Roger Vancourt, feeling his bare flesh quiver and prickle with lust under his satin dressing robe, lounged back in his armchair and watched Michelle Robuis pull her dress up over her head. His aching prick seemed to lift in tribute to her voluptuous deshabille.
There was no doubt, he told himself, that he had found one of the loveliest girls in all Paris to go to bed with. In every way, Michelle was the perfect bed partner. Five feet six inches in height, with magnificently round titties set closely together and high perched on her pale, creamy chest, a voluptuously ripe, upstanding, undulating behind that that made men stare at her whenever she walked on the boulevard, and a mane of flowing, coppery-red hair that fell almost to her waist, with an oval face that seemed to be as pure as that of a Botticellian Madonna, she was breathtaking at her age of twenty-three.
He could thank himself for her talents, for Michelle had been a virgin until three months ago when he had purposely gone looking for a sweetheart and chosen her, espying her behind the counter of an elegant little dress shop on the Rue de la Bouvier, near to Bois de Boulogne. She had been waiting on a fat dowager, wearing furs and jewels, and she had leaned over the counter to show the customer a black satin-elastic corselette. He had stopped there, his mouth gaping with surprise and then curving into laughter, because the contrast between that sexy and fetishistic garment which this gorgeous salesclerk was showing that hideous old elephant was enough to tickle one's risibilities. And after finishing his purchases in a haberdashery shop and arranging to have them sent to his apartment on the Rue Montmercier near the Place de Etoile, he had taken a cab back to the little shop and waited until closing time when the gorgeous redhead had walked out of the door. Politely lifting his hat, he had introduced himself and asked her if she would be gracious enough to have supper with him. Michelle had stopped, stared at him a moment in silence, and then flushing, nodded. "I don't mind," she had finally said. That was the way their relationship had started.
She had one reason for accepting his invitation, and Roger Vancourt had quite another. For he had calculatingly and coldly gone out into Paris to find himself a pretty girl who would fall in love with him and who would have no family ties so she would belong to him entirely ... and so in turn he could make a gift of her to a secret club known as "Les Amants Prodigues." For over a year he had been trying to obtain membership in this ex elusive cult-like club and finally he had been notified that if he complied with the requisites of membership, his application might well be favorably received.
Michelle now put her hands behind her and removed her bra, and the gorgeous globes of her creamy titties sprang boldly into view, marked by their narrow, dark coral circles in whose centers palpitated the most deliriously saucy and crinkly of buds. She wore her garterbelt, fetching panties, and beige-colored nylon and dainty open toe pumps, for it was April and the weather was unseasonably warm. They were in the living room of Roger Vancourt's apartment, and it was six in the evening. Later they would go to supper at some elegant little restaurant listed in the Guide Michelin, for Roger Vancourt was not only a gourmet but also extremely wealthy, and a bachelor of thirty-two.
She looked over at him now, stooping over as she reached for the tabs of the garterbelt, and the way her titties dangled made his prick ache with longing. She smiled knowingly at him, made a little face, and then unhooked the. tabs. Then, very slowly, inserting her fingers under the waistband of the nylon panties, she drew the sheath down inch by inch, tantalizing him by turning to one side to hide the thick dark-red fleece which marked that passionate, wanton cunt of hers.
He shuddered with desire. How much she had learned in three months, since making him the gift of her virginity. She had become not only a magnificent girl to fuck and to fuck back with zealous and fervent passion, but also a divine gougnotteuse, which means "to suck.'" Of all the women he had ever fucked, beginning at the age of fourteen when his handsome Aunt Clarice had taken him into the little greenhouse one hot August afternoon while his parents were napping during their visit to her country estate and made a man of him, Michele surpassed them all in the talented way she used her mouth on his prick and balls. Her tongue was a marvel of hot felicity, and it could dart like a dagger or glide like an eel, rasping and caressing, prodding and probing, enough to draw the last drop of male sap from his swollen balls. Even when she had given him her cherry, she hadn't been timorous or shy, nor had she wept as so many virgins do when their cherry is taken even by the man they love. It had taken him exactly one week to lead from that casual dinner invitation to bed.
Now Michelle's panties had lowered just below her cunt, but tantalizingly she remained turned to him in profile, so that the marvelous creamy curve of her lusciously rounded hip and the smooth-skinned upper thigh dazzled his eyes, accentuated by the contrast of the sheer nylon stocking which remained tightly plaqued against her bare leg despite the removal of the garterbelt tab. He lounged back in the armchair, feeling that tingle of anticipation which the sight of her nakedness always roused in him. Her eyes were luminous now as she slowly turned to face him and then slowly let her panties slip down to her ankles and stepped out of them. He shuddered with lust at the sudden bold appearance of that thick dark red muff which proclaimed for him the exciting oasis of her chalorous, tight, greedy cunt. There was never any doubt of her making a superb bed partner from the very outset. Even after he had taken her cherry, she had begged him to do it again after she had gone to her ablutions. And the second time, gasping with the sweet torment of mingled pain and desire, Michelle's body had shaken and tossed and twisted in the throes of come. She was one of those rare and marvelously desirable women who made fucking such a thrilling and complicatedly exciting art. He would regret losing her, though in a sense he wouldn't, of course.
She came towards him slowly now. slipping off the garterbelt and dropping it to the floor, so that she was naked in her pumps and hose. And then she knelt down at his feet, like a slavegirl about to adore her sovereign, and she looked up at him with languorous eyes, half-closed, and her slim hands began to caress his thighs outside the robe, moving towards his crotch, while he sat there and awaited the moment of finite wakening when he should take the initiative against her.
"I've wanted you all day long, mon cher," she breathed in that wonderfully bed-evoking, husky voice of hers. "You really ought to let me go back to work, at least to occupy my mind, so I won't be thinking about us all the time."
"Perhaps. But I want you all to myself. That's why I've put you in this apartment and made you mine, Michelle," he told her. And that was true. He'd made her give notice at once, but he hadn't bothered to tell her that he himself was the head of a large chain of moderate-priced dress salons throughout the city. His parents had died when he was nineteen, never suspecting that Aunt Clarice-his mother's younger sister-had taught him and incalculated in him the lust for pussy. At the very out-set, he had had sex with the pretty midinettes and the seamstresses and the models working for the chain, and he had never thought of marriage because the business had been left him together with a great deal of money, and the stores themselves employed some eighty girls, most of whom were appetizingly young and fresh and desirable.
If he had begun a permanent liaison with Michelle Robuis, it was solely to further his hopes of becoming accepted in "Les Amants Prodigues."' He stared passionately at Michelle, and the spicy thrill of knowing what he knew made the imminent fucking he was going to give her that much more blazingly exciting.
"So tell me, then, Michelle," he said to her with a genial smile, "how was your day? What did you do to occupy yourself while I was away all day? I want a detailed description, remember!"
Indeed it made him feel like a master of slaves to sit here quite at his leisure while the sultry red-haired Michelle knelt before him, expectant and attentive to every shade of inflection in his voice, every change in his attitude or the look on his face, because it further emphasized his total power over her. That power, to be sure, would not be ultimately demonstrated until he had brought her to the secret club which she was so desirous of joining, but all the same it was heartening to know that here she was, his passport to unbridled lechery and uninhibited orgy, and she did not even begin to suspect what he planned for her.
"Well, mon amour," Michelle replied with a saucy little grimace, "it really wasn't very exciting, tu sais. I slept almost until noon-and you know why, you naughty darling boy!M
"No, I don't. Refresh my memory," he chuckled. Then he leaned forward and put his hand on her head, and stroked it gently. Michelle Robuis shivered voluptuously and looked up at him with humid, dilated eyes that already spoke an eager lust to meet his own. It was amazing, he told himself, that here was a girl who had been a virgin until just thirteen short weeks ago, and now was one of the most delicious and perversely ardent mistresses a man could ask for. In a sense, it would be a pity to donate her to "Les Amants Prodigues," because then she would be the property of all the members of that exclusive cult dedicated entirely to the pursuit of lustful joys, instead of to himself. Still, the advantages he would derive from such membership, if admitted, would outweigh the possession of Michelle herself. And besides, Roger Vancourt was sufficiently enough of a voyeur to have his passions roused by watching sexual acts involving desirable women.
