Thongs

— 10-

It was a full year before I saw Mr. Oakes again. I knew that Hazel saw him at least once a month and, as her fair body was never lacerated, I presumed she fulfilled the function of whip mistress solely. Sometimes I was able to look at her bankbook when she was at the lavatory and I saw the steady increase in her savings. It was about that time, just before my second meeting with Mr. Oakes, that I began to feel superior to Hazel. She was simply a paid professional. For me, on the contrary, the realm of pain and pleasure was a religion. It was unthinkable that I could ever earn my living in the way Hazel did.

After I met my shoemaker, I no longer looked forward with the same desperation to the day when I would be invited to visit the big house again. Old Willie knew that my young body was demanding, that the more terribly he inflicted humiliations and punishments upon me, the more urgently my body and soul cried out for their increase. And he was an accomplished leather-smith. In a short while he had created not only the most fiendish of thongs with which to lacerate my trembling flesh, but had also fixed pulleys to the ceiling and floor of his back shop, so that my young torso, thonged at wrists and ankles, could be stretched and held taut like a quivering bowstring of flesh, and in four or five excruciating positions, to meet its punishment. He became a master in the art of flagellation, the high priest of my terrible cosmos of pain. He did everything with adoration, thrashing my flesh, thrusting his old lips voraciously into my sweating cunt, twisting thin black thongs of leather around my thighs with a stick. He made many instruments. Perhaps the most terrible of all was the simple leather instrument which the called "The Prick." It was a long cock of laminated leather as thick and three times as long as a strong man's rampant member. Had he not used it with great care, it would have been a killing instrument. It could be used either as an instrument of flagellation or as a ravisher. Other interesting implements were "The Brush," "The Beads," "The Balls," "The Crushing Cunt," and "The Five-Fingered-Spranger." The last was a masterpiece of simplicity and efficiency: five eighteen-inch rods of flexible steel covered with leather thrusting from a handle shaped like a human hand.

Perhaps I would be spread-eagled like a spider web between floor and ceiling while he was licking my cunt. I asked him what he intended to do to me.

He would give a small throaty laugh.

"A good brushing to begin with, ha! Eh? And what d'ye say to a sprang after? And then a prick!" And with that he would spit some yellow phlegm on my belly and stretch me to breaking point.

Thus, when I came to meet Mr. Oakes again, I was not at all impressed by his superior manner. Moreover, I had remained a virgin in the technical sense, for although the leather prick had been thrust into me brutally on many occasions, the shoemaker had never tried to put his own prick into me. We had agreed that my cunt was a shrine to be worshipped at but never penetrated by human member, that no semen should ever sully our shrine. For that purpose, when he saw fit, he used my anus or my mouth.

One day Hazel said to me: "I want you to give this to a friend of mine, Gertie."

She handed me a letter.

"Be at the entrance to the subway at St. Enoch's Station at three this afternoon. My friend will come and ask you for it."

She would say no more. I suspected at once it had something to do with Mr. Oakes. I said I would only do so if she would turn over my own bankbook to me. She finally did so after a great deal of protest.

I had been standing outside the subway for about five minutes when a shining black Rolls drew up in front of me.

Mr. Oakes leaned out of the window at the rear. He raised a finger.

"Gertrude!"

I walked slowly over to the car.

"Come for a drive," he said. "I have something to say to you."

"Is this for you?" I said, holding up the letter.

He frowned with annoyance.

"What is it?"

"A letter from Hazel. For a friend. At least that's what Hazel said."

"Of course, of course. You were sent to meet me. Now will you step in please?"

"What do you want to talk to me about?"

"We can talk about that in the car, my dear. Will you please step in?"

I did so with an air of independence that infuriated Mr. Oakes. He tapped the glass in front and gave the chauffeur his instructions.

It was some minutes before he spoke again.

"I want you to understand, Gertrude, that if you are to be of any use to me, I must have absolute obedience. I thought we had made that quite clear a year ago."

Without a word I handed him the bankbook.

