Deceived and Enslaved Read online

Lillian was sitting in Hyde-Lee's private third-storey apartment, a magnificent affair of antique wood and renaissance paintings. He was sitting on a comfortable leather chair, a cashmere shawl covering his legs; she was perched on an ancient chaise longue.

  'I suppose, my dear, that you want to get down to business,' Hyde-Lee said, after dinner had been finished.

  'If you are well enough.'

  'You are never well enough at my age. Today, I'm not too bad. If I get too tired we might have to stop. Where do you want to begin? Nowhere, I hope, as boring as my childhood.'

  Hyde-Lee told her little that she didn't already know, although one or two anecdotes about his contemporaries and his own life at Oxford would nicely personalize some of the academic detail. She knew, for example, that Hyde-Lee had been part of the bohemian scene in Soho in the late fifties and early sixties; that he had first gone to live in South East Asia before settling on Italy. She knew that his wife had been a leading authority on renaissance art. She also knew that he had never had children and that he had apparently traveled to some of the most far-flung corners of the world, and that he was a keen yachtsman and angler.

  'Well, I'm afraid I'll have to stop there. It's all a bit exhausting this reliving of one's life. How did I do?' he said after ten minutes, seemingly growing bored with Lillian's questions.

  As he spoke, he pushed a button on an electronic gadget that he had been holding throughout their interview. She noticed how wizened his hands were, and as she met his gaze, how tired his eyes had become.

  'More importantly, how did I do?' Lillian replied. She had listened attentively. Not wanting to be too intrusive on their first proper meeting, she had asked little, merely prompting him occasionally where she felt it necessary, and where his fading memory had stumbled.

  'I think you are going to be a splendid biographer. You have your father's intelligent eyes. If your mind is half as sharp as his, I will be honoured.'

  She hadn't mentioned her father to him before, although she knew that they had been acquaintances at Oxford. 'You knew my father well?'

  'Yes, very well. I was a great admirer of his.'

  'It's strange, he never talked about you or Lord Willingham much.'

  'Maybe he had his reasons.'

  She was intrigued now. 'What reasons?'

  'Let us not rush things. All in due course,' he said, his voice sounding weary and irritated.

  'Did you fall out?'

  'You certainly have your father's inquisitive mind,' Hyde-Lee answered, a hint of admonition in his tone.

  As he spoke the maid entered the room, a prompt for Lillian to leave.

  4: Lord Willingham Punishes Magda, the Polish Girl

  Willingham stood over the naked girl, her left arm handcuffed to the four-poster bed. She was kneeling on the silken sheets.

  'Magda, I am very angry with you?'

  'Sorry, sir,' the Polish girl whined.

  'How many times have I told you that you must have respect for Mr Everton?'

  'But he hurt me, sir. He made me wear these beads inside of me all day and I just couldn't take it.'

  Willingham was aroused by the girl's Polish intonation. Part of him felt sorry to have to part with such an arousing woman, just because his brother had invited that idiot English woman.

  'Quiet girl. You know that Mr Everton is allowed to do anything he wants with you.'

  'But, sir, it was impossible, I cannot eat or sleep without thinking about the beads, sir. They make me feel sexy, sir, all the time. I had to take them out.'

  'Do you want to be a good girl for your Mistress or not?' Willingham asked forcefully.

  'Yes, sir, I do.' Willingham looked into the stunning cool blue of Magda's eyes. 'Then you have to accept that we who are your masters are allowed to do anything we want with you, and it doesn't matter how much it hurts you, you have to accept.'

  'Yes, sir.' Magda's shoulders drooped in defeat. She knew that the Master was right.

  'Or you know what is going to happen to you?' Willingham's voice was kind, almost tender with her.

  'Yes, sir.'

  'We'll send you away and you'll never get to see your Mistress again.'

  'No, sir, I don't want that to happen,' Magda sighed.

  'Well, Magda, the choice is yours.'

  'Yes, sir, I want to stay. Please let me stay.' Her voice was moist, pleading. She loved her mistress so much that she would do anything for her.

  'So, you do know what is going to happen to you now, don't you?'

  'Yes, sir,' Magda said fatalistically.

