and found her dangling, dead as a doornail. Tore the sheets into strips, tied them together and topped herself, poor gel.'

She shook the memory away. ‘Cheerful bloody cow, ain't I?' she said, with forced brightness. ‘But you and me ain't like that. We'll get through it and have the last laugh, just you see if we don't.' She picked up the clothes and dumped them on the bed. ‘Now, shake a leg and get this lot on. Once you're dressed we'll go down and you can meet the other girls.'

Maggie swung her legs stiffly over the side of the bed, every bone in her body aching. Reluctantly she picked up the clothes, but they were not what she expected. Instead of the gaudy silks and satins Millie wore, there was a pair of plain cotton pantaloons, a threadbare chemise, and a voluminous brown dress at least two sizes too big. She held it up, looked at Millie and raised a quizzical eyebrow. ‘The gentlemen ain't going to see you, so it don't matter what you look like,' Millie explained, and then chuckled. ‘You could stick the coal-scuttle on your head for all old Ma Wilkes'd care - so long as it don't cost her anything.' She nudged Maggie with an impatient elbow. ‘Come on, girl, get a bleedin' move on. If you don't hurry up the girls'll have started working.'

Obediently Maggie put on the shabby underwear, slipped the brown dress down over her shoulders, and was promptly drowned by it. There was a brief moment of stunned disbelief as the girls looked at one another, then they both burst into hysterical giggles.

‘Christ, you look a proper fright!' crowed Millie, wiping tears of mirth from her eyes. ‘Talk about bleedin' Aunt Sally! That ain't a dress, it's a bloomin' marquee! Last time I seen something like that was the living skeleton at the Whitsunday fair.'

Maggie minced round the room with her nose in the air, holding up the skirts to stop herself tripping over them.

‘Stoppit! I'm gonna wet me drawers!' wheezed Millie. ‘Or I would if I was wearing any!' She grabbed Maggie's hand and dragged her towards the door. ‘Come on downstairs; the girls have gotta see this.'

Stumbling and giggling, Maggie followed her down the bare wooden staircase and into the main house. The gaslights were still off and without their mellow glow to soften it, it looked harsh and garish. It no longer seemed opulent - merely vulgar and overdone, as if someone had decorated it with money but no taste. Even the erotic oil paintings looked as if they'd been churned out by some threadbare, back street hack - which they probably had.

Maggie had no time to take in even half of it before they arrived in front of a door at the far end of the house. Millie flung it open and pushed her through into a large room. Maggie stopped on the threshold, stared round in bewilderment, and then blushed furiously.

There were girls of all shapes and sizes in various stages of undress - an abundance of ripe, casually displayed flesh. She watched in amazement as one girl rouged her cheeks while another rouged her nipples until they stood out scarlet against the white globes of her breasts.

She turned her eyes hastily away, only to have them fall on another girl, who was sitting, legs parted wide as a friend crouched in front of her, carefully shaving her pudenda. Once done, she patted it dry, and then planted a smacking kiss on the rosy nether lips, her tongue darting between them to flick at the soft pinkness within. Maggie gasped, but no one - apart from her - turned a hair.

‘Ta-raaa!' bellowed Millie, and the babble of voices suddenly stopped as all eyes turned towards them. Maggie blushed again, this time with a mixture of shyness and self-consciousness, but she forced herself to advance royally into the room, concluding her performance with a deep curtsey, almost disappearing into the puddle of material in the process.

And the chorus of laughter was worth it. Within seconds she was surrounded by the girls, her head spinning as Millie tried to introduce her to them all at once. Their names and histories went in one ear and out the other just as fast. Rosie, Ethel, Grace, Florence...

It all became a blur.

Was Rosie the governess who'd been seduced by her young charge's father? Florence the one who'd been sold into the house at the age of twelve by her gin-sodden mother? Grace the one who'd marched up to the door and asked to be employed when she decided she'd rather be paid than continue to be abused by her father and brothers in return for nothing but a drunken beating? She didn't know.

But what she did know was that these weren't monsters of lust and depravity. They were ordinary girls like her, forced into surviving the only way they knew how - by selling the only thing they had left. Their body. How dare society condemn them? And what real difference was there between them and the respectable housewife who spread her legs for an overbearing husband in exchange for the food on her table and the roof over her head?

Maggie's wave of indignation lasted until the door opened and Mrs Wilkes stalked in.

‘What's going on here?' the woman demanded coldly. ‘Aren't you girls ready yet? The gentlemen will be arriving soon.' With frightened glances the girls scurried back to finish their preparations for the evening's entertainment. Dresses were hurriedly tugged down over smooth, powdered shoulders; stockings and garters adjusted; lips hastily rouged. All in total silence in case a word should bring Mrs Wilkes' wrath down on them. Finally they filed out in a rustle of silks and satins, leaving Maggie and Millie alone with their employer. Maggie's stomach quivered with nerves.

‘Lord Anston has booked an appointment with you at ten,' she informed Millie briskly. ‘Until then, take Maggie to the kitchen for something to eat, and afterwards you may show her around.'

‘Yes, Mrs Wilkes,' Millie said meekly - but Maggie noted how her lips trembled and the colour had drained from her cheeks at the mention of her client's name.

