"...I can say that the emotional predicaments in which I found myself after two years of marriage to Mary Sue bordered on the profane, and threatened to contaminate all of my values. Everything was getting out of hand. Mary Sue's sexual perversities were consuming me. In fact, I was even losing weight.
"Reveling in obscene carnal pleasure seven days a week is enervating at best. But it's when mental deterioration sets in that one must consider a retreat of some kind ... or face absolute annihilation!"
CHAPTER ONE
I.
My wife and I kept the rendezvous with Rolfe Palmer in the lobby of the Hotel Intercontinental in Paris. We were right on time. It was early September and Paris was never more beautiful. The old-fashioned elegance of the Imperial Ballroom in the ageless hotel where we were having champagne had not changed since my first memories of it.
Much time had passed. My last visit had been long before I married Mary Sue, whom I now referred to as my fourth disaster. On this occasion she and I were celebrating our second anniversary and the trip to Europe was paid for by her mother. Actually, this whole affair was mother-in-law inspired and a bribe. Perhaps blackmail would be a better choice of word, but in one way, this trip was not the "gift" it was advertised to be within the family circle. It was, in fact, part of what might be termed a sinister collusion with Mary Sue's family hierarchy in which I found myself more and more involved.
As for Rolfe Palmer, my friend, he was 36, and a former Berlitz language teacher. He had earned his keep as a part-time freelance journalist and translator, and a sometimes private tutor in languages and mathematics. Now he was a respectable, responsible psychologist.
Rolfe was an old acquaintance. I met him casually in Paris years back in what we both nostalgically refer to as "the old days." We became close friends quickly, an omen of sorts. But in reality, a mere ten years had passed during this interval and we'd seen little of each other, but not intentionally. He'd married and divorced. I'd done it too, and had it undone three times. Now, with Mary Sue having put up with me and vice versa for two years, I was beginning to feel more or less confident that at long last I'd come to my senses and made the proper kind of decision. I was wrong.
At best marriage is a messy quadrangle. I mean, the wife has her daydreams and most of these never quite come true. But her nightmares do. Of course the husband has his dreams, but we speak hesitatingly about these. Next in line come the actual physical realities. It's been said the 'twain' shall never meet. It could be added that four angles seldom meet in any kind of successful grid. Such was our case-Mary Sue's and mine. This was the single reason for Rolfe Palmer entering the picture.
Currently he was the psychological consultant in an exclusive private school academy in Switzerland, about 90 minutes from the airport in Geneva. There was easy and frequent access to Paris. It was my thought that Rolfe might help me escape the bind into which I was being inexorably drawn much like an escaped prisoner being sucked to death in quicksand. I needed a way out desperately and I needed a conspirator at the same time. I knew I could trust Rolfe.
As for my German friend's credentials, recent letters described his final studies in Rome. He was awarded a European degree in clinical psychology, but specifically in testing.
The plot was to have my wife, Mary Sue, exposed to his legitimately approved testing apparatus and subsequently declared mentally incompetent to handle a legacy of considerable value-healthy half-yearly dividends, not to mention monthly allowances from a substantial trust fund bequeathed to Mary Sue by her dear departed father. As her husband I would then assume responsibility for all financial transactions larger than a restaurant bill.
It should be mentioned that I did not intentionally marry Mary Sue for her money. Truly, her having any at all came as a genuine shock laced with pleasant surprise not unlike the feeling experienced when a railroad conductor skips over you as he punches the tickets. This marriage was not only a free ride, but as time passed it became evident that I was also going to get paid handsomely for it.
Every man has his price and his poison. Whoever said that larceny wasn't the monopoly of common thieves was correct. Larceny flows as abundantly in the blood of the innocent who is undercharged in the supermarket and gets away with it, as it does through the veins of the embezzler.
And speaking of everybody having their price, I had qualified insights into Rolfe Palmer to which no man was privy. Robert Louis Stevenson conceived the awesome, terrifying character of Dr. Jekyll and his evil half, Mr. Hyde, but it was Rolfe Palmer who personified this bizarre duality in real life. The price he paid was stupendous.
The incredibly peculiar psychological confusion that was part and parcel of Rolfe's unique identity crisis could have made him eligible to be the main attraction at an exhibit of freaks in some human zoo. When the Mr. Hyde personality overkilled his psyche, I mean.
Schizophrenia characterized by a loss of contact with a particular environment is one thing. Rolfe Palmer, when his personal demons struck and he underwent moral disintegration, was quite another.
In Rolfe's case, the antidote he had to swallow to speed him back to the acceptable level of consciousness of any average functioning human being was attainable in any bar or liquor store. A drink! Essentially when Rolfe was sober, he was dangerous! Drunk, he was happy-go-lucky, a charmer, witty, generous to a fault, even tender and solicitous. Someone's ingrown toenail could make Rolfe cringe, or even double up in pain empathetically when he was either tipsy or staggering drunk; but when he was sober, this same imaginary pain from the same ingrown toenail could make his senses reel as one convulsive frenzy of wild, sadistic pleasure after another washed over his trembling body.
This is but a hasty, superficial description of the dramatic personality changes over which his private devils dwelled and raged. Ironically, this occurred only when he was so hung over from days and nights of heavy boozing ... when the delirium tremens hovered like famished desert vultures waiting for their prey's last heartbeat.
To gain sobriety, Rolfe suffered the tortures of the proverbial damned-excruciating stomach discomfort, intestinal and muscular pain with insane tingling in his extremities. His finger joints would go numb, his gums ached, even bled, his eyes seemed to swell, he couldn't sleep or eat until the hideous effects of the alcohol poisoning diminished.
This took time. The misery was his alone and it drove him into a seclusion populated with demons and creatures grotesquely deformed and resembling science fiction characters from strange and distant planets. The garden variety of pink elephants or crawling pit vipers on the wall paper would have been a welcome relief.
There was no swift cure, nor any temporary relief from his torment, from the extreme punishment he seemed willing to inflict masochistically upon himself. No tranquilizer worked, no drug could pacify or appease, no narcotic, no anesthetic; nothing could even soothe or dull the misery, or control the agonizing convulsions that almost crucified him-until he exiled himself in another environment where he was able to force his brain to adopt what he calls the world of his sex-puppets and nymph-like marionettes, themselves writhing in pain lie inflicted.
I was intimate with his unorthodox therapy, his bizarre methods and, of course, with the accompanying results that mysteriously restored his physical balance. At the same time they invested him with such a capacity for inflicting pain and promoting abject humiliation that, were he rewarded in hell for his wrathful revenge against imaginary enemies, the chief devil himself would impale Rolfe Palmer on a white-hot poker before drawing and quartering him.
So much for a spontaneous qualification of the contradictions this man presented. There are a miscellany of trifles involved in what could be called the pathology of Rolfe's abnormality. They will flower as this tale continues. But it must be made clear that no psychiatrist, no alienist, no mental healer or insulin or electrotherapy or shock therapy held even a ray of hope for Rolfe's conversion. His pulse and his very soul throbbed with the need for pain-memory that was ineffably sweet to him. Were he scourged on a spiked rack or burned at the stake when the Hyde-like confusion overwhelmed him, his indifference, his disdain would be incredulous ... to any but myself.
In the back of my mind the enigma that Rolfe Palmer represents ceased to puzzle me when I learned he'd completed his studies and succeeded in obtaining his certificate, and with it an attractive situation with the private academy in Geneva. When I learned this exclusive school catered to the sons and especially the young daughters of the social elite-for only the very rich could afford the tuition and the numerous costly extras-I gained yet another insight into Rolfe's exclusiveness. He wrote to me periodically after we'd reestablished contact. This was well before the planned anniversary trip with my wife.
Many of these letters-some were brief notes or picture postcards-spoke of his being able to gain a working control over his "difficulties," as he called the sharp aberrations at which I've hinted. This was encouraging in two ways: one, I had no desire to hear of Rolfe being discovered, chased and hunted down, destroyed like the monster Dr. Frankenstein created; and two, I saw a chink of light under the door in terms of my dealing with Mary Sue and her family. Rolfe is no dummy. On the contrary, his brilliance in language, math, cryptography, Scrabble and chess, to name a few areas in which my admiration for his skill and cunning is supreme, never ceases to astonish and even excite me. I have mentioned the "old days." During that time his stories and anecdotes about depravity, perverse and debauched activities in which he played a prominent role, all carefully knit and unhurried in the telling, invariably disturbed both my sleeping and waking hours.
There was a third matter, related to money. I noticed a theme weaving in and out of his correspondence. If he could amass some extra money he felt he would be able to get a better grasp on his situation, which he insisted was deteriorating as he grew older and his tolerance for rum decreased. That is to say, he had, at long last, disciplined himself. This was after many heroic attempts to moderate his intake had failed miserably.
These disciplinary methods were twofold. Rolfe was able to curb his depravities, his often reckless, licentious and invariably savage sadomasochistic sexual activities. To accomplish this, he forced himself onto a "maintenance" diet of rum and whatever mixer he used. This was much like an individual supplementing his daily intake of food with maintenance vitamins. He discovered he could "keep the glow on," manage to eat two or three reasonably nourishing meals a day, and thus thwart the dreaded insomnia which he tried unsuccessfully to kill with more and more rum. There is nothing novel about this vicious cycle.
"Money to buy what I need like a grave robber who supplies corpses to young interns," he wrote as an analogy, "would enable me to pacify the terror and appease the demons . ... "
Another letter in his fine handwriting announced he had leased a small villa several miles distant from the Swiss school. It was secluded, protected by a medieval forest, ideal as a monastic retreat. Plumbing was intact, there was plenty of space, castle-like walls, oak throughout, a private man-made pond, an emergency generator for electric power, and a horse barn. He also described a fireplace in which he said one "could roast a baby elephant . ... "
Mary Sue and I flew to Paris shortly after receiving Rolfe's invitation.
CHAPTER TWO
II.
Mary Sue, despite her negative attitudes and exasperating traits, (a half hour to make up her eyes) had many excellent qualities. She was young-just twenty-two-tallish with her sleek high heels, and had a curvy bottom that craved attention. It twitched or seemed to click-click, snap-snap when she walked, an erotic cadence in her impossibly tight jeans. One's eyes focused on the enticing dual targets of her plump cunt lips so neatly defined and her firmly rounded buttocks. It's been said her bare ass is edible; I can't argue with that.
She was strangely sort of orientally attractive with almond eyes of yellowish-green. Her large breasts were "super-superb" as I once heard an impulsive teen-aged admirer exclaim. Mary Sue's nipples were wide, virgin pink, and stiffened on command. But it was the jiggling, the pert aliveness of her lovely firm tits, the way they undulated and vibrated or how they seemed to ebb and flow as she walked, pulsating like an early dawn tide on the beach when she's breathing normally, that fascinated me!
Mary Sue's legs were strong, sturdy but very feminine. Her hands and feet were small and she took excellent care of them. I especially liked her fingers and can admit to having fantasized over them from time to time.
This occurred when she happened to be sitting nude cross-legged on the floor and quite casually allowed her fingers to rub and scrub into the thick bush of dark curly hair that grew wild all over her gorgeous cunt and ass-hole. Once I had occasion to watch her when she believed herself to be alone. She was working her index finger in and out of her wet cunt, her eyes half-lidded, lips parted, sucking air in short gasps. The sight of that finger sliding along her folds, disappearing inside and then emerging dripping with her pussy juice, was nearly enough to make me forget discretion and fuck her right there.
Mary Sue was surely no intellectual, but she knew how to nod, how to smile graciously in accord, how to look perturbed or even distressed upon listening to the comments of some visitor on the disastrous turn of current events in, say, China. In fact, watching her closely as she gave her undivided attention, head cocked cutely, to the speaker, you got the impression she'd lived in Outer Mongolia for years. Had my wife another kind of training, she might have evolved into a pedestrian actress. But alas ...
To a degree, she was perverted. She was also a cock-teaser and without doubt was never completely satisfied sexually. She had a track record for "vagrantism," as I had named her escapades with utter strangers in utterly strange places.
At the same time, paradoxically, Mary Sue was hygienically neat and clean. When I've considered the obscene slithering around she did naked in creek water mud, or on the filthy wooden floors of smoky rooms in the back of waterfront bars, I've often thought she should be awarded a medal of some kind.
Mary Sue had never contracted a single disease and the only blights and contusions that had attacked her were bruises on her elbows and knees. You can guess how those occurred. Livid welts on her smooth white buttocks and livid, bright pink thong stripes across her lovely breasts don't fit into the same category. They are another story. But more of that later.
She had her moods. Everyone does, but hers affected me disastrously. She's a lousy cook. She had never made a bed in her life. When she gave herself a shampoo, or took her monthly enema, it was a production.
So, what else about Mary Sue? Oh yes! And this is significant. After a weighty evaluation, her personality could be plainly described as that of a masochist-sadist, rather than the opposite so frequently bandied about. Pain, expertly inflicted, literally blew her mind. But she was surely no slouch in administering pain either.
Her favorite weapons were her long and strong fingernails. They could cut, slice, tear. But, essentially, my wife was a masochist and, accordingly, obedient, craving humiliation, especially in public places. She was a worshiper of the rod and the whip and she was smugly fond of degradation, but only if you didn't remind her of it for, say, a few days after the event. Then she would tell you about it! In a couple of words, she loved it. She didn't necessarily live for it, but she surely did enjoy it when she got it.
Prior to our marriage-whether this information is of any importance, I'm not sure-specifically the day before our legal union, she disappeared! "If you can have a stag party with your pals, why can't I?" was her retort when she phoned up to postpone the ceremony her mother had arranged. Her reason? "Because I'm just not in any condition, I mean, physically, to get married."
The truth is, Mary Sue was a wreck.
"I can't even let you see me this way," she sobbed over the telephone. "I can hardly bear to look in the mirror myself."
I suspected what had happened. I phoned up a cosmetician I knew who worked for a local funeral parlor. He took excellent care of Mary Sue's face (one black eye), but could do nothing about the deep purple bruises on her upper arms and her neck and the teeth marks on her stunning white breasts.
Needless to say, the weals and the darkening slash marks on her inner thighs, the crisscross patterns on her slender back, glowing buttocks, and across her shoulders, were better left alone after the application of some healing ointment. She told me her friends were cultivated creatures despite being addicted to flagellation and other unprintable methods of self-torture.
The truth is that I did visit her that evening after her mother and I, in cooperation with other members of her now-unhappy family, reorganized the ceremonies for the following Saturday Indeed, it took an entire week to get my bride-to-be back in condition.
As I examined her that evening, she was still seething with erotic desire, prancing naked around the room in her high heels, her wounded breasts red and swollen. The sight of the weals on her buttocks and thighs made me wince. I could only imagine what had happened to her at her "stag party."
She was not about to explain. I was not about to push her. So she continued to gambol about, frolic, cavort, suit yourself, indulging in all the vulgarities of position she knew, such as squatting and humping an imaginary prick as she pretended to pay devotion to another phantom cock with her tongue and bared teeth.
Then, suddenly, she started swaggering and strutting, mischief in her bright, shining eyes as she savored the experiences of the night before. She did a lascivious dance, knowing it would pacify me ... which it did. You see, I was already then quite used to her sexual tyranny: that is to say, she well knew how to get the better of me. Her behavior was despotic, absolute, erotically dictatorial and, of course, domineering later. This was the latent sadist in Mary Sue. One fell to his knees and paid homage with his lips and tongue ... or else!
So much for Mary Sue's immorality. With little difficulty one can both see and understand why she continually fled into the welcoming arms of clairvoyants, horoscopers, palmists. She despised the drabness of the workaday world.
She would spend hours (and hundreds of dollars) with oriental soothsayers, prophesiers, seers, gurus from the moon, and even Gypsy oracles celebrated for their crystal-gazing talents. Of course, I'm teasing about the men from the moon, but not at all about the other fakirs whose expensive advice she sought constantly.
In a way her slavish need for these Tarot-reading freaks resulted in Rolfe Palmer's image coming to mind and occupying my attention. I can say that the emotional predicaments in which I found myself after two years of marriage to Mary Sue bordered on the profane and threatened to contaminate all of my values. Everything was getting out of hand. Mary Sue's sexual perversities were consuming me. In fact, I was losing weight.
Reveling in obscene carnal pleasure seven days a week is enervating at best. But it's when mental deterioration sets in that one must consider a retreat of some kind ... or face absolute annihilation.
Several conversations with her mother, her mother's subsequent conferences with other members of the family, and finally the "deal" into which I was invited to participate, all resulted in the collusion, the bribery, the blackmail to which I have alluded above. And it was also quite coincidental-however appropriate and timely it also was in terms of my own personal difficulties in controlling and managing my marriage with Mary Sue.
I'm not sure whether I believe more in fate or in free will or in a combination thereof, but on the eve of our departure flight to Paris, I was fairly confident that destiny was brewing some exotic concoction. Going to Rolfe's cloistered villa outside of Geneva, Switzerland, would result either in my sitting in the laps of the gods, or being thrown naked to the dogs. Something magical was impending, to be sure.
The flight to Paris was without incident. Both films were as horrible as the heated-up lunches we were served. The stewardesses were sloppy, fat, snotty and peculiarly unfeminine. I was glad when the flight was over. Mary Sue slept all the way after masturbating both of us vigorously under a blanket while the cattle-packed passengers suffered an entire hour out on the tarmac waiting for takeoff permission.
In Paris we picked up our reservations at the Hotel Saint-Louis. We ate for about $15.00 each down the block, then traveled by taxi to the Intercontinental.
I shall now attempt to describe Rolfe's reaction to Mary Sue when we met in the Imperial Ballroom of the hotel. It was as if he'd been struck across the face by an elephant's trunk!
Normally I hear "Oh, wow!" when I introduce my wife. In Paris, of course, it would be, "Ooh la la!" with an exaggerated moistening of the lips and clucking of the tongue and licentious grins. I was sure Rolfe would pass out.
Of course he didn't, but he seemed staggered. He kept swallowing. Suddenly he was itchy all over. He stuttered and stammered when he managed to whisper, "I'm glad to meet you, m'dear." Mary Sue, sophisticated, vulgar, delicious sensually and utterly beguiling, had my friend, Rolfe, down on his knees in rapturous admiration.
I had never seen such rabid desire in a man's eyes. Mary Sue had Rolfe Palmer hypnotized as a snake does its prey. He looked temporarily crazed. All at once, even as we followed a waiter to a small table, he was craving, hungering for Mary Sue. He was suddenly and visibly reeling with ravenous sexual greed. Mary Sue was at her seductive best, to be sure. She had changed into a see-through net blouse, a thin, scanty white cotton skirt slit all the way up to her bare thighs on one side-and no panties visible to conceal the delectable curves of her obviously naked buttocks. She wore open-toed high-heeled sandals, long out of style and hopelessly unchic in Paris. But no one in the room could tear their eyes away from the stunningly blatant if vulgar picture she presented.
As she crossed the room, the waiters huddled and gasped. You could practically see her bare cunt through the thin cotton material. Her buttocks twitched and snapped-since she was rolling her hips like a Calcutta streetwalker-and it required little imagination to visualize the scandalous crack between them. Rolfe Palmer was stunned to the point where I saw what amounted to a religious gleam in both eyes.
A table had been reserved in cozy nook. There were shiny wine goblets and sparkling silver and dishes with dainty field flowers kilned into them. The knives, forks and spoons were heavy silver plate. A child would need both hands to eat ice cream. The linen napkins were large enough to make a tent in a circus sideshow featuring acrobatic midgets. The whole setting was top-drawer, in the classiest kind of grand style.
For openers we drank champagne. Rolfe and Mary Sue relaxed on a very comfortable upholstered bench facing me. A towering bouquet of long-stemmed tiger lilies and some unidentified colorful flora half the size of Kansas sunflowers served as an occluding screen, and Mary Sue was quick to appreciate and take advantage of the intimacy this afforded.
"May I?" she asked in a whisper, winking at me, her voice hushed. I imagined I could feel the fever creeping over her body so lasciviously nude under the net blouse and thin skirt.
"You may," I whispered back ... as if she would have behaved differently had I denied her.
In a flash, she was beneath the table, her head buried in Rolfe's lap. The next sound was that of his zipper, followed by a low grunt, then a guttural moan. I saw Rolfe's eyes flutter, then roll back into his head. He started to speak but no sound came from his parched lips.
I took the liberty of looking underneath the table. Rolfe's long, thick cock was wedged in Mary Sue's mouth. Her fingers were wrapped around its base, tugging on it as she licked the crown and shaft. I could tell she was excited by what she was doing . . .and where she was doing it. Her eyes were glazed; she seemed oblivious to everything except the enormous tool that filled her mouth. She scraped her teeth over the tender purpling flesh, dragging them across the slit that gaped like the gills of a fish. Rolfe was moaning quietly, squirming in his seat from the intensity of the sensations elicited by Mary Sue's persistent ministrations. Her head began to bob up and down in a steady rhythm. I was fascinated by the sight of that thick piece of meat-glistening wet now-appearing and disappearing. She would pull back until the head was almost free of her mouth, then drive forward again so that the entire length was buried in her throat. She sucked and licked him fiercely, working his rod until even I could see his cockhead swell in the gloom beneath the table. A moment more and Rolfe began gasping as his sperm shot into Mary Sue's eager mouth. She continued sucking him until the spasms passed and Rolfe lay back exhausted.
CHAPTER THREE
III.
Since the beginning of time both sexes have carefully explored the insanity of trying to understand the motives, habits and moods of the other. A vast collection of scientific and amateurish results fill volumes.
Yet, even fortified with this knowledge and with even minimal experience in relating successfully to the opposite sex, males and females approach one another with extreme caution, timidity, uncertainty, shyness, and, in nine cases out of ten, in utter fear of being rejected-despite intimate knowledge of the uses of every available seductive technique.
Rolfe and I discussed this intriguing puzzle at some length.
"My feeling is that to subjugate another person is to invite one's own subjugation and willingly admit to the simple human need to be subjugated."
"And so slaves really enjoy their slavery?"
"Yes! Exactly! To conquer and enslave, to force into servitude of both mind and body, to master another human regardless of sex, native intelligence, formal education, et cetera, is not only thrilling, it is ennobling. To make a female dependent on you, tractable, resistless, even servile, but instantly obedient to your slightest sexual whim at any time of day or night-to control submission, to demand compliance, to encourage docility, passivity, to compel a woman to yield to you, to surrender, to watch her grovel, squirm, beg on her hands and knees, to observe her in physical and mental torment, to observe her being humiliated and more, humiliating herself, and not to indulge the utter sensual joy this provides-is, well, to be sapheaded, a jackass, feebleminded-to use a few choice expressions."
Rolfe looked up from the cafe table. I had never heard him speak more eloquently. This was down the street from the imagine hotel in which Mary Sue and I were staying. She was still sleeping, drugged in wild rapturous dreams, wallowing in the eroticism of her first night out in Paris.
"You see," Rolfe went on, "to me this subject is old hat, as you Americans say. To be frank, the philosophy of it rather bores me these days-except, of course, when I'm sober. You do know what I mean?" he added. He smiled broadly, signaling the waiter for another round.
"Listen, the female hungers to be enslaved. Her actual behavior contradicts her so-called need for equality, for liberation. She will pay cash to be enslaved. Yes, there can be no doubt. Women are the essential masochists.
"But listen to this also ... there is a point in their enslavement, a point at which the vulgar humiliation they are forced to endure somehow brings them to the precipice, the threshold of pleasure-pain at which, if they are watched and carefully maneuvered, manipulated, they can be taught sadism, if you will.
"What I mean, old friend, is that the dominated female can become the dominator, or in this case-and I don't like the suffix-dominatrix, using the same canes, the same bloodied thongs, the identical bondage weapons, drawing the same bright red blood and inflicting the same torment and torture until they collapse in an ecstasy that borders on the fanatical."
"This is a sort of ... artificial sadism?"
Rolfe pondered the question. Mademoiselle-watching at this corner cafe opposite the Pont Louis that crosses the Seine was excellent. Some masters of the art said it was without parallel; and during the often long lapses in this pleasant morning's conversation, the sexually exciting, fantasy-provocative entertainment provided by shimmering, quivering swaying bottoms, thrusting breasts and sexy smiles, seemed a fitting accompaniment to the conversation.
"I've had few lively experiences with genuine feminine sadists where sex itself is emphasized, but I would hate to list the number of ball-breakers, castrators, gold diggers, and sexual mercenaries that I've known. Many women are deliberately out to rip you off even if they have to jerk you off first!" he laughed.
"No," he continued, "genuine sadistic need, and it is a sensual need, in the female is as rare as snow in Paris. But Paris is awash with pernicious women. And they're not all French, either.
"But, their kind of deliberate evil, the skillful, wily way they are capable of corrupting, poisoning your mind, destroying your values, holding you in social bondage with threats ... the guilt women like these sow with their sneaky accusations, their overtly jealous suspicions, to condemn you, to make you feel ashamed, to convict you of sins not even invented, to blame you, to censor you, their penchant for catching you red-handed when they bring to bear all their horrid weapons ... that, my friend, is gangsterism!
"It's not sadism! And they manage to do all this without a guidebook," he added, referring to the travel guide resting on the cafe table. Again he laughed. "I don't consider myself a misogynist either. Nor a cynic. I adore the female. I can guzzle at her fountain. I can drain them of their passion juices.
"Oh yes, at the same time I lament their losing their blessed innocence so young, I applaud their intrinsic immorality.
"I like the Gypsy in women. I like their phoniness. I adore their sense of malicious mischief. Observe how they can sabotage a marriage! Even their own. They are the true predator-quite unlike men. And I adore them ... when they are brazen, when they are horny, when they are maddened with desire ... when they act like whores!"
Rolfe laughed again. "I am not all that different from you, my friend. You do realize that, don't you?"
In recalling some of Rolfe's well-tempered outbursts I don't mean to suggest he was haranguing me. No, his problem with women was all uphill work. He was secretly cursed by their very existence, troubled and afflicted by their passions, their needs, their childish demands, just as much as he rejoiced, was jubilant and enchanted, contented and-more often than not-delighted to have their company.
The previous night's experience with Mary Sue could well be a case in point. I will draw the picture.
Following the extravagant and lurid display of my wife's incomparable talents, Rolfe began gently kneading her buttocks. Sitting across I adjusted my position so that my back, in conjunction with the screening provided by the tiger lilies, blocked even the most accidental peep at what was going on in our cozy nook.
Rolfe and I shared a knowing wink that asked for my permission and at the same time signaled my giving him a veritable carte blanche. This was not the first time he and I had indulged a sexual conspiracy with a female in a public place. I confess that I was thoroughly aroused. In a moment he had her blouse and skirt off so that she was totally naked.
His fingernails first feathered, then scratched her bare buttocks. Now and then his index finger brushed delicately through the valley of her parted ass globes, stimulating her delectable and very tender ass-hole to pout. His other hand caressed her magnificent tits, rolling and teasing the engorged nipples. I opened my trousers.
My cock was already stiff and throbbing. Already the slit was leaking. I began to masturbate leisurely as I watched. Mary Sue's face was aglow. I shifted my gaze from Rolfe's hands to her softening eyes. There was just the suggestion of a conspiratorial smile on her pretty lips.
As his fingers continued to scamper on her silky skin, Mary Sue returned to the cushioned bench and turned slightly on her side. This placed her naked back to Rolfe in a three-quarter position. She arched in slightly. She was breathing more heavily now, long sensual sighs. I couldn't see Rolfe's right hand, but from the shadowy expressions on my wife's face I could easily imagine his finger teasing and tantalizing, the fine ebony hairs circling her pink anus doing nothing to impede his finger's progress.
After wetting his finger with saliva he flicked her hole with his sharp nail. She arched her back again and thrust her bottom up in the air at him. Then came his first artful thrust! As Rolfe's finger sank into her hot ass-hole, Mary Sue let out a low, deep, throaty moan, her eyes snapping shut as the scalding pain shot through her body. She was biting on her lower hp. Then, as Rolfe began to finger-fuck her ass-hole in and out, she began to writhe sensually, rhythmically with the stabbing fingers, sucking in air as one hand stole up to her breasts and her own fingers started to pinch first one erect nipple, then the other.
Not all females are analerotic to the degree my wife is. Mary Sue's body was now twitching and convulsing.
As she squeezed and pinched her breasts and nipples, Rolfe's free hand was suddenly crawling up and down her long, naked legs. He fondled and caressed her bare toes lovingly ... as his other finger kept stabbing in and out. Mary Sue was humping back on the poking finger, licking her lips, biting them, her eyes opening and closing rapidly as she thrilled to the wickedness of what was happening right in front of my eyes. For her the erotic scene was deeply exciting. Her sensitive ass-hole was a focus of pleasure and she was melting with the passion of it.
As Rolfe insinuated another finger up her ass her eyes registered both shock and surprise. They widened and her mouth gaped open, emitting a low, muted moan. I could see beads of perspiration collecting between her ripe breasts. She was pinching both nipples alternately now and her breathing became increasingly rapid. I sensed she was close to an explosive orgasm, the accompanying sounds of which would surely call the attention of other hotel guests now occupying tables quite near to our hideaway.
I cautioned Rolfe. He winked back. He knew instinctively what I meant although I'd not voiced it. When he ripped both fingers out of her ass, Mary
Sue bolted up bodily. Had anyone been looking at that moment, the sight would have set them aflame. Her naked body arched, then collapsed back on Rolfe's lap. She rolled over on her back and threw her long legs wide apart. Her slit gaped hungrily.
"Oh dear God, don't take your fingers away," she hissed.
"We should be a little careful," I said.
She looked tightly at me. Her eyes were scolding. I could read the resentment in them. I had seen this look before ... many times.
"Put them back in ... please! Please, shove them back up inside of me. God, please ... please do it...," she begged.
Rolfe's eyes held mine. I shook my head from side to side. Long experience with Mary Sue in a state of wild passion similar to this made me aware of the disaster that could result. I didn't want any problems here despite the discretion for which Parisian waiters are noted. "No!" I repeated. "No!"
Rolfe grinned and wet his lips slowly, thoughtfully. "I agree with him, Mary Sue," he whispered. "Here, let me help you dress. It's not really wise for you to sit up. People are looking . ... "
Her naked body transformed itself from a purr to a pout. She swung her head. She sat halfway up and then looking around, lowered her head.
"I want to be fucked," she spat under her breath.
"Upstairs," said Rolfe. "I took a room."
"NO! Not there!" she exclaimed. "I mean, right here. I want it here, HERE!" Her eyes were blazing. "I don't want to get fucked upstairs. I want your cock in my pussy right now!" With this, she turned her body. She threw her naked arms around
Rolfe's neck. She began writhing and rubbing her breasts against his chest. I leaned further forward to add to the protection. A fashionably dressed couple was just passing by perilously close. Mary Sue was now grabbing for Rolfe's prick through his trousers. "God, I want it! I need it! I want it up my ass. Oh fuck, how can you be this cruel?"
"No," said Rolfe. "No, Mary Sue." He ran his fingernails roughly up and down her bare back. Mary Sue began to sob. Now she was grabbing his wrist and trying to force him to shove his fingers back inside her hot ass-hole. He kept pulling away. His eyes never left my own. It looked to me as if he were involved in some kind of occult seance. His eyes were clouding and he was holding his breath.
In a flash, Mary Sue switched her position. Naked arms, breasts, thighs, legs and bare feet swept through open space as she flung herself down on her belly, then squirmed back on the bench so that now her face was inches from Rolfe's crotch. I'd seen Mary Sue do this before and had it done to me countless times ... but never with such ravenous, fiery desire.
