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He glanced at the shredded knickers, then up at the hooks from which the cured hams were hanging. The pieces of shredded underwear were quickly picked up from the floor. 'That's right,' he exclaimed. 'You will do whatever I want.' He tied the pieces of fabric around her wrists but left a loop in the middle. He pulled Lacey Lee to her feet then, lifting her up, he looped the fabric that tied her wrists together over one of the empty hooks that hung from the ceiling. Arms stretched high above her head, only Lacey ...
He glanced at the shredded knickers, then up at the hooks from which the cured hams were hanging. The pieces of shredded underwear were quickly picked up from the floor. 'That's right,' he exclaimed. 'You will do whatever I want.' He tied the pieces of fabric around her wrists but left a loop in the middle. He pulled Lacey Lee to her feet then, lifting her up, he looped the fabric that tied her wrists together over one of the empty hooks that hung from the ceiling. Arms stretched high above her head, only Lacey Lee's toes reached the floor. She looked at him from between her arms, her eyes full of a strange kind of fear...
New Orleans 1925. The Catnip Club is the place for strong drink, hot jazz - and exotic women. The Creole beauty Sheree is the latest sensation but beneath her sparkling facade she is a woman in turmoil. An innocent in the city, she longs for the touch of the lover she left behind. She's just right for exploitation by the owners of the club; Rene and his sexually sophisticated wife, Stacey.
But Sheree is not the only performer to figure in Rene and Stacey's sensual games. There's Max the trumpeter, Emmeline the erotic dancer - and many more. All of them young, beautiful and desperate to make it in a world where anything goes...
Eventually, Emmeline came to the far end of the train and faced the door that none are supposed to enter.
Glancing over her shoulder, she tried the handle without knocking and went in. The smell of leather was oddly welcoming. The voice that greeted her was not.
'What do you want?'
The luggage car was fairly gloomy, but good enough to see where the voice had come from.
The guard was probably in his early thirties, had a square jaw, blue eyes and a fair complexion. He was sitting on a suitcase which was lower than the large travelling chest that was serving as a table. A deck of playing cards was spread out in a game of Solitaire.
Emmeline glanced at the cards, then looked straight at him. A feathery light kind of feeling filled her stomach. It was as if a heap of cotton boles had been blasted into the air in thousands of pieces and was floating on a breeze. Words seemed long in coming.
The guard spoke again.
'What can I do for you?'
His manner was not exactly polite about her intrusion into his domain, but it eased off a bit when he saw how well she was packaged.
'I'm like you,' she said.
The guard pushed his cap back further on his head. 'What?'
'I'm bored.' She smiled and trailed her fingers over the cards. 'Care for a different kind of game?'
Her smile widened. She rested her hands on the hips of her slim white suit, her pose leaving him in no doubt of what he could gain from such a game.
'Now,' she said as she slid a suitable suitcase over the opposite side of the luggage trunk from his and sat down. 'Let me explain the rules to you. This is called Strip Jack. You lose, you take an item of clothes off. I lose...' She smiled provocatively. 'Get the picture?'
Eyes wide with surprise, the guard nodded.
'What about...?' the guard swallowed hard before continuing. 'What about when we've got all our clothes off... when we're naked?'
Emmeline leaned closer to him. 'A good question. Let me explain. Once we're buck naked, we count up who's won the most games. Whoever comes out...' She paused again. 'On top...' she smiled, 'gets to choose what we do next and how we do it. How's that grab you?'
The guard swallowed again. 'It grabs me.'
Emmeline was good at cards, but only when she wanted to be. She knew how to win, but she also knew how to lose. It depended what the stake was, and in this case it would please her to lose.
The guard groaned each time she removed a garment. When he lost his first game, he removed a shoe. When Emmeline lost her first game, she had slipped off her shoe and, making a big play of it, had run her hands up over her stocking and taken off her garter.
As the game wore on and she lost more hands and more clothes, her movements became more provocative, more arousing to the poor man who had thought he would be playing Solitaire all the way down south.
