Chapter 14: West London 1996

Now, a bit of mild bondage had never unduly bothered Angelika, as long as there was a line definitively drawn in the sand; a line which said “no pain” clearly on one side and “pain” clearly on the other in neon frigging lights. Angelika did not like pain in any form; hence she had not borne children, considered dentists to be vicious sadistic bastards and thoroughly enjoyed copious amounts of alcohol and mind numbing drugs. Pain was not Angelika’s bag, as bourgeoisie as that sentiment may sound to a sexual omnivore such as Christophe.

                            Christophe, however, did seriously embrace the dark side and Angelika realized this with sudden and terrifying clarity as she felt her wrists and ankles beginning to chafe raw from the constricting silk ropes and from the scratchy blindfold that was tied just that little bit too tight around her temples to be on the business end of fun anymore. Still, in spite of her natural desire for self preservation, Angelika figured that she’d give it her best old school try as it was actually the last time she’d ever have to endure what had now become a rather ridiculous charade.

                            Christophe, on the other hand was most definitely enjoying himself. He loved to humiliate her sexually, it made him feel even more of a man than everyone perceived him to be already; and Angelika had previously played along like a good little girl. It had been novel to her, as she’d always been rather a control freak prior to meeting Christophe and she found being submissive in the bedroom quite suited her lazier side, feminism be damned. Angelika didn’t rely on men for anything but sex; she’d looked after herself and had paid her way ever since she’d turned sixteen and so a little submissive role-playing now and again could only be a healthy balance to the control that she wielded in every other area of her life.

                            However, as Christophe’s penis thrust it’s violent way down the back of Angelika’s delicate throat, feminist politics weren’t exactly much of an issue as her eyes welled up and she gagged reflexively.

                            “Oh mon dieu, essucer ma bite,” screamed Christophe, “encroyable, je t’adore.” he gasped, coming with ever more savage and salty thrusts. Angelika, while hoping virulently that Sam, Jon and Leo had not been privy to this rather filthy but hopefully incomprehensible declaration of his undying love, had also definitely experienced the overriding sensation of something going “click” inside her skull. As Christophe lay on top of her, convulsing and panting heavily like an asthmatic walrus, Angelika surreptitiously tried to close her mouth. No dice. With a moment of hideous realization, it transpired that Angelika’s jaw was by now most definitely locked open. Angelika attempted to alert Christophe to this rather glaring fact.

                           

                            “Nghgh….” she grunted, but what with being blindfolded, bound and having a tumescent cock shoved half way down her oesophagus, her current predicament didn’t exactly lend itself to crystal clear communication. She then tried to eject him forcibly using her throat and chest muscles and Christophe finally got the non verbal message and mercifully withdrew, crawling down her now stiff and panicked body and then kissing his way delicately from her belly, up to her neck and then on to her lips, which were now most unerotically parted - way parted. Christophe was weeping exquisite tears of joy and was obviously impervious to her not inconsiderable discomfort.

                            “Oh, my Angel, you have never pleased so much as this day…” he whispered, between passionate sobs.

                            “Nghgh..” responded Angelika as bitterly as she could, considering that she had only an arsenal of guttural animal noises at her disposal, while praying that Christophe would get over himself just long enough to at least remove the poxy blindfold. Christophe finally twigged and ripped the blindfold roughly off of her face, which was now frozen in an uncanny approximation of Edward Munsch’s “The Scream”.

                            “Nghgh…” she again grunted while glaring accusingly at Christophe.

                            Christophe for once in his life, was lost for words and he found himself torn; although his ego was positively pumped by the idea that his humongous member had caused this startling turn of events, and although he would have loved to have been able to carry around a photograph of this moment to show his amis and also to impress any future potential girlfriends, even he knew that something had to be done as it was pretty obvious that Angelika could not function like this. Christophe briefly toyed with the idea of running downstairs and asking Sam if he could borrow the Polaroid camera to commemorate the occasion, but the virulent look in Angelika’s eyes gave him pause. He correctly sensed she might not be 100% behind that particular plan.

                            “Samanta!” he yelled for all of Ladbroke Grove to hear, “We need an hambulance, now!” and with that, Christophe shot out of the room while hastily pulling on his pants.

