An Excellent Taste in Women

1. Heart of the Empire

Laura Rowley was a beautiful young woman. She was eighteen and had raven-black hair neatly done up although a few strands kept escaping. Her brown eyes shone with curiousity and her smile was friendly. She wore a simple, hand-woven blue dress and a hat held in place by a pin. This was her first visit to England.

Laura had been nervous about the trip. She'd lived all her life on the Najow Islands in the Bay of Bengal off the Indian coast where her father was governor. On the voyage she'd been doubtful, but then on the morning the ship had come in sight of the English coast she'd woken up excited. On the train to London she'd still felt anxious but her excitment overrode her concerns. At Waterloo she'd climbed out of her first class compartment into a cacophony of porters and guards, passengers and engines that whistled, called and shouted. Laura looked around with interest; trying to recall the sights and atmosphere she would take back to her father.

A porter fetched her luggage from the guard's van and offered to fetch her a cab but Laura politely refused.

"A friend of my father is meeting me," she said.

There were closed carriages and hansoms, horse-drawn vans and an endless army of people arriving and departing. Laura compared this to the peace of her home where the birds called in the trees and walks through forest paths brought her to the cream white beaches and deep,clear waters of the sea where she would stand barefoot in her white dress; shelding her eyes against the sun as she looked out to sea. Here in London people moved quickly and the air was colder. The sky was overcast and there was a heavy drizzle.

Then Laura saw Walter Daneman: her father's friend; immaculately dressed as always with his light moustage and carrying an umbrella. He smiled in recognition. "I'm so sorry to have kept you waiting," he said. "How are you. Did you have a pleasant voyage?"

Laura thought of her concerns then quickly banished them. "It was wonderful," she repiled, "And my first ride on a train was excting. What a magnificent beast". She turned to face the engine that had pulled her train: it's black livery being wiped down by one of it's crew. Walter returned her smile and took her bag while a cabman took her trunk and put it on the back of the carriage. It's horse panted and Laura hoped it wasn't tired. "I'm sorry you're seeing the old country in the rain. Sometimes we do have the sun."

Laura no longer felt nervous; just pleased she was here and with Walter Daneman whom she'd known as a child. "It doesn't matter. My father wanted me to see England as it was," she said and sheltered under the umbrella that he held over her, "Even when it rains its still hot." She held out her hand letting it get wet then tasted the cold water, "This is how it should be."

"Completely soaking you so you catch a chill," Walter replied laughing adding: "And may I say how well you've turned out."

Laura smiled. She was happy to be with a friend.

2. The Invitation

"Its not uncommon to see women at Homburg smoking, " Walter told Laura. "I saw one fair lady who beckoned a waiter over. I thought she just was ordering dinner. Instead she asked him to light her cigarette which he did with the candle on her table."

Laura's mouth dropped open in astonishment. During the last few days Walter had told of his travels while also showing her the sights. Traflagar Square where Nelson, atop of his column, looked over the city he'd defended. Then she'd seen his tomb along with that of Wellington's in the spacious crypt of St Pauls. Another day the two had visited the Houses of Parliament where she'd watched a debate from the visitors gallery and seen and heard Big Ben strike the hour.

They were travelling again, this time out of London. Walter had told Laura where they were going to Kingston across the river and then he'd begun talking about the fashionable gambling spa at Homburg he'd visited. "We see drink as the curse of the lower classes, but gambling is the curse of those - shall we say, higher up the ladder. The only difference is that those poor wretches end up in the gutter. We write a last note before locking ourselves in a room and shooting ourselves. Keep the shame hidden away."

Laura sighed. Her father had often complained that the allowance he was paid as governor was never enough to fufil his duties and maintain the household. Then she asked: "Why are we going to Kingston?"

"Its a little surprise I've been saving for you," Walter answered. "How about being invited for dinner tonight?"

"By whom?"

"Friends of mine. We call ourselves The Thursday Dinner Club. We meet once a month to see one another and sample food you wouldn't find elsewhere."

"Is it food from abroad?"

"It's a mixture of home-grown and foreign dishes. Its just we always like to share what we've bought so we all bring a guest of our own choosing to each meal. I thought it would make your visit memorable by inviting you."

"Wonderful. When are we expected tonight?"

"Actually we're going there now."

"But it's not yet two o' clock. Won't we be too early?"

"Our cook always likes to see our guests beforehand. It's so as he knows what he's cooking."

"That is a strange custom."

"We have strange habits," Walter reassured her.

