Back in Service Read online

  Title Page

  BACK IN SERVICE

  by

  ROSANNA CHALLIS

  Publisher Information

  Back in Service first published in 2002 by

  Chimera Books Ltd

  www.chimerabooks.co.uk

  Digital edition converted and published by

  Andrews UK Limited 2010

  www.andrewsuk.com

  New Authors Welcome

  Copyright © Rosanna Challis

  The right of Rosanna Challis to be identified as author of this book has been asserted in accordance with section 77 and 78 of the Copyrights Designs and Patents Act 1988.

  Chimera - a creation of the imagination, a wild fantasy

  Advisory Note

  This novel is fiction – in real life practice safe sex

  This book is sold subject to the condition that it shall not, by way of trade or otherwise, be lent, resold, hired out or otherwise circulated without the publisher’s prior written consent in any form of binding or cover other than that in which it is published, and without a similar condition being imposed on the subsequent purchaser.

  The characters and situations in this book are entirely imaginary and bear no relation to any real person or actual happening.

  Introduction

  Although the nurse was blocking the doorway, she was so surprised by the intrusion Hetty managed to push past her, and the scene that met her eyes when she entered Sir Victor’s bedroom made her gasp in shock.

  Jane was stretched facedown on the bed stark naked, her wrists and ankles tethered to the four bedposts. Sir Victor sat helpless in his wheelchair, but in his right hand he held a long riding whip he was quite capable of wielding from his position.

  ‘What is going on here?’ Hetty cried, although the question was rhetorical. She was sufficiently familiar with his lordship’s depraved tastes to know exactly what was taking place. Then suddenly strong arms seized her from behind.

  ‘Interfering little cow!’ Nanny Baines hissed in her ear.

  Chapter 1

  ‘Please, may I take a short break now?’ Hetty pleaded.

  Leo threw a questioning glance at the man wielding a riding crop over his wife’s bare bottom. With her skirt and petticoat hoisted up and tucked into her waistband, Hetty had been posing for over an hour while her husband worked on another of his saucy drawings. The man posing with her was known to the residents of Montmartre simply as Milord, and he was paying handsomely for the privilege of having his secret vice portrayed in charcoal and paint. One could only guess at the circumstances that had forced him to leave his native land and take up residence here in the French capital.

  To Hetty’s utter relief, the English nobleman gave a curt nod and lowered his whip. He took the opportunity to light up a cigar while she hurried to the latrine outside on the landing. When she returned, the attic room was filled with pungent smoke.

  ‘Only another twenty minutes or so,’ Leo announced, ‘then I shall be finished.’

  ‘In that case, let me renew the roses in this lady’s delightful cheeks,’ Milord suggested with a lazy smile, and puffed a smoke ring into the air.

  Hetty would have liked to refuse. The thick leather crop had already painted several welts across her tender posterior, yet she had no option but to submit. If she allowed him to beat her he would give her an extra tip, and they could really do with the money. So she hitched up her skirt and resumed her pose.

  Within seconds, a smarting blow struck each of her buttocks, making her wince as the hot pain swept through her nether regions and inflicted even sharper pangs of humiliation on her soul. She did not feel it was right she should have to demean herself in this way, yet the run of bad luck she and Leo were suffering since their return from England was reducing them to desperate straits.

  They had made a reluctant visit to the land of their birth because Lady Alice – Leo’s mother and Hetty’s former mistress – begged them to do so. The lady’s husband, Sir Victor, had been injured in a riding accident and his wife was finding it hard to manage the estate. She wanted her son to return permanently, but Leo refused after a heated argument with his father. On the journey back across the Channel, they were robbed of their money and jewellery, returning to Paris more or less destitute. Leo had been left some money by an uncle, but the family solicitor put a bar on him receiving it, at his father’s request. This was illegal, but the lawyer was in Sir Victor’s pocket and there was nothing Leo could do about it. Hetty was also left a small legacy, but the money she believed to be such a generous sum did not go far, and now she and Leo were obliged to eke out a living any way they could. For Hetty, this meant doing a stint at the laundry when there was enough work to go around. In addition, Leo was using his artistic skills to produce lewd illustrations for the gentry, with Hetty obliged to pose in the scandalous scenes.