                            “NGNGNGNGNNNNNNNNNNN!” grunted Angelika, who was by now thrashing about on the bed in an attempt to free her hands and feet from their bindings. She was incredulous. Like most men, he was fucking useless in a crisis and now everybody would know her shame. She couldn’t bear the thought of Jon, the coolest rock star in the world witnessing this. She was forever doomed to infamy.

                            Sam tore up the stairs behind Christophe as quickly as she could considering her pregnant state, screaming, “What the fuck have you done now, Christophe?”

                            Sam had long considered Christophe to be a one-man wrecking crew and nothing would surprise her at this juncture, but she found herself totally unprepared for the vision that awaited her in the spare bedroom.

                            Poor Angelika, her naked limbs akimbo, was flailing around on the disheveled bed like an oversized beached grouper; her facial features were locked into a perpetual howl and she was uttering the most disturbing animal noises heard this side of the Discovery Channel. As a result, Sam rather inappropriately burst out laughing, which she was wont to do at moments of high tension so Angelika glared at Sam, indicating for her to untie her hands.

                            “NGHGH…” she grunted, in her most threatening tone, the underlying gist of which was ‘you’ll pay for this later, bitch.’  Sam got the message, loud and clear and hurried to untie the knots at Angelika’s wrists and ankles, while unsuccessfully stifling a giggle. Christophe busied himself uselessly behind Sam, pulling on his clothes and boots and occasionally offering up the odd Gallic shrug of inculpability.

                            Finally free and steaming mad, Angelika quickly dressed and found herself a suitably floppy hat and a pair of large sunglasses with which to hide the ignominious evidence that was her newly deformed visage.

                            “NGHO ANG U ANCE.” she grunted, acting out the words ‘ambulance’ and ‘no’, just as if they had all been playing a particularly heated and competitive game of charades at a country house party. Sam then bustled downstairs in search of her car keys.

                            There ensued a short and frosty ride to the hospital and on arrival in the thronged waiting room, it became evident that Angelika would have to sign in with the young nurse on duty, who sat multitasking behind a glass window, busying herself with last week’s Hello magazine while simultaneously filing her nails and pointedly ignoring the constantly ringing phone. The sight of Angelika in her impossibly stylish hat and shades perked her up no end. It was rare that they got a celebrity in here, at least not on a gloomy Sunday lunchtime in March. Celebs were usually more prone to nightclub fighting, coitus-induced heart attacks or cocaine overdoses and those generally happened in the small hours, as a rule.

                            Angelika was the currently conflicted owner of a rather famous face due to her appearance on the cover of virtually every womens’ monthly in the UK and also from her previous incarnation as a TV soap star; she frequently got stopped in supermarkets, and especially by taxi drivers, who immediately recognized her unusual features. Angelika realized as she furtively glanced around the over-subscribed and sweaty waiting room that she was at that hideous moment, smack dab in the belly of her fan base; and that they were all now furtively eyeing her while pretending to read their copies of The Sunday Sport. Could things possibly get any worse?

                            Head deeply bowed, Angelika approached the nurse and grunted politely, “HE O.”

                            “Sorry?” replied the nurse, innocently enough.

                            “I AH AH E I KA DU GU.” grunted Angelika, as coherently as she could.

                            “Sorry, madam? I don’t understand.” said nursey loudly, her eyes twinkling with unspoken pleasure at Angelika’s humiliation.

                            Sam rushed forward and whispered to the nurse, “She’s Angelika Douglas.” Angelika then attempted a smile of gratitude, but none was forthcoming, nor physically possible.

                            “And what happened to you, Miss Douglas?” continued the nurse, who had actually seen a few of these cases in her time, but never such a high profile one as this. They would love this one down The Rose & Crown. Ooh, and she’d always looked so la-di-bloomin–da on the telly. Just goes to show.

                            “E U E?” grunted Angelika stupidly, who for some reason had not countered on having to explain her predicament.

                            “How exactly did this,” the nurse pointedly indicated Angelika’s gaping maw, “happen?”

                            Sam swallowed, as Angelika shot her a ruinous glance. “I YAW ” Angelika spastically signed yawning and the nurse raised a disbelieving eyebrow and responded,

                            “Of course you did, Miss Douglas.”