She literally ripped his fly open and in one swoop, filled her fist with his reinvigorated prick. She tugged it. She pulled on it. She gripped the base of his thick penis and squeezed his heavy testicles with her other hand. She rubbed the swollen head and stroked the shaft. As she jerked him off in a frenzy, I saw Rolfe's body stiffen.
He shuddered with a violent spasm and then, gripping the bench with iron fingers, he began working his groin up and down as he shuttled his thick tool in her hand.
Only seconds passed before he exploded like a cream-spouting fountain. Mary Sue continued to pump as the sperm splashed against her nose, cheeks and chin in thick globs that she eagerly licked up. She didn't stop yanking his cock until it was completely flaccid and red and angry looking.
CHAPTER FOUR
IV.
Rolfe's rented villa on the outskirts of a tiny Swiss village with a mountainous backdrop was more remote than he had described. A long, twisting road through a thick forest led to the tall iron gates protecting the grounds from intruders, especially game poachers.
The villa itself was reminiscent of Dracula's castle, though smaller. The walls were extraordinarily thick. To the rear of it was a small family chapel long unused, musty and yearning to decay. Its stained-glass windows were a rhapsody in colors-deep blues, varied tones of crimson, ambers and pale yellows. I was impressed that although it was a chapel, there was nothing at all religious about it. To the rear of the structure was an ancient family mausoleum. Tall, thick weeds and a stand of scrub pine trees hid this from sight. To me it looked ominous, scary.
"I have one servant here," Rolfe was telling us, "befitting a gentleman of my worth," he joked. "His name is Viktor. Two years ago, his parents, skiing guides and instructors at that winter resort you can see up there near the black mountain," he pointed, "were lost in a three-day blizzard. Never found. Viktor had no other relatives, a fact hard to believe in this neck of the woods, but quite true. I took him in. You will see why later. He's also very good with the horses. I'm teaching him how to cook, to shop in the village, you know, the day-to-day annoyances."
"How old is Viktor?" Mary Sue wanted to know.
"Your age," said Rolfe.
The interior of the villa was not half as imposing as the exterior. It was stark; although the sparsely furnished rooms were considerably large and high-ceilinged, they offered prison-cell-like atmosphere. Because of the incredibly thick walls a shadowed, silent gloom hung over everything, and I could see why each room had its own large fireplace. Of course, there was no central heating.
"One of the several disadvantages," Rolfe said, although neither Mary Sue nor I made any reference to it. Why should we? It was early summer. But inside the stark bedroom where we were to stay during our visit it felt like the first days of winter. Mary Sue shivered in her thin dress.
The family room, however, was extremely cozy. Cooking was done on a wood/coal-burning stove. Meals were served on a long oak table that could have accommodated 15 people. The high-backed chairs were comfortable and imposing. They were all antiques that came with the place, Rolfe told us, and they dated from 1840. Each weighed a ton.
The fireplace and the hearth were indeed vast. It resembled a large catacomb and its depth was astonishing. Two fat Santas could have made it up and down the wide chimney with ease at Christmas.
The cobbled floor was covered with a rug several inches thick. Our feet sank into it. After Rolfe and I lit a fire, Mary Sue was skipping happily around barefoot, and when the luxurious heat began to permeate, she stripped stark naked.
Mary Sue could never resist cockteasing; her slender, lithe body with those enchanting buttocks, her beautiful breasts, and her symmetrical thighs with that dark forest of thick hair almost concealing the tender pink lips of her gorgeous cunt, added a great deal to the charm of the moment.
Rolfe was still unable to take his eyes away from her, and his erection was more than noticeable. He made no effort to disguise it and I could tell my wife was becoming more and more fascinated with it ... and him.
"I've never met a man like him," she whispered several times in genuine, unaffected admiration.
Mary Sue, among her other devilish, sexual cultisms that come under the category of flirting, was a lap-sitter/snuggler when she was in a particular prankish, mischievous mood.
Often, she would leap clothed or naked into someone's lap without warning, eventually whipping her pink tongue over her victim's ears, nose, neck and nipples if they were exposed.
A demonstration of this took place but moments after Rolfe had occupied his throne-like chair at the master's end of the long table. There she was, squirming in my German friend's lap, rubbing her luscious breasts against him as she had done at the restaurant and pressing his enormously erect prick back against his stomach.
She kept whimpering and making little animal cries as Rolfe's hands once again petted and caressed her immaculate body. It was at this point that the previously mentioned Viktor suddenly appeared at the door at the far end of the room.
What I measured as an unexpected shock was registered in his dark eyes. There was no smile on his narrow lips. Actually, he looked disapproving, or perhaps intimidated, sexually intimidated, a visible fear subtle and subdued. The next reflection in his eyes was one of confusion.
Rolfe beckoned him to come closer and I could see him balking. If he was indeed Mary Sue's age, he was also quite younger emotionally. And when my wife swung her head around to see whom Rolfe was waving to, Viktor started to turn on his heel.
"Jesus!" Mary Sue exclaimed, a lifting of eyebrows and a slight shiver accenting her quick reaction. "He's beautiful, isn't he?"
I had to agree with her. Obviously, Viktor had not expected to find strangers. A so-called servant of any calling surely would never appear dressed as he was if he had any suspicion anyone not familiar to him would be present.
"You can come in, Viktor," Rolfe said gently. "It's alright. These people are close friends."
Rolfe was openly caressing Mary Sue's gloriously naked tits, cupping them, tweaking her erect nipples as he looked over her shoulders down to the end of the long room. He then introduced both of us and Viktor merely nodded. Then a bright blush roared to his head. His eyes snapped closed and two open palms hastened to cover his leather-thonged and completely exposed prick and heavy, very hairy testicles.
The boy was wearing polished riding boots that shone brilliantly. Each had a silver spur and topped at his knees. His brown hair fell in a cascade on his broad, naked shoulders. His gesture, as he approached, was similar to that of a stallion tossing its mane.
His legs were extremely muscular and extremely masculine in contrast to his soft, feminine skin and rather soft-looking chest.
His stride was airy and light and I could see, as he came closer, just how tightly his handsome genitals were bound by the restricting leather thongs. I also noticed that his prick had begun stiffening. Viktor lowered his eyes to take a swift look at it, then returned to look directly forward. But now his eyes filled up with that kind of visible embarrassment that usually accompanies a sudden blush.
"Viktor is my accomplice," Rolfe said. "You're just in time to bring us some wine, Viktor. A bottle or two of our special vintage." Then Rolfe explained how he had managed to "borrow" a choice grape from a local wine cellar.
Viktor turned and, as he disappeared through a door I'd not noticed, his comely buttocks with a thin leather thong barely visible in the crack of his ass cheeks undulated with an enticing grace.
"God, isn't he just lovely!" Mary Sue's eyes were riveted on the boy until he vanished. "He looks like a painting." It was more than apparent that Mary Sue was fiercely drawn to Viktor. I could understand why.
"Why the strange genital apparatus?" I asked.
Rolfe grinned. Mary Sue turned back to him and continued licking his face, nibbling on his thick, bushy mustache and tickling his ears with her tongue.
"He was disobedient before I flew to Paris to fetch you and Mary Sue. I'm not sure whether it was premeditated or spontaneous. In any event, I fashioned the apparatus, as you so aptly named it.
"You noticed, perchance," Rolfe went on, continuing to fondle Mary Sue intimately as she sat astride him, her long legs spread wide apart, her bare feet not quite touching the tufted rug, "that he walks with some difficulty?"
"I've never seen a boy walk like that," said my wife. "You know, it's exciting! It looks like he's so uncomfortable, doesn't it?" She directed her question to me as her eyes fell to my lap where my cock was straining against my trousers.
I agreed.
"He is, a little," said Rolfe. "It gives more pleasure than pain. That thin leather thong you saw between his ass cheeks attaches itself to a longish, sausage-like, very supple dildo. It is embedded deep inside his anus. By virtue of the constricting thongs gripping the base of his penis and wrapped tightly around his testicles, the instrument cannot be forced out by any muscle action. And, he's been strictly forbidden to touch it!"
Mary Sue backed away from Rolfe. "It sounds something like a weird chastity belt. But I do suppose it could be fun, huh?"
"It depends," Rolfe answered.
Mary Sue glanced at me. "Remember the times I've tied up your balls and prick, darling? Oh, I do. Rolfe's device looks much more efficient."
"True probably," said Rolfe.
"Does he have to sleep with it in him?" she said with wicked glee. Again her eyes fell to my lap. Now it was perfectly plain that I had a powerful erection.
"Oh darling, go ahead. Take it out. I want to see your naked prick. Come on, darling, take it out for Rolfe and me to see. We want to watch you play with yourself. You know you love it!"
I had every plausible reason to change the subject because I could hear the stomp of Viktor's riding boots coming up the wooden stairs from what I now knew was the cellar. All at once I felt strangely shy and embarrassed. I had no qualms about exposing myself before my wife or Rolfe Palmer, but something about the naked young man witnessing my excited prick unnerved me slightly.
"Oh come on now, darling. You know how much it excites me! I'm very horny now. Christ, just thinking about that device up his ass gives me the shivers!" She hugged Rolfe's head against her naked breasts and he licked her nipples. She sucked in a deep breath. "Rolfe, you could make one of those things for my husband, maybe?" She tossed her head in my direction.
Rolfe grinned over at me. "And also one for you, my dear ... maybe?"
"But with two dildos, not just one," Mary Sue smiled broadly.
Viktor entered the room. His bare prick was rock-hard. It strained against the tight leather thongs. I could see his testicles gripped by the lace. I could imagine the dildo doing its work up inside his anal canal. Being anal erotic myself, I was deeply enjoying the wild and admittedly, unusual vicarious sensations.
"Viktor, come here with those bottles ... and hurry. Bring the glasses! Viktor, do you hear me? I want you to move quickly."
Mary Sue was rapt with attention. The head of the boy's prick was bright crimson. The thick staff, half concealed by the binding leather thongs, was lightly veined. As he hurried to do his master's bidding, the thongs would loosen slightly, then tighten up, much like embracing fingers masturbating it.
As Viktor placed three goblets on the table and backed up a foot or so, Mary Sue leaped down from Rolfe's lap.
"I want to see that thing sticking up his ass. May I, Rolfe? Please? I could probably come just looking at it inside his ass-hole. Oh, God. This is wild! It's crazy wild!" she cried out.
"Viktor!" Rolfe spoke in a strong voice.
The boy's eyes raced over Mary Sue's alluring nakedness and lingered on her moss-covered mount and the pink smile of her slit. He cleared his throat, then he coughed.
"Viktor, you heard what the lady said, didn't you?"
"Yes."
"Do as she asks!"
Viktor's eyes were full of silent questions. His lips parted and then closed. Slight tremors ran over his naked frame. His thickening prick, much bolder than before, seemed to be actually throbbing ... as if trying to escape the restraining thongs. His breathing became more audible.
"Climb up on the table, Viktor," Mary Sue told him. "Good, now get down on your belly. That's right. Now open up your legs really wide," she commanded.
Viktor obeyed.
"Good," said Mary Sue, her eyes flashing. "Now raise yourself up on your knees!"
Mary Sue was now breathing as heavily as the boy. Using a chair for support, she got up on the table. She kneeled down directly behind Viktor on her hands and knees.
She put her own lovely behind temptingly high up in the air. She reached behind her and, gripping her stark white buttocks, pried them open, exposing her own delicious ass-hole. Then, with eyes closed, she began smothering the boy's naked buttocks with hot, wet, passionate kisses.
CHAPTER FIVE
V.
From where I sat quite apart from the end of the table the view was perfect. A curious late afternoon medley of lights and shadows played and danced on Mary Sue's shimmering body. The boy's smooth backside, soon covered with Mary Sue's glistening saliva, was highlighted by another beam of light from a small window high up near the peaked roof. It suggested the glaring eye of some monster devil as he peered voyeuristically over the tableau. I couldn't help thinking he would be doing as I was doing, happily jerking himself off as the scene become more and more abandoned.
Less than five minutes passed before my friend, Rolfe, was naked. His large, thick penis stood up proudly with a sense of no-nonsense determination, eager, defiant. I was impressed with his physical handsomeness, his muscular biceps, his broad chest and wide shoulders. He had an uncommonly narrow waist for a male. His legs were muscular and strong. For a man who drank as much as he did, his condition was remarkable.
^^^^^^^^^^
Rolfe was gripping his huge winky with one hand, massaging and stroking it while his other hand fondled and toyed with his heavy testicles. His posture, his behavior reminded me of a bull-like creature I'd seen performing in a rather tastefully done pornographic film. There was something definitely animalistic about his bearing, his threatening crouch, as it were, yet a kind of tenderness dominated. He approached the end of the table.
Catching my eye, he tossed one of the corked bottles of wine. I caught it effortlessly. Next came a single glass flying through space. He uncorked one bottle. I did the other. We poured and raised our glasses in salute. We shared the silent, conspiratorial wink that had become our confidential means of communication. I didn't require three guesses to know what he had in mind. And Mary Sue, sneaking a quick look over her shoulder, had no doubts either. If she had, the moment the darting tip of Rolfe's tongue tickled into her ass-hole, they were dispelled.
A long giggle escaped her lips and, as if to emphasize the thrilling sensations I knew were flooding over her, she let out a low whistle and bit her teeth lightly into the boy's right buttock. Viktor let out a wild scream of surprise but made no move to dodge a second bite.
I focused my attention on Mary Sue's hands. Her left was around Viktor's thigh. Her fingers were gripping his thonged prick. I could see it growing even larger as she played with it.
Her other hand reached under and cupped and rolled his balls. All the while, her lips and tongue were licking and kissing his buttocks. I saw her take the thong from between the crack of his ass in her teeth and pull and tug on it as a dog might do. As she did this, the boy was obviously suffering some pain from the increased pressure. His eyes kept opening and closing. He would grit his teeth and as often as not, great shivers would plow through his naked body. Several times he beat his booted heel on the table top; other times, when the dildo up his ass was really straining, he tried to lean forward to lessen the pain. As she inflicted it, terribly conscious of the reactions she was causing, Mary Sue's eyes gleamed with passion. Because of the fire, now roaring in the hearth not too distant, the room was really heating up. This was evident. Mary Sue's naked body as well as the boy's was now covered with shiny sweat.
I took off my clothes. Swallowing my wine I poured another. As I was refilling the glass, Mary Sue raised her lovely head. She was ever so slowly, sensuously, undulating her buttocks as Rolfe continued to tantalize and tease her ass-hole with the tip of his tongue, while stabbing with his finger.
I could see all of this clearly. I could even see, when Rolfe would pull back for a moment to appraise the exquisite beauty before his eyes, Mary Sue's gorgeous ass-hole winking hotly at Rolfe.
Often in the past I would lie behind her, Mary Sue's legs spread obscenely wide, her fingers holding her ass cheeks apart, while I licked and speared my tongue in and out of her darling hole. I loved to stare at her orifice and the fine dark hairs that curled up all around it.
"Darling," she sighed luxuriously, "could you pour me some wine?"
I filled another glass and with my prick thrusting out, strolled to the end of the table. I held the glass to her burning lips. She was drenched with so much sweet-smelling sweat that her breasts were literally dripping. They were ripe, swollen, and so luscious-looking, and the sweat making them shiny added to their beauty.
"Oh, that's good," she cried. I held the glass out and slowly poured all the delicious wine down her throat. She coughed and gagged, but it wasn't serious. I hurried to refill the glass.
This time I poured the contents down the boy's parched throat. He swallowed and a low burp followed. I sat down again and resumed my masturbation. I was beginning to feel a low buzz from the alcohol in the wine. The heat in the room was adding to it and it wasn't long before I felt as if I were in some dreamy half-world I've always associated with swamps and rising vapors and moss hanging into stagnant pools of water. I knew I wasn't hallucinating, but the tiny moans of pleasure and the little squeals of joy coming from my wife's lips could easily be imagined as bird cries and other tropical noises familiar in any swamp after the sun has risen.
Then came a wild cry. It was so sharp and piercing it could have come from some swamp monster in the prehistoric past. Rolfe had kneeled on the table. Holding Mary Sue's hands as they held open her buttocks so that he could worship and adore her ass-hole, he had brushed his immense cock over the welcoming hole. Then, without any warning, bracing his bare feet against the heavy chair in which he'd been sitting, he had plunged his prick deep inside her ass-hole with one dramatic thrust!
A series of wild screams and moans followed as Rolfe plunged his thick tool in and out of Mary Sue's ass-hole. She was sobbing and holding onto Viktor's naked buttocks as if she were drowning. Rolfe continued to buttruck her fiercely, dragging her back on his stabbing prick while he pumped in a rapid rhythmic manner. Then he would shove her entire body violently forward on the downstroke so that she was almost covering the boy's body. Rolfe seemed tireless, holding her legs wide apart, driving his thick prick in and out as Mary Sue sobbed and cried and screamed at the top of her lungs.
When the boy couldn't take the push and pull on his back, he collapsed down onto the table. Mary Sue fell with her full weight on him. She had her arms wrapped tightly around his waist. She was biting his neck, his shoulders, straining to bite his ears. She tore savagely at his long hair. She gouged him with her sharp fingernails whenever Rolfe's giant prick rammed into her ass. With each frenzied plunge, her screams would echo again and again-until finally, Rolfe slowed down to begin a steady poking. He was building to that special moment when he knew my wife would be ready, anticipating and dying for the final massive thrust that would bury the full length of his cock deep in her hot bowels and fill her with his sperm.
The action I've described continued for no less than half an hour without interruption. I could imagine the intense ache in Mary Sue's ass-hole. I could imagine how sloppy and wet her cunt must be. I wondered whether, if the boy had been on his back instead of his belly and Mary Sue had her juicy cunt over the boy's face, he wouldn't have drowned. My wife's lubrication organs worked with such efficiency that her panties, when she wore them, were nearly always drenched even when the situation had nothing to do with sexual interplay. Many a pair of expensive slacks and form-fitting jeans had been mortgaged to the dry-cleaners by her secretions.
It was Rolfe who called a halt. I watched him as he pulled his powerful prick out of Mary Sue's ass.
It was as erect, if not more so, than when he had first driven it up her hot ass-hole.
He climbed down off the table and walked around to the side, his cock bobbing before him like some obscene dowsing rod. He took a long drink from the bottle, put it down, then coming up closer to Viktor, pulled the boy's head toward his prick. Sue still rode on his back, but now her head hung loosely from the effects of the wine and the butt-fucking she'd received.
Raising his arms up, Viktor took his master's prick in both hands. He tossed his long brown hair forward as a woman does when she's about to brush it. Then he began to wipe and dry off Rolfe's penis with it. As I stared, for I'd never seen this before, I could see that he'd obviously done this many times, it wasn't until he was certain he'd done a thorough job that he released the prick.
Rolfe, curiously indifferent to what had just happened, returned to the end of the table. He poured wine into the goblet, drank from it, and then sat back. He closed his eyes, but not before tossing me another wink.
"Could we please get some fresh air in here?" came Mary Sue's small voice. "It's really stifling!'
"Viktor will see that you get some fresh air," Rolfe said. Standing, he dressed. "I understand how much you enjoy horseback riding, Mary Sue."
My wife turned her head sharply. Her eyes were still clouded. She was touching her hot ass-hole with her fingers, examining them, probably searching for blood. She wasn't the only one surprised not to find any.
"I do." Her voice was weak. "Great. Viktor will take care of everything. There's nothing but fresh air up here and we have an excellent trail." Rolfe strode over to a cabinet. He retrieved a bottle of rum and another of coke. Returning to the table, he spoke in German. Mary Sue didn't understand. I did.
"No saddle for either of you," he told Viktor, his voice firm, his lips stern, identical to the fixed stare in his eyes. I'd never seen Rolfe's eyes quite this hard.
"You will go now, Mary Sue. We have much to discuss here. If you need some refreshment, Viktor will also take care of that," he added, returning to English.
Viktor spoke in fluid German and the elegance of his language was surprising in such a young man. His vocabulary and syntax were those of an academic scholar, not of a 22-year-old. "May I have permission to remove the dildo before I take her riding, Master?"
Rolfe shook his head negatively. "You will not." But he paused here, probably because of a pleading question in the boy's dark, almost brooding eyes. He turned his head to me, then Viktor did also.
I didn't know what was expected of me. I remained silent. Rolfe then took the initiative. But before he spoke I noticed a strange mood seem to envelop him. It was swift, like a sudden blow to the head; then, as he seemed to swing with it, so to speak, a calm as equally profound took over. He lowered his eyes.
"Viktor," he said in German, "before you return from the end of the trail, and be sure to bring flowers for the lady, you may ask her to unknot the thongs and remove the object."
"That will embarrass me," said Viktor haltingly.
Rolfe ignored him. He carried the bottles of rum and of coke to the table. "I will get us ice," he said more or less under his breath. He looked at Mary
Sue and Viktor. In English, he said, "Okay, off with the both of you! Take your time."
Mary Sue sat up. "But ... I'm too sore to get up on a horse now," she whined. I didn't like the childishness in her voice and I said as much with my eyes.
Mary Sue sat up and wiped some of the sweat from her breasts. I was astonished at how much both she and the boy had perspired. There were no actual puddles on the tabletop, but many wet splotches. When Viktor rose up and put his back to Rolfe, I saw that he had had an orgasm.
The thick, matted hair on his lower belly was coated with sticky sperm. So were the leather thongs. This was the first time I'd ever seen sperm on leather. I wondered if it would have a tightening effect on the hide once it dried.
"The feel of the warm animal between your legs, Mary Sue," Rolfe said, "will be an experience you will never forget. There is a healing power for tender anal tissue also," he said. Mary Sue shook her head. She looked over at me, said nothing, and got down from the table.
Without looking back, she followed Viktor to the end of the room. I watched her dazzling white buttocks disappearing in the afternoon sunlight before the door closed behind them.
CHAPTER SIX
VI.
The Institut Felix-Zugerberg where Rolfe Palmer performed his duties as the consulting psychologist was ideally situated in the Jura mountains almost 3,000 feet above sea level.
The air was as rarified as the select student body was aristocratic: the boys dandy, the girls snooty. The many scattered buildings were all in the rustic Swiss chalet style with tall, narrow windows and sloping, rivuleted eaves. The castle-like towers, cornices and vaulted cupola were in the rococo style, but were not as chintzy as some that I'd seen.
Everything was in excellent taste, the manicured grounds, the uniformed gatekeeper, the concert auditorium, the sparkling kitchens and the dining areas. The classrooms were adequate with wide windows looking out over the nearby mountains, bright sunlight making the pure white snow on their flanks glisten.
It was all very picture postcardish and the many different colors were so vivid that the blues and the greens looked slightly unreal. The mountain silence was as profound and as vast as the view and the cloudless blue sky so clear one could see Tibet.
A charming fairy tale village called Marchissy nestled below the academy. Here one did shopping, bought newspapers and posted letters. I had given this address to Mary Sue's mother before departure, so I was both surprised and not surprised to find a fat letter addressed to me at the Postlagernd (General Delivery) window in the dollhouse post office.
It contained two sizable checks in Mary Sue's name and a long, neatly typed letter reiterating the "deal" we'd made. It also inquired as to the progress I was making with my "psychologist friend."
I could detect my mother-in-law's nervousness between the lines. And again I marveled at her seemingly total lack of scruples, her insatiable greed, her cupidity.
I studied the long letter over coffee at the quaint cafe in the village center while Rolfe was having his Volkswagen bus attended to. Then I destroyed it page by page. I promptly forged Mary Sue's signature on the two checks prior to signing them over to Rolfe Palmer. He would deposit them in his account in the local bank. The building was another Swiss gingerbread affair with but a single clerk, a buxom, tight-eyed woman with pendulous breasts hanging down to her waist.
"So! We are in business!" Rolfe said as he joined me at the table. My friend wore a broad grin. We shook hands as if to further cement our larcenous accord.
"Seven thousand dollars profit, from an unearned gross of ten," I said, "is not a bad day's pay." Mother-in-law, according to our agreement, had taken her $3,000 off the top. The two checks-one for $5,000 and the other for $2,000-represented Mary Sue's every-other-month legacy payments. Our take would amount to about $42,000 a year, a tidy sum. But after
Rolfe's psychological tests demonstrated Mary Sue's "incompetence," the loot would add up to about twice that when the monthly trust fund allowance was added.
Rolfe drew a long, satisfied sigh. "Alors," he said, "we shall celebrate, yes?"
"Is it wise to sit in public ... drinking at this hour?"
"Relax, my friend. Where there is a will, there is a way. The two coffee mugs I've ordered will be brought to our table by a trusted friend. Both will contain rum and coke. I am accustomed to taking my 'coffee' this way," he laughed. He slapped me on the back.
The trusted friend turned out to be Leni. She was very young, very pretty. At eighteen, her body was superb and at its peak. She wore a native Tyrolean dress covered with field flowers. It had a scandalous scooped neckline. Her adorable breasts were almost completely exposed when she leaned over to serve us. I could see most of her broad pink nipples and felt my cock stiffen. Rolfe's hand shot right up under the hem of her dress and Leni turned adroitly, placing her back to a long flower box. The idle look in her soft eyes didn't betray the wild excitement slithering over her young body as Rolfe's experienced fingers wove in and out of her moist vagina.
"Stand between us, darling," Rolfe whispered in German.
As Leni obeyed, catching her breath, Rolfe winked. "Join me," he said aloud.
Leni's glorious body shivered. I stole my hand up under her pretty skirt, being careful not to raise the hem too high.
Together Rolfe and I slowly stroked her naked buttocks under her dress. Rolfe fingered her tight little ass-hole and I caressed her ripe, hairy mount and moist slit at the same time. Leni began to tremble visibly. She opened her legs wider. Her eyes closed. An empty Vichy bottle on the tray she was holding began to rock and sway perilously.
"Will you visit us tonight? We may want to fuck you." Rolfe asked softly.
"Oh yes. Yes, tonight! Tonight I will surely come to you," she breathed, wetting her lips, taking deep breaths and beginning to shake with excitement as both Rolfe and I alternated our fingers in and out of her tight ass-hole and cunt.
"Good," said Rolfe in German. "Now back to your work!"
He slapped her playfully on the bottom. Leni giggled, smoothed her skirt down, and wearing a lovely smile, darted happily back into the cafe.
"She's lovely," I commented.
"Leni is Mr. Hyde's friend," Rolfe confided. "She much enjoys Dr. Jekyll, be sure of that, as you've seen," he went on. "But it's Mr. Hyde she fancies most." He paused. "However, that remains to be seen. I mean, for you to witness. Now I suggest we discuss our plans. We have some time. I am not expected by Fraulein Otterman for yet another hour. You will find her interesting indeed. She is the administrating matron of the Institut Felix-Zugerberg. She enjoys an autocratic command. She is first assistant to the absentee director who is an ass, a man whom I detest."
The rum and coke in the coffee mugs was delicious this time of morning. It was well-chilled, but not iced. I could appreciate Rolfe's preference for this drink.
"So allow us to concern ourselves with our plans for your beautiful wife."
"Proceed."
"Well," he began thoughtfully, "I will outline briefly the psychological theory that bolsters our plan. But first, a few comments on Mary Sue's current orientation.
"There is no question of her being amenable to any of our suggestions. However, subduing her will not be easy. I recognize her temper potential.
"In the beginning we must pamper her, but at the same time skillfully introduce her to the slavery and bondage that will eventually humiliate her to the degree of subservience and moral abasement we require. We must bind and yoke her, so to speak, until her essential masochism can be overcome.
"This is to say," he smiled as he sipped from the mug, "that Mary Sue will be driven into a kind of hysterical coma from which the only release, the only escape, is the sadistic ardor, the fervor about which she knows nothing. The result will be exhilarating. Her new behavioral habits will become first a combination of sadism and masochism, then, after a period of time, totally sadistic-when she will reign supreme and force either one of us or both of us into total submission, abject servitude to her every whim, her slightest erotic desire.
"This will take time, of course, but as we make progress, she will become more and more inflamed. Her desire to ravish us, to ravish Leni, anyone we introduce her to, will heighten her basic vanity.
"Her screams and rages as she tortures, the frenzies of pleasure she will experience, will spark a mad longing, engender countless erotic motivations, a lustful fever, as it were.
"At this point she will become for us, utterly maneuverable, malleable, as I've said, our vassal, our haremesque odalisque." He smiled up at me.
He closed his eyes. "Our supine, sexually abased, vanquished, tamed and kneeling, crawling and zealous, eager slave!"
He took a deep breath. "Do you understand?"
"Yes."
"Good! Cynicism, even hypocrisy and, of course, deception, skillfully employed by both of us, will play a dominant role. To encourage Mary Sue, to bait her, to lure and seduce her, will require exquisite cunning.
"As our queen and Mr. Hyde's principal tormentor, a role she must be taught as would any actress be directed to play a role, Mary Sue must be exposed to excruciating pleasure first ... then slowly, even tediously, suffer the dilution of the pleasure until she is quite unable to separate it from the pain that follows. Am I being clear?"
"I think so, Rolfe."
"Good! To illustrate her willingness, her conscious need for submission that flows simultaneously with her passionate need to enslave and dominate, her capacity to enjoy the pain that she calculatedly and callously inflicts on another, we'll need only refer to Viktor's account of her behavior with him out in the forest."
"Yes, I see what you mean."
Mary Sue returned to the villa with mixed feelings. I was alone in our room reading. I heard the hooves of the horses striking the cobbles in the rear courtyard where the stable was located.
Rolfe was brooding over something that didn't concern me. On occasions like these, I always made it a point to leave him alone. His anxieties could be overpowering, even gutting when he lost control of them. They threatened to consume him. What they did was strike panic in his bowels as they increased in momentum, like some gigantic ocean tidal wave rearing in from the sea to demolish the shoreline. He was virtually compelled to surrender to the merciless attack. And this act of surrender drove him into a reactive depression.
It was usually so severe, he would be psychically plowed under into a funk that could smother him. To recover, he would pace like some caged beast, drinking himself into an oblivion that alone could conquer the raging demons.
Hearing Viktor's and Mary Sue's lowered voices-it was long after supper and we had gone on without them-I entered the family room. They didn't see me in the shadows. I sat on the rug near the open hearth.
Both were still nude. Viktor lit a candle and placed it on the table. Silently, he sat down near Mary Sue. Curiously, the boy took the master chair. Two slender, freshly-cut birch switches he had obviously carried in rested on the table. A large bouquet of forest flowers, somewhat wilted, lay next to them.
"Get me some vodka," said Mary Sue in a tone I was totally unfamiliar with. It was commanding, sarcastic. I didn't like it.
Viktor jumped up as if she had struck him! This was when I saw that the lace that had encased his testicles was absent. But the tight thongs were still securing his semi-erect penis.
As his back was turned to me, I was startled to see livid lash marks, long stripes crisscrossing his shoulders and back. His buttocks were quite another color from the rest of his skin. There was no question that he had been savagely whipped, and no question who had whipped him.
As the candle burned brighter I could now get a better look at my wife's naked body. She, too, had been whipped. Across her buttocks were long weals in a varying pattern. Her outer and inner thighs were also marked. But not her lovely breasts. Her long hair was in total disarray. So was the boy's.
"Hurry, Viktor!" she demanded in the same forceful tone. It reminded me of Rolfe's pushing the boy around verbally. "I don't need ice or anything else."
Quickly Viktor returned from the cabinet where Rolfe kept his booze. "And I don't need a glass!" Staring at his cock she poured the glass half full of
Jka.
"Stand in front of me! Hold your prick!" Viktor obeyed.
