Bend Over Jessica

Lily didn’t really know what Michael did. She knew that he was ‘in business’. She knew that he had protection. She knew that a lot of what he did was close to the bone of what was acceptable (clubs, drinking dens) and that some things were not acceptable (gambling rackets, strip clubs, probably brothels). People said a lot of things about Michael. And Lily didn’t know who to believe. It was safer not to worry. Because most of the time, Lily had a lovely time with Michael – he took her shopping, out for nice meals and to cool clubs and he gave her a singing spot at one of his jazz clubs. This meant that her star was on the up. She lived in a nice apartment that Michael paid for, wore nice clothes and ate nice food. It was a world away from struggling along as a wannabe singer, working on the make-up counter in Bloomingdale’s. Which was where Michael had met her, taken a fancy to her and the rest, as they say, was history. So, as for what he did when he wasn’t with her, she told herself that she didn’t worry. It wasn’t her business.

It was only when Marco went missing that she worried. Marco was Michael’s driver and as Michael’s girlfriend, he took her to a lot of places. The last time Lily has seen Marco, on a Saturday night in November, he’d dropped her off at her club, The Black Cat. He’d said cheerily that he’d pick her up at 1am, as usual.

But he didn’t come. The car, when it turned up half an hour late, just as Lily was thinking about trying to hail a cab, was being driven by Ronnie, one of Michael’s business associates. He seemed – excited. Like something had happened. Lily had asked after Marco. Was he ill? Ronnie has found that funny. “He’s feeling a bit weighed down by things.” was all he would say.

Marco hadn’t driven Lily – or Michael – since. The new driver was Juan. He didn’t say much.

Last week, on Saturday night, Lily had had a visitor to her dressing room. He introduced himself as Detective Leo Magozzi from the 53rd precinct. He’d enjoyed her set. Could he take her for a drink?

Lily hesitated. It seemed a bit wrong to go for a drink with this sexy man in his thirties. What would Michael say? But it was only a drink and she felt lonely. She knew Michael was at home with his wife that night. Why shouldn’t she go for a drink?

They went to Merlotte’s, a bar on East 4th Street and had a nice time. She drank cocktails and he paid. They danced. And in a heady moment, laden with music and the fuzz of alcohol, they kissed. He asked if she had a boyfriend. Lily, slightly merry from too much peach vodka said that she did. When she told Detective Magozzi his name, he seemed very interested. What did Michael do? Did she hear any of his friends talking? Go to any of his meetings? No, no, no laughed Lily. She never did any of those things.

Then the detective asked abut Marco. When had she last seen him?

At that point, Lily, even as drunk as she was, realised that she had a problem. The Detective obviously already knew she was seeing Michael or how would he know that Marco had driven for him? She was suddenly afraid. She didn’t want to be involved. So she made her excuses and left as quickly as she could and hoped that Michael wouldn’t find out. Drinks were one thing, kissing was another.

Poor Lily. So naïve.

On Monday night, Michael called and summoned her to dinner the next night. He had a problem, he said. He wanted to talk to her. She was getting a lot of attention from the wrong kind of people and she wasn’t handling it well. Lily agreed to meet him, found out what he wanted her to wear and then worried. She worried even more when later that night, Detective Magozzi turned up at her apartment with, he said, a warrant. He wouldn’t let her read it but it looked official. He questioned her for over an hour, harsh, questioning. Lily felt fugged with questions. She didn’t answer a lot of them, she couldn’t, Michael would be angry if she did, so she kept quiet and the Detective  threatened her with obstruction of justice. Was he arresting her?

Not yet, he said, but I might.

****************************************

Dinner was nice, the restaurant grand, the diners monied. Lily’s Dover Sole melted in her mouth, but her stomach was churning. Should she tell Michael about the Detective? As she wondered and fretted, over the cheese course, Michael helped her out. Is there something you want to tell me, he said?

She knew he knew.

So she told him. But left out the kissing. The look in his eye left her no doubt as to the single salient fact that she had seriously fucked up and he was seriously pissed off.

She got a speech then. About how he valued loyalty. And discretion. She shouldn’t worry about things that didn’t concern her. Like Marco. Marco had moved to Chicago. But other people were poking their noses in. And she wasn’t helping. He’d fix the detective who was harassing her, but she had to help herself. She had to learn a lesson. And he was going to teach it to her. She nodded meekly. She was afraid of him when he was like this.

