Jack. Jack the Lad. He was proud of his nickname. And he had the trophies to prove it. Along with that ever-lengthening list of names pinned up on the kitchen pinboard. Thirty two pieces of skirt last year, and although it was only September now, he had already screwed twenty eight little tarts this year. He didn’t have a care in the world. Well, perhaps one, would he manage forty by the end of the year?
He would think about all the girls out there, how they all were gagging for it. When you thought about it, screwing them was a kind of community service. They all needed it, and if he could persuade them to cook him some meals and wash and iron his clothes before he moved on 24 hours later, well that was only fair. Think about it. He’d done his bit for them, and it was a big bit too, if you know what I mean. So he deserved something in return.
Now it time to get ready. Shave, shower, splash on some eau-de-cologne, dress and get out on the town to find number 29 and give her what she needed. The last couple had been just too easy, so what he really wanted was a challenge. Perhaps, for once, he wouldn’t go to a club. He had a better idea. He would go to The Royal, the best hotel in town, see if he could find someone more sophisticated than his usual victims, not that he thought of them as victims. That’s just stupid. They were getting the benefit of his wonderful body. Generous was scarcely an adequate enough word.
As he strolled along the streets towards The Royal, Jack had to resist temptation. There were so many chances to relieve so many girls of their cherry, why wait time on somebody fancy? It wasn’t right, he could feel what passed for his conscience telling him, they all need you. It was an inner struggle to keep going on, but he knew he owed it to himself.
He ordered himself an ostentatiously expensive red wine, making sure that the barman allowed the world to see his fine tastes. He sat down in a luxurious armchair and surveyed the room to see what property was available. And to be honest, there wasn’t much. But Jack had learned the art of patience.
And it was rewarded when a tall elegant blonde, wearing a mauve pencil skirt with a matching frilled blouse under her jacket, entered the room and perched on a bar stool so that Jack could see long black-stockinged legs leading down to gleaming high heels. She placed her room key on the bar to ensure that the barman would serve her.
Jack waited. Timing was all. He let the woman finish her first drink before he returned to the bar himself, giving the woman the opportunity to take a good luck at him. He gave her the tiniest of smiles. The barman came across. He asked for another glass of the claret, and the barman, used to the ways of hotel bars, repeated the order sufficiently loudly for the woman to hear, and then proceeded to bring bottle and glass to the bar.
“I’m sorry to be so rude, but can I offer you a glass as well. It really was rude of me. And it’s no fun drinking a half decent wine by oneself.”
“That would be kind of you. It is rather sad sitting here by oneself, you’re right.”
Jack gestured to the barman, and he started on his well-practiced spiel. He gave his name and offered an imaginary but impressive job. The woman returned the compliment.
“Morgan! That’s an unusual name! But very pretty, if you don’t mind me saying so.”
“Oh, haven’t you heard of Morgan Le Fay, the wicked witch!”
Jack laughed generously, but discreetly, at her little joke. This was going to go well, he could tell it in his bones. And Morgan didn’t take much persuasion to agree to sit down on the velveted sofa. Jack retold the story of his life (at least tonight’s version, not the true one, of course). Ever so slowly he edged nearer to Morgan. She was a genuine catch, he was glad he hadn’t be diverted on his way to The Royal.
Jack realised that Morgan didn’t object to his moves. But of course, what girl or woman would, or even could? The only obstacle he could foresee was if she wanted him to screw her in his room. That might be awkward, given that he wasn’t a guest. And yet he would have to persuade her that her submission would be in her room. But first, he would buy her another drink, despite the expense, which was going cause some problems until he got his pay at the end of the week.
“No, please don’t!” Morgan. “It was delicious, but so expensive. I have a better idea. I’ve got some rather special wine in my room. Why don’t we go and drink that?”
This was going far better than he could ever have hoped. Jack the Lad, you’ve done it again, he told himself. In the lift he make to kiss Morgan, but she deftly avoided him. “No, not yet, I want you to taste my wine before you taste my lips.”
Jack was willing to agree, although he thought she was being far too pernickety. Never mind, he would show her later. First she would beg for him to start. Then she, exhausted, would beg him to stop.
In the room, Morgan went across to the dressing table on which stood a silver flask of deep burgundy wine. She poured each of them both a small glass, and handed one to Jack. “Drink it all in one, Jack. I promise you an experience you’ve never had before.”
“Here’s to us,” he said as he allowed the nectar to flow down his throat. “I’ll give you a night you’ll never forget.”
“No,” replied Morgan. “You’re the one who will never forget this night!” But Jack never heard her words. He had fallen down onto the floor in the deepest of sleeps.