Laura looked out the carriage window. 'It must be all right', she thought. 'He is my father's friend and there is much I don't know.' She looked out at the flat meadows which then ran into parkland which Walter told her was Bushy Park and Laura was surprised to see sheep grazing there. The carriage crossed the bridge into Kingston and Laura was surprised to see it as a bustling town with a busy market place overlooked by a square, columnaded, four-turreted building that reminded her of some of the mosques in India. Walter told her it was the Market House where the town council met and pointed out the Coronation Stone surrounded by ornamental railings that stood outside it. From the High Street the carriage drove down a promenade that ran alongside the wide river. The carriage passed a boatyard and Laura saw a tall-masted Thames Barge moored alongside with men in shirtsleeves loading a horse and cart.

The carriage stopped outside a simple Georgian house and Walter helped the girl out. Laura watched as he rapped on the door and they were admitted by a butler who greeted Walter.

"Is everyone coming tonight?" Walter asked.

"All except Mr Roberts. He's gone down with another infection again. He dosen't appear to be having a very good year Mr Daneman."

"That's a pity. I must go round and see him. Is Mr Holmes in?"

"He's in the kitchen Mr Daneman."

Laura followed Walter, hearing her skirts rustle and their heels click on the floor. Through an open door she caught a glimpse of male servants putting cutlery on a large table covered with a cloth.

The kitchen was large and dominated at the far end by a large spit underneath a smoke vent with smouldering coals set into the floor underneath and surrounded by an ankle-high wall. On either side of the kitchen were long trestle tables and in a large alcove were open ranges with large metal pots. Cooking implements hung on the walls while there were there were sinks and draining boards which Laura guessed were to wash the plates. Several clocks hung on the walls.

There were all men working in the kitchen with chef's jackets, neckerchiefs and chequed trousers which Laura always felt looked funny as though they'd been made out of chess boards. Laura saw a boy of her age among them. One of the men, a man in his early forties of medium height and build with grey streaks in his hair came over. "This is our chef Gerald Holmes," Walter told Laura.

"Good afternoon Mr Daneman. I take it this is our guest for dinner?"

"It is, " Walter replied. "My I introduce Miss Laura Rowley: daughter of Sir Gordon Rowley: governor of the Najow Islands."

Laura curtsied and Holmes bowed. "Delighted to meet you," Gerald said, "Sorry it's a mess but it's always busy when Mr Daneman and his guests meet. As it's once a month we always try to make it something special."

"I hope it'll be something special for me as well," Laura said.

"I ensure we'll make it a memorable occasion for you," Gerald replied smiling.

"I have to go and dress, " Walter told Laura. "I'll leave you with Mr Holmes."

"But - shouldn't I come with you?" Laura asked

"Well Mr Daneman thought you might be interested to look round the kitchen." Gerald added.

"But, would I not get in the way?"

"You wouldn't. In fact, we have a small room containing a choice of dresses you can change into. Just there," and Gerald pointed to a door next to a mirror that was underneath a small hand basin. "There's plenty of time and when you're ready we'll take you round."

Laura looked anxiously at Walter. She hadn't minded being on her own on the voyage knowing that he was waiting for her. This was a strange house of people she'd never heard of. He smiled and touched her forearm. "It will be all right. You'll find it interesting. And I'll only be upstairs. I won't be long."

Laura looked at Gerald. "I won't eat you if that's what you're thinking." His smile was gentle.

She thought for a moment. This is an adventure: something different. So don't be silly. She returned Gerard's smile and said: "I'll try not be long," and walked into the room.

3. The Dinner Preparations

Laura found the room quite small. Oddly there was another mirror exactly on the same side as the one outside. There was no cupboard but there was an inner door which she assumed to be a built-in wardrobe, a screen to change behind and a chair. She took off her dress and in her underskirt, bloomers and vest was about to try the door when the door to the kitchen opened. She gasped and tried to grab her dress as Gerald and some of his staff came in.

"I'm not ready!" she protested.

"You are now love," Gerard said abruptly and he and the others grabbed her. Laura shrieked and tried to beat them with her fists but their grip was strong. "She's still got her corset on," one of the men said.

"Don't waste time. Rip it off!"

Laura gasped as a large knife sliced through the strings. Her corset sagged and was pulled off. Her vest was torn and so were her underskirt and bloomers leaving her naked. She struggled: "Stop this," she cried. "You will not - you will not..."

"Get her on the table now," Gerald said and still struggling, Laura was carried out into the kitchen and laid out on one of the tables: held down by her wrists and ankles. "Right Bernard wash her down."

