On the edge of the great Libyan Desert, and slightly to the east of the fertile oasis of Jawaphura, there rises a sudden, stark mountain about three thousand feet high. While to one side the scorching African sun beats pitilessly down upon the desert sands, the mountain benevolently shelters the verdant oasis. The sun's rays do not touch, on the other side of this mountain, the curious fortress-like building made of granite and dark volcanic rock, brought by camels from the distant quarry of Djiba long years ago.
It is the headquarters of the Cult of Sathanas, whose profligate and immensely wealthy members are a select group, meeting only once a year in this secluded locale of the North African terrain, but who are reunited at other times during the year in less exotic places of rendezvous in New York, Paris, Madrid and Berlin, as well as in Rome and Tangiers.
The Cult of Sathanas was expanded and popularized a decade ago by a handsome young Englishman, then a budding political hope as a future member of Parliament, when his life was saved by an African slave trader named Ben Ali.
Edward McNaughton was then thirty, unmarried, but engaged unofficially to Felicia Trent, daughter of one of Great Britain's foremost industrialists. He himself was the heir to a large estate in Devon and many thousands of English pounds stipulated in his father's will. But at that time Sir Henry McNaughton, knighted for services to the throne and himself a manufacturer of munitions which had aided England against the menace of Hitler's vengeful attack by the Luftwaffe, was only fifty-six and in thriving good health.
Edward McNaughton was an intrepid hunter of wild game, and had decided to try his luck on the outskirts of the Libyan Desert, for he had heard that the black-maned lion as well as the cheetah could be found there in their native haunts and where their conquest would be more truly that of human skill against animal cunning than on a carefully planned safari where nothing was left to chance.
He had lain in wait in a little ravine with his native bearer, a faithful Watusi who had carried his gun on every safari he had made, and he had about given up hope of finding the huge king of beasts whose tracks he had seen skirting the mountain as the sun began to lower in the west.
Then suddenly he had stiffened, the hackles rising along his spine, as he had heard a coughing roar and turned to see that the lion had cunningly stalked him and his faithful Watusi and was about to spring down upon them into the ravine. It was a monstrous beast, its jaws slavering, its fangs huge and yellow, its eyes wickedly gleaming. And as it had gathered itself for the fatal spring, he had seized his gun and tried to fire only to find that it had jammed. And then suddenly a shot rang out, the great beast coughed and slumped, then tumbled down the ravine to lie dead at his feet.
Shuddering with nervous reaction, Edward McNaughton had climbed out of the ravine to find his savior. A tall bearded Arab, in a flowing burnous, strode towards him, an old flint-lock musket in hand, a relic of the Boer War or perhaps even earlier. He had gaped in astonishment at the sight of that weapon and still more at the sight of his unknown protector.
But Edward McNaughton spoke Arabic, Swahili-the principal dialect of Africa-as well as French, Italian and Spanish, and he had learned at once that the man who had killed the lion was Ben Ali, of Algiers, a slaver bound with human merchandise for the secret underground slave auction mart of Kofari, that curious and obscure suburb of Algiers into which even the French police never dared to go alone. Here, rumor has had it for a generation, wealthy amateurs come to buy slave girls, comely Circassians, Grecian beauties from Athens and even the Aegean Isles, bronze-skinned beauties stolen from the Berbers and the Moors as well as magnificent ebony Numidians and even dainty Egyptian beauties who had their ancestry back in the early days of the Copts and the Phoenicians ... and white women as well from the great ports of call of Marseilles, Constantinople, and Tangiers.
The name of the slavetrader was Ben Ali, he was then forty, and his father had been a dealer in slaves before him. He had crossed this unusually shunned stretch of the Libyan Desert on his way to the town of Efruti, where he would make connections with a vessel that would take him back to Algiers.
Ben Ali had his camp only some thirty miles to the northwest of this grim mountain and he invited Edward McNaughton to share the pleasures of his hospitality that night.
The pleasures which Edward McNaughton tasted that night changed his entire life and made him break off, upon his return to England, his engagement to the haughty and disdainfully beautiful Felicia Trent.
There were two young sisters, sixteen and eighteen, Greek girls who were rebellious and who had fought the slavetrader tooth and nail all along the journey. They had been abducted from Athens, drugged, bound and gagged and kept in the hole of a fishing vessel bound for the African coast, and thence conveyed to Ben Ali's village headquarters on the edge of the Libyan Desert. The Arab slave dealer smilingly invited the astonished young Englishman to prove his manhood-which Edward McNaughton had begun to doubt because of his near-death blunder before the black-maned king of beasts-by mastering these beauties. He had handed the stalwart handsome Englishman a black leather whip with a thick stock handle and told him, "Effendi it is Allah who has brought us together this day. I have saved your life, now you may save a good piece of business for me. These two stubborn bitches have already been sold in advance to a fat old merchant in Palermo. To my surprise, his order was that they were not to be virgins but subjugated by the lash and already with a foretaste of what will await them when they reach his lavish estate in the hills of Sicily. You will do me a great favor, then, to thrash them well and then to take their maidenheads, if they please you."
Edward McNaughton had been almost a virgin despite his thirty years of age on that night in Africa. His only sexual knowledge had come from a little Cockney prostitute whom impulsively he had taken to his flat a few years ago.
But the thought that a man could experience the most sublime and indescribable passionate delights by the use of the lash and by the use of rape upon a lovely young teenaged girl had never entered his mind. Ben Ali had become his evil genius and had altered his life for all time to come...
The two sisters had been brought into his tent, their hands bound behind them, wearing only loose cotton shifts. In his hand there was the leather whip which Ben Ali had given him. And once he was alone, the magic of the African night, the summons to his most depraved and as yet unknown lusts whetted by the very evident beauty of these appetizing feminine tidbits, Edward McNaughton had ripped off their shifts, and flogged their breasts and bellies and thighs until each girl shriekingly knelt down and swore obedience if only he would stop the whipping.
He had fucked each in turn, and when he had risen from the loins of the younger girl for the second time, he was a man altered, dedicated henceforth to the pursuit of coercion and sadistic joys which could be procured only by force, by rape and the lash and, later, the most exquisitely insidious of torments!
CHAPTER TWO
Edward McNaughton returned to London to find that his virile, energetic father had succumbed to a heart attack and had died just two days before his arrival, leaving him the only heir. This fortune made him reflect upon his future years, and he went to his club near Simpson's world-famed restaurant to dine on mutton and a bottle of fine Burgundy while he mulled over what he should do with his life.
Before his departure from the camp of the Arabian slave dealer, he had been invited to visit the latter in the mysterious Kofari in Algiers. And the bearded Arab had given him a strange talisman which would pass him without danger into this forbidden and isolated little world of its own-for such it was, even more hazardous to the uninitiated and to the police than the better-known Casbah.
As he finished his dinner at Simpson's, Edward McNaughton put his hand into his trousers pocket and brought out this talisman. It was a silver coin, made in some obscure and unknown mint, but the workmanship was exquisite. There was the figure of a goat with great horns, rearing on its hind legs and displaying its phallus. All around the fringe of the coin as a kind of decor, was a circle of acanthus leaves, so beautifully executed in detail that he could not help staring at it in admiration.
"If you return, show this coin to those who accost you, Effendi McNaughton," Ben Ali had said. "And when you are ready to taste the good life and can dispose of your own affairs to have ample time for its enjoyment, you will then be given a golden coin which will admit you to the Cult of Sathanas. Its membership is elite, but it is not only wealth which qualifies an applicant. But of this we shall talk, you and I, when next you visit me. And may Allah smile upon you!"
As he stared at this coin, fascinated by what it recalled to him of that savage unleashing of passions he had not known he possessed, passions which had made him ruthlessly flog and ravish the two young teenaged Greek sisters, he felt a tap on his shoulder. Instantly closing his hand over the coin, he looked about and saw an elderly, tall man, with sparse white hair, elegantly groomed, staring at him with an odd expression.
"You will pardon me, sir, I did not mean to disturb you at dinner, but I could not help noticing that coin in your hand," his unknown interlocutor remarked in a dry, harsh voice. "Allow me to introduce myself. I am Lord Eustace Whilby."
"And I am Edward McNaughton," the handsome young explorer courteously rose to his feet. "Won't you sit down, Your Lordship, and have a glass of port with me?"
"Delighted, delighted, and thank you for your politeness, young man. Ah," the elderly gentleman sighed as he seated himself across the table from the surprised Edward McNaughton, "it is a sorrowful thing to find that in today's bustling times, few of the younger generation have your exquisite manners. But then I should have not have expected otherwise from the son of Sir Henry, whose untimely death greatly saddened me."
"You knew my father, Your Lordship?"
"Very well. I had hoped that, since he had grown to great wealth after the war and done his country such service, he would find time for the more leisurely per-suit of pleasures which his hard work and industrious self-denials had deprived him of. But it was not to be."
"I see," Edward McNaughton replied, though he actually saw nothing. "You must forgive me if I do not recall your name. I have just returned from Africa on a safari. Lions this time."
"Then you must have gone to the Libyan Desert for the black-maned species," the white-haired nobleman remarked, his shaggy white brows knitting as he leaned forward to scrutinize Edward McNaughton's face.
"That's true."
"And that was where you received that coin, no doubt."
"It's true-but how do you know this, Your Lordship?"
"Because, a few years ago, I met a slave dealer named Ben Ali to whom I did some small service, in return for which he gave me a coin similar to yours. He spoke of a certain occult and exclusive group of those dedicated to pleasure. It was his hope that one day this group might be known throughout the world. I myself have never had, alas, occasion to see that prophecy come true, but the idea is admirable, don't you think so?"
Having nothing else to do that evening, and being still unsettled as to his future plans, the handsome hunter and explorer accepted Lord Eustace Whilby's invitation, and the two of them rode in a hansom cab to an elegant two-story house at the foot of Grovenor Square.
Lord Eustace Whilby rang the bell and, after a moment, the door was opened by a pretty young housekeeper in a long high-necked black silk dress whose hems hid even her ankles. She was about twenty-seven or thereabouts, Edward McNaughton estimated, and her dark brown hair was coiffured in a very prim oval bun at the back of her head. Her face was a cameo-like oval, but her lips were exceptionally full and moist and, he noted with some surprise, rather heavily lip-sticked.
"Good evening, Janet," the elderly nobleman remarked in his harsh, inflexible voice, "would you bring my friend and me some Madeira, the 1926 vintage, if you please."
"At once, my Lord."
"A moment before you go, Janet," her employer lifted his bony right hand in a peremptory gesture. "Do you suppose that we might have Miss Ursula display her talents? Or is it too late for her?"
"I will inquire, my lord." the lovely housekeeper curtsied, and then left them in the magnificently furnished salon in which Edward McNaughton perceived a magnificent Chippendale secretary, a priceless antique fireplace set, and some statuettes on pedestals made not of marble but of hand wrought ivory. He drew closer to one of them to observe its meticulous detail, for it was in the shape of a naked nymph holding up her arms with her head tilted back. But the singular thing about this statuette was that in one hand, the female figure clutched an acanthus leaf, and in the other a pair of horns.
"You are looking at my Diana, I see. This is the one from Egypt's lower Nile, where the Goddess Bast, the reincarnation of the cat, was worshipped." His host had come behind him just then, so noiselessly that Edward McNaughton had not even heard him. "Forgive me if I startled you. But I am always interested when a young person like yourself shows interest in my Diana. You see, my young friend, she clutches the sacred acanthus leaf, which conjures up infinite powers not known to this ephemeral world. And the two horns in her other hand are those, naturally, of the proud angel who defied the Creator. I refer, of course, to Lucifer."
"It's really stunning, Lord Whilby. Where did you get it?"
"About thirty years ago, near Thebes. I'm only sorry that I could not spend more time in Egypt, for I believe that I have stumbled upon the most exquisite of opportunities for pleasure. "Ah, here's Janet again!"
He turned, his face animated for the first time, as the lovely young housekeeper approached and, with a respectful curtsy, murmured, "Freulein Ursula is ready for you and your guest, your lordship."
"Come with me. In the cellar of this house, I have taken some pains and spent quite a few pounds sterling in recreating a schoolroom."
"A schoolroom?" Edward McNaughton echoed un-comprehendingly.
His host nodded with a faint little smile. "Exactly. You will find an authentic replica of a girls' school, complete with desks, platform and teacher's desk and chair, as well as some of the ingenious apparatuses which used to be used for the chastisement of naughty and unruly pupils back in the days when I was a young man. It's a pity again that, sophisticated as we moderns think ourselves to be, and for all of our permissiveness, we have overlooked some of the delicious nuances of the Victorian and post-Victorian era. But you will see for yourself. Come this way."
Edward McNaughton let himself be led down a handsome velvet-carpeted stairway to a huge cellar, and his host opened a door and ceremoniously ushered him in.
His eyes widened with astonishment. Here indeed was a schoolroom, with about forty desks in rows, such as one would find in any primary school in England. There was an upraised platform towards the front of this chamber, which was extremely large and certainly two to three times the size of the ordinary classroom. The platform stood about a foot high from the floor of the classroom itself, and was dominated by a solid mahogany desk to which, he observed with some curiosity, various hooks and rings were affixed. There was a straight-backed chair to one side of this desk, and on the other was a padded-leather gymnasium horse, from which dangled in the middle and at both ends, buckling straps. There was also a blackboard on which a tall, black-haired woman was writing at the moment, her back turned to him and his host. She wore a starched black linen dress, and her black hair was fixed in an ornate pompadour. But most curious of all was that in this large classroom, there were three girls seated here and there, to give the illusion that the entire classroom was filled. As he stared at them, Edward McNaughton saw that the girls were in no instance any older than seventeen or eighteen at most, and the youngest appeared to be about fourteen.
CHAPTER THREE
Lord Eustace Whilby murmured into Edward McNaughton's ear, "My headmistress has very thoughtfully postponed the punishment time for my arrival, so you shall be privileged to watch it. Let's take a seat up towards the front."
The authenticity of this setting was beyond question, and Edward McNaughton suspected that his host was a perfectionist as regards accuracy of detail being part of the erotic stimulus of what was about to be enacted. The tall, haughty, schoolmistress who had been introduced as "Fraulein Ursula" now turned from the blackboard and went straight to her desk, seated herself and stared straight out at her "Class." The three girls, Edward McNaughton perceived, began to quiver and look down at their books in a state of nervous agitation which was readily understandable when one divined what would follow.
"It is time now for our usual end-of-week oral recitation, young ladies," the schoolmistress observed in a dry, harsh voice which had an air of domination to it. "Miss Elizabeth, will you have the goodness to stand up and recite for me the opening twelve lines of Chaucer's Canterbury Tales?"
The girl so named was evidently one of the oldest, and Edward McNaughton adjudged her to be about seventeen. She was extremely pretty, with a heart-shaped face about which dark brown curls fell in profusion at each side and at the back down to her shoulders, with a ribbon bow tied at the very top of her lovely head. Her nose was straight, her eyes a warm soft blue, and her mouth generous and full, but noticeably trembling now as she hesitantly rose, hands clasped behind her back. She wore a blouse with a wide Peter Pan collar, a black cotton skirt which descended only to the middle of her thighs, low heeled shoes, and black cotton stockings whose tops disappeared under the hems of the skirt. She had a magnificent bosom, round, solid, high set globes spaced widely apart, and from the evidence of her complexion, a very lovely lilial white skin.
With these first two lines, the brown-haired teenager had no difficulty, though her voice was heard to falter. However, she stumbled over the next line, and had to be sternly prompted with a single word from Fraulein Ursula. She gathered some momentum for the next two lines, but then uttered a sobbing little cry, bowed her head and was silent.
"I see," Fraulein Ursula tersely remarked. "You may sit down, Elizabeth. I have made a note of your poor grade, and it will be reckoned up in the total when it is time to pronounce your punishment. Now then, Carola, will you conjugate the French verb 'aimer' for me, and after that give me a sentence in which each of those variations is used in a way that makes perfect sense?"
Carola, evidently the oldest, now rose and Edward McNaughton's eyes studied her. Her hair was jet black, in fluffy little curls all over her forehead and at the back of her head, and she was slim and perhaps an inch taller than the brunette. She wore a tunic and a skirt, the black stockings and low-heeled shoes, but the pear-shaped turrets of her titties thrust forth boldly against her tunic, so boldly indeed that the young hunter believed that he could see the outline of the nipple buds.
She began well enough, then halted to recollect what followed, and a steely glare of the schoolmistress at the desk made her blush and stammer and finally burst into tears, cover her face with her hands and sit down helplessly.
"That was very bad indeed, Carola," Fraulein Ursula rebuked her. "That, too, will be taken into consideration when I look over the ledger book in a little while. Now then, Mary, I wish you to explain the Magna Carta. How did it come about, who was the cruel English king against whom the English arose, and what importance do you think it had in shaping the history of England?"
Now the youngest girl arose, perhaps fourteen at the most, but deliciously developed. Her hair was fiery red and fell in a long, thick sheaf which was gathered with two adorable sky-blue ribbons and which fell below her shoulder blades. Her face was pert and saucy; she had blue eyes with long, thick, curly lashes, very thin red brows, a pale white skin with just the most elegant tracery of rosy flecks like freckles, a snub nose, small petulant mouth, and firm, though deeply dimpled chin. She was perhaps four feet five inches in height, her bosom was budding, but the sinuous curves of her slim hips and lithe thighs outlined by the skirt as well as by the black cotton stockings which rose along high-set, supple calves, indicated that she was intensely desirable. Edward McNaughton felt a perverse and intense ardor grip him as he waited to see how these girls would be punished.
Mary did not acquit herself too well, either, so she too sat down in blushing and somewhat tearful confusion, and there was a long, atrocious silence during which the three culprits squirmed uneasily and sent anxious glances to one another, while Fraulein Ursula studied her ledger and purposely left them in their mounting suspense.
At last, after what must have seemed an interminable length of time to the unfortunate teenaged girls squirming in their seats, Fraulein Ursula raised her head and stared malevolently at the pretty red-haired youngster who had just failed her "oral examination" on the Magna Carta.
"Mary, I am not at all pleased with you this week," she remarked in a severe voice. "Besides the black marks you have just now received, I have marked down two other demerits for inattention during lessons, for sauciness and arguing with me over the correct answers when I indicated that you were quite off the mark, and for daydreaming. Decidedly, my girl, you must be taught to toe the mark. I shall see what I can do in that direction. Come up here at once to the platform."
The pretty youngster, in her white silk blouse and black skirt which descended to mid-thigh, uttered a sigh of disconsolate apprehension and slowly rose, then made her way down the aisle, which she mounted. Fraulein Ursula meanwhile left her desk and went forward to intercept the culprit, whom she took by an elbow and, seating herself in the straight-backed chair, forced the now sobbing youngster to go across her lap. The skirt was hiked up and neatly rolled into a tight sheaf at her waist, exposing a charmingly coquettish lace-trimmed slip, which followed the skirt. Now her surprisingly ample, tightly spaced, round, saucy buttocks could be seen tautened in this demeaning position, as a pair of white silk panties with elastic hems at the legs snuggly sheathed her provocative young behind. The girl docilely gripped the rungs of the chair with both her hands and bowed her head, so it was evident to Edward McNaughton that this was not the first time she had been so chastised. Sir Eustace Wilby was leaning forward even more intently now, his face flushed and his eyes glittering. He had even forgotten his guest's presence, so great was his excitement at what he was about to see.
Now Fraulein Ursula whisked down the panties to the girl's knees, exposing an entrancingly bare, plumply curved, nubile bare bottom, the globes of which instinctively tightened out of modesty, but not until Edward McNaughton himself had glimpsed the dainty pink crevice of her virginal pussy which was almost entirely unadorned by private hair, and also the shadowy crease separating those two nether rotundities.
The pale white skin was made the more obscenely white by the contrast of the black cotton stockings which rose to about mid-thigh and were held in place by thick elastic garters. Fraulein Ursula now tucked her left arm about the youngster's waist, ran her right hand over the naked, flinching hindquarters, and then began to apply vigorous and slowly spaced slaps, alternating on the globes from right to left and covering them briskly with bright pink outlines of her palm. Mary groaned and sobbed a little, but was commendably stoic through what Edward McNaughton guessed to be about fifty-five smacks.
"That," the schoolmistress dryly remarked, "is for this failure just now to have a passing grade in your oral examination. Now we shall settle the old scores, Mary. Stand up, touch your toes, and turn your bottom to your classmates so they will see how I punish impertinence and daydreaming and all the other faults of which you have been guilty this past week."
The charming girl, her face streaked with tears, slowly got off Fraulein Ursula's lap and miserably facing the blackboard, slowly bent down and grasped her stockinged ankles, thus jutting out her flaming bare behind practically under the mottled visage of Sir Eustace Whilby. He uttered a soft groan, squirmed in his seat to obtain a better angle of vision and breathlessly awaited the continuation of this rather banal s'ance.
Fraulein Ursula opened the top drawer of her desk and took out a thin, long rattan cane with a crooked handle grip bound in cloth. Adjusting this in her right hand and flourishing it in the air, she brought it down with a sharp swish that made poor Mary gasp and squirm, though she remained in position with her bottom well out. Descending now to the floor of the classroom, just below the platform, and putting herself to the left so that she could commandeer the entire area of Mary's bottom and upper thighs, she posed her left hand on the small of the girl's back, she crisply commanded, "Attention, now, and don't forget to keep in position! You are to count a dozen. After each you will say, 'Thank you, Mistress,' to remind you that you must be always attentive in my class. Are you ready, Mary?"
"Y-yes, M-Mistress U-Ursula," the redhead quavered. Slowly the cane rose, only to lower and to press across the huddling, jutting bottom-cheeks by way of informing the unhappy culprit where the first cut would sting against her already sensitized and trembling flesh.
"Ohhhhhh!" Mary gasped tearfully, tightening all her muscles in an heroic defense. The cane remained pressed against her tender bottom for what was almost half a minute before it at last rose in the air, poised and then slashed down to cut across both cheeks at their plumpest curves. Mary's knees bent, a thin, strident wail escaped her, and then she sobbed out, "One! Ohhh, th-thank you, m-mistress!"
"Very good, Mary," the dominatress grudgingly commented. "See that you stay as you are and don't forget to count aloud and to thank me each time so that all of us can hear you, my girl."
Mary bore the cuts until the fifth with remarkable stoicism for one of her tender years and the fact that her pink-splotched, tender bottom must already be acutely uncomfortable from the hand-spanking. But when the sixth cut whisked across the base of her jutting bottom, she gave a sobbing cry, straightened, and clapped a hand to the wounded area.
"You wicked child, is this how you rebel?" Fraulein Ursula hissed. "You are going to be horsed for the rest of your caning, young lady! Now get astride of that horse at once, and take your panties completely off before you get onto it!"
Weeping bitterly, the red-haired girl was obliged to doff the panties, and then slowly and not without wincing and groaning, climb onto the padded leather horse, to which Fraulein Ursula at once strapped her wrists and ankles. Shaped as it was, this device at once arched up and thrust out the naked cheeks of Mary's voluptuously rounded, saucy bare bottom in the most libidinous way. And the horse was placed so that Sir Eustace Wilby could continue to devour the condemned naked virginal young posterior with his narrowed and glittering eyes.
"We are going to start at one, all over again, Mary!" Fraulein Ursula coldly observed. "You will remember to count and to thank me, just as before. Attention to the cane, Mary!"
With this, pressing the flexible instrument across the lower summits of that helpless, out-thrust, naked posterior, the dominatress drew back her arm and applied a stinging cut which fairly made poor Mary bound on the whipping horse, turning her face back to implore mercy and, unhappily for her, forgetting both to count the stroke and to announce her thanks for it.
"I can see that your mind is still wandering, Mary," Fraulein Ursula rebuked her. "Very well, it will be fifteen, and we have still not started your punishment because you have still not counted even one. Now get ready!"
