Madeleine (10 page)

The thought crossed her mind, but did not stay, being driven out by the impact of the first atrocious blow.
It smacked across her tender palm, bruising the soft flesh and sending a shock of pain up her arm.
Her hand was knocked down by the force of the impact, and she grabbed it with her right, clasping them both to her chest, as if to give them comfort from the soft pillows of her breasts.

“Get it out,” grated Bertha, “and keep it there until I’ve finished with you, or you’ll be sorry.”

She was sorry now, but could believe that Bertha could make her even sorrier, if she failed to obey.
Trembling all over with the effort of will required to face that awful strap again, she extended her left palm, now fiery red and throbbing, and again Bertha savaged it with her strap. “Now the right,” she commanded, as the smack of leather and gasp of pain registered the second welting of the left hand.

Again the superhuman effort required to obey, and two more blows of the strap were rewarded with grunts and gasps, and the right hand was reduced to the same bruised condition.
As Madeleine stood moaning softly, her hands thrust under her armpits, Bertha addressed her again.

“Do you think that was a suitable punishment for your fault?” she asked.
Madeleine nodded miserably, not wishing to appear to disagree and thus risk further strap.

“Well, you’re wrong, my girl,” Bertha informed her, “that was no punishment, that was just a small demonstration of what the strap can do, so that you can think about it for a couple of days.
I can’t afford to have you out of action tonight and Saturday, they’re our busiest days, but come Sunday, you’ll spread your legs and get the strap on your cunt as an encouragement for the others.
They’ll work all the better for seeing what this little number does for a woman’s working parts.” With that she left the room.
Two minutes later the next man came in, demanding attention.
She used her sore and stiffening hands to get his penis out and fix the rubber.

Later, much later, she crawled into the same bed on which she’d serviced so many piggish men. There were sixteen ‘johnnies’ in the jar, and the equivalent wear and tear in her vagina but, thanks to Bertha’s creative accountancy, she was only credited with nine scored. Despite her bruised body and aching hands, she was so exhausted she fell asleep at once.

Morning brought Maggie with a mug of tea.
A strange young woman, part in need of companionship, part jealous of Madelaine’s maturity and looks, she perched on the wash basin and peed, carrying on a desultory conversation as a copious golden stream flooded the basin.

“God, I needed that,” she said, wiping between her legs with the hem of her slip, “that fat cow, Carol, is hogging the bathroom, soaking in the tub and using up all the hot water.
And she kept me awake all night, snoring like a pig.
The doors between the rooms are paper thin.
I can hear her wanking most nights, too.”

Madeleine had noticed the communicating doors, and was curious.
“Do all the rooms go into the next?” she asked.

“Well, they come in pairs.
You’re lucky, you’ve got no-one next door right now.
I have to put up with Carol’s noise, and Lo Lei is next to Bertha.
Madam arranged that little ploy so that she can call her in at night to lick her fat cunt.
At least Carol and I don’t have to do that, but I’m sorry for Lo Lei, she’s quite nice really, even if she’s a bit sly.”

“So what happens at the weekend, then?” Madeleine enquired.

“Sundays we get most of the day off, but today we’re lucky to be left alone up to mid-day.
You need to get yourself loose on a Saturday, it gets real busy round here especially if there’s a couple of clubs playing at home, like they are today.
There’ll be some can’t wait to get their rocks off before the match, and a lot more after, and all lousy with beer, and stinking of Tandoori.
There’s sure to be a mad rush around ten or eleven as the lads from the North want to get laid in a hurry, before they have to catch the coaches home.”

Madeleine registered astonishment.
“Football fans!” she said, incredulously, “I didn’t think Bertha took any one like that.
I thought she only took men with money in their pockets.”

“Oh, they have to have money, but otherwise she’s not fussy.
After all,” said Maggie bitterly, “she doesn’t have to service the drunken bastards, does she?
It’s we poor suckers have to take the abuse, not to mention the shit and the vomit.
Actually,” she went on, “they don’t even have to have cash, Bertha takes credit cards.
You know, all major cards accepted, just like Harrods.”

“Credit cards in a brothel!
You’re pulling my leg.”

“God’s truth, I promise you.
She has this caff called the Friar Tuck, and she puts them down as dinners and business lunches.”

“Friar Tuck!” Madeleine found she seemed to be repeating everything Maggie said just now, “What sort of a name is that?”

“Very appropriate, actually.” Maggie replied, “try swapping the first letters.
It’s a dump really, but the turnover is something quite amazing.
I think she uses it for tax purposes to account for all the cash she puts in the bank, and give her some sort of legitimate source of income.”

So that was it then, she was working for a greasy spoon.
And now she could look forward to a mass of drunken, foul mouthed football fans, pawing her over and vomiting over her, if not worse.

Before those delights though, she had a visitor.
Without knocking, the ‘bouncer’, Pete, pushed open the door and walked in as she was standing at the basin washing, a genuine ‘whore’s bath’ as she observed to herself, wryly.

“You might at least knock,” she said, glaring at him, “what do you want anyway?”

The bouncer didn’t reply at once, but leaned his back on the door and looked her over, like a butcher assessing a beast in the market.
He was not what she had expected.
She had envisaged some hairy gorilla with a neck like a bull, and the face of a second rate battered boxer.
This man was almost handsome, in a tall dark way, though his broad shoulders gave promise of strength, but his face had a look to it that made her shudder.
There was something there that spoke of ruthlessness and cruelty, as clearly as if he wore a placard saying, ‘Don’t mess with me.
I bite.’