Laura felt a cold, wet sponge rub down her body. She was turned onto her back and washed down again. Then a towel was pummeled up and down her. Gasping and grunting she was turned face upwards. She writhed and rolled her head from side to side but the hands still held her down. A cool and fluid liquid was applied to her skin. She raised her head and saw Gerald was rubbing oil into her. "Why," she gasped, "Why are you doing this. Stop it!"

Gerald took no notice and oiled the girl down from her shoulders to between her toes. He seemed to take pleasure in rubbing the oil onto her breasts, making the nipples erect with his forefingers and thumbs, and Laura moaned as he spread her legs and rubbed oil into her crotch. She was turned onto her stomach and her back and buttocks were oiled too. Laura saw that a full length mirror on a stand had been set up behind her reflecting her anguished face; her breasts pressed onto the wooden surface and her shining buttocks. Two pairs of hands continued to hold her down.

"Stuffing please," she heard Gerard say and Laura saw a large bowl containing a porridge-like substance passed to him. She felt her legs spread as wide apart as they could and then Laura gave a long scream and her eyes widened as the stuffing was pushed into her rectum. Her body strained as it was pushed deep into her and as she grunted, Laura realised why the mirror was there. It was not only for her to see but also for everyone else to see her pained expression. She felt humilated and angry. She yelled again as more stuffing was pushed in and managed to pant: "How...dare...you. My...father will - hear of this."

"My father will hear of this" mimicked the boy in a nasal, little girl's voice and she heard Gerald say: "Not now Bernard."

"Sorry Mr Holmes." the boy replied.

"That's all right. Must have a little fun in this job now and then."

Fun, exploded Laura. Was stripping her naked and practically assaulting her fun. Did Walter know about this. Maybe this was something akin to the notorious Hellfire Club she once her one of his father's secretaries mention. A place were perverse rites were carried out. Was she going to be the victim of one?

Laura was rolled on to her back again, panting. She went limp and the hands released her. She felt her legs parted again and the stuffing pushed into her vagina. She grunted but didn't struggle. She no longer had the strength. The she felt hands on her again and her skin now felt gritty and stung. Her nostrils twitched and she smelt pepper. They were rubbing it into her now!

Laura sniffed and sneezed. "Bless you," Gerald said to her. "Thank you" Laura sniffed. He wasn't gloating; his voice and manner were casual and Laura suddenly realised he's done this before! The tears finally came. She couldn't fight or scream. It was the only way she could express her terror, and no one outside could hear her.

Laura took a deep breath as she saw Bernard and two men bring over the spit. She saw it had crossbars and started sobbing "No, no, no...". She was laid on the spit and and tied to it by her ankles and knees. She was then tied by her thighs and stomach. Her arms were raised over her head and secured behind her by her wrists and elbows. Finally she was bound under and over her breasts; forcing them out and erect and a cord wrapped gently but securely under her chin so her head wouldn't hang down. Laura writhed slightly but she was tightly bound.

Gerald picked an apple from a bowl. He squeezed it in his hand then came over to the bound, terrified girl. Laura started to whimper but she stopped when Gerard twisted her nose, making Laura open her mouth, and pushed the apple into it.

4. Between Heaven & Hell

Laura was placed over the fire, face down. The heat made her squeeze her eyes shut and she screamed as it burnt her ankles, thighs and breasts, but the apple in her mouth made it come out as a muffled moan. She couldn't turn her head so she looked down on the flames that tortured her young body. This must be a joke. It has to be in poor taste. They'll set me free, she panicked, but Laura was left down on the flames for minutes. They were hot and her body dripped of sweat and oil. The palms of her hands were sweaty and her tears dropped into the fire and were lost.

Eventually she felt the spit turned round, and Laura was looking up into the smoke vent where the charcoal fumes went up after entering her nostrills. She felt her back and buttocks warm up and she moaned and sobbed. Not only did the apple stop her cries, but were drowned out by the noise in the kitchen. Laura managed to crane her head and saw vegetables being chopped and placed into pots for boiling, fruit being mixed into a bowl and Gerald leafing through some papers with one of his staff. Up on the wall, a clock gave the time as five minutes to four in the afternoon.

The boy Bernard came over and began to rotate the spit anti-clockwise. Laura saw the kichen, the fire, the opposite wall and the smoke vent coming round after one another as she was turned. The thought entered her head. A piece of meat. I'm nothing but a piece of meat to these people. I'll be cooked and eaten and no-one will know what happened to me - except my father.