  Milord was obviously well pleased with the souvenir of his visit when it was finished. ‘You have captured her likeness perfectly,’ he commented, still puffing on his cigar. ‘I particularly like the expression on her face, a subtle mixture of pleasure and pain.’ He looked from the drawing to its lovely subject, and under the mesmerising influence of his intense stare Hetty could only gaze back at him in helpless excitement. He laid his cigar butt delicately on the edge of a nearby saucer and felt in a pocket for his card case. ‘I am holding a little party tonight,’ he informed them, handing Leo his card. ‘I should be honoured if you and your wife would attend. The guests are carefully selected and all share my tastes, in every respect. I am sure you would find yourselves completely at home. You may take a cab to my door and I shall instruct my doorman to pay your fare.’

  Hetty saw a look of disgust pass over her husband’s face. ‘We would not wish to be beholden to you, Milord, or to be the objects of your guests’ curiosity,’ Leo replied frostily. ‘You will have to find some other entertainment for tonight.’

  ‘It was not my intention to insult you,’ Milord said mildly. ‘It was my way of repaying you for services rendered, but if you are too proud to accept, so be it. You shall have your fee and no more.’

  As he left, the English lord took Hetty’s hand and kissed it with slow fervour. ‘Such a shame you will not be able to come, madam.’ His dark liquid eyes gazed into hers as he added in a voice too low for Leo to hear, ‘I should reward you well, for you understand my deepest desires… completely.’

  ‘What did he say?’ her husband snapped the instant their visitor left.

  For some reason, she felt the urge to dissemble. ‘He was just thanking me for being such a good model.’

  He gave a churlish growl, tore the nobleman’s card in two, and dropped the halves into a wastepaper basket. Then he approached his wife and put his arms around her. ‘My dear, I am so sorry you had to submit to the gross tastes of such a man as he. I fear he is noble in birth only. His lust for the whip sickens me.’

  ‘That is a little unfair, Leo,’ she retorted lightly. ‘You understand those attractions more than most, after all.’

  ‘Only with you, my dear, and in private. To stand by and watch a stranger abuse you in such fashion is painful in the extreme for me.’

  ‘Perhaps because it puts you in mind of the bad old days back at Longton? You have not been the same since we returned from England, Leo.’

  He sat down in one of their two chairs, picked up the smouldering cigar butt and took a few puffs from it as if he needed them to fortify his spirit. ‘It is true,’ he admitted, ‘things have been worse since then, and not just because we have been reduced to near penury. Mother told me in her last letter that the estate has been falling into rack and ruin sinc
e father’s accident, and she longs for me to return permanently to take charge. But I cannot bear to think of you being in reach of that dreadful man again, Hetty. I cannot even entertain the idea.’

  ‘Even though he is crippled and in a wheelchair now?’

  His scowl deepened. ‘I talked to Eric, his valet, while I was there. Apparently, my father still puts on those devilish shows of his even though he must remain a spectator. From what I managed to glean, Sir Victor seems more debauched than ever now he is confined to a wheelchair.’

  ‘Your poor mother,’ she murmured, coming to sit on his lap.

  ‘Yes, she worries so… but we must not allow ourselves to be concerned about what is happening at Longton, Hetty, we have problems enough of our own. The rent is due at the end of this week, but now we have just enough money to pay it, thanks to Milord.’ He pronounced the man’s title with the utmost scorn.

  ‘Is that all we have, dear?’ she asked anxiously. ‘I mean, will there be nothing left over for food?’

  ‘Precious little, I fear. Unless you can get more washing or another rich client comes along we shall all but starve come the week’s end.’

  ‘Then why not consider going to that party tonight?’ she ventured to suggest. ‘We are sure to be richly rewarded if we take part in the… activities. You know how generous such decadent aristocrats can be to those who satisfy their peculiar whims.’