It occurred to him even now that, not far from this very moment, beautiful red-haired Michelle might be kneeling in humble and abject submission to Count Richard Everard, that effete Parisian who had inherited a perfume factory from his doting old father and whom everyone looked upon as a most innocuous little man who would never in the world be able to have a pretty girl fall in love with him on his own merits. Or perhaps it would be the Baron Hugo von Reichesmann, that piggish, florid-faced sadist who, in his mid-fifties, owned his own little slave-harem back in Stuttgart where he resided when he was not a visitor at the elegant grounds of the Chateau de l'ombre. It was well named, that castle-like abode where the members of "Les Amants Prodigues"" held their meetings, for, literally translated, it meant, "the mansion of shadows." Because once a girl disappeared within its four walls, she would never be heard from again. No, this beautiful red-haired girl who had given herself to him so ardently and completely, who even now was ready at a single gesture from him or a single word, to adopt whatever posture she demanded for the completion of the act of fucking, would cross that threshold and become nothing more than an exclusive prostitute whose only purpose in life was to satisfy the carnal appetites of the members of this club.
He knew very well that she would probably revolt and draw upon herself atrocious, delicious punishments. The president of the club, Sir Henry Wilmerson, to whom he had been introduced not quite a year ago and from whom he had at once received the inspiration to apply for membership, had indicated that the girls who dwelt at the chateau must necessarily come from broken homes or have no living relatives at all-which was infinitely preferable-so that the authorities could never find them again once they had entered upon their duties as submissive sluts. For this they were and nothing else, and their tenure was entirely at the pleasure of the members, because displeasure carried with it many painful and even annihilating chastisements. And the worst of these was that of becoming what Sir Henry called, with his ironic thin-lipped smile, "a bitch or stud to my stable of hounds."
Roger Vancourt had, about two-years ago, visited a very swanky and quite costly little nightclub in the Montmartre section of Paris in the company of a friend who had later gone to Buenos Aires to manage a newly opened hotel there. Indeed, as he reflected now upon it, it had been Heitor Vallegas' own suggestion that they visit this particular boite, named most appropriately, "Le Ciel aux Chiens," which meant, "dog heaven."' It was actually a private club rather more than a nightclub, and one paid a rather staggering sum for the privilege of four nights a month there, which included dinner and drinks and actual participation on one night at the member's choice in the amusing sexual spectacles which were staged down in a beautifully furnished, soundproofed cellar. He had gone there with Heitor in a bored mood, having just broken off with his last mistress whom he had discovered to be a cheap little thief who sold his presents of jewelry for cash and who padded the grocery account so that she could split the profits with the tradesman. And what he had seen in that cellar on that evening when Heitor Vallegas had brought him as a guest, had made him all the more eager to join Sir Henry's exclusive society.
CHAPTER TWO
Even now as Roger Vancourt sat caressing Michelle's lovely coppery tresses and thinking lustfully of what she was going to do to him in a few moments-and then what he was going to do to her within a few hours!-he could still recall in every vivid detail that maddeningly perverse and overwhelmingly lascivious spectacle which he had witnessed in Heitor's company that memorable night.
There had actually been only about six members there besides Heitor and himself as a guest of the little private boite, and all of them reclined at their ease on individual chaises lounges. There was a miniature bar near them, and they were served refreshments by an adorably piquant little bartender-maid who wore only a red satin-elastic garter belt, opera-length black mesh hose and red highheeled pumps, with a maid's lace cap on her bobbed black curls and the golden chain and key of a wine steward about her milky neck, with the key dangling between her pert orange-like titties.
The hair of her pussy had been shaved completely clean, and the dainty pink lips tinted with a flamboyant scarlet lipstick. No sooner had he taken his place on the chaise longue assigned to him than he had stared greedily at the girl who was serving them, and he had muttered to her that he would pay her a thousand francs for an hour in his apartment after she got off duty ... a proposition to which she had quickly assented with a nod of her head and a roguish little wink, accepting his personal card along with a fifty-franc note to pay for his glass of Pernod. So at once he had been put into a mood of libidinous anticipation. He had also been triumphantly pleased to see that when the adorable little maid had gone over to his friend Heitor, the latter had pinched her bare bottom and whispered something into her ear, but she had shaken her head and glanced back at him, as much as if to tell Heitor that she was already engaged for the night. And since Heitor Vallegas was such a cocksmith and such a braggart about his prick-achievements, it had given him a great deal of satisfaction to have taken Amalie (that had been the girl's name) away from the rich and profligate Porteho.
In front of them was a wide square wooden platform covered with black velvet, which rose about a foot from the floor. There had been a curious apparatus in the center of that platform, comprised of a kind of stool along whose surface rose a kind of divided yoke-piece, with little silver chains fixed to the solid, heavy legs, and in turn silver handcuffs attached to the ends of these short chains. Just in front of the stool was an upright wooden stake, not much more than a foot high, but at its top was a circular, thin piece of plywood covered over entirely with a drab gray cloth to which had been sewn coarse, bristly horsehair. Just under this circular top piece, a thick and wide leather strap dangled with a buckle at the other end.
The lights had been dimmed until there was a most intimate obscurity and one could hardly make out more than the vague outlines of the furniture of this elegantly furnished room. But suddenly from the ceiling there had blazed a kind of spotlight beaming down on the footstool and the stake with its top piece, and suddenly a door at the left had been flung open and a giant Negro, naked except for a jockstrap and sandals, had emerged. In each hand he held a doglesh, and at the end of each leash was affixed a silver collar. And what had made Roger Vancourt almost leap from his chaise longue in stupefaction had been the fact that a huge mastiff wore one collar while the other was worn by a stark-naked golden-haired young girl who could not have been more than eighteen or nineteen at most and who crawled along on all fours.
In his teeth, the Negro clutched the handle of a red leather dog whip whose short lash tapered into a pointed, braided tip. Roger Vancourt had begun to tremble with lust, for he had long been a flagellant. Indeed, one of his quarrels with his then mistress who had turned out to be a thief had been that she did not like to be whipped even as a prelude to fucking.
The Negro dropped the leash of the naked girl and led the mastiff over toward the edge of the platform where he made the leash fast to a heavy metal hook set into the platform. The dog growled menacingly, and then at the Negro's gesture, docilely lay down and watched with half-closed eyes, as if it were asleep and not even vigilant.
Then the Negro returned to the crouching naked blonde girl, retrieved the leash and jerked at it and made her crawl forward towards the stool. Her belly reposed upon the horsehair-lined top, and the Negro squatted down to draw up the broad leather strap round her waist and to buckle it tightly till she gasped and winced with discomfort. For at once her tender milky belly was ground against the rasping horsehair, which in itself would be a painful ordeal and would be aggravated by what was to follow. This done, the Negro touched a little spring at one side of the yoke-piece, lifted up the top section which was very much like the stand of a pillory, and the blonde girl submissively rested her neck on the felt-lined lower half-circle of this yoke, which was then promptly clamped and locked by the spring. Finally, both wrists were clamped in the silver handcuffs, so that she was posed on all fours, unable to see or to move, kneeling with her thighs well straddled.
He observed that the lips of her cunt had been shorn cleanly of all hair, just like the pretty bartender-maid's, and similarly tinted with lipstick so that they gaped towards him, lewdly beckoning his aching prick.
Now the Negro, who had kept his dog whip clenched between his strong white teeth all this while, seized the handle in his right hand and, planting himself to the left of the naked young blonde, began to flog her voluptuously plump, succulently rounded behind with slow and deliberate strokes under which she writhed, jerked and weaved her naked hips as much as the strap permitted. After he had given her twenty slowly spaced and viciously stinging lashes which left angry crimson weals over the pale carnation-tinted skin of her posterior, he moved round in front of the sobbing captive and forced her to clench the whip handle between her teeth. Next, going to where the mastiff lay in repose, he unlocked the ring which had held the leash grip, at which the mastiff sprang up, growling and stiffening, and led it over towards the shuddering and sobbing naked captive.
Then at his guttural order, the mastiff reared on its hind legs, planted its front paws on the bare smooth back of the crouching victim, and Roger Vancourt uttered a stifled oath of astonishment and frantically overweening lust to see that the prick of the animal was in full erection, the long, bony red knob thrusting out and jerking impatiently in its rut. The animal probed with this obscene weapon towards the hairless, pouting, lipsticked portals of his human gitch, found the orifice and suddenly, with an anguished whine, crammed that bony appendage between the gaping petals of the girl's cunthole.
