The first stories that I ever published was called, ‘The Landlord’s Revenge’, and ‘The Landlady’s Humiliation’, (Produced HERE as one volume). They were both loosely based on real events, but which I enlarged and elaborated upon. Basically, I took a real person that I knew, and her circumstances and extrapolated to write about sexual cruelty and humiliation. Not only about what could happen to her, but what I somehow at a deep level wanted to happen. In my story, the landlady in question was called Joanne (not a million miles away from her real name), and she was a woman who I was absolutely obsessed with in my later teenage years.
It wasn’t that I had any kind of ‘crush’ on her. It was much, much more than that; I wanted to be her. I thought about her endlessly and studied her at every opportunity. This was easier than it sounds because my mother did some accountancy work for her business, and the two women had become quite close friends.
Her situation both repelled and fascinated me. A combination which I came to understand well. It was to form the core of many of my stories. And it has played such a central part of my writing because it is a deep part of who I am. In a funny way, I imaginatively identified with her situation, and then somehow mapped all of that onto myself. I wanted her life. Or at least the ‘life’ that started to exist and evolve in my imagination.
So, who was she, this Joanne? My muse. My temporary me.
Well, the pub had been there for many years. It had been an old-style drinker’s pub full of….well…old style drinkers. Not exactly spit and sawdust but not far removed. And then it was bought and renovated by Joanne and Benny.
They transformed the interior into a stylish modern themed pub with a small restaurant attached. They spent a lot of money converting it, but it looked well spent. Business-wise too it proved a big success. They pulled in a good steady crowd every day and evening during the week. But on Fridays and Saturdays, the place was spectacularly full, several deep at the bar. Heaving. It became THE place in town to hang out. It was a place to see others and be seen yourself.
Joanne and Benny had a success on their hands. They almost became, should I say – minor local celebs? A much-envied couple; a pair who seemed to have it all. Looks, a thriving business, popularity, and matching Alfa Romeo sports cars.
But image can sometimes conceal, and so what of the skull beneath the skin?
Joanne was a very pretty woman in her late thirties, almost Japanese-black hair just past her shoulders and lovely porcelain creamy skin. Although slim she had generous breasts which were usually showcased in some very crowd-pleasing, eye-popping low-cut dresses. They became her ‘signature’ look. She was a much talked about woman for any number of reasons.
She was an attention magnet and I would go to the place just to watch her ‘working’ the clientele with a mesmerising combination of flirty, aloof, stuck-up and down to earth. She would drive men mad and make women crazy at her. Confidence came off her like radiation.
The effect of this varied.
The graffiti in the female toilets was all about Joanne getting ‘what’s coming to her.’ And what was coming varied from a bottle in the face to gang rape. In the men’s toilets, all she was getting (or had already had!) was customers cocks in all the usual places.
But from my mother, I heard other stories. Things were never going to be so simple for Joanne. There were the indecent, and even threatening, phone calls, the semi-forced exhibitionism, and the threat of domestic violence.
Joanne and Benny disagreed about the dresses. He saw the success of the place as resting on the amount of cleavage on display. He insisted on all his female staff being ‘on display’, and further expected Joanne’s dress to be the most ‘displaying’ of all.
Joanne, however, saw things differently. She believed the popularity of the establishment was a product of the place being a well-run establishment. She felt she didn’t need to show her tits to the masses. But Benny would insist, and if Benny didn’t get his way he was a man who could get his fists out.
Suddenly I saw Joanne in a different light. Far from being a woman in control, she became a woman-controlled. A woman who did things because she ‘had to’, or else. The non-consensual aspect excited me beyond description. How humiliated must she have felt having to show those tits to all and sundry? To anyone who cared to look? It was also obvious to me that the flirty, stuck-up persona was just an act, a way of getting through the ordeal.
JUST LAST NIGHT
Thursday night at the Thistle & Down, had always been lock-in night. The night when the doors were bolted, the lights turned down, and just a few of the Landlord’s mates got to stay and drink and chat after closing time. They were cosy affairs, strictly by invitation only. Intimate. Man stuff. Tonight the bar room was in almost total darkness, apart from the strip light behind the bar, the light that now encased the women. Showing her off like a spot-lit animal.
Her name is Joanne. Joanne Maxwell. And she is the Landlord’s Wife. Have a good look; everyone else is. Benny won’t mind. He wants you to look….take your time…It’s what she’s for. She is the entertainment.
She stands bathed in the harsh light. Naked but for a pair of red panties and black stilettos, her face devoid of all expression, eyes downcast, no emotion; giving nothing away. Like a mask. Her thick auburn hair is unkempt, mussed, and that bright red lipstick smeared across her mouth; doesn’t she just look a slut? Doesn’t she just look a real bitch?