  ‘No, Hetty,’ he said firmly, ‘we shall not stoop so low as to mix with a bunch of degenerates. I brought you away from Longton to escape all that. If I allow you to take part in their disgusting revels, you will be treated no better than a prostitute. Walking the streets of Montmartre would be more honest!’

  She knew he could not be moved when his mind was made up, so she was silent. Although they were poor, he still had his pride and was fiercely protective of her, his precious wife, only letting her work as a model when he could be present to chaperone her. Tonight was the first time he agreed to let her pose in quite such a demeaning manner, and she guessed he was already regretting it. Only dire straits could have persuaded him to accept the perverted nobleman’s offer, but that was as far as he would go.

  As the evening approached, however, she found the temptation of Milord’s invitation gnawing away at her thoughts, and when Leo went to the privy, she rescued the card from the wastebasket and pieced it together on the table. The address was in a fashionable part of town near the Opera, and she imagined the house would be grand. There would be food and wine such as she had seldom tasted since leaving Longton Hall, and the mere thought of fancy gourmet dishes made her mouth water; they had lived too long on beans and bread and onion soup. She wondered what would happen if she defied Leo and went to the party by herself. If she returned with a fat purse, and perhaps some scraps from Milord’s table, surely her husband would forgive her…

  Leo returned wearing a particular look on his face Hetty thought she recognised. He poured them both a glass of wine from a half empty bottle almost turned to vinegar, then pulled her to him and sat her upon his knee again. ‘My dear,’ he began gently, ‘it is a long time since we had a visit from your brother, George. I would so very much like to see him again. Do you think there is any chance he might drop by?’

  A slow smile spread across her face. She knew just what her husband had in mind, and she was of a mind to give him satisfaction. It might also prove useful later… ‘I think there is every chance,’ she replied. ‘He is visiting Paris just now, as you know, and has promised to call on us when he has a moment.’

  ‘Good.’ He lifted her up off his lap, walked over to his drawing board and put up his folio. He leafed through it until he came to a sketch of a slim young man, bearing a striking resemblance to Hetty, bending over a gym horse. The boy’s trunks were around his ankles and he was being flogged by an older youth with a sweep of fair hair across his brow, while other young men looked on from the sides of the gymnasium, all of them wearing only trunks.

  She came and stood behind him to look over his shoulder. ‘That is one of your better sketches, Leo,’ she remarked proudly.

  ‘I agree, my dear, and I shall never part with it. The scene was inspired by tales your brother told me of his school days.’

  ‘Perhaps he will have more tales to tell when he visits us.’

  ‘I hope so, Hetty, I do hope so.’

  While he continued to contemplate his handiwork, she slipped away into the curtained area serving as a bedroom and pulled a trunk out from beneath the bed. Inside was a set of men’s clothes. She took out the trousers, shirt, jacket, socks and shoes, then stripped off her gown and hastily donned the male apparel.

  She had not done this for a while and the men’s clothing felt both strange and familiar on her body. The crotch of the pants chafed against her tender female flesh, and her delicate breasts felt a bit stifled by the rough shirt and heavy jacket. Even so, she experienced a sense of exultation; it was wonderful to be posing as George again. She pinned her hair securely up on her head before covering her abundant locks with a wig. Finally, she was ready for the fun to begin.

  When she stepped out of the makeshift bedroom, Leo was stretched out on the couch with his hands behind his head. He feigned surprise, sitting bolt upright as Hetty appeared. ‘Hood heavens, it is George!’ he exclaimed. ‘How good to see you at last. But where is Hetty? She was here only a moment ago.’

  ‘I passed her on the stairs,’ she improvised in the gruff tone she used for her alter ego. ‘I gave her some francs and she went to fetch some provisions. I have no wish to impose on you.’

  ‘George, you are thoughtful as ever. I was just saying to Hetty I hoped you would call soon, and here you are. Sit down, old chap, and tell me everything you have been up to on your travels. We had a card from you in Italy… Rome, was it not?’

