Pauline's Diaries Ch. 08

May 19th.

Mr Bolton came round yesterday with his camera, and a few people, who I was informed, were actors. A pretty girl took my interest. She wore a long black wig. My girls stood back and watched as the actress took off her coat. Underneath the coat she wore a short pale blue uniform, like my old care home one. It was not lost on me that Mr Bolton was using my experience for the photos he would take.

My girls stood giggling, as the girl was involved in a mock chase in the wood, which is part of my brothel. All the men were older than the girl; one was seated in a wheelchair. Candy whispered that he would not be able to move it along on such uneven and rough ground. He got out of the wheelchair several times, and Mr Bolton, with the aid of several of the actors advanced the wheelchair, and then more photos were taken with the actor seated. The woman was captured and held against a tree, and close up photographs were taken of hands going up her uniform. I moved away and went back to the house leaving them to it.

They came in after an hour and Mr Bolton thanked me. We had a discussion, and I sent my girls to the cinema for the afternoon, all but Tanya my black dominatrix, who goes by the name of Madam Roxanne. She was willing to help out, but sworn to secrecy, or she would no long be my employee, and she was paid 30 pounds out of my own purse.

May 24th.

Dear diary, at last my photos have arrived, and an excited shiver ran down my spine. Mr Bolton hand delivered them, and once again he assured me they would not be used in his magazine, and that he would not show them to anyone else. To keep to our bargain, I told him I would let him use the wood for free, and have promised him the use of my dungeon, several times, for more photos of his actors and the actress, again free of charge for another two photo shoots.

The photos brought back all the memories of that day. I will tell you dear diary, my hand shook as I looked over each photo, and even now writing in your white pages, you will note an unsteady hand. The photos are a present for my husband on his birthday next month, and I cannot wait for his reaction.

May 30th.

Rick's father has decided to sell his garage, after the new large Ford garage opened in the next street. My husband has made an offer for the land. After I had suggested while it was only big enough for four houses, he would make more by putting up a block of flats. It was just a thought in passing which my husband was amazed by. He said I was turning into a proper clever little so and so, and he would call the flats Pauline's Place after me!

He said his deal only had one stumbling block, the boy Rick. How I loathe that boy. His Father is going to France to live, and Rick is not. My husband is supplying Rick with dwellings, free of charge for a year, until he finds his feet. I do not like the thought of that at all, but it is out of my hands.

June 5th

My husband's birthday was yesterday. I gave him a box with a pretty bow and he sat opening it. I think he was expecting cigars. He flicked through the photographs slowly without one word, as I stood silently in front of him praying he would like them. I did not know what his reaction would be, and he looked up at me and just stared. I reached behind the couch, and pulled out a long object wrapped in bright paper. On the card attached I had written, "For the Master of the house."

He ripped off the wrapping, and stared at the brown leather whip in his hand. I gulped and asked him to use it lightly to start with. His eyes did not leave mine for a whole minute, as he thought things through. Finally he grinned slightly. He picked up the photographs again, and patted the couch next to him. I sat with him, and put my hand on his erection and slowly rubbed it through his trousers. He went through the photos again, this time more slowly.

The first photograph showed me running through the wood in my work uniform. My face fixed with in terror. Behind me you could see four men, one in a wheelchair in hot pursuit.

The next photograph was of me being stood over, my hand up in a defensive manner, as three of the men, one carrying a chain with cuffs, stood looking down on me grinning.

The third photograph showed horror on my face which at the time was real, as I did not expect the man in the wheelchair to really push his finger in my anus!

The next picture I was going to destroy. There I was bent over the man in the wheelchair my tights down to my knees, while my buttocks had been spread open by two hands. That same picture clearly showed the grinning man in the wheelchair, with not one finger, but two pressed in my anus up to his knuckles! My husband's cock twitched at the sight of that particular photograph!

Dear diary, had I stayed and watched the actress I would have seen an identical photograph of mine being taken, and I would not have allowed it to happen to myself. I should have realised giving Mr Bolton free license to do as he wished was not my best judgement.