Mary had by now burst into heartfelt tears and sobs, but all the same, when the cane danced off her bottom with a smart swishing smack, she loudly and hysterically proclaimed the "One! Owweeeeyeowwww!! Th-Thank you, M-mistress, ohh-ohhhh how it hurts my poor seat!"
By the time the fifteenth stroke had been imploringly and hysterically announced and thanked, Mary's bottom was livid with at least twenty welts of that swishy rattan. And she was left to vibrate and sob her heart out, still strapped down to that apparatus of punishment while Fraulein Ursula went back to her desk to summon the next and older culprit to her judgment.
After the caning, the bitterly weeping red-haired youngster was released from the horse and made to kneel down and kiss the cane as well as the hand which had so ably wielded it across her blazing bottom. Only then was she permitted to put back on her panties and to lower her garments, a procedure which naturally exposed her adorable virgin pussy to the avid gaze of the lecherous old nobleman and to the bemused young hunter-explorer. There was a soft dark red down gently fleecing each side of that adorable cunny, but the lips were quite perceptibly unshielded by this amorous covering. Mary's thighs were long and supple in their contouring. At last she went back to her seat, rubbing her bottom frantically and taking the greatest pains to ease back down into her seat, where she kept sniffling for quite some little while.
Next came Elizabeth, who, Edward McNaughton learned from the teacher's remarks, was seventeen. She was obliged to come forward and to pay for her failure in this recently given "oral examination" as well as for poor marks in lessons and slovenliness in attire. Since she was older, she was compelled to observe a more ritualistic ceremony of preparation. First, she had to unhook her skirt and drape it neatly over the back of the straight-backed chair, then doff her slip which left her in an old-fashioned, mid-Victorian camisole, a kind of upper-half slip with button over the bosom. This and her panties which were of the finest white silk, quite thin and glossy, sheathed her round plump bottomglobes like a second skin, and cotton stockings of black, called attention to her milky-white skin.
Finally Fraulein Ursula seated herself on the chair, took Elizabeth by an earlobe and drew her across her lap, scolding her as she would a child: "Aren't you ashamed of yourself, Elizabeth? You big girl, almost old enough to be married, and here you are over my lap with your big ass up in the air about to be well thrashed! I am going to give you a hand-spanking over your panties first, my girl, and then you will be required to take down your panties and to show your guardian what a naughty girl you are and how I deal with such. Attention now! I am going to spank your bottom!"
Elizabeth was already in tears from this humiliating sermonizing, but the slaps which Fraulein Ursula now rained down upon her plump, jutting buttocks made the luscious flesh spring and flatten and quiver, proving its healthy young resilience. Presently, Elizabeth was seen to twist her legs about, to cross one over the other repeatedly, and finally to kick up first one stockinged foot and then the other, her pumps having flown off well before the twentieth spank had been received with full force. She received some forty such spanks before at last Fraulein Ursula paused, out of breath and flushed. By now Elizabeth was sobbing softly, squirming restlessly over the schoolmistress's lap, but at the latter's order, the lovely brunette slowly lifted herself and then, shamefacedly, eyes closed and face averted from Lord Whilby, unbuttoned her panties and tugged them down. A further order made her doff them altogether, and there she had to stand, turn her naked seat, flaming from the spanking, to the elderly noblemen's entranced stare.
Her cunt, however, was plump and shrouded over by a thick cluster of dark brown pussy curls, quite profuse for her age.
Now she too had to bend down, grasp her ankles and count out a dozen with the cane, which drew shrieks and pleas from her and the most salacious wrigglings of her naked bottom. Her thighs shook and squirmed and rubbed together as she tried feverishly to remain stoic and in that demeaning posture all through the caning.
Much to Edward McNaughton's surprise, she succeeded, though she was dissolved to tears by the time the last stroke fell with a swishing crack over the tops of her wriggling hips.
However, Fraulein Ursula deemed that the punishment was not quite sufficient. "This evening, young lady," she remarked, "I am going to send you to your guardian's room so that he may finish with your chastisement. You will wear your nightie and your sandals, and after you have bathed, you will report to his chambers, at exactly ten o'clock. Is that understood, my girl?"
"Yes, M-mistress," Elizabeth sobbed. She had not been allowed to put back on her panties, and so had to sit down with only her slip and skirt shielding her flaming and doubtless burning bottom, while the eldest girl, black-haired Carola, bravely ascended the platform and removed her tunic.
Under this tunic she wore a very attractive little gym slip, which she was made to tuck up high on her back, exposing the olive-sheened splendor and sculptuary of that lovely flesh. Her panties were more elegantly styled, with many lace flounces and ribbons along the hems. These she had to let down to the tops of her thighs and then take her place over Fraulein Ursula's lap in the straight-backed chair, her oval-cheeked, spacious bottom thrust out boldly to the delighted eyes of the old English roue. Her hand spanking lasted some fifty slaps, eliciting sobs and pleas for mercy from her. To this, Fraulein Ursula upbraided her, mocking her childish cowardice at her age of eighteen. But instead of having her touch her toes for the cane, she was now ordered to clamber astride the horse and was duly strapped down. Now Fraulein Ursula opened the drawer of her desk and took out a black leather tawse with double-thick stripe. Moving to the left of the apparatus, posing her left hand on the small of Carola's naked back, the schoolmistress proceeded to inflict twenty stinging, noisily cracking blows of the tawse on the already scarlet bottom-globes, herself counting aloud, while Carola jerked and arched and twisted herself and rubbed her loins so wildly during the last five cuts that it appeared to Edward McNaughton as if she were trying to masturbate herself to climax.
Finally it was over, and kneeling on the floor, practically naked, the thick, crisp black triangle of her pussy curls marking the adorable virgin citadel of her cunthole, the weeping and mature young beauty had to kiss the tawse in Fraulein Ursula's hand. She went back to her seat without her panties, just like Elizabeth. Fraulein Ursula now rose, went to the blackboard, and with her pointer, emphasized the lessons for the next day, then dismissed her trio of "pupils." She did not do this however, without a last ironic reminder to poor Elisabeth about visiting Lord Whilby in his rooms at ten that night. And as the brunette slowly left the classroom, she could not help glancing at the greedy old rogue who was going to inflict the last of her "chastisement" this night and who, Edward McNaughton rightly surmised, would use that only as a pretext to enjoy her sexual charms.
That was Edward McNaughton's introduction to flagellation, English style.
CHAPTER FOUR
A few days after his meeting with Lord Eustace Whilby, the handsome young hunter visited his fiancee, Felicia Trent. She was impatient with him, for she had heard some days before he was back in London and was vexed at the deliberate affront-so she believed. Moreover, she said as much. Felicia Trent was twenty-three, tall and slender, with an imperious and patrician bearing, which her cameo-like oval face accentuated. Her auburn hair was primly styled and she looked more nearly thirty because of it.
But she hardly recognized her future husband in this young man who walked insolently into her salon, past the astounded butler, took out a cheroot and lit it without asking her permission, then sprawled himself in her father's comfortable armchair and studied her with a detailing appraisal that the old slave dealer Ben Ali himself might have shown towards a bevy of attractive female slaves set upon the auction block at the Kafari.
"Good to see you, Felish," he had drawled.
"Please, Edward, you know I detest a nickname like that. What's the matter with you today? And why have you taken so long to come to see me?"
"Because I was busy with more interesting things, Felish," had been his stupefying answer. "You know, you'd be deucedly more attractive if you'd wear shorter skirts and do something about your hair. You look like an old maid."
"How dare you!"
"Well, since your father and mine were both knighted just because they both made bombs and bullets that killed people, and probably didn't even know what the war was all about, I might just as well be as direct as some of those munitions and find out where you and I are going, Felish."
"I think perhaps you've had too much to drink, Edward. You'd best go home and, when you've a clearer head, perhaps you may call and apologize." She turned her back on him, more vexed than she wished to admit, for she was well aware that her insolence and independence had made her unpalatable to many a perspective suitor, and this arranged marriage between their two families would at least give her a handsome, young, and certainly rich husband who, she had good reason to believe already, would cater to her whims and let her reign as the dominatress she saw herself to be.
She was therefore hardly prepared for Edward McNaughton's absolutely inexplicable and unpardonable behavior. He rose stealthily from his chair and approached her and, before she knew what he was about to do, she felt his hands on her titties, squeezing amorously, and his mouth against her neck as he muttered, "Be a sweet bitch, Felish, and let's go off to some little hotel in Soho tonight and get nicely drunk and fuck!"
With a shriek of indignation and rage, Felicia Trent twisted away and faced him, her eyes blazing, her cheeks almost purple at this outrage to her virginal modesty.
"You abominable beast! Is this the way you're going to treat me when I'm your wife? I think, Edward McNaughton, you had better leave right now and not attempt to see me for a good long while until you can think of some possible explanation and apology for your disgraceful conduct."
"I've just one question to ask you, Felish."
"Ask it and be gone, then!"
"All right. Let's suppose that I apologize to you and we kiss and make up. Don't look like that-let me finish. When we're married, I'm just curious to know how you're going to behave in bed. I'm sure you're a virgin, but do you really like the idea of my sticking my prick into that soft little cunt of yours and making you come?"
"You filthy, contemptible swine! So far as I'm concerned, I never want to see you again!"
"Fine. Then at least I know where I stand with you. You probably would be very bad in bed, anyhow. I don't think you're capable of an honest emotion, Felicia, and that's the truth. However, let's see if I can't leave you with at least one burning memory that may help you in the future, if you're ever going to find a husband who can stand you," Edward McNaughton said with a hoarse laugh, and then, to her aghast horror, she felt herself seized by the elbows, dragged over to the armchair, flung across his lap, her elegant gown flipped up, along with her slip, and in spite of her frantic shrieks and kickings, he clamped his right leg over her calves, clasped both her wrists in his left hand and held them at the small of her back, and then, lifting his hand, applied a furious spanking over her pink panties. His eyes blazed as they contemplated the squirming, tightly spaced, plump oval cheeks of her voluptuous behind and caught the glimpse of ivory skin flecked with exquisite rosy dots where her stocking tops left off and in that delicious expanse to the hems of her tight panties. He admired the musculature of her struggling thighs and surging calves as he pinned her down to the juvenile and demeaning chastisement. His hand rose and fell at least twenty-five times and when he had finished, Felicia Trent was no longer shrieking for help but imploring him to stop, humbled and weeping like a child.
Contemptuously he pushed her off his lap onto the floor, where she sprawled ignominiously on the floor, her eyes red and swollen, sobbing and choking, staring up at him as if he were some devil out of hell.
A week later, he sailed for Africa. That was ten years ago. And since that time the Cult of Sathanas, as old Ben Ali dreamed of it, came not only into being but into such a vast and complex scope as would seem incredible in this, the twentieth century.
CHAPTER FIVE
Edward McNaughton had done a great deal of thinking since his return to London and his discovery that he had come into a fortune and might do whatever he wished. He had no love for the aristocratic snobbery of the blue-blooded and the wealthy, and still less for the fawning sycophants who always crowd about the successful. At thirty, he had never been more physically fit and, till that night in Ben Ali's camp, had been almost virginal so far as experience in carnal pleasures was concerned. But once again, the whim of chance which led him to be at Simpson's and to stare at the coin which the Arabian slave dealer had given him at the very moment when Lord Eustace Whilby was seated near him, had led him down a narrow, winding and tortuous path which fascinated him exactly because it was unknown and daring.
However, before he went back to Africa, he visited the elderly nobleman to propose the latter that Lord Whilby accompany him on this very different kind of safari. And he said to his white-haired host, "You told me that you had never had occasion to make use of that coin which Ben Ali gave you. Now I propose that you join me and that we both learn how powerful a talisman it can be."
But Lord Eustace Whilby had sadly refused. "My dear boy," he had replied, "if I were perhaps ten years younger nothing would give me greater joy than to accompany you. But I have my infirmities because of age, and I must content myself with the little pleasures which cannot even begin to approximate those which the members of that secret cult know how to provide for themselves. But you will go with my blessing, and perhaps, in my spirit at least, you will be my proxy, so that I'll remain here in London with my naughty little school girls, and sometimes pretend that I am there with you and sharing your adventures."
Then he had urged his new young friend to remain with him for a day or two and to enjoy his hospitality and again to see Fraulein Ursula perform with his wards. Edward McNaughton had accepted this invitation.
So one afternoon, Edward McNaughton sat again in that replica of a classroom and watched his host this time himself undertake the chastisement of the three lovely wards, red-haired Mary, brown-haired Elizabeth and black-haired Carola.
Lord Eustace Whilby, apologizing to his young guest that at his age he had to content himself with rather tame enjoyments, concocted an amusing little game which included Edward McNaughton as one of the protagonists. He pretended that his young friend was a visiting school examiner who had come to test the scholastic ability of these three charming pupils. He had all three specially dressed in short frocks with little gym slips under them and the tightest of cotton panties, black cotton stockings with elastic garters to mid-thigh, and dainty high heeled pumps. Fraulein Ursula was still the school mistress true, but this time she would not wield the rod but only assist her employer in supervising the punishments.
The lovely red-haired youngster Mary was summoned up to the platform where Edward McNaughton propounded to her several abstruse questions to which she could not possibly have known the answer. Lord Eustace Whilby sadly shook his head, apologized to his young friend the "examiner" for the density of the pupil under his charge and recommended that she receive punishment to be set and determined by the "examiner."
Edward McNaughton understood that his elderly friend wanted only some pretext to be as severe and lecherous as he might, and so he smilingly recommended that a good caning would set a memorable example of proper punishment on such an occasion. Delightedly, Lord Eustace Whilby agreed, and sternly ordered Mary to bend over and touch her toes, her bottom turned towards Elizabeth and Carola who remained at their desks watching with anguish-for they too understood that this little farcical playacting would hardly be a laughable game when it was their turn.
His face flushed, his eyes glittering, the elderly nobleman himself gruffly commanded Mary to bend down still more and to make certain that she touched her toes or she would get extra cuts. As the pretty red-haired youngster sobbingly obeyed, he himself tucked up her cute little gym slip, pulled her schoolgirl panties up tightly into her crotch and the cleft of her buttocks. With many prolonged lewd little pattings and caresses he smoothed out imaginary folds and creases of the panties from her voluptuous young behind.
Then, holding out his right hand to Fraulein Ursula, he received from the perverse and handsome schoolmistress a thin swishy cane.
Standing slightly back, and warning Mary not to move if she knew what was good for her, he applied very slowly and with about half a minute between each cut, six strokes, full across her tautly knickered broad posterior. Each of these drew a stifled gasp, a little moaning cry, and Mary's hips jerked and squirmed frantically, but Edward McNaughton noticed that so dominated was she by her regimen of discipline that she did not leave position.
Next came the prolonged and ritualistic ceremony of taking down the panties. Lord Whilby's face was even more mottled with his lust, as he slowly, carefully and with infinite relish inserted his fingers inside the elastic of Mary's panties and drew the garment down till it had reached her knees.
Now, compelling the unfortunate youngster to remain in that shamefully bent-over pose and one which of course aggravated the stinging anguish which the cane had imparted, Lord Whilby closely inspected the red welts of the first six cuts, patting and kneading the lovely girlish bottom to test its firmness and resiliency before drawing back to deliver the first stroke of the bare-bottom thrashing.
Each time the supple cane swished through the air and landed with a loud Thwack on her naked bottom-cheeks, Mary was unable to suppress a gasp or a cry of pain, and twisted and writhed her haunches in the most provocative and salacious way. However, although she staggered forward a little under the impact of each hard, stinging cut, she did not dare to rise from her touching-toes posture for fear of a really cruel flogging at the hands of Fraulein Ursula herself.
Elizabeth was next to be summoned up, the lovely brunette whose milky-skinned plump round buttocks evidently excited the elderly sadist, for he compelled the tearful girl to strip herself completely naked down from the waist to her heels, removing even her shoes and stockings, and then to ascend the padded-leather gymnasium horse. The school mistress now came forward and dragged the buckling strap round Elizabeth's supple waist, and next made her wrists and ankles fast with the other sets of straps. Forced down as she was along the horse, her magnificent plump white bottom arched up and offered itself in the most lascivious manner, so that Edward McNaughton, who had a front-row seat at this theatrical presentation, could see the pink lips of her quim framed by the dark-brown curls of pussy-hair, despite Elizabeth's understandably mortified attempts to tighten her bottom muscles and thus diminish the view which she so unwillingly provided the "visiting examiner."
Lord Whilby now seized a tawse, with three "fingers" cut from the broad end in about six-inch strips, and at their very tips resembling the head of an Indian so as to inflict atrociously stinging kisses on the twitching and palpitating bare flesh of the unfortunate young girl's condemned posterior.
Very slowly and without undue exertion, for as he had confided to his young guest, his doctors had warned him against flying into a rage or taxing his aging heart, Lord Whilby proceeded to give the wriggling and jerking half-naked brunette twenty severe lashes with the tawse. Ten of these were horizontally applied, the tips of these "fingers" curling round with an angry snap to bite into her inner thighs or groin; while the other ten were delivered from upwards down, often the tips of the lashes visiting the exquisitely sensitive shadowy groove between her jerking bare bottom-cheeks.
When at last the weeping girl was untied and helped down from the horse by the school mistress, it was Carola's turn. This, the oldest and in some ways loveliest, was very pale but stoic, but she glanced at Edward McNaughton with an almost supplicating appeal in her gray-green yes. She was condemned to strip entirely naked, and Edward McNaughton gasped with admiration at the olive-sheened magnificence of her svelte body. The pear-contoured globes of her titties, closely set together, pantingly rose and fell, the dark coral buds palpitating with emotion, and when she caught Edward McNaughton's gaze, she blushed scarlet and bit her lips. Nonetheless, though her little hands sought to conceal the thick triangular forest of curls over her cunt, she was not unwise enough to make that gesture. And she meekly obeyed the command by the school mistress to kneel on the straight-backed chair, bend her head and shoulders over the top of the back, and grip the sides without moving, while at the same time spreading her knees as far as she could.
Lord Whilby once again presided. This time his choice of weapon was a thin swishy birch, which he deemed most appropriate for Carola's ample, oval-shaped bottomglobes. He made her count aloud twenty cuts, which she did with remarkable presence of mind, in Edward McNaughton's opinion, though from the eighth cut on, her voice trembled with sobs and tears.
"Now, my dear young friend," Lord Whilby hoarsely declared after he had flung down the rod and left Carola to sob her heart out as she wriggled and twisted ceaselessly on the chair of punishment, "Let me offer you the regalia of any one of these charming and naughty girls who will spend the night with you and do anything you command. I regret, dear sir, that they are not virgins any longer, and you will forgive me for my lack of hospitality on that score. And I think you will find each one of them particularly well schooled in the arts of pleasing a man. Though of course it is true that your vigor and youth will perhaps put more of a demand upon them than they have had from me since I acquired them as my wards. Choose whom you wish!"
Overwhelmed by this generous gift, Edward McNaughton stared longest at Carola, and finally selected her as his companion for the evening.
Once inside his room and alone with the naked black-haired ward of his host, Edward McNaughton hesitated a little, not knowing how to begin or how far he might go with this delectable morsel of femininity. Then Carola in a low voice, though still blushing and averting her eyes, announced that she was prepared to satisfy him in any way he wished, with her mouth, her pussy or the dainty little hole between her buttocks, and upon his questioning, avowed that her guardian, Lord Whilby, had initiated her in all three orifices.
So Edward McNaughton began by having the naked young brunette kneel before him, open his trousers and take his stiff and throbbing organ into her soft nectured mouth, tickling his balls with her slim fingers, and sucking and tonguing him until he reached a state of rapture which he had never dreamed possible. He wondered to himself how Felicia Trent would have behaved if she had been first caned and then commanded to perform so obscene an act. And with that thought, there strengthened in his mind the determination to visit Ben Ali in the Kofari and to join this mysterious club of which the Arabian slave dealer had spoken.
Carola made a superb mistress that night for the entranced young hunter. She coaxed him back to vigor with fingers and tongue again, and then willingly took her place in bed for him to mount her and thrust his ramrod deep into the tight warm enclaspment of her cunt. She wound her arms and legs about him, her tongue thrust between his lips, and she wriggled and twisted and arched under him to cozen all his desire into the passionate channel of her womancore.
She even persuaded him to sodomize her, kneeling with her forehead against the counterpane of the bed, and herself pulling open her buttocks to proffer the dainty rosette of her anus for impalement.
And discovering how an attractive and well educated young girl could be so dominated and trained to become the most lascivious of concubines, Edward McNaughton's desire to live such a life where he might command the immediate obedience to his slightest whim was intensified.
But in the morning, when he wakened, he was astounded by the tragedy which had stricken the household of Lord Eustace Whilby. The elderly nobleman's excitement at sharing his erotic pleasures with his young guest had proved too much for his heart, and he had died while fucking the terrified young red-haired Mary.
Edward McNaughton did not hesitate. He spoke for about half an hour behind closed doors to Fraulein Ursula, and she accepted his offer to become his housekeeper and to travel with him where he pleased. Mary, Elizabeth and Carola would, it was true, be provided for in the will of their sadistic and elderly guardian. But he interviewed each in turn and proposed that they join his retinue as his wards, saying that he would legally adopt them if he found that possible.
CHAPTER SIX
When Edward McNaughton, together with his beautiful young housekeeper Janet Cready and his newly engaged governess Ursula Lorber, and three lovely teenaged English girls, arrived at Algiers, the handsome heir of Sir Henry McNaughton went directly to the native market of Ras Tilja and there inquired of a camel dealer where he might find the Kofari. Showing his talisman, he identified himself as a friend of the all-powerful Ben Ali, and was at once given directions how to reach the secret entry of this mysterious and dangerous section of the city into which no tourist dared go even granting that he could find the way to enter it.
An hour later, Edward McNaughton and his five female companions reached a Moorish house with a magnificent garden, enclosed entirely by iron bars the height of a man's head. A giant Negro wearing only a loincloth and a scimitar thrust through it, guarded the gate. But here again the magic talisman brought instant recognition, and the young hunter was ushered into the beautifully ornate salon of Ben Ali's house.
A few moments later, two beautiful Bedouin girls, naked except for gauzy pantaloons and red felt slippers with curling toes and little silver bells sewn onto the surfaces, their faces veiled, but their superb brown-sheened titties temptingly bare, entered and salaamed before him, the governess and the housekeeper, and his three young wards. Their master, the slave girl informed him, would be overjoyed to see him within half an hour, and meanwhile he and his companions would be served delicacies and drink to make that waiting time pass more pleasantly. The two Bedouin girls brought in couscous, an exquisite tea made from rose petals, melons, figs and dates, and Edward McNaughton was enchanted at the humble and deferential service these two half-naked beauties accorded him.
Though they served the five females with promptitude and attention, it was obvious that they had been trained to cater to the male. Kneeling before him, one to each side, offering him tidbits, their dark eyes hidden behind the veil yet fixed on him with admiring and respectful veneration, their naked breasts temptingly within the range of his quivering fingers, they made him feel like a posha or emir who reigns supreme master in his own realm.
At last Ben Ali made his appearance, graciously striding in and clasping the young English hunter's hands and exclaiming, "Blessed be Allah that you have done me the honor to visit my poor home! You and your friends will be my honored guests for as long as you wish to stay."
"I have come, Ben Ali, to learn more of the meaning of the talisman you gave me when you saved my life," Edward McNaughton retorted.
"I had hoped that a man of your vigor and youth might answer the call of my love-goddess," the slave-dealer smilingly replied. "For though I am a good Muslim, my father and my grandfather before me worshipped the sacred gods of old Egypt, since they did much commerce in and about Thebes, Memphis and Cairo. And though they did but lip service at first, they learned of the occult mysteries sacred to the worship of the cat-goddess Bast, who, if you know your mythology, was brought by Grecian traders to Egypt ages ago and there upon the lower Nile worshipped by the sign of the cat instead of the huntress."
