When I went in, he put his fingers to his lips like a conspirator and said: "Shh!" Then he darted out to the front shop and locked the front door. He pulled down the blue blind. And a moment later he came back through, his old stubbly lips trembling.
"Ah've seen you before?"
I nodded.
He thrust his hand at once under my skirt and stuck his middle finger in my cunt. I leaned against him, breathing heavily. Over his shoulder I saw bundles of leather bootlaces on his workbench. He forced me against a wall and thrust his small potato mouth against mine. His tongue slobbered against mine. I made no effort to resist. It was important that I should capture him completely.
He was very nervous. I wondered if I was the first who had actually entered his lair.
When finally his mouth came away from mine, I put my lips against his ear and whispered: "I want to be whipped!"
He pushed me away to arms length and stared at me greedily.
"You'll take all your clothes off?"
I nodded passionately.
His false teeth clicked. He reminded me of a dirty sheep. He was shivering with anticipation.
"On the couch," he said.
He pointed to a dusty old horse-hair sofa at one side. It was at that moment piled high with shoes.
"Won't take a minute," he said breathlessly.
While he stacked the shoes on the floor, I stripped naked. My body was covered with a cold sweat and my flesh was quivering.
He turned to face me. When he saw I was naked, he let out a small excited croak. He threw himself on his knees in front of my cunt and started to lick me furiously. I let him do it, working my hot and sweaty crotch against his stubbly mouth. I groaned with pleasure. He lapped the slime out of me like a thirsty dog. I came, shuddering with his old bald head jammed like a hot turnip between my thighs. He felt me come and lapped furiously. Then, a little exhausted from having stood while he did it, I slipped away from him and lay face downwards on the horsehair couch. My flesh quivered at its cold rough touch. I rubbed my cunt there and my smooth white buttocks quivered.
"The thongs!" I whispered.
He nodded quickly. But first he stepped out of his trousers and threw his dirty underpants aside. His old cock stood out bent like a boomerang and twitching.
"The thongs!" I whispered urgently again.
"Take one first," I said huskily. "On my buttocks, as hard as you can!"
He obeyed. The thin leather thong cut my buttocks.
"Again!"
He struck again.
"Again!"
He struck for a third time.
I was quivering with pleasure.
"Now take a handful and strike me all over, on my thighs and my back as well!"
He thrashed me soundly. I came twice under the punishment. I asked him if he had a thick belt. He was shuddering with emotion and I noted a bead of sperm at the end of his prick. He too had come in punishing me. He produced a black leather belt not unlike my father's. "Thrash me with that, as hard as you can, ten times!" I begged him.
His eyes glinted.
"Be my master!" I breathed passionately.
That set him erect again. A cunning look came on his face.
"You'll do as I say!" he said.
"Yes! Oh, yes!"
He cut me hard with the leather belt. I writhed in agony. All the time he muttered filthy obscenities at me.
"Give me your cunt again!" he commanded.
I turned over and raised my cunt to his face. He sucked away all the accumulated sweat and slime. I thought he would never get enough. Then, suddenly, he was going to shove his prick in me.
"No! Not that! I want it!"
He grinned delightedly and brought it near my face. I took it at once between my lips and sucked all the sperm out of his old body. Then I turned on my face and lay exhausted. A moment later I felt his face on my buttocks and his tongue, like a soft scoop, was working at my anus.
It was dark when we woke.
He lit a paraffin lamp and stood staring down at me. I noticed that his cock was erect again and that he was masturbating. When I went to take it in my mouth, he shook his head. He seemed to derive pleasure from my watching him. He grunted, winking at me all the time. Then, when he was about to come, he threw himself voraciously on my arse and I felt his big prick burst painfully into my tender anus. The pain was excruciating, but gradually the familiar sensation of pleasure overriding pain came to me. I twitched beneath him like a landed fish.
Who would have thought there was so much pleasure to be derived from one old man?
I stayed with the shoemaker until ten o'clock at night. Just before I left, he hooked his finger in my cunt again and drew me close.
"Next time it'll be better!" he croaked.
He knew I would go back.
— 10-
It was a full year before I saw Mr. Oakes again. I knew that Hazel saw him at least once a month and, as her fair body was never lacerated, I presumed she fulfilled the function of whip mistress solely. Sometimes I was able to look at her bankbook when she was at the lavatory and I saw the steady increase in her savings. It was about that time, just before my second meeting with Mr. Oakes, that I began to feel superior to Hazel. She was simply a paid professional. For me, on the contrary, the realm of pain and pleasure was a religion. It was unthinkable that I could ever earn my living in the way Hazel did.
After I met my shoemaker, I no longer looked forward with the same desperation to the day when I would be invited to visit the big house again. Old Willie knew that my young body was demanding, that the more terribly he inflicted humiliations and punishments upon me, the more urgently my body and soul cried out for their increase. And he was an accomplished leather-smith. In a short while he had created not only the most fiendish of thongs with which to lacerate my trembling flesh, but had also fixed pulleys to the ceiling and floor of his back shop, so that my young torso, thonged at wrists and ankles, could be stretched and held taut like a quivering bowstring of flesh, and in four or five excruciating positions, to meet its punishment. He became a master in the art of flagellation, the high priest of my terrible cosmos of pain. He did everything with adoration, thrashing my flesh, thrusting his old lips voraciously into my sweating cunt, twisting thin black thongs of leather around my thighs with a stick. He made many instruments. Perhaps the most terrible of all was the simple leather instrument which the called "The Prick." It was a long cock of laminated leather as thick and three times as long as a strong man's rampant member. Had he not used it with great care, it would have been a killing instrument. It could be used either as an instrument of flagellation or as a ravisher. Other interesting implements were "The Brush," "The Beads," "The Balls," "The Crushing Cunt," and "The Five-Fingered-Spranger." The last was a masterpiece of simplicity and efficiency: five eighteen-inch rods of flexible steel covered with leather thrusting from a handle shaped like a human hand.
Perhaps I would be spread-eagled like a spider web between floor and ceiling while he was licking my cunt. I asked him what he intended to do to me.
He would give a small throaty laugh.
"A good brushing to begin with, ha! Eh? And what d'ye say to a sprang after? And then a prick!" And with that he would spit some yellow phlegm on my belly and stretch me to breaking point.
Thus, when I came to meet Mr. Oakes again, I was not at all impressed by his superior manner. Moreover, I had remained a virgin in the technical sense, for although the leather prick had been thrust into me brutally on many occasions, the shoemaker had never tried to put his own prick into me. We had agreed that my cunt was a shrine to be worshipped at but never penetrated by human member, that no semen should ever sully our shrine. For that purpose, when he saw fit, he used my anus or my mouth.