In the next photograph, the chain was looped over the branch of a tree, and my hands cuffed to rings on the ends over my head. My face was screwed up feigning disgust at the unsavoury act that was going on between my legs. The man in the wheelchair had his face buried in my black tights, kissing my pussy. The next photograph showed my tights being ripped open, and my dress undone, and my braless tits were being fondled by two different grinning men. One had lifted my breast quite a way, which indeed did cause me a little pain. The third man standing had his hand down my panties, and he fingered my pussy, as I stood helpless.

The next three photographs showed Madam Roxanne whipping my bare backside, while the men looked on grinning and pointing at me. The truth is Roxanne did not whip me as you would think. She just flicked the whip, while Mr Bolton captured the image, making it look very real.

The next seven photographs showed each of the four men fucking me, as I was still strung up. Every man did fuck me and that is no lie. Although they stood on a box, which Mr Bolton cleverly kept out of the photographs. There were four different close-up shots of each man's cock, hard, and half way in and half way out of my pussy. Each cock looked different, and my husband compared each of these photographs.

The closing photographs, Mr Bolton had to convince me to do. I was down on my knees with my arms tied behind my back with rope. Two men stood either side of me. My head was pushed between Madam Roxanne's legs, while she grinned down with her hands on her hips, and the whip trailing from her left hand, over my shoulder, and down my back.

The last photograph was of my bare ass, tights shredded, with painted on red blotches on my backside, bent forward on my knees kissing Madam Roxanne's boot.

My husband's cock was throbbing through his trousers. I got his cock out and within a few seconds of my hot lips touching his head, Mr Cox exploded in my mouth!

Albert asked me quite a few questions about my photographs, and what went on in the woods. I gave him an honest account, and sometimes it was quite embarrassing. To think I could be so open with my husband, a man who I was forced to marry is something quite remarkable. Dear diary, I have grown used to the wealth I have, and I have grown used to the man who would put me in such a situation. My own sexual desires are very much a part of this, and I wonder what life would have held in store for me if I was not married to him. Would I have brought up my baby alone, and what would I have become? It is a chilling thought, but now and then I have romantic feelings of what might have been also. Would I have been swept off my feet by a dashing young man?

As I looked at my body after a nice hot bath, I feel I have cheated myself in to this, because it was I who forced the judge's hand. I'll never forget the look on his face as he sat at his place in the courtroom, leering at my hard nipples as he took an unknown future away from me, and handed me to Mr Cox. It was my intention after all to force the judge into this. It is my fault, but again if I had not made the choice to phone Albert from that hotel, I might well have ended up on my back, working in a brothel, instead of running one.

I know I am an odd sort for these strange cravings, and the photo shoot, but believe me, I did not expect to be fucked in the wood. Mr Bolton had a knack of pushing me further and further. He kept saying, just a little more Pauline. The cocks were not suppose to enter me, but Mr Bolton cajoled me to agreeing to let them in half way, before I knew what was happening, the first cock was fucking me for real!

Mr Bolton offered me a further £50 to sleep with him. I declined and told him I was only interested in the photographs being taken, and I was not that sort of woman. I know that sounds like a daft statement after what happened, but in truth that is the case.

I'm back in the wood looking up at the tree, high up the thin rusty chains and corroding shackles are still there. They are high up, and I stand wondering why, then stupidly I remember it happened years ago, and the tree has grown. Why did they leave the chains hanging in the tree? My grandmother's history sits up there, and I can imagine her wrists through the round rings, which are now so badly corroded, I could snap them with my fingers.

Back at the house Samuel has watched me go from room to room. He's made me tea and a sandwich as he watches me with amusement. I'm searching every cupboard and every nook and cranny, for what I haven't got a clue, but that doesn't stop me.

Mr Spratt will be home next week, and I have to get the other box off him. It's driving me insane, and so is my sister who has come to the house, and is bleating as she comes up the stairs.

"They are all in on it, and you," she spits with a finger pointing at me.

I open my mouth to ask what she is on about, but I don't need to. Why do I never remember my sister won't stop talking until she has got it off her chest, and for that reason I don't need to ask questions?