"I have heard of this, Ben Ali."
"But what you do not know is that the opposite to Bast is the horned god of the goat, mistakenly called Pan by many uninitiated. Pan was only a demi-god, without the supernatural powers symbolized by the acanthus leaf. In your Western world, Effendi McNaughton, you would call him the Devil or Sathanas. For while the Diana who became Bast was the patroness of women who wished love and power, the talisman
I have given you represents the Lord of Darkness, whose Arabic name is Retorar."
"In the desert, Ben Ali, you spoke to me of the Cult of Sathanas and of its elite membership. I have come here now to ask you to let me join this secret little world which is dedicated to pleasure."
"I can only tell you what I know of its history, Effendi. My grandfather was the first to know of it, and there were three men, one from Germany, one from France and one from your own country, England, who had founded it. They were engaged in the slave trade, as was my grandfather, though they were white. The Frenchman, who was a nobleman at the court of Louis Napoleon, later called Napoleon III, found a vast fortune in diamonds not far from where that strange castle stands upon the side. You saw it, Effendi, when you stalked the lion who in turn had been stalking you."
"And it was he who had that remarkable edifice built?"
"True, Effendi. He and the German and the Englishman joined a partnership and founded the Cult of Sathanas. Only the most trustworthy were invited there, where every pleasure known to man was granted. But besides wealth, those who became members and who alone had the privilege of dwelling in the Fortress of Felicity-as my grandfather once said it was called-had to possess a steadfastness of purpose which would renounce all sentimentality, all tenderness, so that they might live only for pleasure. It is said that the German, to become a member, sacrificed his wife to his two friends who were the lords then of the Fortress of Felicity. He watched his own wife, to whom he had been wed only a short year, strip naked, branded with the yoke and the iron of servitude, and forced to yield herself to any guest or friend of his two colleagues. Then only was he pronounced worthy of membership in this mysterious society."
"Go on, Ben Ali!"
"With the turn of the century, there were others, and for a time the Cult of Sathanas flourished. Its ranks were decimated by the First World War and again by the Second. Now, no one lives who was either guest or master in that haunted castle."
"Incredible! And yet finding me, a stranger, an infidel, you would offer me-" Edward McNaughton began.
"I would offer you the restoration of the legend. If you can renounce your country and your scruples, if you can recruit from among your trustworthy friends those who are powerful and, like yourself, held by no ties of affection or blood, you can dwell like the Old Man of the Mountain, he who centuries ago founded the Thuggees and the Disciples of Kali, he who tasted every known pleasure that man has through the ages sought at the cost of gold and lives. You will be a king among slaves-and I, Ben Ali, though it is late in my life, will rejoice greatly and prosper with you, for I can help in bringing slaves to the Fortress of Felicity."
"Fantastic! Well, I'm your man. My father died before I returned to England, Ben Ali, I am no longer engaged to the woman I believed I wished to marry, and I am bored with the snobbery of an outmoded society which should have died during the last war. It is archaic and purposeless. And I am wealthy, for my father was prosperous in the making of munitions and willed me all his great fortune."
"Then perhaps, as it was written long ago, you shall restore the Cult of Sathanas so that the old joys, the glory of mastery over slaves, shall flourish once again."
"I will undertake this, and I will pledge myself to it, Ben Ali. I have always loved Africa, and I have come here on safari many times. As I say, I have no great love for my fatherland, and still less for its hypocrisy."
"It is good, Effendi McNaughton. But prove to me that you have the mettle of those who first conceived of the grandiose scheme to create a world in which time would stand still. Sacrifice that which is dear to you to me, a humble slave dealer."
Edward McNaughton frowned, and then turned to the wide couch on which Janet, Ursula and his three wards sat. "Very well," he said coldly, "take my housekeeper. She is the one who is leaning over now to whisper to that young red-haired ward of mine."
By this he referred to Janet Cready, the lovely brunette with the oval features who, he had discovered shortly after Lord Whilby's startling death, was neither virgin nor so prim as her long black silk dress and austere coiffure might suggest.
"It is a princely gift, Effendi McNaughton," Ben Ali said casting a greedy look at the unsuspecting young housekeeper. "I can sell her in the Kofari on the auction block, to perhaps some rich sheikh."
"The proceeds shall be entirely yours, Ben Ali, on condition that you guide me back to that strange building on the side of the mountain in the Libyan desert."
"I will do more for such a princely gift, Effendi! You shall have some of my men to help you make that old castle livable again. And then we shall have a great feast, you and I, and we shall plan the future."
CHAPTER SEVEN
Andre Descailles was thirty-nine, black-haired, slim and wiry, with a small moustache on his upper lip, a native Parisian and the only son and heir of a wealthy automobile manufacturer who was a rival of Citroen. Thanks to his inherited wealth, Andre had been able to spend much of his youth and a not inconsiderable portion of his vast fortune in gratifying the demands of an almost insatiable lust for sexual experience. No sensual thrill was too petty to interest him, no scheme or action too fantastic to gratify his lewd and varied imagination. He would often charter a plane to take him to a stag show in Miami Beach or to visit a secret bordello in Buenos Aires. Though he kept up his father's business and was an excellent businessman as well as a profligate, his principal reason for retaining this vast sales organization was to turn some of his faithful employees into spies whose principal job it was to report on what new and remarkably unique sexual adventures could be found in the cities where they were quartered.
Only two weeks ago, Andre Descailles had had word from a representative in Sydney, Australia, that on a sheep ranch in the back country, a wealthy and elderly sadist had managed to smuggle in a fishing schooner two pretty teenaged sisters whom he wished first to torture and enjoy and then sell for his own profit. Andre's chartered plane had taken him to that barren country about a hundred miles from Sydney, and he had paid five thousand dollars for the privilege of tying up the two sisters and flogging them as they hung by their heels from the ceiling, their arms wrapped round each other and corded so that they could not break loose that salacious and incestuous Lesbian embrace.
His sexual education had begun at a very early age when his mother had died and his father had been hospitalized for about six months with a nervous breakdown. He had accordingly been sent to live at the country estate of an aunt who was an impoverished and embittered woman with a stepdaughter of eleven, a pretty little black-haired child whose existence she resented and whose life she made as unbearable as she could. Young Andre, then thirteen, was fawned upon since his presence brought the aunt an adequate allowance. Also, knowing that he was the heir to his father's vast industrial empire, the aunt wished to have his good will in later years so that perhaps he would show his gratitude in tangible ways.
Andre Descailles had a sister by the name of Monique, then twelve, sharp-featured and insolent, a kind of defense mechanism because she was aware that he was the heir and the adored of the two off-spring, whereas she could bring no great blessings to the family name of Descailles.
About two months after Andre Descailles had gone to live with his aunt, he was walking down the corridor outside his step cousin's room and suddenly he stopped dead as he heard cries and squeals of girlish pain and the curious sounds of "Swish!" and "Thwack" which were soon to become as familiar to him as the sounds of a good orchestra. Boldly he walked through the open door, and the sight which met his astonished eyes was to alter the course of his future life.
His aunt was seated in a heavy wooden chair with her stepdaughter Janine held firmly down across her lap. The girl faced away from Andre and was stark naked, thus giving him his first real opportunity to inspect the usually concealed charms of the young female body.
His aunt looked up from her task at the sound of Andre's entry, her eyes opened wide for a moment, and then she smiled a welcome. As if nothing had happened, she continued to wield a short whippy, thin rattan cane over Janine's dancing, squirming buttocks. At each stroke, Janine's haunches heaved and twisted, her red-wealed buttocks opening and closing, while her slender long legs kicked spasmodically with a complete lack of modesty, enabling Andre to see her dainty anal rosette as well as her almost hairless soft pink pussy displayed for his enchanted inspection.
The boy watched this caning to the cruel end, and then his aunt made her stepdaughter stand in front of her while she took Andre on her knees and proceeded to give him a lecture on some of the more interesting facts and fantasies of life with an emphasis on the occasional necessity of administering corporal punishment to naughty and disobedient girls.
To the boy's surprised delight, the naked and blushing and still sobbing girl was used to demonstrate the differences between male and female anatomy. At the conclusion, his aunt remarked that if he ever found Janine committing any faults, he should report her and she would see to it that Janine was soundly thrashed. Also, his aunt added that though she hoped that he and Monique would live together on the friendliest of terms, if he should find it necessary to report any lapses in his own sister's conduct, she would consider a suitable punishment for Monique as well.
Thoroughly aroused by what he had seen and his sexual curiosity excited, Andre very quickly began to investigate the fascinating subject of sexual gratification on the persons of his step cousin and his sister.
Janine had been much too cowed by her stepmother's treatment of her and the latter's warning that she must be subordinate to Andre's wishes, to protest such liberties as him making her take down her panties and stand before him holding up her short frock while the youth lewdly inspected her pussy, fumblingly kneading her inner thighs and inserting an inquisitive finger into her dainty little quim. The first time that Andre had made Janine bend down and touch her toes, she had tearfully and indignantly protested his trying to force a finger into her anus. Andre merely complained to her stepmother that Janine had been rude to him, and so he and Monique were allowed to watch while Janine received her chastisement for that crime of lese majeste.
His aunt made Janine strip to her shoes and stockings and then lie face down on a leather-covered divan; then the sadistic woman selected a three-thronged martinet from her store of punishment implements, and calmly seated herself on the weeping Janine's shoulders, asking Andre to hold the girl's ankles to prevent her from kicking too indecently. However, precocious Andre discovered that decorum was the farthest thing from his aunt's mind, since now he could see not only Janine's intimate parts but also could look right up his aunt's skirts and admire her fully rounded upper thighs and her even more intimate parts charmingly hidden in a froth of lacy undergarments. He felt his penis stiffen and throb as he watched his aunt cruelly flog Janine's naked bottom, and each new stroke made his cock stand more savagely at attention, a fact which the woman noticed with a smile of satisfaction.
She paused to ask him to hold his steo cousin more firmly, and the new position where he was holding one leg firmly against each of his thighs, which enabled him to see not only Janine's pussy but also the dainty little rosebud of her ass-hole half hidden in the shadowy valley of her plump young buttocks. As a counter attraction, his aunt, under pretense of making the position still more comfortable, shifted herself and her skirts so that the boy could look up her legs even more completely. Now Andre could scarcely decide where to look to satisfy his lascivious curiosity, but when the whipping resumed, his eyes were glued in rapt attention to the charming curves of his steo cousin's delectable and nubile young posterior.
The aunt now directed her strokes-with all her strength right down the cleavage of poor Janine's hindquarters. The two outer thongs of the leather martinet snaked over the plump round curves of the girl's bottom-cheeks, while the tips of the lashes cut into her upper thighs. But the middle thong, aimed with an experienced and diabolical skill, curled right down into the cleft of the girl's quivering buttock, and into her open legs to probe into the tender lips of her virgin pussy.
This pitiless flogging continued for some time, Janine shrieking and writhing in a frenzy of anguish so that Andre, though quite strong for his age, had all he could do to hold her firmly in position. Again and again the martinet hissed down over her unfortunate and unprotected bottom, till her flesh was crisscrossed with livid red weals.
Shrieking and wailing at the atrocious pain, writhing and jerking at each burning stroke, Janine did not obtain mercy, for her stepmother continued remorselessly until blood oozed from numerous cuts not only on the girl's buttocks but also along the tender lips of her virgin pussy.
After this cruel flogging, Janine had to be confined to her bed for almost a week, but when she was up, she had learned better than to make any further protest, no matter what indignities would be imposed upon her by her sexually precocious step cousin Andre.
By the time the youth had reached his fourteenth year, his aunt had introduced him to the full pleasures of sexual intercourse, one day after giving Janine a moderate caning of about thirty hard strokes across the girl's bare bottom. She had made the weeping girl lie on her back with her legs opened as widely as she could get them, and then she herself took hold of Andre's throbbing prick and guided it to the lips of her stepdaughter's virgin cunt, urging him on to the delights of his first fuck. Soon Andre became bolder than ever in his sex play with his thirteen-year-old sister Monique. Since Monique had already received a few whippings in Andre's presence and at his instigation, as well as realizing that in later life she would be quite penniless without his good will, she encouraged him to have the joys of incest along with his other pleasures. However, Monique was clever enough to divert the most painful and humiliating of his attentions by encouraging and assisting in the torment of luckless Janine.
One day, never-to-be-forgotten, Monique encouraged Andre to whip Janine himself instead of delegating this task to a higher authority. She sternly made Janine bend over a table, took down the young girl's panties, tucked up Janine's dress and petticoat, and seated herself on Janine's shoulders, just as she had seen her aunt do. Andre seized a leather belt and proceeded to give Janine a severe thrashing. The supple belt whirled through the air descending on her firm rounded flesh with a resounding whack, at once imprinting a broad red stripe across the heaving white flesh of the weeping sufferer. Janine struggled and squealed at each succeeding stripe, beginning to kick out in all directions. Having profited from all his observations, the youth took advantage of this to lower the belt to the floor and sweep it up between Janine's legs-to the delight of three, not two spectators, for his aunt, attracted by her stepdaughter's cries, was watching from the doorway. Janine shrieked and pleaded for mercy at the top of her voice, her hips jumping and quivering in the most salacious way. But only when her buttocks had changed from creamy white to an angry and swollen red did Andre cast down the belt.
The unfortunate girl believed that her torture was now at an end, but she was soon to be sadly disillusioned. Andre's sister Monique had conceived a new variant for her brother's gratification. Leaning forward, and gripping the cheeks of Janine's bottom with both hands, she roughly yawned them as far as she could. Then, indicating Janine's dainty little ass-hole, she urged, "Put your cock in here, dear brother! I'm sure it will be much tighter and nicer for you, and it is something new!"
Andre Descailles was only too eager to try out his sister's idea, and soon he was forcing himself into Janine's dainty ass-hole. As soon as his first penetration had been made, he gripped the unwilling girl by the hips and with a sudden lunge crammed the full length of his throbbing young but superbly built organ deep into her rectal sheath.
Janine gasped and moaned with pain and shock, but she was powerless to prevent the bestial defloration. Sobbing with shame and pain, she gave her ravisher and his sister even more delight in her suffering. The aunt now entered the room, and when they became aware of her presence, both of them hesitated with some guilt. But the woman walked right up to Andre, put her arms around his shoulders and encouraged him to continue, and then continued to watch with the greatest interest the in and out movements of his rampant prick.
This was a supreme humiliation for Janine, for she realized that her stepmother's presence implied a complete condonement of his shocking outrage upon her young defenseless body. Becoming bolder, Andre put one arm around his aunt's waist and explored her full firm opulent haunches. This stirred him to new heights of lubricity, for now his insistent hand slid between his aunt's invitingly opened legs, and with a cry he felt himself burst all his gismic store into Janine's distended ass-hole.
After this memorable incident, the youth's interest in his aunt changed somewhat in character. She had been in the habit of bestowing upon him a good deal of maternal hugging and fondling; now he began to reciprocate with caresses of a decidedly sexual character, so that often these occasions were transformed into what Americans would call "petting parties." She would take him into her arms for a fond embrace and soon discover that his hands were wandering over the fleshy curves of her womanly behind, seeking to penetrate the deep valley between her plump buttocks and even groping up between her legs, trying to finger her cunt. This liberty she was not yet prepared to allow, though she was most anxious to keep him in a happy state of mind so more and more she began to allow him all the liberties he wished.
By the time he was sixteen, it was not unusual, while poor Janine was strapped face down on a whipping bench and stripped to her shoes and stockings and being flogged by her aunt, for Andre to stand beside his aunt with his perverse sister watching. Andre then would put his hand up his sister's skirts on one side and his aunt's skirts on the other. And while his aunt slowly and methodically flogged Janine's naked bounding bottom, Andre's fingers were pinching and tweaking the shapely behinds of his sister and his aunt, pushing away the legs of her panties; and as the climax of the whipping approached, he would slip one finger into his sister's ass-hole and two fingers of the other hand into his aunt's moist cunt.
His aunt grew to enjoy this system of administering chastisements and her natural sadism was increased by sexual stimulus; she flogged Janine's writhing, heaving, naked bottom-cheeks and thighs, in a perfect frenzy of lascivious joy. Soon the boy felt his fingers moist from her climactic juices, and he worked his fingers vigorously inside her slippery pussy, almost as amused to see her rousing sexual excitement as to watch the whipping.
As his aunt's sexual orgasm grew nigh, her pussy moistened with the secret cream and she trembled with uncontrollable passion. At the same time, she increased, if it can be considered possible, the fury of her pitiless flogging until Janine's screams were continuous and unchecked as savage blows of the lash cracked against her twisting jerking bottomglobes, nearly drawing blood with each stripe.
In these moments, the stepmother took fiendish delight in darting the tip of her lash into the cleavage between her stepdaughter's buttocks, right into the most sensitive region of them all, right between Janine's straddled legs. And after such a seance Andre had a choice of three female bodies with which to slake his lust. If he chose to follow his aunt to her room, and he often did, he was welcome to spend the rest of the day and night in lascivious love play with the older woman. His insatiable demands were met in full by this sensual dominatress, and Andre fucked her in every imaginable position, sometimes even buggering her.
About this time, the precocious Parisian heir began to explore further afield in his search for sexual gratification, and quickly discovered that he was easily able to seduce an occasional servant girl either in his own or in a neighboring household. His favorite amusement, which was corporal punishment, was not so easy to satisfy, but he learned to take advantage of every opportunity for all the little variations of the love game. When he was eighteen he went to college and spent a fairly uneventful life there until his twenty-first birthday when he came into the full inheritance and began to enjoy his desired life of luxury to the full.
Andre's first act on reaching his majority was to purchase a grim old chateau in the south of France. He had the place entirely modernized so that above ground it became transformed into the luxurious residence of a wealthy country gentleman. Below ground, however, the ancient dungeons were also extensively remodeled to take into a series of padded cells, a harem of slave girls which Andre decided to collect. There was also a large central chamber, specially fitted out with all manner of ingenious devices as a punishment and torture room.
Andre's aunt, when he approached her on the subject, proved more than willing to become the mistress in charge of the establishment, and his sister Monique was just as eager to be installed as her assistant. The luckless Janine occupied the position of their first slave-girl, though it was thought unnecessary to incarcerate her in the dungeons since she was already so thoroughly tamed. Now Andre began his job of recruiting inmates for his underground prison. He found a few by going out and engaging pretty maid servants under a false name and later conveying them secretly to his dungeons, where the waiting aunt and Monique, with plenty of whippings, soon had them trained into really humble and obedient servants.
When Andre found that his two housekeepers needed assistance to control properly the slowly growing harem, he engaged a dozen big negroes to act as guards, then he began to seek further afield for new females to subdue. In the course of his searches he came into contact with and joined the Cult of Sathanas.
Andre had a luxury flat in Paris and spent a considerable amount of time there satisfying the more mild of his varied lascivious interests. He made the acquaintance of the proprietress of a fashionable couturiere where by means of a large financial inducement to the proprietress he had her arrange it so that the dressing rooms of her salon were grouped around the walls of her office and fitted with special one-way mirrors. Andre often sat in the office and watched with delighted amusement while the mannequins and the customers, often well known actresses and society ladies, undressed before his lewd searching stare, unknowingly displaying all their secret charms as they stepped into pairs of lacy silk panties and other feminine finery. He learned quite a lot about the behavior of the female of the species when she thinks she is safely unobserved.
Several of the more attractive young women had the habit of disrobing completely and admiring themselves from every angle in the full length mirror, while Andre of course, admired them equally from the other side mentally caressing or chastising their plump, shapely nude buttocks, admiring their long tapering legs, closely inspecting their hairy little pussies and their firm full breasts. On one occasion, he was pleased to watch a young prospective bride, while trying on her wedding finery, lift her satin gown above her waist and stand in front of the mirror with her legs apart, dreamily masturbate herself with one finger in her otherwise virgin cunt, thinking no doubt of the delights of her coming wedding night.
Andre was so excited by this that he called in the proprietress, a tall svelte well-dressed woman of thirty, and, bending her over her own desk, lifted her narrow black skirt over her hips, ripped off her fragile nylon panties and forced his rampant member well up her not unwilling vagina. This was the first time the woman had surrendered her own body to the lusts of her wealthy client, but she was so impressed by his youthful vigor and experienced skill that she was thereafter always ready and willing to open her legs for the pleasure of her benefactor. Often she would take up this same position, bending over her desk and while they watched perhaps half a dozen attractive young women doing their unconventional striptease, she would excite her lover by making all manner of lewd and obscene comments on their fleshy charms.
Andre began a vast collection of sadistic pornography, a well stacked library was established in his chateau, the walls of which were decorated with murals and hung with a collection of paintings of a sadistic nature, some of them done by famous and talented artists and some by unknown students, all of whom, for a generous fee, were quite willing to supply their patron with anything from a picture of Roman legionnaires flogging Queen Bodacaia on her fat bare bottom while others raped her two daughters before her eyes, to a more modern scene where a pretty little teenaged school girl, horsed on the back of a sturdy maidservant, or strapped astride a punishment horse, was caned or birched on her plump little girlish buttocks.
One of his favorites was a convent scene in which a lovely young nun, tied up in a kneeling position with her robes pinned up above her waist, her voluminous panties pulled down to her knees, and with her full shapely posterior crisscrossed by angry red whip weals was being fucked by a gigantic German Wolfhound. Nearby, the Mother Superior was watching the scene with evident satisfaction and masturbating herself with the handle of a long wicked-looking horsewhip.
In the library were filed thousands of sadistic photographs and drawings, and in the adjoining room was a cinema projector and the beginnings of Andre's collection of sadistic films. Andre bought most of his films and pictures, and incidentally some very life-like statuettes and waxwork models, from the madame of a most exclusive brothel in Paris at which he had come to mutually beneficent arrangement for the satisfaction of his erotic whims. Some of his films and photographs however, were produced in his own chateau, with the eager assistance of his aunt and sister and the twelve Negro guards in directive capacity or in dominant roles, while his rapidly growing harem of slave girls were compelled to take the parts of the victims in the obscenely cruel dramas.
Typical of the films produced in Andre's chateau studios was a feature entitled "Mrs. Livingstone," in which the action opened with an African scene. One of his English slave-girls, a particularly good-looking spinster of thirty who had been unlucky enough to see and answer an advertisement for an English governess, appeared dressed in a parody of a female explorer's costume, dressed in a cute little pair of khaki shorts, khaki shirt, riding boots and a solar helmet. She was being propelled through jungle scenery by three husky Negro captors, two of whom firmly held the woman by an arm and shoulder while a third urged her from behind by slapping and pinching her attractive behind and probing between her legs to lift her over any obstacles that lay in their path. The captive woman's shame and indignation at such treatment were not feigned, for she had not yet been trained to a state of humble subservience, being a relative newcomer to the chateau.
Presently the party arrived at a jungle clearing where a Negro chieftain and a group of his followers greeted the little band with much glee at the prospect of some interesting games with a white woman captive. The unfortunate woman was brought before the chief and released by the two escorting guards; the third, after obtaining a wicked-looking blacksnake whip, took up his station once again behind the woman. The chief brusquely ordered her to take down her shorts, but her indignant refusal had hardly left her lips when the first stroke of the cruel whip slashed across the seat of her tight-fitting shorts. Her two Negro escorts swiftly seized each of her wrists and held her while the whip swept down again and again and curled around her jerking and heaving bottom. The whip was applied in skillful drawing strokes, and each vicious lash split the taut material of the light garment. Soon the seat of the woman's shorts was in rags and tatters; first the white silk of her panties was seen and then in turn as were they ripped by the slashing whip, the creamy pink and white flesh of her delightfully ripe buttocks came into view, lined by the red weals of the cruel whippings.
