Teena: A House of Ill Repute (13 page)

Both women started from the kneeling position, and deprived of the use of hands and arms, they were soon rolling around and crawling about all over the stage area, whilst the front row of the audience formed a crouching barrier preventing them from rolling over the front edge and dropping the three feet or more to the main floor below.

The two dominants used their elbows and knees and even their heads as weapons, each in turn aiming for soft spots, although the stiff corsets protected their most vital regions. They nudged, battered and butted at each other's bodies, though I was quick to notice that neither protagonist targeted the head area, nor did they use any part of their legs beneath the knee. Obviously there was no kicking and no gouging allowed. With their arms cuffed behind them and with their eyes protected behind the plastic lenses, there was no chance of infringing the latter rule. Presumably they had to rely on each other's sense of the rules concerning the former, or else there was more likely a strict disqualification rule in force for the first to transgress.

After the first few minutes Anne-Marie was definitely trying to take the initiative, and twice I thought she had Carmen, knocking her flat on her back and scrambling awkwardly to sit astride her shoulders, thrusting her pelvis forward in an attempt to locate the tip of her weapon in the target orifice. Each time, however, the angle was wrong, and as she leaned further forward in an attempt to correct this the wily Carmen bucked suddenly, thrusting her solid bosom up beneath Anne-Marie's buttocks and launching her headfirst back over her own head.

The second tumble was disastrous for our mistress, for she landed awkwardly, banging the side of her head as she fell, and despite the protection of her helmet she was clearly stunned and somewhat disorientated. In a flash Carmen went on the attack for the first time proper. She scrambled forward, raising herself off her knees into a crouching position, and then dropped, all her weight falling onto Anne-Marie's chest. I heard a stifled moan as the breath was driven from my mistress's lungs, and I saw her flailing legs stiffen as the paralysing effect of a blow to the solar plexus took its toll.

Carmen was already on the move again, anticipating the effect of her crushing attack. She scrambled around until she was crouching at Anne-Marie's head, raised herself again, and leaned carefully over her face, gauging the distance carefully. Then, with a gurgled howl of triumph, she plunged down, her dildo finding its target with unerring accuracy.

A great shout went up from the audience and they began a slow handclapping. Carmen, lying across Anne-Marie, who had ceased all attempts at movement, began to raise and lower her hips in time to the clapping. For a few seconds I began to panic, thinking that perhaps Anne-Marie must be seriously hurt, but I could see her chest rising and falling and understood there was probably some sort of rule that prevented the loser from trying to wriggle free once her mouth had been impaled. Later, much later in fact, I learned my assumption was correct.

Meanwhile, Carmen was humping her victim's face with evident enthusiasm, but there was one final act to come. Turning her head sideways towards the audience so the glint of triumph in her eyes was unmistakable even through the covering lenses, she then turned back to Anne-Marie's dildo, drew her face back several inches whilst arching her back, and guided her mouthpiece towards the waiting tip. Then, with a single thrust of her neck and head she impaled her own mouth, to the rapturous applause and ringing cheers of the entire audience, or at least that part of the audience able to clap and cheer.

My heart sank. It was not only a defeat for Anne-Marie, but a conclusive one, and I had no doubt Carmen would exact her prize with as much enthusiasm as she had displayed in winning it. I looked around for Andrea, wondering if she was experiencing the same feeling of dreadful anticipation, only to see her already being escorted away by a featureless rubber figure. A moment later, I felt strong hands grasping my shoulders.

Arundel again, only this time the transition through time was accompanied by violent feelings of nausea and a complete sense of having been detached from everything for several seconds. My head cleared slowly and I opened my eyes to find myself sitting on a padded sofa in the first sitting room. Then suddenly, and for several more seconds, I experienced a blinding headache and for a moment I thought I was going to black out. But then again, miraculously, my head cleared, except I found it now contained a set of crystal-clear memories I knew had not been there before.

'Amazing!' I gasped, but there was no one else in the room to hear me. Slowly I stood up, not sure whether to trust to my balance yet, but I discovered there was absolutely nothing to worry about. I felt steady, focussed and, above all, I knew and remembered exactly what had been happening during the twenty-six days of my last absence from this time. Yes, I even knew I had been away and back in my own time only for an hour or two, and yet that I had been away from here, in this time, for four weeks, give or take a day or two.

I swallowed, licked my lips, and quickly took stock of things, beginning with myself. I was wearing an emerald-green dress, tight at the waist as usual, the corset beneath reminding me of its efforts on behalf of my figure. The neckline was low, exposing the top inch or so of what passed as Angelina's bust, not a spectacular sight, even though my cruel undergarment was striving to make the most of my bosom. I saw also that I was wearing a ruby necklace, and remembered it was one of the pieces I had put aside not to be sold unless circumstances became extremely tight.

I reached up and ran one hand over my head, my hair having now gone just beyond the stubbly stage to where it felt velvety to the touch, though it was still far too short not to draw attention to me should I venture out in public with it uncovered. As I was thinking this, my eyes caught sight of the two wigs standing on the dressing table by the window. I remembered the dressmaker and her second cousin who lived in Brighton, and how the wigs arrived a week after she wrote to her. I tottered uncertainly to the dressing table, studied the two hairpieces - one very dark, the other blondish with dark-red highlights, both carefully coiffed, the semi-buns beribboned, with teasing curls dangling on either side - and selected the darker and less ostentatious version.

I raised it slowly, ducked my head slightly and lifted it into place, settling it carefully with both hands. It was a good fit, but with no way of fastening it and no modern elasticised base, I felt certain it would slip off if I made too violent a movement. I would need, I decided, to use some sort of bonnet with a ribbon fastening beneath the chin if I was going to risk wearing either of the wigs out of doors. Indoors I would either find a lighter version of the same, or else I would have to make sure I didn't toss my head about too much.