Leaning forward and bending her body slightly, Mary Sue unleashed his hardening tool. Gripping it, she dunked it into the glass. She stirred his prick around in the vodka, washing it, then she withdrew it and took it in her mouth, sucking it hard until Viktor began fucking his prick down her throat, thrusting from his knees as she clutched and squeezed his swollen testicles. The motion of his tightly drawn buttocks as they drew little circles in the air stimulated me. So did the sight of Mary Sue. She was now sitting down on the rug, her legs spread wide open, knees up, as she sucked his long, hard prick. She tormented her clitoris, her wet vaginal lips and anus with her sharp nails at the same time.
Then, all of a sudden, Mary Sue released his throbbing cock! Clutching his heavy balls, she slid between his open legs. She opened her mouth wide. Balancing over her, and it was apparent they had practiced this position during their absence, Viktor began grinding and rotating his hips as his balls and prick smacked and slammed all over her upturned face.
Finally she took his heavy balls into her open mouth. I could hardly believe it! She was biting them hard, Viktor moaning and convulsing in pain. At the same time I saw Mary Sue's long index finger slip into the boy's ass-hole, gliding deeply until the finger vanished. There was a hush in the family room. The only sounds were the slurping of my wife's mouth on Viktor's balls and the sharp, swishing sounds of her finger pistoning in and out of his hot ass-hole.
This ended abruptly. Mary Sue stopped finger-fucking his ass-hole. She released his aching balls. On her hands and knees she whispered something to him I didn't catch.
Viktor got down on his knees behind her, Mary Sue's ass again high up in the air. He pried her bottomglobes apart.
To my utter astonishment, he pulled the dildo that had earlier been up his ass right out of my wife's orifice. Then he jammed his immense shaft into her gaping cunt.
The transition was as swift and as effortless as any I'd seen. He fucked her like a man gone mad, Mary Sue fucking back on his slippery prick. He leaned back, letting her do the work. She was more than happy to. She arched her back and drove onto him, impaling herself again and again on his throbbing lance. It was very exciting to watch, Mary Sue's boobs bouncing with every backward thrust, Viktor's long shaft glistening wetly each time Mary Sue drew up. She put her hands on her tits as she continued to milk him and pinched her engorged nipples. Then she lifted her breasts and rubbed them together, moaning as her passion started to rise. Nothing of Viktor's needed to rise any more than it had; his cock was rock-hard and tireless as it ground into and out of the pussy that imprisoned it. He began to moan and jerk as his sperm bubbled to the surface. I could almost see his cock twitching though it was largely concealed by Mary Sue's delectable flesh. Finally the boy exploded, his come foaming into her ravished cunt.
As Viktor reeled back on his bended knees, Mary Sue turned over on her back. She threw her legs way back over her head. She opened them. She gripped her ankles. She began bucking her pussy up at him. "Eat it! Eat it! Eat it!" she cried.
He did, diving between her legs and burying his face in her cream-coated muff. He clamped his mouth to her slit and began to suck. My cock was rampant at this sight and I pulled it out and stroked it furiously. I could hear Viktor drawing his juices and Mary Sue's out of her gaping cunt, lapping at her like a dog at the water bowl. As he washed her pussy clean I leaned back in my chair, observing the act through slitted eyes. My cock began to twitch as my flood of thick sperm erupted from the tip. I released my load in three great gouts that geysered onto the floor, finishing just as Viktor rose to his feet.
CHAPTER SEVEN
VII.
The administration of the Swiss Academy rested in the able hands of Fraulein Ursula Otterman. Her rule was fierce. She was assisted by Fraulein Richter, who was much less officious, less severe in countenance, hardly grim, and not at all as unfeminine as her strict boss. These two German-Swiss females had served long, ably and willingly in the gymnasium (high school level) school system before they were attracted to the sensual ambiance of the exclusive private educational academies of Switzerland.
These schools epitomized snobbery. They were fully accredited academically and dispensed credits that were transferable to other institutions such as junior colleges and universities. Most of the student body was American.
Every last one of the students was the product of a wealthy home, enjoyed expensive vacations, and the like. Spoiled brats would have been a good word to describe most of those I saw during my first visit with Rolfe Palmer.
Nonetheless, most of the girls were uncommonly attractive and well-mannered. Prissy boys never held much interest for me and there were quite a few of these studying to become ambassadors, financiers, and high-powered executives. They all wore their noses up in the air.
According to Rolfe, many of the students had attended exclusive preparatory schools back in the States. Many had undergone psychotherapy or psychological counseling during their late puberty and early adolescence. Most were deeply troubled, and didn't get along really well with anybody despite the privileges afforded them. Most had been raised by professional nannies, wet nurses, imported tutors, companions and governesses. Not my cup of tea.
Nearly every one of them had behavioral problem of one kind or another. Few, if any, respected or even liked their parents whose money was spent lavishly to provide them the luxuries of a sophisticated lifestyle.
Basically, the academic standards of the Institut Felix-Zugerberg were mediocre. And why not? Hardly one student attended to study sincerely. The Administration bent over backwards in accepting affluent students; money was far more important than grades from previous schools in terms of being accepted by the institution.
Tobogganing, skiing, tennis, horseback riding, mountain climbing, et cetera, were given much more emphasis than classroom instruction in the usual subjects. However, and paradoxically, the Institut did have excellently trained teachers for the several different foreign language courses offered.
As indicated earlier, Rolfe Palmer was a brilliant linguist and a more-than-qualified teacher and tutor in German, French, Italian, Spanish, Portuguese and English. Thus, beside his regular duties of psychological testing, counseling and the like, he moonlighted as a private tutor. He was able to beef up the students to the point where they could pass the final language examinations. Rolfe had an ear for languages as trout fishermen have noses for fish in mountain rapids.
It was from the small group of language students changing every semester (three semesters of six weeks each in the yearly term), that Rolfe solicited his pupils. He specialized in young, usually American girls. Each of these was a debutante whose family had already scheduled an elaborate "coming out" gala upon her graduation. These galas were lavish and many-splendored society affairs organized specifically to offer the pampered daughters a hand-picked selection of prospective husbands.
"To morally corrupt this breed of young female," Rolfe had written to me in one of his several long letters, "has evolved into what we might refer to as a screaming passion of mine, an erotic desire so intense as to resemble a neurotic/psychotic compulsion such as that known to have motivated mass murderers!" He was not exaggerating.
Stephanie Coombs was one of the students Rolfe had corrupted. Amelia Longworth was another. Theresa Symington a third.
"These three girls," Rolfe was explaining as we drove back to the villa one afternoon in the Volkswagen bus, "have the distinct advantage of being intimate with both my Dr. Jekyll and Mr. Hyde personalities. None are terribly good students. All are exceedingly wealthy in their own right-much as your wife, Mary Sue, is. Indeed, Mary Sue resembles these girls in more ways than one.
"Stephanie Coombs is remote and secretive. An extraordinarily quiet female. She gives the impression she's never ruffled, always calm, serene. Most of her peers at school believe her to be studious, ultra-conservative and unbelievably righteous and obedient to moralistic demands. One would think she was opting to join a nunnery that specialized in training would-be brides of Christ for sainthood.
"You will meet her eventually. You will be stunned to learn that she is one of the most debauched human beings you will probably ever know. Sadistically, she is a tyrannical savage. Masochistically, Stephanie is depraved! That is the only word for her. This girl lusts for vulgarity, for obscenity. She eats and sleeps it. She is immensely grateful to me for my attention to her.
"And she is beautiful. Her cunt is a veritable jewel, peach-pink lips, a protruding clit the shade of coral and so extended I can tie several strands of crochet thread around it. To subdue her the way she-likes to be subdued, I pinch an ordinary clothes pin on her stiff bud and hold it tight."
Rolfe told me Stephanie was nearing 19, but that her the body was ripe, flawless, virginal, with nipples the color of summer strawberries and young breasts a sculptor's dream.
"I have corrupted her terribly."
Back at his villa, while Mary Sue slept off the debaucheries of the night before with Viktor, Rolfe continued.
"Amelia Longworth epitomizes homosexuality, lesbianism, if you like. I don't like the word, 'lesbian.' It is less than adequate. Amelia is fresh from an intense relationship with an older, married woman. She is both active and passive in sex. Incidentally, she will adore Mary Sue.
"Amelia is eighteen, a long-haired blonde. She's petite and solidly formed, perhaps a little too plump-or possibly delectable, just as you please! She has no desire to return to her parents' world. They live in Croton-on-Hudson. This will give you some idea of her social status. She's an inveterate masturbator, privately and in public, but she is not an exhibitionist. Theresa Symington is.
"Theresa is also 18, a student of the French language. She is highly analerotic like Mary Sue. She is impetuous, constantly inflamed-sizzling might be more accurate-and she seduces on sight, if you know what I mean. She is petrified of Mr. Hyde, but she cannot resist him. She craves humiliation, public censure. She never wears panties and is always, in one way or another, invariably exposing her cunt obscenely, indecently.
"I should add, my dear friend, that her cunt is mouth-watering. Her slit is a conch-like pink and the folds tight and almost free of hair. Her breasts are average in size and yearn to be whipped and bitten. Her roommate at the Institut, a younger girl by one year, emotionally immature as well, is now, thanks to me, slavishly addicted to sucking on Theresa's tits, fondling, stroking, pinching, and also birching them. Watching these two have sex together out here at the villa when they are able to visit clandestinely, is so exciting a spectacle that my member throbs at the mere recollection of many such incidents in the happy past.
"Theresa is also unhappy about having to return to her Chicago home when the term is over. We are collaborating on an elaborate plan to keep her over here. It will take money and cunning. I am trying to make arrangements to move her into a sanitarium here in the mountains under the ruse of her needing a convalescent period resulting from a professionally diagnosed severe nervous breakdown.
"Of course, the sanitarium will be our little villa here." Rolfe smiled quietly. "The roommate will join us. She is called Jeanne and her parents have no use whatever for her. They imprison Jeanne in boarding schools and exclusive summer camps all year round. As 'director' of the sanitarium-I have ordered official-looking letterhead to further the conceit-I will become her temporary guardian and will thus dispense the funds she receives monthly for her personal use. Jeanne's disinterested parents are into international real estate on a big scale and are immensely wealthy, always traveling."
As I listened to Rolfe go on in further detail about the Institut girls and his tentative plans for the future, I began to better understand his overall scheme. It excited me more than I wanted to admit.
Although he didn't say as much, it was more than evident that these plans included me and Mary Sue and the eventual establishment of a private sanitarium that would specialize in the treatment of hardcore student psychological cases.
For the parents, money would be no object-and for this money, the parents, in most cases utterly unconcerned with the physical welfare of their progeny, would be well rid of them. I thought this callousness, to be sure, but as prevalent among the well-off as malnutrition was among the teeming masses.
An obvious part of Rolfe's as-yet-unspoken scheme would be the recruitment of the patients. Mary Sue's talent for chance meetings with young people who could fuel the fires of her sadomasochistic cravings, if managed adroitly, would provide a seemingly unlimited number of sensually-inclined, willing victims eager to be shocked, aroused, and broiled on the spit of perverse erotic abandonment.
The more thought I gave the subject as Rolfe carried on eloquently about matters of no relative significance and in which I shared little interest, the more intrigued I became. It was indeed true, as Rolfe claimed from time to time, that he and I did have a great deal in common where sensuality and sexual fantasy was concerned.
Using Mary Sue's money wisely, we would have little if any difficulty obtaining a licensed, private, secluded estate somewhere in Switzerland. Here we could conduct our wanton affairs with utmost discretion and in what would amount to utter secrecy.
At another conversational session later in the day, I volunteered my thoughts on the subject.
"Listen, my good friend," Rolfe exclaimed, "I have never underestimated your perspicacity, your uncanny insights into the human condition, but I must comment that your conception of this idea is absolutely, positively identical to my own. I am staggered by your perception."
We toasted each other with rum and coke and shook hands warmly, cementing another conspiratorial agreement that we both felt would be equally rewarding ... and remunerative.
"The idea is a veritable gold mine," said Rolfe in a tone so enthusiastic his words sparkled as brightly as his eyes. "I see no reason why we cannot begin preliminary exploration immediately. And apropos of this," he hurried on, "I can visualize using the sanitarium concept as an efficient tool in the growth and development of Mary Sue's sadism."
"Exactly how?" I wasn't sure what he meant.
"Well, after listening to Viktor's account of the sadistic punishment each meted out to the other last night, and then, matching it with your imagined description of the post-orgy whipping in the forest, no doubt whatever I can do to add to the tarnishing of your wife's values will be extraordinarily beneficial to our scheme."
"How will we do this?"
"We'll use the power of suggestion. When it works, Mary Sue will simply announce to us that our idea is her idea. Your wife will begin to conjure up a sensually romantic fantasy in which she plays the leading roles; even acts them out-the Queen Goddess of Lasciviousness and Humiliation."
Rolfe laughed. "So, my good friend, we will contrive an elaborate, metaphorical conceit, use it as tasty bait in an artful trap so subtly designed, shrewd and sugared with intrigue that she can't help but find it irresistible. She will persuade herself that only you and I can help her. The sanitarium concept will then have a sense of purpose for her. Everything else of importance in her life will pale by comparison."
Rolfe fell silent.
"It's known as the Queen Bee syndrome," he said finally. "For the time being, you and I must adopt the habits of the male drone bee, having no sting, gathering no honey ... that is, from her delectable hive."
"You mean hives, don't you?"
Rolfe grinned. "Exactly! I will brainwash Viktor to cooperate, an easy, simple task, and one sure to result in success."
Suddenly, Rolfe interrupted himself. He looked at me sharply. "Here comes Mary Sue," he whispered. "Keep her occupied. I will telephone Leni at the village cafe and get the ball rolling ... "
CHAPTER EIGHT
VIII.
It was a poignant moment when Mary Sue first met Leni, the village barmaid. At Rolfe's suggestion, I had not warned my wife of the young girl's impending late afternoon visit. He didn't discuss with me the scenario he had in mind, but I suspected it was sure to have something to do with what we had now nicknamed the "Fric-Frac," a French expression for a criminal heist of great value such as that on which our sanitarium scheme was based.
Mary Sue was in an excellent frame of mind. She bubbled over relating to me what had taken place in the forest with Viktor. I pretended to know nothing despite having received Rolfe's blow-by-blow description gleaned from Viktor.
Briefly, they'd ridden beyond the villa grounds. Viktor had led her to a small sunlit meadow where they'd dismounted. He knew exactly what he wanted and told her so. He demanded that she withdraw the dildo from his ass. She did as she was instructed. Then Viktor told her to take the dildo and fuck herself with it while he watched. He immediately had a raging hard-on as he watched her lay back and insert the object into her steaming cunt. He sat in front of her and instructed her on various movements he liked. He watched as she worked it around in her pussy for several minutes. Then he told her to take it out of her cunt and lick it, get it very wet, and hand it back to him. When she'd done that, he'd taken the dildo and placed it against her anus and slowly pushed. Mary Sue admitted she'd gone crazy fucking it. She'd also begged Viktor to replace it with his cock. He'd refused, but told her to continue fucking it while she lay on her side. Then he'd taken his cock and teased her cunt and clit with the head. Then he'd plunged into her. She'd been double-fucked like this for several minutes until he'd pulled out of her and stood with his prick in her face. She had smiled and sucked all her juices off of it while continuing to fuck herself in the ass. When she'd cleaned it with her tongue, Viktor rammed it into her cunt again. After three or four strokes he began to come and pulled out, shooting all over her tits. She'd grabbed him and jammed him into her mouth and sucked him dry. She'd been covered with his sperm. Then, she related excitedly, it was her turn to exercise control. Viktor had thought they were done, but she'd had other ideas. She'd removed the dildo and kept him in her mouth. She'd started fingering herself and plunged Viktor's half-erect tool down her throat. She'd worked him until he was hard again and he'd poured all the cream he had left into her mouth. She had let some dribble from her lips and swallowed the rest. There was more ... a great deal more, apparently ... but she didn't offer details.
Of course, I said nothing about my accidental spying on their spicy carryings-on in the family room when they believed themselves alone. Mary Sue relived the events as she masturbated me leisurely, sometimes nibbling on my testicles, sometimes tickling and shoving a moist finger in and out of my hot anus to illustrate some of the erotic activities that had taken place earlier with Viktor.
She told me the dildo she had inched out of the boy's ass-hole was made of extremely pliable rubber, a combination of soft and hard material with a flexible plastic rod or rods running through the interior. She remarked that the body heat caused a kind of elastic expansion while the dildo was inserted, and that when part of it was pulled out, this segment "froze." When it was shoved back up the ass again, the thrill was indescribable!
It also seemed, and she made me swear an oath not to tell Rolfe, that Viktor had an extra dildo. The boy had told Rolfe one day that the original had somehow become lost. Rolfe had been furious. Where he had purchased it Viktor didn't know, but Rolfe had been quick to have another made within days of the original's loss. Of course, it hadn't been misplaced at all, and now Viktor had two of the devices.
"Darling, I have it inside my ass now," she said softly. "I can't describe how great it feels. It's so tight and so long and thick; I love it and it loves my ass-hole. It makes me so hot, darling, and so does the thought of it, too, that I can come in seconds after I shove it up."
She said she couldn't wait until she had a chance to experiment with it up my ass.
Then followed a lengthy discussion about Rolfe Palmer.
Mary Sue had yet to make up her mind about him. In some ways he confused her, she said. In other ways, quite the opposite. She adored his butt-fucking of her and loved the immense knob on his powerful prick. She described in great detail the strength of his violent orgasm up her ass and the exquisite pain that seethed throughout her entire body as he plunged his weapon in and out. She also liked the way he surprised her, how she couldn't anticipate what was going to happen next ... as she always could with me, she added.
I explained this was because Rolfe was new, novel to her. She agreed, but with a nearly imperceptible shaking of the head. She loved his heavy, hairy balls, especially the thick forest of hair around his prick and his lower belly. She found his body aroma to her liking and she enjoyed tasting his sweat. "But most of all I like his tongue up inside of me," she sighed as she sprinkled the staff of my prick with loving kisses.
She confided that she was passionate to stick the dildo up Rolfe's ass-hole as well and watch his reactions. She didn't like him too much for the way he "mistreated" Viktor. The boy deserved better treatment, she claimed. But she was in ecstasy when she recounted a story Viktor told her about how Rolfe and he fucked a young girl at the same time. Viktor had been forced to suck up Rolfe's semen, invariably a copious amount, as it dribbled out of the girl's cunt. Rolfe had then birched the boy's naked buttocks as he performed this task he so thoroughly enjoyed.
The sound of the birch thrashing, singing, swooshing through the air, the sight of the bright red welts forming on Viktor's bare bottom, and the twitching of the girl's sperm-filled pussy, would drive Rolfe into an ecstasy so profound, his violent orgasms would make his entire body shake as if he'd been shocked by I,000 volts of electricity.
"Just telling you about it, darling," she purred, "makes me so hot I know I'm going to have to make you suck me off." I had to oblige her. She moved up and brought her delicious cunt to my mouth. Her wet, pink pussy lips filled my vision. She hovered above my mouth for a moment before I put my hands on her hips and pulled her down to my waiting tongue. Her fragrant folds settled against my lips and I began teasing them. I quickly found her clit and flicked at it, enjoying the way Mary Sue jumped and moaned each time I slashed at the engorged nub of flesh. Then I began licking from side to side and top to bottom, thoroughly laving her outer folds and the inner surfaces I'd turned out with my fingers. When I began penetrating her with my tongue as deeply as I could work it in, she rocked as if stricken. I reached up and grabbed her tits. This set off her orgasm and Mary Sue flooded my face with her precious juices. I licked her until she was dry.
"Mind you," Mary Sue continued, "I don't have any strong objections to the way he humiliates Viktor. Viktor loves every minute of it, or so he says. He's never quite sure what Rolfe is going to come up with next. Just like me. And just between you and me, darling, I'm sure that Viktor is in love with his master. He'd do just about anything for Rolfe ... but sometimes, he told me secretly, the pain he suffers from the whippings is a bit severe.
"Rolfe does other horrid things to Viktor. For instance, he locks him up in a dark closet. Sounds terrible, huh? And get this, darling, the punishment lasts all day. Can you believe that? He chains him in this closet and these chains, Viktor says, are heavy, rusty, smelly and they get colder and colder the longer he has to stay in the filthy closet.
"Rolfe also ties Viktor up with big ropes after whipping him all over his body, but especially along the soles of his feet and his backside ... even his balls.
You know," she added pensively, "I think I might like just a little taste of that, but I don't think I'd very much like the closet bit. Viktor says it's black as night in there and there's little air to breathe, and if you can't hold back from going to the toilet after the whipping, well, it's just too damn bad; you have to stay in there until Rolfe is good and ready to let you out ... if he doesn't altogether forget he's left you there.
"Once Viktor had to stay in this wet closet all day and all night before Rolfe finally remembered and came to set him free. Viktor said Rolfe then forced him down on his knees and made him jerk off his cock right in front of him and catch his own come in his dirty hands and then lick his fingers clean. That kind of grabbed me, darling, though I don't know why ... "
With this, she told me to lie down on my back so she could squat over my face with her hot cunt covering my mouth. In this position, she tantalized her clitoris, tugging and pulling obscenely on her plump cunt as my tongue and lips and nose helped drive her into an orgasm.
Mary Sue was in the process now of playing one of her favorite sex games, "Do You Remember?" This consisted of recalling different bouts with eroticism that she would use as foreplay to being fucked. She had just begun when a soft knock sounded at our door.
"Now who could that be?" she wondered aloud. "It's not Rolfe. He knocks like a storm trooper."
"Probably Viktor."
The gentle knock sounded a second time. "No," she said, "Viktor's doing his maid bit upstairs. And he looks just darling with his prick and balls strapped tight between his legs. I saw him. Rolfe makes him wear sheer nylon stockings, a real sexy garter belt, and even high heels, those very thin spikes from years back. That's all, except for lipstick, and a kind of perfume I go for, nice and sweet and sexy."
I went to open the door. Mary Sue crossed to the bed to slip into her negligee. This was a filmy, transparent trifle that accented her glorious body and drove me wild with passion for her body each time she wore it.
"Bonjour, Monsieur." It was Leni, the village girl. "I hope I'm not disturbing you." She smiled. Her eyes fell on my semi-erect penis where it protruded through my open robe.
"Monsieur Rolfe asked me to come up ... ask you if you have a moment or so to go downstairs and speak with him."
Leni's eyes scanned our room over my shoulders but I knew she didn't spot Mary Sue. She was hiding directly behind the half-open door.
"Of course I do," I replied. Leaving the door ajar, I belted my robe and went out into the corridor.
"If your wife is busy, Monsieur ... she is maybe sleeping, perhaps?"
"No. Go in," I smiled. I closed the door behind her.
Rolfe was standing at the foot of the stairs. "Let's hurry. I have a pleasant surprise for you." We entered a small door under the staircase, then climbed a flight separate from the main stairs up to the second floor.
"We'll be able to watch them together, if you wish," Rolfe winked, "and be quite comfortable at the same time." He winked a second time. "If you wish ... ? "
"I wish," I smiled.
The room that adjoined Mary Sue's and mine was fitted with cleverly arranged one-way mirrors. Positively nothing happening inside was hidden from view. Rolfe had mentioned this intricate mirror complex to me earlier, but I'd dismissed the idea of his using it. We both knew I had no objections to his being in our presence when Mary Sue and I were fucking. If he so wished, he could watch all he wanted.
We took comfortable chairs facing separate wide-angled "monitors." Just as we had seated ourselves, the door opened softly. Viktor entered silently with a tray. On it were the glasses and the ever-present bottles of rum and coke. The boy left without a word.
"I did say all the comforts, did I not, my friend?"
Rolfe then exposed his penis and began stroking it nonchalantly. "And we need not even lower our voices. This room is soundproof, but if we wish to listen to their voices," he nodded his head, "we simply depress that toggle switch over there. But I suggest we watch them first in silence. There is so much to be learned this way. But then, when the moaning and sighing become more rapturous, we will, of course, turn on the sound. Don't you agree?"
I poured drinks for us and agreed wholeheartedly.
As I mentioned, the first sight Mary Sue and the young, beautiful Leni had of each other was poignant. It was pleasantly stimulating and the instant physical reaction of each to the other was tender indeed.
Leni's eyes were flashing and I could feel her temperature beginning to rise. My wife sat on the edge of the big bed. Leni sat in a comfortable chair near the foot of it, her eyes facing into the mirror. Mary Sue's back was to us. I could imagine their conversation.
Young girls habitually discuss the same ageless preliminaries. They take their sweet time. They seek the core of each other; they appraise, they like and dislike, compare, compare, compare. They compare with flitting eyes and generally hope for a middle ground from which both can base their feminine attack or organize a retreat. In this case, it was quite evident both were planning to establish a permanent camp.
In less than five minutes, Mary Sue was sitting down on the thick rug at Leni's feet. They were talking animatedly, sometimes laughing loudly although we could not hear, but the happy expressions in their eyes, the broad smiles and many eager nods of agreement told their own story.
Before long, Mary Sue's diaphanous negligee fell open at the throat. As she crossed and uncrossed her long, slender legs at different intervals, the silky folds of the gown opened wide.
Rolfe and I could now easily see Leni's eyes caressing and searching between my wife's half-open thighs. We could see the thick, dark, curly hair covering her luscious mound. We could even see, now and then, the plum-red inner labia of Mary Sue's cunt and the delightful pink-purplish folds of her inner membranes when her cunt lips would gape wide open of their own accord as she moved carelessly about. It was a delicious, intimate sight!
For several long minutes, we watched closely. In slow motion Leni's sandaled foot and bare toes brushed casually near my wife's exposed knee. Mary Sue took the little foot in both hands. Slowly she slipped off the high-heeled sandal and was soon massaging and rubbing Leni's foot, paying special attention to the different parts, but mostly fondling and caressing her toes. It was apparent Leni enjoyed this. It was their first physical contact and pretty soon both girls were looking deeply and lovingly into each other's soft eyes.
Then, all of a sudden, with no verbal exchange between them, they stood up and crossed to the bed arm in arm. Leni lay down full length. Mary Sue lay alongside. In less time than it takes to write it, both were kissing hotly, passionately, and it wasn't much longer before the two excited bodies were squirming and writhing on the bed.
CHAPTER NINE
IX.
There was nothing tentative about their lovemaking once it began in earnest. Passion reached fever pitch when eager fingers began probing. Rolfe flipped the toggle switch to introduce the sound and our ears were soon tuned into soft murmurs and whimpers. This low moaning created a kind of background music, punctuated more and more frequently by short, joyous, exclamatory bursts, deep, whispering sighs and sudden, explosive sobbing as the girls worked their slippery fingers in and out of each other's churning cunt.
Every so often Rolfe would switch off the sound, then, just as abruptly, flip it back on. We could see tongues washing moist pussy lips, ripe young breasts rubbing together erotically, teeth raking engorged nipples, and hands exploring expanses of naked flesh.
At one point Mary Sue was bucking up, arching her back, humping on Leni's probing fingers. Her little screams of joy and pleasure filled our ears; she tossed her head, raising and lowering her pelvis as her innermost depths were plumbed by the insistent digits. Then a strange thing happened that must have been provoked by Mary Sue's sharp teeth. What began as an erotically teasing nipping contest evolved into Mary Sue actually sinking her teeth into Leni's armpit.
Leni screamed in sharp pain! At the same instant, she reared up and slapped my wife so fiercely across her face I imagined the roots of Mary Sue's hair vibrating with the unexpected shock.
As suddenly as Leni had struck Mary Sue with her open palm, she gripped her face with both hands. She began smothering Mary Sue's cheeks with wet, passionate kisses. She licked her face, her chin, playfully at her exposed ears with exaggeratedly bared teeth. Then, when Rolfe and I least expected it, and I was certain Mary Sue didn't either, Leni raised up and slapped her face cruelly a second time!
This was a full swing and Mary Sue's head snapped backward with the force of the vicious blow. It was again followed by tender kisses, the gentle tongue washing, the sucking, the lips soothing the bright red flush on my wife's injured cheek. We could hear a different kind of sobbing coming from Mary Sue now. It was low and throaty, guttural, interspersed with deep, heaving sighs and a visible restlessness.
Leni's free hand was working like a mechanical claw, her fingers pinching, scratching, literally mauling my wife's frenzied cunt and marking her white breasts. At the same time Rolfe and I could see Leni working at Mary Sue's mouth. She forced her stiffened tongue in and out with rapid thrusts, then withdrew it slowly, teasingly, quietly licking her lips. Mary Sue squirmed as Leni's sharp fingernails continued to claw and dig, inflicting differing degrees of pain that made Mary Sue utter words of encouragement and sharp commands to stop.
Several times the pain must have been so severe that Mary Sue could hardly tolerate it. Her wild screams reverberated from the walls and ceiling with increasing volume until at last her entire body leaped up and arched. Her long legs were thrashing and hot tears were pouring from her eyes as an explosive orgasm ripped through her trembling body.
I had never seen my wife react so violently to sex.
Rolfe flipped the toggle switch off. He took a deep breath as he relaxed back in his chair. His enormous naked shaft resembled an axe handle; the bulbous tip was a deep red and the eye dripped with glistening fluid. He grinned at me.
"Your wife hungers to be debauched."
"I wonder if she's not bleeding vaginally."
"Probably she is. Leni's fingernails are like a falcon's talons. Her fingertips can slice like a blade. Next to her teeth they are her most vicious weapon. She's careful, though, not to cause too much pain, and never any injury."
We both fell silent and continued watching the spectacle in the other room. The girls hugged and kissed passionately, taking turns sucking and licking the other's ripe breasts and hard nipples. Leni continued to take the initiative. She would nurse on Mary Sue's erect nipples, then literally chew on them until my wife would be shivering, reeling with passion, her ravished cunt gasping, her thighs opening and closing. Leni's burning caresses made her tremble and shake from head to toe.
When Mary Sue turned on her left side at Leni's urging, Rolfe and I had a perfect view of her heavenly bottom. Her buttocks were superbly contoured, firm and curvy, full and rounded, but not at all plump. The neat, well-defined crevasse between her glorious globes was a delicious sight. The forest of short hair growing so profusely around her chubby cunt lips and the smaller, tight, puckered orifice of her exciting ass-hole, and then the tiny nude space between those two delightful entrances to the very core of her body presented a breathtaking contrast that roused our hot lust.
It wasn't long before young Leni's nostrils were flaring and quivering. Using her nose as a probe, Leni began sliding it through the crack between Mary Sue's lovely buttocks. We could hear her sucking in air through her mouth. As she rubbed her nose lower, into the thickening juices flowing so copiously from Mary Sue's gaping cunt, she began to snort and make animal-like growling noises. When Mary Sue reached both hands behind her back to pull her glowing buttocks wider apart to further expose her ass-hole and cunt to Leni's exploring nose, the latter's snorting and squealing reminded me of some cute little piglet I had watched in a Disney cartoon.
We could clearly see Mary Sue's sphincter muscle opening and closing as Leni's nose continued to tease obscenely. What Leni had done with her tongue earlier in my wife's mouth, she was now duplicating in her ass. She rubbed and poked her nose, clutching Mary Sue's gorgeous ass with both hands thrusting her dazzling behind high up in the air while Mary Sue still held her buttocks wide apart.
Now we could hear Leni's slurping. Her nostrils were obviously clogged up with Mary Sue's rich cunt juices. When she galvanized her flashing tongue, Mary Sue was so unprepared for the attack she let out another wild scream. Now her head was buried deep in the pillow, her knees open wide, her fingers still gripping her ass cheeks as she began to hump vigorously while Leni's tongue stabbed in and out of her hot cunt.