The English girl squealed and wriggled her haunches quite enticingly as each savage whiplash snaked across her plump bottom-cheeks, and it was not long before she was tearfully begging for mercy and assuring her captors that she would willingly do anything they demanded. Once again the woman was released by the two Negro guards and now the chief's crude orders for her to strip were hastily obeyed.
First her ragged khaki shorts slithered to her ankles, then her white silk panties followed, she was also made to remove her shirt and bra and stood before her tormentors with tears running down her pretty face, all flushed with the shame and disgrace of her ludicrously humiliating position. Dressed as she now was, only in her riding boots, she felt her degradation even more keenly than if she had been quite naked. The Negroes, appreciating her plight to the full, burst into shouts of jeering laughter as they made all manner of coarse and obscene comments on her various physical charms.
The chief then approached the woman and began his close examination of her person. He cupped her full firm breasts in his large powerful hands, squeezing and kneading them and pulling and pinching the budding pink nipples while she winced and moaned in pain and shame. Roughly turning her about, he looked with considerable lewd pleasure and satisfaction at the full, nicely rounded backside, tracing with a finger the purpling stripes that decorated rather than marred the beauty of her soft creamy flesh. Then he rudely pulled apart the cheeks of her bottom to inspect more closely the secrets of her posterior cleavage, and the poor young woman was shocked to the depths of her soul when he thrust a finger deep into the soft warmth of her tight rectum.
The chief again roughly turned the woman and now ordered her to open her legs. Her almost imperceptible hesitation was swiftly rewarded by the crack of the cruel whip as it once more curled its sinuous lash around nude shapely feminine bottom-cheeks, urging her to instant obedience. Then as the lovely pain-racked woman captive stood with long slender legs astride the chief bent to examine her sexual parts in the minutest detail. He pulled playfully at her short curly pubic hair, fingered the pouting little cunt lips, forced two fat fingers up her vagina, discovering rather to his surprise that the woman was still virgin, or at least pretending to, for naturally enough, Andre had already claimed his rights in this respect.
The Negro chief found the woman's undeveloped little clitoris with his probing fingers and spent a little time masturbating the unwilling girl while she sobbed and shuddered in her pain and shame.
Presently the chief made the girl bend over and stand with her legs widespread while he mounted her from behind. The poor girl shrieked with pain as the chief, holding the frightened girl firmly by her hips, rammed his huge black prick deep into her vitals and she continued to howl in agony as he ruthlessly commenced the rhythmic in and out strokes of lust fucking. When he had shot the load of his lust into the woman's narrow sore vagina, he gave a push that sent her sprawling to the ground, then giving her a contemptuous kick right between her parted legs that made her double up in agony, he signaled to his followers to take their turn in ravaging her defenseless body. The other Negroes took their places in turn as partners to the poor unwilling girl and fucked her savagely in every variety of position, some fucking her dog fashion, like their chief, some making her lie on her back with legs wide apart or bent back so that her feet touched the ground above her head, some made her lie face down on the ground or stand in a bending position while they distended her dainty ass-hole as they rammed their huge throbbing cocks up her bottom.
If the captive woman thought that her ordeal was now over, she was soon to be sorely disappointed. As she lay sprawled on the ground after the Negroes had satisfied their lust on her helpless body, a long stout pole was prepared with bindings at each end. To this pole the woman was bound, one ankle and one wrist being secured to each end so that her lissom legs were spread wide apart to display to utmost advantage her hairy, oozing cunt lips and anus. Now the pole was raised and attached at each end to two vertical stakes so that the woman's nude haunches were placed at eye level; when she was in this shameful position, the serious part of her fustigation began. One Negro took his place to the left of the victim, armed with the black-snake whip that had already left many stripes across the female bottom; another man stood to her right with a large bunch of stinging nettles to give a little variation to the flogging.
At the signal from the chief, the flagellation began. First the man to the left raised his whip and brought it hissing down over the plump shapely buttocks. The captive shrieked with pain and jerked her haunches in a frantic attempt to evade the whip. Next the Negro with the nettles drove the bunch downwards right between the wide open legs. It took a moment for this last stroke to take full effect, but soon it could be seen that the nettles had raised a cluster of angry red spots all over the woman's private parts. As the pangs penetrated to her nerve centers, she cried out afresh; but she had not time to contemplate this new unpleasantness, for another vicious blow of the whip curled around her quivering bottom-cheeks. Again and again the whip fell and the nettles slashed into her helpless body, bleeding weals spreading over her bare posterior and upper thighs, while the nettles swished into her genital region and over her hindquarters, causing the sore flesh to swell and blotch with the clusters of spots spreading over her skin.
The Negro whipper now began to deliver even more painful cuts. Flicking the tip of the whip between the woman's heaving wriggling bottom-cheeks with all the devilish skill of a born flogger, he made the wretched white woman writhe in a perfect frenzy of pain. Then a particularly vicious slash that made the tip of the whip penetrate into the gaping lips of her cunt caused her to jerk her haunches upwards with such violence that she turned completely over and now hung down with her arms and legs twisted up behind her back. The two Negroes took advantage of the new position to direct their flogging on to the soft tender breasts that had so far escaped the fury of the flogging.
Soon, the woman's well developed bosom was covered, like her posterior, by the clusters of tantalizing nettle stings. As the creamy flesh was mottled by the angry red spots, the lovely breasts seemed to swell to almost twice their original size. The blacksnake whip was by no means idle all this while and quickly the woman's titties acquired their quota of bleeding weals. One cruel cut of the whip split the budding nipple on her left breast, making the white woman shriek in agony and struggle to such effect that she once again turned completely over to resume her former position. The tormentors, quite unperturbed, resumed the flagellation of her hindquarters which danced the frantic dance of the whip until the poor woman mercifully lost consciousness.
The atrocious torture was brought to a conclusion by the woman's being given a powerful cordial to restore her to consciousness, having her private parts, her bottom and her breasts smeared liberally with honey, and being carried, still secured to the pole, which was fixed to two trees, to a nearby ant hill, where she was hung with her haunches almost touching the top of the hill. Soon the ants attracted by the scent of the honey began to swarm all over the most tender parts of the wretched woman's anatomy, inflicting thousands of agonizing bites on her breasts and rump and even inside her bodily orifices while she writhed and howled to the lewd delight of her torturers.
At one of the most exclusive brothels in Paris where Andre had an arrangement with the Madame, he was able to find considerable pleasure in the satisfaction of his lewd whims. The Madame herself would usually attend to him and they were wont to retire to her own private room where Andre looked over her vast selection of sadistic pornography. The Madame was well preserved and still attractive woman of forty, and she used all of her considerable skill to interest her wealthy client in her wares both literary and fleshy. She would sit beside him on a divan while a maid dressed only in shoes and stockings, a short frilly apron and maid's cap, fetched and carried books and folios of pictures from shelves and filing cabinets which surrounded the large and comfortable room.
The maid was a pretty wench, and Andre loved to watch her walking to and fro and climbing the ladder to reach books in the higher and out of reach shelves. She walked with a provocative sway to her hips, and her charmingly plump buttocks dimpled enticingly as she moved her haunches. Whenever the girl came within reach of Andre, he gave her a playful but nonetheless smarting slap full on her pretty bare bottom. The Madame also got into the habit of slapping the girl's behind to amuse her patron, and often at the end of one of these sessions, the maid's plump bottom-cheeks were flushed scarlet with the constant spankings. Sometimes a third would take part in these scenes; her job would be to kneel at the man's feet and gently and skillfully lick and suck his huge throbbing organ while the Madame showed him her wares, making all manner of lewd and obscene comments as she displayed pictures varying from simple scenes of school girl discipline, with a pretty girl in pigtails getting her bare posterior spanked by a vindictive-looking schoolmarm, to scenes of the most outrageous torture, perhaps a Comanche thrusting a burning brand up the cunt of a screaming white woman captive, or a Roman lady impaled with a spear up her bottomhole by a band of Huns.
Occasionally Andre would hire the whole staff of the house to take part in the scenes of corporal punishment. But arrangement with the Madame, he would have as many as twenty girls lined up in the main hall dressed in a great variety of costumes, some girls would be smartly turned out as typists or office workers, in tailored skirts and blouses, fitting tightly t display their haunches and breasts, others would appear as nurses, air hostesses, nuns, ballet dancers, schoolgirls in cute little gym outfits and maids and waitresses in tight silk dresses aprons and caps, cancan dancers in full frilly petticoats and black silk stockings. There would be girls in short tennis frocks, in play suits and swimming costumes and any other dress or undress that would suit his imagine.
The entertainment would begin by the line of girls bending forward to touch their toes, Andre and the Madame would walk slowly down the line, first patting and caressing each shapely posterior and then Andre would give each girl three smarting strokes of a thin swishy cane across the tautly stretched seat of their skirts of costumes. Next the girls in skirts had to unfasten them and let them fall to the ground, those in dresses pinned them up above the waist and a second tour was made in which the girls received a further three strokes stingingly applied across their tight panties. As the third stage approached, the girls had to take down their panties or swim suits and this time they were each subjected to six really severe cane strokes that made their lovely bare buttocks jump and quiver most entrancingly and striped the shapely bottomcheeks with livid red weals. This form of entertainment excited Andre to fever pitch and he would retire for the night with one or more of the best-looking girls and sometimes with the Madame herself, to enjoy the pleasures of copulation, while the girls recalled or invented for his amusement tales of their experiences, in the realms of corporeal punishment and sadism.
CHAPTER EIGHT
The third member of the newly revived and remarkably expanded Cult of Sathanas was Herr Otto Vormann, a tall, harsh-featured man of forty-five and the son of a wealthy German industrialist. At the time of Hitler's coming to power, he had been about twenty, and even then had shown the most advanced penchants for sexual sadism. He was married to a tall, buxom, honey-haired woman of forty, Helga Osterman, who shared his own lusts and indeed had met him while he was headmaster of a girls' private school. Otto Vormann had shown no interest in taking over his father's business and had deputized his father's foreman to look after the manufacturing plant. Dietrich Osterman's daughter Helga had naturally felt great gratitude towards Otto Vormann for his kindness towards her father, and thus the union had been anticipated ... but even Otto Vormann himself could not have anticipated Helga's superb erotic talents which made her such a worthy collaboratress.
So at twenty-two, this tall, morose-looking man, one of the wealthiest in Germany, stood before a classroom of girls who could not know that he was prodigiously rich instead of being an obscure schoolteacher. He soon proposed to Helga that she assist him, and when she found that he delighted in whipping the girls in his charge, she took to her new role with imagination and enthusiasm which fairly captured Otto Vormann's affections.
The school was only a small country house deep in the heart of the Black Forest, with about thirty pupils who had been carefully chosen by the young industrialist-heir, and they were mostly orphans and abandoned girls, or else girls whose parents traveled for long periods of time, so that no concern would be paid to what happened to the unfortunate victims thus abandoned to Otto Vorman's not so tender mercies.
The rooms of the school were built very much like prison cells, with bars and heavy wooden desks, but the house was also fitted out with a special punishment room equipped with all the necessary accoutrements for flagellations, such as whipping horses and benches, rings fixed in the walls, bars suspended from the ceiling. However, many of the punishments were administered in the classrooms or wherever the sadistic headmaster and his equally cruel young headmistress desired.
Otto Vormann was able to staff this school with a suitable number of mistresses, mostly women who had been wardresses in prisons or governesses to recalcitrant youngsters, so that the unfortunate pupils were kept in a constant state of terrified subjugation. Otto Vormann was looked upon not at all like a perverse eccentric, for the Germans by tradition have always had a flair for cruelty and sadism. Moreover, the local parson of the village in which this school was located, himself had an overwhelming passion for teenaged girls and for witnessing their punishment, so he was often present as a spectator or sometimes to assist personally in inflicting chastisement to the shapely bare bottoms of the unfortunate young victims.
Otto Vormann's school was divided into three classes of about ten girls each; the first was for girls from eleven to thirteen, the second for girls from fourteen to sixteen, and the third class for girls and young women above that age. Indeed, some of the "girls" were fully grown women, the eldest at this time being a woman of twenty-five. She was a tall, well-developed blonde who stood nearly six feet tall in her low-heeled shoes. She had been enrolled in the school for about three years, and by now was thoroughly subjugated, through a course of merciless discipline. This woman presented quite a ludicrously amusing and at the same time sexually provocative sight in her short mid-thigh gym slip which revealed her long, shapely legs to advantage. Wherever she bent forward or sat down, she revealed more than a glimpse of navy blue schoolgirl panties which were part of the obligatory school uniform worn in this singular institution by all pupils.
At about the time Hitler was marching upon Czechoslovakia, Otto Vormann decided to pay a visit to the second class, which was being trained in submission by a grim-looking virago of a former prison wardress by the name of Frau Helden. As Vormann and his wife entered the classroom, they saw that their worthy mistress engaged in administering a relatively mild chastisement to the nude seat of one of her pupils. A girl of fifteen had been made to take down her schoolgirl panties, tuck up her gym slip, and bend over the teacher's desk. The rest of the class was looking on in nervous silence while Frau Helden delivered a sound thrashing with a two-foot steel ruler to a pair of delightfully rounded girlish buttocks. When the Vormanns entered the room, all the girls stood to attention, and the mistress herself paused in her congenial task to drop the headmaster and headmistress a welcoming curtsy.
Frau Helden recommenced her task with renewed vigor; her left hand firmly pressing the lovely young victim down on the desk, her right hand wielding the flexible steel ruler with a regular, unhurried severity. Each stroke of the punishing ruler left a scarlet band across the girl's shivering bare bottom-cheeks, and she gasped or cried out at every smarting Thwack! that warmed her tender backside. Soon the tears were running down the poor girl's cheeks, while the cheeks of her pretty, plump posterior began to bleed slightly as the edges of the ruler cut into the tender flesh. Still the merciless thrashing continued, and it took all the hefty ex-wardress's strength to hold the frantically writhing girl in position as her cries of pain rose to shrieks and howls of agony. Frau Helden began to vary the method of delivery, sometimes striking at the soft, sensitive flesh of the girl's thighs so that she began to kick and thrash her legs, giving Otto Vormann a delightful view of her hairy little quim; the cheeks of her girlish bottom were opening and closing like a flower, and the man could see the little crinkled anus shyly appearing, then hiding in the shadowed cleft of the girl's rump. The cruel woman now started to give alternate strokes with the sharp edge of the steel ruler, so the narrow, vivid red lines intermingled with the broad bands that already covered the sobbing girl's exposed derriere.
When the thrashing at last came to an end, the poor girl, almost hysterical with pain and shame, was allowed to pull up her panties, and, after curtsying to the head and to the two mistresses, return to her seat in the class. This scene, however, had only served to whet the Vormann's lewdly cruel appetites, and the man next decided to have a group punishment.
Brusquely, he ordered all the girls to stand to attention, and when they tremblingly and apprehensively had obeyed, he told them he was not satisfied with the promptitude with which they obeyed orders, and proposed to teach them all a lesson in the virtues of instant and unquestioning obedience to orders. Thereupon, he ordered them to take down their panties ... and it was laughable to see the rapidity with which the order was obeyed. A score of hands thrust up gym slips, trembling fingers were inserted in the elastic of the schoolgirl panties, and the blue cotton undergarments were hastily dragged down over girlish hips to slip down their legs to the floor.
Next, all the girls were made to hold up their tunic skirts well above their slender waists and bend over their own school desks. Otto Vormann then thought of his unhappy pupils: he opened wide the two windows in the room, so that the girls felt an icy cold winter wind blowing through the room, making them even more humiliatingly conscious of the shameful exposure of their naked hindquarters. The poor girls' legs and hindquarters were soon shivering with the cold, whereupon Vormann laughingly taunted them, promising that if they felt rather cool behind, he would be glad to warm their bottoms by means of a little corporeal punishment.
There were three rows of desks, and Otto Vormann took the back row, telling his wife and Frau Helden to take the other two rows so that he could get the best view of the other suffering girls while he dealt with his own quota. Each of the adults armed themselves with vicious-looking dog whips, and soon the first three girls felt the cruel lashes curling around their plump, attractive nude buttocks. The pretty, rounded girlish behinds jerked and quivered wildly as the lashes wealed their creamy tender flesh. The girls groaned or squealed in pain and shock, but none dared to try to escape from the atrocious punishment for fear of incurring torments even more savage. Vormann's first victim was a pretty, curly-headed blonde of fourteen, and she had to endure an added humiliation, for the man put his left arm around and between the girl's legs to cup the pouting-lipped cunt while he whipped her bare buttocks.
Each of the girls was given twelve hard cuts with the stinging dog whips full across the tensed flesh of their plump, attractively displayed bottom-cheeks; and when the three adults moved on to the next victims, the girls had been thoroughly, if distressingly, warmed and their burning derrieres showed a pretty pattern of vivid weals, while they sobbed with pain and shame and longed to rub their smarting flesh to try and soothe the hurt. However, they did not dare to move from their bending positions without permission, so they had to remain motionless until the rest of the punishment was over.
Of the next three girls, Helga Vormann's victim was a saucy little fifteen-year-old who had just received the ruler spanking at the hands of Frau Helden. Her backside was still bleeding slightly from several of the purpling stripes, but in spite of her piteous condition, she received no mercy from the headmistress. Taking her cue from her husband, Helga placed her left arm around the girl's waist, forced her hand reluctantly in between her parted legs, and introduced two fingers rudely into the tender girlish quim. Then, as her supple whip swept down again and again over the girl's heaving, wriggling buttocks, she added considerably to her victim's agony by forcefully pinching and kneading the girl's private parts, pressing her tiny clitoris between her finger and thumb until the poor girl shrieked her distress, pulling and twitching at the pouting cunt lips so that the punishment to her sexual parts equaled the severity of the pitiless thrashing of her bleeding behind.
Of the last three girls to suffer their turn at the whippings, Herr Vormann's selection was a charmingly, well-built brunette who had spent a long period of time at the school and learned from experience a way of at least slightly reducing the severity of her treatment. As soon as she felt Vormann's hand pushing down between her hips and two insistent fingers penetrating her soft, warm vagina, she began at once to move her haunches to and fro in a quick movement. She gave the headmaster a nervous, supplicating smile, and proceeded to masturbate herself with a show of simulated passion on his cunt-intruding fingers. Her vagina soon moistened, and her lascivious hip movements began to take on the jerky motion of real sensual satisfaction; her bottom swayed artfully, and the cheeks of her buttocks opened and closed with her lewd activity just as though she were in fact being severely whipped. However, the ruse worked, for Vormann contented himself with giving the anxious schoolgirl twelve relatively light strokes of his whip, which merely served to increase the vigor of her lubricious movements.
When he had delivered the twelve quick cuts of the lash, he laid down the whip and began patting, caressing and kneading the girl's firm, resilient bottom flesh, and she, lucky girl, wriggled even more intensely to express her gratitude as both watched the other floggings with wildly different feelings. The other girls were by no means as lucky as their shrewder young companion.
Helga had a little pigtailed child of thirteen pressed firmly down onto her desk, while she flailed the writhing, quivering girlish bottom with all her considerable strength. She applied the first six lashes diagonally over the nicely curved behind so that the tips of her whip stung the tender upper thighs, and by simply drawing back her whip at each cut, managed to draw blood from every little stripe. The girl's hips jumped and her legs thrashed wildly as she screamed and begged vainly for mercy: her contortions became even more violent when the second half-dozen strokes were given with devilishly accurate flicks of the woman's powerful wrist. The snapper of her cruel dog whip cracked into the schoolgirl's secret and sensitive parts, planting its stinging kisses right into the crack of her bottom, tantalizing the little orifice of her rectum and smacking cleverly right against the tender lips of the girlish pussy. When this girl was at last released, she slumped over her desk in a dead faint.
Frau Helden's last victim was also undergoing a most severe punishment, for the worthy woman had thought of a little variation to add to her discomfort. The girl was a tall, well-built redhead of sixteen, with a fully developed bosom and broad, full haunches. The mistress had put her left arm around the girl's waist, but instead of thrusting her hand between the legs as she had seen her two superiors doing, she locked her fingers in the bush of copious red pubic hair and pulled upwards so that her victim was shifted to her toes and part of her weight was painfully supported by the pubic hairs. In this most uncomfortable and humiliating position, the luckless girl was subjected to a savage thrashing with the lash snaking again and again across her plump, wriggling rump, leaving an interlacing pattern of angry-looking weals, and causing her, in spite of her desperate attempts to stand still, to jerk her full, womanly haunches, thus increasing the painful tension applied to the pubic region.
At last the whippings came to a conclusion, but the youngsters' sufferings did not. At Helga's whispered suggestion, Herr Vormann announced that he was going to allow the girls to cool their doubtless overheated bottoms. He told his own last victim that she was excused for the next part of the program and was to remain indoors with him, but the other poor girls were escorted out of the room onto the snow-covered quadrangle. They were made to hold up their own skirts as they slowly shuffled out, hampered as they were by their panties about their ankles. They were urged towards their goal by a few smarting whip cuts on their already weal-decorated posteriors. While the others stumbled out into the snow, Vormann led his own girl to a window, where she was directed to lean on the windowsill. He made her open her legs, and with ruthless pressure forced his sexual weapon deep into her narrow young cunt. She responded with a further show of passion, so he vigorously fucked her, and they both observed the distress of the other girls, forced to sit nude in the snow.
When the Vormanns' parson-friend was a guest at the school, he liked particularly to observe the physical training class for the youngest girls-those between eleven nd thirteen. There was among the staff a special physical training mistress, a muscular, singularly plain woman of thirty with decidedly Lesbian tendencies, who took the greatest pleasure in putting the girls through their paces in such a way that their actions gave her and the spectators the maximum of entertainment.
The girls were supposed to go through their gym classes dressed in vest and panties of tight-fitting yellow silk and some times for the sake of variety, they were actually allowed to do so, although it more often happened that the unfortunate girls were made to strip to their gym shoes and socks, facilitating the frequent whip or cane cuts with which they were urged to greater efforts.
The reverend parson liked to take one of the prettiest and youngest of the girls on his lap to fondle and probe her childish treasures while he watched the rest of the form hard at work trying-usually in vain-to satisfy the demands of their harsh taskmistress. Vormann himself was often present at these exercise sessions, and he usually took an active part. He liked to use a thin swishy malacca cane on those occasions at least with the younger girls, while the gym mistress armed herself with her favorite weapon, a vinegar-soaked birch rod. The luckless schoolgirls were made to assume diverse positions. Leaning down to touch their toes, they would inevitably receive a swishing Thwack of the stinging cane across their nicely curved little bottom-cheeks on the pretext that they had not been sufficiently quick to assume the required position. Some had to pose bending over backwards, and they usually felt the smart of the cane or birch strokes on the tender flesh of their bellies or the fronts of their thighs.
However painful the headmaster's treatment of the girls, they infinitely preferred his stinging cane strokes to the attention of the gym mistress, for her favorite trick was to make the girls take up any of the required positions with their legs widely astride; and while they nervously went through the motions of their exercises the mistress, with gleaming eyes and a cruel smile on her thin lips, delighted in applying vicious little cuts with her damply flexible birch rod between the slender parted legs. The girls were of necessity allowed to cry out with the pain of the stinging strokes, but they were not permitted to move from the positions they had been told to assume, under the threat of really severe chastisement. As they exercised in the main punishment room, there was indeed everything ready at hand to give the girls almost any kind of punishment or torture.
There were several whipping horses in the room, and these were used during gym classes as vaulting horses. The schoolgirls had to line up and do the side-wise vault. As they cleared or perhaps failed to clear the horse, with legs widespread, the gym mistress gave them added impetus with a savage birch stroke right in between their lissome young thighs. With this not very helpful assistance to their jump, it was not surprising that most of the girls fell on the mat at the far side of the horse in a ludicrous tangle of sprawling arms and legs. Here they were set upon by Otto Vormann who, with his supple malacca cane, now hastened them out of the way of the next top by the simple expedient of a few smart switches across their plumply attractive bare buttocks, the gym mistress liked to end these sessions with the application of a painful and humiliating kind of first aid to the damaged posteriors, often bleeding from several cuts, by daubing them over their bottoms and pussies with strong, burning iodine.