When the naked blonde had felt the first vigorous jab of the mastiff's cock, she had almost echoed its whine with a sobbing, wordless cry between her clenched teeth and compressed lips, for apparently she did not dare drop the whip which the Negro trainer-for such he had turned out to be-had given her to hold throughout her sacrifice to this canine rut for the amusement of the patrons of this singular establishment.
But, now that it was planted securely in her cunt-hole, now that its front paws were raking her shuddering naked back, the animal began to fuck her with an accelerated fury that made her body shake in its fettered and crouching pose. From time to time, as the inward digs of the animal became even more brutal, the blonde girl groaned and sobbed, but she retained hold of the whip between her teeth as if she feared for her very life.
Now the animal had neared its climax, and it began to jerk back and forth with the most frenzied and spasmodic gyrations. Its bony prick must have hurt her terribly, for tears flowed down her cheeks, and her groans had become incessant. Then suddenly the animal stiffened and seemed to glue itself to her, and then a violent spasm shook it, and at this moment the girl uttered a shriek as she felt the torrent of canine gism drenching her tight love chasm with its powerful spurt. And the whip dropped to the floor as she burst into hysterical sobs and tears.
The Negro swore at her in pidgin French and Sengalese, took a bucket of water and doused the mastiff and the girl. Then, seizing the brute with both powerful black hands, the Negro trainer wrenched the animal's prick loose from its warm human housing, at which the unfortunate naked young blonde uttered a shrill shriek of pain and twisted violently to free herself, only exacerbating her chafed and tender bare belly against the cruel horsehair which lined the stool top which she was pressed and strapped.
Seizing the whip, after having led the mastiff back to the edge of the platform and once again secured the grip of the leash with the metal lock, the trainer applied twenty bristling cuts of the leather thong over the girl's already streaked and shuddering naked bottomcheeks. Her cries were deafening, and her sobs and groans and tears made Roger Vancourt experience the most tremendous erection he had ever known. Greedily, he turned his head to look at the naked little barmaid with whom he had made an amorous assignation, and suddenly she had come to him, sank down on her knees, tugged down the zipper of his trousers and, bending her head towards his frenzied erection, had artfully sucked him off while he watched, enthralled, the Negro concluded the flogging and then, going around the stool, presented to the mouth of the weeping naked young victim his own gigantic prick in the most savage state of erection.
Thus when Sir Henry, in dining at Maxim's in Paris with Roger Vancourt some time later, had narrated to him the exclusive privileges which membership in "Les Amants Prodigues" offered as well as the severe punishments which the club inflicted upon its "sluts" if their performance was not entirely satisfactory, Roger Vancourt knew that he must become a member at any cost ... at all costs.
Membership, Sir Henry had told him in a very grave voice, was not easy, and only a few applicants who had been thoroughly screened and found to be acceptable to all the other members, were even allowed to make application. Nor did an opening occur in the secret club very frequently; Sir Henry had warned him that perhaps it might be more than a year before he would be summoned to keep his part of the bargain.
And that part of the bargain would be Michelle Robuis.
To begin with, every applicant had to have an assured income of at least a hundred thousand dollars a year or the equivalent (in gold) in European currency, whether Swiss or French francs or German marks. Bachelorhood was also an essential. The danger of blackmail or discovery by the authorities would be too great of a member were married, for a wife jealous of her husband's frequent disappearances (spent in attendance at the club, naturally) might lead to the employment of a private detective who in turn would discover the existence of the chateau in one of the little provinces of Southern France. Then, upon acceptance, the new member must pay down a sum of twenty-five thousand dollars, which served as the initiation fee and membership for a year. In addition, he must pay the regular membership dues of fifteen thousand dollars per year and must pay two years in advances as a pledge of good faith.
But finally, and most important of all, he must be ready to turn over to the club upon notification that his membership application had been received favorably and that a place awaited him in the ranks of "Les Amants Prodigues" a girl who should be physically acceptable by all members and who should have no family ties herself so as to preclude unnecessary risks for the members or investigation by the authorities.
And this was why Roger Vancourt had cold-bloodedly sought to find a new mistress and to prepare her for the role of "slut" to the worthy members of "Les Amants Prodigues."
CHAPTER THREE
"Well, now, ma belle," Roger Vancourt drawled, as he sprawled in the comfortable easy chair," how did you spend your day? Tell me everything."
Pert coppery-haired Michelle Robuis made a face at him. "As you like. Well, I stopped a little for a dress and some very naughty panties that would please you. Then I had a cocktail with a girl who used to work at the shop where you found me, and then I took a cab here to meet you, m'amour."
"Is that all?"
"Not quite. I was so hot, thinking of our being together again, cheri, that I was naughty in the cab."
"In what way?"
Michelle made another saucy face at him. "I didn't wear panties, you see, as the weather's been quite humid. So I leaned back in the back seat and spread my legs a little. I could tell he was looking at me through his rear-view mirror.'"
"Vaurienne! Petite cochonne," he growled amiably. "Go on with it!"
"Well, he was a dear man, I'd say early fifty. The head of a family, obviously, from the worried look on his face, and the thick walrus moustache. He kept glancing into the mirror, and I pretended it was you there, and so-" she drew a long breath, so I slipped a hand under my skirt and slip and began to tickle myself."
"You mean-you frigged yourself so he could see you?" Roger Vancourt gasped.
She nodded, made another insouciant moue, and murmured huskily, "Oh, he was so red in the face! He tried hard not to look, but I caught him. I pretended I didn't know what was bothering him."
"Show me how you frigged yourself," he ordered. "Truss up your skirt and slip now, and do it!"
Michelle giggled. Then she at once obeyed, trussing up her garments, and explained, "Naturellement, I didn't pull up my clothes in the cab. That would have been too obvious, n'est-ce-pas? But I did it to myself comme cela." Daintily, her right forefinger touched the pink lips of her quim and began slowly to rim them.
But before Michelle could complete frigging herself to climax. Roger Vancourt stopped her with a peremptory gesture of his hand. "That will do, I see how you did it in the cab," he said gruffly to hide his own furious emotion. "That was shameless of you. Suppose the driver had taken you to some abandoned warehouse or apartment, dragged you inside, bound you and then had his way with you?'"
The beautiful naked coppery-haired young woman smiled roguishly as she sank down on her knees before his chair, cupping her high-set firm titties, her thumbs slyly rubbing the nipples until they hardened. "In that case, m'amour," she huskily murmured, "all I could have done would have been to submit, just as I submit myself to you, my beloved master."
He shuddered again with all the sensual imagery which her words evoked. But this time the images crystallized into his one visit as an honored and invited guest of Sir Henry Wilmerson to the Chateau de l'Ombre. He saw himself there already accepted as a member in good standing, walking about in a silken robe and sandals, naked beneath the thin garment so that each impulse of lust could be swiftly and effortlessly yielded to; he saw himself walking down a richly carpeted hall and suddenly coming upon one of the beautiful prostitutes-for such they were who frequented this castle-like edifice in the secret heart of France-and suddenly finding himself roused by the girl. With a snap of his fingers, he would make her kneel and strip off her own robe and be naked for him, and then she would bury her fair head under the hems of his robe and begin to lick his ankles and his knees and slowly ascend herself upwards, slithering like an eel, till she had reached his stiffening prick which she would then homage with her lips and tongue. And he would stop her just as he had now stopped Michelle, wanting to prolong the tortured ecstasy before climax so as to enjoy to the very final nuance all the overtones of his lust. He would make her leave him and crawl on all fours away from him, leading him to another room where perhaps there were the devices of whipping and torture ready for his usage if he so desired. He would-
And then, all in his own good time, thrilling to lock the door behind him and order the girl to bend herself across an ottoman, gripping the handle of a dog whip in her teeth while he amused himself by slapping her naked behind fifteen or twenty times until the flesh bounded and reddened violently. There would of course be a penalty if she should drop the whip before he gave her an order to bring it to him, the aching in his groin, shuddering with the frenzied lust urge of bursting forth all his pent up gism, he would make the quivering naked girl rise from the ottoman and turn to face him, hands at her sides, proffering the whip. He would take it from her mouth and lash her twice across each titty, and then make her thank him for the blows. Then he would thrust the handle of the whip into her asshole, and make her stand there while he gripped the cheeks of her behind with his sinewy fingers and thrust his prick deep into her cunt and began to work slowly back and forth, while she had to contract her sphincter muscles so as to retain the whip where he had lodged it.