"What's that?" he said, the frown passing over his brow again.

"It's the money you gave me a year ago," I said evenly. "I am returning it to you. I am not a prostitute like Hazel."

Mr. Oakes misunderstood me, as I had expected him to. He raised an eyebrow derisively. "I see," he said. "So you have found a boyfriend and you're in love!"

I looked out of the car window as I spoke as though he himself were not interesting enough for my gaze. As indeed, I was beginning to realize, he wasn't.

"No, Mr. Oakes, I have not found a boyfriend and I am not in love, as you call it. I will never love a man. I love only one thing: pain! Pain is my religion and in pain I shall find my destiny, Mr. Oakes!"

I turned to look at him.

He looked startled.

This time looking at him, I continued: "Do you not sense a change in me? Or are you insensitive? You pretend to know what pain is! Pain purifies."

"You're too bold, Gertrude," he said at last. But I could see he was impressed. He was looking at me with new eyes. And new eyes were necessary, for in my year of pain and pitiless humiliation, I had become a beauty. The curves of my body were superb. I had the body of a young Diana of twenty.

"Too bold, Mr. Oakes?" I said with a soft smile, and raising my skirt up over my right thigh, I said: "Look here!"

He bent over my thigh.

A permanent dark red groove encircled it completely. My shoemaker had made it for me over a period of time by twisting a thin leather thong with a piece of wood as a lever.

Mr. Oakes touched it hesitantly with his fingertips. When he looked up at me, I saw fear play with lust in his eyes.

At that moment the car turned into the entrance of the big house.

"We'll see," he said shortly, and got out of the car.

I stepped out after him and followed him into the house. He led the way straight to the basement. He locked the double doors behind us.

"Your clothes," he said.

"And yours."

He nodded. We both stripped naked. He was already rampant. He moved over to me and took me in his arms. I didn't resist. He kissed me on the lips. And then, slowly, he tried to ease his cock between my thighs. I pushed him away. "Not that," I said quietly.

He laughed. "What is to prevent my taking you?"

"Try and see!" I said ominously.

"Gertrude," he said, changing his tone, "believe me, my dear, you are an amateur in the discipline of pain. I have had twenty years' experience. That is why I am the holder of the Holy Seal in these parts."

"The Holy Seal?"

"A small mark of distinction in our Order. It carries with it the office of Painmaster in this Lodge."

"Tell me all about the Order, Mr. Oakes!"

"I am not permitted to do that, Gertrude. What I know I cannot communicate to inferiors in the Order, and you are not even a Novice yet. You are simply what we call a Woman-Elect, a possible participant in our disciplines."

"And what's Hazel?"

"Hazel is simply a paid Whipmistress. She in not a member of the Order. She is a paid retainer."

"Is Painmaster a high office?"

"It is the highest in this part of the country. But you ask too many questions, Gertrude. And even if I wanted to answer most of them, I couldn't. Even a Painmaster has no direct knowledge of the upper echelons of our Order. But perhaps you have heard enough to realize that you are a mere child, an amateur, and that you must subject yourself to my will if you are ever to be accepted as a Novice. I received instructions a few days ago that you were to be initiated if you were still found worthy."

"You mean others know of me?"

"Of course. Your name was submitted a year ago to the Holy Seat. It takes some time for the Holy Seal to be placed on the application of a Woman-Elect."

"And that's why you kept me waiting a year?"

"It was inevitable. You did right, by the way, to give me back the money. That was a prescribed test. If you had kept the money, you would only have been admissible in the capacity of a retainer, a paid Whipping-girl in your case."

"Why did you try to fuck me just now, Mr. Oakes?"

He smiled.

"That too was a test. And I shall fuck you if you prove unworthy."

"If I prove unworthy you can fuck me any time you like."

"Good girl! I am beginning to like you, Gertrude!"

"What do we do now?"

"First, my dear Gertrude, you will flog me. You have five minutes, during which time you will do your utmost to make me break down and cry for mercy. Then I shall flog you. I expect for the first time I shall have to cut you down after two minutes."

