The Dominafuhrer - THE GODMOTHER

Episode 64 - A Stab In The Dark

London October 1937

Applause thundered as the curtain twitched and a tall girl in a long purple evening gown and matching gloves stepped into the spotlight. Miss Spiteful’s eyebrows rose again as she had to admit that the woman was beautiful even if her skin was a golden honey colour that glowed in the bright spotlight. Styled black hair framed her high arched brows over big white eyes, an unusually long nose, prominent cheekbones and wide moist red lips. Miss Spiteful shifted uncomfortably in her chair; she had no liking for Negroes, even half castes like this one, but she found herself strangely aroused as Brown Sugar walked to the microphone at the front of the stage.

“Some figure, heh?” Sir Douglas said to de Hoone. “God, I’d love to bury my nose between those tits.” She certainly had a fine figure, taller than Miss Spiteful and just as statuesque but more athletic without being muscular.

Brown Sugar waited with her head bowed at the microphone until the applause died away and then began to sing. Miss Spiteful was no great lover of the choice of songs; Gershwin, Kern and the Blues but, for the next twenty minutes, she and most of the audience were transported by the power of Brown Sugar’s voice. Only those at the Finch-Wardle table were unimpressed, continuing their noisy partying despite several attempts to hush them.

“Strange”, Sir Douglas said indicating the black jacketed trumpeter at the front of the band. “Jimmy Roon is the band leader and the usual trumpeter but that’s not him. Perhaps he is ill.” Miss Spiteful didn’t care; she had thoroughly enjoyed the session and had enthusiastically joined in the applause.

The lights dimmed even more for the finale until, apart from the emergency lighting, the only illumination was the spotlight on Brown Sugar who launched into ‘Can’t help loving that man of mine”. Her powerful voice resonated around the huge room as she seemed to put every fibre of her body and every emotion that she possessed into the song. Her arms lifted as if in supplication in the direction of Finch-Wardle’s table and tears rolled down her cheeks as her voice rose for the final stanzas. The was silence for a moment when she finished and then almost everyone rose to their feet to applaud, cheering, whistling, stamping their feet and calling for more but Brown Sugar turned and, with her head bowed, ran from the stage.

Miss Spiteful touched a tear from the corner of one eye as the applause and the calls for encores continued and was about to retake her seat when she felt one hand grope her right breast and another grasp one of her buttocks.

“I like it when girls cry,” de Hoone whispered in her ear. “That little blonde girl cried after she sucked my cock. Will you cry for me?”

Miss Spiteful fought to keep the red mist from blinding her as she turned and, with a forced sweet smile on her lips, pushed de Hoone back onto his chair. She down on her own and draped a napkin over his front of his trousers. The Dutchman groaned as Miss Spitefuls fingers traced the contour of his rising penis in his left trouser leg and then relaxed, closing his eyes and opening his legs in anticipation of Miss Spiteful masturbating him under cover of the napkin and the darkness.

Thus, he never saw the dessert fork, held like a dagger in Miss Spiteful’s right hand, rise and come down hard into his groin; the prongs piercing his trousers, his penis and, as Miss Spiteful put her shoulder into another hard thrust, passing right through the organ to skewer it to his thigh.                       

It took a few moments for de Hoone to feel the pain, sitting upright and opening his eyes to stare down at his groin. He saw the dark stain spreading across the white napkin with the handle of the fork sticking up from the middle. He bent forward, clutching his left thigh and howling in agony but his screams were lost in the continuing applause.

Miss Spiteful snatched her purse from the table and turned away, deciding it was time to make her exit before the lights came on again. She was fairly confident that, in the darkened room, no one had seen her stab the Dutchman but she did not want to be around when he was discovered and questions were being asked.

She wanted to check first whether any blood had spattered her gown or gloves but not in the main Ladies restroom under the stairs up to the ground floor. Her good relations with the waiters had gained her knowledge of another ladies room for artists and staff just inside the doors to the kitchen. She had used it before to avoid the crush and the aristocratic cold shoulders that she experienced in the public one.  