"Harvey said he went to yours, and you told him he looked nice. What the hell are you doing?"

Again I want to give her my side, but she won't listen until she has had her say.

"He came home drunk with Jenny, and that little tart Lydia. He had your LBD on. Then I find out they are all in on it. Jenny did his bloody makeup and they went out, and then he came to see you!"

"Julie, I did say he looked nice, but I did try and tell him what he was doing wasn't a good idea."

"Why the hell did you tell him he looked nice? God you're infuriating, and thanks for letting me know by the way."

After a few minutes I calm her down. I've never seen my sister this close to tears before. She's at a loss, not knowing what to do. I remind her that it is just a phase Harvey is going through, although I'm beginning to think it is more than that now.

"I don't get it. He sat there and told me, Jenny and Lydia did his makeup, and it is like nothing to all three of them."

We walk round the house, and I tell her I think we could turn it into a bed breakfast. She rolls her eyes.

"Why not?" I ask, "It could be a nice little venture for us."

"With your cooking we would need a hospital wing. Anyway I don't think people would want to sleep in rooms which have been used for gods knows what. "

I laugh, "Just imagine them coming down to breakfast, and sitting surrounded by dildos and what have you."

She smiles, "I can't imagine Jenny wanting to wait on people, or Harvey for that matter," her face drops, "and before you say anything I wasn't thinking of him dressed as girl doing it."

Here we go again I think to myself.

"Why the hell does he want to be a woman anyhow? Do you think he has had a bad experience with a girl?"

I'm not answering that.

"You know he told me he has a girl's name, Hillary Jane, which is kind of cute."

"Bloody awful name, and don't say things like cute in front of him, he'll think you approve. I don't want to think about him anymore. We've got to sell this place, but what do we do with all the sex stuff?"

"Auction it I guess, we could have an auction, and split the money, and then sell the house."

"Right, I'll let you sort that out. I have to go."

She walks to the door and then turns back, "Please don't encourage him."

"I won't."

She stands in the doorway.

"What else?" I ask, knowing full well there is something else.

She comes back to me.

"That Lydia girl, well she sort of made a pass at me. I went into Jenny's bedroom and Lydia was topless. I said sorry, and she said she didn't mind, and she said she liked me with blond hair. She gave me a wink and a smile. I'm guessing she was just fooling around."

I would love to tell my sister about Lydia being gay, but she has enough to deal with at the moment. In the end I tell her, Lydia was probably fooling around. Maybe I should have a word with Lydia. I could ask her round for a drink and tell her not to tease my sister. Bloody hell no, because after a couple of glasses of wine, there's no telling what I'd do!

June 11th.

My husband has used the whip on me. Dear diary, I cannot get over the feelings which ran through my body. I was wearing my little yellow nightdress. As I walked in the bedroom the whip was lying on the bed. A thrill ran up my spine, as Albert stood there in just his under pants. He had me crawl across the floor to the bed, and pick the whip up in my mouth, and then crawl over to him. I was to stay like that in front of him, while he told me I had no excuses for having the four cocks in the woods. He said I was whore, and he was considering fucking Tanya, as he had never had a black woman before.

Dear diary, I am not sure I like that idea, but what he said next, much to my shame got me really excited. He said I would be whipped in front of Tanya, and then he would have Tanya whip me while he watched. I would then be told to stand in the corner with my red backside, and the instrument used on my backside would be held in my mouth. I would witness his cock fucking Tanya, and I would stand straight, without a single word.

He took the whip from my mouth and had me lay on the bed on my stomach. I received a lash for each photograph that had been taken of me in the wood, and four more for each cock which had entered my pussy.

The pain was quite something, but I did get so very excited between my legs. I think I can take more pain than I had first thought, or maybe the beatings I received by my stepfather has conditioned me.

There was a strange moment where my husband gently placed his hand on my backside. He told me he could feel the heat from the lashes, and he had gotten a little carried away. I felt his lips kiss my backside, such an odd thing to do. The whip was placed in my mouth and my husband took me from behind.

Dear diary, I was so wet it felt quite shameful, and I had to think twice about putting that fact in your pages.