She held his gaze as she pulled her silk underwear up to her shoulders. He gasped when he saw the bells that hung from her breasts and she could imagine the furore the sight of them was causing in his pants. His eyes went back to them each time the bells tinkled to the movement of the train.
Even when she was down to just her shoes and her underwear, it was her knickers that went first.
She stood up as she slid them down her long, lean legs, smiling as the pink-faced guard gazed open mouthed at this woman who stood before him dressed in a pair of shoes and a pair of flesh-coloured silk stockings.
Of course, she lost the last two games too.
'You've won the most,' she said to the guard who stood naked too. 'What do you want and how do you want it?'
Trembling, the man got to his feet. Emmeline's eyes raked his body, her tongue lightly licking her bottom lip as she imagined the feel of him; the taste of him.
Judging by the length and thickness of the instrument that thrust so proudly from a clutch of reddish pubic hair, it was pretty easy to see what the poor man wanted. It pulsated, seeming to thrust forward of its own accord, driven by a thought in its own mind. Milk white, a lozenge of liquid oozed trembling like an excited teardrop on its tip, a foretaste of the libation to come.
'How do you want it?' Emmeline asked again, her voice husky with a simmering lust that seemed to cover her body like a cobweb of silk.
The man licked at his lips as Emmeline did a slow twirl, her hands cupping her breasts as though presenting them as gifts to his gaze.
'This way?' she said, standing with legs apart, thrusting her hips forward so his eyes could see the delicate frills of flesh that furled like petals between her pubic lips. 'Or this way?'
Buttocks towards him, she bent over, her eyes studying his reaction over her shoulder. He barely seemed to notice her face, his gaze fixed firmly on the delight that was being so wantonly offered him.
To her great delight, she saw him blink, heard his sharp intake of breath, and saw his cock tremble.
Dragging his eyes away from her, his gaze went to the luggage trunk. The cards were still scattered over it. Thick straps bound it firmly shut.
Some unspoken message flashed between them. The luggage trunk was like a catalyst, a meeting point for like minds. Each of them interpreted what the other was thinking. Emmeline knew what he wanted, and she wanted it too.
Smiling, Emmeline draped herself over the trunk, her own flesh slightly lighter than its tan shininess.
'I think you'd like me like this, wouldn't you?'
The guard stammered.
'Wouldn't you?' Emmeline repeated. 'After all, you're stuck with this luggage for hours. Imagine. In future you could look at all this stuff in an entirely new way.'
Suddenly, eyes blazing with a kind of sexual madness, the guard sprang into life.
'You're right,' he cried. 'You're right!'
Just as she had hoped, he unbuckled the straps of the trunk, slid her wrists beneath them, then rebuckled them. In order for him to better appreciate her predicament, she wriggled her hands as if she were trying to escape. She saw his eyes gleam; knew she had done the right thing. Being bound to an object that dominated his working life had made her part of it. He wanted her to be part of it. Wanted to take out his frustration with his job on her. But he also wanted her to protest - just as if it were the luggage trunk protesting. But it couldn't escape. He was in charge now.
Flushed with excitement, he spread her knees over each opposite corner of the trunk and strapped her ankles around its base. His hands fumbled with the buckles, his breathing rushed and hot against her legs. Then, panting, he stood and looked at her.
His eyes stared. Perspiration glistened on his face and a nerve throbbed in his temple. He seemed overcome by some thought in his mind that no one else knew about.
I must look like some sacrifice, Emmeline thought, and this man will remember me all his life. Each time he looks at a piece of luggage, he'll see more than brown leather; thick straps and buckles. He'll see me. He'll always see me.
She began to move her body, raising her hips, arching her back, writhing provocatively in an effort to entice him to take her. Those feathery feelings she had felt earlier were now fanning out all over her body. A light flush coloured her cheeks and an excited brightness lit her eyes. Soon he would take her. He had to take her.
So sure was she of her own allure and her confidence at always controlling events, that his next actions were totally unexpected.
He picked up a piece of coiled leather, unfurled it and began to walk around the trunk and her. Her eyes followed him, fixed on the leather.