‘Who is this Lord Anston?' she asked as they made their way downstairs to the kitchen.

‘You don't want to know,' Millie said bitterly. ‘God ‘elp yer if he takes a fancy to yer.' She forced a smile. ‘Never mind, a bottle of brandy under me belt and I won't feel a thing. Thank God.'

And she was as good as her word. While Maggie ate the plateful of stringy meat and half-cooked potatoes Gladys plonked in front of her, Millie worked her way determinedly through glass after glass of rot-gut. By the time Maggie finished Millie's eyes had already taken on a glazed look and she was beginning to slur some of her words.

‘Time for the grand tour,' she giggled tipsily. ‘Show yer the ropes. Let yer shee what yer let yershelf in for.'

Finger to her lips, she tiptoed upstairs and along the corridors with the exaggerated care of the half-drunk. Swaying gently, she stopped in front of a panel in the deserted hall. Maggie looked at her in bewilderment. What on earth was she playing at?

‘Sssshh!' she giggled, then, brow furrowed with concentration, she fumbled along the side of the panel until there was a quiet ‘click' and it yawned silently open. Maggie gasped. It wasn't a panel at all. It was a small door, almost invisible because it had been carefully papered to match the wall. She stared apprehensively into the gaping darkness.

‘Don' jush stand there gawping like a booby,' Millie muttered crossly. ‘You want to give the game away?' She pushed Maggie inside, followed her and closed the door behind them. It was pitch black and there was barely enough room for both of them. They were crushed against each other and Maggie could feel the full length of the other girl's body against her own, smell the mingled odours of sweat and perfume and drink that came off her with every movement. She began to pant in terror as the darkness threatened to crush her. It was like being buried alive. But Millie's voice brought her back to reality. ‘Gerroff!' she hissed, pinching Maggie to stop her squirming. ‘He'll hear us.'

Maggie froze, even more frightened of the prospect of discovery. Who would hear them? And what would ‘he' do if he did?

There was more drunken fumbling, the sound of something sliding back, and then twin rays of dim light split the darkness. Maggie blinked as her eyes adjusted, and her bewilderment increased. They appeared to be inside a small cupboard for some reason. What the hell was going on?

‘Go on then,' urged Millie, pointing towards the two holes the light was coming through. ‘Take a gander.'

Obediently Maggie stood on tiptoe, peered through - and then rocked back on her heels in shock. ‘Th-that's disgusting,' she gasped under her breath.

Millie shrugged. ‘Some of the gentlemen prefers to watch and toss themselves off,' she informed Maggie cheerfully, and then winked. ‘Or have one of us girls give them a hand - if yer know what I mean?' She giggled. ‘Bet yer the gentleman inside wouldn't be too ‘appy if he knew he was performing for an audience. That'd soon put the kybosh on his capers. Mind you,' she went on knowledgeably, ‘there's them as pays good money for that as well. Gives them an extra thrill to know somebody's watching.'

‘But... but... how is it done?' gasped Maggie.

‘Easy,' grinned Millie. ‘Portrait on the wall with the eyes painted on a bit of board. Slide it back and Bob's yer uncle - it's a penny for the peepshow!' She snorted. ‘Only old Ma Wilkes charges a damned sight more than a penny for a peep at this show.' Her explanation was suddenly cut short by a muffled shriek. Fascinated despite herself, Maggie stood on tiptoe and peeked through the holes again.

There was no way of knowing which girl it was, because she was bent over the ottoman with her skirts over her head. All that could be seen were the plump white curves of her bottom, offered up to the attentions of her master.

He was standing over her naked, holding a thin cane, and as Maggie watched in horror he raised it and brought it down viciously. It whistled as it cut through the air, then thwacked against the pale flesh, leaving a thin red line in its wake. There was another squeal from the helpless girl, and his excitement increased visibly, until his cock stood out from beneath his hairy belly like an iron bar.

Grinning avidly, he trailed the cane slowly the full length of the girl's shuddering body before raising his arm and applying it with fresh vigour. When the quivering bottom was a mass of red weals he flung himself on his victim, yanked her legs apart and thrust between them, his scrawny arse jerking as he humped her like a randy dog. Maggie closed her eyes in sympathy and horror.

‘Seen enough?' asked Millie. Maggie nodded mutely and the other girl slid the board back across, hiding the scene of the other girl's humiliation. Millie clicked the door panel open and hurried her out into the hall again. ‘Come on then,' she said, tugging her arm impatiently. ‘I got the rest of them to show you yet.'

Maggie stared at her. ‘Th-there are more?' she gasped.

‘Course there's more,' Millie said scornfully. ‘Most of the rooms has these little oobly-etts tucked on ‘em. That's French for “hidey-holes”,' she informed Maggie loftily. ‘Not just French ticklers here, yer know. Told yer this was a classy house.'

Throughout this little lesson in language, she continued to haul Maggie along until they were standing in front of an identical panel. This time it didn't come as quite such a shock when it was swung open and Maggie was pushed inside.

But what did come as a shock was the scene that confronted her when she peered through the eyeholes this time.