Occupational Hazzards
Chapter twenty-six
"What is your name dear?"
Aqua stated, "My name is Allison."
"Where were you born darling?"
Allison gave the name of a small town in the southern
Arizona.
"How old are you?"
"Twenty-seven."
"When is your birthday?"
"It was last month. The fourteenth."
"Is that the natural color of your hair," a man asked.
Allison said that
it was.
"How often do you masturbate?"
A pause followed before Allison understood and found
herself able form a reply. "I . . . don't remem . . .."
her voice trailed off.
All around, faces were peering at her, waiting for her
to continue. The question was repeated. Allison's
mouth went dry. She had known she would be
embarrassed, yet had been caught off guard. She
dropped her gaze to her lap and spoke softly.
"Once, sometimes twice, a month." Low conversations
broke out around her, but she was unable to make out
the words. She sat motionless during the hiatus,
keeping her gaze lowered, surrounded by a audience of
a dozen or more people, not wanting to see the faces
of these men and women who had gathered to watch her
be humiliated. Her thoughts turned to the events of
the past few weeks. The time she had spent in the
cell, attended to by a woman who had hurt her so
badly, was a memory. Her breasts no longer ached. But
she dreaded being returned to that place. In the days
that followed her torture, and before the agony in her
breasts had subsided, she resolved to acquiesce to any
and all abject demands placed upon her. This decision
was not an emergence of latent, masochism (she had
truthfully confessed to the man that she was unable to
bare the thought of pain), but a result of the torment
she remembered suffering.
Since that time, Allison had begun to learn the nature
of the place in which she was incarcerated. She understood
that her purpose for being there would soon be realized:
that she would provide sexual services for those who were
called Guests, but not until after she had been taught
how to perform in a proper manner. Saddened beyond words
at the prospect of being held against her will as an
unpaid prostitute - a slave, in fact - she was, nevertheless,
sexually experienced and wondered what more there
could be to accommodating some unwelcome people beyond
opening her thighs. Her chagrin grew replete after she
had been told it was unlikely that sexual intercourse
would appear often on her agenda: day-by-day she
learned of new ways in which a beautiful young woman
could provide pleasure of a concupiscent nature.
Pleasure not only for men, but also for the cadre of
women who sought entertainment. The appetites Allison
found so disgusting were indeed unnumbered and diverse.
Exposing embarrassing facts about herself satiated
some appetites, and, although not physically painful, was a degrading
experience. She sat on a high, chrome stool, wearing
only a slim, velvet choker about her throat. One leg
was crossed demurely over the other and her hands were
clasped around her knee. Her hair, pulled back across
her temples, had been tied in a knot at the back of
her head and hung like a tail over her shoulder. Her
skin, which had been powdered, radiated softness, but
refused to shine in the strong light. On the other
hand, her nipples, which had been painted with the
same radiant red gloss that decorated her nails,
glittered.
The questioning continued with demands for details of
her fantasies while masturbating. She supplied hesitant
answers, not bothering to lie, aware that only her reluctance and
obvious embarrassment bore witness to the truth of
what she said. She explained that a man she had once known
casually, but with no degree of intimacy, had impressed her sexually, and
featured in most of her current fantasies. She
divulged that, on an occasion, she had imagined
watching him ejaculate into one of her brassieres.
"And then?" a woman wanted to know.
"I . . . put it on," Allison confessed in a whisper.
"Speak louder. Answer the question again. And look up
when you reply," a voice demanded.
"I put it . . . I put the brassiere on," Allison said
in a voice that ensured everyone in the audience heard
and understood. There were tears in her eyes by
then. Inwardly, she screamed. She prayed for this
mental torment to end.
"Why?"
Resigning herself to her fate, Allison spoke slowly,
admitting: "The idea excites me."
"Do you also use a dildo to arouse yourself?"
"No."
"Then, how do you stimulate your vagina?"
"W- with my fingers . . . only."
"Explain how you do that. No. No. We don't need to see
you do it. Describe it to us."
"Your nipples are varnished."
"Yes."
"Does that excite you?"
"No. It stings." Allison added: "It's uncomfortable."
"You mean it's embarrassing?" a man asked. Allison
hesitated before answering.
"Yes," she said quietly. "That too...It's
embarrassing."
"Is your clitoris varnished, too?"
A pause; after which Allison said that was not.
"Show us dear."