'I hate luggage,' he muttered. 'I hate the way it fills my life. I'm sure there's better things could fill it. God, how I hate you!'
The air whistled as the strip of leather flew through it.
Emmeline gasped, then squeezed her eyes shut and cried out.
There was a loud crack. Emmeline opened her eyes. She felt no pain, so obviously the strip of leather had not hit her.
'I hate luggage!'
'You certainly do,' she murmured, hardly daring to raise her voice and bring his attention and his blows down on her.
The leather kissed the air a few more times and, each time the blow landed on the sides of the trunk to which she was tied and thankfully not on her body.
Strangely enough, she felt a kind of jealousy towards the trunk. It seemed silly, but why should it get more attention than her? She was also getting impatient to be mounted. After all, that's what she was after.
'What sort of man are you?' she cried out. 'Is that all you're fit for? To be a baggage-car attendant?'
The guard's eyes narrowed. His bottom lip shuddered and his cheeks reddened. 'You bitch! You're no better than this lot!'
Emmeline cringed. He's crazy, she thought. Then calmed herself once she judged it was the luggage he hated, not her.
All the same, her ill-chosen words had done their work. The leather sang in the air again, but this time it left a red stripe across her belly.
'No!' she cried out.
'Yes!' cried the guard.
The leather left another red stripe across her breasts, across her thighs. Each time the blow landed she saw that the guard's penis throbbed and grew. She might yet get what she'd come here for and, despite her discomfort, her hungry eyes settled on his iron-hard erection.
At last he stood between her legs, his thighs braced, the muscles bulging as his whole body tensed. His stomach was tight, a line of hair running down its middle, connecting the fine hair of his chest with the golden-red forest that encircled his member.
He was a beautiful sight. A golden Adonis whose cock could plug the juicy crevice of her body and fill her belly with its silky warm ambrosia.
The sight of him, and the thought of how well he could fill her, were too much for the panting Emmeline. She wanted his cock and she wanted it now.
'Put it in!' she demanded, her legs straining against their restraints, her breasts quivering in time with the rhythm of the train and the writhing of her body. 'Put it in!' she cried again.
She saw his eyes glittering. Saw his penis throbbing. His gaze was fixed on the thickly haired lips of her sex and the small bell that hung from her clitoris.
She gasped as he flicked at it with the leather which he had now folded in two. The bell tinkled and her clitoris throbbed excitedly.
He was like a small boy who has just discovered the greatest toy ever. He did it again and she moaned.
Suddenly, it occurred to her that spending all his time being locked up with other people's baggage might well have turned the guard's mind and made him completely crazy. More frightened now, she began to struggle.
'It's no good. You won't loose them straps. Good quality, they are. Best money can buy.'
His laugh now seemed no different than the tone of his voice. It was as if the luggage car and the jolting train no longer existed. Whatever he was seeing, it wasn't necessarily her or the luggage.
'Just like this,' he said whilst waving the folded strip of leather. 'Just like this,' he murmured again as he flicked the leather at the bell and then at her exposed flesh.
Each time his blow landed, a tingling vibration seared through Emmeline's clitoris, trembled through her pubic lips, and spread all over her body like a series of mild electric shocks.
'Don't do that,' she whimpered as she felt the leather being pushed into her body. 'Please...'
Her voice faded into a low, shameful moan. It wasn't his prick going into her. It was a piece of leather and, because his thumb was playing with her clitoral bell, she was enjoying it. Her muscles were easing aside to welcome the intruder. The word 'hussy' raced around her mind. But she couldn't help it. He was doing the right things, at the right tempo with the wrong object. But it wasn't really wrong. It was stiff and, at the same time, it was soft.
Despite the vulnerability of her position, she could not help moaning with pleasure, writhing against her bonds, her bottom rising off the cold leather of the trunk as the guard worked the leather into her.
'Stop doing that!'
She didn't understand what the guard was talking about, but she groaned regretfully when he left the leather hanging from her, rummaged in some hidden closet, and came back with a thicker strap made of the same sort of webbing they use for saddle girths.
