A Gentleman's Property Read online

  The next day she was driven down to the ship, still a free woman, and from the deserted quay was allowed to telephone her trustee and the bank manager, and confirm that they had received a hundred thousand pounds in cash, and deposited it in her name.

  It was on the Bonaventure that her slavery began.

  Enrolment

  Sir Roger, as Mary had now learnt to call 'Mr Smith', conducted her aboard the magnificent craft. As she set foot on deck he announced solemnly that she had taken the irrevocable step, and that the contract she had signed now came into full force. "Until this moment you could have changed your mind, but now, if you fail to obey, you will be forced. This you have agreed to. You will retain your own name until we find one that suits you better. Now clasp your hands at the back of your neck, and follow me."

  It was startling to receive such a peremptory order from Sir Roger, who had always seemed so polite and gentle, but Mary obeyed after the slightest hesitation, and they proceeded below decks. Sir Roger entered a cabin without knocking and Mary meekly followed.

  She had claimed during that first conversation in her dressing room to be free of prudery, but the moment she stepped through the door she discovered her mistake. She did not know where to look. Everywhere, in paint on the ceiling, in tapestry on the walls, in rich carpeting beneath her feet, were images of young women in the most awkward and shameful predicaments. To her right she saw a voluptuous redhead intimately penetrated by the trunk of an elephant, and writhing ecstatically high above the beast's head. To her left was a tiny blonde being worn as an ornament, or trophy of war, by an enormous black king. He was pictured striding towards the spectator, with the woman mounted on his cock. Her trunk was strapped tightly against his chest, her hands and feet behind his back, and her hair was piled high on her head in the most fashionable style, so as to provide a convenient chin rest for His Majesty. From the woman's pierced nipples tiny bells gave tinkling notice of the conqueror's approach, and brought admiring subjects to the door of every hut. At the moment pictured by the artist the captive was adding to the pleasure of the onlookers by experiencing what was evidently one of a series of monstrous orgasms, while the king strode imperturbably onwards. Similar scenes confronted Mary's suddenly blazing face whichever way she turned, except one, and that was where she quickly locked her gaze.

  In the centre of the cabin stood its only pieces of furniture, a large desk, a revolving chair, and beside the desk a curious object resembling two pairs of library steps without poles, but linked together at ground level by a single strut of wood a yard long. The chair was occupied by a fat, bespectacled youth, who solemnly returned her troubled stare. He was just as Mary had imagined Piggy in Lord of the Flies

  "Ogden," said Sir Roger, "this is the new recruit, Mary Bowdler, come to be enrolled. Will you do the honours? Mary, this is Mr Ogden Frankenheimer the Third, our youngest member."

  "But he's scarcely more than a child," said Mary, horrified. "I thought this was a millionaires' club."

  "Oh dear, Ogden, I fear this one may prove to be talkative. We have a large collection of gags on board, Mary - some of them rather amusing ones - but I should hate to have to convulse you on your first day. Now be quiet and learn, or we will make quietness itself the lesson for the day."

  Mary continued to regard the youth with open dismay, but prudently held her tongue as her guide continued.

  "Mr Frankenheimer is not in fact so young as he may look. He will be nineteen in a month or two. More to the point his I.Q. is double mine, and I should judge, on current showing, ten times yours. As to his membership, his father is one of us, and so was his late grandfather, but Ogden did not qualify until he made his first independent million, a feat he achieved at the age of sixteen."

  At this point Mary found herself unable to sustain the hobbledehoy's gaze for another second, and turned her eyes hurriedly downwards, only to be confronted by an extraordinary scene worked with exquisite detail in the carpet. It was an athletics meeting, but one in which all those taking part were naked women. A foot race was in progress, but instead of in lanes each contestant ran astride a rail adjusted to reach to about five inches below the junction of her thighs. This forced the sweating women to run with legs awkwardly spread, and gave ample scope to the tall feathers mounted on the rails every few yards of the way. The women had to force the feathers downwards with their bellies as they ran, whereupon the resilient plumes would slither rapidly across the shaven lips of their cunts, and spring proudly upright again. It was clearly an endurance race, for several women had collapsed in orgasmic heaps, and one was halted, and rubbing herself desperately against the rail. The one who could hold off her climax longest must be the winner.

  Sir Roger was still talking. "This seems an appropriate time, Mary, to mention forms of address. I choose to be called by my name. Most other members prefer the term 'Master', which you will always employ unless otherwise instructed. Mr Frankenheimer, though, for some reason, dislikes the word 'Master', and must always be addressed as 'sir'. Do you understand, Mary?"

  "Yes, Sir Roger."

  "Are you sure," said Ogden, speaking for the first time.

  "Yes!"

  Immediately, and with no warning, for she had not noticed that he was carrying one, Sir Roger lashed a riding crop fiercely against her backside, with a strength unimaginable in such a small and elderly man. Even through her expensive dress (which Sir Roger perhaps thought he was entitled to abuse, as he had bought it), and through several layers of underwear, the blow stung like the devil. Mary collapsed to her knees, massaging her bruised buttocks in a most unladylike manner. When, after several attempts, she was able to focus her eyes, she found herself staring directly into the contorted face of the woman in the carpet design, who was frigging herself against the racing rail.

