3 Works in Escape (1940)
Kurt shaves Ursula's bits, ties her up, whips her and takes her over the piano. As you do when you are a sadistic Nazi baron and have a 17-year-old horny schoolgirl to debauch.
"Not here," he says, slapping her on the pussy, sending her jerking. He gets up and wipes his mouth with the back of his hand. "Over the piano."
"The piano?" She'd much rather do it on the bed, or the sofa, at least.
"Yes, the piano," he says as he ushers her out of the bathroom, his hand a command upon the small of her back, brooking no argument.
And there she lies, in broad daylight, splayed out on her belly over the piano. Kurt has spread her legs horizontally--he had watched the girls in secret during their daily exercises and had noticed Ursula had been the most flexible of them all, he'd said. And now he wants her to prove it, to elevate this flexibility to a real, worthy purpose: the enhancement of pleasure. Thus, he has arranged her into a near-full split, her pussy just on the edge of the piano, the lips of it spread out by his expert hands so that the entire weight of her pelvis is pressing her clitoris into the surface.
Fandoms: Conrad Veidt - Fandom, Thief of Bagdad (1940), A Woman's Face (1941), Escape (1940), Bella Donna (1934), The Student of Prague (1926)
25 Jan 2015
A tribute to Conrad Veidt’s hypnotically charming villains, dark seductors and the occasional Byronic hero. As only the dark prince of cinema can deliver.
He is an older man with a perverse streak, she a seventeen-year-old tired of her virginity.
"It's warmer by the fire. Come sit in my lap."
She's smarter than the other girls, he'd said. Already a woman when the others were but giggling girls, he'd said. Wouldn't she prefer to spend time with him in the manner of adults, just the two of them, he'd said? "Yes," she'd replied, as she does now, sitting in his lap in the Rococo chair, her arm wrapped around his shoulder, the blue smoke of his cigarette wrapping around her in turn. His monocle glints in the firelight as he runs his eyes up and down her body, the black velvet dress she'd caught him admiring her in.
"You wore it just for me," he murmurs; not a question but a statement of fact. "Already, you know how to use your womanly wiles upon a man," he chuckles upon a plume of smoke through uneven teeth, through thin, cruel lips. It's a mouth that will soon kiss hers, and the thought makes her heart race, makes her wonder if the prey does not feel a perverse thrill before the predator, moments before it's eaten alive.