She rose, her hands at her bosom, her face contorted with fear… for fear had been impregnated into her psyche so insidiously that she was no longer haughty mistress of her own emotions.
The knob turned.
Would the door never open? she thought distractedly… for it seemed an eternity… only a flicker Of light from the hall ebbed through the brief passage… induced by the hand… of…
Of whom?
Of… of… Gregory and Marie, surely and… the man… who the door opened wide… a single figure crossed the threshold, swung the door to at once and locked it.
Oh… no!
It was impossible!
She swayed, she recoiled, she put a hand on the edge of the divan to steady herself.
The man approached her slowly.
She tried to scream; her voce was constricted so by astonishment and terror ,that only a raucous gasp emerged from her parted red lips.
“I see you recognize me, dear,” at last he spoke.
“Oh, Bob… Bob Travers… what are you doing here?” she managed to gasp.
“At your service, Miss Thomaston. Yes, your suitor… or should I say one of your many rejectees?” he observed.
A handsome blond-haired young man, of about twenty-eight, very wealthy, a scion of the rich Travers steel family and one of her “rejectees;” as he had put it so piquantly, for she had led him onto propose to her, only to laugh in his face and tell him to “improve his line.”
“Well, that’s funny to find you here,” she said and forced a laugh that sounded hollow.
“Not exactly. I am here to satisfy myself and you are here to provide satisfaction,” was his cool retort.
Then her terror took the upper hand; she forgot her intention of rendering him spellbound by her beauty and compelling him to aid her all she could think of was freedom.
She went to him and, her face contorted by her utter woe, exclaimed, in a torrent of stammering, almost incoherent words: “Oh, oh, I’m so glad you’re here, Bob… They’ve trapped me… kidnapped me and forced me to become …a…a-”
“Prostitute?” he suggested.
“Yes… oh, it was terrible. My maid Marie and Greg Matthews… they’re the ones they ought to be in prison for what they’ve done to me… beat me… shamed and tortured me-” she was caught up in the whirlpool of her own melodrama, augmenting her tale and elaborating the incidents to magnify them and gain his sympathy.
But for all that, the tears that welled in her widened eyes, the contortion of her haughty features; the rising and falling,of her bosom beneath the flamboyant negligee-these were candid and honest enough, for Marcia was terrified to a state bordering on the hysterical.
“Beat you? Tortured you?” his tone was incredulous; garbed elegantly, as for an evening at some posh club, he was fully as dashing as Gregory, as vigorous, as essentially male-and, though less subtle in his sensuality, as capable an amorist as the intrepid abductor.
“Yes… yes… oh… I thought I would die of fright,” she groaned, wringing her black, gloved hands eloquently, her eyes wide and appealing as they fixed on his handsome face.
“Interesting… and I suppose with this whip… here on the floor… they beat you?” was his reply, – impassive, unruffled, methodical in tone.
Her eyes fell on the ominous, coiled whip, an evil serpent of pain, on the lush rug at his side. She swayed, put one hand to her bosom in an attitude of fear-stricken recollection and gasped, “Yes… yes… with that… oh, Bob, if you only knew how horrible it was for me!”
He stooped, picked up the whip, examined it closely, in silence. Meanwhile, Marcia stepped back, expectantly awaiting his outburst of sympathy for her, his promise of aid in this the direst distress that had risen on her until now cloudless horizon of selfish existence.
Then he raised his eyes toward her face and said, without emotion in his voice, “Take off your negligee; Marcia, if you please.”
“My… my… negligee…“ and instinctively her hands gathered the opening of the luxuriant robe closer around her rising and falling pear-firm globes of Venus. “But… why… Bob? I want you to help me get out of here… let me find something to hide this indecent getup for which I must apologize to you, as I’d never normally let you find me in such an upset state and take me out of this horrible place!”
The whip trickled, dormant, from his right hand, as he observed her, his face impassive and she had, unreasonably perhaps, the sensation that he had not paid heed to her words; else why did his eyes so coldly survey her body, sheathed as it was in the glowing negligee, her svelte limbs pedestaled by the high-heeled black suede pumps and the flesh of those molded limbs entrancingly alabaster against the startling contrast of the suede? “I want to see what marks they left on you, that’s all, Marcia,” he replied, but imperceptibly his right hand raised the lash… almost as if he were about to wield it!
She flushed, first in offended modesty and then in apprehension to be found out in a lie, for naturally her body was immaculate and bore no traces of that plaited thong’s caress!