'This'll keep you still, girl!'
He growled as he said it, the stiff coarseness of the strap rough against her nipples as he ran it across her breasts and tightened it at each side.
Now it was almost impossible to move and her breasts were flattened against her ribs, her nipples brazenly swollen against the coarseness of the fabric and the hard metal bells that adorned them.
She moaned, not at the way her breasts were being abused, but because she wanted the guard to carry on with what he was doing.
He did. 'Now don't move,' he ordered. 'Just moan.'
As he resumed the tempo he had temporarily abandoned, she did just that.
She was aware that her juice was now in full flow, probably trickling down the side of the luggage trunk. The small bell on her clitoris was ringing crazily and her breasts felt like two windblown fruit.
Sensing that the guard was using her as a surrogate suitcase, she groaned her climax rather than shouting out with joy.
The sound seemed to please him. As she lay like a damp rag doll, he pulled the leather out and - how, she didn't really know - he turned her over, adjusting her bonds slightly to make the task easier.
'Up a bit,' she heard him say, and even before he did it, she knew he was going to push a smaller suitcase under her hips so that her bottom stuck up that much more than the rest of her.
Instinctively she knew what would come first. She tensed, preparing her soft flesh for the ritual abuse to come.
First, she felt the strip of leather across her bottom, its bite leaving a fiery heat in its wake. She yelped, her breasts crushed now against the luggage trunk, her decorative bells digging into her flesh.
Again and again the leather rose and fell and with each stroke, her bottom became hotter until it felt like flesh roasted before the dying embers of a red-hot fire.
Then he stopped.
'Nice and pink,' he said. 'Like pigskin.'
The sound of his voice made her shiver. She wanted to say something, but bit her lip. No matter what she thought of saying, all of it seemed oddly provocative, an encouragement for him to do to her as he pleased.
Even though his palms were warm, a chillness ran over her flesh as he fondled each buttock. He was muttering to himself; odd words, odd noises. None of what he was saying was for her.
His hands continued to caress her behind, to push her stinging spheres together. To pull them apart so that she felt a coldness between them and the shame of exposure.
'I don't believe it,' she whispered as one finger slid between her buttocks. 'The dirty swine!' she added as its tip nudged at the small hole hidden there.
'Nice and warm,' he said again. 'Almost ready.'
His hands left her. Just as she had expected, she felt the sting of the leather.
She cried out with each blow, just as he wanted her to. After all, he was taking revenge out on luggage in general, and she was his go between.
Her flesh burned but, at the same time, her sex felt heavy with the need to finish this.
After about ten strokes, he stopped. She trembled beneath his touch, her voice a low, grateful moan, for the hands that rubbed her buttocks seemed so cool in comparison with her own flesh.
'Lovely,' he murmured. 'That'll keep me warm.' Suddenly, he was close between her thighs, his penis nudging between the cheeks of her behind before travelling lower, the slickness of his glans easily entering her body.
She tensed as his whole length pushed into her, but then relaxed as he began to thrust backwards and forwards, her muscles gripping his length as if unwilling to let him go.
He murmured about how warm her bottom was against his groin, then he lay flat on her so that her breasts, and indeed her whole body, were squashed against the luggage trunk.
The thrust of his loins was fast and furious. It was as though it was the trunk he was fucking and not a woman at all. But despite the fact that she had only recently climaxed, her sex was getting wet again. She hadn't meant to get into this situation, but now she was in it, she was damn well going to enjoy it.
Soon she became lost in the ecstasy of it all and, because of that, she began to murmur instead of moan. The guard heard her.
'I'm not making myself plain!' he exclaimed.
She caught her breath as he withdrew. Suddenly, she knew what was coming next.
He held the cheeks of her bottom apart between finger and thumb.
Emmeline tensed, sure of what was going to happen.
She was right. She felt her own wetness and the hardness of his glans press against her smallest hole. She tried to use her muscles to block him out, but he was too forceful.
'This is my revenge!'