In moments Mary Sue's little cries and whimperings and soft whispers were drowning out Leni's grunts as the girl tried to suck up and swallow every drop of thick juice now pouring from my wife's gaping pussy. The sight was intoxicating!
"It reminds me of truffle hunting in the French forest," Rolfe observed with another of his sly grins. His fist was once more riding vigorously up and down the length of his prick, his thumb burnishing the wet knob, his other hand, when it was not holding his glass, caressing and squeezing his heavy testicles.
"This is as passionate as I've ever seen our Leni," he added. "She's just this side of gobbling your wife's cunt physically." He paused. "I'll wager she's tasting the blood her fingernails drew earlier. Invariably that drives her wild, the salty taste of human blood mixed in with her own saliva and Mary Sue's secretions."
"Like some Transylvanian vampires?" I joked.
Rolfe laughed. "Exactly." Then his smile vanished. "Let's go downstairs," he said. "I have a tale for you. We can return later, if you wish, to watch the finale. It's sure to be a good one."
He resumed when we were seated by the crackling fire. "We had one flogging situation out here not too long ago. It was spontaneous. Leni and I were dead sober. My Hyde-like suffering was intense, my mood foul. I had just subjected Leni and one of the girls from the Institut, Jeanne, whom I've spoken of, to a severe whipping.
"Both Leni and Jeanne were bleeding slightly, their shoulders, their buttocks, their thighs. Jeanne was menstruating at the same time, her inner thighs splotched. Her little cunt was flooding. As I lashed, the sight of this blood matting her cunt hairs, leaking onto her white thighs, added immeasurably to the fantastic sensations I was enjoying.
"We were out in the wood, not too deep, but distant from the house. Viktor had the horses tethered in a clearing. He was sitting astride one of the stallions as he watched me violate both Leni and then Jeanne after the whippings. Oh, I fucked the two of them well. Viktor was naked, his prick throbbing, absorbed by the sight.
"Well, I was so engrossed in my personal madness and the excitement of the moment I didn't hear Viktor calling for my attention. Jeanne was spread-eagled and tied on her belly to four stakes driven into the earth.
"A dildo strapped to Leni's waist-she had used this earlier on poor Viktor-was penetrating deeply into Jeanne's ass. Leni was riding, fucking her into unconsciousness ... well, almost. I was down on my hands and knees behind Leni, my prick deep in her bowels. At the same time I was flogging her naked back, while both girls screeched at the top of their lungs.
"Perhaps it was a change in the direction of the early evening wind ... but suddenly I became aware of Viktor signaling me with his whistle. I glanced over to the clearing. I followed his outstretched arm. There stood a poacher! This was a dangerous man for whom we'd been searching since I first leased the property. I hated this man.
"I might add that this nameless bastard had even slaughtered one of my dogs ... in error, I imagine, but nevertheless, Putzi was dead. A good dog, too.
"This does not count the number of pheasants, grouse, so on and so forth that this filthy creature poached and butchered on the property, leaving the entrails to rot.
"Disgusting," Rolfe spat. "Anyway, I pulled my prick out of Leni's ass, leaped up, and I flew after the bastard. Despite my pursuits, I'm still in excellent condition. He didn't stand a chance. I caught the poacher in no time at all. I smashed him brutally with my fists and elbows. I knead him in the groin until he was cowering. I beckoned to Viktor. He rode over. With Viktor helping me, because the bastard began to revive and resist, we managed to tie him to a tree limb extending out into the clearing. Viktor climbed the tree and made the rope secure. The man's feet just touched the earth.
"I ordered Leni to rip his clothes off. This was an unbelievable sight!
"Our poacher was as hairy and as dirty as a bear, even snarling like one. He was carrying on like a wild beast, kicking, throwing punches, and more than once connecting with Leni's face or shoulders as she tried to duck away from his flailing arms. "Using the leather lead line from the bridle, the boy and I finally had his wrists trussed tightly behind his back. For my prisoner, there was no escape.
"I told Viktor to free Jeanne from the staves. She was still spread-eagled into the earth. When she was finally able to stand up, pain throbbing all over her shivering body, almost covered with blood and the weals on her buttocks still bleeding, the fury in her eyes was rabid. Grabbing the cat-o'-nine-tails from where I'd dropped it, she flew at me like an enraged beast. She was burning for revenge on Mr. Hyde who had only recently punished her so cruelly.
"But Leni tore the whip from Jeanne's hands. Wielding it as though she were a vicious slave driver on a Roman galley, she attacked the poacher. At the same time, Jeanne crashed bodily into me and began raking my chest and upper arms. I was winded from the struggle with the poacher, but suddenly I found enough strength to hold her off at arm's length. She was shouting and cursing so vehemently I was sure her voice carried all the way to Geneva.
"Then Viktor grabbed her from behind. They fought like savages until Viktor was able to actually sit down on her. Still her legs thrashed, her arms swung, she bared her teeth ... well, you can imagine her insane rage. This was her very first encounter with Mr. Hyde and, I should add, the first time her virgin ass-hole had been violated with a dildo or anything else.
"Within fifteen minutes the poacher was drenched in his own blood and sweat. Leni's revenge on him for punching her was merciless. Not only was his back bleeding, but his buttocks, his genitals, and also his face. The coarse black hairs covering his bulk were matted and caked with freshly drawn and drying blood from some several hundred lacerations Leni had inflicted with the cat-o'-nine-tails. An unusually cruel instrument if handled intelligently ... and Leni is accomplished.
"But I'm forgetting her seeming vampirism ... her taste for human blood that almost borders on the cannibalistic. She can feast on it and literally wallow in it. Once we cut the poacher down from the tree limb, she unleashed secret appetites that staggered even my imagination.
"In a word or three, a pagan lust engulfed her and her vengeance wasn't appeased until she had sucked and licked every single laceration on his body until the poacher was writhing in a chaos of stinging pain and convulsing in a torment of pleasure."
Rolfe looked up at me slowly. He had become lost in his reverie and had forgotten my presence.
"The end of the story is anticlimactic. I made some arrangements with the local authorities and had the man arrested. He was finally expelled from the district."
CHAPTER TEN
X.
Fraulein Otterman, the administratrix of the Institut Felix-Zugerberg, was an imposing woman in her mid-forties, grim and efficient. I detected a gleam of cruelty in her eyes during our first meeting.
She was tall and slender with short, cropped dark hair. Her eyes were set deeply and intensely blue ... and ice cold. Her lips were thin and narrow. She did not smile on greeting us nor throughout the time Rolfe and I spoke with her at a table in the small village cafe. From the first word, her tone and manner were blatantly cynical, but it was her withering stare that annoyed me the most. At the same time she fascinated me!
Fraulein Otterman had strong hands and long, aristocratic fingers. The nails were carefully manicured. Her breasts were full, ripe, heavy without being pendulous. She wore no brassiere under a mannish-tailored shirt and was obviously proud of the way her tits protruded.
I was able also to appraise her buttocks and her erect posture. It would be no exaggeration to remark that she carried herself with military bearing-yet at the same time, she wasn't altogether unfeminine. Not at all. Dangling from her ears were two heavy, sensitively designed earrings. She wore pale pink lipstick that emphasized rather than disguised her thin lips. This gave her mouth a much more cruel appearance.
She spoke in a low, guttural German and used mostly monosyllables or short, curt nods of her head to underscore her acknowledgment of Rolfe's remarks. Throughout the conversation she kept one eye on me. When she thought I was looking elsewhere or not listening, both eyes studied my features and my frame with that kind of scrutiny associated with watch repairmen. On several occasions her fierce examination made me quite uneasy, if not a little nervous. She was not the sort of female whose underlying motives or thought processes were visible by her behavior. And this was deliberate! I could almost sense a diabolical entrapment pervading the atmosphere at the cafe table. Then, as the conversation finally led into our sanitarium scheme, I became positive that the woman's behavior was contrived. Certainly, it was more artificial than Rolfe Palmer had led me to expect from her.
But I relaxed as best I could and sipped the rum from the coffee cup. When I wasn't listening intently to the conversation, my thoughts scattered and I would fall in and out of reverie.
One such thought that persisted in snagging my attention from the table talk concerned a woman I'd known when I was a young man. Fraulein Otterman reminded me very much of Hilda Sonne.
I had been paying one of my legally required annual visits to my mother's home. My parents were divorced when I was very young. My father had been awarded custody, and my mother had remarried almost immediately. She had subsequently divorced again, but still had charge of my stepsister, Olivia. Her governess and tutor was Hilda Sonne, and she lived-in, as it's said, but in a small cottage near the big house my mother received in the divorce proceedings along with a handsome alimony.
The very evening of my arrival, Mother's familiar disappearing act took form, and after a hasty dinner, she vanished with one of her several lovers. My visits to Mother were a sham and a farce, but I did enjoy the company of my little sister.
I say "sister," though we were not blood relatives, for we had been extraordinarily close since she was eighteen and I was her lone confidante and friend ... and lover. That night, if the truth be told, neither of us could wait until Mother was gone. We sat at a table close to each other, Olivia's skirt up around her waist. She was sitting with her bare buttocks on a satin cushion. My pants were open and her loving, eager fingers gripped my erect penis whenever she dared.
Across from us sat Hilda Sonne. Just as Fraulein Otterman was doing, her eyes darting and prying, approving or disapproving silently of what they examined, Hilda had made her decisions about me on our first meeting. She couldn't see our activities below the table.
I was immediately afraid of her despite my age. I was no longer a boy at twenty-one and Hilda was treating me as if I were a child. And, just as Fraulein Otterman fascinated me, so did Hilda Sonne. Both females had the same look in their hard eyes, savage, stonyhearted, unsmiling. It was hard to believe the many references I'd read in my sister's letters describing the affection she said she felt for Hilda Sonne.
After the dinner table was cleared, Olivia and I remained; Hilda had some early evening errands in town. If we needed her, she reminded us that she'd be in her cottage before bedtime. From the look in her eyes, I didn't believe her. I had the idea she wasn't going anywhere. But I kept this to myself.
"Let's sneak some cognac," I suggested.
"I'm way ahead of you, darling," was Olivia's reply. "And I have another beautiful surprise ... but I must go upstairs for both. Go into the living room. Light the candles and play us some soft music. It's going to take me a minute."
"We won't get into any trouble?" I was referring to Hilda and my mistrust of her.
Olivia cocked her pretty head and looked at me quizzically. "Now why should we? Hilda's gone. There's no one to interrupt us, Timothy." She frowned. "Oh, don't you look so worried, darling. I think I know what's bothering you, but just relax, okay? We promised each other we'd have some fun, no?"
While she was gone I looked around. In the year since I'd last visited, little had changed. I studied Hilda's cottage from the window and remembered the last governess who had lived there. I was almost certain I saw the curtains in the main downstairs room ruffle although no window was open.
Then I was positive I saw a thin shadow pass behind the curtains. But I chased the thought from my mind. It was probably my youthful anxieties, my paranoia. Then again, I was always nervous in my mother's house.
My loving sister's surprise was a "dress-up." This was a game we loved to play, wearing other people's clothing. This time she was naughtier than she'd ever been. Scandalous!
"Like it?" she laughed.
"I love it!" A shudder traveled down my spine and back up again. Another wild spasm struck me right in the groin.
Olivia was wearing a pair of golden sandals with sharply spiked high heels. Her pretty legs were bare to the thighs and the curves of her delicious buttocks were quite visible.
On top she wore an open Gypsy vest that exposed her young breasts. They never looked lovelier. The sweet curves of her breasts had always attracted me and I loved to fondle and lick and suck them. I could even spend endless hours just staring at them hungrily while I leisurely fondled my penis until my sperm erupted under Olivia's delighted gaze.
Around Olivia's waist was a blue-tinted golden waistband. The neck-choker she wore matched it and around each slim ankle was a bracelet of the same gleaming gold. From where she stood across the room holding a bottle of cognac in one hand and two glasses in the other, I could smell expensive Parisian perfume. It was heady and sweet and Olivia knew the effect it would have on me. It would make me giddy with hot desire. In the past when she'd used the atomizer and sprayed a pair of her filmy panties with the perfume, and then rubbed the panties over my face while she stroked my penis, I would explode in her hand to the delight of us both. Many times she would send me a pair of her worn panties doused in different perfumes.
I developed many erotic fetishes at an early age and Olivia never stopped provoking me. It's hard to list one fetish for which my sister wasn't somehow responsible. To this day her sensual imagination is superior to most women I know who take a delight in teasing and tantalizing men to the point where they're shivering with passion.
She sat close to me on the long leather couch. The candles flickered romantically. My bare cock was hot in her hand as we kissed tenderly, then hungrily, then savagely. The bottle of cognac lay on the floor untouched.
Within moments I was standing up in front of her. My trousers were down around my ankles. Olivia was licking and tickling my hardness with her tongue and sweet lips. Her little hands gripped my buttocks and her fingers were either scratching or kneading my skin. One finger crawled lazily between the crack of my ass and it wasn't long before I could feel the fingernail flicking my anus, then her long finger jamming up wickedly into my hole at the same flashing instant that she took my erect penis into her warm, wet mouth. The pleasure was exquisite.
Now she was making loud sucking noises because she knew how much the sound excited and aroused me. I was holding her head, my own head swimming. I could tell she wanted desperately for me to shoot off into her mouth. Her eyes, looking up into mine, were pleading, even begging as her mouth worked furiously, as her tongue caressed the burning tip of my cock. I loved the feel of her teeth and her fingers that were now squeezing my testicles to the point where I was twitching in pain.
I rammed my cock down her throat in response, fucking it as I had often fucked her cunt, hard and fast. I knew I wouldn't last much longer, and I so desperately wanted to fill her mouth with my sperm. I thrust in and out, my balls slapping against her chin. I could feel the head of my prick swelling and swelling.
Then her fingers up my ass-hole began twisting and digging in deeper. This was all I needed! The orgasm was so suddenly violent and my lust so wild, I let out a screaming cry and almost lost my balance, tripping backwards because of the trousers binding my ankles. Olivia pulled me forward, sucking and swallowing as I pumped and pumped my semen into her mouth.
Then, even while my prick was still squirting, she pulled me down to my knees. She grabbed my penis and rubbed the head all over her sweet vagina, my sperm coating her cunt hairs and her beautiful labia.
She drew my face close to hers. Our mouths met and our tongues were swirling as she spat her saliva and then sucked it back and spat it back into my mouth again and again until we were both dizzy with the knowledge of the intimacy we were sharing.
When the taste of semen was almost gone, she lay back on the couch. She threw her legs up high until her knees were touching her face. She opened them vulgarly, smiling at me. Now her luscious cunt was wide open and juicy to the point where I could almost smell that she was on the verge of coming.
Quickly, I buried my face in her hot cunt. I began licking and sucking furiously the way she liked it. I bit and I chewed. I pulled her fleshy lips into my mouth and sucked up as much of our mingled juices as I could before pulling her legs down and falling on top of her. Once again we kissed hotly and shared the wonderful salty taste of our mingled sex juices.
It was at this point we were interrupted!
I was so shocked by the sudden appearance of Hilda Sonne at the door leading to the back garden that I reacted as if I'd just awakened from a hideous nightmare.
The sight of the woman standing there, leering, the ice cold stare in her forbidding eyes, staggered me. Olivia was moaning "Oh my darling ... my loving Timothy, I do so love you. Don't ever lose me ... " She was completely unaware of the presence of her governess. As I started to pull back sharply, my sister pressed me even closer, her teeth biting into my lips, her eyes closed tightly.
"Enough is enough!" said Hilda Sonne.
Olivia bounded up like a pheasant shot dead in the woods. Here she was, drowning in a chaos of wild sensations, thirsting for more and more pleasure, her body fusing with my own ... and now she was literally shivering in fear at the sound of her governess' sharp command.
I could feel the cold sweat breaking out on her body as I pulled away and, dragging my trousers up, rose to my feet. I knew I was blushing with shame and even in the flickering candlelight my keen embarrassment must have been visible.
"Go to your room, Olivia."
Humiliated and confused, shamefaced, Olivia got up awkwardly. She could hardly walk. All the passion in her body and brain had been swept away. I had never seen her so disconcerted. From the rear, as she walked slowly to the staircase, the Gypsy vest, the golden waistband, and especially the heels she wore looked foolish, ridiculous and even shabby.
I will never forget that moment.
Nor those that followed. I can still hear Olivia's screams of outrage and pain ringing in my ears as Hilda Sonne blistered her naked bottom pitilessly. My sister's once-smooth buttocks were now covered with welts and weals from the stinging birch whip that had her behind hot and swollen as she twisted and cried out for the woman to stop punishing her. Tears were streaming down her cheeks.
With every stinging blow, she would let out a piercing scream, her buttocks would quiver and tighten, then loosen up just as another blow swished through the air and hissed against flesh with a savagery I couldn't believe.
I don't remember the number of vicious lashes Hilda Sonne delivered, but I do certainly recall the visible delight in the woman's gleaming eyes as she held Olivia down on her lap and the searing sting of the fresh birch made my shame-ridden sister utter one wild, screaming cry after another.
Then, all of a sudden, Hilda stood up, almost dumping my sister on the rug in the bedroom. Olivia was moaning and whimpering, unable to look over at me standing by the window as Hilda had ordered me to do throughout the punishment.
"Olivia," she said, her voice acid with sarcasm, "now you can show your precious brother just how much you enjoy being punished." She tossed her head. "Now he can know the whole truth about you. Now he will see you as you really are ... and I won't listen to you try to persuade me differently!"
The tension in the bedroom was electric.
Olivia crawled slowly across the floor to where Hilda took a new position, her arms folded under her heavy breasts, her eyes as hard and cold as stone. I couldn't believe what I saw as Olivia crawled to her on her hands and knees, her head bowed. I'd not noticed Hilda's boots. Nor had I really taken notice of her heavy woolen skirt that Olivia was now using to hoist herself up inch by inch with her head under the hem.
Olivia's hands now pushed the skirt up higher around Hilda's waist. Underneath it the woman was stark naked! As Hilda inched her heavy thighs apart, I watched as my sister began kissing and worshipping the exposed cunt lips, poking her tongue in and out, licking the folds, her hands beginning to explore and caress the woman's buttocks much as she had done to mine earlier.
As Hilda spread her legs wider apart, Olivia began licking up and down to her knees. Then she would kiss Hilda's boots, then lick back up again before burying her face between the plump folds of Hilda's gaping vagina.
Hilda's head was now thrown back. As I stared in disbelief, I saw the woman reach for the same birch she had used to flail my sister's naked buttocks and begin to rain blow after blow down on her bare back and shoulders. This continued until my sister was grasping Hilda around the waist, nibbling and sucking her hairy cunt as if she had gone insane.
"Enough!" came the woman's hard voice again. She glanced over at me.
"Master Timothy," she said stiffly, "you may pull your trousers back up now ... but leave your cock sticking out. Your sister loves your foul cock!" She paused and took a deep breath. "Now, walk over here and together we'll watch your precious sister milk that penis dry ... and this time ... this time it will be before my eyes, not behind my back!"
Each word cut like a knife as I obeyed. My sister thrust my throbbing penis into her hot mouth. I worked it around in response to the urgings of Hilda Sonne. Despite my fear and shame my cock was rock-hard; somehow the entire affair was exciting to me. I wanted nothing better than to come in Olivia's mouth right before the eyes of this woman. Olivia didn't even have to work my shaft with her fingertips the way she usually did. My sperm was already boiling as I began to fuck her mouth with a steady motion. The grip of her lips and teeth seemed to encourage my passion to bubble and rise until I felt the flood straining for release at the tip of my cock. Hilda smiled approvingly as I let go and began to pump in great gouts. My come splashed into Olivia's sucking mouth within seconds as her horror-stricken eyes riveted into my own.
CHAPTER ELEVEN
XI.
"The conscious desire to inflict pain is common enough," Rolfe remarked. "Even children, those supposed innocents, can display it-though there's some dispute about whether this is evidence of man's fallen and sinful nature, or the bankruptcy of our comfortable belief that children are sufficiently protected to maintain their innocence intact. So: do they invent their cruelty, or do they learn it? It's an interesting question, and applies as well to the manifest cruelties practiced by females before the age of twenty-one and after the age of thirty. The 'pain' of which we speak is merely mental, you understand.
"The conscious male desire to inflict physical pain of course shows up in aggressive situations such as barroom brawls and wars," he continued, "but the alert student will not draw from this the conclusion that males do not, therefore, inflict great pain upon their intimates and subordinates. In fact they do-a great deal more pain than any other class of person-the catch being that one little word, 'conscious.'
"Most men sleepwalk through life, wasting such opportunities for more refined pleasure there might have been in the pain they cause others, effectively wasting it. Oh, they may come to a momentary consciousness during some bit of buggery or battery, but they swiftly repress any clear memory of the nature of their acts."
Rolfe paused for a long thoughtful moment, then went on leisurely, "I do not like this word, 'repress.' Standing somewhere behind it is the word 'shame,' a word tainted with morals. What I describe here has nothing in it of morality; that requires consciousness, and this forgetting is its opposite. Such a man wishes only to rid himself of inconvenient thoughts, much like the man who, finding himself with a painfully full bladder, asks for the location of the nearest 'public convenience.'"
According to Rolfe Palmer as he continued what amounted to a lecture on the subject, the desire to have physical or mental pain inflicted on oneself, that is, "aggressive masochism," is again common, but is found to be more prevalent in the female. I am abridging Rolfe's remarks here, you understand.
He said there are those who actively seek out pain, who plant themselves in positions where they know punishment will ensue. This is similar to insulting a policeman or rudely bumping into a belligerent drunk.
Then there are those to whom pain comes naturally, as it were; those who, regardless of how much they desire to avoid pain, invariably suffer rejection, humiliation, gross emotional insults. These people are the same ones, you will notice, who are constantly bumping into objects, needlessly hurting themselves. These are the accident-prone. Essentially, these individuals are your true active masochists.
A third group associates pain, rejection, humiliation, mental anguish or severe emotional agony, with sexuality. An aberrant sexual need motivates them. Such is the case for those committing a deed for which they know some kind of punishment will be given in return. Student pranksters are a case in point. So are those who beg to receive spankings or canings on their bare bottoms for their deliberate misdeeds. Prisons the world over are filled with individuals who never grew emotionally out of either puberty or adolescence.
Finally, a fourth group thrives on both self-inflicted pain and that pain or emotional suffering inflicted upon them by others, seemingly at their command.
Throughout his lengthy monologue, Rolfe Palmer was interrupted only once. Leni appeared at the village cafe for work. She looked as fresh as a daisy despite the long hours she had spent with Mary Sue. It was about noon the following day and the two girls had spent the entire night in each other's arms.
Leni bent her head and whispered in my ear.
"Your wife will meet you here shortly. She told me to tell you secretly that she's with Viktor. She hopes you don't mind too much."
"Did you enjoy her?" Leni had no idea Rolfe and I had watched the preliminaries and then the final scenes through the one-way mirrors.
Leni sighed, smiled. "I've fallen in love with your wife. We are both so much alike, our tastes, our appetites, our hunger . ... "
She whistled another long sigh, then went around the table to give her attention to Rolfe Palmer.
Fraulein Otterman, arms folded severely, studied the new arrival with an almost contemptuous look in her steely blue eyes. Either she was making no effort to conceal her feelings, or she was deliberately trying to make them known. I was still somewhat confused by the woman. I also had to confess, however, that during Rolfe's soliloquy, when her eyes fell on me, I felt more than one mild spasm and more than one sensual wave flow over me. The distinct sensation of mental entrapment that I'd felt earlier was again making me uneasy, but at the same time, making me unaccountably horny. I wondered if the fraulein's crotch was as hairy and as grossly exotic as Hilda Sonne's. Secretly, I hoped it was.
As I write this I no longer recall what motivated the transition at the table in the village square-whether it was Mary Sue's arrival on horseback with Viktor, or the passage on foot of a group of the Institut's students ... among whom Rolfe pointed out Amelia Longworth and Stephanie Coombs. The latter girl was exquisite, a stunningly beautiful blonde.
But whatever the factor was, the following resulted: Mary Sue and Viktor rode off on a sightseeing tour of the Institut and the neighboring countryside. Leni had to work. And it was Rolfe's suggestion that inasmuch as Fraulein Otterman's presence was not required at the school-Fraulein Richter was in charge in her absence-it would be beneficial to the three of us to continue our conversation back at Rolfe's villa.
Fraulein Otterman agreed. We climbed into the VW bus and drove off. Mary Sue said she would meet us in two hours or so, parting with a naughty wink that Fraulein Otterman also noticed. Surprisingly, the stern woman averted her eyes as if uncomfortable.
I didn't know quite what to make of this reaction. It was her first genuine display of mood I'd seen.
The second indication Fraulein Otterman was human, was a further interest in my wife. During the ride back to Rolfe's villa with the three of us sitting in the front seat of the bus, she asked general questions about Mary Sue-her age, her schooling, and so on. Then she bluntly wanted to know some details about our marriage. I was embarrassed when she asked if Mary Sue enjoyed having intercourse with me. I was also somewhat insulted.
I was quick to note the sharp look in Rolfe's eyes. The glance said that in no uncertain terms that I was-not to confide in Fraulein Otterman anything about the money from Mary Sue's family and the agreement that I had with her mother in regard to Rolfe's testing that would result in Mary Sue's being declared legally incompetent.
This glance of caution also conveyed what I originally thought; that is, it confirmed my suspicions that Rolfe wasn't sure of Fraulein Otterman's loyalty. Or was the opposite true? I was confused.
I knew Rolfe was well aware that any woman can have ulterior motives-so why not this woman?-but now I sensed that he distrusted her in some strange way ... if not in the very same way I did.
I also detected that he wanted to talk to me privately about her now that he had introduced us. I supposed that either he wanted my reaction and evaluation, or he wanted my cooperation in a way he'd not previously mentioned. Curiously, now that I thought of it, he'd had very little to say about Fraulein Otterman since my arrival. I had paid no attention to this until the moment of his warning glance.
As I reflected on this during the drive back to the villa, answering her prying questions with fragmentary, sometimes arbitrary responses, I was again reminded of my sister, Olivia, and my immediate distrust of Hilda Sonne.
Yes, the resemblance between the two women, Hilda Sonne and Ursula Otterman, began to have more and more significance the longer I compared my own honest reactions to them.
Upon our arrival at the villa, Rolfe parked in the courtyard and once more the human side of Ursula Otterman made itself visible.
"This is truly medieval," she exclaimed in English. I assumed this was her first visit. "One can imagine the ancient owners having a dungeon in which to torture their prisoners," she added. She pointed to a tall, stanchion-like pole standing near the courtyard wall. "In the old days, you know, heavy chains hung from the top and prisoners were literally dangled nude by their feet. At the same time others whipped them brutally until the earth at the base of the pole was soaked with their blood."
As she said this, I noticed a distinct change in her manner and tone. It was also the longest sentence she had uttered thus far. She seemed to relish the idea of the poor wretches being swung about naked and beaten by their wardens as she scanned the wide, oblong court.
"I'll wager many a miserable slave has crawled on these cobblestones begging mercy from his or her master."
"You seem quite interested in the subject," I observed. Rolfe threw me a look and I immediately regretted what I'd said. But why did he disapprove?
"As a matter-of-fact, I am, sir. It is one of my favorite subjects ... but certainly not a topic I discuss with the students. You will agree with me that it is an adult theme, will you not?"
I didn't reply.
Inside the villa Rolfe prepared us a snack and then offered drinks. Ursula Otterman selected a French
Brandy. Rolfe and I agreed on rum.
As we settled into the conversation, not too much time passed before Rolfe broached our sanitarium scheme in some detail. But he was careful in his presentation to omit any suggestion that although we did intend to do some good, our true purpose was to satisfy our wildest sexual fantasies and stimulate our lusts.
Fraulein Otterman seemed to appreciate the scenario as Rolfe described it. She asked several questions about financing the scheme and Rolfe's answers satisfied her.
After a third brandy Fraulein Otterman became much more relaxed. She slumped back in her chair, her heavy skirt riding up just above her bare knees. Now and then, when she crossed or uncrossed her long legs, a flash of smooth white skin was visible. I wasn't at all surprised when she suddenly voiced a tentative desire to join us-the venture, I mean-if that would be acceptable.
She told us she was an expert manager and an experienced administrator. Moreover, she was an authority in maintaining the kind of discipline a sanitarium like ours would require in order to succeed and continue to attract referrals from psychiatrists and psychologists in neighboring countries.
In a fast aside, Rolfe told me he quite believed her and could confirm her capabilities, but not more than that.
He assured her that we would certainly need a woman with her particular skills-and for some bizarre reason, this statement visibly aroused her. All at once I noticed a radical change in her demeanor.
She smiled broadly once or twice and I was impressed with her strong, even teeth. But what was most dramatic was that she suddenly unbuttoned two buttons on her blouse. The valley between her full breasts was now quite visible and I could tell she was well aware of the effect it was having ... especially on me. Large, ripe, broad-nip-pled breasts provoke an extreme excitement in my groin. My glances lingered on her luscious mounds.
After a fourth brandy, which she sipped more quickly as if seeking energy from the alcohol, she began to speak freely of herself and her past, dwelling mostly on the administration of discipline in the different posts she had occupied as a professional administratrix.
Rolfe and I contributed a little in response and soon Fraulein Otterman was describing in great detail scenes of flagellation, bondage, and emotional and physical enslavement of both students and faculty.
Pouring yet another brandy-Rolfe had told her to help herself and this produced a broad grin-she suddenly interrupted her virtual monologue to ask Rolfe if he had ever suffered physical discipline at a woman's hands.
The very question provoked a nervous excitement in me-and she noticed it. In fact, my cock was already smoldering inside my trousers. She had taken notice of this, too, I was sure.
Several times as she continued speaking, her eyes bored into my crotch. She had me at one point nervously crossing my legs and behaving like a silly schoolboy who was vainly trying to disguise his stiffening member and on the point of blushing in acute embarrassment.
At one interval, when Rolfe went to the cupboard to get more ice for us and his back was turned, Fraulein Otterman shifted her position on the couch facing me. As she did this, I had a clear view of her naked thighs and what I imagined to be extremely tight panties covering a plump pussy. At another interval, again when Rolfe wasn't paying attention, she openly caressed her heavy breasts as she folded and unfolded her arms under them. This caused a sharp sensation in my crotch. Her hard eyes fixed on my own as I stared with no pretense of being casual, of feigning disinterest, or of misunderstanding the intimacy of her gesture.
I suddenly had a tremendous desire to fall on my knees in front of her, to spread her legs wide apart, to kiss and suck on her naked toes, to lick up her sleek thighs and to press her panty-clad groin to my lips. I could imagine her panties soaked with her honeyed wetness. I could imagine the aroma of her thick-lipped cunt. I could almost feel the bushy, wiry hairs that I hoped covered her cunt and her lower belly brushing all over my face. My cock was now fully erect and the next time she stared directly at it, I made no effort whatever to hide the bulge it was making in my trousers.
"Speaking of dungeons," Rolfe said apropos of nothing, during a brief lull in her monologue, "you were correct, Fraulein, about one thing. This villa does come complete with one, though it's not what you might expect."
I looked at Rolfe, but I couldn't figure what he was driving at.
Fraulein Otterman had difficulty tearing her eyes away from my crotch. In my seated position out of Rolfe's direct view, I was now clutching my throbbing penis, letting my fingers slide up and down slowly, massaging the full length of the shaft through the cloth as her eyes stared frankly.