These and a thousand things even more esoteric and exciting, would be his to do when once he became a full-fledged member of "Les Amants Prodigues.'"
His gaze had grown distant as if he no longer considered the naked redhead kneeling before him. Michelle put out a soft hand to touch his knee, whispering, "Are you angry with me, my darling? Do you wish to beat me very hard? I shan't mind. You've never really punished me, you know. You've given me so much pleasure, but you've never taken it for yourself selfishly and used me like a little slave-girl."
He had almost struck her then, hearing her say these words which almost seemed to probe into his secret will. Unwittingly she had chosen the one formula of address which made him feel guilty, like a betrayer, like a Judas. For that was what he was going to be within a few more days and nights, delivering her up to Sir Henry so that he could earn his membership. He was waiting even now for a telegram from the owner of that grim chateau. He had already paid in advance the twenty-five-thousand dollar initiation fee, and besides that he had had a draft made out for thirty-thousand dollars (representing the fee for two years in advance) waiting at his bank for Sir Henry to accept. He understood that first the president of this singular and exclusive group had to check his background and satisfy himself that adding him to the roster of members would not be against the best interest of "Les Amants Prodigues.'"
He knew that there was a vacancy, because the Count Charles de Meureville had just resigned in order to accept an important diplomatic post at Singapore, a city of untold wickedness and every opportunity for indulgence in the most perverse delights. The appointment would be for five years, and the Count, who was a forty-year-old bachelor and had the taste of an Oriental pasha, had considered that he would afford himself all the carnal delights which Singapore could offer and thus would not return to the Chateau de L'Ombre within those five years.
As soon as the telegram came from Sir Henry he would follow its instructions to the letter and deliver his beautiful naked red-haired mistress into that foreboding castle in the thick forest and fifteen miles from the nearest little village. Once across that threshold, Michelle's identity would disappear forever. She would become a prostitute for the enjoyment of all the members, subject to the disciplining and the whims of all, and subject, most of all, to demerit marks for the slightest hesitation or refusal to execute any order given her by a member. Sir Henry had explained briefly the system by which he maintained good order in his household, though he had not gone into detail. But one of the remarks which had fired Roger Vancourt's imagination on the occasion of that memorable and only visit had been Sir Henry's remarking nonchalantly, "It is in a girl's best interest to obey, my dear friend. You see, if she accumulates too many demerits, we have another purpose for her. She becomes a true bitch and she services not her betters, but her four-legged equals."
And then, a little later, Sir Henry had added with an ironic smile, "In some ways, a bitch may be said to be better off serving my sixty Danish hounds rather than the elite of our little club, since the hounds do not use the whip or many other little artifices to enjoy their simple copulatory pleasures. But I can assure you. M'sieu Vancourt, that by the end of a month, a bitch in the service of my hounds is quite weary and longs for the refinements of the two-legged beast she formerly served!"
This then was in his mind as he sat there in the chair studying the exquisite, provocative face of Michelle Robuis.
It was true. He had never whipped her. Oh at times, in the height of their lovemaking, he had sometimes slapped her bottom to exhort her to more feverish animation in his embrace-though that was hardly necessary, considering how eager and wanton she had become under his tutelage. But there had never been any formal kind of punishment because she really hadn't needed any. With all the reading he had done as to the joys of flagellation, he now found it surprising that he hadn't experimented with this beautiful and willing subject. To see a beautiful naked girl tied up by the thumbs, straining on tiptoe, the globes of her breasts taut in the traction of her body, the cheeks of her behind flexing and rippling as she waited for the lash to fall, the humid and dilated eyes that turned over a bare shoulder to stare at the executioner's hand which held the menacing instrument of punishment-these were visual nuances which, in books alone and their illustrations, had made his prick grow hard with longing.
But at the Chateau de l'Ombre, he knew that any member at any given moment could out of sheer caprice order Michelle to be flogged, inflict it himself if he so desired or have another member or one of the other slave-girls do it for his pleasure. And a deliberate sadistic impulse now made him decide to put off for himself the savage enjoyment of whipping her until he could see her there safely inside the castle ready to endure her fate as a procuress of lust-fulfillment for all the wealthy men who formed "Les Amants Prodigues."
He stared greedily at Michelle, for the salacity of her pose was even more cock-torturing than if she had been stark naked; the sheer hose and the garters and the pumps constituted a perverse costume which suggested all kinds of erotic and imaginative proclivities. He felt that he would burst not only with the pent-up gism in his cock but also with the haunting secret of what he was going to do to her.
"Now then, suppose you pay a little attention to my prick, not the cabdriver!" he said hoarsely. "Open my robe, bend your head and just rub the tip of your tongue against the lips of my prick. Get me ready for you, you sweet bitch."
"Darling." her voice was huskier than ever and she gave him an odd look, "you've never been so direct with me, so brutal. I love it. I love it when you talk coarsely. It makes me feel well--like a kind of whore."
"All women are that, depending only on the degree," was his cynical reply. "A wife is just as much a whore, for she trades her body for a lifetime of security. The prostitute does it only temporarily to gain a momentary respite from economic problems. But I'm not here to discuss philosophy with you, you lovely bitch. Do what I told you to or perhaps I shall thrash you after all."
She shivered, and she gave him another look, but one of respect mingled with anticipation. She bent her head, her fingers pushed apart the folds of the robe, and then she flicked the tip of her tongue just against the urethral lips of his prick. He ground his teeth to hold back his juices. "Are you feeling hot yourself, bitch?" he growled.
She suddenly looked up, her eyes widely dilated, questioning him: "Why, yes, darling. Didn't you understand that? There in the cab, hurrying to you, I was pretending that you were in the cab and that you were going to love me, that we'd pull off into some side street where no one could look and you'd give me a quick one right in the cab to make me come. That's why I tickled my self. It amused me to tease that poor man."
"He's probably taking it out on his poor wife who's already had too many children." Roger Vancourt chuckled. "But no matter about that. There is a streak of earthiness in you, Michelle. I hadn't quite suspected it. But it pleases me."
He reached out and ran his fingers through her coppery-red hair, tightening his grip, tilting up her face till it tautened with the hint of pain which his traction of her scalp produced. "Tell me this, darling," he said to her gently in a tone of banter, "are you sure there's no one else in the world who knows anything about you. no relative, no parent? You mean that I am the lucky man, the only one who has command and control over you?"
He asked this question not only in the spirit of satisfying his sexual ego: he asked it to be certain that when he brought her to the Chateau de l'Ombre, Michelle Robuis would fulfill the terms set forth by Sir Henry Wilmerson: namely, that a girl who was turned over to the club to become a communal prostitute for the enjoyment of all the members should have absolutely no living relative, so that the authorities would never search for her and cause annoyance to "Les Amants Prodigues."
"There's no one except you, m'amour," she murmured huskily.
It delighted him to know this. He felt indulgent towards her. After all, she'd given him some of the most exciting weeks he'd ever known, and she'd adapted herself so quickly and learned so imaginatively that she was really the best piece of fucking he'd had in all his career, now that he thought about it seriously. But there would be girls still more talented at Sir Henry's castle, he knew girls who devoted every day and every night of their lives to the pleasures of many different men, and therefore had to learn quickly and to become inventive in order to remain without demerits which would make them bitches and condemn them to the servicing of Sir Henry's Danish hounds.
"That's good to know, cherie." he told her lightly. "Now you've got me just as hot as you are, you tantalizing little devil. Sit astride my lap and face me. and see if you can't guide my prick where it belongs."
Michelle rose sinuously and swiftly pushed his sinewy thighs, facing him and squirming forward. He put his left arm around her waist, while he extended her left hand towards his prick and at the same time put right thumb and forefinger to the petulant pink lips of her quim to yawn it still further apart to give him access and total entry.
He felt his chest aching with desire, every nerve and sinew in his body tautened and seeking release. And it was mental as well as physical, mental because of the diabolical plan he had conceived whereby he had cold-bloodedly won himself a magnificent and eager and gifted mistress only to make a total gift of her to a virtual stranger ... to make of her a gift that would be used as prostitute to many men who had the power to have her whipped or tortured or made into a she-bitch to service dogs as women service men!