  "Perhaps, Mary," said Sir Roger, "it is as well you are abandoning the acting profession for the time being, as you seem to be a slow study. Now shall we read those lines again? Do you understand, Mary?"

  "Yes, Sir Roger."

  "Are you sure?"

  "Yes, sir."

  "Stand up, Mary, and put your hands back behind your neck, as you were instructed. I will now place you under the care of Mr Frankenheimer. Remember that he is a full member of our club, and as such to be obeyed without hesitation. If you feel inclined to forget this, bear in mind that there are several much larger members within call, and that the things they will do to you if you misbehave will make the blow you have just received seem like the most delicate of caresses. Over to you, Ogden."

  Before Mary even had time to look round, Sir Roger had gone, and she was alone with the odious youth.

  "O.K., baby," he said, taking pen and paper from the drawer of the desk, "I know your name, and you haven't any address for the time being. Age?"

  "Twenty-five...sir!" - blurted out in response to a threatening glance from her tormenter.

  "Well, that's seven years older than me. Do you realise that, Mary?"

  "Yes, sir."

  "Any distinguishing features?"

  "No, sir."

  "I will check," said Ogden, with a leer. "Get undressed."

  "I assure you, sir," pleaded Mary, desperately embarrassed, "that I have no birthmark, or anything of that kind. Please take my word for it."

  "Perhaps a beating would be an amusing prelude to my examination," mused Ogden, aloud. "Shall I call out and have it done, Mary? I could have you suspended above my desk here, and look up your skirt as you kick. I've loved looking up girls' skirts since I was a kid. Well?"

  'You are a kid, you stupid brat,' was what Mary thought. What she said was, "Please don't call out, sir. Look, I'm getting undressed as fast as I can."

  She now understood why Sir Roger had taken such trouble to find her a dress with dozens of tiny buttons. She was suddenly desperate to get it off quickly before the monstrous
youth lost patience, and called for help, but (still thinking in her own restricted financial terms) was afraid to damage so expensive a garment. Little did she know that that very afternoon it would be tossed to the crew as a polishing rag. After what seemed an age of panting and sweating in the warm atmosphere of the cabin, the dress was finally undone, and she drew it over her head with a sigh of relief. How she would have laughed just a few days earlier if she had been told she would ever feel relieved to be standing in her underwear in front of a fat and smug-looking boy in horn-rimmed spectacles!

  "Those are very smart looking niceties, Mary," said Ogden, pulling his chair closer to the desk, and leaning forward for a better look. "How did you ever afford them?"

  "Sir Roger chose them, sir."

  "Really? Did you model them for him?"

  "No, sir. Sir Roger was a perfect gentlemen."

  "Something I'll never be, do you mean?"

  "O no, sir, I never..." began Mary, in a panic.

  "That's all right. No need to apologise. I would regard the term as an insult. My ambition is to be a cad, if an American can qualify. But why have you stopped undressing. I don't remember telling you to. Surely you can talk and strip at the same time?"

  Mary was about to try another plea, but a significant glance at the door sent her hands flying to the shoulder straps of her beautiful slip. In seconds the most elegant garment she had ever worn - and one she would never wear again - was lying at her feet.

  "The stockings next," said Ogden, who was vigorously polishing his spectacles, "and turn your back to me when you roll them down."

  Mary had never given any credence to phrases about 'feeling' eyes boring into ones back, and the like, but the knowledge that this filthy-minded youth was staring at her from such close range as she bent to free the stockings from her toes produced a distinct physical effect. She felt a tickling up the backs of her thighs, as if a swarm of bluebottles had landed there. The sensation was strongest between her legs, and only just in time did she restrain her hand from reaching back to rub the spot. It's just imagination, thought Mary, or else Sir Roger's choice of knickers, which from the first had seemed too tight.

  When the stockings were off, Ogden instructed her to replace her shoes. These again were of Sir Roger's choosing, and had heels substantially higher than she was accustomed to wear. They produced a feeling of permanent physical insecurity to match the state of her emotions. The garter belt followed naturally, and with no great sense of loss, but now Mary was faced with a most painful choice. Which of the two great secret shames of her life should she reveal first?

  Ogden rapped the desk impatiently with his knuckles, and she was saved the worry of conscious choice as her hands leapt automatically to her bra catch. As the lacy cups fell away, Ogden jumped to his feet with an appreciative whistle.

  "Baby, those are just about the biggest nipples I've ever seen, and I've seen some beauts in my time, believe me. Give me a profile, there. Why, they're half an inch long, at least. Has this undressing excited you, honey, or is that their quiescent state?"

  "They do grow even longer, sir, I'm afraid," said Mary with a little sob.

  "Why should you be afraid? Even I find them very fetching, and it’s not at all my speciality. Some of our piercing members are going to need straitjackets when they see those whoppers. We were discussing breasts in the saloon only the other evening, and most of us chaps seemed to feel that moderately small pear shaped jobs like yours, Mary, are the tops - when combined with really prominent nipples, of course. Just the knickers now, Mary. But before you remove them, tell me, is that hair I see peeking above the waistband."