  ‘Ah yes, the eternal city.’ She sat down on a chair and spread her legs in the way she always did when impersonating her fictional brother. ‘The nightlife is superb there, Leo. Perhaps it is as well Hetty is not here just now. What I have to tell you is not fit for a lady’s ears.’

  Leo sat on the edge of the couch and waited eagerly for George to continue.

  Hetty paused, making him wait. She enjoyed taking her time and letting her imagination roam free. She loved to delight him with naughty stories that roused his blood and made him eager for the sport to come. ‘You know what they say, Leo,’ she began, ‘when in Rome do as the Romans do. Well, I did just that, and in a way which might surprise you. I fell in with an Englishman I met in a bar and we began to swap histories. To my amazement, the chap turned out to be one of your schoolfellows.’

  ‘No!’ Leo’s eyes grew big and round and she knew their mundane troubles had been forgotten as he slipped willingly into their mutual fantasy. ‘What was his name, George?’

  ‘Carruthers, Algernon Carruthers. I believe he was head boy in the year above yours?’

  ‘Indeed,’ Leo nodded, ‘I remember him well, a tall imposing sort of youth with dark curly hair.’

  ‘Well, his hair is still dark though flecked with grey and he has become somewhat portly. Too much fine living, I dare say, since he is now with the diplomatic service. But when he heard of our acquaintance, he clapped me on the back and said he would take me to a special club he frequented, a place devoted to the particular tastes of public schoolboys in the expatriate community. Naturally, I was intrigued, so I agreed to go along.’

  Hetty enjoyed inventing stories for Leo’s eager ears. She had done so many times before, weaving a tissue of fantasies out of her own scant knowledge, using her imagination to flesh out scenarios she knew would tickle his fancy. This time, she recounted a nocturnal journey through the back streets of Rome and a hidden entrance to ancient catacombs where another misunderstood and persecuted sect – the early Christians – once met sheltered from the wrath of a hostile society.

  ‘Algernon had to u
se a secret password to be admitted,’ she went on as George, ‘but I was accepted as his guest, so we passed into that secret world unhindered. It was called The Order of the Divine Flagellants, a secular society run along quasi-religious lines. We were led into a changing room where we had to strip and put on dark robes and eye masks, then our echoing footsteps were heard along dark passages before we were finally invited to remove our blindfolds.’

  Leo asked almost breathlessly, ‘And what did you see?’

  ‘A vast rocky chamber lit by torches in sconces, a great company of men ranged on seats against the walls, and in the middle of the chamber was a form of stage on which four women in nuns’ habits lay prostrate.’

  ‘So the scene was set for some kind of drama, was it?’

  ‘Indeed. The men began to intone in low voices, making an eerie noise that echoed around the rock-cut temple like some demonic choir. I felt the hairs upon my neck prickle, but the women on the dais lay immobile, apparently indifferent to the atmosphere of menace building up around them.’

  ‘What were the men chanting?’

  ‘Some Latin words Algernon clarified for me but, not having had the benefit of a classical education, I could not begin to guess at their meaning. The chorus was growing louder in a slow crescendo, and I wondered what would happen when it reached its climax. I confess I was feeling very excited by the strange proceedings, caught up in the strong atmosphere of anticipation.’

  ‘I can well imagine,’ Leo murmured.

  ‘Suddenly, there was a fanfare from behind the scenes and a man in black appeared. He was a formidable figure, dressed as a monk but wearing an executioner’s mask, and a leather whip of the cat o’ nine tails variety hung from his belt.’

  ‘The Flagellants,’ Leo breathed excitedly.

  ‘Indeed. The chorus from the onlookers swelled to an ominous peak, the Latin chant repeated over and over until the sound disturbed my mind, and through it all the four nuns lay prone and passive. Then the grand master stepped forward, distinguished by his red robes, golden flail and popish crown. He began to declaim, and the dramatic circumstances have resulted in his words being almost indelibly written upon my memory. I shall try to recall his speech verbatim.’