The effect it was having on her could be measured by the changing position of her skirt. It had now climbed at least five or so inches higher. With her long, naked legs crossed I could easily see one broad outer thigh; and when she suddenly uncrossed her legs, her eyes still riveted on my cock, her knees parted and I had a lingering view of her pussy mound. The coloration in the crotch of her tight panties indicated her cunt must be flooding over. I felt the wildest joy as my inflamed organ began to pound and throb as I continued caressing it.
Her eyes returned to stare into my own. "You must show it to me, Herr Palmer," she said slowly, breathing deeply. "I am very much interested." There was no doubt she was talking indirectly to me.
Rolfe cleared his throat and looked over at me. "Old friend, I have some work to do," he said. "Would you be kind enough to direct Fraulein Otterman to what you earlier referred to as the chapel'? "
Standing in a position so that Fraulein Otterman alone could see my bulging tool, I said over my shoulder that I would be delighted.
As if in a kind of a trance that thoroughly contradicted everything I had thought she represented, Ursula Otterman followed me out of the villa.
CHAPTER TWELVE
XII.
Instead of the look of cruelty I had grown accustomed to, there was now a wistful look in Fraulein Otterman's blue eyes as we entered the chapel-like building. It was a gloomy depressing place except for the one or two large stained glass windows that admitted little light, truly beautiful examples of a dying art.
The inside of the chapel was rather large and roomy. Cobwebs of every description laced the walls and ceiling. The heavy odor of mildew was almost overwhelming. Several long stone benches surrounded a massive refectory table of heavy oak.
Another gigantic fireplace similar to the one in the villa occupied one corner. The chapel served now as a storeroom and there were sticks and piles of rusting iron furniture, decaying bed frames and old mattresses. The thick stench of moldering books competed with the mildew for superiority.
The oval ceiling was heavily beamed and there was no source of electric light. I had to use my shoulder to force open the heavy oaken door; after trying to close it back two times I gave up. Now that light was creeping through the open portal I could see weeds growing in the cracks in the stone cobbled floor. Scattered in another area were the torn up pages of a book. It was Burton's Anatomy of Melancholy in the German language. It was all rather dismal and depressing.
"I suppose I should have asked you that question about physical discipline instead of Herr Palmer," said Fraulein Otterman. "You would have answered me, yes?" She spoke over her shoulder.
"Yes."
She was rooting around in a discarded wooden box in a corner. After several moments she triumphantly produced a bedsheet that resembled an American mattress cover. Using this, she wiped thick layers of dust from the long table and one of the narrow stone benches. Tossing aside the soiled sheet, she sat on the table. She balanced her sandaled feet on the stone bench.
"Come and sit here in front of me."
I was reaching for a cigarette.
"Come! You can smoke later. Come over here. You want to be close to me, don't you? I know you do. Come over here and look at me now as you did back there in the villa." She nodded in the direction of the door. "You want to stare at my breasts, don't you? You'd like me to expose them to your eyes? Tell me. Would you like to caress my breasts? I think you would."
To tell the truth, I felt just a bit shaky in the knees by the tone of command, the tone of knowingness, in her hard voice. There was nothing tender about her now. What I had imagined as a change in her personality amounted to no change at all. She was just as stiff and as severe as she had been at the village.
Again her eyes were cold and bitter as they bored into me. The slight furor in her eyebrows had also returned.
I sat down on the stone bench. It was cold. Again I started to reach for my cigarettes and the lighter.
"It can wait," she said. Then quite unexpectedly, she shifted back on the table. She put one foot on my knee. Now I was facing her directly. Silently, she placed her feet on either side of my legs on the stone bench.
"Now you should have no difficulty looking up my skirt! You will like what you see ... as your stolen glances have already told you. You will like my legs. They are attractive. Your eyes will enjoy caressing them. You must raise up my skirt and feast your eyes. I will permit you. There is much to satisfy your eyes."
Unbelievably my cock leaped and began to throb.
"Go on," she purred, but her voice was still hard, still demanding. "Do as I tell you, as I ask you to do! Raise up my skirt. Feast your hungry eyes. Boys and men like to feast their eyes. They love the mystery. They need the novelty. They need a woman's permission. That excites them. Do I excite you? Tell me!"
I pushed her skirt up several inches above her knees.
"Higher! If I raise up my bottom, you can push my skirt all the way up. You will like that. You will like to see me sitting like that, with my skirt up."
Her voice-the steady, unwavering tone, the severity-was almost hypnotic.
"I can read your mind," she said. "I know what you need. I know what you want. I know men. And you ... you may do as you want as long as I permit you. Well, shall you? Or shall I open my blouse? Shall I expose my naked tits to your gaze? You want to see them nude, don't you? You want to caress them, don't you? Do you want me to caress them and suck them for you? Men adore watching a woman caress and fondle her own naked breasts. You were excited back there when I did this, were you not?"
Slowly she cupped one hand under each heavy breast. She weighed them and balanced them, then she leaned forward and held my head with both hands. She brought my face between the spectacular mounds.
"Tell me what you want. Tell me what you want to do to me. Do you want to strip me naked so you can stare? Do you want me to strip myself? Do you want to kneel on the bench and caress and stroke my naked legs? I know! You do want me to raise up my bottom and you want to stare at my bottom, don't you? Don't you want that? You were staring at my panties before. What did you see? Do you want to see it again? You want to get up closer, don't you? You want to really see what I have between my legs. Tell me! Don't you!? You want to fuck me. Isn't that it?"
"Yes!" I blurted. "Yes!"
For some reason I was petrified. My cock hardened, then softened. Her feet were pressing into my outer thighs. Her hands were gripping my head, forcing my face deep between her tits, rubbing my head roughly from side to side.
"I want to whip you! You know that, don't you? I want to discipline you, you know that! Tell me you know that ... that what I say is what you wish to hear. Tell me!"
"It is. It is," I heard myself repeating.
"If I raise up and you push my skirt up so that I'm sitting on the table and my thighs are open, do you wish to kiss my soft thighs? Tell me you do! Do you want to rub your face between my legs? Do you want to do that to my crotch?"
I could feel my pole stiffening again, growing harder and harder.
"Speak to me. Open your mouth. Tell me what you wish to do! Tell me you want to kiss my panties. You want to smell them. Tell me you want to rub your face all over them. Do you want me to show you my naked breasts now? You must tell me. Am I arousing you? Do you want my nipples between your teeth? Let me know. Sit back and let me look down between your legs. You know what I want to look at. Let me stare. You let me look before. Are you ashamed now that we are alone?"
It was difficult to resist her. I had never been in a similar position with any woman, especially an older one like Fraulein Otterman. There was definitely something about the situation that reminded me of playacting ... but this was definitely not playacting.
I was startled when suddenly she put her left foot in my lap. The contact with my pounding penis sent a jolt right through me.
"Yes. It's very hard, isn't it? It's thick and hard. Don't you want to touch it? You did before. Don't you want to show it to me naked? You do, don't you? You like to show your penis to women? Men love to expose their hard members to women like me. They play with themselves thinking about it. Do you play with yourself often? Probably you do. You'd love to have me look down at your naked prick, wouldn't you?"
Her use of the word "prick" startled me. She saw this.
She took my hands now and drew them toward her breasts.
"Caress my breasts. Unbutton my blouse. Feel them. Fondle them, and if you do that well, if you please me, I will permit you to rub your cheeks over them. I might let you suck on my nipples. Do you want to lick and kiss my breasts? They are warm and sweet. I know you want to lick them and then bend over and down and kiss my panties. My panties are wet and full of honey. You'll like licking and kissing me between the legs. Do you like to get down on your knees and raise up a woman's skirt and find her without panties and then bury your face and sink your tongue into her cunt? Tell me, do you want to take my nipples inside your mouth. Bite on them? Do you want to tongue my hard nipples, to feel their stiffness between your teeth? Tell me! Tell me."
I didn't want to speak. I didnt know what to say, what to reply. She tore open her blouse and now her tits were fully naked to my eyes. They were lovely, so full, so really heavy with round, deep brown nipples that were hard and thrusting. She pinched her nipples, her eyes looking down at her fingers. She held up my chin and then looked deeply into my eyes. Her feet were now massaging up and down my erect penis.
"Take out your prick. I want to see it. I want to tease it with my sandals. You'll like that, the touch of leather against the flesh of your prick. I know you well." She paused as I gulped. My cock was almost erupting.
"Tell me now that you want to suck on me," she said. Her voice was a cold whisper. She pressed my head. I took one of her thick nipples into my mouth. I sucked on it. I bit it gently.
"Tell me to raise up now and hoist up my skirt so you can rub your face between my thighs. They're so warm. You can lick the wet crotch of my panties with your tongue.
"You want to do that, don't you? Tell me. You want to turn around, to lie down here on the cold table. You want me to put my warm bottom close to your face. You want to smell me. You want to caress my buttocks, don't you? Do you want me to pull my panties down a little at a time to expose my bottom? You do! Tell me! I know that you do! You want to kiss and lick my panties and my buttocks while I move over slowly and encourage you to use your wet tongue to make love to my buttocks. You want to spank them after they're all wet with your saliva. You want to spank them until they bleed, until they are so red they glow, until they are so red and hot your wettest kisses will not put out the fires." Ursula Otterman was really warming up now, I noted numbly.
"I want to see your naked buttocks. I want to spank them. I want to whip them. I want to hear you howling in pain. Do you understand me? While you rub your face in my wet crotch ... while you lick and kiss and suck my pussylips, lick and kiss and suck on the crotch of my wet panties, tasting my juices, I want to be whipping your naked buttocks, your balls, your hard prick. You do want me to do that, don't you? You do want to show yourself to me, expose yourself indecently? Your cock ... to me, don't you?"
I couldn't stop sucking on her breasts as she began to moan softly. Little whimperings of joy escaped her lips as she continued with the hypnotic, rhythmic questioning that soon had me quivering with passion.
"Do you want me to kiss and pet your hot cock? Do you want me down on my knees in front of you? Do you want to watch my face as I tongue up and down your thick shaft? Do you want to watch my mouth open wider and wider as I take your monstrous prick into my throat?"
In my excitement I was caressing her breasts with both hands as I sucked on first one and then the other. She continued to smash my face between them. All the while her sandaled feet were rubbing vigorously up and down my shaft through my trousers.
"Explore your prick for me ... for yourself. Do it! Do it now! Or do you want me to get down on me knees to do it? Tell me. Do you want me to do it for you? To have it all naked, so hard, so bold? To take it and rub it between my hot breasts, to rub it hard, harder, to feel its hotness, its leaking tip between my breasts, to smear your juice all over my hard nipples. Do you? Tell me you do. Or do you want me to raise up now and slowly take down my wet panties so you can stare at my hairy pussy ... so you can bend your head down as in prayer, so that you can climb up here on the table with me and kneel and bury your face in my crotch ... so you can lick up the juice in my panties ... so you can taste the juice that floods my cunt? Do you want to do all that? Tell me the truth! Tell me you want me to get up on my knees ... like some sex-starved animal. Tell me. On my hands and knees with you kneeling in back of me, so you can rub your face between my warm buttocks, so you can sniff like a dog and smell my bottom and look at my hot cunt underneath. Tell me!
"Tell me exactly what you want to do to my body! Do you want to suck on my clitoris, eat my vagina with your teeth? Do you want to bury your nose between the crack of my bottom? Do you want to stick your tongue deep into my ass-hole? Tell me you want to do just that. Tell me! Do you?"
I could find no answer. Now she had raised up and pulled her skirt up high so that she was, as she had said, sitting with her panties against the tabletop.
Hot, thick juices were leaking out of her cunt. I could see them. Her panty crotch was soaked through with her juices. I loved the rich smell of them.
I wanted Fraulein Otterman up on her hands and knees as she had suggested. I wanted her smooth buttocks right in my face. I wanted to stare at her ass-hole, to rub my face in her juicy cunt, to taste her ass-hole, to taste the wetness of her cunt, to feel her thick vaginal lips between my teeth ... and to spank her cruelly with my open hand. I wanted to watch her buttocks grow bright red. I wanted to fuck her up her ass. I wanted to fuck her hot wet cunt. I wanted to suck her delicious tits at the same time.
"Stand up," she commanded. And I did, almost leaping backward. "Take off your belt!" was her next order. I complied. "Now let your trousers fall to the ground."
I stood there naked from the waist down. My cock was rigid and pounding, my testicles sucked up. If I had so much as touched my prick then, it would have exploded.
She climbed down off the table. As she stood there, she reached under her skirt and pulled down her panties. She sat down on the cold stone bench on her bare bottom. Using the panties as a towel, she began to wipe up and down on my rigid member. Then looked at me, pulling my body closer. "Bend your head. Lick my breasts!" She suddenly gripped my cock roughly. Her other hand began wiping her wet panties all over my face. The thrill was intense.
"Lick the crotch of my panties!" she ordered. "I want to watch you suck the crotch into your mouth. Suck it into your mouth, did you hear me? Let me see you do that. Lick my juicy crotch. You want to suck on my panties, don't you? I know you must do it with your wife's panties ... so you must suck on mine as well. Then, when I am satisfied you are enjoying yourself, you are going to bend over the table here. You are going to plant your feet wide apart, and hold your head in your arms. You are going to rub your hard cock against the table and I am going to whip your buttocks until you have an orgasm. I may strike your prick accidentally, but you are not permitted to touch your prick. I may strike your balls, but you will not touch them. You will listen to me and do just as I tell you to do. This is how you wish it, is this not so? Tell me this is what you wish, what you hope and pray for, and then I will tell you your reward for obedience."
"I wish it," I mumbled. I could barely hear my voice.
"Very well then. When I have finished whipping your naked ass and you have shot your sperm all over, you will crawl between my thighs and, as I hold your head up, you will suck on my pussy until I have my own orgasm.
"For every minute that you don't succeed in bringing me joy, you will earn more lashes ... but this time, directly on your testicles, on your penis, on your back, across your shoulders. You will be forced to suck my cunt all night tonight. You will sleep in my bed, your hands will be tied, your ankles will be chained, and you will bury your face between my warm buttocks and kiss and lick my ass and taste it until I am satisfied. Do you want to do that? Tell me this is what you wish to do to me if you are disobedient!"
"Oh God, I do!" I remember crying out.
"If you don't bring me joy sucking my bottom, worshiping my buttocks and kissing and licking any part of my body at my command, I will whip you until you bleed. I will squeeze your balls until you are screaming in pain. I will punish you as you have never been punished. Do you want me to do that? Tell me it is what you wish ... it is what you want me to do to you . ... "
"I do ... oh, I do!"
"In the morning you will wash my hot body with your tongue. You will lick and clean my toes, my heels, my ears. You will lave my breasts, belly and pussy. You will be down on your knees and you will clean me until I am satisfied. You will be my willing slave!"
I couldn't wait for her to do whatever she was going to do to me. I was literally shivering in anticipation.
"You will always do just as I tell you to do. You want that ... don't you? Do you want to suck me now? Do you? Or do you wish me to lash your naked buttocks with your own belt until you spill your sperm all over the table? Tell me. I demand that you spell it out to me!"
I felt the first searing, blistering blow from my belt; it made me tremble and shudder with a frenzy I had never experienced. The second hissing blow stung my testicles. The third was across my shoulders and so vicious that I trembled. As I began shaking I felt her fingers grasp my swollen penis. It exploded in her hand with a fiery orgasm that made my head swim. My sperm shot in a thick geyser across the tabletop.
"Now lay down on the table on your back!"
I did, lying in my own spendings. I was close to a physical exhaustion I find difficult to describe. She climbed up on the table. She stood looking down at me before she turned her back. She straddled me with her skirt held up high. She kneeled down slowly with her burning wet cunt over my face. Then she plopped down hard. Her juices threatened to drown me and before she started rocking back and forth, up and down to stimulate her first orgasm, I was almost suffocated. No words were needed. I knew what I was required to do. I began to lick and suck as though my life depended on it. I swirled my tongue around Ursula's pussy folds, thoroughly wetting the moss that surrounded and overgrew it. Then I began stabbing at her slit, driving my tongue in as deeply as I could, scouring the rich pink membranes that dripped with her juices. Each stroke caught her clit and sent a shiver through her voluptuous body. She reached back and began jerking me off as I continued to lick her. Her fist was almost a torment, so tightly did she grip my prick. She worked it up and down in time with my own penetrating tongue strokes. She was orgasming almost constantly now; I could tell by the way her hand closed and opened around my shaft as each wave engulfed her. Her juices flooded my face and throat as my balls began to twitch and my sperm shot in a graceful arc to the floor.
CHAPTER THIRTEEN
XIII.
It wasn't until 6 p.m. that Mary Sue and Viktor returned from riding. In the company of Fraulein Otterman I was completely oblivious of both time passing and my wife's extended absence. It wasn't until I heard her voice that I snapped back to reality. Viktor and she were talking and the evening winds from the nearby mountains carried the sound. Inside the dark chapel, their voices were like whispers.
"Your wife sounds quite content," said Ursula Otterman. "She has probably been well-fucked, well-chastised by the young boy. Are you ... tell me ... are you also content now? Do you wish to be obedient?
"Tell me, tell me if you believe you deserve more punishment. Tell me how much you enjoy being punished ... if that is the case. Do you need more? Do you wish to receive more stinging lashes?"
I must admit that by now I had been thoroughly chastised, thoroughly beaten into the kind of submission I thought applied only to slaves. I now lay helpless on my back, roped to the stone bench, stark naked, my ankles tied together, my wrists wrapped under the bench. Ursula's panties were still stuffed inside my mouth as a gag. Ursula was squatting on top of me, my still-rock-hard penis probing up her slippery cunt as now and then she fucked up and down on it, all the while talking suggestively, hypnotically to me. Sometimes she would viciously slap my face or twist and cruelly pinch my nipples ... or reach between our bodies to cup my testicles gently and then, as she fucked vigorously up and down, squeeze my balls so violently and unexpectedly, that the wracking pain would shoot through my body like electricity.
She would kneel down on the cold cobbles. She would grip my balls in one hand. The other would crawl up under my naked buttocks and two long fingers would pound up into my ass-hole so hard and so swiftly that the agony and pain would be unutterably sweet. My wild screams would echo and bounce off the oval ceiling and the stone walls of the almost-darkened chapel.
"I will not disobey you again, Fraulein."
"You are my body servant now. You have become my slave. Do you wish to be my slave? You must answer me. Tell me how much you wish to serve me, to obey my every whim, my least desire. Tell me how much you adore sucking my warm ass-hole, licking my breasts, chewing on my pussy. Tell me! You must!"
I closed my eyes. Again I heard my belt slashing through the air, hissing, swishing and waiting again to cut across my chest, to bite cruelly into my sensitive genitals, to sing its song of torment and torture.
I prayed that this time I would not feel the buckle on my balls. When she sliced at them, I would leap up in pain, my entire body convulsing. She'd hold the belt in a short grip, the metal buckle and a few inches of leather free to strike my lower belly ... and then I'd hear the buckle stirring up the air around it, the air fanning on my hot testicles and the base of my cock just seconds before it would make fiery contact.
I would shrink and cringe, but no matter how much I squirmed or jerked, trying to dodge the painful buckle, it would either glance off the bruised head of my erect penis or strike viciously against the base of it.
Just as often after a series of terrible stinging blows, during which I'd die a thousand deaths and, believe it or not, at the same time hunger to bury my face in gratitude in her hot, hairy cunt, the belt would miss! Immediately thereafter, it would be dangling over my face and I knew what I was required to do. Previously, Ursula had used her fingers to force my mouth open and she had demanded I lick and suck the buckle. Only moments before she would have buried it deep inside her wet cunt. When it dangled before me it was coated with her rich juices. This was my reward for pleasing her. If I didn't, again I felt the metal buckle on my bruised testicles and again the exquisite pain.
"Shall we continue with the plan concerning your wife now?" she asked. "Now that she's returned ... and she is so late! Don't you believe that she should be punished for being late? If you are ever late in obeying me, you will be punished severely. You do realize that, do you not? You will be punished so severely you will not be able to open your mouth, walk, or even move your bowels."
"I realize that, Fraulein."
Again my own voice sounded strange to me. I could hardly believe I was answering her this way-almost meekly, humbly, and with unbelievable servility. How she had vanquished so strong a man as I had believed myself to be was a continuous source of both amusement and disbelief to me.
But the amusement would come to a screeching halt when I'd forget to add the word, "Fraulein," at the end of every response. Earlier, when she had instructed me that the use of this word was part and parcel of the discipline, I had thought that she must surely be teasing ... but when I failed to use it one time, she made me kneel on the table to be punished.
Coyly, with a glint in her blue eyes, she invited me gently, even seductively, to lick her cunt lips in a sweeping up and down motion while she twisted her hard clitoris with her thumb and forefinger. The moment was almost sweet and tender; her cunt was juicy wet and tasty, her hands slid up to gently hold my head, and she rubbed her sticky fingers over my lips and even smiled down at me. But suddenly she closed her silky thighs and viciously crunched my head between them!
This happened so swiftly I couldn't pull back before her thighs clamped my head in a painful and inescapable grip. I almost smothered as she bucked up and down, rotating her hips with my head pressed now by a pair of thighs I was certain could grip and probably strangle a wild animal to death. Using this horrible method she bounced the base of my skull on the table again and again until I thought my brains would shake loose or I would loose consciousness.
This went on for more than five minutes. I was sweating, moaning, grunting, scratching her breasts, pinching her thick nipples, pulling her flesh, kicking and trying desperately to bite and claw her cunt ... all to no avail ... when finally she released me.
It took another five minutes before I regained my composure.
"Are you well?" she asked.
"Yes ... yes, Fraulein. Yes, Fraulein."
"Do not forget again, ever!"
"No, Fraulein. Never again, Fraulein," and when I said this to her, I meant it. This was no game. That was what confounded me! It was not a game she was playing with me, although in the beginning I had thought as much. Not too much time with her had passed when I realized, to my dismay, that I had stumbled innocently into a relationship I'd always wanted but never believed could actually exist. The knowledge stunned me!
Sexual fantasy is one thing. It's used in masturbation. Reality is another. Who doesn't realize this? Who doesn't hope that the fantasy could become reality? And who doesn't realize there is little possibility of this ever occurring?
That's what impressed me so much with Fraulein Otterman during our first hour together. I felt as if I had paility. My erotic dream would be over.
This was not the case.
I cannot even say that Fraulein Otterman had me hypnotized, despite my uncharacteristic subservience. My behavior with her was not induced by some kind of soporific drug or narcotic or hallucinogen. Nor was I drunk! What did intrigue me, however, was that from the moment I entered the chapel with her, I had not smoked one cigarette. Nor did I experience any desire for cigarettes ever again. This was simply incredible!
I credit Fraulein Otterman, positively or negatively, with many dramatic, dynamic changes in my life.
"Do you wish me to fetch your wife? You are in no condition to appear before her."
This was true. Although there were only a few weals and welts on my body, I still looked a mess. More than once she'd washed my face with her thick cunt juices. My hair was matted. I smelled. Hell, I couldn't even find my shoes.
"Yes, Fraulein."
"It will be better that I fetch your wife; I can have a little talk with her."
"Yes, it will, Fraulein."
"Shall I ask her to bring something to drink for you? You must be thirsty." She rubbed her palm over her cunt obscenely.
I took a second before answering and I was glad I did. I had to tear my eyes away from her hairy cunt. She was now inserting three fingers deep inside and removing them and bringing them to her nose to sniff, holding them out to me temptingly.
"No, Fraulein. Please ask my wife to bring something for you to drink. You are thirsty, Fraulein. My wife will want to serve you something refreshing to drink, Fraulein."
"That is so," she said, returning her fingers to her cunt and again poking them in deep and again removing them. This time she rubbed the tips across my lips before jabbing them into my mouth. I licked them clean.
Without further word, Fraulein Otterman untied me. She slapped my balls viciously, then she milked my stiff penis up and down before gripping it cruelly. "Yes, you are my slave," she said. "Get dressed. I don't want your wife to see you in this condition. She will despise you." She turned. I was just pulling my trousers up. She told me to stop where I was.
"Yes, Fraulein."
"Bend over and touch your knees."
The next thing I knew I felt two burning slaps across my naked buttocks. As I cringed, she thrust two fingers deep inside my ass-hole and began jabbing them in and out. Then, as suddenly as she did this, she pulled them out and wiped them on my skin. "Now get dressed. Is there something else that perhaps your wife could bring out to you?"
I couldn't imagine what she meant, then it suddenly dawned on me.
"Yes, Fraulein. It would be the birch switches you want to use on her naked body when we get her to expose it to you, Fraulein."
I had already told her of Viktor birching Mary Sue, and of how much she had loved it. "That is, if my wife disobeys you in any way, Fraulein."
"Do you wish your wife to disobey me? Would you like to watch me punish your wife for her disobedience to me?"
"Yes, I would Fraulein. I would indeed, Fraulein."
By now I was fully dressed except for my shoes. I felt foolish.
"What shall be done with Herr Palmer should he interrupt us?" she asked over her shoulder before going out the door. Darkness was settling in.
I remembered that Rolfe had a rendezvous with Leni that evening. I had forgotten the reason ... something to do with Viktor. I mentioned this to Fraulein Otterman.
"Ah, good. We shall be alone then? Your wife, you and I?"
"If you wish us to be, Fraulein."
"She might wish it so. Would that make you content? Would you wish your wife to enjoy me, to enjoy seeing how obedient you can be? Do you want her to watch you worship my buttocks down on your knees? Would that make you content?"
"Yes, Fraulein. Yes, it would make me content, Fraulein."
"Good. I will return within moments ... with your wife."
I kneeled and exposed my semi-erect cock. I pulled and masturbated it the way she had told me to before. I felt ridiculous, but I heard myself saying, "I will wait for you patiently, Fraulein."
Within moments she'd returned with Mary Sue ... and the birch whips. My wife's eyes bulged at the sight of me, naked, subservient.
"Your husband has several things he wishes you to do," Ursula hissed. "Watch him. Absorb the sight of his utter abasement. And then ... and then ... "
Mary Sue watched wordlessly as Fraulein Otterman removed the coat she'd thrown on to cover her nudity and lowered herself to the floor. She motioned to me as she spread her legs.
"Now fuck me, my slave of love. Show your wife how you fuck me."
I didnt even look at Mary Sue as I moved between Ursula's thighs. My cock was hard and throbbing. I wasn't even bothered by the strokes I'd received earlier. The pain had faded and been replaced with a savage lust that was as much a function of Mary Sue's presence as it was of my desire to drill my cock into the pussy that now invited me. I lowered the head of my cock to the slit and thrust ferociously. I drove my prick in to the hilt and began humping while Ursula watched with satisfaction.
"Yes ... yes ... drive it in ... fuck me well. Do you see the way he is eager to obey?" she said to Mary Sue. "His cock is an extension of his mind ... and his mind is mine. Now," she said directing her attention to me, "suck my breasts as you continue to plow my furrow. Yes;. .yes ... that's it. Bite the nipples. Let me feel your teeth."
I bent my head and worried her tits as a dog would a bone. Her nipples were delicious and swelled in my mouth. I fucked her faster and faster, anxious to splash her cavern walls with my hot sperm. She must have sensed this, for she immediately tried to pull away from me.
"I did not tell you to come in me. You will not! If I feel one drop of your come in my pussy I will flay the skin from your hide!"
Unfortunately, I was well past the point of no return. I disregarded her warning and continued to ram my cock into her. I reached up and grasped her large tits as my lava erupted. I came for what seemed an eternity, then fell away when every last drop had been wrung from my prick.
Fraulein Otterman simply smiled and rose to her feet while I lay panting on the floor. "So, you cannot follow instructions. Your disobedience must be dealt with. I believe you knew very well what you were doing as you fucked me to the point of orgasm. You could have stopped as I instructed you to. But you did not. You want to be punished. And so you shall." She stooped and picked up the birch whips. "But your punishment shall be that you must watch while I attend to your wife." She turned to Mary Sue. "Take off every stitch of your clothing!"
I was surprised to see Mary Sue comply so readily. In a moment she was naked. Fraulein Otterman appraised her nude body as a jeweler does a gem. Then she walked to her and ran her hands over Mary Sue's breasts and stomach.
"Magnificent," she murmured, "magnificent." It seemed as if she'd forgotten me. I could see raw lust in her eyes as she rubbed her body against Mary Sue's.
"Now, on your hands and knees with your back to me," she commanded my wife. "And spread your legs."
Mary Sue followed her instructions as if hypnotized. She was a stunning figure in this attitude of subjugation. Then, suddenly, the birch rod began to rise and fall, and the first welts marked Mary Sue's back. I was no longer a part of the play. Neither of them looked at me. Fraulein Otterman was in a sexual frenzy as she administered the lash; Mary Sue was panting in pain or pleasure ... I couldn't tell. After several more strokes Ursula threw away the whip. She pushed Mary Sue onto her back, thrust her legs apart with her knees, and dove between her thighs. I could hear her slurping noisily at my wife's cunt. Mary Sue's head was back, her eyes closed. She seemed in ecstasy.
I wanted to be a part of this, to partake of the sexual energy that flowed raw and naked in the room. But I was now an outsider for some reason I couldn't fathom. I watched the two figures roll around, then quietly slipped out the door.
In recalling the several incidents with Fraulein Otterman and the maddening ecstasy she induced in me, the sexual desperation she satisfied, the most outstanding moments with her were those in which she literally had me quivering, my sensuality heightened to a peak of masochistic pleasure, my body twitching, my lacerations bleeding, my testicles on fire. I could go on and on-the outstanding moments were those during which I was utterly enslaved by her, bound, gagged with her panties, utterly debased and tamed, groveling as the birch whistled through the air, humiliated as I performed vulgar acts on her. Yet, once my wife had been drawn into the circle of passion and torment, I trembled with fear that Fraulein Otterman would become angry with me and not ask me to join her and my wife again.
But what appalled me intellectually, what truly staggered my imagination, was the abject servitude to which she exposed and subjected me, her complete abasement of me within so short a period of time. The transformation was incredible. Mary Sue would not have believed it was taking place; that is, the diabolical power this woman exercised over me, over us, the eagerness with which I responded to her every demand, no matter how debauched, regardless of how wanton and lewd, how utterly depraved.
In me she brought to the surface every wicked desire I had ever dreamed of, masturbated and fantasized about.
At the same time she had me on the verge of physical, mental and moral collapse. She would have me convulsing with genuine fear, my senses reeling as her hot cunt juices burned my lips. She would have me wallowing in obscene carnal ecstasy, utterly yielding, utterly giving in to her, often drowning in shame before my wife as a weak female might do, my naked body belonging only to Fraulein Otterman, to her alone, to her whip, to her teeth, to her sucking ass-hole. I would cry out to feel the kiss of the blistering birch or the belts. My God, I was often breathless with shame ... with barely endurable pain and mad longing for more ... for more ... for her to rule me, for her to mock me in front of others, especially Mary Sue, for her to make me plead, cajole and beg her down on my hands and knees to torture me and pleasure me.
And all this had its beginning in that chapel on Rolfe Palmer's property. As I think back on it now, it appears to have been a dream ... but I know it was not. I carry the scars, physically and mentally. I wear the crude tattoo on my right arm above the knife wounds that form her initials, an "O" with a small "U" sitting on top of it.
I have only to glance at my ears in the mirror when I shave before classes begin to see the holes piercing them. Before bedtime I take great care to bind my cock and testicles as she made me do a thousand different times. I insert the thick dildo up my ass. I walk the night streets in this little university town and wear only tight silky panties under my raincoat.