  "Yes, sir."

  "Pubic hair?"

  "Yes, sir. I'm sorry."

  "It seems rather darker than the hair of your head. I hope you're a natural blonde."

  "I am, sir. That's just the colour it grows down there."

  "You should let it see more of the sun. But no doubt we can help with that. And I couldn't help noticing when you bent over so immodestly just now, that you have a lot of hair at the tops of your thighs, and between your buttocks. Have you never heard of shaving, Mary?"

  "I was afraid, sir, that it would make the hair grow faster and thicker," replied Mary untruthfully.

  "But how do you manage with bikinis?"

  "I just can't wear them, sir. I have to make do with a one piece cut quite low on the thigh."

  "Well, let's see this steaming jungle. I should warn you that we have a pubic hair artist who is likely to find you a most entrancing model."

  Shutting her eyes tightly, and forcing out a tear or two in the process, Mary wriggled her last tight garment down her legs, and waited miserably for the knowing youth's comments. It was not the luxuriance of her pubic hair that caused Mary so much shame. On the contrary, she regarded it as a merciful dispensation, for it slightly disguised the extraordinary prominence of her sexual lips, which despite this protection hung in immediately visible folds between her thighs. She could not hide her shame even by pressing her legs together, for that forced part of the labia entirely into the open, and had the unfortunate side effect of awakening her clitoris, which with the slightest arousal grew rapidly to a scale more than equivalent to the rest of her sexual parts. Ogden's eyesight was not the best in the world, but even so it took only a second for him to lose interest in her pubic hair.

  "Christ almighty! Miss Bowdler. This is astonishing. It looks more like what I have between my legs than anything a woman should be carrying. I can foresee that a lot of men are going to offer to carry it for you, or hold it at least. Turn round and touch your toes so that I can get a proper look."

  With a groan, Mary obeyed. It was horribly embarrassing, but at least it meant that for a moment she could escape the sight of the youth's excited eyes.

  "There's no doubt about it," said Ogden, leaning over the desk, and feeling his stiff little prick rub pleasantly against its edge, "that is one unique pussy! But I doubt if you'll be allowed to hide your light under such a monstrous bushel of hair. Because unusually luxuriant though your lower down is, a man of the world like me has seen hairier twats, but even I have never seen a more brazen one. I wouldn't mind betting that even the oldest member never has, though he is sure to claim the opposite."

  Ogden resumed his seat, not without discomfort, and began making notes.

  "No distinguishing features indeed! That was a downright lie, miss, and deserves to be punished. Poetically speaking it deserves that the distinguishing features themselves should take the brunt of the punishment, and don't you go doubting that we have the implements on hand to make them really smart. Do you doubt that, Mary?"

  "No, sir. I'm terribly sorry. Please don't hurt me!"

  "Well, if I consent to suspend your punishment - I only say suspend, mind - it's on the understanding that you carry out all my orders during the rest of this interview with military precision. Is that clear?"

  "O yes, sir, and I will, I promise."

  Ogden went to the side of the desk, and pulled the strange double steps into a more convenient position.

  "O.K., get up, Mary, and come here. I want you to climb this left hand step. Be careful in those shoes. You will find there is just room to set down both heel and toe on the top step."

  Mary felt dreadfully insecure on a platform more than a yard from the ground, and barely big enough to accommodate her two feet pressed together. They were not to remain together for long. Ogden pulled out a strap from below the top step, to which it was secured by a chain, and proceeded to attach the free end to Mary's left ankle. To give him easy access to it he made her raise her right foot and for a moment of desperate concentration she was balanced on one leg. Now she was even grateful for the presence of the young monster, as some slight insurance against the worst consequences of overbalancing. For was she not worth a hundred thousand? S
he was even more glad he was there when she found she was expected to transfer her free foot to the right hand steps, a manoeuvre fraught with danger.

  "Don't worry, toots," said Ogden cheerily, "I'll be happy to catch you if you fall."

  She just managed to avoid toppling forward, and immediately found her right foot strapped in place a full yard from her left, so that her wide open sex formed the apex of an arch, under which a delighted Ogden began to march back and forth triumphantly. Her elevation was such that his shock of curly brown hair tickled her hanging labia each time he passed beneath.

  "Hands at the back of your neck, Mary," he snapped, when he had enjoyed enough of this exercise. "Now, the last statistic I am required to collect is your internal measurement, and if it at all matches what you have outside I can see we will have to order a completely new range of dildos. To make the calculation I have this cunning inflatable device - all my own invention, you know - which I believe you will find most enjoyable to entertain."

  The object Ogden held up for her inspection was a collapsed rubber balloon inside which there was evidently a thin but rigid rod some five inches long. This rod projected a little beyond the sealed mouth of the balloon, and ended in a valve with a hand pump. After she had stared at this toy for long enough to gather some unpleasant inkling of its purpose, Ogden said, "Now hold very, very still, Mary," and bobbed down between her legs.