I smiled inwardly. I would show this Painmaster who I was!

"Tighten the thongs at my hands and feet," Mr. Oakes said. "There is a clock on the wall over there. When the minute hand reaches five to four start flogging with any implement you care to choose. You see them all round the walls. Stop on the dot of four."

I nodded and obeyed. I looked the implements over with a critical eye. There was nothing like my own terrible "Five-Fingered-Spranger" but there was something quite like "The Prick," only it was made of thick rubber. I decided to concentrate for the whole period on his thighs and buttocks with that implement. He would not be likely to forget it!

I measured my distance and watched the clock.

Thwack! A shudder passed through his body with the first blow. It left a wide red weal on his buttocks. Thwack! Again. Again. I took my time. There was no need to tire myself. Five minutes was plenty of time. With each stroke now a little groan escaped him, but after three minutes he still hadn't screamed for mercy. He could certainly take punishment. At the end of the fourth minute he was whimpering like a little child. I put my whole weight into the last strokes, slashing the most tender part of the buttocks. With thirty seconds to go he screamed and he didn't leave off screaming until the clock struck four and I tossed the rubber prick away from me.

I helped him down gently.

He collapsed in my arms. "Brandy!" he said hoarsely, pointing to his coat. I found a flask in one of the pockets and returned with it and held it to his lips. Ten minutes passed during which I sucked his penis gently and only then was he able to stand on his feet.

"You struck hard, Gertrude," he said when he had sufficiently recovered himself.

"It would hardly have been worthwhile if I hadn't, Painmaster," I said with a tone of mockery in my voice.

This angered him slightly. He led me by the arm over to the whipping board.

"And now we shall see if you will make a Novice!" he said.

A moment later my wrists and ankles were secured.

It was the cat-o'nine-tails which he took up.

"Are you ready, Gertrude?"

"Yes."

I didn't flex myself. I wished to take the first stroke after the manner of virgins.

He struck and I shuddered with pleasure. He too took his time. After the twenty-forth stroke, a slight spittle gathered on my lips and I ceased counting. I was breathing heavily, sweating, and bleeding, but for five minutes I didn't utter a sound. He cut me down and collected me in his arms. I smiled at him and he stared back fearfully into my eyes. I could tell from his exhaustion that he had put his whole strength into the whipping. I slipped from his arms and stood naked before him. He hesitated, and then, falling to his knees, he thrust his mouth upward between my thighs. I allowed him to suck away the slime and sweat and then, grasping him by the hairs of his head, I thrust him away from me.

"No, Painmaster," I said gently. "I didn't scream. I felt no agony of dying. You are not worthy to lick my cunt!" I stood back and kicked him in the face with my bare foot. He fell on the straw. "Tell your betters I have come," I said.

I put my clothes on, unlocked the double doors and left the big house.

Two nights later when I was alone in the flat, someone knocked at the door. I opened it. A man who looked like a tramp stood on the threshold.

"I am looking for Gertrude Gault," he said.

"I am Gertrude Gault," I replied.

"I was to recognize her by a mark on her thigh."

I pulled up my skirt and showed the mark.

"Are you alone?"

I nodded.

"Can I come in?"

I allowed him to enter. He looked around the room in disgust.

"You will not be allowed to live here much longer," he said.

"Who are you?"

"That's not important," he said. "I come on high authority. I have been instructed to mark you with the Holy Seal."

"What does that mean?"

"It means you have been appointed Painmistress for this part of the country."

I gasped. "What about Oakes?"

"The Painmaster is dead," the stranger said. "He committed suicide two nights ago. He nominated you as his successor. The Holy Seat cabled its confirmation today. It is my duty to put the seal on you." He became businesslike. "Are we likely to be disturbed?"

"How long will it take?"

"Fifteen minutes at the most."

I walked over and bolted the door.

"Your skirt," he said, "and whatever you wear under it. Then sit on the table."

I exposed myself for him.