When I visit the town close by I transform my appearance completely. To this day not one man or woman accosting me for any reason has realized that I am a male dressed just as Fraulein Otterman taught me to masquerade.
And in accordance with her parting wishes I have never ceased in my quest to find a mistress like her.
CHAPTER FOURTEEN
XIV.
What I considered to be the slow evolution of our sanitarium scheme gained an additional, unforeseen impetus with the addition of Fraulein Otterman to our merry little group. Little did I know that there was more significance in her joining our forces than met the eye. I am suggesting Rolfe deliberately withheld information from me concerning Fraulein Otterman. In fact, he did control my learning the full details ... but when I finally confronted him with my suspicions, he denied any complicity with her.
I felt compelled to believe him, because by the time my suspicions were aroused and almost confirmed, I believed fully in Fraulein Otterman ... and so did Mary Sue.
So, my trust and faith in Rolfe continued despite the misgivings I had when I inadvertently discovered he was very much aware of what would happen once I led Fraulein Otterman to the dungeon, the chapel.
"My dear friend," said Rolfe as we spoke about it later, "quite candidly I hadn't the slightest idea she would take to you as quickly as she did ... and to Mary
Sue. If you recall, the question she asked me about whether I had ever suffered physical discipline, went unanswered. I couldn't reply to her. You know why. She knows nothing of Mr. Hyde.
"Well, at that point I felt it vital to speak further with you on the subject of Fraulein Otterman, but the occasion didn't present itself. I didn't know what took priority-my explaining some of her more bizarre qualities about which I had heard a great deal from Stephanie Coombs and Theresa and young Jeanne, or my silently encouraging you to expose yourself to her ... and to them ... but not in my presence.
"My witnessing anything that went on would have inhibited you. Surely it might have turned Fraulein Otterman off altogether and it certainly would have confused matters with Mary Sue after she joined you both out in the chapel. Don't you agree?"
"Yes," I replied, but the circumstances were extenuating, and my misgivings were beginning to outweigh my confidence.
"You see," he went on, "the inclusion of Fraulein Otterman and her subsequent attention to your wife, will automatically relieve us of many pressures. Do you understand?"
"Not exactly."
"Well," he sighed, "you will recall my analysis of Mary Sue ... that we need to use the power of suggestion and some other psychological methods to induce her to play the leading role in the 'founding' of the clinic or sanitarium. Well, the trap we would have had to bait so cleverly, so subtly, is no longer ... will no longer be necessary.
"Neither will Viktor have to be an important accessory. You see, the sense of mission we must introduce and nurture in Mary Sue, can now be guided by Fraulein Otterman. Doesn't that simplify matters?"
Rolfe stood up, sighed again as if he were bored and made us a couple of drinks. In the heavy silence that ensued I felt a distinct pang of jealousy attributable to the intimacy of Mary Sue with Fraulein Otterman. This sensation shocked me. I had never been jealous of anything in my life.
I pondered the idea. Rolfe and I would still pursue the strategy we had formulated, the critical testing that would have the effect of giving me exclusive control of her fortune within the collusion I shared with Rolfe Palmer.
It was clear that under no circumstances would Fraulein Otterman learn of our conspiracy. Needless to say, there was no way on earth for Mary Sue to discover the facts ... unless Rolfe or I told her, or as a result of some fantastic disarrangement of the secret relationship I shared with my mother-in-law. Examining it from every perspective, I could not imagine this ever happening. The agreement was airtight! Neither party to it, my mother-in-law or I, could tamper with it without incriminating the other to the point where we would all go to jail, Rolfe along with us.
Rolfe continued: "In the course of my routine work at the Institut I have taken notice of Fraulein Otterman's aberrations on more than one occasion. I confide in you, dear friend, that I do certainly admire her sense of discretion. It is akin to ours ... and for the same reasons. Therefore, I always felt that she could be useful to me one day. This was before you and I became partners, if I may use that word." He smiled.
"I should add that I can pretty much guess what happened out there in the chapel ... if little Jeanne's stories are not totally products of her admittedly facile imagination where Ursula is concerned.
"Thus, you now have some remarkable insights into the capacities and erotic, depraved needs of this handsome woman. You have some idea of the enormity of her various sexual appetites, of her capacity and ability to persuade. Is this so?"
"Quite so. Yes."
"Good. Well, doesn't your behavior, don't your feelings, have something in common with the psychological breakdown I explained earlier regarding the degrees of masochism, sadism, of inflicting pain and having pain inflicted?"
"They confirm it. Yes, they do."
"I'm speaking of 'aggressive masochism,' but I will change the words 'desire to have' to 'craving need to have' physical and mental pain inflicted, to demand suffering-as opposed to suffering that occurs accidentally or in a controlled situation between the whip-wielding sadist and the cowering masochist.
"So, Fraulein Otterman has probably encouraged your craving needs, and if so, that's just magnificent. Stifling any need, sublimating any sexual appetite is damning. Guilt patterns evolve, frustrations ensue. Following on the heels of the ever-deepening frustrations come the disease-producing anxieties. Just to accept the fact that sexual expression, regardless of its moral acceptance-that is, between so-called consenting adults or between unconsenting adults-can rid the persons involved of guilt, of frustration, of anxieties, permits an insight into one of life's more perplexing mysteries. That's the cat/mouse syndrome, the cat/dog syndrome, and the female cat/male cat syndrome. What do you think of all that?" he laughed.
I never thought of it that way. "But all felines are not feminine."
"In the psychological laboratory all cats are female."
He made me laugh. "So, what you'll be saying next, Rolfe, is that all females are masochists and that all males are sadists. Doesn't that contradict what you've said before?"
"Yes, in a way it does. But I speak now in a different context. Certainly you would not say that Fraulein Otterman's behavior with you-and I assume with Mary Sue, out in the chapel-was the behavior of a feminine masochist? Would you? Wasn't it sadistic? Would you agree?"
"Yes."
"Well, old friend, so much for that. We'll get back to this later. There are other things brewing and we must speak quickly. I don't want to be interrupted."
Rolfe's voice faded as I experienced a sudden flashback. I mention it here as it will illustrate Mary Sue's so-called "vagrantism" and, at the same time, show that Fraulein Otterman's conquest of my wife was an easy victory, though a glorious one for the other woman.
It will also support Rolfe's diagnosis of my wife.
It took place back in New York. Mary Sue and I had been married only three months. The depths of our respective personalities were relatively unknown to each other. We had an extremely brief courtship.
Mary Sue had gone to an after-dinner cocktail party with a girlfriend. I didn't expect her home until after midnight. At 2 a.m. the telephone rang. It was Mary Sue, quite drunk and garbled. She was in an "after-hours" bar in Greenwich Village. "It's on the waterfront, West Twelfth Street." She needed assistance. Her girlfriend had vanished. I said I'd come and get her.
The bar was a sleazy dock-worker's hangout at the end of a gloomy one-way cobblestone street that fed into the piers and warehouses along the river. It was desolate, scary, and deathly silent. I asked the taxi to wait for me, but he said, "Mr., anywhere but here." He drove off into the night.
I found the bar in the deepening shadows. No sign, just a light. The front of the place was deserted as I entered. I saw a light in the back and followed it the way a moth does a flame. A huge cask of a man wearing a dirty waiter's apron approached. I asked for my wife. He snarled, then his expression changed. He waved for me to follow. His walk was that of a gorilla, his neck that of a bull. The moment I stepped into the back room I was grabbed roughly from behind, my arms pinioned and locked, and then thrust down into a chair. Someone slammed an open bottle of beer down in front of me, then came a glass filled with whisky. I was told to behave myself or else. I obeyed. I could never have resisted successfully.
Mary Sue was dead drunk, stark naked, dirty, her hair hanging down in strings on her shoulders. She was covered with sweat and she had the giggles. As she danced drunkenly around the center of the filthy floor, the tables shoved back, she couldn't see me or my guards in the deep shadows.
The men clustered around her were teasing and taunting her vulgarly. Several were openly masturbating their pricks, waving them lewdly at her, cursing her, beckoning her to dance closer, yelling for her to get down on her knees and suck them off.
Mary Sue kept laughing, giggling and dancing. She was bumping and grinding like a burlesque stripper to the rock music. Her naked body gleamed with perspiration in the soft light. Her breasts swayed and when she'd raise a leg up, the men would roar with delight. Even from where I sat, I could see her pink pussy lips clearly. It was obvious they had made her finger herself earlier.
As the music grew louder, pounding in my ears, Mary Sue would pause at different tables. It became difficult to see through the thick cigarette and cigar smoke. As she raised a glass, or a bottle of beer to her parched lips, the men closest to her would paw her breasts obscenely or finger-fuck her cunt. Standing behind her as she danced, several tried to ram their cocks into her ass, smacking her rosy buttocks with their palms when she shied away.
But she really did nothing to discourage them, even bending over lewdly as she kept dancing, rolling and grinding her cunt, stroking her sweat-covered breasts, tweaking her nipples and pretending she was in ecstasy. She'd slowly draw a finger between the crack of her ass with her body bent in half so all could see her tight little ass-hole and her finger teasing it.
I saw her grasp several pricks and jerk them off with one hand as she swigged from a bottle held in the other. One man shot a full load all over her breasts as she leaned over him, weaving drunkenly. She rubbed this thick semen into her breasts, massaging her nipples with it, while the men howled and roared, "whore!" and "You filthy cunt fuck!" Mary Sue seemed to love it.
The ox-like man who had led me into the back room to witness all of this finally went up to her. He hoisted her grimy body onto his shoulders. He carried her to a wobbly table. The guards now held me tighter. He lay her down on her belly. Two more men gripped her arms, while another pair held her legs wide apart. One man greased her ass-hole from a tube he held in his hand.
Five men in a row took turns ass-fucking her and each was unable to reach an orgasm. One after another they rammed their filthy cocks into her while they turned her so I could have a better view of the proceedings. I could see each cockhead stretch the taut ring of anal muscles before penetrating. Sometimes they would reach around and crush her tits with their hands while they pumped in and out. They fucked her so hard I could hear their bellies slap against her buttocks or hear the faint flop of their balls against her skin. It was unfettered, wild, animalistic screwing as those cocks drove into her.
I watched. I was utterly fascinated and utterly disgusted. On Mary Sue's face was a glassy look, a stare of utter bliss. I could tell she was in ecstasy, thrilling wildly to every moment, to every violent thrust of the monstrously erect prick of a young dockworker. He banged her like a wild man, driving the full length of his tool up her ass again and again. It was he who finally exploded inside her ravished ass-hole.
Throughout all of this Mary Sue kept giggling. Not once did I see her offer even the least resistance. At one point, while she had one prick down her throat, and sucked wildly at it, she was holding desperately onto another, jerking it up and down vigorously until it spurted in her hand.
Then they turned her over and began to fuck her in earnest. One prick after another plowed into her pussy. They all wanted a piece of this, even those who had held back before. And Mary Sue couldn't get enough. She took another cock down her throat and jerked off one or two more simultaneously. I felt sick to my stomach at this scene of carnal excess. But there was nothing I could do as she was fucked and fucked and fucked.
Her legs were stretched wide apart, lifted over shoulders, bent back to her chest, as those cocks moved in and out of her. She was fucked on her back, on her side, on her belly, up against the wall, and even in the air while being held up by two strapping longshoremen. The air was thick with the smell of sperm, and I believe I'd never seen so much of it geyser through the air or fill a woman's cunt as I did that night. Mary Sue's pussy oozed with it; her labia were stretched terribly and wore a perpetual pout from having been violated so many times.
It was fully an hour later, perhaps more, I don't recall now, that I was able to convince her to leave with me. She wanted nothing to do with me. At first, she didn't even recognize me.
Had it not been closing time, even for an after-hours bar on a waterfront that is seldom patrolled by police, I still wonder what might have happened.
Rolfe smiled, offering to make me another drink. His voice snapped me out of my reverie. "It seems that since your arrival here in Switzerland, we've had nothing but interruptions." He glanced up. "God in Heaven, help us! Here comes another one!"
I stood up and looked out the window. "She's lovely," I said.
"Yes, she is. There we have Theresa Symington, little Jeanne's roommate. She's the youngest of the three girls, eighteen only a month ago. As far as I'm concerned," Rolfe smiled, "Theresa, or Terry as she-likes to be called, is a young thirty-year-old. Know what I mean?"
"She's really lovely ... angelic."
"She wasn't due out here for another three hours. Something must be wrong back in her cottage or up at the Institut."
If such was the case, I was thinking to myself, there was no indication of it on the girl's pretty face. It was full of bright smiles and laughing looks as she strode across the cobbled courtyard, her arms swinging, her delicious bottom swaying, her young breasts undulating quite freely under a very thin cotton blouse that permitted an almost unobstructed view of their lovely curves and the pale pink nipples, erect and poking up provocatively.
Terry wore a short skirt with a slit up one side. On her feet were sandals. Over her shoulder she wore a carry-all purse; her long hair, blonde, matched the saddle leather of her purse.
Theresa couldn't see Rolfe and me watching. She stopped and, glancing around, crossed behind one of the three tall oak trees that guarded the entrance to the front door of the villa.
From her purse she took an atomizer of perfume. She sprayed her blouse and under her arms. Then she lifted her short skirt up above her waist. We both gasped! She was entirely nude under it. Her lovely blonde, almost invisible pubic hair was next to be treated with the perfume. Then she returned the atomizer to her bag.
Out came her hairbrush. She gave about twenty strokes to her head, then, lifting her skirt again, brushed her cunt hair with several brisk upward sweeps. Then we both gasped again as she suddenly reversed the brush. Swiftly she inserted the handle a full four or five inches into her pussy. She worked it in and out slowly, her eyes closed. Removing it, she brought it up to her nose. She sniffed. She smiled. Then she slowly licked it clean of her juices just as casually as if she'd been licking a lollypop.
"Holy God!" I exclaimed.
"Didn't I tell you she was an exhibitionist?"
"You did, but I thought exhibitionists reserved their exhibiting for viewers."
Rolfe laughed. "Not in our little Terry's case. Perhaps a bird was watching. Perhaps Viktor. He's the perfect voyeur, you know. I never know where he is when he's not in the house, but it's a sure bet he's spying on someone."
When young Theresa Symington knocked on the door, Rolfe called out for her to enter.
CHAPTER FIFTEEN
XV.
Inadvertently, the appearance of Theresa Symington at Rolfe's villa signaled the actual commencement of the sanitarium scheme.
No sooner had the young girl been served a glass of wine by Viktor than the telephone rang. We recognized an international call by the persistent, demanding, strident ring-ring-ring! International calls are given such urgency one would think the world was ending.
"It has to be for you," said Rolfe answering it. Then he whispered as I took the receiver. "It's America, but you're safe to talk. Mary Sue's in the forest with Fraulein Otterman. No problem." With this, he took Terry Symington by the arm and led her toward the kitchen.
He winked over his shoulder. "I'll save a little for you," he smiled.
As I waited the few seconds before the voice on the other end repeated, "Hello ... Hello," I saw Theresa sink to her knees in front of Rolfe. She hugged him around his buttocks and glanced up to his eyes for permission, then nuzzled her face in his crotch before zipping down his fly.
It was Mary Sue's mother; in essence, all things were going well. She had received my cable in response to her letter containing the money. By manipulating one of the bank's agents in New York, she had managed to pave the way for the payment of an entire year's worth of dividends in advance. These would be paid to me as Mary Sue's husband and "Legal guardian"-the latter phrase indicating my wife was not mentally sound. As soon as possible, said my mother-in-law, she would need certified proof of this. This would consist of Rolfe Palmer's document to the effect that Mary Sue was no longer competent.
A fresh matter-and the reason for the call, she said-concerned the sale of a piece of land Mary Sue had inherited from her late father. Mother-in-law was forwarding a legal document to be signed by Mary Sue's "guardian," authorizing the land to be sold.
My profit, once the deal was negotiated, would be in the neighborhood of $58,000. To encourage me to act as quickly as possible, because, said my darling mother-in-law, the time to sell the property was ripe, I could earn an additional $2,000 by signing the documents upon receipt. She added, "I don't trust the mails in such important matters. Since so much is at stake, I am taking the liberty of having the necessary papers-and there's a briefcase full of them, plus signing instructions-flown to you personally by private courier. He will also carry a certified cashier's check for the total amount of what we shall call your 'commission.'" She asked if I had any questions.
I had none. We determined the time and place of the courier's arrival, a hotel in downtown Geneva the following evening. Should the courier experience any delay in keeping the appointment with me, I would be so informed by telephone.
Before hanging up, my mother-in-law wished me well and continued good luck in our mutual venture. She said almost nothing about Mary Sue, didn't even ask about her health. In fact, my wife's name didn't enter the conversation. She was referred to as "our friend."
Sifting the nuances of Mother-in-law's brief conversation, I jotted down a few references in my pocket notebook ... the name of the Geneva hotel, and so on.
Making a fresh drink, I wondered about Mary Sue and Fraulein Otterman again. What were they doing out in the forest all this time? Until Rolfe mentioned their general whereabouts, I had had no idea where they were. But I had to admit to wondering about it.
Again I felt a sharp pang of jealousy, or perhaps of envy, the dulling sensation, the ugly feeling of being left out of things. I wasn't sure. I sat at the table, tugging my erect penis slowly inside my dressing gown, recalling the vivid scenario Fraulein Otterman, Mary Sue and I had enjoyed in the chapel the evening before ... when Viktor suddenly interrupted me. I was surprised to see him stark naked. He spoke in German.
"If you are not occupied, sir, my master welcomes you. He is in the paddock with the young lady. I can lead you there if you wish ... but first I must complete an errand and get some refreshments."
I took quick notice that Viktor's semi-hard cock was glistening from some liquid, probably saliva. The slit in the head was leaking gently. There was a glow on his cheeks. Without his polished riding boots and the gleaming silver spurs-barefoot, that is-Viktor presented quite a different appearance. From the rear with his long hair falling to his shoulders, he looked very much like a young female, especially because of the rounded hips, the taut buttocks and his almost hairless body.
The longer I stared at him as he prepared a wine punch by the cupboard, the more I had to admit that his lithe body aroused and excited me sexually. Several times when he bent over to take something out or return a bottle to the cabinet under the cupboard, I would see his naked anus and his balls swinging, and of course, his long, hardening penis. The scene reminded me of some pornographic drawings, sketches, I'd seen when I was much younger. I recalled, as I continued to observe Viktor, the number of pleasant hours I had spent poring over those old line drawings, and the number of lovely orgasms I enjoyed while studying them and masturbating over them.
Sharp images of Viktor being flayed with the birch by Mary Sue flashed before my eyes. The memory of her ardently kissing and fondling and stroking his naked bottom was still fresh, and the longer I allowed these and other recollections to appear and disappear while my imagination adding fuel to the flames, the more excited I became. I was now masturbating openly, not caring if Viktor saw me, thumbing the slippery head of my penis and, as Rolfe always did, clutching my balls with my other hand.
When Viktor did turn, his attention undoubtedly drawn by the juicy, liquid massaging noises my fist was making, his eyes fell instantly to my crotch. They caressed my hard prick. My robe had fallen away and I was fully exposed.
He raised his eyes up to mine.
"Do you want to whip me?" he asked. His young cock was throbbing. "My master has given you permission to do anything you wish to my body." Again his eyes fell and lingered between my open thighs. I watched as he kept moistening and then openly wetting his lips with his tongue.
"Bring me a birch," I told him.
"There is one in the drawer under the table," he replied. He spoke in very soft, lightly accented English now. This pleased me. The tone was curiously feminine.
In the drawer I found two birch switches. Each was about two feet long. Each was damp and sinewy, quite green.
Viktor stood in front of me. His strong, beautifully-molded prick stood out from his flat stomach. The heart-shaped tip was rosy red and the thick shaft virginal with no sign of heavy veins. It was about two and-a-half inches in diameter and over eight inches in length. It was magnificent and far more handsome than my own. I shivered when I imagined it probing deep inside my wife's hungry ass-hole.
Viktor cupped his balls with both hands. This had the effect of thrusting his tool up and out at me. His prick seemed to grow thicker and expand.
He closed his eyes.
"Go ahead," he said again in English. "Do what pleases you."
I took hold of my cock with my left hand. It was hard and hot in my fingers. Slowly I raised the longest of the two birch switches with my right hand. Viktor closed his eyes. He was waiting. He threw his head back. His mouth fell open as he waited for the blow on his genitals.
Suddenly, I didn't have the heart to strike him. I couldn't understand it. I felt a great tenderness overwhelm me. If anything, and being honest, I wanted to embrace him, to hold him close to my naked body, to touch his skin and, I suppose, even kiss and take his handsome penis into my mouth. Again I was feeling sensations completely alien to me ... rather like those I had experienced with Fraulein Otterman, but certainly in a different vein.
"Go on. You may," he said as if reading my mind. "Or whip me instead. Whip me! Strike my penis. You know I like it."
Viktor stood up straighter, then he turned to the side. Now his powerful member poked out and up at an angle more suggestive of lewdness and vulgarity than it had appeared with his body as the background. The soft, feminine curve of his buttocks was also accented. "Oh, please, whip me ... whip me hard!"
I slashed him lightly across the lower stomach. He winced. I struck again. This time the fresh, green birch swished across the shaft of his erect penis. Another strike seared his balls. He leaped up off his feet with that one. He was burning with excitement. His cock was throbbing. So was my own. I was close, so very close to coming.
"Again ... again!" he cried out.
This time I reached out with my left hand. I clasped it around his buttocks. He backed up his body into my hand bent over slightly. I whacked him again, this time on the head of his prick, thrilling as he cried out and then screamed! I watched his penis snap back almost elastically. It was leaking profusely now and I knew he had come slightly, that emission that precedes the flow of semen, not just lubricating juice, but a heavy, thick and creamy substance.
I swept the birch up under his thick shaft, contacting his balls. He moaned, but he didn't cry out. I did this again and again, my own penis throbbing and pounding, wanting to erupt. Suddenly Viktor turned all the way around so that his back was to me. He bent over, his hands down on his knees, his buttocks fully open and exposed. He put one hand behind his back. He fingered the crack of his boyish ass, then he caressed his buttocks. This erotic gesture excited me wildly. It was deliciously feminine. I had the sudden urge to plow my thick penis up his open ass-hole. I was surprised to see it was entirely hairless just like Mary Sue's. She had not mentioned this to me. I wondered why.
But I didn't fuck him. Instead, I whipped his buttocks with the hissing birch. I switched and slashed as he rocked back and forth. As he'd flinch from time to time anticipating the stroke, I could see him jerking off with one hand as his other squeezed his testicles. I kept up the whipping, the birch stinging his sensitive flesh, biting into the crack of his ass, sneaking under to snag at his balls and snap at his fingers clutching them.
"I'm shooting off," he said suddenly. "Do you want it?"
I had heard him say this to Rolfe. I knew what he meant. I nodded. I sat and stretched back in the chair. He came closer, his fist pounding up and down on his rigid tool. He aimed his prick at my cock which I was now jerking off vigorously in his direction. Closer and closer he came. Our pricks were now almost touching as he bent at the knees. I half raised up and then, just as our pricks kissed, his jetted hot sperm all over my own. I shot off instantly onto his belly and thighs and then sank back in the seat.
Viktor fell to his knees and, looking up at me softly, used his long hair as I had seen him do earlier with Rolfe. He cleaned the mingled fluids from my body.
After Viktor left me and went out to the stables where presumably Rolfe and Theresa were waiting, I took a long, hot shower.
My brain was teeming with thoughts, guilt-ridden thoughts. I felt the need to justify my homosexual behavior, and also the lust that overwhelmed me. It was a new kind of fervent lust for a new kind of sex.
I reviewed every impassioned moment I spent with Viktor and my penis throbbed again with desire. I could feel the need, the craving for his body all the way down to my toes. I questioned why I didnt satisfy my lascivious longings with him, those Fraulein Otterman had already set afire. I surely had my chance. Viktor would not have denied me. I knew that. But what was inhibiting me? Was it Mary Sue and the guilt I now associated with her? Was it jealousy over the situation with Fraulein Otterman ... her being with Mary Sue, even corrupting my wife beyond the degree to which she had already been corrupted by me and by others? Was it because of Rolfe Palmer and our conspiracy and a pernicious distrust of him that was ever-so-slowly making itself felt?
Really I didn't know.
CHAPTER SIXTEEN
XVI.
Following Viktor to the paddock after I watched him carefully wash and dry his handsome body in the old-fashioned, four-legged bathtub, I was preoccupied with four things.
The first, without a doubt, was Viktor himself, his growing relationship with me and with Mary Sue. How interesting it was that we had adapted ourselves to him so effortlessly ... and with what rich sensuality as the reward.
Secondly, I was deep in thought about my wife and Ursula Otterman and the curiosities of this perverse relationship. Again the two of us were involved, again the rewards were so rich they could easily be magnified out of proportion.
Next came the business I had to discuss with Rolfe in regard to the telephone call from my mother-in-law. For some reason I couldn't put my finger on, there seemed to be a kind of new urgency about getting the "show on the road," as Rolfe was emphasizing more and more lately. With the money I'd be receiving I was sure we could employ a realtor familiar with the requirements Rolfe and I had in mind to launch a search for the physical plant we'd need.
The next thought that popped into my mind was Rolfe's mention of Jeanne's parents being "into" international real estate-and that Jeanne was the roommate of Theresa who was now out in the paddock with Rolfe. It also occurred to me that Theresa was the girl Viktor and Rolfe were accustomed to fucking at the same time.
As it turned out, I was correct in all things.
We entered the stables through the rear door. Viktor explained that his master didn't appreciate unannounced visitors, thus the front doors were locked. But it was obvious he was expecting us!
The tableau was spectacular!
Rolfe lay naked on his back in one of the stalls. His arms were thrust up over his shoulders. His wrists were tied with thongs to two thick iron rings embedded in the wall. The earth was covered with hay. Because this unused section of the stable usually was kept locked, it was airless and close.
Rolfe's brawny legs were spread wide apart and his ankles were chained, not thonged. The weight of the heavy-linked chains impressed me. They were rusted and unsightly, the sort used to tow heavy canal barges.
Each chain fed and locked into another ring in the wall.
I could see that he was gagged. He was also blindfolded with what looked like a pair of panties stretched around his head. The hot sun beamed through the small stable windows and filtered the motes of dust that floated lazily in the beams.
Theresa was also stark naked. She had a captivating body-firm young breasts with virginal nipples tinted with lipstick. Her mount was lightly mussed.
The pussy lips beneath were a pink smile that captivated me. The faint aroma of her perfume in the unventilated stable added to the eroticism. Her buttocks and pelvis were equally as attractive as her tits and legs and arms. But her buttocks were unusually exciting, smooth cheeks each with its own cute dimple.
"You took such a long time to join us. Monsieur," Theresa smiled at me. "I see you also took your time, Viktor," she said, staring at his limp penis. "Did you mix the punch according to instructions?"
Theresa spoke in French. Until now I was unaware that Viktor understood it. I did perfectly. The girl's tone was not unkindly, more matter-of-fact, but I could sense that she was accustomed to speaking to Viktor this way: and more, that he was used to it. He nodded and even bowed his head a little in answer to her question about the punch.
She stared again at his cock. "Was it a good orgasm, Viktor? A really good one?"
Viktor lowered his eyes. Her question embarrassed him and he glanced over at me to see my reaction. Theresa saw this and a smile lit up her pretty face. I said nothing.
Obviously she liked to tease him. "Did you mix some of your prick juice into the punch, Viktor?"
No answer. Again he glanced at me.
"Did you bring me a little taste?" She was still speaking in French, but now she was using baby talk that obviously irritated him.
I stood in the corner watching this scene. Rolfe lay still. I could tell he was listening. He had a full erection.
"Okay, Viktor," said the naked girl, "Leave the pitcher here and return to the villa. We'll drink it all; I love the way the alcohol makes me feel. You can even have some yourself back at the house. But Viktor, no more masturbation, do you understand? I want you to come back in a little while and I want your cock nice and hard." She didn't look at him as she said this.
As soon as the boy was gone, she smiled again at me. "Rolfe has told me so much about you, Monsieur. Wouldn't you like to take your clothing off? I'd like to see your prick. I like new pricks. I love them."
In the silence of the stable, her young musical voice stirred up the animal in me. I'm strongly attracted to the voices of young girls, their laughter, their giggles.
As I undressed, I watched Theresa drink from the pitcher. She didn't take the trouble to pour the rum-laced punch into a glass. She watched intently as my cock sprang free.
"Will you help me, please?" she asked. Naked now, I went over to her. She kneeled down on one side of Rolfe. She propped up his head and told him I was holding the pitcher. Gently I poured the liquid between his teeth. I was sure he might choke or gag, but he didn't. He took a few swallows before indicating he'd had enough. I could see his eyes through the silky panties. They were closed.
I had a very strange feeling that I was intruding.
Theresa put his head back in the hay. Then, with eyes sparkling, she got down on her hands and knees. She bent her head over his cock and began trailing her long hair over his lower belly and thighs.
Slowly, gradually, I watched his penis throb to life. It had softened while he guzzled the punch. The sight of it stiffening almost in sections-then the knob bulging as the shaft thickened and filled up with blood, the fat balls beginning to contract and expand, the testes ever so slowly oozing and shifting position inside the hairy sac as Theresa's hair tickled and excited them-was something I'd never seen.
"He loves this," she smiled looking up at me, giving me the impression she was very much enjoying herself. I drank in the sight of her ... her sweet breasts so deliciously naked, the lovely nipples pink and tempting ... the triangle of blonde pubic hair between her sexy white thighs so neatly outlined ... the curves of her bare shoulders, her back and even the soles of her little feet. It excited me terribly as she continued to arouse and stimulate Rolfe.
"He's just dying to have me kiss and suck his prick," she said in French. "He loves it. He can't wait for me to touch it with my tongue. Pretty soon I might do that," she sighed. "Pretty soon he'll be begging me, you know, straining up, raising up, stretching out his body in some position he thinks will allow his cock to touch my mouth. But it doesn't until I say it can. He knows this, too. He knows this only too well. He also knows that if he becomes too anxious, all the sweet things he wants to happen to him during my visit this afternoon may not happen at all. I just might put my clothing back on and go away ... or I might go with Viktor and fuck and suck with him ... or I could go with you, and let you suck me all over and eat my cunt. Oh, yes ... that sounds good ... all over!" She giggled, caressing her cunt obscenely, knowing that Rolfe was staring through the panties. "And I could let you fuck me ... and then I'd come, and he would just have to stay here all chained up. There would be nothing he could do about it. Not a thing! Nothing at all!"
I nodded. I couldn't keep from wanting to smile. Rolfe was beginning to twitch. As she had said, already his midsection was lifting, raising up off the hay. He was trying to aim his cock at some point of contact with her stunning body. But each time his prick almost touched, she would dodge skillfully, her eyes teasing.
"He-likes to make me stand up on the table and take all my clothes off. He makes me walk around with my books all scattered on the table. And you know what then, Monsieur? He takes a whip like this one"-she reached towards Rolfe's bare feet and produced a riding crop-"and he smacks my toes with it. It hurts terribly. Then he might rub the handle between my legs, sometimes very hard, or between my tender cunt lips. He makes the whip sing and soon he has me bending way over. He loves to torture me. He spanks my bottom with his hand again and again. Then comes the stinging whip, again and again and again! Suddenly, he slaps my breasts. He beats them. He scratches them. He pulls on my nipples until I'm screaming ... and then he makes me crouch down on the table. He whips my cunt. He whips it and I scream. Oh, God, the pain! He keeps hurting me and he keeps whipping me. Usually he fucks me immediately afterward. In the ass, or in the cunt. He fucks me hard."