                            Angelika noticed that the nurse’s shoulders were shaking with unsuccessfully suppressed mirth as she scribbled her name on the register, and then she added an exclamation point next to Angelika’s name which didn’t seem entirely necessary nor particularly professional.

                            “Please take a seat, doctor will see you as soon as.” The nurse then glanced away gratefully, as her strangulated look of amusement was threatening to explode into guffaws and she was about to bust a nail, if not a gut.

                            Angelika, flanked by Sam and Christophe, sat low in her seat, her face virtually obscured by her hat’s brim, horribly aware of the eyes of all present boring into her when they thought she wasn’t looking. It was hell. Sam, to be fair, was attempting to lighten the situation with constant chatter, but it was hopeless. As soon as she or Christophe as much as looked at Angelika, they both fell apart. Angelika sat silently glowering as one, then two slow, painful hours crawled by. Well, if she’d had any doubts as to her feelings at ending things with Christophe, they were well and truly dispelled after this debacle.  She just wished she’d bitten off his cock when she’d had the chance.

                            Mercifully, Angelika’s name was finally called and dragging Sam forcibly in tow, Angelika scuttled off behind the on-call nurse to an examination room beyond. Inside, there was seated the most unnecessarily dreamy-looking, unfeasibly young doctor that Angelika had ever had the misfortune to see, outside of ER reruns. This could not be happening. The Doctor looked up at her with a delighted smirk.

                            “Ah, Miss Douglas….” he cooed while his charming, blue – eyed bedside manner romped soundly to the fore, “and how exactly did this happen?”

                            Angelika raised her eyes, they being the only part of her face that were actually capable of any perceptible motion, “I YAW!” she responded, miming yawning again, albeit rather unconvincingly. She also felt herself flushing horribly, which she sensed must be immeasurably improving her studied air of nonchalance.

                            “Yes, of course you did.” murmured the doctor, with as much conviction as he could muster. “Let’s have a look, shall we? Say ah!” He obviously thought this last remark absolutely hilarious, but Angelika was in no mood. She glared at him silently as he pulled on a pair of pervy-looking latex gloves and proceeded to insert his entire fist into her mouth. Oh, yeah, that’ll help no end, thought Angelika bitterly, while resenting the fact that she had no choice but to overcome the urge to bite down, and hard.

                            After unsuccessfully attempting to manhandle Angelika’s mandible back into its God-given position by using a wily combination of elbow grease, brute force and grim determination, the handsome young medic finally decided that he would need to call for back up. Sam, who up until now had been fluttering away at the doctor, was momentarily silenced by the entrance of unfairly gorgeous Doctor No. 2, and this one could have been a GQ model, that’s how buff, chiseled and all round delicious he was; in fact he suddenly made Doctor No. 1 look like a right old dog. Sam practically swooned, and she was no swooner. The whole situation was just too, too unfair.

                            “Miss Douglas,” breathed Dr. GQ, smiling sexily at Angelika, “my mum is a big fan of yours.”

                            Angelika attempted to be gracious, but she’d had just about enough of the entire medical profession by now and she found that she’d never missed the power of speech quite as desperately as she did at this particular moment.

                            “FU O, DO O.” she replied with a wink.

                            “And how did this happen, again?” asked the confused doctor after a beat, as he was not sure if he’d interpreted the girl’s grunts correctly. Had she just told him to fuck off? No, it simply couldn’t be true - he was a gorgeous doctor. Women loved him. No one had ever told him to fuck off. Well, apart from his ex-girlfriend but that was only because he’d suggested a three-way with his hot new Philippino intern. Anyway…

                            Angelika sighed and looked over at Sam for help.

                            “She yawned,” replied Sam, “just please help her, Doctor.” Sam was actually batting her eyelashes at this callow imposter. Angelika wanted to puke but she couldn’t imagine how that might work as her jaw was now actually set in a perpetual puking position.

                            Dr. GQ was suddenly wielding the longest needle known to western medicine and purposefully bearing down on a wide-eyed Angelika.

                            “AAAAGH!” she gurgled, but it was of no use. The needle was inserted deep into her painfully expanded jaw and heavenly intravenous Valium followed quickly thereafter.

                            Comfortably, deliriously numb, Angelika’s beautiful jaw was thus finally relocated and with that one glorious click of bone against bone, Angelika silently swore off Frenchmen and felatio for life.