No, she thought. He can't be involved in this. Walter - couldn't have told him.

Or maybe he did!

Laura's thoughts went round just as her body was rotated on the spit. Her back felt sticky, there was sweat on her neck, breasts and forehead and strands of her hair were plastered there as well. Her front and then her back was exposed to the flames and her skin began to turn a redish-pink. Other men took turns in basting her and turning the spit. Laura shut her eyes as she felt dizzy from the constant motion and the high temprature. When she opened them the room was still turning round her.

The spit stopped turning, and Laura was face up again. She saw Bernard lean over and bast her body again; the brush rubbing her nipples causing her to squeal and strain against her bonds. It only made the spit shudder. Her vagina was sore from the heat and the oil. She looked up and saw Gerard come up to the boy.

"Now then Bernard, " Gerard said cheerfully, "You warm?"

"Not as warm as her Mr Holmes,"

Laura heard different voices now, one she recognised as Walter's. "Stand by your beds gentlemen, " Gerard called, "Here comes Sir John."

Walter and a man in his late fifties: short, plump with a flabby, clean-shaven face and dark hair streaked with grey came into her view. Both were in evening dress with cut away jackets, sharply creased trousers, cream-coloured waistcoats and white ties. He'll rescue me. He'll save me, Laura thought, pleading with her eyes. But the thought lacked conviction. She wanted to scream at the abuse and humilation and shout at Walter for not being there, but the apple had given her lock jaw. She bit into it and gave a faint squeak.

"I say you've really excelled yourself tonight Walter, " the older man exclaimed. "What a tasty little bird. Best we've had so far. Seems a shame to eat her."

"Thank you Sir John," Walter gave a slight bow.

Laura squeezed her eyes shut tightly and felt the tears come again.

"I don't suppose I could have a slice of her now: just as an appetiser? Sir John asked.

"I'm afraid not sir," Gerald answered. "She's not quite ready yet. Might be very messy if you were to cut her now."

"Well serves me right for being impatient" Sir John chuckled, and Laura saw Gerard cast his eyes upwards. "I don't suppose I could give her a turn?"

"Of course not sir," and Laura felt herself being turned again while Sir John chuckled. After a few minutes he stopped leaving Laura facing upwards again. "Thank you gentlemen." he said as he left, "Carry on."

"The old fool," Gerald said when he'd gone. "Always comes down and tries it everytime."

"Well as a Crimean veteran he does have the right," Walter answered wearily.

"Except he fought his war from a safe hilltop." Gerald retorted. "Do you want a few words?" he nodded to Laura.

"Please," Gerard left, leaving Walter and Laura alone. Walter leaned over and said softly: "Hello again my dear," He hesitated for a moment and went on: "I know, it's frightening and unusual, but this practice has gone for centuries. It's likely that primitive men hunted and ate one another, and as you know this is a ritual in places like the Dark Continent and the Pacific Isles so it's not unusual." He sighed. "Your father has known about it for years; he's also partaken at this club. I'm sure he'll be pleased when I write telling him how well you were received. So don't think of this as a degradation. We really are delighted you're here tonight and, as I said, I'm really pleased by how well you've turned out."

He stood up. "Goodbye," he said; bowing slightly. Then he walked away.

Laura lay looking up at the smoke vent, breathing through her nose. I wish I'd never come. I'd wished I'd stayed at home. She thought of the sun: the cooling breezes and the clear blue lagoons. The heat that disapated at night but she would still sleep naked in her bed; the sheets resting against her cooling skin. Her whole body was now moist, greasy and dripped with oil and sweat. Laura's skin had gone from red blisters to a soft golden brown and her heart was pounding to get out of it's ribcage prison.

It's not fair, she thought.

The spit was rotated again and Laura felt herself going limp and her eyes closing. Her head was starting to droop but the bonds round her neck stopped it from falling down. Eventually Laura was left facing upwards into the smoke vent again. It was getting misty. She hadn't realised there was so much smoke. The large, black vent seemed to get bigger; covering the whole ceiling so that it swallowed up the smoke. As it spread out to engulf the room and muffle the sound Laura's eyes closed then snapped open but she saw nothing again.

EPILOGUE

Laura Rowley was a beautiful young woman. She was eighteen, and had raven-black hair that, though greasy, was neatly done up. Her brown eyes were glazed and her mouth which once had a friendly smile had an apple in it as garnishing. She was served up on a platter to the members of the Thursday Dinner Club and as Walter Daneman carved her rump he was congratulated on his excellent taste in women.

THE END

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