In the year 1940, Herr Vormann, who had been a member of the Nazi party since the very beginning and had gained for himself a position of considerable influence by means of lavish contributions to the party funds, used his influence to have his estates converted into a concentration camp for women. He himself was appointed camp commandant with the rank of colonel in the SS; a rank which gave him very great power even in the outside community, as he soon discovered by the changed attitude of the local notables, who had intended to look askance at the activities of his rather strange girls' school. Now, however, they were only too eager to attract his favorable notice, and this included also the young ladies of the district, many of whom were now willing to open not only their blouses but also their legs to the very influential young man. Some of them allowed hidden streaks of sadism to be expressed, and gave him quite unnecessarily vigorous encouragement to thoroughly punish the enemies of the Third Reich who were confined within the barbed wire of his camp, even boldly hinting that they would consider it a great favor to be allowed to share or even assist in giving one of the young hussies their just deserts. These offers were sometimes accepted, especially if the lady making the suggestion was herself capable of giving Herr Vormann lascivious pleasure with her own person or her lewd conversation.
With the arrival of the first batch of women and girl prisoners came a detachment of SS guards, both male and female, and the new camp commandant quickly found that his position of authority called for obedience not only in the field of controlling the prisoners. The wardresses themselves were only too anxious to satisfy their superior's every whim in the matter of sexual play, and they vied with one another to attract the young Kommandant to their own feminine charms, as well as to offer him the most solicitous assistance in the sensual flogging, torturing and raping of the helpless female prisoners.
These girls and women consigned to the lust of their Nazi overlords were confined in large barracks-like wooden huts, and took their exercise on a large cement-covered parade ground centered amid the huts. Otto Vormann still operated his famous girls' school, but by now the pupils were considered permanent inmates; and since they had by now lost even the hope of eventual redress for the wrongs done them-since release was denied them-there treatment became even more severe.
The benign, hypocritical parson was still a frequent visitor to the school and to the rest of the camp, but now he was encouraged to indulge his lubricious desires to the fullest extent. When he watched a class of little girls being put through their exercises, he was authorized to select any girl whom he fancied, sit her astride his knees and edge his rampant penis up her immature little quim while over her shoulder he watched the other young girls running and jumping, bending and posturing to the stern orders of the sadistically Lesbian gymnastics mistress. The familiar Swish and Thwack of her birch rod enforced the need for swift obedience and made the lovely little bottoms jerk and wriggle enticingly as the schoolgirls squealed and sobbed in distress. Such a spectacle naturally incited the rut of the parson to an inordinate degree!
Some new methods of bondage and torture were introduced into the school at about this time; one of Otto Vormann's favorite apparatuses for use in both the school and the concentration camp was called "the electric lover." The first of the school pupils to suffer this "Lover's " unwelcome embraces was the oldest girl, now twenty-six years of age, well built, blonde and nearly six feet in height, a really stunning Amazon. By this time, she was in a complete state of subservience, and was forced to satisfy the lusts of her chief tormentor even before the rest of the school.
Otto Vormann had gradually become more and more attracted to the full womanly charms of his senior schoolgirl; and when a punishment session was in progress in the senior class, he liked to inflict upon her obscene caresses which the poor girl had to endure with as good grace as she could muster. While the form mistress took a good-looking girl of twenty or so, made her bend over the desk in front of the class, lifted the short gym slip above her waist, pulled the blue panties down to the girl's knees and proceeded to administer a sound caning to the plump, naked and shapely feminine bottom, Vormann would take his place behind the big girl's desk in the front row of the class, make her bend over her desk, and uncovered her hindquarters. He liked to do this with the use of his malacca cane, first flipping the girl's short tunic skirt up over her broad hips; then inserting the end of his cane inside the elastic of her panties, he would thrust the instrument down the valley of her bottom-cheeks until the end of the cane reached her crotch. Then, using the strong cane as a lever, he pushed down the near end so that the other end was forced hard up between the girl's soft plump thighs and the cotton panties were slowly forced down over her quivering behind.
When he had got the girl's splendid posterior quite bared, he would order her to pull apart the cheeks of her bottom, and then often his own wife would assist him in enjoying the sexual penetration of the soft feminine rectum. Helga liked to put her husband's rampant member to the schoolgirl's anus; then Otto Vormann, gripping the girl's hips firmly with both hands, would accomplish the full penetration with one violent heave of his powerful loins. And while the thrill of a ruthless bottom fuck mounted him to heights of lubricious ecstasy, he enjoyed the added thrill of seeing the chastised girl's naked buttocks quivering and shaking under a veritable hail of burning, wealing cane strokes delivered by the excited class mistress.
When Otto Vormann decided to try out his new toy on the overgrown schoolgirl, he had her brought to the special central punishment room by the senior assistant mistress, an elderly and ugly ex-prison wardress who made up for her lack of physical attractions to her employer by the assiduity with which she sought to please him in the administration of punishments and tortures of a sexual nature.
On this occasion she led the mature blonde into the torture room and quickly secured her in a standing position with her wrists secured to a wooden bar suspended from the ceiling and her ankles attached to ring bolts set about three feet apart in the floor. The apparatus, which was simply an ingenious electric shocking machine, was then wheeled into position beside the luckless victim and the two large specially fashioned terminals were applied. These terminals were thick brass rods, and the elderly woman first rudely opened the lips of the young woman's slit while Otto
Vormann forced one of them far into her vitals. Then, turning to the girl's rear, the woman roughly pulled the lovely firm bare bottom-cheeks as far apart as she could, remarking as the rod was rammed up the distended anus that "this was doubtless the first time the bitch had been raped in both her sexual orifices at the same time and indeed by the same lover." When the apparatus was ready, Otto Vormann began to flick the switch on and off with only a low voltage on the machine. The throbbing shocks deep in the girl's most intimate parts made her wriggle and sway her haunches most prettily, just like a bitch in heat, as the elderly mistress jeered. Gradually Vormann increased the power of the electric shocks, and the girl's wriggling contortions became even more provocative and amusing to the two fascinated spectators.
The elderly schoolmistress, quick to notice a subtle change in the character of the girl's lascivious contortions, pointed out to her employer that the girl was in spite of herself becoming sexually stimulated by the violent surges of sensation that disturbed her most intimate parts. As Vormann slowly increased the voltage even more, the girl jerked her haunches back and forward "Like a passionate bride on her wedding night," as the lewd-minded spinster sneered to her master. The elderly spinster, sitting beside Vormann, accidentally allowed her arm to brush against his genitals and, emboldened by the feel of his rigid erection, released the man's weapon from his trousers and proceeded gently and skillfully to masturbate him while both watched with obscene joy the lascivious writhing of the overgrown schoolgirl's splendid thighs and the sexually exciting quivering and swaying of her glorious naked posterior.
Since the girl had been stripped of her shoes and hose for the experiment, the spectators could also enjoy the sight of her full, proudly uptilted breasts as they jiggled and swung to the poor girl's jerking movements. When the victim's lubricious motions denoted that her emotions were drawing to a climax, Vormann switched off the mechanism and roughly pulled out the big brass terminals from the girl's slit and bottom-hole, causing her to emit a squeal of pain. Then without further ceremony, he rammed his own sex organ into the soft warm oozing vagina. While he vigorously fucked the girl, half crazed with sex stimulation, shock and shame, his companion seized a supple little riding whip and began to regulate the girl's sex movements by cruelly switching the whip full across her plump resilient buttocks. The girl cried out at each burning stroke, but she was already roused to such a pitch of lascivious excitement that soon both she and Vormann were spending in a perfect frenzy of enjoyment. When Vormann disengaged his weapon, the mistress very solicitously sponged his organ in cool refreshing water before finally releasing the unhappy girl.
In the camp surrounding the girls' school, the treatment meted out to the luckless inmates was even more harsh than that within the school. If for instance one of the women were to be given a taste of the electric lover, the voltage would be slowly increased until the poor victim was quite crazed with the shock and internal burns caused by the infernal contraption. Other punishments were-likewise more severe in character, it was not at all unusual for the camp commandant to order a public flogging of as many as half a dozen of the women in the central exercise ground. There were several stakes in the centre of the ground which had rounded tops and an ingenious hand mechanism for arranging their height to anything from three to seven feet above the ground so that the woman could be attached either in a standing position against the post or if desired could equally conveniently be made to bend over the top of the post in its low position and be secured by the wrists and ankles to rings set into the concrete around the base of the stake. This latter was the most favored position since it made the woman display her physical treasures to the best advantage.
An occasion which will serve to illustrate the type of public flogging indulged in at the camp was when Otto Vormann had finally given in to the constant importunings of an aristocratic acquaintance who had been trying to persuade the man to allow her to witness some punishment of the camp women. The lady was a good-looking widow of thirty, the Countess von Dallingen, and she had furthered her plans by inviting Otto Vormann to intimate little dinner parties at her country house. Then over coffee, brandy, and cigars, she persistently turned the conversation to the subject of corporal punishment for women and girls, at first the man had not been particularly impressed by her tentative stories of delinquent schoolgirls having their panties taken down to receive a sound spanking or caning at the hands of some governess.
When however the woman boldly stated one evening, "If I had half an hour to punish one of the women at your camp, I would have her stripped stark naked and tied astride a trestle, then I would thrash her naked buttocks until the blood ran down her thighs, but that would not be all. I would slash the whip right up between her legs! Don't you think these enemies of the state deserve to have their sexual regions whipped as well as their fat bare behinds?" Herr Vormann sat up and began to take more notice of his attractive companion. And when she lifted the hem of her fashionable dinner gown and putting one hand to the crotch of her lace-trimmed black silk panties, said "Besides, a woman is so very sensitive here, I am sure I could make one of those bitches really squeal and wriggle by means of a few dozen well-directed lashes."
He leaned forward, thrust one of his hands under the lady's soft warm bottom and pressed one finger hard up into the cleft of her bottom so that the silk of her undies was pressed into the tight little anus while he replied. "This also is a very suitable region in which to whip a bound female. You can imagine how a woman would feel when the lash of a whip sweeps right in here." The countess gave him a sweet smile of encouragement, their conversation and caresses grew more and more lewd until not surprisingly Vormann found himself enjoying the rest of the night in the countess's warm ardent embrace, and the countess had to her great joy got him to invite her to a punishment show at the camp the very next day.
When the countess arrived, she was met by Otto Vormann and led straight to the parade ground where six women were being attached to the stakes in the kneeling position. Their legs were spread well apart at the base of the posts and their hands fastened at the other side, then a leather strap was passed over their waists and fastened tightly to each side of the posts, so that all was now in readiness for the show.
The six women had on this occasion been chosen for their physical charms and not because of any alleged misconduct, so the show had attracted many of the off-duty guards and wardresses who were always eager to see any of the more attractive women being subjected to a flogging or any of the various tortures and humiliations which it pleased their superior to have inflicted. When the women were in position, Otto Vormann signed to six burly SS men who waited at one side idly swishing their wicked leather horse whips. The men stepped forward, raised the skirts of their selected victims and carefully pinned them up above the women's waists. Then roughly thrusting hands pushed inside the elastic of their panties and the garments were torn from the women's haunches. The six men stepped back and waited for the sign to begin.
When Vormann made the required signal, six muscular arms rose and fell as one, the vicious lashes whistled through the air and cracked down across the women's plump shapely naked buttocks leaving a livid scarlet welt over the soft creamy flesh of six pairs of pretty bottom-cheeks and making the poor women jerk their haunches and scream at the atrocious burning pain. The lashes rose and fell methodically in unison while a chorus of cries and squeals filled the air and the creamy bottom-flesh of the bound women slowly became crisscrossed with bleeding stripes.
The countess watched with heaving bosom and glittering eyes. This was just the kind of savage flogging as she had hoped for, and she pressed Otto Vormann's arm to indicate her gratitude. Some of the strokes were directed to the women's under thighs, and soon their entire exposed rears were quite covered with the vivid whip stripes. Countess von Delligen was thrilled to the core when at a further sign from her companion, the SS men took a position astride their unfortunate women victims and resumed the terrible flogging with strokes applied, still in unison, straight down the crack of the quivering feminine behinds so that the cruel lashes bit deeply right into the crotch.
The kneeling girls were now having to endure almost unbearable torment as the lashes, aimed with well practiced skill, swept into the shadowed valley between their nicely curved bottom-cheeks, slicing into their tender brown little arse holes and making the snapper at the tip of the cruel whips crack right into the downy pouting-lipped sexual slits. Close observers could actually see the tip of the lashes penetrate into the girls' vaginas in some cases, causing the women to shriek in perfect agony and making them swing and jerk their haunches in frenzied though vain attempts to deflect the strokes from their most sensitive parts. The Countess von Delligen pointed derisively at a charmingly voluptuous young woman in the centre of the line and sneered to her attentive companion, "Just look at the way that fat bitch is wriggling her bare bottom! By the way she is squealing, I think the whip must be kissing her little clitoris, don't you, dear?"
Eventually the flagellation was brought to a conclusion because two of the tortured women had fainted and hung limply in their bonds. This most welcome cessation was not, however, due to any softening in the , flinty hearts of the tormentors but simply because
Vormann decided that there was not sufficient amusement to be derived from beating an inert female body. The next step in the procedure was to have all the girls thoroughly revived with a whiff or two of strong smelling salts so that they could appreciate the shame and humiliation which had been planned as a crowning indignity to suitably end their punishment. As soon as all was ready for the last act, six smartly uniformed SS women appeared on the scene, each leading a huge German Wolfhound.
When the six SS women took up their positions behind their sobbing victims, Countess von Dellingen realized the significance of the scene and expressed her satisfaction by giggling with delight as she commented, "What a most appropriate punishment, darling. I can just imagine what these women bitches will feel like when they feel a big dog getting stuck into their sore pussies, it will make the name bitches suit them even more than it does already."
The Wolfhounds started to sniff enquiringly at their women partners, thrusting damp cold noses between the outstretched female legs. But this small shame and discomfort changed to a nightmare of horror when the wardresses encouraged the dogs to mount their unwilling sex partners.
AH watched with satisfied amusement when the dogs got into the rhythm of the sexual act; they wrapped their forelegs tightly round the poor girls' waists and jerked their hindquarters in and out with rapidly mounting intensity, panting and slavering on their girl victims as they fucked with bestial lubricity. Otto Vormann and the Countess moved closer to the scene of action and stood beside the youngest girl of the line. A dainty and petite little blonde of seventeen who was quite dwarfed by the enormous dog that was so brutally raping her. The attendant wardress, noting the interest of her master and hoping to attract his favor, bent forward and by artfully tickling and stroking her dog at the base of the spine incited him to even greater lascivious activity. Vormann, pleased with the woman's assiduity and also with the way her firmly opulent haunches were outlined under the tight uniform skirt, expressed his approval by casually patting and caressing the wardress' plump resilient posterior.
Women at Otto Vormann's camp were subjected to almost continual punishment on any pretext, or, for that matter, without any pretext other than the camp commandant's desire for a little sadistic entertainment. These punishments usually were in the nature of whippings on their shapely nude buttocks or any of the common variations of corporal punishment like the application of chastisement to the luckless woman's thighs, breasts or her sexual regions, or alternatively the infliction of fairly mild forms of torture and sexual humiliation which would give the maximum of lubricious entertainment to the commandant and his depraved associates. If, however, a woman inmate was unfortunate enough to be considered insufficiently attractive or too worn out by continuous repetition of these punishments to afford any enjoyment to her tormentors, then she was executed publicly in the parade ground in any atrociously painful and shameful way that suited the vicious whims of Vormann and his staff.
A woman to be hanged would be first stripped to her shoes and stockings, the noose would be placed round her neck, her wrists would be bound behind her back and then the poor woman would be pulled up into the air to strangle slowly and very painfully. As the woman swung to and fro, kicking out her silk-stockinged legs, an SS man or woman added to the entertainment value of the spectacle by savagely prodding her with a long sharply pointed stick.
Many even more hideous forms of execution were practiced upon the hapless woman prisoners; in truth, there seemed to be no end to the ingenuity of Vormann and his cohorts when the subject of sadistic entertainments was considered. Sometimes a woman would be stripped nude, tied in a bending position over one of the punishment posts and her helpless body used by the guards for bayonet practice. The men took the greatest pleasure in ramming their long steel weapons up between a woman's parted legs, or stabbing them between the cheeks of their feminine bottoms; and wardresses liked to watch the female prisoners getting what they laughingly called "good bayonet fucking."
Often preliminary tortures of a rather damaging nature were first inflicted on the luckless creatures. A woman might for instance be stripped to her shoes and stockings and made to sit in a bowl of boiling water until her naked posterior was all swollen and blistered by the awful scalding heat, or she might be strung up by her widespread ankles and flogged with three-thonged martinets, with perhaps a guard standing behind her lashing alternately across her nude buttocks and down between her legs while in front stood a sturdy wardress whipping with all her strength the woman's breasts and sexual parts. Sometimes they smeared a woman's crotch with petroleum grease and set fire to her pubic hair, causing terrible agony.
Herr Vormann enjoyed his position of authority to the full throughout the war years. When the Hitler downfall was approaching, he managed to transfer his vast fortunes to South American banks, and there he sought refuge with his devoted wife and few of the most sadistic of the better looking wardresses. Once safely established in a large and luxurious hacienda with his staff, he began to collect a group of slave girls for his cruel amusements and in due course came into contact with Edward McNaughton and joined the newly reorganized Cult of Sathanas.
CHAPTER NINE
Besides Andre Descailles and Otto Vormann, there were tow other charter members of the Cult of Sathanas. like the Frenchman and the German, both had met Edward McNaughton in Buenos Aires, where the former English hunter-explorer had been visiting an elegant and very exclusive bordello where he had just made arrangements with the fascinating thirty-year-old proprietress, Hortensia Valdez, to divert some of the more exotically beautiful recruits to his own enterprising and flourishing trade in white slaves.
For by now the handsome mature and vastly wealthy Englishman had entered into full partnership with the Arabian slave dealer Ben Ali. He had promised that he would not only restore the Cult of Sathanas to life once more after nearly a generation, but that every second female slave whom he himself procured should be the property of the slave dealer for eventual sale either to some powerful and secret house of prostitution which catered to wealthy clients or else to influential amateur buyers such as the potentates of the Near East and to others whose wealth and discretion would make it impossible for such dealings to be uncovered by the authorities.
It had further been stipulated that the headquarters of the Cult of Sathanas should take their locale in the strange castle on the side of the mountain, not far from where Ben Ali had saved Edward McNaughton from the black-maned lion. Here, at a considerable cost which of course the sale of slaves defrayed, extensive remodeling had been achieved, magnificently furnished chambers for the guests and the regular members of this exclusive clique, as well as dungeons equipped with virtually every device known to the lovers of flagellation, bondage, torture and forcible domination, as well as rooms in which fetishistic costumes, manacles and implements of torture and fustigation. In the lower part of the castle, in what had formerly been a huge and drafty cellar, an auditorium had been constructed with an arena covered with sand in which gladiatorial duels between women and beasts, women and Negros or dwarfs or the pygmies of certain savage African tribes would be staged. In short, this "Fortress of Felicity" was to become a world unto itself in which there was only one credo: pleasure!
Edward McNaughton, as a patriotic Englishman whose family had for many generations served the Crown, had no great love for the Nazi Otto Vormann. Yet at the same time, since the handsome Englishman had renounced his country to live unto himself as presiding head of the Cult of Sathanas, he was from a practical viewpoint obliged to accept Vormann and the latter's still beautiful wife, Helga as partners in this vast underground enterprise precisely because Vormann had many valuable contacts and could procure unsuspecting and delectable girls and young women to swell the coffers of the Cult as well as those of Ben Ali. The Arabian slave dealer had himself recruited hundreds of laborers to work in the castle and to equip it so that it would be fit for a virtual king ... and such was Edward McNaughton's stature when, seated on a great throne-chair in the main hall, elevated upon a dias, he presided over the introduction of new slaves brought here first to satisfy the lusts of his companions and himself, then to be sold at auction to the highest bidders either at the slave market in the Kofari or dispatched by Ben Ali's couriers to various eager buyers at many exotic ports of call.
The fourth member of the Cult of Sathanas was Russian, and Edward McNaughton had met him in Paris about two years after the Englishman had restored the strange and incredibly powerful and sinister enterprise which mocked modern society in its rules and set to restore for the hedonistic and the wealthy and powerful the glorious days of feudal servitude, when a woman was born only for the carnal pleasure of the male and when her thoughts and feelings and emotions had no other purpose than to glut the sadistic and savoring perversities of her masters.
Vladimir Ukranoff was fifty-four, a White Russian who had been born to a vast estate in the Ukraine. He had been a boy when the October 1918 revolution had obliterated all of Czarist Russia and with it the autocratic privileges of the nobility. However, before that disaster, he had been taught by his widower father how to exercise feudal rights over all the workers and house servants in the family mansion as well as the laborers in the fields. Thus Vladimir Ukranoff's instincts for cruelty had been aroused through the boy's witnessing naked female bodies subjected to the frequent corporal punishments with which his father was wont to maintain discipline.
As a boy of twelve, he was always on hand to watch weeping young women having their bottoms bared as they knelt on a chair in the punishment room, their full peasant skirts pinned up above their waists, their long cotton drawers unfastened and dragged down to their knees. Young Vladimir experienced his first erection as he watched a handsome, superbly developed woman of thirty in this position, her naked bottom soundly thrashed by his father's leather belt, and secretly he masturbated as he saw those marble-white globes jerk and twist and slowly turn from milky pale to fiery red.
Vladimir's father married just before the outbreak of the revolution, choosing as his bride a beautiful and wealthy countess of thirty-four, who already had three pampered daughters, aged thirteen, fifteen, and sixteen. But Vladimir's stepmother dominated the boy's father and in turn the boy himself, and Vladimir was often flogged with his stepsisters looking on and giggling and making obscene remarks about his suffering.
When the revolution broke out, he was just thirteen. His father was assassinated by one of the serfs whose wife the old man had flogged and then raped, as was the law of the nobility in the days of the Czars. Shrewdly and with a precocity beyond his years, Vladimir Ukranoff had stolen a bag of gold, fled into the forest of Kromy to join the revolutionaries and boldly offered to aid them and to lead them to much booty and to beautiful women whom they could whip and torture and rape by way of avenging themselves for the cruelties which the nobility had perpetrated upon them.
And thus it befell that this incredibly sadistic youth, hardly out of puberty, led a band of howling peasants to the mansion where he had been born and directed them to seize the beautiful countess and her three daughters. He led his band of fifty men into the house, surprising the countess in her own sumptuous bed with her current lover, an officer of the Imperial Guard. The three daughters were there, as well as their handsome governess. The officer was immediately killed by a sabre thrust and then the countess, her daughters and the governess were dragged to the large underground punishment room where Vladimir had so early learned his skills as well as the inspiration for his lust.
The three young girls were secured to whipping horses, with their ankles and wrists strapped to the widely straddling legs of the trestles. The governess, a buxom and handsome woman in her mid-thirties, was strung up by her ankles to an overhead beam with her wrists tied behind her back, so that her voluminous skirts fell down beyond her waist and her spaciously knickered bottom-cheeks and tightly corseted was it were exposed to admiring leers and bawdy appraisals from her captors.
As for the countess, Vladimir had her tied in a standing pose with her arms above her head, her wrists tied to an overhead beam and with her legs straddled as hugely as could be done. Cords were bound around her slim ankles and in turn to rings fixed into the floor. Her filmy nightgown was ripped from her shrinking body and she stood stark naked before her tormentors, humiliated and terrified by their crudely obscene comments on her physical charms, and even more so by the lewdly caressing hands of the men who gathered round to feel her firm full titties, to slap and knead the plump flesh of her naked creamy buttocks and to probe lascivious fingers into her cunny and her dainty anus.