He felt his cockhead thrust into the niche which she had yawned for him. She uttered a little gasp, "Oooooh, cheri, it's so good! Don't hurry, please! I'm so terribly randy, and it's all your fault."
"As if your fingering yourself in a public taxi didn't have something to do with it, you little bitch," he told her gently with a smile to ease the sting of the crude word. But it seemed that this stimulated her, as she had already intimated to him. With a little moan, she flexed her thighs and squirmed forward, and he felt himself sink into her until he was in her to his balls. Then he could feel the contractions of her womb. Perhaps it wasn't a scientific truth that woman's vagina had muscles, but it certainly felt that way, the way the soft lining of her cunt was gripping and kissing and clenching around his prong.
This face-to-face posture excited him enormously. He had the feel of her bare thighs, the tender insides rubbing against his muscular legs, and he could feel her muscles rippling and flexing too as she straddled and yet balanced herself. She had put both hands on his shoulders, while he reached out with his left hand to grasp the jouncy curve of one luscious haunch and with his other hand he cupped one of her dangling firm titties, tasting the sweet resilient satin. And his mouth was free to suck at hers, to merge with hers and fuse to take all the essence of that added mouth of hers. But at the same time it was she who did the work, aggressively arching herself up and down, riding as if on horseback, and her jousts accelerated and augmented the rasping friction of her cuntwalls against his chafed and irritated prick. Until finally, with all the images of her future bondage burning in his brain, Roger Vancourt could endure no more of self-control, and with a shout felt himself explode, felt his gism fairly lash the bottom of her voracious and insatiable young cunt. The spasm brought about her own. Her face twisted in the rictus of sensual excitement; he could see her nostrils flare and shrink, see her eyes roll in their sockets and grow humid, see her mouth twist and then gape and finally hear her gurgling cry: "Aaaah, cheri, I'm coming, I'm coming too! There-oh yes, there it is-oh mon Dieu, que c'est bon!"
Now his hands reached out and gripped both her bottomcheeks and felt them flex and contract and shudder as her own tidal wave poured forth explosively to meet his own distillation. They were merged and united, coalesced not only in their lust-liqueur. And perhaps at this supreme moment when, admittedly knowing that till now he had never found a mistress quite so passionate and expert in divining his own moods, Roger Vancourt felt the thrill of playing Judas to this beautiful, unsuspecting, naked red-haired girl.
CHAPTER FOUR
He had planned to take her that evening to one of the great French restaurants named in the Michelin Guide. Yet it pleased him to suggest that she cook for him, and so, after she had finally leaped off his lap and hurried to the bathroom to perform her ablutions, he called after her, "Michelle, get dressed quickly and go out and do the marketing. I feel like a good beefsteak and some nice country-fried potatoes. See if you can get some fresh asparagus and some vine strawberries. The price is no matter, you know that. And get yourself a strawberry tart or something really special for dessert. I'll put some Chablis on to chill for the dessert and let a bottle of good Pommard Clos de la Camarraine expand at room temperature to go with the beefsteak.
"That's very sweet," she emerged from the bathroom, naked except for a Turkish towel around her middle, saucily provocative, and he saw that she had gone under the shower and that her hair was dripping in a thick sheaf that clung to her bare back. He could see the drops of water on her nipples which were still hard and dark-rosy from tumescence. He thought to himself that in a way it was a pity that all the other members of that secret club should have the privilege of knowing Michelle's most intimate secrets. There was, for example, a tiny little oval brown birthmark high on her inner left thigh, right near the base of her bottom. There was a tiny little black beauty spot an inch to the right of and half an inch below her navel. She had the most exquisite little dimple below the left cheekbone, and another in her chin When she smiled a certain way. She had a certain wistfulness in her face, but at the same time she could be almost boyishly mischievous when it suited her. It was still young in their relationship, and he would have enjoyed having a few more months of fucking her. Not only that, but taking the virginity of her asshole, which he hadn't yet done. She had deliciously and of her own accord volunteered to lick and suck his cock not long after they had become lovers, and this had enchanted him. He had felt that there was something earthy about her, something that caused her glossness and vulgarity and even violence and brutality. Just now, when he had called her a bitch and a whore, she had seemed to like it. Well, all those traits of hers would be found out to perfection once she was inside the Chateau de l'Ombre!
But if he had been certain of keeping her for several months more, he would have devised a series of different costumes for her. For instance, tonight, after dinner, he'd make her dress like a little boy, with shorts and possibly a play shirt with very short sleeves and a little bowtie, and sandals and short socks. Then he would take her over his lap and spank her bottom, making her wear a cap and put up her red hair under it. And then he would soak the dainty shorts in water, and stand her up against the wall and grip her by the hips and press his stiff prick into her crotch till his cock poured through the wet material and went on to fuck her ... or possibly did it the other way and buggered her. There were so many things he would have enjoyed trying with her, and now he wouldn't be able to as her master. She would have to be dutiful and faithful and obedient to all those others in the club. Yes, but in return, he would have at least a dozen other girls to choose from-at the exact moment, he didn't know quite how many would be on hand to serve, but Sir Henry had casually mentioned that there were usually from ten to twelve of the most beautiful girls, since each applicant for membership had to introduce his offering to the club by bringing her there himself and then Sir Henry himself would vote on her as would the other members present.
It was all very complicated, and yet it sounded limitless so far as sexual pleasures and orgies and fantasies were concerned. He happened to know that Sir Henry had a good many special chambers with the most ingenious devices for torturing and for whipping and for bondage. There were other rooms filled with the most staggering libraries of erotica, illustrated and full-color pictures, a movie room where some of the greatest stag movies ever made were available And there was also a cellar of incomparable wine and cognac, and there was a special chef on hand to prepare extraordinary cuisine, the kind that made a cock tremendously hard after eating and made a man feel as if he could go on fucking for all eternity.
But most of all, he wanted to see the girls who had been turned into bitches, human bitches, coupling with the Danish hounds of Sir Henry Wilmerson. He wanted to see the girls put on the copulating machines, strapped down with their bottoms up in the air and their legs well spread so that those great long bony pricks could slide in and out of their vaginas. He wanted to sit there and watch the expression on a girl's face while she was being dog-fucked. He would taunt her and ask her how it compared with a man's cock, and whether she liked taking it in the asshole-for the head of the "Amants Prodigues" had wryly mentioned that a number of his dogs preferred to thrust their cocks into a girl's asshole rather than into her cunt.
Michelle quickly dressed, and tantalizingly told him as she came to perch on the arm of his chair, "You wicked darling, sending me away just when I'd like a second! Oh all right, I'll do your marketing for you. But just for that, I didn't put on any panties. Maybe if the wind blows, some nice butcher boy can see what I've got to offer, hein?"
He chuckled, relishing her mood. She was really earthy today. Well, so be it. He would enjoy life to the very hilt, to the very last minute, and when it was time to drive her to that isolated chateau he would do so with a light heart. After all, she would be well off. She would be well fed, cared for the rest of her life one way or another. They'd give her a kind of injection which would prevent her from ever getting pregnant or even having the curse. They had a scientist on hand there, Sir Henry had told him, who had found an absolutely ingenious chemical which prevented pregnancy and stopped the menstrual times, yet without harming a woman's physical appearance or her mentality.
CHAPTER FIVE
Roger Vancourt took a leisurely shower, shaved, and then went back to his study, wearing only the silken dressing gown and slippers, in anticipation of a long and passionately thrilling night with his beautiful coppery-haired mistress. He unlocked the glass doors of a three-shelf bookcase set against the wall on the top of his secretary, a bookcase in which he kept rare erotica, such as original editions of the sadistic novels of Jean de la Beuque and Alan McClyde, profusely and beautifully illustrated with line drawings that left no detail to the imagination. One of these, "Slave Island," had long fascinated him with its fantastic tale of a forbidden little island in the far Pacific ruled over by a virile and cruel Hindu potentate who had made a kingdom there in his exile from his own country, a vicious Lesbian dominatress and an English nobleman who was also in exile. Thanks to the ingenious construction of a magnetic reef, this trio was able to lure ships off their course into foundering on the reef, and to enslave the beautiful and helpless female captives who had been passengers aboard these ill-fated vessels.