She hesitated an instant longer than she should have before she sought to evade the issue by a beguiling speech: “Bob… sweetheart… I mustn’t let you see me… the way they’ve forced me to dress… it would be too indecent come, be a gentleman as I know you are, darling and help me leave here… before they come back and torture me again.”
“You may be sure they will not come back, Marcia. I paid them enough to earn a few hour? privacy with you… just the two of us, my dear. And now, my stupid little liar, you are going to take off your negligee or feel this excellent whip on your deceitful body!”
His eyes had lost their impassive regard and glittered suddenly with a brooding malevolence, such as she had observed kindling the gaze of. Gregory, her deceived suitor; and now, indeed, the menace of the whip was clear, for his hand was raised, the lash coiled and furled, ready to answer at once the instigation of his tensing wrist!
She stood, stupefied; her eyes were wide, unbelieving, her lips parted, but she could utter not a word in her defense… all her acting was for naught!
He took a step forward, compressed his lips.
“Take off that negligee, you little teasing bitch, before I rip it into shreds and do the same for your hypocritical skin!” he exclaimed vituperatively.
“Bob! What,… what’s come over you we’re friends, darling… don’t you see I’m in danger-please help me, darli-ahhhhhhh! Ohhhhhh!”
Interrupting her passionate plea, he had set his left hand on her shoulder and, stepping forward, swept the whip across one marbled ivory forearm, lust above the elbow where the sheathing half glove ended its provocative caress upon her slender arm.
An angry striation, bright, glowing pink, announced the kiss of the whip-yes, the first: the first of a long and overdue account! “Oh, you beast! Let me go, do you hear! How dare you touch me, oh, you’re no better than that loathsome Gregory Matthews! Do you hear me? Let me go!”
“I hear you very well, Marcia. But this is one time you’re not going to get your way, my teasing, lying little slut! Now-are you going to take off that negligee quietly?”
Her hands flew to the profaning fingers that gripped her beautiful,, rounded shoulder so cruelly and with a quick descent of her raven head, she sank her teeth into the back of his hand.
“Why, you tricky bitch!” he exclaimed, clenching his teeth, his eyes furious with lust and hatred for her. And, falling upon her, throwing one leg around the back of hers to maintain her, casting away the whip so that both hands might be free, he ripped away the belt that fastened the negligee at her waist with his right hand; then, setting both hands on the bodice of the flamboyant robe, ripped it viciously, dragged it by force off her body and threw her back, to fall in a crumpled heap upon the divan.
For an instant she lay there, half crouching, her face to the lush surface of that nuptial couch of trysting illusion… and he saw the magnificent accentuation of her breasts sheathed in the satin, the jutting, contracting rotundities of her oval posterior, sensual and lust-stirring in its satiny embrace, the gleaming ivory of her thighs and, calves and supple, sinuous arms-on whose purity that single kiss of the whip stood out so lasciviously!
Then he regained command of the whip and stood, waiting for her next move.
The tableau was entrancing! An elegantly clad, handsome man, a fashion plate from an elite group of New York’s most eligible bachelors, standing, whip in hand, his eyes burning with the lust for vengeance as they laved the crouching body of the patrician brunette, clad lasciviously in pumps, satin tights and brassiere and half gloves!
And the setting of the drama was also incredible-a mansion of ill fame, the last place on earth one might expect to encounter so illustriously social a pair!
Her eyes wild with terror, Marcia fixed her gaze on the door. A sinking feeling clutched her pounding heart as she recalled that he had locked the door after entering. Marie must have given him a duplicate key. How to escape? Oh, God, how to escape! “I prefer you in that attitude and attire, Marcia,” Bob said at last, “for now I can see the proof of your lying nature. There’s not a mark on your haughty white flesh, but that’s not saying there isn’t going to be any, my dear! Now then, I find myself spellbound by your piquant choice of garments for an evening’s social entertainment and I should like, before I fuck you-for I am going to fuck you, you know-to have you walk around in front of me, while I sit on this divan, just as if we were at Bonwit Teller’s choosing a dress from a mannequin’s modeling.”
“You must be insane, to think you can force me to do anything so Shameful!” she panted, her eyes feverishly seeking some means, some way, some pathway to freedom-freedom-oh… to be home in her own apartment… to awaken from this nightmare… this fantastic dream which was all too horribly real!”
“Not at all, Marcia. In fact, you might say tonight’s the first time I’ve come to my senses about you… I can see through all your sophistication, you’re snobbish fear of being harmed by contact with human beings unlike your disgusting self. I used to want you very much, I don’t mind telling you now.