Vladimir himself took a horsewhip and flogged his stepmother's buttocks till they were covered with livid, bleeding welts. But when he saw that the countess was deriving pleasure from this treatment, he ordered one of his men to take a strap and to flog the insides of her thighs and up into her cunt, till she fainted with agony.
After she had been revived, Vladimir sodomized her, while he ordered a peasant woman in the group of revolutionaries to apply a birch rod to the countess's breasts while he bottom fucked the unfortunate beauty.
Then she was given to the other members of the band, while Vladimir turned his attention to the wailing governess, suffering from being hung upside down. Tearing off her panties and unfastening her corsets, he exposed her full rounded haunches and shapely plump bottomglobes for a sound thrashing. A blacksmith, bearded and brawny, at Vladimir's direction seized a six-thonged whip and began to flog the governess' bottom till the blood flowed. Watching gloatingly, Vladimir felt sexual desire seize him again, and he now moved to the whipping horse on which his young stepsister was straddled, lifted her skirts and pinned them above the waist. Two of his men at once did the same to the two other girls, ripping off their panties and fondling and pinching their bottoms and pussies while the young beauties begged hysterically for mercy.
Vladimir took a dogwhip and began to lash the dainty bottom of his youngest stepsister, while two other men flogged the two other girls. After the floggings, all three were repeatedly raped and sodomized. And when at last the orgy had satiated itself upon these five helpless women, their throats were cut ... and thus began the sadistic career of Vladimir Ukranoff.
And finally, the fifth and last member of the Cult of Sathanas was a woman, a magnificently beautiful Brazilian of twenty-seven, named Elena Rios.
Elena Rios was a daughter of Brazilian coffee plantation owner. Her fabulously wealthy father had been murdered by one of his disloyal workers over a fancied slight. Elena's governess had warned the girl that such a plot was brewing, but she had not been able to save Elena from the vengeful fury of the group of trabajos (workers) who sought to celebrate the murder of a tyrant. So at thirteen, this lovely, olive-skinned black-haired slim beauty was seized, stripped naked; and while a circle of men surrounded her, armed with switches and branches, she was forced under repeated lashings to crawl around on her knees and to perform fellatio on the swollen cocks proffered to her. Nauseated and revolted, she fainted several times, only to be revived with more lashings and buckets of cold water poured upon her naked, trembling young body. Then she was violated by a dozen men, but at least they spared her life.
They had reason to wish, a few months later, that they had put her to death. She had gone to the provincial governor of the province, fiercely demanded reprisal, and soldiers had been sent with her in a search for the ruffians. They were found, and Elena herself took a dagger and first hamstrung and then castrated each of the men who had violated her. The others were hanged as examples.
However, in order to safeguard her plantation till she came of age, she was compelled to become the mistress of the governor of the province, a sacrifice which she endured with stoic and heroic fortitude until her eighteenth birthday. By then, she had become a decided Lesbian, and she had induced her duenna, a magnificently beautiful woman of thirty-two, who shared her lubricious passions, to aid her in poisoning her profligate and elderly lover.
This done, Elena Rios went back to her father's plantation and ruled it with an iron hand. In many instances, she had girls from distant villages abducted and brought to her plantation where they were made to serve as slaves ... first in the fields by day and then to her at night in bed.
Edward McNaughton met her in a nightclub in Rio de Janeiro. And, after conversing with her, and learning of her past, proposed that she become a charter member of the Cult of Sathanas.
And thus it was that four men and a woman ruled a feudal realm so bizarre and yet so powerful that, in its short lifetime of about a decade, it accounted for at least three-quarters of the known transactions in white slavery and heaven alone knows how many unexplained and mysterious disappearances of young girls and women from all over Europe, the United States, and even Australia and the Orient....
CHAPTER TEN
The five charter members of the Cult of Sathanas were all met this night in late August, in a kind of celebration of the start of the tenth year of the founding of their secret society. And they were gathered in the subterranean auditorium-arena where, with Fraulein Ursula presiding as mistress of ceremonies, they would enjoy the fascinating and cruel spectacle.
The auditorium, constructed somewhat after the manner of a football stadium, had perhaps fifty seats on each side and an additional dozen at each end. These were sumptuous loges, with costly chairs upholstered in the finest red velvet and with firm rubber for comfort's sake, and swiveled or could tilt at any angle by touching a lever ... to obtain for the occupant a posture of comfort or of convenience in enjoying erotic pleasures. There were perhaps fifty slave-girls at present on the permanent staff of V Cult of Sathanas. These girls, who ranged from sixteen to twenty-eight in age, varied as to physique, temperament, and pigmentation. There were, for example, girls from Macao, superb Eurasian beauties with yellowish-ivory skins, cameo-like features, and supple, lithe bodies adept in all the perverse as well as natural acts of love. There was a beautiful Japanese girl named Miyoto who served Elena Rios, and a stately, full-bosomed Dutch girl named Margit who was the slave of Helga Vormann. The Frenchman Andre Descailles had as his personal body slave an exquisite Portuguese girl of nineteen named Ariana. Vladimir Ukranoff delected in two magnificent slaveg irls, both of them sisters, and, understandably, Russian: Olga and Tanya, seventeen and twenty respectively, the former blonde and buxom, the latter black-haired and svelte.
As for Edward McNaughton, his personal slave was a young woman of twenty-two, Felicia Mordaunt, and she knelt beside her master, offering in her slim hands a silver tray on which was placed a golden goblet filled with a vintage Tokay and a plate of biscuits flown in from London to Algiers, and thence trekked across the desert by camel caravan.
One can comprehend why Edward McNaughton took such delight in his slave girl. She had the first name of his fiancee, Felicia Trent, who had been outraged by his salacious audacity upon their reunion nearly a decade ago and whom he had humiliatingly chastised in her own salon. And Felicia Mordaunt resembled her namesake in some ways, being about the same height and weight, her light brown hair coiffed in helmet style, with a row of tiny curls along the top of her forehead. Her face was a poignant oval, and her hazel eyes were very large and eloquent, widely spaced apart between the bridge of an aristocrat little aquiline nose. Her mouth was wistful and soft, the upper lip slightly riper. Her chin was firm and dimpled, and it had the indomitable character which he had remembered of Felicia Trent in the past.
She wore only a short tunic of red silk, gossamer-sheer, descending just to the tops of her long slim thighs. Her body had a kind of boyish litheness to it, and her calves were sleek and sinuously high-set. Her buttocks were spacious, firm, gradually separated ovals, and her breasts were gloriously high-perched, set widely apart and firmed like uptilting, ripe gourds, with pert rosy nipples and narrow, dark coral aureolae. Her skin was flawless and satiny-soft, and of a pale white tint which he found irresistible.
She had of course been a virgin. Edward McNaughton had at once claimed her, but Ben Ali had offered him the bargain of keeping the next three slaves for the Cult without a penny of profit to himself if Edward McNaughton would only relinquish this superb prize. After all, the Arabian slave-dealer haggled, it had been his agents who had learned of the arrival of Felicia Mordaunt and her father in Monte Carlo and had made the arrangements for this audacious kidnapping.
But once the handsome Englishman learned the name of this captured beauty, he chuckled sardonically and declared that he would not only give Ben Ali back the ten thousand English pounds, but add an additional ten thousand and that the next two slaves should be the property of the slave dealer, and so it had been agreed.
That first night, when he had entered her dungeon, naked except for a fine silk dressing gown and sandals, she had risen from her straw palate and confronted him, like a courageous young tigress at bay before the hunter. He had told her calmly and coldly where she was and what was expected of her, and she had defied him. He had ordered her to strip naked, and she had laughed and refused. Even a few lashes from the cruel African kurbash, a whip make of rhinoceros hide and murderously stinging with its tapering, flexible tip, had not compelled her to obedience. He had admired her spirit and desired her the more. Flinging aside the kurbash, Edward McNaughton had seized her in his arms, and forcibly ripped off her garments, but not without a ferocious struggle. She had scratched him to the blood, kicked him and buffeted him, reviled him as a coward and a traitor-for she knew from his voice and accent that he was of her own country-and spat in his face when finally, naked and panting and disheveled on the floor, her thighs forced apart by his heavy knee, Felicia Mordaunt had felt his prick burst through her hymeneal seal and take the prize of her cherished maidenhead.
This defiance, this mockery and almost exultant challenge, had stirred him more than he had believed possible. True, he had endowed this brown-haired beauty with the same attributes as those of his haughty ex-fiancee, and of course psychologically she was Felicia Trent's embodiment and thus the sublimation to Edward McNaughton for his brooding years on meditating on what he had lost by leaving England forever.
And so, this enigmatic and complex man, virile and sophisticated, who would have been welcome at the finest clubs and restaurants in the greatest cities of the civilized world, found himself reduced almost to a schoolboyish desire for Felicia Mordaunt, a desire which the whip and torture did not satisfy in the least, for whatever his threats or whatever his actual punishments to her were, she continued to defy him and to tell him that he took her by force but without her will and thus took nothing from her.
Some six months later, therefore, he had begun to woo her with all the artistry of which he was capable. He had had her tied to a bed, blindfolded and spread-eagled, and then lingeringly he had dallied with her, his fingertips caressing her sides and armpits, her tender groin, the slim calves and the inner thighs, until against her will, her body vibrated with an anguished turmoil of physical desire. His lips and tongue had titillated her thighs and belly, her nipples and armpits, until finally he had applied his mouth to her cunt in a long and sucking kiss that at last broke down her feverishly proud reserve and wakened the smoldering sexual passions of which this spirited young woman is capable.
Then, when he finally mounted her and thrust himself deep to the roots inside her tight warm crevice, she had known the most shattering of orgasms and she had cried out his name in a delirium of lust, even as she knew that her flesh had betrayed her.
The slaves already mentioned were, like Felicia, kneeling beside their masters and mistresses, clad in similar short diaphanous tunics and thong sandals. There were, besides the dignitaries of The Cult of Sathanas, about twenty privileged guests, of both sexes, all amateurs of bondage, servitude, flagellation, and torture from many corners of the world. There was, for example, a government official from Turkey with his voluptuously beautiful Lebanese wife Najda, sloe-eyed, opulent of body, with brown-sheened skin that had already drawn the avid gaze of Otto Vormann, for the former Nazi commandant lusted to see what color of welts his cane or martinet would leave on such exquisite epidermis.
But Najda herself was an imperatrix used to conquering slaves herself, much to the delight of her husband who shared her sadistic passions. They were both here to purchase a pair of slaves from the new consignment which had arrived only a few days before by camel caravan from the mysterious native quarter of the Kofari. The sale would be regulated by Edward McNaughton himself, and a strict accounting given to Ben Ali. For The Cult of Sathanas had various projects now at work, projects which required great sums of money for their success. There was, for instance, the proposal to abduct two lovely American movie starlets, to whisk them away for perhaps a weekend, drugged and blindfolded and unaware of their destination, for the purpose of a totally uninhibited orgy which would mark a certain anniversary of the Cult, and then to send them back as mysteriously and swiftly as they had been abducted.
The guests in the auditorium occupied luxurious quarters in the castle and had all the privileges of the five original "charter members" of this powerful and mysterious clique ... save that of amusing themselves with a newly acquired slave brought to the castle to be either trained for service there or especially instructed in a future servitude under the aegis of an affluent amateur or some other powerful sheikh or desert emir once she had been sent to the mart of the Kofari. The guests might be entertained only by those designated for the general use of visitors, and these did not include the personal slaves such as Felicia Mordaunt or the two beautiful Russian girls who belonged to Vladimir Ukranoff.
This council of five had voted that no one should be granted permanent membership among them unless he or she had distinguished himself or herself by some special coup which would receive unanimous approval and applause. Elena Rios had of course been the last admitted and this because she had taken such brilliant and sinister retribution against her father's murderers and then turned his plantation into a kind of slave colony from which it was easy to smuggle young women and girls on to Africa and the lair of Ben Ali.
Yet this was not to say that the guests were not indulged in all their whims and erotic fancies beyond any possibility of complaint. Indeed, when they did leave their surroundings to travel back through the desert and thence to some port or call from which they would embark by plane or ship for their native lands, they went back envious and dreaming of the days when perhaps one day they might sit in one of those great throne-chairs in the main hall of the castle, wearing the seal of The Cult of Sathanas, carrying the gold coin which alone betokened supreme mastery over this unique little realm which extended to almost every part of the world through its traffic in human souls and bodies.
Of the fifty slave girls who comprised the retinue of the castle, some twenty-five were so assigned and allocated for the enjoyment of the guests, and they, perhaps even more than the personal body slaves of the five masters and mistresses of this singular club, had to lend themselves unhesitatingly and without the slightest sign of rebellion to the most fantastic sexual whims of their pro tern overlords. Two of these girls had, unhappily for them, revolted against the brutal and obscene practices of a recent pair of guests to the castle, and tonight they would pay for their crime of defiance and rebellion in the arena.
These two unfortunate victims had been reserved to the very last, when the excitement of the elite audience would be at its peak. Now Fraulein Ursula emerged from a door at the other end of the arena, which slid back to admit her, and there was a round of applause for her original costume. The tall black-haired dominatress wore the costume of a Roman centurion, with metal breastplates, helmet, leg lacings and heavy sandals, and in her left hand she carried a bundle of fasces and in her right a three-thonged long black leather whip. Flanking her on each side was a lovely captive-slave, naked except for a G-string made of silver net, and sandals with a plumed gold cloth top hat jauntily perched on her lovely head and holding a long silver trumpet. At the imperatrix's sign, the two girls now lifted their trumpets and blew a fanfare to announce the opening of the games.
Once again the two girls blew their fanfare, and as the intently interested audience leaned forward to watch, the svelte dominatress announced in a clear, loud voice: "Ladies and gentlemen, honored rulers of The Cult of Sathanas, distinguished friends, I humbly bid you welcome to the entertainment which I have devised for your pleasure. For our first number, we shall try to represent a duel between two beautiful Amazons, the loser to fall prey of a Zulu warrior."
At once, the door at the other end of the arena slid back and two naked young women emerged. They were blindfolded, and they wore not a stitch of clothing even to sandals. Two matrons, imported from Germany by Helga Vormann, led them out, each matron grasping the elbow of a blindfolded slave.
A murmur of admiration ran through the audience at the sight of these captives. One was about five feet seven inches in height, about twenty years of age, with flaming red hair falling almost to her hips. Her skin was a milky white touched with exquisite rosy flecks, and under the lights which beamed down from the ceiling of this auditorium-arena, her nakedness was spectacularly exciting. The thick dark red fleece of her pubis covered the soft pouting lips of her quim. Her breasts were arrogant pears, set closely together, thrusting out boldly and jiggling at every step she took. Her buttocks were sumptuous ovals, set tightly together, and they undulated as she moved along the sand.
And now all was in readiness to begin. Each matron handed her blindfolded charge a long carriage whip, supple and flexible and viciously tapering at the end into a knotted tip. The whips were five feet long, with a short though not too heavy stock handle, easy to grip and to wield.
Then the matrons led the blindfolded contestants to the center of the arena, posing them about five feet apart and Fraulein Ursula intoned: 'Katherine and Natalie, you will now whip each other to determine who shall be the victor. She who first begs for mercy or who cannot rise after a count of one minute to resume the duel, shall be declared the loser and be given to the Zulu Mombassa. You will begin at the signal from the trumpeters!"
CHAPTER ELEVEN
The two Polish sisters raised their trumpets and blew a long sustained note. Fraulein Ursula stepped back and dropped the bundle of fasces to the sands of the arena. She gripped her whip the more firmly, her eyes keenly following the spectacle about to commence. For as each contestant slackened out of fear or shame, she would quicken them with the biting, burning kisses of her three-thonged whip.
With a sob, the blindfolded red-haired girl drew back her arm and swung out her lash haphazardly. It missed her brown-haired rival, but Natalie heard the whistle of the lash past her body and jumped back, almost losing her balance and tumbling onto the sands amid amused laughter from the spectators. Once again Katherine sent out her whip, and this time she grazed the calves of the naked brown-haired Belgian beauty who uttered a faint cry and stumbled, losing her balance and falling on her back amid even louder laughter. Quickly Fraulein Ursula intervened. Bending over the luckless girl, she applied her three-pronged whip in a savage cut over Natalie's belly, and with a shriek the unfortunate naked girl stumbled to her feet and moved to one side, drawing back her arm to cast out her long carriage whip.
Suddenly there was a vicious crack and a cheer from the spectators. By great good fortune, Katherine's whip tip had bitten home exactly in the navel of the Belgian girl. Natalie uttered a piercing shriek, clutched at her belly with her left hand, and tears flowed down her face as she bent over, agonized by this savage lash. Thus heartened, Katherine swung out her whip again, and it curled cruelly round the tops of Natalie's lush naked hips, making the Belgian girl twitch and jerk frantically, her breasts and buttocks jiggling in the most lascivious matter.
"Go on, bitch," Fraulein Ursula prompted in a hoarse, low voice, "or I'll flay you alive! Don't think you can escape punishment for your rudeness and unheard-of insolence to Senor Villegas!"
Thus terrorized, Natalie swept out her whip and success rewarded her; the long carriage whip coiled around the tops of Katherine's bare thighs, and it was the latter's turn to cry out in pain and to twist herself and stumble back.
In retaliation, the beautiful young redhead swung her whip out viciously, but missed in her estimate of where her rival was placed, and Natalie had success with another lash as the end of her whip cracked sonorously against the curve of one of Katherine's magnificent bubbies. A poignant shriek of despair and agony tore from the redhead, who dropped her whip and began to rub the tender spot with bare hands, while the audience hooted and jeered and offered salacious advice to the unfortunate victim. Fraulein Ursula once more interposed, by commanding Katherine to pick up her whip unless she wished at once to spend the night in the chamber of torture, and emphasized her command by applying her three-thonged whip across Katherine's beautiful sumptuous naked bottom.
Now the duel began in real earnest, for both girls had felt the torment and the stigma of the whip and understood what their fate would be unless they gave good accounting of themselves. The whistling of the lashes, the occasional sinister cracks as the carriage whip attacked and attained naked flesh, became a kind of symphonic tone poem in the arena, and those who heard and saw it shuddered with their own innate desires. Otto Vormann had drawn his body slave down on his lap, his hand between her quivering thighs, his pudgy forefinger tickling her clitoris while his mouth greedily fixed over one of her pert nipples which the thin silk tunic outlined in all its voluptuous ripeness. His wife had leaned back in her loge chair, while her slave girl crouched between Helga Vormann's fat thighs and, having dexterously hoisted up the woman's skirt under which she was naked, was gamahuching her.
Edward McNaughton sat, smoking a cigar, his other hand caressing Felicia Mordaunt's fair head. Felicia shivered, her beautiful wistful eyes gazing adoringly at her mature and perverse master, against whom every instinct in her being revolted and yet for whom her flesh had such burning desire. He had been strangely crying to her the past few weeks, having fallen into a mood of melancholy reflection which, much as Marcel Proust had done in his series of novels which revived and relived the past, made him think back many times of the strange concatenation of events which had brought him to this little-known locale in the Libyan Desert and to the forsaking of all that he had once held so dear.
Perhaps boredom and satiety were beginning to take their toll of him, as they necessarily must even of the most intrepid and sadistic ruler of The Cult of Sathanas. But that was because he had more sophistry and perhaps, having once led an active outdoor life, more impatience with the exotic and the prolonged. Where the Frenchman Andre Descailles or the cruel Otto Vormann set about their daily pursuits of lustful gratification with never-failing zeal and delight, there were times when Edward McNaughton had experienced a kind of distaste, a kind of Weltschmerz because he had tasted everything, experienced everything, and knew only too well that for all his wealth and power, he was bitterly lonely.
CHAPTER TWELVE
Now, urged on by the excited calls from the spectators in the loge seats, as well as by Fraulein Ursula's angry invectives, the naked contestants in the arena swept out their whips furiously, panting and gasping, their bodies glistening with sweat and already marked with angry darkening weals. Natalie had been more fortunate than her red-haired rival in finding the target despite her blindfold, but that was not to say that she too had not taken severe punishment. Her magnificent titties and the fronts of her thighs as well as her belly were lividly marked from the kisses of the long carriage whip which Katherine's fortunate aim had directed against her. But Katherine's buttocks were crisscrossed with welts, as were her waist and shoulders. The duel had reached its crescendo, and by now both girls were nearly exhausted. But the terror which hung over them, that of knowing that the loser would be given to a savage African tribal chief, quickened them to continue, each seeking to be victorious. They had been friends perhaps in the misery of their new life upon first setting foot across the threshold of this gloomy and hidden and impregnable castle; now they hated each other violently, and each wished herself to be victorious, caring nothing for the other's doom.
Suddenly Natalia lowered her whip to the sands and cast it out with a flick of her wrist. With miraculous accuracy, the tapering and knotted tip of the long carriage whip disappeared in the dark red tufts of Katherine's cunthole. A prolonged and anguished shriek burst from the fiery-red-haired victim. She dropped her whip, clutched her cunt with both hands and sank down to her knees, sobbing hysterically with unspeakable pain. Fraulein Ursula contemplated the anachronism of a Swiss wristwatch in gold and ornamented with diamonds, and coldly announced, "You have one minute, Katherine!"
Natalie stepped back, out of breath, her beautiful titties rising and falling violently, sweat bathing her voluptuous body. Then a wave of compassion swept her as she realized that her rival would now endure the most odious of expiations. As she sobbed aloud, "Oh, Katherine, forgive me, forgive me, I had to!"
"Another outburst like that, you Belgian bitch," Fraulein Ursula hissed, "and you shall be given to the Zulu just the same after I have finished with you! Shut your mouth and hold your whip, for she still has thirty seconds to resume the duel!"
But Katherine could not rise. That perfidious lash had made her pussy bleed and she whimpered and sobbed as she continued to soothe herself with both hands, the whip fallen to the sands.
"Ten seconds Katherine! Get up, you lazy, cowardly bitch!" Fraulein Ursula snarled, as she applied her three-thonged whip across the crouching naked redhead's shuddering shoulders. Again she slashed that smooth milky naked back, but Katherine was beyond strength to resume.
"Time!" the German imperatrix called, and gestured to the two trumpet-slaves who at once raised their shining instruments and blew a long fanfare.
Once again the farthermost door of the arena slid back, the two matrons returned, and between them strode a magnificent Negro, six feet five inches in height, almost as heavy as he was tall, naked save for a loincloth, his body painted with the symbols of his tribe.
The matrons approached now and at Fraulein Ursula's sign, dragged the whimpering and weeping Katherine to her feet, then forced her towards four solid wooden stakes dug into the sands. There they spread-eagled her on her belly, but with a wooden block under her waist which forced her to arch up her loins and thus to offer both the virginities of cunt and butt hole to the mighty phallus of the Zulu warrior Mombassa.
Still blindfolded, Katherine wept and pleaded for mercy, while Mombassa tore away his loincloth and, with a savage grunt, crouched down over the shuddering, lewdly postured naked redhead. His thick black fingers gouged into her groin and inner thighs, her belly and her buttocks, while his huge penis swung in the air menacingly, fully eight inches in length, knobby and stiff with longing. Now at last he prodded the broad plum head of his organ against the pouting pink cleft of Katherine's virgin cunthole and the frantic naked captive shrieked and cried pitifully to twist and swerve her hips away from this deadly menace in vain.
With a shout of bestial delight the Zulu crammed his cock into that tender gape, and with a long pitiless thrust burst the membrane of her virginity and plowed to the balls inside her tight young cunt.