My prick was as rock-hard as Rolfe's when she suddenly stopped talking. Her eyes were aflame as she stared at our erect cocks, her eyes lingering on Rolfe's, then caressing mine. She had been playing with her clit as she talked, manipulating the erect bud until her taut little pussy was slippery with her juices. I was wondering what would happen next when suddenly Viktor appeared.
"Did you have a drink or two as I told you to?" Theresa demanded. Viktor nodded. "Then come here." He did and she took his erect tool in her hand. "Oh, it's so hard and so hot," she exclaimed. "I love it like this.
"See, Rolfe's jealous," she said looking over at the bound figure. "He wishes I were holding his prick. He wants me to touch him, but I won't. I like holding and touching your beautiful cock. It's years younger and not as ugly. And it's so hot and heavy in my hand. I think I'll just kiss it. You love me to kiss and lick your big, thick prick, don't you Viktor? So does Rolfe, but Rolfe is just going to have to lie there and wait. He doesn't like that one bit."
She strutted back and forth and pulled on her nipples. "Sometimes Rolfe gets really angry and he pulls on the chains with his legs. He hurts himself. He makes himself bleed. He tries to get his wrists free of the leather thongs, but they hold so tight that he can't. He gives himself pain. You know something? He would really kill me at such times if he could get free, but he can't. All he wants is for me to let go of Viktor's hot prick and to take hold of his own. Then he wants me to sit down on it after Viktor sucks my cunt so that it's drippy and really juicy and ready to swallow up the prick that's soon inside it. Rolfe wants to fuck me. You can tell, huh?"
She licked slowly up and down the length of Viktor's powerful member. "What Rolfe wants is for me to sit down on his thick prick so that it's deep inside of my cunt. Then he wants Viktor to bend me over and poke his tongue all around my ass-hole while Rolfe's big prick is going in and out of my cunt.
"Rolfe-likes to imagine Viktor staring at his prick as he eats my ass-hole. Then he wants me to reach around behind and grasp his balls so he can pretend it is Viktor doing it. He wants me to squeeze them really hard, so hard he has to scream in pain."
Theresa was sometimes talking to herself, sometimes to me, but always to Rolfe. Now she was down on her elbows and knees between Rolfe's open legs facing his feet. Her naked buttocks almost touched Rolfe's enormous weapon. She managed to maneuver her ass so that Rolfe's cock just brushed between the lovely crack in her ass. From behind, the view of her cunt was delicious, her lips so pink and creamy.
"Now I am going to raise up and squash down right on his hot prick. Then I'm going to jump up and down on it until he's in agony. Then he will shoot off inside of me while Viktor is kissing me ... and then maybe Viktor will kneel down and lick my hot clitoris as I grab hold of his head ... while I'm fucking up and down on Rolfe's prick!"
With one leap, she plunged backwards onto Rolfe's protruding member. It sank into her pussy with a noisy squish. In a split second, Viktor was down between her open thighs doing exactly as she had said, sucking and licking and chewing on her clitoris as she fucked viciously on Rolfe's prick.
Theresa bounced up and down, exhibiting skills few girls her age could boast of. She ground her bottom against Rolfe's belly, rotating his prick inside her pussy. She raised herself up and let herself drop onto the full length of that enormous pole. Then she'd settle back and simply thrust her hips forward and back to milk Rolfe of his sperm.
While she did this, Viktor continued to keep his mouth glued to her mount. He licked her up and down, following her movements as best he could. He slashed at her clit with the tip of his tongue and lapped at Rolfe's cock when it emerged from her possessive snatch.
Moments later, Rolfe's body bucked and his midsection raised up off the earth almost throwing Theresa over. But she kept ramming her cunt down and screaming as the prick erupted inside of her. I could see Rolfe's creamy flood dribbling down the length of his shaft, seeping out of Theresa's cunt lips, as Viktor continued to lick and suck her inflamed clitoris.
Suddenly Theresa stood up. Rolfe's cock continued to spurt in the air. She threw herself down on her back in the hay.
"Viktor ... oh, Viktor, quickly ... oh, hurry! I want you to put out the fire ... Viktor ... to put out the fire in my cunt ... Viktor, hurry ... please ... fuck me," she kept moaning and squealing. "Fuck me!" She threw her long legs back. She grabbed hold of her ankles, exposing her hungry, juice-filled cunt.
Viktor, holding his heavy prick, mounted her. He grabbed her by the buttocks, hugging her groin close. He jammed his thick tool into her cunt. She was moaning, grunting. I kneeled and fondled her sweaty breasts and I watched fascinated as Viktor's meatpole continued to splash noisily in and out of Theresa's pussy. I had never seen him display so much energy and passion. He seemed particularly taken with Theresa's charms ... as was Rolfe. While I continued to knead her tits and tug on her nipples, he drove into her. He supported himself with his arms so that his head and chest were off of her, and all that maintained constant with her burning flesh was his invading piston. It was exciting to watch his long shaft moving in and out of her sheath, especially as Theresa continued to egg him on to fuck her harder. This he did, shuttling his cock steadily. I could see her taut pussy lips grasping and sucking at his tool with each stroke. He fucked her faster, faster and harder, until his body stiffened like his cock and he pumped his thick cream into her.
CHAPTER SEVENTEEN
XVII.
The result of my giving Rolfe the news of my mother-in-law's phone call was that he immediately summoned young Jeanne from the Institut. After Rolfe spoke confidentially with her, she made two telephone calls back to the States. The second resulted in our determining the name of a local real estate agent who did business with her father's company.
The next day in Geneva, Rolfe spoke at length with him while I met with the courier and took care of the paperwork on the land deal. I didn't like the courier at all. Because of his meticulousness he made signing the papers more troublesome than it had to be. But the idea of earning so much money with so little effort appeased me.
Rolfe and I drove back to the villa just before dusk. We had very little to say to each other and he was deep in thought. We spent the evening hours poring over maps of secluded chateaux and examining photographs of many attractive properties for rent, sale, or lease in the vicinity of the villa.
Sifting and sorting one idea after another, and seeing what had been only a plan begin to take physical shape, was exciting to me. Needless to say, the whole concept was still our secret, except for Ursula Otterman being in on the general idea, and we debated at length the advantages and disadvantages of sharing our enthusiasm.
Rolfe didn't think it wise to even broach the idea to Mary Sue until the psychological tests he was preparing for her had been administered and put to use. He was so adamant about this it made me worry ... a little.
"...then we will be totally protected," he said. "The collusion between you and her family will have been concluded and be legally binding. As I understand it, dear friend, this is all-important. It would be best if we took no other steps where your wife is concerned until the paperwork is finished ... despite our enthusiasm.
"As for the tests themselves," he continued reflectively, "I plan to organize them as soon as possible. But it would be foolish to go ahead until we are certain we have measured how much influence Fraulein Otterman has over her now. If the scenario, the dialogue between them has gone the way I imagine it has, so that by now the logic of sadism has fully penetrated Mary Sue's consciousness, then, of course, we would be ready to commence.
"However, if this is not the case, then we must talk candidly to Ursula, the both of us. It goes without saying, that if her cooperation comes at a price, we will be in a position to pay ... and I'm not necessarily speaking of cash."
I really wasn't sure what Rolfe meant. I said so and he reviewed the issues again. I was noticing that I was beginning to feel more and more foolish as we continued our several conversations about the scheme and especially Fraulein Otterman's involvement.
"One: This may be an oversimplification, but your personal problem with Mary Sue must be resolved or reconciled. You can have your cake and eat it too, as the Americans say. I mean, the sanitarium will take her off your hands, yet she will become your personal slave and also remain your legal wife. The change in her personality will benefit your own. I see no reason to think otherwise.
"Two: Your financial relationship with her family will be secure by virtue of my administering and filing the test results. They will hold water in any international court of law. This will enable you and your mother-in-law to continue financially as you and she have planned ... without interruption. Again, I see no reason to think otherwise.
"Three: The 'deal' you and I have up our sleeve remains intact, but now we will be able to 'go into business' so to speak, the professional sanitarium business. We have the sincere interest of Fraulein Otterman, whom I have since learned is quite fed up with the Institut for reasons that are not important to you personally.
"Four: The psychological advantages that my continuing close friendship with you provides in terms of my Jekyll-Hyde confusion, will eventually enable me to conquer and subdue the evil activities of Mr. Hyde, or at best, reduce their frequency and destructiveness. You may have noticed, dear friend, that since your arrival, you have not seen one example of the physical and mental savagery, the unchecked barbaric behavior of Mr. Hyde. It is my sincere wish that you never do. Your understanding of it is very important to me and my appreciation of your concern is without bounds."
He paused and studied my face silently.
"Now, as for Fraulein Otterman and yourself. Shall we think about this for a moment?"
I replied that I didn't see any reason not to, but since Rolfe was making us drinks in preparation for Theresa joining us all-Rolfe, Ursula Otterman, Mary Sue, Leni, Jeanne and me-for dinner, I went to the bathroom to sit down and think matters over privately.
Of course I agreed with Rolfe's four points: especially the last, which was of great personal concern. I went over the myriad details of the episode I'd enjoyed with Viktor, Theresa and Rolfe. I decided that he had the Mr. Hyde situation pretty much under control. At the same time, I knew he had enjoyed himself immensely.
The pleasure-pain syndrome, sadistically and masochistically, but mostly in terms of psychological torment, seemed to take on a different reality with young Theresa in command of Rolfe's cravings.
At different intervals during her activities with Viktor and me, Rolfe had struggled for freedom from the ankle chains and the wrist thongs like an enraged beast. He was bleeding at the wrists when he finally collapsed in exhaustion following the whipping Theresa administered to his entire body.
When she finally promised to unlock the heavy chains that tied his bruised ankles to the rings in the wall, and Rolfe struggled to rise up, she made him bend down on his knees. He began howling in pain as the whip unexpectedly sizzled all over his naked buttocks, his inner and outer thighs, his back, his shoulders and neck, and even his face as he fought to somehow get the gag out of his mouth and rip the blindfold off his face.
He had no success. He was totally in Theresa's power. And before she was finished with him, before she would untie his bleeding wrists, she had Rolfe groveling on the stable floor. She had him down on his knees, thrusting out his erect penis so she could kick it with her bare feet, so she could strike it sharply with the riding crop.
I watched, utterly fascinated, as she flogged his already-marked buttocks until he was roaring for her to stop. She would kick his balls hard, or as he clawed out at her blindly, she would suddenly slice her sharp fingernails down his naked back or grab hold of his penis and yank on it crudely.
Changing her mood abruptly, humming to herself, she would caress his balls and prick gently, giving him the idea she was relenting, sympathizing with his pain, only to grab hold of his balls between her teeth. She would scare the hell out of me as she began chewing. Rolfe would shoot up on his toes and yell at the top of his lungs until he was finally able to kick her away ... and I dare say that none of his kicks were at all gentle. Had he ever connected with her, he would have damaged her for life. But it seemed this obvious fact deterred her not in the least. Theresa wallowed in the wild pleasure inflicting pain gave her. She slapped Rolfe's face until his cheeks were bright red. When he sank to the hay, she would kneel close, but not too close. She would try to drive the butt end of the riding crop up Rolfe's ass-hole, but he was able to kick her and squirm away.
The finale, if it could be called that, consisted of Rolfe in all his fury unable to turn his head away as Theresa forced him to watch her licking and sucking first Viktor's, then my prick and ass-hole. She slurped so eagerly, I can still hear the noises. There was little to match the sensation of my cock sliding down her warm, eager throat. It seemed as though the muscles there matched those in her pussy-tight, grasping, and practiced. She slurped up and down the length of the shaft, taking care to wet every inch of my turgid flesh. She licked around the head and flicked the tip of her tongue against the gasping slit, then engulfed my entire morsel. She withdrew it again and washed the hard ridge underneath the shaft, working her way down to my balls and the bridge between them and my anus. No man could resist this, and I was no exception. My cock stiffened and began to jerk.
I shot off a steady stream into her mouth. She let my semen bubble out past her lips, licking them hungrily and sucking noisily. Finally she sat down on the floor. She grabbed Viktor's hot meatpole and guided it into her come-filled mouth. She sucked him into a long, spasmodic orgasm, collecting all his thick juices without swallowing. Then, with her mouth full of semen, she leaned over Rolfe and let it cascade onto his face.
From around her neck she removed the string on which the keys to the locks anchoring the ankle chains to the wall were tied. Before she fled toward the villa and safety, which she well knew was assured her under the terms she and Rolfe understood, she tossed the keys to me.
You can imagine my surprise when Viktor took them from me. He threw them into a pile of hay an inch or so distant from Rolfe's hands. He tried but couldn't reach for them.
"Come on," Viktor said, "my master always finds a way."
My thoughts were rapidly becoming directly centered on Fraulein Otterman. My relationship with her, as I've said, seemed to be of prime importance to me. At the same time, where Mary Sue was concerned, I had to admit I was growing more anxious, more concerned.
She had not come back to the villa. Although this wasn't anything novel where her vagrantism was concerned, her being with someone I believed I knew intimately added to my mental turbulence. But when I had mentioned this to Rolfe, he had told me not to worry. I was foolish even giving it as much thought as I had, he said. He told me he had received a telephone call from Fraulein Otterman. He urged me to relax. The two had gone to the village cafe to chat. They would return for dinner.
I was totally unprepared for the sight that greeted my eyes when Mary Sue finally re turned ... and without Fraulein Otterman. Mary Sue told Rolfe, not me, that she would join us later. This annoyed me.
I had not seen Mary Sue look so weak, so pale, since one of her vagrant ordeals in New York. Nor was I familiar with the shabby clothing she wore-a turtleneck sweater that was faded and sloppy black slacks that didn't fit her. She was also barefoot. "I lost my sandals somewhere," she snapped. When I tried to ask her questions, she demanded I leave her alone. She needed to take a hot bath, if I didn't mind too much, then a nap before dinner! She wanted to know why I was trying to corner her. I didn't realize I was. Maybe she would talk to me later, she said. She needed to be alone.
I couldn't imagine what had happened to her, but I guessed it had to be physical. Under the turtleneck sweater she was treasuring or concealing something. I despised her attitude toward me. This was the unsavory Mary Sue I disliked intensely ... from time to time. Whenever she'd behaved like this in the past it had been an omen of foreboding from which I'd shrunk inwardly.
As soon as she climbed upstairs with what appeared to be an extremely awkward gait, I made a quick drink. I excused myself to Rolfe who had been watching us out of the corner of his eye. Using the second staircase that led to the room adjoining ours, where Rolfe and I had originally watched Leni and Mary Sue enjoy their first encounter, I crept in. Doing as Rolfe had done, I adjusted the one-way mirror complex so I could watch.
I didn't much approve of spying on Mary Sue, but my curiosity was beyond itself after what had happened upon her return. I sat down and saw her sitting disconsolately in the chair near the bed. With what seemed an effort, she reached into the purse she had returned with, not her own, and took out two small bottles. She opened one, sniffed and put it down on the floor. She opened the second, and bringing it to her lips, took a deep swallow. This was an unusual gesture. Usually she sipped. The liquid seemed to have an immediate effect. She sat up sharply, shook her head and blinked her eyes. She lit a cigarette with a curiously masculine gesture, all the while moving awkwardly, sluggishly. Putting down the cigarette, she slowly pulled the turtleneck sweater up and off. I gasped!
Mary Sue's upper body was wrapped like an Egyptian mummy! She was bound with layer after layer of what looked like tightly wound 3-inch adhesive tape ... the overlapping layers smashing her breasts flat on her chest. The adhesive came right up to her neck. Now I could understand why it was difficult for her to move as liquidly as she usually did.
Standing, she balanced awkwardly, but finally managed to get the ill-fitting slacks off. Both her legs were also taped mummy-fashion. I could see that at some point one leg had been tightly lashed to the other. The tape ran from the very top of her thighs down to her ankles.
The only part of her body that not been strapped with the wide tape was her lower buttocks and her crotch. I could see dried blood all over her inner thighs close to her cunt hairs; these were all matted and messy. As for her bottom-cheeks, when she turned around, I saw they were heavily marked, red and angry with darkening weals visible through the overall purplish color of her once-smooth flesh. I saw more dried blood matting her cunt hairs from the rear when she tried to bend over.
I could hardly believe it! I felt I should go to her, help her ... but she'd been so emphatic that I leave her alone. I couldn't understand why she wouldn't share this misery with me. I didn't know whether I should respect her wishes or not. I was just deciding not to when I saw her glance up sharply and speak. I turned on the sound, remembering how Rolfe had flicked the switch.
Mary Sue had locked the door. Now she was opening it.
There stood Fraulein Otterman!
"I gave you explicit instructions not to undress until I came!"
"Yes, you did, Fraulein," said Mary Sue. I felt a cold shiver pass over my body.
"Get down on your knees at once!"
"Yes, Fraulein."
Wordlessly, Fraulein Otterman produced a birch switch from inside her riding boot. "Bend over, lick my boots. I want to see your tongue. I want to feel it."
Mary Sue was facing the woman and as she kneeled down on the rug and bent her head, her bare buttocks rose up high in the air.
The birch swished through the air.
"Oh ... please ... no more today ... no more ... oh, please, Fraulein. Please, I beg you ... no more. My ass is on fire."
"Shut up! Lick up under my skirt. I want to feel that tongue on my pussy. Use it the way I've taught you. Taste me. Lick my skin. I want to feel that dirty tongue."
"It hurts me to move, Fraulein. My skin is burning. Oh, Fraulein, my breasts are burning from your whip. My legs are all numb and tingly. My cunt ... my cunt, Fraulein. Please help me. Don't whip me any more. I will do anything you wish, kind Fraulein. Please ... please, I will do as you wish. I will wash your body with my tongue. I will lick your cunt. I will kiss your ass-hole and suck it. I want it. Fraulein, I am hungry for what you feed me. Oh, dear, kind Fraulein, I have fallen in love with you, with your lovely strong body, with your lovely breasts. I want to hold them, to wet them with my mouth. I want to eat them, the nipples, chew on them so they can nourish me. I love your breasts and your lovely cunt. I love your ass-hole, Fraulein. I love all of you. You must know I do. You must know it by now. I am your slave ... your slave, Fraulein. Please, I beg of you, please take the adhesive tape away from my breasts. You promised, oh, you did, you promised me," Mary Sue whimpered and sobbed as she pushed Fraulein Otterman's skirt high above her naked waist and then rubbed her nose and face eagerly between the woman's thighs.
"Fraulein, I will drink from your cunt ... I will sip your juices. I will do just as you wish me to do. I will never be disobedient again. I will do anything ... anything! But please ... please free me! Tell me what you wish," she cried out. "I'll do anything. Use me ... use me for what you will. Whip me, bite my cunt, make my cunt and breasts bleed. But please free me from this terrible adhesive. My body can't breathe. I'm dying!"
My wife was crying aloud now, deep sobs that started from some remote place inside her and escaped from her quivering lips. She continued to rub her tear-stained face over the woman's hairy cunt, clutching her heavy buttocks from behind, making promises I couldn't hear. The lash continued to descend. It hissed and snapped as it kissed Mary Sue's flesh.
"You will tell your husband that you are now my slave, not his? You will tell him how you are going to serve me?"
"Oh yes ... yes, Fraulein. You know that I will. I must! Oh, yes. He is shit, Fraulein. I am your slave. I love only you. I hate and despise him. I always have. He is a fool. I will tell him. Oh, yes ... I am your slave ... I love you. Will you ask me to do something? I will do anything for you ... to you. But please, free me. The pain ... it is almost unbearable. I am numb! Free me. Please ... please ... free me . ... "
CHAPTER EIGHTEEN
XVIII.
Except for the knowledge I had of Mary Sue's discomfort-for she was still bound up in the tight adhesive-dinner was without incident. My wife uttered hardly a word. Fraulein Otterman pointedly avoided her imploring, begging eyes and more than once my heart went out to my wife. But it was quite apparent Fraulein Ursula Otterman was in charge. Even had I objected (Rolfe cautioned me not to), the woman probably would have taken no notice of me. Probably I would have found myself in the same adhesive predicament.
Before Mary Sue and Fraulein Otterman had come downstairs, my wife was groveling on her stomach as the woman stood over her, striking her viciously between her buttocks, whipping her soft, delicate cunt lips. Mary Sue was administered a dozen or more lashes with the birch as punishment for taking off the ugly clothing she had been told to wear until Fraulein Otterman ultimately decided the elastic adhesive would be removed from her anguished body. Mary Sue had squealed in pain and I could see her cunt lips opening and closing as the cruel birch snapped and bit savagely into her flesh.
Silently, Fraulein Otterman straddled Mary Sue's body. She pulled her skirts up and slowly lowered her buttocks over Mary Sue's upturned face. From my position in the next room I could see my wife's pink tongue stabbing into the air at first, then finally disappearing between Fraulein Otterman's hairy cunt lips. The woman gradually lowered her body until she was squashing Mary Sue's face.
I admit this scene aroused and excited me immensely. I was actually trembling as I watched. It was utterly vulgar, the sheer obscenity of it provoking a powerful erection I had trouble getting rid of before acknowledging Viktor's call to come downstairs for dinner.
At the dinner table no one would have guessed what had occurred upstairs between the woman and my enslaved wife. At intervals Mary Sue was amiable and sometimes visibly amused as she chatted with Rolfe or Leni or with Theresa, whom she found as exciting as I did. Mary Sue had little to say to me because she felt so guilty. As I watched her, I recalled every disparaging remark she had made about me. I was liking her less and less. She avoided my eyes whenever I looked at her. Fraulein Otterman gave the impression I wasn't even at the table. This annoyed me even more.
In a manner of speaking, this was Viktor's first "dinner party," and he performed exceptionally well. For the occasion, Rolfe had ordered him to wear his French high heels, a dainty chiffon apron through which his cock could be seen, his nylon stockings and a garter belt. With his back to us, as it was from time to time as he served us at the table, his long hair flowing on his naked shoulders, his naked buttocks undulating as he carried something back into the kitchen, it was very difficult to believe our Viktor wasn't a delicious female. He seemed to enjoy the masquerade also, basking in the giggles and the flattering remarks he received from the girls.
Several times Theresa grabbed for his prick playfully under the sheer apron. Once Leni gripped him by the buttocks at the same time. As Theresa rubbed her hand up and down his shaft, making it harder and harder, Leni was fondling and stroking one finger between his buttocks. Viktor's attempt to escape while holding a tray of dessert in his hands had us all laughing. Even Fraulein Otterman allowed a smile to lessen the severity of her expression, though her steely blue eyes at first openly disapproved of such impropriety at the dinner table.
After dinner Mary Sue said she was too worn out to stay up any longer and went slowly, painfully, upstairs to our room. Again she told me with a burning defiance in her eyes that she wished to be left alone, that I should let her get some sleep. Her voice was angry. I ignored it. Immediately afterward Fraulein Otterman announced to all she would be leaving to return to the Institut. She complained that she had had a full day.
Rolfe excused her and Viktor escorted her to her car. Inside the family room, we all heard her start up the engine and finally pull out. Viktor closed the courtyard doors.
I waited at the table for about fifteen minutes, watching Leni, Theresa and Rolfe chat together. They spoke in guarded whispers and not once was I invited into the conversation. Without attracting any attention, I took my leave and found my way up the staircase and into the secret room.
Again I was shocked!!
Mary Sue was tied spread-eagled to the mattress. The sheet and blankets had been removed. Mary Sue lay on her back. She was gagged, but not blindfolded. The gag seemed excessively tight because she kept moving her head from side to side and appeared to be in extreme pain.
The adhesive binding was still on her legs and on her trunk. It extended up from her belly button to her armpits and her neck. At the edges of the binding tape I could see bright red blotchings caused by the poor circulation of her blood.
Her long legs were spread wide apart and I could see her cunt clearly in the soft light. Her pussy was sopping wet. I couldn't see Fraulein Otterman ... at first. When I did, I was shocked again! She'd snuck back into the house.
Fraulein Otterman was naked. Around her waist under her heavy breasts she wore a strange corset-like apparatus that stretched down to her bush of pubic hair. Attached to this was a leather harness-like affair from which a wide leather belt extended. Attached to this, hanging loosely, was one of the longest rubber dildos I had ever seen. It was obviously one that two women used at the same time, a twin-headed monster with bulbous heads that were exaggeratedly large and ugly.
For some while Fraulein Otterman stood silently over my wife's helpless body staring into her eyes. Using a long feather, she kept drawing the tip over my wife's lower belly and then down between her open thighs. She would tickle her toes with it; I could see Mary Sue's eyes widening and then suddenly narrowing as the slow torture continued.
When Fraulein Otterman would slowly draw the feather between her glistening cunt lips, Mary Sue would raise her hips sensually and arch her back, her wrists and ankles straining against the leather straps binding them to the four bedposts.
I watched fascinated. My prick was now fully erect. When the woman kneeled on the bed and poked Mary Sue's clitoris with the hardened tip of the feather, my wife shuddered and trembled, then nervously began fucking up and down as the woman bent her face closer to her open cunt. I knew Mary Sue could feel her hot breath on her cunt lips.
Mary Sue desperately wanted Ursula Otterman to suck her cunt. She was craving, dying for attention from the woman's tongue, but Fraulein Otterman had no intention of satisfying her. I could tell.
Finally the woman pulled the gag out of my wife's mouth. She put down the teasing feather and took the birch in her hand. She thrashed it through the air several times. She slowly drew it across Mary Sue's parted lips, my wife licking the switch and then kissing it ardently, straining her neck toward it when Fraulein Otterman would hold it temptingly but an inch from her lips.
Fraulein Otterman moved up and opened her thighs, exposing her thick pussy lips. She lowered herself onto Mary Sue's mouth. This time my wife was licking crazily, her tongue wagging back and forth against the moist folds, again her neck straining. A strange smile played on Fraulein Otterman's hard face as Mary Sue's tongue stabbed out, wanting another taste of the woman's delicate cunt.
Then, with no warning, the birch flicked between Mary Sue's parted thighs. A second stinging crack on her cunt lips made her midsection leap off the mattress. A third blow sliced across her naked breasts and Mary Sue was biting her lips to keep from screaming out.
"Tell me what you desire! Tell me what you wish, Mary Sue. Tell me now! Do you wish me to love you, or do you wish me to hurt you? Do you want me to make your cunt burn, Mary Sue? You like to feel your cunt burning, don't you? Your husband treats this cunt too gently, doesn't he? He never hurts it the way you like your cunt to be hurt! He never pinches it until you writhe in pain. He never bites it with his teeth, does he?"
The tone in Fraulein Otterman's voice was the same one she had used on me in the chapel. I shuddered and trembled inwardly but couldn't resist stroking my erect cock as I turned the sound up a bit higher. My balls were aching as I stared at the lascivious scene.
"Oh, Fraulein," Mary Sue was moaning, her voice a low whisper, her head lolling from side to side, her eyes blinking, her tears flowing down her cheeks, "I long for you to punish me. That's all I think about. I want you to take my cunt. I want you to teach my ass-hole what it must learn, the way you are teaching me to control my wild desire. I must need and want to love you more. I must be able to kiss you whenever I want to. I know you need my kisses and especially those I give you when I am down on my knees. Oh, Fraulein, I adore each hair on your beautiful cunt. I must lick your ass-hole any time you want me to. I want to be able to sit under your desk at the school and play with your hot cunt when you're interviewing the new students. I want you to hold my face and draw it close between your sweaty thighs. I want to sleep with my head between your thighs. Oh, Fraulein, please play with my hungry little cunt. Strike it hard again. Pinch my pussy lips. Hit my cunt hard, Fraulein. Beat me anywhere ... on my breasts. Beat them. Beat my cunt, strike my cunt, slap it hard until I scream. I want to feel the pain you give me. I want to anticipate it. Oh, please hit my breasts, Fraulein. Strike them. Touch my cunt ... please, Fraulein. I'm so wet there. Please stick your fingers in me and hurt me. In my ass-hole ... oh, God ... yessssss!"
Mary Sue's eyes were wide as Fraulein Otterman kneeled on the bed. The double-headed dildo attached to the belt around the woman's waist was now poised so that she could slide it into Mary Sue's cunt.
Fraulein Otterman guided the largest of the two heads into Mary Sue's yawning hole. She stuffed and wiggled it in until at least six inches of the thick instrument was lost from view. Mary Sue was writhing frantically, breathing as if she had run a race.
Concentrating on what she was doing, Fraulein Otterman now forced the second dildo sharply up Mary Sue's ass-hole. My wife screamed! She bit her lip and more tears rolled down her face as the woman began one of the strangest dances I had ever seen. Balancing on her knees, she lowered the top half of her body. Then, using her hands to maul Mary Sue's ripe breasts and her fingers to pinch her tender nipples until my wife was shivering in passion, she began shoving back and forth. This motion had the effect of driving in both dildos at the same time. Mary Sue was vibrating on the bed, her mouth open, her head thrown back and her eyes clenched tightly closed as if in either pain or ecstasy. The woman thrust forward and back viciously. Not once did either dildo escape the hot orifice in which it was embedded.
I could hear Mary Sue's low moaning and her periodic grunts, her slow whimpering. "Oh, yes, it's so nice. It feels so good. God, I love to be fucked like this. Oh, yessssss, I want it like this all the time. Oh God, yesss, in my ass. I love it there. He never fucks my ass like you do, Fraulein. I will ... I will be good to you, for you, Fraulein. Fuck my ass and my cunt like this and I will always be good to you. You take such good care of me. He doesn't. He just uses me. You are so right, Fraulein. He isnt a good lover. He knows nothing about fucking, about making love, compared to you. He doesn't understand what a woman like me needs ... and he never will, he thinks he already knows ... oh, yes ... harder ... please, fuck my ass harder. Oh, it feels so fucking good, so fucking good in my ass and cunt."
Mary Sue was foaming at the mouth. Fraulein Otterman was looming over her now, slapping my wife's face with her swinging breasts as Mary Sue tried to nip her large nipples with no success.
"Oh, Fraulein, yes ... fuck me. Oh, I want to suck you now. I want your hairy cunt in my mouth. I want your cunt juice all over my face, all over my breasts. I want to stick my toes inside your cunt the way you like it.
"Oh, Fraulein, he can't pleasure me, he can't suck me the way you can with your long, tickling tongue. He doesn't even know where my clitoris is. He doesn't know how to use his fingers or his tongue inside my ass-hole the way you do. He hurts me, but not the way I love it when you hurt me. I love all the hot pain you give me ... when you pinch my clit until I scream, when you beat and whip my breasts, when you slap my cunt and use your sharp fingernails. Yessss ... yessss, fuck my ass. I love this. Harder! Harder ... HARDER! UP MY ASS! Oh, my love, fuck me ... fuck me ... FUCK ME! I love you!"
I had heard all I wanted to hear. I couldn't take any more. I shut off the sound, then after another few seconds closed the mirror complex and sat in silence.
It was hard for me to assess my feelings at that moment. I was deeply wounded. That was certain. But why I should allow myself to be hurt emotionally like that was what I truly questioned.
I was long accustomed to Mary Sue's conspiracies with other people-old men, young girls, older women who loved her or befriended her or even desperately "needed" her. I've known better than to believe rubbish like that since I was a boy, but apparently she didn't; there had been dozens of these characters in our life since we married. As I've said, I was never truly the jealous type, but this business now with Fraulein Otterman irked me more than I wanted to admit.