The mood of the questioning turned to menstruation and
her feminine hygiene. Allison was obliged to take her audience
through the minutia of her period. The questions
became unbearably intimate, eventually bringing
Allison to tears when she was obliged to describe in
excruciating detail how she applied her
tampon. On several occasions after that she had to
overcome sobs before she could continue.
She was asked if her breasts and nipples became sore
as that time of the month approached. She admitted
they did and, when asked to explain what measures
she took to relieve her discomfort, confessed that it
was then that she masturbated.
Finally, the topic of sexual intercourse was broached.
A woman asked Allison to describe the entire coital
sensation: of a penis entering her vagina; of
its motion against her vaginal wall; of her breasts
being fondled; of her nipples being suckled; and of
semen being discharged inside her. And, of course,
what she felt during orgasm. Time and time again,
Allison's description was deemed
unsatisfactory, and she would be made to expand on the
theme, to be more explicit. She was castigated for
using clinical terminology, and, when she resorted to
street lingo, found that to be even less acceptable
than medical jargon. She was urged to use nipple
rather than teat or tit. Vaginal canal and cunt were
unacceptable alternatives to vagina. Labia and lips
had to be replaced with the lengthy but more
expressive 'larger (or smaller) folds of flesh at the
entrance to my . . ."
The inquisition seemed interminable to her, yet, like
all trials, it eventually
concluded. It left Allison mentally dissected. She was
drained and ashamed. That night she cried herself to
sleep suffering emotional pain, knowing that she was
no longer a person, but a whore whose responses to any
carnal stimulus could be predicted.
Her introduction to physical abuse was worse than she
had anticipated.
When she entered where she was ordered on that first
day, the long, quiet room was bathed in golden
sunshine and lit by flames from logs burning in the
grate. Light streamed in through the tall, lead-paned
windows and struck the floor at an oblique angle,
making the dark mahogany parquet appear on fire. At
the far end of the room, a man was beckoning her. She
made her way towards him, beneath the stained glass
windows, her heels clicking on the wooden floor and
betraying her presence. Turning her head slightly,
almost unnoticeable, Allison saw out over the grounds
of the estate. It was autumn. Beyond a cultivated
park, where deciduous trees were losing their leaves,
pine forest stretched to the horizon. There was no
clue to her whereabouts.
It was early evening and the room was occupied by only
three groups of guests: one by the fireside, illuminated
only by the burning logs; another near one of the gothic
windows where the light of day still reigned; and the
third, in dim shadow, where Allison was headed.
A girl several years younger than Allison stood with
her back to the fire, her arms outstretched and
fastened to the stone mantel piece. She wore nothing
other than a cotton thong. Allison noted the convex,
girlish curve of her belly. Her figure had not yet
matured. Slim hips, scarcely wider than the petite
body they gave support to, barely narrowed into long,
white and delicate. An elderly man, standing, facing
the girl, held a hand raised to one of her breasts.
Allison could not see what the man was doing, but the
girl sobbed audibly and fitfully. Close by, a younger
man sat in an armchair with a woman upon his lap. Both
were absorbed in the young girl's trial.
Allison had to pass close to the second group. Here,
three old women with creased faces, and dressed in black, stood in a
hunch-backed huddle - like the witches of Macbeth.
Beneath their gazes, a naked woman of Allison's age
lay on her back upon a chaise-lounge, her legs
straddled, holding herself open with trembling
fingers. One of the women prodded her with what
appeared to be a bodkin. The other two crones watched
and cackled each time the pin elicited a cry of
anguish. Slanting sunshine spilled onto the young
woman, causing the sun-kissed skin to glow gold,
setting it off from the black widow's-weeds and
creating a macabre scene.
The man who had beckoned Allison was not a guest, but
an usher. He directed her to a sofa where a middle-aged man and his
wife were sitting. Then he melted into the evening's
gathering shadows. Allison was invited to sit between
the couple. The sofa was well cushioned and she sank
into it. The back was low and the woman suggested that
Allison rest against it and place her arms upon its top.
The middle-aged man slipped his hands
between Allison's knees and, smiling, drew them apart.
Allison wore a pleated wrap, fastened at the side of
her waist and barely concealing the tops of her stockings. A
buttonless bolero, open at the front, offered
effortless access to her breasts. The woman pulled one
half of the bolero aside and fondled Allison while her husband
investigated the region of bare thigh left uncovered
by Allison's hose.
Allison was allowed no underwear, a fact the man soon
discovered. He drew a gasp from Allison by
indelicately pushing his fingers into her vagina. Then
he ordered the young woman to begin copulating with
his fingers, and Allison acquiesced to his demand by
moving her hips quickly back and forth.
