Madeleine (11 page)

Twenty-one stabbing pricks in her sore sheath, but only fourteen more to her tally, after Bertha had deducted her ‘rent’, and Pete’s vicious parting gift, plus three drunken idiots who laid the blame for their brewer’s droop on her.
She rinsed out her now disgusting ‘body’ and dropped, exhausted, into her soiled bed.

Sunday started quietly enough, though she still ached inside from Pete’s cruel grip and the succession of batterings she had received from her crude visitors.
Then Lo Lei appeared to tell her she was wanted in the lounge, where the punters made their choice.
Punters on a Sunday morning?
She had understood that little or nothing happened on a Sunday, certainly not before evening.
She arrived in the lounge to find all three girls waiting for her, plus Bertha.
In her hand she swung the thick black leather snake.
With a rush of horror she realised that Bertha’s threat on Friday had been no idle talk.
She really meant to whip her cunt today, to punish her for not satisfying the ‘special’ guests.

“Get that tatty rag off and come over here,” Bertha ordered, gesturing at her grey and frayed underwear.
With a sinking feeling pervading her guts she obeyed, and went to stand by the obese Madam.

“On your knees, bend forward and grip my ankles.
I’m going to show you, and these bitches here, that my friends get the best here or you get the worst.
You’ll going to pay with your cunt for that little exhibition on Friday, and I think you’ll think twice before you act like that again.” Then, as Madeleine grovelled at her feet, her buttocks in the air and her nose to the carpet, she gripped the swollen ankles that supported Bertha’s bulk, “Open your thighs, you’ll going to get four screamers just where it will hurt most.”

Wide open now, her parted thighs leaving her much abused vulva totally vulnerable, she crouched trembling, waiting for the blow to fall.
She had a good idea of what that strap could do from its impact on her soft palms.
How much worse it was going to be on her sex, she didn’t dare think.
When it came it was everything she had feared and more.
It was a screamer all right, and scream she did, there was no way to contain the hurt of that blow.
She clung to the thick ankles, her pelvis rocking up and down, as the unbearable agony pulsed through her.
With deadly precision, Bertha swung the black snake down again, to land on the cleft of her buttocks, and whip round underneath her to impact on the swollen labia and the bruised clitoris, the ultimate tip digging a red triangle at the base of her belly.
Again she screamed and bucked, still holding fast, but the third undid her, and she let go to clasp her wounded vulva and belly with both hands, rolling on the floor and squealing like a pig.

Only the threat of extra strokes got her back into position for the fourth, and mercifully, last terrible stroke, and even then she flinched away twice, her buttocks twisting desperately, before she could actually bring herself to hold her pelvis still and offer her vulva yet again to that atrocious tongue which licked it
like a flame.

She spent the afternoon in her sordid bed, nursing her wounded vulva.
How much more was it going to have to endure?
First scalded by Madame R’s baleful bidet, then almost perforated by Pete’s cruel pincer, now bitten by the black snake, and all the while used and battered and abused by a never ending succession of hard, unfeeling pricks.
Her whole pelvic region was one mass of soreness; she doubted if she could ever enjoy sex again.

In the evening she was summoned to the lounge again, where a thin trickle of visitors made their choices from the girls on duty.
She could summon up little effort to attract attention, or please her suitors, and was only obliged to endure penetration of her aching cunt three times in the course of the evening. This did not even cover Bertha’s charges, for inevitably, she could give no satisfaction, and her tally went down one.
There were forty ‘johnnies’ in her jar now, but the scoreboard only showed twenty-two, after three days.
At this rate, she considered miserably as she sunk into her bed at last, she wouldn’t get out inside a fortnight.

By morning she had worked it out, and went to see Bertha. “I’ve got to get out of here,” she told her, standing in front of the fat Madam as she lolled on a sofa, picking chocolates from a box, “and the only way I can do it is to step up my work rate.
If I concentrate on the times when you’ve got more men than you can cope with, will you help me?”