Was it my own mad longing to be dominated by the woman as she was dominating my wife? Probably ... probably it was. I wanted to be in Mary Sue's place. I wanted to feel that birch across my prick, across my balls. I wanted those horrible dildos up my ass-or at least one of them, anyway. I wanted to be the one saying the words my wife was spewing out.. So, was I jealous of my wife? Was that it?
Since Mary Sue had met Fraulein Otterman I had not been near the woman. It was making me desperate. I couldn't believe the wild passions that whipped over me when I heard the woman's voice. I could still smell her cunt in my imagination, feel the silky flesh of her warm buttocks against my cheek, taste her thick, rich cunt juice.
I meant to go back downstairs and join the others, but instead I opened the mirror complex again. And again, I couldn't believe my eyes!
Mary Sue was still lashed down on the mattress. Fraulein Otterman had put her boots on but otherwise she was still nude. She was face-down on top of Mary Sue's body, her face just inches away from
Mary Sue's gaping cunt. She had taken off the belt she'd worn and was now pushing and pulling the double-ended dildo in and out of my wife's cunt and ass-hole with her hands.
Mary Sue's face was buried between Fraulein Otterman's open thighs. As I watched, I saw my wife drinking thirstily from the woman's cunt, her tongue alternately flashing up into Fraulein Otterman's slit and then her ass-hole.
Then they got absorbed in sucking each other's cunts. Fraulein Otterman had lowered her face to Mary Sue's and was now lapping as eagerly as my wife. There was no master, no slave here. Each was a slave to her passion. They were locked together in a sensual embrace that made of them a single twisting, writhing mass. My heart sank within me, knowing both were lost to me.
I watched as Fraulein Otterman dug her fingers into Mary Sue's pussy while she stabbed at her clitoris with her tongue. Mary Sue's body began to come off the mattress in involuntary leaps that threatened to dislodge her lover. As Mary Sue exploded again and again in mind-numbing orgasms, I slowly turned off the mirror arrangement and left the room.
It occurred to me, vaguely, that my chest ached and I had a painful lump in my throat. Then, much more clearly, it came to me: I wanted to rape Mary Sue, rape her as hard as I could. By God, if she wanted to cry I'd give her something to cry for.
I looked down at my cock. It was shrunken, utterly limp. When I touched it, nothing happened: zero, numb, nada. Nothing.
CHAPTER NINETEEN
XIX.
I'd always questioned the old-fashioned advice about "keeping one's own counsel." Now, though, I found myself wondering whether I'd ever actually made a decision about anything important without soliciting someone else's opinion.
In the case of Fraulein Otterman and my wife, I decided to deal with the problem alone. If it came to require a solution, an action, a reply, I alone would decide it. For some reason I couldn't explain, the thought of mentioning it to Rolfe, of sharing my fears, caused a mild trembling in my gut. It was a signal I'd come to know, a kind of psychosomatic braking device.
I took a long stroll while the others sat around the fire. I might have stayed; the scene was quite pleasant and stimulating. Young Theresa's dress was open down the front. Her darling breasts and her delicious blonde cunt were visible to anyone caring to stare. Leni was doing a lot of that, with her own dress hiked up to her waist and her fingers idly playing with her curly pussy hair as the two talked. Now and then Leni would lean across and she and Theresa would kiss hotly or hug each other closely, rubbing naked breasts as they laughed over something they shared.
But my problems were more pressing. Suffice it to say that I never should have married Mary Sue, and that I could never get along with her. Suffice it as well that a divorce-assuming she cooperated-would leave me penniless. I knew all of this. I had admitted to myself long ago that I made a serious mistake in marrying her.
Add to this the involvement of my mother-in-law, with her fast-money scheme. For the first time, I really began to question it, to think about how easy Mary Sue's mother was making it for me. Too easy, really. I wondered if I just might possibly be being drawn into some kind of a set-up.
It was the first time the thought had entered my head ... and I recalled now what had prompted it.
Theresa Symington.
Throughout the dinner, Fraulein Otterman had paid Theresa little or no attention. I noticed this immediately. I was going to say something to Rolfe but I never got around to it. There were multiple interruptions. If Fraulein Otterman was one of Theresa Symington's superiors at the Institut, neither of them gave me any indication of this; nor did I even get the impression they knew each other before the dinner party!
I thought again about their behavior during dinner and again I could recall no association that might lead one to think they had any degree of familiarity between them. Granted, Fraulein Otterman's attention was riveted on Mary Sue; but that in itself wouldn't have prevented the older woman from at least being civil to Theresa. I carefully reviewed Theresa's behavior toward the older woman: again, I saw no signs of real acquaintanceship.
I also noticed that Rolfe Palmer always seemed to be either deep in thought, conversing briskly in whispers with Fraulein Otterman or speaking softly to Mary Sue or directing Viktor in his chores of cooking and serving the meal ... in other words, deliberately ignoring anything significant by throwing up the "busy-busy" smoke screen I'd seen him employ before. At the table he had very little to say to Theresa, who spent most of her time in conversation with Leni ... and I noticed, too, that Leni had little to say, as if she had been warned to be silent. Twice I saw Rolfe glare at her when she wanted to interrupt him and Fraulein Otterman.
Or was it perhaps all due to Fraulein Otterman's forbidding presence? Was she simply a threat to the others at the table?
The longer I thought it over and the longer I strolled in the woods behind the villa, following one of the horse trails through the forest, the closer I came to some kind of a real conclusion ... to separating the negatives from the positives. I had more than a mixed bag of lively suspicions.
I was now quite some distance from the villa. I had wandered into the forest more deeply than I had intended. Turning and looking back, I felt momentary panic. Was I lost? It was growing dark. There was no moon. I decided I'd better head back in the general direction of the villa.
I walked quickly on the twisting and turning path. I remembered I had reached a fork and taken the right-hand path. On returning, I would naturally bear to the left. But when I arrived at the next fork, both paths looked totally unfamiliar. I tried to get my bearings, but each time I thought I recognized a certain tree or curve in the path, I found I was mistaken. Then I came to a dead end in the path.
I was lost.
I sat down on a log and wished for the first time since meeting Fraulein Otterman that I had a cigarette to smoke. I did have my lighter in my pocket. For some inexplicable reason this gave me a great feeling of security. I had to laugh at myself for getting into this predicament and for experiencing adolescent anxieties over being in the forest at night. I hadn't been in such a situation since I was a boy, but the experience had remained with me. My youthful fears were suddenly stirring, and I was stunned to realize how much time had passed since I had last taken them seriously. But truly, the lurking forest demons of my boyhood were still alive in my imagination and hiding behind every tree and clump of thick bushes.
I stubbed out my cigarette and decided to give it another try, venturing forth on yet another path. Using my cigarette lighter and kneeling down from time to time, I finally realized I was on one of the horse trails. I checked carefully, and shortly discovered in the deepening darkness signs that two animals had recently passed. Yet, as I continued on, I was suddenly confronted with yet another dead end. The path simply stopped!
Examining the ground, I found no evidence that two horses had turned around and retraced their steps. They had continued on into the forest, and so I did the same, finding a few feet later that there was a narrow path of sorts. Taking my time and hoping the fuel in my lighter would not be exhausted, I was able to confirm that the same two horses had continued along this very path.
Suddenly I saw a light, and my heart began to pound. It was a flashlight. Someone several hundred yards away was waving a flashlight.
I flicked off my lighter and continued blindly up the path. Now the flashlight was weaving as if the person using it was searching for something. Its wide, yellowish beam sliced through the thickening darkness, always in one direction. The longer I studied the direction of the beam, the more anxious I became. I put my lighter away and tried to find my way without it. Ahead was obviously a clearing of some kind. I proceeded with caution.
I approached closer and closer to the flashlight and its owner. I had just been able to ascertain that the person holding it was either signaling through the thick trees, or was looking for someone outside the perimeter of the clearing, when I had the misfortune to trip over a log in the darkness and go crashing down into the brush.
The flashlight blinked out! Then came an angry voice. "Fritzi! Where are you?"
I held my breath. It was the voice of an old man, coarse and testy, impatient. The light flashed in my direction, but the old man didn't walk towards me as I expected. Now I had a good look at the clearing in the deep woods.
I saw a building that resembled a French auberge. It was a long structure, about twenty feet wide, with a slanting roof and deep eaves. As the wielder of the bright light flashed it around, different parts of the building were illuminated briefly. Dormer windows with Swiss shingled eaves, these covered with a heavy growth of ivy, were spaced at intervals from one end of the building to the other. It reminded me very much of a rustic country inn.
As I crouched in the silence, I heard the old man's raspy voice call out two more times for Fritzi. There was still no answer.
After several minutes, I got to my feet quietly. I decided to risk going into the building. I wondered what I really had to lose if I were detected, then chastised myself for entertaining fears that I was trespassing. After all, hadn't Rolfe told me he had leased the entire property in a radius of five miles around the villa? He had ... but he hadn't mentioned this building being on the property. Nor had he told me of any old caretaker.
Was it an oversight on his part? In the final analysis, was it really any of my business? It wasn't.
I was able to skirt the side of the building, thus avoiding the old man. Judging by the position of the flashlight beam, he was now approaching the front entrance. I heard him enter by the front door and close it softly. Again the profound silence of the night forest descended on my ears.
A yellow light appeared inside the building. I heard him call for Fritzi again, and suddenly realized Fritzi had to be an animal. And it was. I heard a sharp bark answering the call and then a wild scampering of paws across a bare wooden floor. A large dog, I guessed.
I was just about to approach and knock when the door was flung open. Standing in the lighted doorway was a man who bore a striking resemblance to Rolfe Palmer. He was the same height, had the same broad shoulders, identical posture, and almost the same great head, but with a mane of long gray hair. This man had to be Rolfe's father. He couldn't have been anyone else despite the fact that Rolfe, since I had known him, had never once mentioned the existence of a father. I hadn't been fooled.
I remained hidden while I watched the old man and a great wolfhound leave the building. They walked into the darkness and disappeared around the side. I waited perhaps fifteen minutes, tried the door, found it unlocked, and entered. I flicked my lighter on and off I could locate the flashlight the old man had used.
I searched carefully. I saw a telephone and copied down the number on a scrap of paper. The place was sparsely furnished. There were several bedrooms, a large, unused kitchen, a barren family room with a large, unused hearth. In the bedrooms, the only furniture was an unmade bed. It was the old German type, so high up off the floor a child would need a ladder. There were two toilet closets but no full-scale modern bathroom.
While there was no true second story, there were stairs that led to small, attic-type rooms with slanted ceilings on either side of a long, narrow corridor running the length of the building. Downstairs I could find nothing that would identify the place with Rolfe. I was about to leave and borrow the flashlight to return to the villa when my eye chanced upon a door I hadn't noticed before. I opened it carefully. Stairs led down into a cellar.
As I descended, my eyes widened and my mouth gaped open at what I saw. It was a genuine medieval-style torture chamber. As I played the flashlight around me in every direction, I saw one instrument of torture after another.
There was a wheel with spikes-a Catherine Wheel-and a rack with cruel ankle and wrist chains. There were different poles or stanchions with wrist and ankle manacles suspended at different heights. A fleeting memory of Fraulein Otterman in Rolfe's courtyard commenting on medieval torture devices the day we'd met flashed through my mind.
There were many tables, buckets, chains and heavy ropes. I saw assorted whips hanging from nails on the walls. A tall pail filled with liquid contained what appeared to be freshly cut birch switches. In assorted cartons arranged with Germanic neatness on a table at the far end of the long room, I found rolls and rolls of adhesive tape. In another box were dozens of female panties, and unused pairs of old-fashioned nylon stockings similar to those Viktor wore when he was playing the maid. Another carton contained small boxes of colorful jewelry, none of it really expensive. Another large one contained chains of different weights and lengths.
In one corner was a cabinet. Opening it, I found an array of First Aid equipment: bandages, alcohol ... also many bottles and jars of skin ointments and lotions. There was also a half-empty jug of what smelled like calamine lotion, a remedy for weals, welts, and fresh bruises. I had often applied it to Mary Sue's battered body back in New York following one of our fights or her flagellation orgies with her "friends."
In a wardrobe near the longest of the old wooden tables I found more interesting things-rubber garments, capes, pants, vests with holes for the breasts, and several complete rubber suits with a hole cut so that the genitals could stick out. There were boots of all types. There were also rubber hoods, with and without eyeslits.
One drawer contained an impressive supply of enema-giving equipment, all nice and clean and neatly arranged, with nozzles of different circumferences and length, and the hoses banded together. There were also many feet of garden hose. I found handcuffs and leather bindings, drawers and drawers full of different perfumes and body powders, neatly brushed and combed wigs.
I was closing this wardrobe when I spotted a pair of panties hanging on the back door. Before I even touched them, before I even brought them to my nose to sniff, I knew to whom they belonged. Mary Sue!
I was just about to leave when I saw a Polaroid camera on a small table in one corner. Next to it was a cigar box. In this were perhaps two dozen photographs. I flipped through them:
-Fraulein Otterman on her back with her thighs open, Mary Sue with her face between the woman's legs, sucking her hairy cunt while being fucked by both Rolfe and Viktor.
-Mary Sue, strung up on a pole, being whipped by Fraulein Otterman.
-Rolfe Palmer sucking Viktor's penis as Fraulein Otterman whipped his naked buttocks, while Mary Sue, naked astride his back, masturbated. She had a bright smile on her face.
-Rolfe and Fraulein Otterman fucking, she on top, as Mary Sue and another girl whose face was hidden kissed his face.
-Mary Sue and the same girl in a 69 position, while Rolfe sat on the table watching them lick each other.
-The old man I had seen in the clearing, naked, clutching his long, thin prick. His legs were open and his balls were in Mary Sue's mouth. Rolfe in the background, watching.
-Mary Sue and the old man kissing hotly, the old man's fingers up Mary Sue's ass-hole and cunt, Mary Sue wearing spike heels and black nylon stockings and a wig that reached down to her waist.
-Rolfe in a rubber suit with his immense penis protruding; Fraulein Otterman down on her knees caressing and fondling it.
-Another picture, similar to the last, but in this one Rolfe was having an orgasm all over the faces of
Fraulein Otterman and Mary Sue.
-The old man and Viktor sucking each other's pricks. Mary Sue and Rolfe in the background, Mary Sue sitting on Rolfe's lap with his prick up inside her. Fraulein Otterman kneeling sucking Rolfe's balls: this one a very posed-looking picture, compared to the others.
There were more. I put them all in my pocket and left the building.
CHAPTER TWENTY
XX.
Once outdoors, I found the telephone wires at End of the building. They would lead me back to the villa. As I walked along through the thick trees, every now and then checking the wires overhead, I fell into a deep depression. It was one of those epiphanies where a man sees his past, his present and his future as a single picture in a single frame.
I knew what must be done, what I had to do. But I kept mulling the wisdom of doing it-of severing my relationship completely with Rolfe Palmer, and with Fraulein Otterman, who obviously played a more prominent and important role in my friend's life than I had ever imagined. I would also have to abandon my wife. These were emphatically not my kind of people. But how could I get out of this game? I was fully committed.
I reflected on my hopes and aspirations, the deals, the financial arrangements I'd made with Mary Sue's mother, my collusion-conspiracy with Rolfe Palmer. While it was true that the sanitarium scheme still had a long way to go before fruition, it was also true that the scheme, as I had envisioned it and as I'd discussed it with Rolfe, would be vastly profitable for both of us-to say nothing of its other "executive benefits." But if what I suspected were even half true, I sincerely wanted no part of what was going to occur.
It wasn't sour grapes either, however often this thought did come to mind before I finally saw the lights of the once-so-friendly villa. True, I was being rejected by Fraulein Otterman, by Viktor, by Rolfe, and by my wife. I was being rejected by a world I had feared to acknowledge even existed, a world in which I had been partially tamed both mentally and physically. It was a bizarre, sensual world. If I had stayed, I would have allowed myself to be enslaved by Fraulein Otterman, or even by my sex-crazed wife. I would have entered into obedient servitude, vile subjugation, sexual abasement wherein I would crawl on my hands and knees in human filth for Fraulein Otterman's pleasure, to satisfy her perverse passions, to increase her sexual cruelty, to feel the sizzling, delectable, shivering sensations that had driven me more than once into a hysterical frenzy at the same time that I was horror-stricken at what it all implied.
I made my final decision: I would abandon it, them, first. I would leave Switzerland, Rolfe and Fraulein Otterman, break with my wife and her family-and the sooner the better.
After hiding the flashlight near the stable, I made my way to the villa. I was surprised to see an unfamiliar automobile in the courtyard. Rolfe's VW bus and Fraulein Otterman's vehicle were also parked in the darkness.
Carefully, I approached one of the windows looking into the family room. A great fire was burning in the hearth. Candles flickered from different niches in the wall and two tall, slender tapers burned on the long refectory table.
I could see an oiled, naked body gleaming on the tabletop, crouching on its hands and knees. I couldn't guess who it was, much less determine its sex, from my vantage point. But it had to be either Viktor or Leni or Theresa or my wife. It certainly wasn't Rolfe, nor was it Fraulein Otterman.
I watched for several minutes. The body didn't move an inch. When the candlelight flickered, casting swift lights and shadows across the subtly-curved buttocks and hips, I finally guessed that the body was feminine.
I couldn't make up my mind whether or not to go into the villa. Had I been missed by anyone? Surely I had; I'd been absent for at least two hours. I wondered if perhaps Rolfe had gone out searching for me, but I discounted this. On my way back through the woods I would have heard him calling out to me.
I sat down on a rain barrel in the courtyard and took off my shoes, straining my ears for some sound from the villa. There was none. I could hear forest noises, now and then a whinny from the stable, but that was all. I felt terribly lonely.
I circled around to the back of the villa, but saw no lights upstairs or down in the cellar. Then, as I came to the front door, I saw a piece of paper tacked above the knob.
The note read: Timothy, we've driven into the village, nightcap at Fraulein Otterman's. Directions too complicated for you to locate in dark. Wait for us. Rolfe.
The note gave me pause. Who was that woman crouching on the table? Did Rolfe know about her? Was I seeing things?
And how had they driven the five miles into the village if all their vehicles were parked in the courtyard? To whom did the third car belong? To the naked, oiled girl on the table?
I opened the door silently and approached the table. Now I could see the girl clearly. She was tightly bound, gagged and blindfolded. Her knees were tied closely together. Leather thongs ran from the back of her knees to her pinioned elbows. Her arms were also lashed so she could not move. Across the back of her lower legs was a wide leather belt that strapped her to the table.
Pools of oil glistened on the tabletop. In the crook of each of her arms, tied around her elbows, was a long, twisted leather belt also looped under the table so that it locked her upper body into position as the other belt did her pelvis, thighs and lower legs. She and the table were one. She could move her body only from side to side. She couldn't bend too far forward, raise up, or lean back. She certainly couldn't roll over. She was helplessly bound.
As I bent my head closer I could hear her breathing. Her forehead was balanced on the tabletop and I wondered if she were sleeping. Looking more closely. I could see that her ears were plugged with rubber stoppers similar to some I'd seen in the building in the woods. If she were awake, she had no idea I was in the room.
I made myself a drink. She didn't stir. That was what intrigued me most: in what surely must have been a most uncomfortable position, her body had not moved since I entered. It was more like a statue than anything human.
As I went closer. I put my hand on her back She still didn't stir, and her skin temperature seemed low. When I listened to her breathing I noticed it was quite shallow; the inhalation and exhalation extremely slow.
I remembered one of the many stories Rolfe had told me about the girls at the Institut, how one of them would have him to drug her into unconsciousness, then bind, gag and blindfold her. Then, when she regained her senses, she would have him thrash her until she was writhing and trying to scream past the gag. Then he would untie her so she could crawl into bed with another girl who would give her solace, and whose fingers would eventually bring her to an orgasm. It took me but a moment more to remember fully. This had to be Amelia Longworth, the young lesbian with the incestuous relatives.
I removed her blindfold and tried to rouse her, but her eyes were glassy and cold, staring sightlessly. I felt a wave of pity for her so strong that it surprised me, since I didn't know her. I was even tempted to take the gag out of her mouth, but I didn't know whether she had anything to say to me, so I didn't.
I went upstairs to the room I had shared with my wife. It came as no surprise, when I turned on the light, to see Mary Sue's suitcases resting on the unmade bed. She had been packing. Quickly and efficiently, I packed my own bags. Seeing her luggage ready to be taken away-to where, I had no idea-added impetus to my own decision to escape. I would take one of the cars in the courtyard, drive to Geneva, find the airport, and improvise thereafter.
After returning downstairs I paused by the table. I swallowed what remained of my drink and made a fresh one, then stood pensively by the blazing fire, staring into it. What was I doing? Where was I going? As I stood there thinking, I slowly became aware of ... some thing ... at the edge of my consciousness. It didn't take long to identify the sound as the faint breathing of the girl on the table.
Suddenly, much louder, I heard a car enter through the courtyard gate, and a dog bark sharply. I heard a voice, and recognized it instantly as the raspy voice of the old man back in the forest clearing. The dog was undoubtedly Fritzi.
I crossed to one of the windows overlooking the court just in time to see the headlights of the car blink out momentarily. The old man hurried around to the driver's side. I could hear him. He spoke to the driver in English, slowly and clearly. I had the impression that his speech had been rehearsed.
"Yes," he said, "the others have left a message for you to join them. You are to drive down the back road to a clearing. You will be met there and escorted by a young man. Everything is arranged. You have nothing to worry about. The plan is intact."
He was asked a question by a woman. I couldn't see her. I couldn't make out her question. For some reason her voice sounded familiar, though I couldn't place it.
"No, no, I have an idea," came the answer. "Rolfe will know. You will meet him within minutes. He is anxious to talk to you and glad to know you have arrived safely."
There came another question from the interior of the car.
"Yes ... yes, he will be there. He has no idea you are coming ... and he cannot escape. Do you think h wants to?"
With this, the vehicle's headlights flashed back on.
The car made a U-turn in the courtyard and drove out the gate. In a brief flash of light from the lamp at the entrance to the courtyard I recognized the face of the driver.
It was the courier from New York who had brought me the land sale documents to sign ... and the check. A woman sat beside him. I saw her face but didn't recognize her.
As for the woman in the rear, I had no trouble recognizing her instantly. It was Mary Sue's mother.
I listened as the car drove off. I watched the old man and the dog cross the cobbles heading for the front door. Just before he opened it I was able to duck back into the shadows of the huge cupboard.
The old man seemed content with himself, self-assured. He poured himself a glass of brandy from the sideboard hardly three feet away from my hiding place. The dog was constantly leaping up at his chest, whining and begging, nuzzling him in the crotch, sniffing and growling.
Glancing at the young girl on the table, the old man slowly took off his trousers. He patted the dog's head. I saw a thin cock dangling between his heavy thighs. He fondled it distractedly. I was very much reminded of the photographs I'd stolen from the building in the forest. Within seconds his small prick became stiff. He then got up on the table and knelt behind the naked girl. With no trouble he inserted the head of his prick into her cunt and slowly pushed it all the way in until it vanished from sight. He held onto her waist and, in dog fashion, began fucking in and out with rhythmic strokes, breathing heavily with each thrust, his head thrown back, his eyes closed. As the minutes passed he fucked her harder and faster, slamming his cock into her so that his balls slapped her upturned buttocks.
Then he shot off. He farted wetly, pulled his dripping prick out, and climbed down onto the thick rug. After he'd put his trousers on he turned back to the girl and slapped her once across the rump. "Our little secret, eh?" he said. Not once during all of this did the girl move.
I didn't move either. I was barely breathing. The old man put down his empty glass and crossed toward the door. The dog followed his master, and the two of them went out the door as casually as they had entered.
I'd had it! I hurried upstairs for my bags and fled as if pursued by demons. For once, I was right.
I hadn't gotten more than a few hundred yards down the road when they-Rolfe, Viktor, several men I'd never seen before-appeared in the road before me and gestured for me to stop, then dragged me out of the car and searched me, making no attempt to be gentle. Rolfe pocketed the snapshots I'd stolen from the house in the woods, looking not at all surprised to find I had them, and handed my wallet and watch to a sleek-looking middle-aged man who was at once unobtrusive and oddly frightening.
"Stephen, you will know what to do," Rolfe said briskly. "Evidence will show that this man stole a car and drove to Geneva, and there caught a flight out of the country. A few days later, guilty and fearful, he will commit suicide. His deeply regretful note-you will find it in the packet I have already mailed to you in care of your hotel in Geneva-will describe in detail his forgeries, the embezzlements from his wife's estate, and his attempts to have his wife committed to a private psychiatric institution on fraudulent grounds. The body will of course be unrecoverable." The man, Stephen, nodded once.
I felt my knees sag. I would be legally dead. They would be able to do anything to me, anything at all. Who can commit crimes against a ghost?
Rolfe finally turned his gaze on me. "You have a remarkable ability to miss all the clues," he said. His hand cracked across my face. "Stand up straight while I'm talking to you!" He hit me in the face again, and then a third time.
Stephen got into the car, backed up, and drove carefully around our little gathering. After the headlights swept past we were in darkness. One of the other men switched on a small, dim flashlight and fixed its beam on me. I could see nothing outside its circle of light.
Now my knees genuinely buckled. I couldn't help it, it was all too much. I tried to pull myself together, then realized I was crying. This humiliation was the last straw. I broke down completely and blubbered like a child. Rolfe was hardly visible, but in the darkness I heard a faint jingling and the sliding sound that follows it, and knew he was taking off his belt. " ... Please" I heard myself say.
"Please what?" came Rolfe's voice.
"Please ... p-p-please don't." Even to me, I sounded ludicrously abject. I tried to take a deep breath and it turned into a sob. "Please," I said again.
A rough hand grabbed the collar of my shirt and jerked upward, knocking me off balance. At the same time the belt descended across my back, my thighs, a torrent of blows raining down on me while I cried out and tried fruitlessly to dodge. When he finally stopped I was sobbing uncontrollably.
Recollecting that episode, I understand now that it was not a particularly harsh whipping. It is perhaps ironic that only a little while earlier my imagination had been entirely occupied by my fear of voluntary submission. The idea that submission-or anything else-might be forced on me, hadn't crossed my mind. Nor did I have any idea how terror and powerlessness can amplify pain.
"I ... I ... Rolfe!" I wept. "Rolfe, I thought-"
"You thought?" he said dispassionately. "What did you think? That you and I are kindred souls? We sat together in a Parisian cafe and I parroted back to you your own opinions. It was no great trick; go to any cheap carnival, any booze-raddled gypsy fortuneteller, and she'll be able to do as much. 'To conquer and enslave, to force into servitude of body and mind, to master another human-"' he said mockingly, quoting his own words on that long-ago day in Paris"'. . .is not only thrilling, it is ennobling.' I see you remember, eh? I told you what you wanted to hear: that slaves really enjoy their slavery, that all women hunger to be enslaved ... I wish you could see your face as it was then! You had tears in your eyes, you were so grateful to hear me say those things!
"You thought that we were to be partners-in such fine, ennobling schemes, too! 'Here, look at my rich, sexy, imprudent wife! We will declare her mad, have her institutionalized for the rest of her life, and enjoy the use of her fortune!'" He spat. "Did it never cross your mind that murdering her would be merciful by comparison? And so I said to you in reply, 'Look, here are these students, these vulnerable girls whose rich parents scarcely notice what becomes of them. Let us start an institution where we can molest them at our leisure, under pretense of caring for them.'"
Without warning, the belt came snaking out of the darkness so fast that I didn't even have time to throw up my hand. The leather caught me across the face, its uppermost edge cutting a line along the ridge of my cheekbone. "You liked that idea," said Rolfe, and hit me again.
I was lying on the ground now, I gradually realized. My mouth was full of blood, and I could see dancing spots of light in spite of my eyes being closed.
"Bastard," I said weakly. "You too. Girls. And the girl on the table. You told me yourself. I saw the pictures, remember."
Rolfe's foot slowly came to rest on my sternum, then started pressing down. "You heard some stories," Rolfe said, "and you saw some scenes." The pressure increased. It was hard to breathe. "We left some notes, staged some conversations. We followed you most carefully as you blundered through the woods. You were shown a tableau vivant, a girl on a table; also assorted props plus some photographs." The foot pressed harder. I could feel the helpless panic start to rise in me, that blind terror of suffocation known to those who come close to drowning. "And the truth? Ah, well ... you thought you knew what it all meant. We, too, knew what you thought it meant. It was most illuminating.
I was dying, I knew. Somehow my eyes snapped open and fixed on Rolfe. He was standing inside the little circle of light now, his face filling my entire universe; and in that moment which I believed to be my last I yielded myself to him utterly, not merely mind and body but my soul as well. He gazed into my eyes, and I saw that he understood.
Rolfe smiled in satisfaction. "Yes," he said. Then he lifted his boot from my chest.
The woman arrived while I was still lying in the road, breathing in ragged gasps and wheezes. There was more light by then. Something was happening. I looked up and a she was bending over me. She seemed oddly familiar.
"If you would, please." She turned and walked away. Only then did I realize that the woman was Amelia Longworth. She didn't show the least sign of having recently been drugged.
Hands. Voices. Some light; a lot of darkness. I was being carried through the woods.
We reached a clearing where, in the center, a huge bonfire was burning. More hands, this time holding me up so I could kneel in front of three women who held a single length of cord in their three sets of hands. Their backs were to the fire; their faces were in shadow.
From behind me, Rolfe's voice: "Kindly Ones, this man has given himself to me."
The woman in the center addressed me. "Is this true?"
"Yes," I said. "That is true." The woman nodded.
Rolfe said, "I don't want him. I give him to you."
At that moment I lost all hope. I only wished Rolfe had gone ahead and killed me, there on the road.
The next voice made me jump. The woman on the left was Mary Sue!
"We can't very well pass him hand to hand," she said. "He'll have to belong to just one of us. Now, supposedly he gave himself to me when we were married-not a very successful arrangement! I him back to himself once already. Don't give him to me again."
The woman on the right laughed softly. "Does he recognize me, do you think?" It was Fraulein Otterman. She laughed again. "He has little value. I might have taken him, if he had come voluntarily; a gift carries obligations. But not now."
Only the woman in the center was left now. "That settles it, then, I suppose; I'll take him," my mother-in-law said as she coiled up the full length of cord which had been relinquished by the other two. She tied a slip knot in one end, walked forward to toss the loop over my head, and snugged it up around my neck just short of chokingly tight.
"Tell me more about this scheme whereby you dispose of Mary Sue and I give you a great deal of money. You know-the one I supposedly suggested to you." She gave the cord a slight tug. "Don't be concerned that you're going on too long. I promise you, I'm absolutely fascinated. After that ... Mary Sue tells me you have a lot to learn. I think I'm going to enjoy teaching you."
I decided it was time to die like a man. "You will not teach me, I will not learn," I croaked at her. "I'll die first! I'll go mad!"
She tsk'd at me in a gently maternal fashion. "No, nothing like that will happen. I've been talking to the most wonderful new psychiatrist, and she's explained to me how the male hungers to be enslaved. She says that most men's behavior is just an attempt to deny their own need for domination." i have spent my whole life being stupid, I thought, and felt myself start crying again.
My mother-in-law looked down at me sympathetically, and produced a small lace-edged handkerchief with which she wiped my face. "There, there now," she said. "I know it's going to take you a while to adjust. We expect that you'll be in denial for ... oh ... a long, long time." She blotted my tears again with that ridiculous little hanky. "Don't worry," she crooned. "We have all the time in the world."