Then he began to fuck her violently, while the spectators cried out their exultance, Elena Rios grimacing with revulsion as her body slave knelt under skirts and gamahuached her, while Helga Vormann extended one hand to her husband to squeeze in mutual sharing of delights, while her body slave continued to gamahuch her and while with her other hand she rained down lashes from a short rubber dog whip. Otto Vormann had his girl perform fellatio on him, and then, excited by what was taking place in the arena, roughly ordered her to strip off her tunic and to lie across his lap. At the same time, his sympathetic wife, sensing his perverse whims which she herself shared, had her girl-slave lie across her lap but facing her husband's victim. Then both girls were compelled to French kiss each other while their master and mistress resoundingly smacked their naked, squirming bottoms.
The trials of the despairing and agonized Katherine rang out, exciting those who watched and listened. Her body bucked and twisted, frantically trying to eject the rampant huge, long prick of the naked Zulu. But when he had finished fucking her, he drew out his still stiff member and, yawning apart the cheeks of her behind, thrust his bloodied tool against the puckering crevice of her bottomhole ... and despite her frenzied pleas for mercy, Mombassa took also the maidenhead of her bottom.
When he had finished with the half-fainting redhead, he rose and pounded his chest and bellowed out his exultance, and then strode from the arena amid applause. The matrons unpried the inert naked body of poor Katherine and dragged her out of the arena much as was done to the Christian martyrs or to the dead gladiators who perished in view of the Emperor's box in centuries past.
But Natalie was not to escape punishment for her rebellion, though she possibly had earned this reprieve because of her victory over her unfortunate companion. Fraulein Ursula now had the trumpet-slaves blow another fanfare, after which she announced that Natalie would be the bed-slave of one of the guests, his or her name to be drawn by lottery, and that Natalie would on pain of severe punishment, service whatever needs were imposed upon her. And Fraulein Ursula herself led the sobbing brunette off while the slave girls at the loges replenished the wine glasses of their masters and mistresses.
After a pause for these refreshments, the centurion-costumed imperatrix returned with the trumpeter-slaves to signal to the worthy audience that the second spectacle was about to begin.
This involved a superbly attractive young Frenchwoman from Marseilles, about twenty-five, black-haired, slim and tall, with a gleaming ivory body that made Vladimir Ukranoff and Otto Vormann lick their lips and momentarily ignore their humble slave girls.
Her name was Micheline Alouriet and she had committed the crime of striking the matron who had been in charge of her when the latter had brought her her evening meal a few days ago. Micheline was also a reemit just arrived at the castle, and had been the mistress of a mature ship owner in Marseilles. He had tired of her, however, and wished to replace her with a delectable sixteen-year-old girl, and had thus conceived this method of making a profit in the exchange of bed slaves, for he had connections with Ben Ali.
Micheline was to fight half a dozen pygmies who were armed with nets and lassoes, while she was given a flat wooden sword, cut exactly like a Roman weapon and covered with silver gilt in semblance of the actual weapon.
The duel was highly amusing from the spectators' viewpoint, but hardly from poor Micheline's. She managed to strike down three of the pygmies, but one of them, circling behind her, deftly flung a net over her head, and before she could tear it from her, two others had wound their lassoes around her hips and dragged her to the ground. There she was set upon by all of the infuriated dwarfs, quickly stretched out on her back on the sands and her wrists and ankles corded to the heavy wooden stakes which had been used in the defloration of Katherine. The spectators watched with delight, calling out obscene encouragements to the pygmy warriors, whose virility was surprisingly virtually that of a full grown man, in ravishing the unfortunate Micheline, until each of the little black men had satisfied himself inside her cunt. Then she was turned over on her belly, spread-eagled once again and buggered by all of them.
The third spectacle provided the exciting duel between a magnificent twenty-four-year old blonde from Buenos Aires named Luisita Perez against four Arabian horsemen. She was really Amazonian and flawless in her beauty, being five feet eight inches in height, with big full round titties and sumptuously rounded bottomglobes and full womanly thighs. Her honey-colored hair was braided around the top of her head, giving her a regal look, her features were proud and haughty. Stark naked, Luisita Perez was ordered by
Fraulein Ursula to run from each horseman as he entered the arena. Each of the Arabs carried a bow with an arrow ending in a rubber disk which had been painted in his own color. At the end of this concourse, the horseman who succeeded in planting his arrow's mark near any of Luisita's three sexual orifices-her mouth, her cunt, or her arse hole-was to win her, while the man who came second closest would be permitted to flog her while the victor ravaged her before the enthusiastic audience.
The sight of this magnificent beauty running, twisting, bending and crouching to avoid the oncoming horseman mounted on a white Arabian stallion, was esthetic as well as sexually rousing to the audience. Each horsemen had three arrows, and when these were shot, had to retire from the lists.
By remarkable dexterity, Luisita vanquished the first horseman and received applause from the spectators. But the second horseman's first arrow struck her in the navel, and he was able to plant his second on her right shoulder blade before she could stumble to her feet and run. The third arrow missed, and now it was time for the third horseman. His first arrow grazed her right shoulder, but his second arrow smacked against the valley of her titties. As she whirled and ran to the other side of the arena, he spurred his horse onward and, crouching low in his saddle, aimed his third arrow which hit her chink bone amid thunderous applause.
At the end of the tourney, he was adjudged the winner, and laughingly announced that he would follow the fortune of the arrow; since it had launched nearest her anus, it was this temple of delight which he would now enjoy.
From the ceiling, a long strong rope was lowered, its two ends fixed to a trapeze bar from which in turn dangled a pair of silver handcuffs. Luisita's hands were encased in these, and the rope was drawn up until she stood on tiptoe. Then, while her Arabian conqueror bottom fucked her, the man who had placed second in the lists took a short-handled leather lash and striped her naked titties, belly, and inner thighs while she twisted and jerked and shrieked, harpooned by her ravisher's swollen organ cramming back and forth in her tender rectal sheath.
And finally it was time for the supreme punishment of the two rebellious young slaves who had committed the unpardonable offense not only of refusing an order from their pro tern overlords and had also sought to escape and, in the process of being overtaken, had struck their captors.
CHAPTER THIRTEEN
Once again the trumpeter-slaves appeared, lifted the gleaming trumpets to their lips and blew a fanfare, while Fraulein Ursula announced, "Honored guests, now for your pleasure the first of two alternate punishments for revolt, and attempt at escape and intolerable insubordination. We shall see the slave Bianca endure the torment of the noose of ecstasy!"
There was a buzz of anticipation from the guests in their loge seats, for what the handsome German imperatrix had announced was unfamiliar to them. But the Nazi, Otto Vormann, trembled and leaned over to his buxom wife, Helga, muttering, "Liebchen, doesn't it remind you of the good old days at the concentration camp?"
The door beyond the imperatrix slid back, and half a dozen brawny Negroes emerged carrying planks and sawhorses and two by fours. Swiftly and with remarkable efficiency, they constructed a kind of gallows in the center of the arena. From the arms of the gibbet dangled a thick hempen noose. But instead of a trapdoor, a curious wooden block was placed directly beneath the sinister noose; it was rectangular, studded with tiny needle-like points which had been minutely carved on the surface. One of the Negroes now lifted a jar of wild honey, and poured it over the entire top of this block. Another Negro knelt on the platform and carefully set down a jar which seemed to be filled with thousands of tiny black insects ... the deadly man-eating ants of the lower Nile.
Now that all was in readiness, Fraulein Ursula made a gesture with her whip and the matrons retreated through the opening whence they had come, to lead back a moment later a struggling, weeping and hysterical blindfolded and naked young woman whose piquant physical beauty stirred the lust of every spectator in the loges.
She had jet-black hair which fell just below her shoulder blades, and her skin was a soft warm ivory. About five feet six inches in height, with a rounded, heart-shaped face, she had large dark brown eyes, a full ripe sweet mouth and dimpled chin. She was the epitome of feminine loveliness. Her body was that of a glorious young Venus: round up-tilting titties, widely spaced and high-perched. Her waist was supple and slim, then flared into opulently rounded upstanding buttocks with a sinuously broadening crease, and her thighs were full and ripe as were her rounded, rippling calves.
Bianca was twenty-one, the daughter of a minor government official of Venice, and she had been abducted from her home exactly a week before her intended marriage to a young and handsome nobleman who, unbeknownst to her, had had the misfortune to have a secret love affair with a handsome auburn-haired woman who was actually the mistress of a wealthy importer who had contacts with those who dealt in contraband and slaves. He had heard of his mistress's faithlessness, and in his revenge had arranged through the emissaries of Ben Ali to have Bianca stolen and sold into servitude.
The matrons led the pleading, hysterical naked young woman up to the steps of the gibbet, where two tawny Negroes seized her by the elbows, swiftly bound her wrists behind her back, and then Fraulein Ursula addressed her: "Bianca, you are to stand with a noose about your neck. If for a quarter of an hour you endure what is being done to you without falling from the block on which you stand, your life will be spared-but then you will become the slave of one of these Negro guards who will share you with his fellows. You see, we are merciful and give you a chance at life." Then to the grinning blacks, she curtly commanded: "Place her upon the block!"
The two Negroes hoisted Bianca by the elbows and carefully set her down with her bare feet on the myriad little spikes lining the surface of the rectangular wooden block. A shriek of pain burst from the agonized young woman, as one of the Negroes maintained her by gripping her at the hips and himself standing on a tall footstool which had been placed at the side of the block. His companion meanwhile, using a similar stool, mounted it, and adroitly fixed the grim hempen noose around the ivory throat of the weeping and shuddering naked Italian brunette.
Her face was contorted in a rictus of unspeakable agony, and they could see the muscles of her calves and thighs surge and ripple under her glossy white skin as she frantically strove to maintain her balance, to impose her own desperate will over the torture of those countless, fiendish little wooden needle-like spikes which pricked her dainty toss and heels and soles. Yet she managed it, her teeth chattering, tears pouring down her cheeks, for each time she wavered, the noose tightened about her round throat with its hideous reminder of the consequence.
"Your time has begun, Bianca," Fraulein Ursula intoned. "You have fourteen minutes left of this test. You, so heroic in your bravado and your rebellion, let us see if you have courage enough to live!"
With this, she made another sign with the whip. One of the Negroes, grinning from ear to ear, gingerly approached the jar of swarming black insects, unscrewed the lid and stepped back. Training their binoculars upon this absorbing scene, the members of the audience observed that a thin thread of honey coated the inner side of the jar from the top down to the middle and that several of the black ants had already begun to make their way up that pathway.
Bianca had bitten her lips almost to the blood, trying to hold her breath, hardly daring to move her feet, enduring the unspeakable torture which pierced the tender skin of her naked feet, suffering the lesser agony rather than the supreme capitulation.
"Thirteen minutes left, Bianca!" Fraulein Ursula exclaimed, glancing at her wristwatch.
Now a murmur of anticipation ran through the crowd. Several of the ants had reached the top of the open jar and had begun to crawl down the other side and towards the wooden block on which the naked girl posed. Attracted by the honey which coated the tiny spikes they began to ascend, inexorably and slowly, while Bianca writhed, her naked titties rising and falling violently as she fought for breath. And always about her neck the tight hempen noose made its ugly collar against the ivory flesh.
"Twelve minutes!" was the call. Bianca uttered a sobbing cry, babbling in Italian, prayers to her Creator, to her lover, to save her from this terrible death, to give her strength and endurance.
The first ant had now reached the top of the block, and made its way towards her trembling toes. Another came, and then another, until suddenly the side of the block was swarming with them and the jar was virtually empty.
"Ten minutes!" Fraulein Ursula announced.
There were wagers among the spectators. Elena Rios turned to Helga Vormann and laughingly exclaimed, "A thousand dollars that the bitch won't last more than three minutes longer!"
"Done!" Helga Vormann replied, winking at her husband. Then, viciously, she leaned forward to slap the face of the unfortunate slave girl who still crouched under her skirts and was gamahuching her: "Faster, you little slut, or I'll flay the skin off your arse and let the ants cauterize the wounds!"
And now the black ants had reached the tops of the spikes, and were advancing toward Bianca's bleeding feet. A shriek of terror rose from the naked young woman as the first ant crawled onto her left little toe, and immediately she felt its savage bite. She swayed, and a simultaneous gasp went up from the spectators, but she steadied herself, her body dripping sweat, her lips bleeding as her teeth scored them.
"Nine minutes!" was the count.
Half a dozen ants now roamed over the girl's dainty bare left foot, and others were attaining the other foot as well. Bianca's face was scarlet and glistening with sweat, blood trickling from the corners of her bitten lips, as she desperately fought the abominable torment, wanting to live, terrified at the cling of that noose around her ivory throat.
"Eight minutes!" was the count now.
Several of the ants had crawled up her ankles and along her calves, nipping her with their tiny cruel jaws. She was hysterical now, and her breasts violently rose and fell in the erratic of rhythms.
"Well now, Bianca," Ursula taunted the hysterical naked captive, "where's your defiance now, you rebellious bitch? If we spare you, will you promise to obey?"
"Oh yes! Signorina, for the love of God in Heaven, take me down, I'll do anything you want! I swear I will! Tutte! Oh quickly, I can't bear this any longer, I'm going to die, oh, I want to live!"
"And if we spare you, you'll let all the Negroes possess you before your lords and masters here?" the relentless German imperatrix pursued.
"Yes, yes, but oh God, I can't stand anymore. Oh they're biting, they're hurting, oh my legs, my poor feet, oh please, yes I'll obey, anything, anything!" Bianca shrieked.
Several of the ants were tracing their way up her ivory thighs, towards the black curls of her cunt. Her calves and ankles and toes and insteps were covered with them, and she was half mad with pain and terror.
"Seven minutes!" Ursula now announced. "Tell us, then, Bianca, what you'll let the Negroes do if we let you go!"
"Oh, Dio mio Signorina, they can have me-they can make love to me-"
"How very good of you," Fraulein Ursula mocked the hysterical sufferer. "You condescend, you don't beg, eh? Then you shall endure your full fifteen minutes on the block!"
"Oh no, pity me, let them f-f-fuck me-oh they bite me-they bite me horribly-my poor feet-help me, oh Dio mio, save me, Lucio!" Bianca called on her lover in her last extremities.
But already it was too late. For now the ants had clambered to her inner thighs, and the merciless biting of her bare legs, together with the prickling of her bleeding feet, attenuated her last resistance. With a shriek that was cut off by the tightening of the noose. She kicked and twisted, strangling to death, while the spectators emitted a shuddering groan of commingled lust and satisfaction that the scene was over.
Elena Rios sulkily acknowledged the loss of her bet to Helga Vormann. The Negroes mounted the footstools, cut the rope and bore away the lifeless body of the beautiful Bianca.
There was another pause now for refreshments, and then at last Fraulein Ursula announced the final spectacle of the night. It was to be the punishment of a superb Yugoslavian blonde of twenty-four, Marja Andres, a student at the University of Belgrade, who had been wooed by an elderly and lecherous army officer whom she had mockingly rejected, calling him a "stupid old monkey." Unfortunately for poor Marja, her would-be suitor had inherited a fortune from his uncle and had indulged his erotic fancies to such an extent that he had been able to make contacts with agents of the Arabian slave dealer Ben Ali. He accordingly had Marja kidnapped and sent to the "Fortress of Felicity," with the vicious order for her training ... one which was now to be combined with her execution. He had paid a staggering sum to Ben Ali for this atrocious and sadistic revenge to appease his injured male vanity.
Marja Andros was led out naked, and then left alone in the arena, while from the other door, a dozen baboons mockingly advanced towards her. She uttered a shriek and tried to flee, but the leader, a huge male with vicious yellow jaws, swiftly overtook her and leaped upon her and brought her down. But these baboons had been trained by the Numari tribesmen, whom Ben Ali numbered among his loyal friends. And to the mixed horror and sensual excitement of the spectators, poor Marja was held down by half a dozen of the apes while several of the others ravished her exactly as a male would do. Then, at the signal of a shrill whistle blown by Fraulein Ursula, they fell upon her and tore her to death.
The audience made their respective ways out of the auditorium, many of them inflamed with lust from what they had witnessed this night. But Edward McNaughton stared out gloomily into the empty arena, while his faithful slave-bitch Felicia Mordaunt still obediently knelt beside him, looking longingly at him, though her face was very pale and drawn from what she had just witnessed.
"Such a waste of beauty," he muttered to himself. "And now I am becoming the lord of an empire that has forgotten the meaning of life. Lust is exciting only when it stimulates life, not when it mars and destroys beauty."
And then with a sigh, he looked down at his faithful and adoring slave girl and smiled gently. "Come, Felicia, to bed," he murmured, "for there perhaps you can console me for my strange mood. I have had a presentiment that it is not a good omen. I wish Ben Ali had not taken that last commission, for I feel that poor girl's death is heavily on my conscience. Come."
CHAPTER FOURTEEN
What Edward McNaughton could not and did not know-for beautiful Felicia Mordaunt had never told him, after falling so desperately in love with him and eagerly accepting his servitude to which she had been condemned-was that this beautiful and aristocratic English girl had an even lovelier cousin, named Jocelyn Dermott. And it was Jocelyn Dermott who was destined to bring the presiding genius of the Cult of Sathanas to his ultimate reckoning and, unwittingly, to disrupt one of the most profitable and widespread traffickings in white slavery!
Jocelyn had been deeply in love with her cousin, who was a year older than herself. She had chestnut hair styled in an imposing pompadour which, however, made her look considerably more mature than Henry McNaughton's love-slave. About five feet six and one-half inches in height, Jocelyn Dermott possessed a simply glorious figure and a bewitching milky complexion which was the envy of her blue-blooded friends and acquaintances ... as well as the secret aspiration of many profligate young and old men who wanted nothing better than to feel their naked skin against hers in the act of fucking.
But Jocelyn Dermott was intrepid and a perfectionist, with her own mind and her own opinions, and she did not tolerate fools gladly. When she learned of her cousin's mysterious disappearance, she was heartbroken. The fact, though Jocelyn would not quite admit it to herself, was that she was secretly enamored of that beautiful young woman whose mother was a sister of her own mother, now dead. Jocelyn's father had aged because of his wife's tragically unexpected death from a virus infection while traveling in the North of France, and he died about two months after the mysterious disappearance of Felicia Mordaunt leaving Jocelyn his only child and heiress a vast fortune which he had accumulated in shipping.
Nearly two years passed and a considerable expenditure of pounds sterling before Jocelyn Dermott was able, through one of the finest detective agencies in Europe, to get any sort of clue as to what might have become of her beautiful cousin. Meanwhile, she had repeatedly turned down offers of marriage-as well as other offers not quite so honorable!-because she knew that she wanted to be reunited with Felicia and to make love to her. Her face was a pure oval, with huge and very intelligent and luminous gray-green eyes, a straight imperious nose, a full sweet mouth which all the same was firm and full of indominatable character, and a high-arching forehead. Her breasts were two splendid ripe pears, set closely together, her waist supple as could be wished for and a very model for the corset maker, and her hips were springy, resilient and marvelously curved, her buttocks being two perfect ovals set tightly together, spacious and firm-fleshed, magnificently elastic-indeed the dream of a flagellant made into tantalizingly tempting woman flesh!
Naturally, Jocelyn Dermott was a virgin, though she'd had one brief and tentative Lesbian affair with a young divorcee named Madeleine Morriss, about two months after her father's death. Madeleine had been a casual acquaintance, and she had done Jocelyn the courtesy of visiting her to express her grief over the disappearance of Felicia. In her turn, Jocelyn called upon the beautiful divorcee to console her for the loss of her husband, who had quite simply deserted her to go to the Riviera with his nymphomaniacal nineteen-year-old secretary. He intended to live there and obtain a French divorce, which of course had no bearing in England.
So that evening, Madeleine gave her guest dinner, for she was an excellent cook, and then they sat talking until suddenly, seeing a tear gleam in Madeleine's eye, Jocelyn put an arm around the divorcee's waist and kissed her on the cheek. From this, they passed into more fervent kissing on the mouth, and soon Madeleine was cupping Jocelyn's titties and crooning the most amorous phrases of the young woman's charms.
Openly, Jocelyn Dermott was curious about the way love was made, especially between two women; her desire for Felicia Mordaunt had been perhaps more spiritual at the outset, though unknowingly the impetus of physical passion was always working in her system. But under Madeleine's tutelage that night, Jocelyn Dermott became an ardent Lesbian. And when she lay panting on Madeline's bed while the raven-haired divorcee lowered her head and began to gamahuch the chestnut-haired young beauty, Jocelyn experienced the most exquisite and shattering orgasm she had ever known in all her life, even more than she had been able to induce with her own soft finger.
But this affair was broken off about two months later when Madeleine Morriss found another man and decided to leave England forever, since she could not obtain permission to marry owing to the fact that her first husband had never been legally separated from her according to English law. They went to Portugal, for Madeline's new husband was a traveling representative for a huge dress wear manufacturer and was assigned to Spain and Portugal.
Thus Jocelyn Dermott found herself alone with a staff of servants in the huge sprawling country estate of her father, with more money than she would ever know how to spend, and a loneliness which nothing could assuage. She was too patrician, too intelligent, to go seeking Lesbian affairs because the danger of blackmail and extortion were too great. By the same token, she did not wish, simply because her pussy itched, to find herself any man and wed him simply to be bedded. And that was why she devoted all her attentions and energies to finding her lost cousin Felicia Mordaunt.
About six months before the scene in our last chapter, the agent whom Jocelyn had engaged to track down her lost cousin reported to her that one of his men in Constantinople had heard of a secret organization of slave dealers and slave owners, which appeared to originate in Algiers. The Algerian agent of this agency, upon being contacted, confirmed this report, but added that he himself had personally seen an auction of white slaves on the block in the mysterious and forbidden Kofari, and that he had been disguised and gone with a man well known to the rulers of this dangerous and outlawed community or he himself would have been assassinated before he could have left.
But what was still more important, the agent in Algiers reported lengthily upon a conversation which his powerful friend had had with him concerning the mysterious organization known as The Cult of Sathanas. It had agents who bought slaves and sold slaves eventually on its behalf, and they carried a silver coin on which was engraved the figure of a goat with horns, and another symbol, that of an acanthus leaf.
According to the Algerian agent's further report, those who were members of this forbidden and mysterious clique possessed gold coins, similarly engraved, and membership was extremely exclusive. One could become a guest if invited by some original member of the group, but thus far it was not known that new applicants were being accepted as overlords.
Jocelyn Dermott studied this report and then made an impulsive and fantastic decision. Why she asked the private detective, could she not pose as an amateur who wished to buy slaves, seek out the underlings in the Kofari, and thence be put into communication with those who governed The Cult of Sathanas. And once having done this, if the authorities were told in advance of her plans, they could shadow her and prepare to strike a blow at liberating the countless slaves who must be brought to a central and unifying rendezvous before being sold upon the auction block.
The private detective, one of Europe's most gifted, and a man who worked with Interpol, tried to dissuade her. The dangers were enormous. If she were discovered, she herself might well be sold into bondage and disappear without a trace just as her cousin had done. But Jocelyn Dermott was equally persuasive, and she had a great deal of wealth behind her; she gave the man another five hundred pounds as a gratuity and told him that there would be a great deal more than this if he were able to arrange her safe introduction into the Kofari.
And thus it came about that, three months and one week to the day after the scenes in the arena which we have just described, Jocelyn Dermott found herself in Algiers, dressed in the robe of a Bedouin woman, her face veiled, being led through the crooked and darkened streets of the peculiar and forbidden quarter known as the Kofari, taken there by Mohammed Agir, who was one of Ben Ali's most trusted lieutenants.