One of the chapters especially had always interested him, the one in which Magala Khan, the Hindu prince, ordained the punishment of two beautiful and faithless women whom he had met some years before where they were free to taunt him with their untouchability. They had been punished in the great arena in a glass-enclosed amphitheatre, bound to tree trunks and fucked by wild dogs and trained chimpanzees.
He felt his cock stiffening again as he studied one of the line drawings which illustrated this thrilling episode. The scene showed a subterranean amphitheatre, totally enclosed by a thick glass dome, around which, in comfortable, velvet-upholstered loges, the honored guests and rulers of this exotic island watched at their ease, served by beautiful naked slavegirls who preferred wines and rare liqueurs and hors d'oeuvres. The arena was covered with sand, and there were trees, even a plot of thick buffalo grass, to add the semblance of primitive reality. Tied down over the huge stump of a sawed-off tropical tree, a beautiful young naked brunette was draped, her belly upturned, her bare heels planted in the ground and her ankles tied with silken cords bound tightly round a heavy metal spike driven into the trunk. On the other side, her wrists were dealt with in the same manner, so that she was presented with her legs hugely straddled, her loins just projecting over the edge of the trunk and thus her cunt was accessible. Between those long ivory thighs of hers, a giant chimpanzee was crouched, its long simian fingers clutching her pear-shaped titties exactly as might a man in rut, while a long jagged red protuberance thrust into the gaping portals of her cunt. Her face was uptilted, her eyes mad with loathing and suffering, and her body was arched like a bow in a frantic ad useless attempt to unsaddle the ape.
The other girl was a ripe mature blonde with elegant pompadour, also naked, and her magnificent full round titties and ripely curved hips were in bold display as she was presented to the copulatory rut of a wild dog: she knelt on all fours over a narrower tree stump, wrists and ankles bound to metal spikes driven into the sand, her legs hugely straddled to give access to both sexual orifices. Her face was upturned a mask of horror and anguish, as the dog's claws raked her smooth deeply hollowed naked back.
Roger Vancourt slipped a hand between his thighs and fondled his stiff prick, spreading his legs and glancing at himself to admire the elongated plum-shaped head of his virile organ, fully seven inches in total erection. But then he recalled that lovely Michelle would be his tonight and that he had best save his remaining gism for the chalorous enclaspment of the walls of her torrid love sheath. He reluctantly replaced the book on the shelf, locked the bookcase again, and decided to take a nap. At that moment his doorbell rang and wonderingly, since the address of this private apartment was known only to his mistress and to one or two other important associates in his business career he opened the door on chain and warily looked out. It was a young messenger, who had a telegram for him. Roger Vancourt removed the chain, took the telegram, bade the youth wait a moment while he went to a small writing desk in one corner of the salon, opened the drawer and took out some coins for a tip. Once alone again, he tore open the telegram with feverish impatience and uttered a choking gasp as he read these fateful words: "Come tomorrow for dinner, eight o'clock. Bring required merchandise for initiation." It was signed simply, "Wilmerson."
Roger Vancourt could not conceal his joy. This was what he had waited for all these months, his mind haunted by the one brief visit he had paid to the Chateau de l'Ombre. His application had been accepted, his credentials were satisfactory, the advance fees had already been paid (they would have been refunded had his application been rejected, Sir Henry had told him), and now there remained but the final token needed for acceptance into the illustrious exclusive ranks of this remarkable club: the girl who should be delivered over to them and who would become a prostitute to and for all!
The thought that within a few final days, he was going to drive his beautiful red-haired mistress about three hundred miles away from Paris on the pretext that he was taking her to dinner at the elegant villa of a close friend, and there, without further warning or ado, present her to Sir Henry Wilmer on as his bonafide pledge in return for acceptance into the club, filled Roger Vancourt with a kind of feverish exultation. To be sure, he had several times examined his conscience as to the Judas-like aspect of this situation; and each time he had hastened to reassure himself that in reality he was doing Michelle no harm in the long run. If he abandoned her now out of pique or because of having found another woman more desirable to him, she would be left adrift, having to take her chances in finding another man who could not be guaranteed to marry her. She might best drift along from man to man, and as the years went on and she lost her charms and freshness, she might readily wind up as a street-walker in the worst section of Paris. No, by all odds, this was the more sensible alternative for her future. And precisely because he was a voluptuary and hedonist and self-centered, without responsibility to any other living relative, he had no further qualms over the dreadful treachery on which he was about to embark. He enjoyed his nap and woke up with zest, just a few minutes before Michelle returned from her marketing, her lovely face flushed with excitement at the thought of pleasing him, for she had purchased a very pretty negligee which she insisted on modeling for him after dinner.
She would not model the dress for dinner; the silken dressing gown was adequate enough since the two of them were by themselves in the privacy of his comfortable apartment. He knew he was going to fuck her and he also knew that he would probably exact more daring demands upon her, save the taking of her final virginity: that of her dainty asshole. He had decided that to present her to Sir Henry with that one cherry remaining would be an additional proof of his good will and his acquiescence to the club. Moreover, it appealed to his voyeur's instinct to think that he might be allowed to watch another man take what he himself had spared when the two of them were lovers in their own cherished intimacy.
As to that last virginity, Michelle had somewhat balked about a month ago when, after a long and glorious fuck, and while still lying atop her with his limpening ramrod burrowed to the hilt inside her quaking sheath, he had cupped one of her titties with his left hand and slyly slipped his right forefinger into the narrow groove leading to her anal rosette. He had tickled the pouting dainty lips, and Michelle had giggled and then shaken her head and whispered, "Please don't do that, m "amour! That's one thing I really don't care very much for, if you don't mind, darling."
But now, at the Chateau de l'Ombre, as a prostitute whose duty it would be to service all of the members in the manner they wished and without consultation as to her own preferences, Michelle would doubtless have to be bound and forced to surrender the maidenhead of her asshole. He thus foresaw a tremendously exciting and sadistic scene evolving out of this, and once again it was this prospect of future fantasies and erotic adventure which urged him to the supreme betrayal of this adorable young woman who had been virtually all things to him that a woman could be to a man.
It amused him to watch Michelle scurrying about the kitchen, sending him radiant smile after smile while she prepared their evening meal. The dull tumescent ache of his prick all this while, as he thought of her reactions when they crossed the threshold of the chateau and she learned what her fate was to be, was glorious exacerbation for him. He lusted for her now more than he had ever done before, and each movement of her supple young body was a bewitching forecast of how, in chains and bondage, under the lash and on the torture rack-or even mated with one of the Danish hounds!-she would endure her enforced prostitution as a slave to many men. Nor could she revile him or attack him, once she learned her destiny, for punishment would be swift and severe. Sir Henry had told him of one terrifying example of chastisement meted out upon a young blonde heiress who had foolishly allowed herself to fall in love with a fat, introverted German Baron, no longer a member because disastrous family fortunes had wiped out his wealth and forced him to drop out of the club. She had been an English girl, primly brought up, about twenty-five when she had met the Baron K-at a skiing lodge near Zurich. He had flattered her and cozzened her and, getting her tipsy on wine, had gamahuached her so thrillingly that she had willingly become his mistress. Then she had been brought to the Chateau de l'Ombre, informed that she henceforth to be a slave, and with a shriek of rage she had turned on her lover and clawed his face with her sharp fingernails.
Sir Henry had told Roger Vancourt that the culprit had atoned dearly for her rebellion. She had been taken to one of the wide, spacious dungeons in the cellar of the chateau and there, after having been stripped naked, had been tied upside down to an inverted metal triangle, so that her magnificent long carnation-skinned legs formed an obscene V. There had been twenty-two members present besides the Baron K-including Sir Henry m himself. All twenty-three men had, in turn, flogged her with a riding crop, a strap, a thin switch, a cravache or a martinet or cane depending on the individual preference of each member, and each choosing a different place for the infliction of the stripes. She had had ten lashes from each man. and at the end of it she was babbling for mercy and swearing she would do anything in the world to escape further punishment. Her head had been lifted up with a rubber block placed under her neck, and she had been compelled to suck one member off while another, standing between her legs, had fucked her or buggered her, again depending on his preference. Eleven pairs had thus enjoyed themselves with the unfortunate young woman, and the twenty-third man. Sir Henry himself had thrust a thick rubber dildo anointed with an agonizingly burning salve (an invention of the scientist who was employed by the club) into her asshole. While she shrieked and jerked and writhed, Sir Henry had first made her suck him to violent hardness, and had then crouched down and, cupping her titties with both hands, pressed them against his organ and begun to tittie-fuck her until he at last shot his bubbling lava into her contorted face.