  'I am going to have to get Mr Everton to punish you very hard for your wretched disobedience.'

  'No, sir!' Magda exclaimed involuntary. 'Not him. Can't you punish me, sir? Mr Everton is so hard on me. I couldn't sit down for a week the last time he whipped me, sir.'

  As he contemplated the situation, Willingham ran the palm of his hand over the smooth skin of the blonde's slender back. She really was astonishingly beautiful, the way her blonde, wavy hair cascaded down. He gazed along the length of her slender back down to her pushed-up, round bottom. He could not resist trailing the tips of his fingers between the cleft of her buttocks, resting them lightly on the tiny crater of her anus. He heard Magda give a little sigh of pleasure.

  'Would sir like me to pleasure him?' Magda asked.

  'Magda, you really are not learning. You know that when I want to be pleasured I shall tell you. I certainly don't need you to tell me,' Willingham spoke sternly. Magda was a keen submissive and a masochist. In fact, Willingham got the impression that she often was disobedient just so she could be punished more, but she was useless at learning the essential rules. That was why Lady Ogleby had sent her for further training, despairing at her seeming inability to do as she was told.

  'Sorry, sir,' Magda replied guiltily.

  'It's going to be the riding crop for you, my dear?'

  'Yes, sir.' Magda's voice was calm to the point of sounding lethargic, but her eyes burned enthusiastically.

  Willingham knew that Magda was secretly delighted with the idea of being punished with a riding crop. He undid her handcuffs. 'Now get into position and I'll be back in a moment.'

  'Yes, sir.'

  Willingham exited the room and went in search of Everton. He found him in the large kitchen talking to Sonia, the voluptuous maid. Willingham eyed Everton suspiciously. He always seemed to be around Sonia these days. He didn't want Sonia to think for one moment that he had ceased being her master. He would speak to Everton about it later.

  'Where is the English girl?' Willingham asked, casually thinking that it had been far too long since he had pleasured himself with the Italian maid. He made a mental note about her too, thinking how much fun it had been to give the girl a good thrashing.

  'I think she's in her room,' Everton answered in his usual dull monotone. Willingham cast a disapproving glance at his servant, before turning to Sonia.

  'Sonia, could you go up there and speak to her? Give her a tour of the gardens or something. I'm in the room above. I don't want her to hear anything.'

  He followed Sonia up the stairs, staring at her thighs under the hem of her pretty maid's outfit, and remembering how much he used to enjoy pulling her onto his lap and watching her squirm under him as he slapped her naked bottom with his hard hand.

  When Willingham heard the English girl's voice from behind the door of her room accepting Sonia's invitation to go for a stroll in the garden, he knew that in a moment it would be safe to proceed.

  He re-entered the room upstairs where he found Magda patiently waiting for him, her knees resting on a dining chair, her beautiful bottom perched up before him. It was a delicious sight.

  He went and pulled back the heavy curtains and then opened the window onto the late afternoon sunshine. Magda looked golden in the dusk light as the weakening sun entered the room. The rounded curves of her hips were emphasized by the position she knelt in. Her beautiful wavy hair trailed down her back as she arched her
neck expectantly. How he loved to watch that beautiful head rear back as he whipped her!

  'Magda, pull your bottom apart,' Willingham said as casually as if he was asking her to carry out some menial task. Magda, as casually, obliged, gripping her buttocks firmly and then splaying them, her long crimson fingernails indenting the white flesh, tugging at it, so that Willingham could see her sex lips trailing down to a fringe of golden pubic hair below, and above the taut surround of her anus. He placed the crop above her and dangled the narrow strips of leather between her bum cheeks and over her sex so that it tickled her.'

  'Oh!' Magda sighed as Willingham continued to manipulate the tawse, her little pert bottom wriggling against the delicate touch the leather made on her.

  'Now, tell me what you want, Magda.' Willingham removed the whip from her bottom. Magda knew what she was expected to say.

  'Please sir, will you whip my bottom?' Magda replied without hesitation.

  'Why, Magda?'

  'Because I am such a naughty, disobedient girl.' She didn't sound like a naughty disobedient girl at all, she sounded like a very excited and expectant one.