Mohammed Agir had met Jocelyn Dermott in a little cafe about a mile from the Kofari, thanks to the expert work of the Algerian agent who worked for the private detective firm which the beautiful English-woman had engaged. He had been most convincing, and he had contacted his friend in the Kofari to indicate that here was a wealthy and eccentric young woman who wished to treat herself to the feudal pleasures of owning a female slave. When he mentioned the wealth at her disposal, Mohammed Agir's greed overcame his vigilance and wariness and so this meeting was arranged ... a meeting that was to bring to an end the activities of The Cult of Sathanas, though not without some terrifying moments for beautiful and courageous Jocelyn herself.
CHAPTER FIFTEEN
Mohammed Agir, a hawknosed, bearded Bedouin in his early fifties and an insatiable pillager of tender maidenheads, brought Jocelyn Dermott into the Moorish villa of his master Ben Ali.
The elderly Arabian slave dealer received her distrustfully, for too much was at stake now that the traffic of slaves as well as other precious contraband like hashish had reached its peak. Another year or two, and he could retire forever and devote himself to his harem of beautiful young Greek and Turkish and Circassian girls. It had been Allah's own miracle that the Effendi McNaughton had been sent to him to restore and resurrect The Cult of Sathanas. For what the Englishman had done had far surpassed even the greatest legends of those days when, at the turn of the century and before the accursed global war, this secret organization had prospered.
"My Sheikh, I bring to you a giaour of great wealth who wishes to buy slaves from you," Mohammed Agir fawningly informed his master, as he bowed low before him.
"This interests me, to be sure." Ben Ali retorted. "But I must know who this stranger is who is familiar with our customs and who has managed to find her way into the Kofari without being put to death as a foreign intruder."
With this, Jocelyn Dermott drew back the hood and lifted the veil, and Ben Ali's eyes glittered with avaricious lust at the sight of that pure cameo-like face and those magnificent large and eloquent eyes, that full red sweet mouth.
"My name is Jocelyn Burke," she said coldly. She had adopted as her last name that of the elderly housekeeper who had just been pensioned after her parents' death, for there was little chance that any spy could learn that name unless he or she had been in
England. "I am from London, my father had an estate in Devonshire, and his death a few years ago left me enormous wealth which means little to me unless I can indulge my desires."
"You speak well, Miss Burke," Ben Ali retorted, pursing his lips and frowning. "But how is it that you found the way here to me and first to Mohammed Agir, my trusted lieutenant?"
"Through the good offices of Kemal Amgortas, who had executed some commissions, as he tells me, between you and amateur slave owners in Algiers and Tunis and Cairo," Jocelyn coolly retorted.
"Yes, I know Kemal well. And he vouches for you, eh?"
"I was put through an interrogation that was worthy of the Holy Inquisition of Spain itself," Jocelyn Dermott laughingly retorted. "Come now, have I traveled all this way in vain, or can we do business?"
"I wish proof of your wealth and of your identity before we talk further," the slave dealer countered.
Jocelyn Dermott had been prepared for this. She had taken out a passport, with the aid of Interpol, showing her to be Jocelyn Burke. She had also brought with her letters of credit on the Bank of Algiers for a hundred thousand English pounds. Ben Ali examined these documents and was obviously impressed.
"You will forgive my hostile manner at the beginning, my dear Miss Burke," he graciously and unctuously remarked, clapping his hands to summon two lovely slave girls to bring refreshments. "But if you have talked with Kemal Amgortas, you must know that our organization is secret and yet vast. I cannot make a mistake, and there can be no traitors or spies among us, for that would be disastrous and I would be failing in my duty to those who entrust me with the disposal of slaves. However, I am satisfied with your credentials. Now how can I serve you?"
"I wish to buy an English girl, Ben Ali," Jocelyn
Dermott coolly retorted. "I have good reasons for that. Though my father was rich and influential, I was snubbed in school because he wasn't blue-blooded and an aristocrat. He made his money in commerce, and therefore he was regarded as little more than a servant. There are many girls I can recall with hatred and contempt who showed me little better treatment, whom I would wish to repay in the olden ways."
"I can understand that too. Your civilization is far younger than mine, Miss Burke, but restitution and retribution are eternal laws which motivate your race as keenly as since the beginning of time they have motivated ours. Well, what specifically do you wish? A young girl, a mature woman, and what temperament and physique? Here in the Kofari you may find everything you desire. If we do not have what you wish, you have only to commission me, and it will be obtained-providing you pay the price. Everything in life is possible for a price, Miss Burke."
"You speak of those who control this entire operation, Ben Ali. It would seem to me that they would have the choicest merchandise of all. Besides, I should like to meet them. I admire people who are courageous and who despise convention. I myself have no great desire ever to return to England. If I find what I am seeking, I may buy a villa somewhere along the African coast and there live like a dominatress of old. And we should be good customers, you and I, for I shall change my slaves frequently. I daresay, when I have finished with one, you can sell her for me at some credit on my next purchases?"
"Of course it can be done, unless the slave is spoiled. Is it possible that you wish to meet the leaders of The Cult of Sathanas, Miss Burke?"
"Of course. Isn't it possible?"
"You must give me a little time. Say, a week. I will get word to you at your hotel."
"We are agreed, then."
"I should like one thing of you, Miss Burke."
"And what is that, Ben Ali?"
"To prove that you are not only what you say you are and what you tell me you wish to be, and pray do not take offense, for this is necessary-I wish to offer you the entertainment of dominating a new slave. You shall pay me only two hundred dollars, roughly about seventy pounds of your English money. This is to be sure of my expenses should the girl be spoiled. I wish to see how well you can apply the whip."
Jocelyn Dermott shivered and her face flushed. But she knew very well that unless she carried off this test, it might be she herself who was captured and have to endure the lash of servitude. Her head held high, she coldly observed, "As you wish. I will need a whip and perhaps someone to aid me in binding the slave."
"Have no fear, these things will be furnished to you. Come with me."
Ben Ali smiled and rose, while Mohammed Agir bowed low to the beautiful chestnut-haired English woman and left the salon to make the preparations.
A few minutes later, Jocelyn Dermott found herself in a magnificently carpeted chamber, with a low wide couch, huge cushions along the floor, and in the middle of the room a round metal post which rose as high as the ceiling and on which was affixed heavy iron rings. A moment later, the curtains were drawn apart and two Numidian slaves led in a trembling young black-haired olive-skinned Syrian girl, about eighteen, with plump buttocks and jutting round titties, clad only in gauzy harem pantaloons, a red silk bolero jacket which left her midriff bare and which was cut low at her bosom to display their curves and the tempting satiny valley, and slippers.
"This is Miriam," Ben Ali explained to Jocelyn Dermott. "She is seventeen, a virgin, and she has refused to share my bed. I was about to have her flogged, so you will be doing me a service. If you spoil her, it is of no great damage, as she cost me only about forty of your English pounds. Treat her as you would your own slave, punish her as you would if she had disobeyed one of your orders."
So saying, he installed himself on the couch, and promptly a lqyely young slave girl who knelt down to offer him a tray of sweetmeats and nougats, while another hastened to pour out for him into a silver cup and from a silver urn strong Arabic coffee.
"Fix her to that post at once," Jocelyn Dermott exclaimed. The brawny Numidian slaves nodded and smiled, and dragged the unfortunate young beauty towards the round metal column-like post, fixed her wrists in the heavy rings which locked tightly and were adjustable by an ingenious leather mechanism, and then gazed questioningly at this white giaour who was still dressed in the garb of a Bedouin woman.
Jocelyn Dermott now opened the robe and cast it off, and Ben Ali gasped with delighted surprise. For under that garb, Jocelyn had put on a leather body sheath, one piece in form, which gussetted her between the thighs, and which seemed to fit her body like a second skin. Gauzy black net hose joined the hems of this one-piece sheath, being attached by little silver clamps, and she wore sandals. Her magnificent long and supple thighs and calves provocatively and sensually flexed and quivered as she stood studying the weeping young Syrian girl at the whipping post.
"The whip," she commanded. One of the Numidians drew a short kurbash from his loincloth, respectfully inclined his head and handed it to her. It was a whip about three feet long, with a heavy stock handle, about an eighth of an inch thick, no more than half an inch wide, and its last six inches tapered into a deadly point.
Jocelyn Dermott brandished the whip, pursed her lips with the air of a critical connoisseur, and then commanded, "Strip her naked!"
As it was done, the Syrian girl burst into tears and ground her naked body against the cold metal post. Jocelyn Dermott, aware that every eye was on her, took her stance at the left, drew back her arm and applied the first lash of the kurbash exactly across the young girl's opulently rounded hips. A shriek of pain was heard, and the girl's naked hips twisted and jerked violently as she seemed to grind herself against the post, as if solacing herself by masturbating. An angry bright red streak marred the smooth olive-satiny skin of the captive.
Breathing a silent prayer for forgiveness, Jocelyn Dermott continued the flogging. She placed a dozen stripes horizontally across that lusciously rounded, jutting and satiny posterior, each of which drew a maddened cry, the most frantic and salacious squirmings and weavings; and the methodicity and expertness of the flogging made Ben Ali chuckle with pleasure.
"That is all?" he asked in mild surprise as Jocelyn Dermott finally lowered the whip.
"Of course not. But I prefer to punish a disobedient slave in stages, so that she will never know from time to time what awaits her and so that the lesson will always be before her," was the haughty answer, one which delighted the old Arabian slave dealer. Now, lowering her whip to the floor, Jocelyn swept the tip of the kurbash directly into the tender crease beteeen those huddling, welted buttocks, and the Syrian girl uttered a frenzied scream that rang clamorously in the chamber as her body jerked and leaped, then sagged as she dangled by her wrists, then falling to one side, half fainting with the exquisite and perfidious pain of that last cut.
"You will take her down and tie her in my chamber," Jocelyn addressed the Numidians. "I wish her to be stood against the wall facing me, with her legs spread wide apart. I will teach her to be disobedient when she wakens." Then, to Ben Ali, "there is no need for me to go back to my hotel, Ben Ali. You will give me the hospitality of your house, and I will show you how I punish a disobedient slave."
Ben Ali inclined his head, a crafty smile on his face. "But of course, Miss Burke, I'm delighted with you. And I think indeed there is no reason why those who rule from the throne-chairs of the old castle will not wish to meet so beautiful and valorous and cunning a would-be owner of slaves."
CHAPTER SIXTEEN
A week later Ben Ali and his caravan, with Jocelyn Dermott riding on a camel beside him, set out for the mountain in the Lybian Desert, there to meet Edward McNaughton and the other partners in this sinister and hugely profitable venture which had restored feudal slavery to the twentieth century.
Joselyn Dermott had adopted the garb of a Bedouin woman and under it she wore the leather body sheath, which she had purchased in a little shop on the out-skirt of Algiers. The private detective whom she had engaged in London had himself an enormous collection of erotica and was familiar with the customs of the Near East, and after he had heard from Kemal Amgortas, he had advised his beautiful young client to adopt this singular costume, so as to impress the perverse operators of this far-flung and mysterious organization which dealt in human flesh. His advice had been rewardingly sound, for Jocelyn's demeanor and her costume as well as the way she had whipped young Miriam, had decided Ben Ali to admit her as a possible client and also a guest who would be honored by the members of The Cult of Sathanas.
Kemal Amgortas himself was summoned to the mansion of Ben Ali, and Jocelyn managed in a quick moment when she found herself alone with him to inform him that she was departing the next day with Ben Ali for the "Fortress of Felicity" in the Libyan desert. He in turn promised to go directly to the Interpol agents who were waiting for his report. And thus the first step to undermine that long-existing castle on the side of the mountain which was sheltered from the elements and camouflaged by nature had been taken!
Jocelyn Burke and the caravan arrived at the mountain five days later. Ben Ali had brought with him a dozen slaves just consigned from their delivery into the Kofari. Two of them were from England, teenaged girls who had been on a vacation in Rome with their governess-and the governess herself, a handsome, buxom brown-haired woman of forty-two, was also a captive.
On that evening of their arrival, Ben Ali and Jocelyn Burke, together with two of his Arabian guards and the twelve captives, entered the huge hall of the castle, where they were met by Fraulein Ursula herself.
The German imperatrix stared coldly at beautiful Jocelyn Dermott, heard from Ben Ali's lips the glowing praises of this young English woman who had renounced her country and whose wealth would be at the disposal of The Cult of Sathanas. Grudgingly she admitted that Edward McNaughton himself, once English, would welcome his former countrywoman, for they would have much in common.
And after dinner in the magnificently furnished dining hall, though Edward McNaughton himself was not present at the time, Jocelyn met the other members of The Cult of Sathanas. Helga Vormann, fat and lustful, sat beside her, at the right, and from time to time slid her hand under the table to caress Jocelyn's thigh, while sending her cloying amorous glances. On the other side of the table, Elena Rios, furiously jealous, stared passionately at the beautiful chestnut-haired young woman to declare her own perverse desire for this tempting and fresh new prize who might well become one of them.
Jocelyn guarded her conversation well, and she had memorized her false background well enough to be glib and without error in this presentation to these sinister people whose lives had been dedicated to cruelty and the pursuit of selfish carnal pleasures. She had no doubt that if her identity was suddenly revealed, not one of them there would hesitate to have her put to death in the most hideous and agonizing way.
"And now, Miss Burke," Ben Ali ingratiatingly exclaimed, "The Effendi McNaughton has sent word that he wishes to converse with you. You will take brandy and coffee with him in his private chambers."
A few moments later, the Arabian slave dealer obsequiously ushered in the beautiful chestnut-haired English woman, and Edward McNaughton, wearing the white burnous of an Arab, and sandals, naked beneath that garb, rose from the couch where he had been dallying with Felicia Mordaunt to greet his new guest.
Jocelyn Dermott's eyes widened for she had at once recognized her cousin, and Felicia had recognized her too, a hand to her mouth, shrinking back. Swiftly, lest there be any danger in the ever alert Ben Ali's presence, Jocelyn coldly demanded: "Mr. McNaughton, why should my presence here make your slave shrink from me? Is there something unprepossessing about my appearance here, do I revolt her, or can it be that she has not been properly disciplined?"
Edward McNaughton frowned and turned to stare at his beloved slave. "What does she mean, Felicia? Why did you shrink away from her? Don't you know that you must kneel to all my guests just as you do to me?"
"I humbly beg your pardon, Master," Felicia murmured docilely and then sank down onto her knees.
"She ought to have a whipping," Jocelyn coldly remarked.
"That's true. But I prefer to inflict it since she is my slave and you are only my guest," was Edward McNaughton's inimical reply.
Jocelyn Dermott realized that she was very greatly on trial, in this desolate and isolated fortress-like castle which was known to few in the civilized world. To carry off her mission, she adopted an insolent air of bravado which she believed-and again rightly-was the proper way to convince the members of The Cult of Sathanas that she was exactly what she had identified herself as being, a dominatress who thirsted for the power of owning a slave and of setting back the dreams of subjugation. That was why she countered: "I was told that slavey has been restored thanks to mainly your efforts, Mr. McNaughton. Now it seems to me that if that is true and if the slavery is absolute, a slave who offends even a guest, however humble he or she may be, should be punished at once to uphold the laws between the slave and the free."
"Of course you are correct, Miss Burke."
"In that case, if you do not wish to punish this gawking, disrespectful girl, I will be happy to do it for you," was Jocelyn Dermott's prompt answer.
Edward McNaughton shrugged. "It shall be as you wish, Miss Burke. I should hate to have you think that our hospitality is not in keeping with what you have so aptly pointed out as the proper degree of status between slave and master or mistress. I will have her taken to the punishment room, but you don't mind if I accompany her?"
"She is your slave, Mr. McNaughton."
A few minutes later Edward McNaughton unlocked the door of one of the subterranean punishment rooms, near the auditorium area, end entered after he had politely gestured for Jocelyn Dermott to proceed him. Felicia Mordaunt, head bowed, cheeks scarlet with shame, then followed.
The chamber was equipped with a whipping bench, a pillory, a sawhorse with buckling straps, and a wide low whipping bench as well as with a whipping stool and a replica of an authentic Eton school birching-block with a broad buckling strap fixed in the middle to be drawn around the victim's waist while she had to uptilt her buttocks for the rod.
On the wall hung a panoply of all kinds of fustagatory instruments, from paddles to kurbashes and crovaches to the terrible siambok, a whip of hippopotamus hide, which if so desired, could flay the victim's skin in a single stroke.
"You may designate how you wish this slave chastised and then proceed to it." Edward McNaughton said.
"Thank you, Mr. McNaughton, I think over the sawhorse, and naked, of course," was Jocelyn's answer.
Without a word the beautiful English slave girl moved toward the sawhorse, doffed her gauzy silk tunic and was naked in her sandals. Then deftly and quickly without the slightest bidding, she straddled the sawhorse and let her arms and legs dangle, biting her lips at the atrocious pressure of the sharp ridge against her cunt.
Jocelyn strapped her cousin's wrists and ankles and managed to whisper, "I have to do this, Felicia. I'll try to talk to you later." Then, rising, she remarked. "This is a grown woman, I believe. Humiliation is an important part of servitude, I propose to begin with a simple bottom-smacking, and then a dozen strokes of a good English cane, if you have one handy."
Edward McNaughton smiled, "You are indeed from the country that was formerly my homeland," he gallantly remarked as he strode to the wall and took down a swishy rattan, "Proceed as you wish, Miss Burke. It will be edifying to watch you."
Jocelyn proceeded to apply a stinging but not overly painful hand-spanking of about forty slaps all over her cousin's velvety naked buttocks. Then she extended her hand for the cane, tested the weapon by swishing it in the air several times overhead, then announced to Felicia, "You will count each of the twelve, my girl."
Felicia Mordaunt bore her caning with superb stoicism, but she could not help groaning and jerking involuntarily as the stinging and flexible rattan cracked and danced over her jutting and already inflamed hindquarters.
She managed, however, to count all twelve strokes, as tears ran down her face and she was seized by a fit of trembling when the final stroke had fallen.
"Kiss the cane and thank me for punishing you to remind you of your duty as a slave to your master's guests," Jocelyn curtly directed as she extended her arm and put the tip of the cane to her cousin's trembling tearwet mouth.
And once again the subjugated young beauty obeyed.
Jocelyn Dermott's heart was sick within her to observe to what servile degree her cousin had fallen. She tossed the cane to the floor, gave Edward McNaughton a cold stare and remarked, "Now I can begin to enjoy your hospitality. Is this slave for sale? I should like to buy her."
"I'm afraid not, Miss Burke, as Ben Ali has surely told you, here you can procure whatever your heart desires though. You have only to specify your tastes. Now if you'll release Felicia, she will be happy to show you to your chamber."
CHAPTER SEVENTEEN
At midnight, Jocelyn Burke was still awake, waiting for an opportunity to meet secretly with her cousin. She had, in a brief instant while Felicia had been showing her her new quarters, whispered, "If you possibly can come here at midnight. I'll be waiting."
Suddenly there was a light tap at the door, and she sprang up from her bed and went to open it. It was Felicia.
"My poor darling," Jocelyn gasped. "Can you ever forgive me for what I had to do?"
"Oh. Jocelyn, Jocelyn, I couldn't believe my eyes-how could you possibly have managed to find me?"
"It's too long a story to tell you, darling. What concerns me most is getting you out of here and back to civilization. My God, it's been two years now. I know that man has destroyed your soul as well as your body."
"No, it's not like that at all. Yes, I was kidnapped and brought here as a slave, but Edward loves me, I know he does, even though he has me whipped, as you well know by now," Felicia Mordaunt confessed with a wistful little smile. "I'm in love with him and I'm glad to be his slave. It wouldn't be true if I belonged to any of the others, because they're cruel and wicked, like that filthy German pig Otto Vormann, who was a Nazi commandant of a concentration camp and who put so many innocent girls and women to death for his insane master Adolph Hitler. But Edward isn't like that at all."
"Look, Felicia, it's going to be over soon. My father died and left me a great deal of money. I've put it to use to find you, and the authorities know now how this slave trade has been going on. They're following me here and very soon there'll be an end to all this."
"You must promise me that you won't let them hurt
Edward! I love him," Felicia Mordaunt burst into tears.
At that moment, the door was flung open and Fraulein Ursula appeared on the threshold, a mocking smile on her lips.
"How very interesting, this touching reunion!" she drawled. "It was a good thing that I couldn't sleep and that I thought it strange that this beautiful young woman should wear the costume of a Bedouin and yet not be familiar with the law that no Bedouin woman may show her face to a man, or no foreign woman who dares wear the garb of that tribe. And now I have overheard you both, and I know what you're up to, Miss Burke-if that's your name, and you, Felicia, I don't think Herr Vormann would be happy at all to hear what you just called him. Guards, take them to the arena!"
Jocelyn Dermott uttered a cry and tried to run past Fraulein Ursula, but a dozen Negroes stood waiting and readily overpowered her. Felicia too was seized and brought to the arena.
"I don't think I shall consult with Mr. McNaughton," Fraulein Ursula declared as she had them both stripped naked and bound to an isoceles triangle set on a wooden platform in the middle of the arena. They faced each other, their naked titties and cunts rubbing together. "The negroes are going to flog the two of you, Miss Burke, until you confess who you really are and why you came and what little plan you've got up your sleeve. Begin!"
Jocelyn Dermott glanced back over her shoulder and shuddered as her eyes went wide with fright. A giant Negro, grinning from ear to ear, lifted a three-thonged black leather whip made of rhinoceros hide and at that very intstant brought it down upon her shuddering bare bottom-cheeks.
With a strangled cry of pain, the naked young chestnut-haired English woman lunged forward, grinding her cunt against her cousin's, but Felicia in her turn cried out, for her Negro flogger had just placed a ferocious diagonal cut of his whip over her huddling nether globes.
But with supreme stoicism Jocelyn refused to divulge her true identity and the rest of her plan to free the prisoners of this grim castle. After thirty lashes, her bottom and thighs were bleeding and she was half-conscious, as was her cousin also who had been dealt the same treatment.
"We shall have these bitches ravished!" Fraulein Ursula declared. "Spread eagle them on the sands, side by side, and all of you men may enjoy them as you wish through the night!" Shouts of salacious joy burst from the Negroes as they dragged two half-fainting, bleeding young women and flung them down on their backs, drew up their arms and legs and tied them to wooden stakes driven into the sand.
But suddenly there was a sound of gunfire, just as two Negroes knelt between the two cousins' straddled thighs, preparing to fuck them. Fraulein Ursula turned pale, "What's that?" she cried.
A moment later, the farther door to the arena slid back and Elena Rios, holding a pistol, came running out upon the sands. "They're soldiers, they've gotten into the castle, they're trying to arrest us all!" she shrieked.
"Gotterdammt!" the imperatrix swore. "It's the doing of these two bitches. This new guest of ours, this Miss Burke, she must have brought them on her track. Kill her!"
At this moment Edward McNaughton rushed into the arena, a pistol in his hand, and as he saw Elena Rios train her gun upon the head of Jocelyn Dermott, he fired quickly. Elena Rios uttered a gurgling shriek, and toppled forward onto the sands, her blood staining it a dark ominous red.
There were shouts and more gunshots and wild confusion now. And then a British lieutenant with a swagger stick strode into the arena together with half a dozen men armed with Bren submachine guns. "Throw down that pistol," he snapped at Edward McNaughton. But the handsome Englishman who had renounced his country and who had harkened to the dream of unbelievable power and despotism over human life and feminine beauty, stared at Felicia Mordaunt, tears in his eyes. "You betrayed me," he whispered brokenly.
"Oh no ... beloved Master ... I didn't ever want to leave you ... it was she who brought them here, you must believe me, my darling Master!" Felicia sobbed as she swayed and twisted on the whipping triangle, trying to see the face that was dear to her.
But Edward McNaughton did not hear her. He put his gun to his temple and pulled the trigger. Felicia uttered a shriek and then fainted.
Thus ended the rule of The Cult of Sathanas. And it was fate's supreme irony that love, which he had always denied and foresworn, brought Edward McNaughton to the end of the long road he had taken when he had first hunted the black-maned lion.