The car journey seemed to take a long time. It was a very cold night and the moon, a tiny sliver of silver light in a frosty sky, seemed to mock her. They were in a quiet residential area now, going, Michael said, to his townhouse. Where it was quiet and they wouldn’t be disturbed.

Lily didn’t like to think why Michael thought he needed total privacy. But once inside, he poured her a glass of champagne and started to show her.

When he stood over her, as she perched on the edge of the couch, she couldn’t meet his eye. Instead, she stared at his polished shoes, taking in the perfectly cut trousers, the waistcoat, the smart tie. He took his jacket off. Bad sign?

Reaching down, he lifted her face towards his, her chin firmly gripped.

“You need to learn Lily. You need to learn that talking to nosey people annoys me. You say you were frightened. Fair enough. Well you need to be frightened enough of me so that they don’t frighten you any more. That’s what I’m going to do tonight.”

The two backhanded slaps, hard enough to rock her back onto the sofa seemed to come out of nowhere and she felt her eyes fill with tears at the sudden pain. She covered her face but he dragged her to her feet by her hair and sat down on a chair. She stood at his side. He began to methodically stroke her thighs and bottom under her dress.

“I could easily give you a black eye Lily, but I don’t want it to show. You’re getting well-known at the club. You don’t want to have two weeks off at this point.”

He tapped her bottom.

“But here – well here it’s not going to show. The thing is Lily, I really like you. But you have to learn how to behave.”

The first spanking, with her taken over his knee like a child, wasn’t too bad. It was lazy – she sensed that there was a lot of strength behind his arm, but he was just choosing not to use it hard. But then it got harder and harder and she wriggled and gasped as his hand slammed into her bottom. Then he made her fetch a paddle. The paddle was even harder and she fought not to cry, not to fight him, because inside, she felt ashamed. She knew why he was angry. She deserved to be punished.

Methodically, he stripped her of her pretty dress, ripping it from her in one vicious tug and took off her bra and knickers, leaving her in just her stocking. Then he placed her arms above her head and a whip lashed into her naked back and bottom. She wriggled and whimpered. He didn’t stop though and thrashed her mercilessly with it and she felt her back burning, her skin prickling, the welts rising on her soft white flesh.

There was a pause. And then something sharp was pressing into her skin of her back, like a tiny needle. It moved, pricking her, sharply painful. She squealed and that was the moment where she begged first.

He didn’t listen. He carried on. She was learning a lesson he said. Her only role now was to take it.

When her rear and back were glowing, he thrust her onto her back on the sofa and lashed the whip into her naked breasts, cruelly accurate with his aim, the tips stinging her delicate nipples, which, like traitors, rose up to greet the kiss of the lash. She bore it for as long as she could before covering herself with her hands.

“Michael please….”

“Hand away. I won’t tell you again”

“Michael….”

The third back-hander of the night, catching her directly on the face and taking her entirely by surprise, was brutal. It made the tears come, leaking down her cheeks.

He ignored it and spreading her legs, whipped her delicate pussy. She screamed for real now, and the tears doubled in strength. Just when she thought she might die, he stopped. She lay, shaking, tears soaking into her hair.

He lifted her up from the sofa and she clung to him like a frightened child. He seemed so strong at that moment and she resolved that never again would he doubt her loyalty.

“Are you sorry?”

“Yes” she sniffed, he voice breaking slightly. She meant it. Her sorrow at having made him angry knew no bounds.

“Good. I’m going to take you to bed now, and have you pleasure me. Then it will be your turn.”

Lily managed to smile at him, a slightly watery smile, like the sun peeking through a raincloud.

“But first, you need the cane. I’m just going to cane you till I think you’ve had enough. And you know why I’m doing it. I’m teaching you how I expect you to behave and what I’ll do to you if you don’t. Now bend over the end of the couch.”

The next fifteen minutes were horribly, terribly painful. Lily did lose count as the beat her with the nasty thin stick, the rattan cracking against her already sore bottom, each stroke harsh and vicious. She wriggled, wept, sobbed and eventually begged and begged again. He was deaf to her entreaties, only concentrating on meting out what he thought she deserved. At the end, he massaged soothing cream into her burning and welted bottom and thighs. His touch, delicate, was a studied contrast to the pain he’d dispensed with frightening efficiency and no emotion whatsoever.

“Run along to bed.” he said.

Lily knew she was forgiven. For the moment.

And everything else? It was none of her business.