“Depends what’s in it for me,” Bertha replied, predictably, “what you want to do, anyway?”

Madeleine took a deep breath, and plunged in.
“I want the room next to mine, with the communicating door, and I want Lizzie to work with me peak times, say twelve till two and six to ten in the evenings.”

Bertha lifted one plucked brow. “So what’s the idea then?”
Madeleine told her.

“That’ll cost you.
It’s a hundred and fifty a day for the room for starters.”

“But it’s only that for room and keep,” she protested.

“Take it or leave it, it’s all the same to me when you get out,” came the callous reply.

“You bitch!” Madeleine exploded, her feelings driven past boiling point by the greed the woman displayed.

“Mind your manners, my girl, or there’ll be no deal at any price, and I’ll make sure you don’t get out of here for a month,” Bertha growled.

“OK, OK, I apologise,” She’d grovel if she had to.
Anything to cut short this nightmare. “A hundred and fifty it is, three tricks a day.”

“And then there’s Lizzie, you’ll have to pay her wages.
That’ll be another fifty for her, and fifty for me to get a replacement.”

“But she doesn’t do anything when the punters are here,” Madeleine objected, “she puts out all the towels and rubbers before we start.”

“You getting uppity again?” Bertha asked, menacingly. “I think we’d better call the whole thing off.”

“No, I’ll take it,” she interjected, capitulating, “two more tricks for Lizzie.” God, this was getting expensive.
Any more, and the scheme was not going to pay for itself.

“Are there any more favours I can do you?” Bertha asked, sweetly.

The cow, the rotten cow, she was squeezing her dry, and gloating over it.
“There is one thing.
We’re not allowed to wear street clothes here, and the only underwear I’ve got if this disgusting ‘body’.
I rinse it out every night, but it’s had so much vomit and wear and tear that it’s unwearable.
Also I need a comb, a lipstick and some KY jelly.
Can I send Lizzie out to get me some, and a clean slip or something?”

Bertha fixed her with an evil grin. “She’ll have to be paid for her time, and where’ll you get the cash for her to pay for your little luxuries?”

Madeleine looked at
her in silence, then gave in.

“All right, I get the message.
A trick for her time, and another for the cash to buy what I need.”

“It’s a deal.
A pleasure to do business with you, Miss,” Bertha said, mockingly, “you can tell Lizzie what you want and send her to me for the necessary.”

And I bet she doesn’t get a penny of what I’m paying for her services, now or later Madeleine thought, as she left the room, but took good care to keep the thought to herself.

She put the plan into operation at once, and was ready for the noon rush.
The communicating door was unlocked, and Lizzie made up the beds in both rooms, with adequate supplies of towels and rubbers, and a tube of KY in each nightstand.
Madeleine freshened up in the basin, made up her face, lubricated her vagina, put on her clean slip and generally prepared for the fray, trying to make sure she made an attractive picture for her clients.
She didn’t want to lose any more scores to complaints from disappointed customers.

She collected the first from the lounge, and took him to one of the rooms, coaxed him out of his trousers, and into a condom, and fucked him enthusiastically.
While she worked, Lizzie, in accordance with the instructions she had been given, selected another rampant male and took him into the other room, where she invited him to take off his pants, and make himself comfortable.
As soon as Madelaine’s first client had discharged himself with piggish grunts, she helped him strip off the ‘johnny’, dropped it in the jar, handed him a towel, and went through the communicating door to greet her next client, waiting impatiently for her next door.

While she serviced number two, Lizzie helped number one to clean himself up, and hurried him out to make way for number three.
Ten minutes flat, and the time whittled down with every customer, as they got into the swing of things, and learned to work as a team.
For two hours she kept it up, rubber, fuck and towel, with an occasional pause to relubricate as her cunt dried up from the repeated friction.
At the end of the stint there were twelve ‘johnnies’ in the jar, and she was exhausted.
As she flopped on the warm and steamy bed, Bertha came in grinning maliciously.