He worked quickly.

First a needle with which he pierced the right lip of my sex. It was not at all painful. He had great dexterity, and with his little bottle of alcohol and cotton wool he was scrupulously clean. Next he passed a gold ring, about the thickness of a wedding ring, through it. This was more painful. I shut my eyes and absorbed the sensation, coveting it. The cross of polished black stone which he now hung from the ring was not heavy. It weighed perhaps an ounce or two. Then he sealed the two rings, the one which passed through the right lip and the one which passed through the top of the cross with a kind of gold metal compound which he sealed with a tiny stamp. I couldn't make out the detail at that distance. And then it was over. He stood back and replaced his instruments in his raincoat pocket.

"Your official inauguration will take place in two weeks' time," he said. "But Mr. Prentice, whom you have already met, will get in touch with you before that. He will explain to you exactly all the duties and privileges of your office. And now I had better go."

As he spoke the last words, there suddenly came a rattling at the door.

"Who locked this bliddy door? Open up this bliddy door!"

"Who's that?" the stranger whispered.

I was transfixed with fear.

"It's my father, Razor King!"

"Your skirt, quick!" the stranger hissed.

I stepped into it quickly. But what did that matter? With the locked door my father would think the worst anyway. He might even use his razors!

"Open up the bliddy door before ah break it down!"

I flashed a glance at the stranger. He nodded towards the door. I slipped across the room and opened it.

My father burst in like a gorilla. He reeked of drink and he had a plump black-haired tart with him.

He stared first at me and then at the stranger.

The woman with him had stopped giggling. She guessed that there was going to be violence.

"Who the bliddy hell are you!"

"I came to see you, Razor King," the stranger said.

"Aye! A likely story! And that's why ye locked the bliddy door on me!"

"I asked your daughter to lock the door because I didn't want to be seen by anybody but you. It would be dangerous if too many people saw us together."

"What the bliddly hell are you talkin about? Dangerous!"

The stranger took two five-pound notes from his pocket and laid them on the table which stood between him and my father.

"Do you want to talk business or don't you!" he snapped.

My father stared at the money, then at me, and then back at the stranger.

"We need a man to do a job," the stranger said. "A man who's not afraid of a fight."

"Who's we?"

"You'll meet the boss next week," the stranger said. "If you'll come to the corner of Jamaica Street and Clyde Street next Friday evening about seven, we'll tell you exactly what it's about." He pushed the two notes towards my father. "Meanwhile you can take that on account."

My father hesitated only momentarily. Then he took the notes and stuffed them into his trouser pocket.

Suddenly he looked sly.

"An whit if ah say ah don't believe ye? Whit if ah wis tae say ah know whit ye were doin here with ma daughter? Whit if ah wis tae bash yer heed in fer ye!"

"You'd be a fool," the stranger replied calmly. "People who pay our kind of money are dangerous. You'd lose money and you'd end up stiff in the river."

It was the wrong thing to say to Razor King when he was drunk.

"We'll see who's dangerous!" Razor King snarled and whipped one of his big razors out of his pocket.

Simultaneously the stranger produced an ugly black automatic.

"One wrong move from you, Gault, and I'll shoot you in the belly."

Razor King, the open razor in his hand, stared at the gun. A look of dawning comprehension passed over his heavy features. In that confined space, he wouldn't stand a dog's chance. The man would shoot him dead before he had moved a foot. He closed the razor and said in a wheedling tone: "This job you were talkin aboot? How much would there be in it fer me?"

"Twenty more next Friday, and forty when you've done the job."

"Ah'll be there," Razor King said. "Now get oot before ah change ma mind and mark ye!"

The stranger did so quietly and efficiently, covering Razor King with the gun until he was right outside the door. Razor King kicked the door shut with his foot. He stared at me for a moment, and then, remembering the money in his pocket, his ill-humor left him. He winked at the woman.

"Let's go on oot an get a wee drink first!" he said.

They left a minute after the stranger.

With a sigh of relief, I sat down on the cot.