  The first lash descended, catching Magda on the meat of her buttocks; her little bottom wriggled against the pain of it.

  'Ask me again, Magda.'

  'Please sir, will you whip me on my bottom?'

  'How hard, Magda?'

  'Oh, very hard, sir.'

  The second lash was, if anything, harder than the first. Magda whooped with pained pleasure. Her scream was strong and sensual, making Willingham very sexually excited. Her fingers reached up towards her clitoris.

  'No!' Willingham commanded. 'You know that that is not allowed.'

  'Sorry, sir,' Magda sighed, withdrawing her hand from her sex.

  Willingham whipped her again. Another satisfied scream! Even in the dusk light Willingham could see the pink weals that had spread across her bottom.

  'Oh again sir, again!' Magda begged enthusiastically.

  Willingham thought back, first to Isabella and how her face had crumpled in exquisite pain yesterday as he had lashed her with the self-same crop, her fuller bottom quivering with the force of each blow. As he had kneaded her pained buttocks, he had made her take him in the mouth until he ejaculated between the rosy jut of her shapely lips. And then he was reminded of Penny, a young English girl, who had been his guest a few weeks ago. He recalled her standing naked, bent over, Everton sitting before her, holding onto the back of her legs while Willingham had administered his hard punishment. He'd even forced Penny to bend further over and suck on Everton's thick slicked cock while he continued to beat her with the riding crop, the last excruciating stroke right across the button of her anus, as Everton spread her bottom as wide as he could. And lastly he thought about Lillian, and how exciting, just how enthralling it would be to have the girl totally in his power.

  'Please sir, whip my bottom again,' Magda pleaded.

  Willingham duly obliged.

  5: The Order of Janus

  By the next evening Lord Willingham, accompanied by Everton, had returned to England, taking the young Polish girl back to her Mistress. He had decided that it would be best to get her out of the house in case Lillian somehow met her.

  When Sonia told Lillian that Willingham would be gone for a couple of days, Lillian breathed a sigh of relief. She'd found him so arrogant, and there was something so forceful about his personality it frightened her. Lillian could concentrate on talking to Hyde-Lee and working in his library, reading through the copious leather-bound volumes of his diary.

  She worked solidly amongst Hyde-Lee's voluminous books and papers in the wood-panelled room. Occasionally she would find an entry that mentioned her father. Hyde-Lee had indeed liked him; his descriptions were affectionate and amicably teasing. She made notes on all extracts, crosschecking Hyde-Lee's memoirs with comments from his diary.

  Later, she went out and strolled around the expensive shops of Forte Dei Marmi, inevitably ending by walking down to the sea and gazing at the splendid snow-capped mountains that formed the backdrop to this wealthy exclusive Italian resort. She returned to eat her dinner alone in the plush dining room. Hyde-Lee, so Sonia had told her, was too unwell to join her.

  The next morning, Hyde-Lee was so unwell he couldn't be interviewed. Lillian watched from her room as a procession of doctors attended him. His situation looked serious and, by early afternoon, he had to be taken to the hospital. Sonia told her that his condition had worsened, and although it wasn't exactly life threatening, he was to be kept in hospital for some days, mainly for observation.

  The house was now empty except for Sonia and her. Things were turning out disastrously for Lillian. She had only come to interview Hyde-Lee, but with him in hospital, it seemed unlikely that she was going to get much of a chance to talk to him. She seriously thought about returning to England, but then there were the copious amount of letters and private papers that were at her disposal. It might be better to use the next few days searching through his library.

  Sonia was left to keep Lillian company, and appeared to be at her side at all times. She would even appear when Lillian was sitting studying in the library. Lillian had the distinct impression she had been instructed to keep an eye on her. However, having several domestic chores to perform, as she had been left in charge of the whole house, there were times when Lillian was left completely alone.

  One such time, after a busy morning in the library, Lillian decided to explore the house more thoroughly. She knew that Sonia was downstairs preparing lunch in the large kitchen.