She pushed her way through the patrons behind her who were starting to realise that Brown Sugar would not be reappearing on the stage and, as the applause died away, were retaking their seats. The lights came on as she approached the swing doors and she quickened her steps but, from one of the unfashionable tables alongside side them, a man stepped forward to bar her way. Miss Spiteful stopped in surprise and looked him up and down. She saw a fair headed man in his late twenties, almost ruggedly handsome, and wearing a dinner jacket, trousers and boiled shirt that had seen better days. Their eyes met and, from his accusing look, Miss Spiteful realised that he knew what she had done. She looked at his companion, a young brunette in a patterned dress, who stared back open mouthed, fear and shock in her eyes as she pressed herself back against the wall.

Miss Spiteful expected to be denounced but the young man silently stepped aside and pushed one of the doors open for her.

Puzzled, Miss Spiteful hurried through, muttering “Danke”, as she passed by. As the door swung closed behind her, there was a loud crash from the restaurant and a woman screamed, followed by several others.

Miss Spiteful did not look back and pushed at the door of the staff restroom. Someone was already in there, bending over one of the washbasins and making sobbing sounds. At the sound of the door opening behind her, the woman looked up and Miss Spiteful’s eyes met those of Brown Sugar in the mirror.

The singer spun round and looked at Miss Spiteful in horror. “It’s you!” she gasped. “I saw you in the restaurant with that horrible man. He made my friend do terrible things and wanted to do the same to me.”  

Miss Spiteful walked forward and tossed her purse onto the next washbasin.

“He was not with me; I was just sitting alongside him.” Miss Spiteful’s upper lip curled into a sneer. “Anyway, his prick has some extra holes in it now so he will be assaulting any more young girls for quite a while.”

“Why? What happened to him?” Brown Sugar gasped and took a step back.

“I skewered his penis to his leg with his fork,” Miss Spiteful held up her gloves to the light while she checked them for bloodspots and then looked down to see if the front of her gown was spattered. Satisfied that she was unmarked, Miss Spiteful looked up at Brown Sugar who was staring back open mouthed. To Miss Spiteful’s surprise she noticed that the pupil in the other woman’s left eye was flickering wildly around the eyeball while its companion on the right remained steady.

Suddenly, Brown Sugar’s face crumpled as tears welled in her eyes and she began sobbing again.

“Oh, I’m ruined!” she wailed and turned away. Miss Spiteful winced at the noise but tentatively reached out to rest a gloved hand on the golden brown skin of the singer’s bare shoulder.

“What’s wrong?” she asked. “Are you ill?”

Brown Sugar shook her head and took a couple of moments before replying between sobs. “My Lover has rejected me, my Boyfriend has walked out on me and career is ruined because I’m pregnant!”

At that, she turned back and vomited into the nearest hand basin. Miss Spiteful wrinkled her nose in disgust and walked away to get a packet of toilet paper from one of the stalls. When Brown Sugar had finished retching and heaving, Miss Spiteful passed her a handful of sheets to clean her lips.

When she stood upright again, the singers face had turned grey and there was a wild look in her eyes that alarmed Miss Spiteful.

“This job finishes in two days, I cannot go home, I cannot face my family, I’ve nowhere to live and my career is finished”, she sobbed. “I’m going to kill myself!”

Miss Spiteful grabbed Brown Sugar by the shoulders and shook her until the singer stopped her despairing wail.

“Oh no you are not!” Miss Spiteful said determinedly as the other blinked at her in surprise. “For a start, you are coming home with me. Get your things from your dressing room while I find a waiter to get my wrap from the cloakroom. Then you can meet me at the stage door, it’s not my usual exit but I do not think that it would be a good idea for me to try and leave by the front doors tonight.”  



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