With every movement the swaying of those big soft titties draws your eye. It is just after midnight, the heating is shutting down. You can see those goose-pimples spreading over her body. She is alone; she is exposed, and she is vulnerable.
You like that don’t you?
You can see the fear in her. You know she’s been dreading tonight. You can see her mouth is dry by the way she constantly swallows. She is not just nervous, she is intimidated. After the past week she has reason to be. Every form of refuge has its price.
Look at Gary, sitting on the end barstool sipping his pint. He stares at her; stares hard. That’s why she is there. He wants her to see him looking, he wants her to see his eyes raking down her body, he wants her to see his face, wants her to know what he thinks of her, wants her to realise what she is. He’s been waiting for tonight all week. All fucking week.
Tonight it is his night. Tonight it’s a good time for all of them. Tonight it’s a good time for all. Gary knows it, Benny knows it. They all know it. And she knows it as well. You can see the anticipation in her trembling fingers.
At forty-three she is still a good looking woman, and when she was a bit younger she was a very good looking woman, a stand-out. It’s why Benny married her. For Gary the only thing that spoils her now is that poor-me-martyred fucking look. Makes her look miserable, but he knows she has plenty to be miserable about. And she deserves to be.
But you can’t get away from the fact of her lovely skin; like cream coloured china. But spilled by that fading purple mess around that left eye. The mates all know where that came from. Benny. Look at the newer bruise on her ribs. Benny again. Ugly. Deep plum colour on milk white skin. Benny’s payback. But Gary approves. She was always such a stuck-up cunt. She was always all mouth and smart fucking backchat; all pricktease and treat-you-like-shit. How things change. To Gary she deserves all that and more. Tonight her chickens have all come home.
For as long as he remembers Gary has wanted to fuck Joanne. Not have sex with her, and certainly not to ‘make love with her’. He wants to fuck her. Really fuck her. And not just fuck her either, but fuck her to tears. Fuck her so it counts; fuck her so she remembers it. Fuck her so it will ruin her. He doesn’t want her to enjoy it. He
wants her to hate it, be repulsed by it. Revolted. Sickened. He wants to humiliate her, to pay her back for all the fucking hard-on’s she’d given him, for all that mouth and attitude. She’s always been such a snobby, stuck-up cow. Right now he can feel his heart starting to flutter at the thought of it, really giving it to her. Well you saggy old cow, he is thinking, you’ve nothing to be snobby about now have you? All in the inside of Gary’s head.
Gary looks along the line, at all the others, all of them goggling her like on a day out to the zoo. All of them have eyes all over her like soiling hands. He drains his glass and pushes it forward, gives her a nod. She knows what he wants; takes it without saying anything and fills it with his usual. No money needed tonight, it’s all on the house. Everything is on Benny tonight.
As she put the glass in front of him he sees that slight hardening of her jaw, that almost negligible pursing of her lips. Christ he wants to slap her one. Let her know he’d seen it, let her know he didn’t give a shit. ‘Thanks Joanne’, he said. ‘A smile would be nice’, and he winks at Benny sat at the end of the bar.
‘A smile?’ Benny says. ‘A fucking smile? Asking a bit much aren’t you Gary mate? What’s she got to smile about? Shall I show you?’
Now Benny slides off his stool grinning all over his face, and he walks around the bar. He’s a big man and carrying a fair bit of weight. ‘Shall I tell you how much she’s got to smile about? Shall I?’ He takes up a position directly behind her, and puts his hands under her arms and cups a tit in each hand. ‘Because of these’ he says, squeezing and lifting each in turn as if weighing them, jiggling them towards his audience. He grins. ‘Soft as shit and saggy as fuck. No wonder junior kicked her out, sent her back. Forty-three? You’re on the way down darlin’.’
‘Cow’, he whispers in her ear. Now he reaches for a half-pint glass and he half fills it with lager. You sense this is the start. The real start. So far it’s just been a titty show. Now it begins. He winks at his audience and then very slowly, very deliberately spits in it. He offers it to Gary who does the same, followed by each of the others.
He sets it down on the bar in front of his wife. ‘In your own time…’.
She is trembling. Benny is grinning.
Gary is rock fucking hard. They all are.
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Other posts you may enjoy:
Sex Life by the Dice: Part 1 is an interview with a woman who hates making decisions. Her satisfactions come from using a dice to decide how she will dress, where she will go, what she will do and with who.
The Delight of Indecent Exposure is a post about female exhibitionism. This is a interview with a young woman who habitually flashes her pussy on the London Underground.