“Two of your punters didn’t appreciate your mass production methods, and wanted a refund.
Keep up the good work.”

The lousy cow, she was making a pile out of this, with her fifty per cent on refunds.
Madeleine totted up the score.
Six tricks for two rooms and two for Lizzie, fat lot the girl would see of that, then two rejects and the two she owed for the shopping.
God she’d worked her pussy raw for precisely nothing.
Still, all her dues were paid, and everything this evening would count towards her release.
She lay back, and gathered her strength to face the howling mob due at six.

The evening brought its problems.
Apart from some grumbles about being rushed, there were a couple of drunks who messed up the place, and she lost time while the room was cleaned, and one guy couldn’t raise a stand, but wouldn’t be moved.
By nine she had enough.
Sixteen new ‘johnnies’, but two refunds.
Net score, fourteen.
She’d done as well on Saturday.
Mind you, there had been debts to pay, and she and Lizzie were only just getting into a stride.
Tomorrow, she promised herself, she’d put in a full six hours, and really get things moving.

Tuesday started well.
Fourteen satisfied customers, and six points in the kitty after paying the rent, but that afternoon, resting before taking on the evening punters, the screw tightened another turn.
Summoned by Lizzie, she stood in front of Bertha again.

“The girls aren’t happy,” the overweight procuress stated bluntly, “you’re taking all their trade with your high powered ways.”

Madeleine seethed inwardly.
She only worked her system when there were queues of punters, and nobody went short.
What was Bertha up to now?

“Seems to me they’re entitled to a little compensation, say one trick each evening.”

One trick.
Well, it could have been worse. “OK, one trick it is.”

“One trick each, of course,” Bertha said airily.

Oh, Jesus!
The bitch had her over a barrel.
She’d have to agree, though she didn’t see the others getting any of it, any more than poor Lizzie.
This fat bloodsucker was bleeding her dry.
Dumbly she nodded her head, and went back to her room to gear herself up for yet further effort to pay off the mounting tariff.

That evening, with Lizzie’s backing, she took twenty grunting men between her spread thighs, now raw and bruised, but Bertha pocketed three ‘for the girls’ and declared another three were dissatisfied.
She had no way of telling if there had indeed been complaints, certainly they’d all been happy enough when she’d last seen them, pulling on their pants, their lust slaked, but her score of ‘johnnies’ only yielded fourteen points.
Still she’d advanced her total by twenty in the day, the best yet, and, at fifty-six, she’d passed the half way mark.
Two more days like this and she’d be clear by Thursday night, one week, the target she’d set herself.

There was some kind of transport exhibition at Earls Court, and some good mid-week fixtures; the punters poured steadily through the front door, and into her see-saw sex act.
Wednesday she pushed herself and her aching body, and collected thirty-seven ‘johnnies’, but not only did Bertha collect eight for rent and service and three for the other resident whores, but she claimed that there had been four complaints.
It was not true of course.
She’d gone out of her way to please the unprepossessing males, who’d bounced their beer bellies up and down on her bare battered body, and she’d worked her tired mound to satisfy them, clenching her vagina on their flagging penises to bring them off, feigning orgasms to polish their egos.
She bit her lip as Bertha listed her failures with ill-concealed relish, and went off to reckon up her tally.

Twenty-two more clocked up, though it had cost her dearly.
Seventy-eight on the board, but one hundred and forty ‘johnnies’ in the jar.
Well, not a jar actually, she needed a plastic bucket now to keep the sordid relics of the pricks that seemed to be ploughing her night and day.
Still, only twenty-two to go, and on past form she’d get through them comfortably tomorrow.
Well, perhaps comfortably was not the best word, she thought, pressing a warm flannel to her sore and swollen vulva, but she’d done more in a day before, and Thursdays were busy, she was told.