As she stood mesmerised by the silent threat in his look, he looked her up and down, and she could almost feel his gaze as it travelled her flesh, from her bare breasts, exposed where she’d pulled down the now grubby, ‘body’, over the curve of her rump to the long bare legs beneath.
At last he spoke.

“I’m Pete, and I make sure no girl steps out of line round here.
I get to have the new girls, as soon as they arrive, and I teach them respect.
That way, I get no trouble later.
Saves a lot of time and effort in the long run.
I like hurting girls, and once you’ve learned that you won’t want to step out of line.
Come here.”

With a quaking belly, Madeleine dropped the face cloth in the sink, and walked over to where he stood.
As she reached him, his hand shot out and took her across the face, sending her reeling back.

“Don’t ask what that’s for,” he advised, “it’s for nothing.
Just to show you how I am.
You’re going to get hurt, hurt bad, so you’ll behave while you’re here, and because I like it,” he added, with an evil grin.

Truly frightened now, Madeleine retreated to the bed.
“I’m not meant to be getting marked while I’m here,” she pleaded desperately.

“Don’t worry, I know all about that.
I can hurt you real bad without marking your lily white arse.
Anything I do to you will have faded by the time you can work your way out of here, though I reckon you’ll still feel some of the hidden bruises for a while.”

She tried to draw further away from him.

“Don’t be a silly girl,” he said in a voice that lost none of its menace, for the sweet reasonableness of his tone, “just come here and get it over with, and then you can have a good cry before you have to go to work.”

She pushed herself up from the bed, and went half way across the room to meet him.
He met her in the middle.
His fist drove into her middle, driving the breath from her body as she collapsed, doubled up in a ball of pain, to lie gasping on the tatty carpet.

“Get up, or I’ll kick you up.” She struggled to her feet, and he hit her again, exactly as before.
Once more she struggled up.

“Hands on your head, let’s see those tits,” he commanded, when she could breathe again.
Terrified, she made herself obey, expecting another punishing blow in her stomach, but it was her breasts this time, a lightening fast left and right with his open palms, slapping each soft globe with agonising force before her hands had dropped in a futile bid to defend them.
She clasped her bruised and aching bubs in her arms, crouched over in her anguish.
Her head rang as he slapped her, left and right again.
A fist wound itself into her hair, and dragged her to the bed.

“Hands and knees, bitch,” he growled, forcing her head down onto the bedcover, “get your rump up, thighs apart.”

She struggled, half suffocating, to do as he ordered, then shrieked into the pillow.
His thumb, thrusting unexpectedly and unlubricated, into her unsuspecting anus, caught her off balance; the shock and pain of his nail scoring the delicate lining of her sphincter making her cry out loud before she had time to suppress the scream.
Her hips bucked as his forefinger thrust into her equally unready vagina.

“Hold still, you cow or, orders or no orders, I’ll take all the skin off your back with a rhino hide whip.”

Terrified, she tried to control her protesting body.

“Now this,” he said, “is where you really get it.
Feel free to scream.
The others have all been there in their turn, and will know just what’s happening, so don’t be shy.” As he spoke his finger and thumb, deep in her nether orifices, closed like the claws of a crab, pinching the tender membranes that separated them.
As his grip increased he turned in his thumb nail to sink it into the sensitive liking of her rectum.
Now she shrieked again and again as he kept up the pressure with one hand, rotating his wrist to wrench her entrails the more cruelly, while his other hand kept her head thrust into the bedding.
Her hands came behind her to claw uselessly at his more powerful limbs while her body bucked and writhed, but could not throw off the deadly grip which seemed to tear the very guts out of her.

He kept up his wrenching torment of her tenderest parts for more than a minute, it seemed for ever that she thrashed and screamed, then, with no more warning than when he started the assault, wrested his fingers free and released her hair.
Sobbing and moaning, she arched on the bed, a hand clasped to each throbbing orifice.

“Have I made my point?” he enquired, “or would you like a further demonstration?
You won’t have any marks to show for that, but I bet you feel it every time you take a prick, or have a shit, for days.” He started to undo his jeans.
“Get on your back, bitch, and spread them.
You’re about to try a prick for size right now.”

Groaning, she rolled over and parted her legs.
He made no concessions to her internal bruising.
There was nothing gentle about his entry, just one quick thrust and he was home, battering her shrinking body brutally, while she moaned beneath him.
When, after an age of torment, he came in great heaving spasms that testified to the lust his treatment of her had aroused, she could only lie
half alive and sobbing brokenly.
He had been right, the assault on her internally had left her so sore that any object in her vagina or rectum come to that, was going to be torture, even the male members for which she, like all women, was otherwise so perfectly adapted to receive.

She hugged herself and thanked God it was over, but there was a small sting left still.

“I wonder you get any satisfied clients at all,” he said, witheringly,
“I’d have got more response from a dead sheep.
Can’t ask for my money back, as I get you all free, but I’ll see that your first punter this evening gets his.
Next time I have you, get some life in your arse.”

‘Johnny Come Lately’

The day turned out as Maggie had prophesied, a constant stream of coarse, rowdy punters.
She’d have liked to have avoided them and their hard penises in her ravaged vagina, but then, the awfulness of her encounter with Pete, made it even more urgent to get out of this hellhole as quickly as possible, and she drove herself to satisfy the punters as quickly as she could, so as to phone through for replacements.
In a haze of soreness and disgust, she endured twenty-one grinning, cursing, sweating oafs, stinking of beer and curry.
Two puked over her as she lay beneath them, unable to avoid the revolting upchuckings.
More than one cursed her for their own drunken impotence, and once she had to scream for Pete, as a berserk Glaswegian took his fists to her.