Slowly, and with as much dignity as I could muster, I crossed the room and found the bell pull behind one of the heavy curtains covering the window alcove. I tugged it hard twice, and was rewarded with the sound of a distant bell ringing somewhere in the house. I turned again and regarded myself from across the length of the room, in the gilt-framed mirror now adorning the wall to the left of the fireplace. I made an impressive picture, if I do say so myself.

'Right then, boys and girls,' I said, though there was still no one to listen to my announcement, 'it's time we went to work properly. Everything is more or less in place, so let's get this house of ours open.'

I wasn't sure how it was that I could remember everything from those missing four weeks, but remember everything I could, and I did not intend to waste too much time in trying to figure out the whys and the wherefores. I suspected that in some way my mind now held part of what had once been Angelina's - possibly
was
still hers, for all I knew - but I had no way of proving my theory. Nevertheless, what was important was that I knew exactly what had been achieved in my absence, exactly how far my,
our
plan had progressed, and so also knew we were more or less ready to move on to the next and, for the moment, most important phase.

The intention was, dear reader, in case you haven't worked it out for yourself, to use what I termed my
House of Ill Repute
as irresistible bait for Hacklebury and, with luck, for Mad Megan Crowthorne as well. However, in order for the bait to be successful and for them to enter the trap unsuspectingly, there was a lot of work to be done in order to establish a set of credentials that would not arouse suspicion in minds I knew were only too naturally suspicious by nature.

Credentials. My
House of Ill Repute
, or bordello or brothel, call it what you will, my whorehouse, speciality whorehouse indeed, but whorehouse nonetheless, needed credentials. I already had my three whores, so now I needed to establish a clientele - and the right clientele especially.

The sitting room door opened and Indira appeared. I say Indira because I had no way of knowing if Andrea had come back as before, but I also knew it hardly mattered at the moment. If Angelina was going along with my idea then so would her faithful lover, and besides, I had already caught sight of the figure standing out in the hallway behind her.

'Mr Julian Corner-Browne, mistress,' she announced, bowing slightly. I noticed she was wearing a
sari
and immediately remembered ordering fabric from the dressmaker for her to make them, except it had been Angelina who had ordered the material, not I. Not that it mattered, I thought, and suppressed a smile.

'Show him in, girl,' I ordered in my best 'lady of the manor' voice, and turned away to resume my position on the sofa, while at the same time adjusting the heavy veil obscuring my features attached to my wig.

Julian Corner-Browne, eldest son of one of the two brothers who between them owned a very successful merchant bank in the city of London. Ex-Eton, ex-Harrow, sent down from both and forced to finish his education in one of the minor public schools, and only able to do that thanks to a generous bursary from his family, which the ailing establishment had been only too willing to accept in return for overlooking the young Corner-Browne's previous record of indiscretion and debauchery.

I wondered how I knew all this, or rather I
knew
how I knew, but I wondered how Angelina had managed to find it out. Then I recalled the little man Marsh and the discreet service he offered to those with the ability to pay. Some things never change, regardless of the year or the century, and it was as amazing then as it is now what one can source through the personal advertisement columns of even the most respectable national newspapers. Simeon Marsh I paid, Julian Corner-Browne I hoped would pay me, and quite lavishly, unless I was much mistaken.

I smiled, though whether the smile could be seen from behind the veil I had no idea, and gestured to one of the vacant armchairs opposite me. And as the first of my wannabe clients moved to take a seat, I forced my expression to remain totally impassive, trying even harder not to feel like a spider who is about to envelop an unfortunate and stupid fly in its web.

Thanks to the efforts of Simeon Marsh, whose investigative powers and circle of contacts would have earned him a fortune with the tabloids a century or so later, we were now beginning to build up quite a dossier on Gregory Hacklebury, though even Marsh hadn't as yet been able to find out much about Megan Crowthorne, who remained very much a mystery woman. However, it was Hacklebury I wanted and needed to concentrate on, establishing a list of his closest associates and initially avoiding any direct contact with any name on that list when it came to building up our clientele. We needed to establish ourselves first and ensure our girls were capable of fulfilling the roles for which we had recruited them. After that, it would be time to infiltrate the Hacklebury network and finally snare the big buck rabbit himself.

Milly, Molly and Mandy were a revelation, and Erik found himself much in demand as the only male currently in the household. Our 'guests', when they started arriving, would not be disappointed, I thought, although I conceded we had to do a little work on the trio in order to smooth out some of their rougher edges, especially in their vocabulary. I also resolved to put each of them through their paces with a member of their own sex, as I was sure we would have female clients,
even if they formed a minority.

Meanwhile, there was Indira, and for the moment it really was the Indian girl, for Andrea remained back in our own time, presumably alongside a temporarily vacant version of me as we awaited Carmen's dubious pleasure. I tried to put that scenario from my mind. I would find myself back in it soon enough, I knew, but for the moment there was plenty here to occupy me, including the regular nocturnal presence of my little brown-skinned lover.

'You really would do anything for me, wouldn't you, Indy?' I whispered to her as we lay snuggled together after a languid session of lovemaking.

She raised her head, leaned across me and kissed my right nipple.

My hand trailed idly through her thick black tresses.

'I would die for you, mistress,' she whispered. 'You know I would.' She peered up at me and I saw there was a depth of concern in her huge eyes.

I kissed her forehead. 'No one is going to do any dying,' I assured her. 'Hacklebury and his witch-bitch aren't at all nice people, but now we're in the driving seat and as long as we're careful, that's the way it'll stay.'