My husband had me quite roughly, and again, I am not regretful of his hard fucking. I have heard a woman's screams come from the dungeon. Tanya told me it was because of the electrical machine which she had me buy. I wonder if that machine is faster and fiercer than my husband's fucking.

I had a most intense orgasm, which as I think about it now, I wonder why. I know the pain turns me on, but would an orgasm of such depth be due to the pain administered a few minutes before?

Dear diary, I do not know how to write this without it looking so crude in your lilywhite pages. I gushed, my pussy gushed like a fountain. I have heard talk of this before, but when it happened I worried for my health. I went all over the white nylon quilted bed cover, my favourite one with bluebells printed on the top. It caused me huge embarrassment and I wished Mr Cox had not seen it. He seemed mesmerised by it. As quickly as I could I gathered up the bed covering. I took it out of the room and down to the twin tub washing machine. I could not get it washed quickly enough. When I returned to bed my husband had put a clean cover on the top. He cuddled up behind me and whispered that he thought when he first set eyes on me, I was the sexiest girl alive, and now I had proved it to him.

June 15th.

My husband has shown me the front of the local newspaper. That snake Bob Sibley has won over £200,000 on the football pools. It should not be allowed after what he has done to me.

Mr Jennings the garage owner has left for France. Purchasing his garage will go ahead after a hand shake between Mr Jennings and my husband. That layabout Rick will stay on until the petrol tanks are dry. Which could take a few weeks, considering most customers now visit the new Ford garage? I have taken my custom there too, and it is such a delight not to be leered at or groped, by a stupid boy. I get most annoyed when I think Rick will be staying in one of my husband's dwellings rent free for a year, but we will have the last laugh when the flats are built.

June 22nd.

I have a new girl at the brothel, and she is pretty not as pretty as Candy, but she isn't far off. It is good for Candy to have a pretty rival, although I suspect she will have a few fallings out with Verity.

Tanya seems to have a way about her lately. I should remind her who the boss is, but she has kept our secret photograph session quiet. I am now wondering if that was a huge mistake, but what is done is done. Tanya asked for an extra day off a week, and while there is no mention of what happened, I think she is more confident about asking for such things, after what happened in the wood.

Mr Bolton has returned with his people and has taken more photographs, this time in the dungeon. I was not there but I was told it was some sort of twist on the Frankenstein movies, with a man dressed as such, and a girl being held captive by him.

Today I went into town. Dear diary, I wore red tight hot pants, and tan tights underneath. The hot pants are cut a little above the curve of my buttocks, and the darker control tops of my tights were clearly visible! I could feel my bottom ripple with the motion of each step, and I'm sure the two men who followed me up the road, liked to watch my bottom ripple and sway.

I wore a red floppy hat, and sunglasses, and white knee high boots in shiny leather. I wore a white top and no bra, my breasts hung a little lower, but I could leave a further button undone. My breasts were in danger of slipping through the opening, but I did love that feeling.

The men of the town loved my look, and I had so many wolf whistles and calls of sexy I felt good. The blasts on car horns I totalled up in my head, nine would you believe! Again this oddness in me is to blame. I would be shame faced should I bump into my mother, or stepfather in the town.

A lorry driver stopped to let me over the road. He really had no need to, but I gave him a smile as he grinned back. Dear diary, my English teacher the nun, Sister Vera, would be appalled by my next line. But as I crossed the road I had a wetness in my panties, when the lorry driver whistled and called out, "Nice tits sexy."

I looked down as I got to the pavement, and saw my left breast was fully exposed and swinging freely! I walked on in the sunlight for a few more steps, feeling my nipple harden as my exposed breast was there for all to see. I walked past a building site, my breathing heavy, and sweat forming, not because of the heat of the sun, but because I was so turned on. I would enjoy those whistling builders taking me any which way they would such was my state of arousal! I only wish Mrs Bain was at my shoulder to witness the events, and then tell my husband as I stood head bowed. Albert would be most annoyed. In fact I was so close to his place of work, I made up my mind to go and confess my sins.