"Close your eyes. Rest your head back." It was the
woman who spoke.
Allison obeyed. A few moments later she felt lips
close around her left nipple. At the same time, the
man's finger came into contact with her clitoris. After
a short time she began to pant as the excitement rose
within her. Without warning, the man withdrew his fingers,
and the suckling at her breast stopped.
Allison had been close to her orgasm and winced at the
discomfort she experienced at being left hanging.
Perspiration glistened on her forehead.
The couple quickly escorted Allison to the fireplace.
The long, stone mantle could accommodate two people:
one at either side of the cavernous hearth where the
hardwood oak logs roared. The young girl in the red
thong was still there, standing on the left of the
fire, still fastened by her outstretched wrists.
Allison, after being relieved of her bolero, was
secured in a likewise manner at the vacant side of the
hearth. The girl's quiet sobbing continued and Allison
turned her head to discover the cause. She saw the
cone-shaped coils of nearly transparent wire that had
been wound onto the girl's breasts. The girl was only
a few years into her puberty and still suffered the
natural discomfort of her changing shape: the wire
devices were intended to aggravate that condition as
well as painfully extrude her nipples. The highly
sensitive tips had turned an angry shade of dark red.
"I'm Allison," she whispered to the girl.
"Juanita," came the listless reply.
The strangely nostalgic ambiance of burning wood
mingled with the odor of other emotions pervading
the room. Beneath the tobacco and perfume more
subliminal exhalations existed: anticipation - both
for excitement and fear - hung pregnant in the air;
the flavor of arousal grew and faded throughout the
room; and there was, of course, the ever-present essence
of perspiration emanating from glistening, pain-wearied bodies.
The room was filling now. Three dozen guests were
present. Some occupied the lavish chairs and sofas
watching the entertainment; others stood in small
groups, talking; the rest participated in the various
events. There were women present as well as men; young
and elderly as well as those in their middle years. If
any common thing united them, it was the shared
nonchalance of what was going on around them, that
nonchalance that only the extremely wealthy manage to
learn well. And they were all so perfectly dressed
in their rich evening-gowns and expensive
smoking-jackets.
If any one thing differentiated the young women, it
was their lack of dress.
None wore as much clothing as had earlier covered
Allison: most were clad only in shoes, stockings and
the ubiquitous velvet choker. For every three guests,
one young woman was there to serve and entertain. They
appeared incongruous among the lavish attire. Each
young woman not engaged in some entertainment wore,
between the delicately rouged tips of her breasts, a
chain of fine gold. The chain tacitly announced that
its bearer was available. Once removed by a guest,
however, it remained a symbolic link between the young
woman and its acquirer.
By mid-evening the majority of the guests had
exhausted their own imaginations and were impatient
for the more ingenious, staged attractions
arranged for them by their hosts. They eagerly awaited
the introduction of Allison and Juanita.
Apart from two adolescents, the guests began to
migrate to the vicinity of the fireplace. The two who
remained - a boy barely in his pubescence and a girl,
a couple of years older but not yet matured (her dress
lay flat across her chest) appeared to be engaged in
some kind of sibling affair. They knelt on opposite
sides of a low coffee-table. Between them, a young
woman, who might have been as old as their ages
combined, lay on her back, her knees raised, her
thighs parted. She held her breasts in her hands, as
if offering the luscious points. The boy fumbled with
the woman's genitals, his eyes staring at what they
and his fingers were encountering - possibly, for the
first time. The woman gasped as his fingers
disappeared. The boy's sister, more experienced yet
equally unsubtle, used her varnished fingernails and
small, white, childlike teeth on the woman's
nipples. They were absorbed in their ministrations and
unaware of what was about to happen at the fireside.
The firelight played upon and warmed Allison's
semi-naked body; shifting shadows followed the curves
of her side and back; her stockings shimmered. Her
pelvis ached; a result of the near orgasm she had been
denied earlier by the couple. Her nipples tingled,
each one tipped with a shiny, metal cap whose tiny
barbed pin was lodged in the sensitive tissue.
Juanita breast coils pressed into her flesh, and the
tiny organs complained, making her continually shift
her stance in an effort to alleviate the annoying
discomfort. The audience, who had gathered around to
watch these supremely attractive young women being
prepared for a painful ordeal, were offered an
appetizing view of hips and breasts moving constantly
in a seductive and tantalizing fashion.
The end--for now...