After that exemplary punishment, she had been sent to the infirmary for a week, and on her first night back in service, stark naked but for hose and pumps and purple satin-elastic rosette garters, had crawled round the table and sucked off each of the eighteen male guests and members present on that occasion. Now, according to Sir Henry, having again rebelled and receiving enough punishment demerits to sentence her to mating with his hounds, she had after three months of that hellish retribution, been sent to a brothel in Buenos Aires.
Michelle Robuis served the meal, then vanished into the bathroom to put on the negligee she had bought for her lover. She emerged breathtakingly beautiful in a clinging and very filmy black chiffon sheath, loosely belted, and wearing high-heel pumps. Seating herself opposite him at the dining room table, she devoured him with her eyes and murmured, "Do you like it, Roger darling?"
He stared at her greedily. He saw her not in that chiffon sheath, but rather upside down in the metal triangle, her panting mouth closed round the rigid prick of one man while another stood between her legs and thrust his cock deep into her gaping cunt. He saw her creamy flesh marked and striped everywhere with weals, her body jerking and quivering convulsively and uncontrollably. His teeth began to chatter with lust, and he could hardly finish the meal, though it was really delectable and she had exhibited proof of being an excellent cook. He drank nearly a full bottle of an excellent Medoc, and finally, after the dessert and coffee, rose from the table, seized her by the wrist and, without a word, led her to his bedroom.
Once inside, trembling with a passion he could no longer control, for all these lewd images of what was to be and would be had possessed him like a devil's spell, he said but one curt word to her in command: "Undress!"
Michelle smiled and blushed, inwardly sharing his excitement, for every woman has within herself the seed of masochistic yearning when confronted by a virile lover in whom she places her trust. And so, without a word, she made herself naked and ready for him, while he drew to each side the folds of his robe to exhibit the massive hard-on which he had for her. "On your knees and suck it, my slave,'" he said hoarsely. For already Roger Vancourt believed himself to be at the infamous chateau, already a member of that secret and elite group whose whim alone was law for the females who were in bondage and servility to them.
Michelle again did not question him. Perhaps she sensed some of his furiously domineering mood, and perhaps it appealed to her, after having teased him earlier today about how she had excited the cabdriver. At any rate, with a sinuous beauty of movement, she sank down on her knees before him, she put her hands to the cheeks of his behind, bowed her head and put her lips to the tip of his throbbing prick and began delicately and softly to suck.
He let his head tilt back, his eyes closing, and he summoned up once again all those images of how he would gratify his darkest and most perverse desires once he was a member and accepted as the equal of all who frequented the abode of Sir Henry Wilmerson. The tantalizing suction of her warm moist lips against his straining prickhead made these images seem all the more real, and he groaned aloud in the fury of his rut.
He glanced down then to watch her bowed head in the posture of a true slave, naked at her master's feet and performing upon him the most intimate and yet degrading or all sexual acts. And then when he felt the gism threaten to burst forth into her mouth, he halted that sweet torment by seizing her lovely coppery-red tresses and jerking at them as he ordered, "Get into bed and spread your legs for me, I'm going to fuck you as I've never fucked you before, Michelle!"
She did not question with a single word or glance. Nonetheless, her face was flaming as she hastened to the bed, mounted it and made to welcome him. Her thighs widely yawned apart, her arms upheld towards him, the beautiful naked red-haired Parisian told her lover that she was his. eternally as now.
He flung himself upon the bed and, with a hoarse shout of triumph, thrust his aching prick into that gaping pink cavern to the very balls. Michelle winced at the savagery of his attack, but at once her naked legs wound ardently around him, and her arms locked over his shoulders as she gave him her mouth, her tongue darting in between his lips to whet his appetites.
It was a delirious fucking, in which he derived far more satisfaction than she. Indeed, for the first time in their relationship, she lay there panting and as yet unfulfilled, while he sagged over her body which he had crushed down with his own, his limpening prick feeling the convulsive claspings of her womb walls. He had already abandoned her taken her as an impersonal object to be bartered or bestowed as whim might seize him. She could not know this, and yet she felt a strange presentiment which made her shiver, and it was not entirely from voluptuousness.
CHAPTER SIX
"It sounds so exciting, my darling! Do you know, this will be the first time you've ever introduced me to any of your friends!" Michelle Robuis was naked except for smoke-colored nylons, the sheerest to be found in all Paris, dainty green satin elastic rosette garters holding them up high on her creamy thighs, and she lay on her side turned to her lover, her right hand slyly fondling his wakening prick, her left hand gently caressing the small of his back.
Roger Vancourt was naked, and it was the morning of the fateful day. Perhaps out of a sense of guilt, he had made his beautiful young coppery-haired mistress spend the entire night with him and go to sleep in his arms after long hours of imaginative and passionate fucking. It was as if he sought almost feverishly to encompass within the span of a single night a veritable lifetime of sexual enjoyment ... for he well knew that by the next night, she would no longer be his property alone, but the communal plaything and prostitute of "Les Amants Prodigues."
"Well, the fact is, my darling," he said casually with a little yawn, for it was only nine in the morning and he himself had been wakened from a delicious dream in which he was savoring his first hours as an accepted and exclusive member of this erotic club, by Michelle's sweetly wooing blandishments. She had wakened before him, not at all exhausted by their many bouts of passion the night before, and, seeing him naked there and the sheets pulled down below his loins, had slyly wriggled up against him and begun to kiss his hips and belly and chest with tiny little stinging kisses.
"The fact is, ma cherie, I really don't have too many friends, not close ones. After all, I've been a bachelor all my life and I have no relatives myself, and my life has been devoted to my father's business.'"
"I know that, darling. And it's so funny in a way," she giggled softly as she pressed herself more tightly against him.
"What is?"
"That of all businesses you should be in, such a manly man as you are-as my little hand is always discovering and as my poor sore pussy is beginning to remember from last night-to be the head of a group of dress salons! Usually one associates that with a man who doesn't like girls at all, mon cher. Just as one thinks of a hairdresser as a fellow who likes boys instead of girls in bed."
"It's true that you can hardly bring such a charge against me, Michelle," he chuckled. "But you see, Sir Henry, who is to be our host tonight, has known me for some years and has always wanted to give me a weekend at his elegant chateau in the country. But what with all the business that's occupied me and his own constant travels, this is the first time we've really had a chance to get together and discuss old times. We're certain to have a superb dinner, for one thing, and the drive will be very beautiful. It's to the south, in one of the loveliest provinces in all France."
"Then I must really make myself at my most .presentable, mustn't I, darling? I oughtn't to spend another minute here with you, you lazy, wicked roue! I must go to the hair-dresser-but this one is a woman and she's married, so you can't accuse her either!-and I must certainly pick out an absolutely stunning new frock so that you can be proud of me tonight." the coppery-haired young woman exclaimed. "Let me go now, Roger m'amour, because if we keep this up, we shall never get to your famous chateau."
"There's ample time, darling. We'll leave a little after lunch and should arrive there by sundown. The drive will be most exhilarating and will give us a marvelous appetite for the feast Sir Henry is certain to offer us Why, he tells me that he's got a master chef whom he lured away from one of the greatest gourmet restaurants in the world. We might even dine on ortolans in a subtle wine sauce, or perhaps a stuffed partridge with chestnuts and truffles, and there's certain to be some exotic desert like a bombe surprise."
Roger Vancourt spoke airily, his face bland and pleasant, striving with every sophistry at his command to give his trusting m'stress not the least suspicion of the real purpose of this visit to the Chateau de L'Ombre. But even this casual explanation served to make his prick throb with the sudden savage renewal of desire and the soft slim fingers of his beautiful naked mistress convulsively tightened around the gnarled shaft as she gasped huskily, "Well, perhaps we can spare just a few minutes before I go on all my errands to make myself beautiful so that your famous Sir Henry will envy you! Love me, my darling! I never get tired of feeling your marvelous big becque in my naughty little con! Oh, let me put him into me and hold him ever so tightly while you love me slowly and wonderfully. That, I promise you, will give me a formidable appetite for breakfast. And then, you wicked, lecherous, handsome devil, you shan't be allowed to so much as kiss me until after we come back from the chateau." Do you hear my terms?"