“Unngghh”. Jack awoke from his slumbers with a most unladylike grunt. He shook himself but as he raised his head from the pillows he felt himself restrained. His arms were held back as if they were chained to the head of the bed. He tried to move his legs, but they seemed to have been forced with apart as if they were chained to the foot of the bed.
He stretched his head again, to release the nightmare. He couldn’t see his body. It seemed to be covered in some kind of fluffy pink body bag from head to toe which make any sensation impossible. Was this what death was like? He shouted out for help, but he could hardly recognise the strange sounds which came out of his mouth. They didn’t seem to belong to him.
He moved his head from side to side. He had never seen a room like this before. The walls appeared to be covered by tapestries, ornate designs of nymphs and angels, some sitting, some standing, others high on silver-edged clouds, others still swimming in clear mountain lakes. There was gilt framed dressing table on which stood foaming flasks of sweet-smelling unguents. He shouted again. And again in the strange voice he seemed to have acquired.
At last the sound of clacking heels could be heard from somewhere outside. Then the creaking of a door. Mysteriously a woman emerged from behind the tapestries. As he lay on the bed Jack could see no more than a head and body wrapped in a black hood and cloak and a veil obscuring the face.
“Who are you? Where am I? Am I dead? Come on, woman, release me at once!”
“Now, now! Don’t be such a silly! Of course you’re not dead. And you’re in my abode. Do you like? It's pretty, isn't it?”
“I might like it a bit better if you untied me. What’s this all about? Come on, get a move on.” Jack flushed with anger, his face almost purple with rage. “And who are you, that you think you can do this to me.”
“Don’t be like that, dear. You’ve got such a pretty face, don’t spoil it like that. And don’t you ever remember any of the girls you take advantage of? Not even their names?”
“I’ve never seen you before in my life, ever!”
“So you don’t remember last night in The Royal? You’re worse than I thought! What’s my name?”
Jack’s muddled brain tried desperately to remember something, anything. At last faint memories were stirred. He began to remember picking up some fancy bit of skirt, there’d been drinks, hadn’t she invited him to her room? But her name? God knows. How was he supposed to remember the name of every girl he’d shafted. That was just impossible!
The woman tut-tutted. “You’re one of the worst cases I’ve known. But I just love a challenge. I’ll give you a clue. It started with M.”
That didn’t help. M was such a common letter. Mary? Margaret? Marion? He even vaguely recalled a Moira. There was a wee Scots lassie from Inverness, Morag. That gave him the answer. “Of course, little sweetie, you’re Morgan. You had that little joke about Morgan Le Fay. Very good too.”
“Don’t you try patronising me. There’s not much sense of that here, as you’ll find out. And that was no joke. “You’ve heard of my half-brother, Arthur, haven’t you. With all those silly boy’s games. He’s always had a good press. Men, of course!”
“Stop this rubbish. Just untie me!” Jack was turning purple again.
“You’re a stubborn little minx, aren’t?” There was a strangled cry from Jack. “Let me explain your situation. Just shut up and listen. Some of those women you messed up and then deserted, well they got in touch with me. I didn’t do anything at first. People like Jack the Lad are two a penny, and I can’t deal with them all. But eventually I was getting so many emails about you, you became an urgent case.”
Jack laughed in a cracked voice. “You’ve got nothing to laugh about, so just listen. I did meet you in that hotel bar, but I was the one who picked you up, not vice versa, whatever you think. And when I told you who I was, typically, you ignored what I said. And it was the easiest thing in the world to persuade you to drink my potion, and then to transport you here to my castle. Now the time has come for you to discover your punishment for all the harm you have done to so many women. But first I must blindfold you.”
“Look, I don’t know what perverted game you’re playing, and I don’t know who you really are. But I can tell you this. Every one of those women was horny for me, and they just couldn’t wait for me to get into their frilly little knickers. I was doing them a favour. I’ll do the same for you, I can tell that’s what you want. Just release me now, and I’ll take you here, right on this bed. I promise you’ll just love it."
“You get worse, not better, and stupider by the second. That’s enough, I’m sick of your talk.” Morgan quickly leant across to prostrate, helpless figure, and in an instance he was blindfolded. Then quickly and deftly she unzipped the body bag. The figure lay below her completely naked.
As she removed the blindfold, she kept the figure’s head against the pillows so that Jack could see very little of his body. He felt somehow much lighter than his usual 180 pounds. That was strange enough, but even stranger, as far as he could tell, and it wasn’t easy, but he seemed to have put on some weight on his chest, for there there seemed to extra flesh, which seemed even to undulate. It reminded him of those countless breasts he had squeezed and fumbled.
“Well, Priscilla, would you like to see what a pretty girl you’ve become? And by the way, I hope you like your new name. Would you like me to shorten? I think so. You were just made to be called Prissy. I should know, shouldn’t I? After all, it was me that made you!”
© 2001 Annabelle Claudia Holland
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