Belle - Lesley Pearse [9]
Millie was down to her chemise, stockings and white lace-trimmed drawers. The man had removed his jacket along with his trousers and boots, but he’d kept his shirt on and it came down almost to his knees, exposing very muscular, hairy legs.
‘Let me put some more coal on the fire, it’s nearly out,’ Millie said suddenly. As she bent over to put the shovel into the coal bucket, Belle thought of trying to signal to her so she’d get the man to leave the room, but before she could even attempt it, the man moved and grabbed Millie around the waist from behind, pulling her drawers off so roughly that they ripped.
Belle was so shocked that she felt her heart might stop beating. From her position she could still only see the couple from the waist down, but that was far too much. She didn’t want to see Millie’s plump, dimpled thighs and buttocks, or the man forcing her to bend over so he could push his cock into her. Belle had only seen a couple of cocks in her life, and they had belonged to small boys being cleaned up by their mothers under a street pump. But this man’s had to be seven or eight inches long and as firm as a barber’s pole. She could see by the whiteness of Millie’s knuckles as she supported herself on the fireplace that he was hurting her.
‘That’s better, my lovely,’ he said breathlessly as he hammered into her. ‘You love it, don’t you?’
Belle closed her eyes to shut out the sight but heard Millie reply that she loved it more than anything else in the world. This was clearly a lie, for when Belle opened her eyes again Millie had moved enough so she could see her face sideways on, and it was strained with pain.
Suddenly Belle understood why the girls so often looked sullen and dejected. She had been mystified by this for the parties sounded so much fun. But clearly they didn’t get a jolly time in the parlour for long. Instead they were whisked away to their rooms to be subjected to this kind of ordeal.
As the man bent down further over Millie’s back, Belle saw his face in profile. He had dark hair, slightly grey at the temples, and a thick, military-style moustache. His nose was quite prominent, with a slight hook. She thought he might be around thirty-two, though she always found it hard to guess men’s ages.
The couple moved on to the bed then, and the twanging sound of the springs just inches from her head, and the foul things he was saying to Millie, were horrible. Worse still, she could see them reflected in the mirror above the fireplace. Not their faces, just from their necks down to their knees. He had a hairy, very bony backside and he was holding on to Millie’s knees and seemed to be forcing them further apart so he could drive himself further into her.
It went on and on remorselessly, the slapping sound of flesh against flesh, squeaking springs, grunting, swearing and panting. From time to time Millie would cry out in pain – at one point she even urged him to stop – but he carried on regardless.
Belle realized that this was what ‘fucking’ was. She heard the word daily out on the streets where it was mostly a swear word – some men used it in every sentence they uttered – but she had heard it used in relation to men and women too, and now she understood this was its real meaning.
She hated being witness to it and was tempted to take a chance and crawl out from under the bed to the door. But common sense told her there would be hell to pay if she did, from the man and Annie too. She wondered as well why Mog hadn’t noticed she was missing and come looking for her.
Just when she thought Millie’s ordeal was never going to end, all at once the man appeared to be reaching some kind of crescendo, for he was panting furiously