  She entered room after sumptuous room, appreciating the tasteful decoration, the gilt-edged coving, the splendid works of the Renaissance that seemed to hang from every room. Eventually, and probably inevitably, she was drawn to Hyde-Lee's private quarters. Nobody had told her that it was out of bounds but she knew instinctively that it was, as it was Hyde-Lee's private quarters. But her curiosity got the better of her. For a year she had trailed through libraries for snippets of information about Hyde-Lee, and here she was able to walk around alone in his room. It was an opportunity that was just too temptingly precious to ignore.

  She entered the main sitting room where Hyde-Lee had dined with her the first night that she had arrived. It was tidy and ordered and she soon grew bored with looking around it.

  She noticed, however, that there was another room off to the left. To her dismay, though, the door was locked. She could only imagine that this was indeed the room where Hyde-Lee had written his latest novels and memoirs. It was so frustrating to find it locked. Again temptation took over. Eventually, using a trusty credit card, she managed to open the door. She knew that she really shouldn't be doing this, but considering how much time she had spent researching Hyde-Lee, she couldn't resist.

  The room had a high ceiling and was a long oblong in shape. It was less grand than most of the others but had all the paraphernalia one would expect to find in a writer's studio: an old oak desk piled high with manuscripts and revisions, a row of dusty books behind, and a pile of leather-bound journals.

  There seemed to be two sets of separate diaries in the unlocked desk drawer. There were up to three heavy volumes bound in red leather. She opened the last one at random, settling on the most recent date. There was the usual information about his writing projects, information about his wife, a couple of aphorisms about Italy, but nothing exceptional. The last volume suddenly ended on the day of his wife's death.

  There were three other black leather volumes lying beside it. Judging by the way the paper had yellowed he must have also kept these diaries since he was a young man.

  She flicked through pages and pages of these diaries, becoming intensely shocked by their content, for all of them outlined in minutest detail his sexual activities, stretching back to when he was a young man.

  She found the earliest volume, nineteen fifty-five to nineteen sixty-five. She skimmed through them quickly. Nobody was mentioned by name, usually only by in
itial. Her heart sank when she found several references to a certain JS. Her heart was pounding as she began to read more and more.

  There was a long passage dated nineteen fifty-six, June the twenty-third... and entitled The Order of Janus. She began to read:

  'It was all perfectly set up. How much they realize that all this theosophy with a little bit of devil worship is only an excuse for our wicked little practices, I will never know. JS and LW are certainly in on the joke but as for the rest, some of them even take it seriously.

  It was all terribly delicious. We met as usual in LW's basement, fantastically decked out with spooky black candles, and that wonderful long plinth that LW had made for other practices than pedestalling emperors. The metal bars I thought were overdoing it a little but at least they serve their purpose.

  It's all wonderful stuff. It has taken us all weeks to work on it, and solstice, even though there is no sunrise in sight, is a beautiful little touch.

  JS and LW make me laugh. To think of them spending all that time at college trying to get the disaffected girls from the Christian Union, or the one or two specimens from the Home Counties to go along with all this nonsense. It's all just a beautiful pretext for a damn good session.

  Lucy as always spent hours on the costume, although I'm not so sure how she can justify all that leather in the name of some ersatz cult. I would have thought druid outfits, loose gowns and all the rest would have been more appropriate.

  Upstairs the girls, as we have explained the initiation ceremony, are disappointed that they are not allowed to wear anything more fanciful than civvies, but LW and JS and certainly myself prefer it that way.

  JS has designed the most fantastic preliminaries. What a load of meaningless gobbledy-gook, purloined from sacred texts and the Cabbala I expect, but utterly convincing.

  LW's painting of the centaur certainly looks as if it is drawn from the mannerist school, either that or he just can't draw. That was the most implausible centaur I have ever seen, the legs were far too long for a start.

  There are two girls: Amanda and a June. They are both beautiful. Amanda has long blond hair and one of those fresh peachy faces to die for. She's very upper class, and I wouldn't have been surprised if she hadn't had a dose of this kind of thing already. She wears a starched white blouse and a pleated maroon skirt. June looks totally submissive. She looks beautiful too, in the floral print dress, her substantial breasts curving deliciously through the cotton material. I thought then that she would agree with everything we were to say. They both talk such tosh about the spirit.