Walk on the Wild Side - By Karl Edward Wagner Page 0,103

photographer was removing the glass plate, inserting a new one.

Wilde resumed sodomizing him, thrusting slowly. “We’ll have these to show to select friends to see how pretty you are now,” Wilde said. “You’ll treasure these photographs when you are old and decaying.”

Collins glanced up at the windows, shuttered from outside. Lettering there read: “J. MacVane. Photographic Studio.”

Wilde surged deeply into him, coming in violent spurts. There was another flash of light...

Miss Joan was lying across a bed, and someone was shaking her. She opened her eyes and found that she was in drag with a filled condom on her drooping cock and a sore ass. She groaned and sat up.

Mistress Gwen was watching her with concern. All she needed was a dead John on her premises. “You feel all right? You were passed out for a minute or so there. You got a condition of some sort?”

“I just was carried away,” said Miss Joan.

“Yes. Well, you gave me a fair start. Now, change your clothes and be off. I have another client in an hour.” Mistress Gwen considered telling Miss Joan not to come here again, but eighty knicker was eighty knicker, and she was a good fuck. Responsive. Perhaps too responsive.

Collins tried the directories, on the one chance in a million that the firm of J. MacVane might still be doing business. It wasn’t. Not under that name, at least. Countless wasted phone calls told him nothing. He realized that he was only assuming that the studio had been in London.

He phoned the auction house whence he had obtained the photographs. They furnished no useful information. The lot of photographs was merely an item from an estate: the deceased was not to be named.

After a week of blind ends and disturbing dreams, Collins made another appointment with Mistress Gwen.

Mistress Gwen received Collins with mixed feelings. She knew he wasn’t police, and a regular at eighty quid was too good to turn away. But that fainting spell: if it happened again, she might have to reconsider.

The session went much as before. This time Mistress Gwen was dressed mainly in black latex and leather gear. She soon had Miss Joan wigged and corseted, with red latex spanking knickers, open at the back, and matching latex shoulder-length gloves and stockings. She added a slave collar with a lead, then instructed Miss Joan sternly, often using her riding crop on Miss Joan’s exposed bottom.

Having put Miss Joan through her paces, Mistress Gwen ordered her to stand before the white bedroom wall. She took out a Polaroid camera from a drawer, demanding that Miss Joan pose for her.

Miss Joan protested. “You could use these for blackmail.” Mistress Gwen worked the camera. “These are Polaroids. No negatives. Yours for a keepsake. Something to remember how pretty you are, Miss Joan, and where to come to be pretty again at any time. Besides, I think you rather enjoy being photographed. You really do like to pose.”

Mistress Gwen took ten shots of Miss Joan in various poses, set the photographs aside, then said, “These will be another ten quid.” Watching her clock, Mistress Gwen next commanded Miss Joan to kneel upon the bed, then undid the zip of her leather knickers. She rolled on a lubricated condom, gave Miss Joan’s bottom a few more whacks to improve her own erection, then mounted her. She pressed her cock into Miss Joan’s rectum as quickly as she could force it, anxious to complete the session, and began to move her hips furiously. She had let an aging queen in maid’s costume give her a blow job earlier that day, and this second ejaculation would take time. Time was money.

Miss Joan was rocking from the ceaseless drilling she was getting. She moved her hand back to her cock, hard and throbbing beneath the latex spanking knickers. She was about to come...

Collins was standing beside a plaster mock-up of a Greek column. Behind him was a backdrop of a Doric temple. Collins wore a garland in his hair and nothing else. The studio was quite warm.

“Just a moment, Jack.”

Oscar Wilde rose from his chair. He was also naked, and Collins remembered being sodomized by him only minutes ago. Wilde stroked his cock, bringing Collins to full erection.

“Much better, Jonathan. Take the photograph, Jack.”

Again a flash and a puff of smoke. Collins blinked.

“That was a beautiful pose, dear boy,” said Wilde. “Your body perfect, your lovely penis saluting the flag and your face aglow from a good buggering. I think I shall