"All right, I can't withstand such an offer," he chuckled again as his fingers caressed her swelling titties and his lips came down hard on hers. At once her mouth opened and he felt his tongue delve greedily into that warm nectared love-cavern, so ideally the counterpart of the silken-curl-framed orifice between her supple, flexing thighs. He shuddered as her tongue ardently rubbed to his, inflaming him once more with the insatiable verve she infallibly demonstrated in their lovemaking.
Michelle Robuis left off stroking his back and put her left thumb and forefinger to the twitching and already moistening lips of her pussy, granting his swollen organ immediate access as her right thumb and forefinger drew on the tip of his prong to guide him towards her passion-haven. He shuddered and groaned as he felt himself drawn into her love-lobby, and all at once the exquisite torment became new and marvelously stimulating. Ruefully, he constated to himself that now, on the very day when he meant to abandon her forever, she had never been more desirable nor could he recall having made love to a more passionate and imaginative mistress. In all feats of passion-save the one denial she had imposed upon him, that of entry into her temple of Sodom-she surpassed all of his former loves.
But he told himself with a kind of dispassionate rationalization that actually he had never been in love and that what was done with Michelle on this bed now was only an act of zestful lust, limited by the selfish yearnings of the moment, dictated by the imperious urgencies of his turgid and virile prick. He had never made any woman the confidante of his secret emotions or thoughts, he had never shared a camaraderie beyond the bed of lust. Why, then, should be feel any twinges of conscience in delivering this wanton into a private little world, a realm of lechery and venery, where she would actually become a queen of voluptuous and orgiastic pleasures and where her own ungovernably passionate nature could be satisfied to the very fullest by submitting to many men instead of only to one?
But now there was no time for regret or reflection; with a little gasp, Michelle had pressed forward to him, her fingernails digging into his armpits, her mouth moistly and hotly fusing to his, and he felt his ramrod probe down the volutes of her cunthole, till he was imbedded to the very hilt, until he could feel their hairs frictioning together in the intimate cohesion of carnal oneness.
Always there was this new marvel of the old that was forever new, the timeless newness of that first heart-stopping moment when the tip of his sexual organ was absorbed just within the portals of a girl's warm moist love-canal. In that instant, everything else in the world seemed to recede and to be of no importance; all that remained for him was the sharpening of his senses, the intense concentration of his flesh as he felt himself merge and become united with the female partner. No matter how jaded he was, this first thrilling instant of juncture dispersed his boredom and disgust-for very often disgust will follow lovemaking, when man becomes reflective and sad. That was why Roger Vancourt found it almost impossible to refuse the opportunity to fuck: even if he was not particularly fond of a female, her offering herself gave him that thrilling foretaste of pleasure, when perhaps he would find that after all this woman could hold him and renew his interest and attention. Because the fatal flaw of his carnal nature was that he easily tired of an attractive woman, because after one had done all the normal things and taken all the normal postures of lovemaking, there was not much else to do unless one went beyond the boundaries of good taste and equality of partnership. Yes, that was precisely why he was so eager to have himself counted among the number of "Les Amants Prodigues," because then everything would be permitted, everything would be possible.
But for the moment, it was enough to be naked and at oneness with Michelle. She whimpered with the pleasure of that consummation. Now she flung her left leg adroitly over his right hip, arching herself up into him even more, so that when he withdrew, it was at a deliberate angle and his retreat accentuated the maddening friction between the meatus and the sensitized vaginal tissues. Just as he neared the brink of her cunt, he could feel Michelle's leg press hard and demandingly over his. He opened his eyes and saw the tense absorption on her face, her lips drawn back to bare her fine strong white teeth, and he understood that for her as well this moment was of supreme importance.
There was no doubt that she was a creature born for pleasure, Well, in that case, it was high time to put out of his mind forever the sentimental concern he had been entertaining for her. How much more reassurance did he need? Once Sir Henry Wilmerson welcomed him tonight and let him step across the threshold of his chateau, then he would have no further obligation to Michelle. He would abandon her there that very moment, and she would be all things to all men, not just to him.
The coppery-haired naked beauty, who could not possibly have known through what torturous labyrinths of thought her lover's mind was wandering now, suddenly began to sob: "Oh darling-oh please, dearest-harder, faster, work me up to it, I feel it's going to be wonderful-don't hurry, oh please don't hurry, just time it right-it's going to be the best one of all, you'll see! Oh my lover, oh my sweet Roger, harder now, with all your might, dearest, don't spare me-or yes aahhh-oh God, now, new! With all your strength! Be savage, hurt me-or, ohhh-aahhh-oh now!"
Her face turned this way and that, her eyes wide and yet unseeing. Her body leaped and jerked and twisted, and her overflung leg rubbed this way and that over his side and hip and thigh as she tried to grind herself into him, to be absorbed by him completely.
He felt a dribbling spasm seize him, and knew that his amorous excesses of the night before prevented any great semenal tribute now, and yet the effect was as potent as if he had not once made love to her. He heard himself utter a sigh of pleasure, as from far away, and then a glowing sense of well being filled his body as Michelle dug herself against him, her mouth crushing his. her hands gripping his shoulders as she tried to tell him with her body as well as with her lips of the pleasure he had brought her....
He was at the wheel now of his Mercedes-Benz, smartly dressed in a tuxedo, and wearing sunglasses not only because he wanted to appear incognito but also because of the bright glare of the sun on the good part of the highway which led towards the Chateau de l'Ombre. A cigarette between his lips, a beret jauntily fixed at a rakish angle on his head, Roger Vancourt studied the road ahead of him, with an occasional glance to his right at the voluptuous red-haired young woman beside him.
Michelle Robuis looked forward to this adventure. That is, he amended, to what she believed would be the adventure, of dinner and attentions by the imminent Sir Henry and whatever members might be present, and then perhaps a week end spent in the utmost luxury. And that, after all, was really what was going to happen to her-with a few minor variations. He congratulated himself over the way he had brought this off. She didn't suspect a thing. The final touch had been his making her come so furiously this morning when she had wakened him by rubbing up against him like a cat and wanting affection. He would fake a point of telling Sir Henry at dinner that she was really very voracious and would be an ideal girl to have on hand at a special party or orgy. From time to time, the founder of the club had intimated, there were reunions when sometimes former members paid a visit and renewed old acquaintances. Or again, there would be festivals marking the six-month point of the year and finally the end of the year. There was always a great carnival given just before Lent, and the proceeds donated to worthy charities. Well, Michelle would certainly qualify for being used when the services of a girl were very greatly in demand, he thought to himself.
She had had just time to phone her favorite hairdresser and make an appointment which would be over by the time he had planned to start for the chateau. He had given her a few thousand francs to buy a pretty dress and a few hundred more to buy some exotic bit of lingerie. She really had exceptional taste, and it was going to be a pity to have to break in a new mistress. The problem with mistresses, Roger Vancourt believed, was that quite apart from the way they knew how to fuck or to make life interesting in bed, the hours that you spent with them away from bed could sometimes be very annoying and upsetting. One girl, for instance, might have the voice of a parrot and offend you with the noises she made. Another might pick at her food when you took her to a fashionable restaurant when you were in good appetite, thereby spoiling your own enjoyment. Or she might not care for wine so that you would obviously not be able to order a full bottle, yet you wanted more than half a bottle. There were decided disadvantages to breaking in successors. Still, it would have to be done. The one consolation was that at the club, once a member of this exclusive group, he could on having no more social intercourse than he wanted-for after all, a girl who is officially a prostitute serves you only in one way: physically. And there were enough prostitutes at the chateau to guarantee that he would not be too easily bored or have to depend upon repetition with any one girl.
His coppery-haired sweetheart glanced at him now and smiled as he turned to give her a brief look. She had had her hair braided in coronet style all around her head, which gave her a very sophisticated look and threw into relief the exquisite wistfulness of her oval face, with those slantingly set cheekbones and the luminous eyes. Since the weather was warm, she had bought a charming cocktail frock which would solve both the problems of comfort and the need for formal attire as the guest of a titled autocrat. He had mentioned that Sir Henry was very fastidious about clothing, and Michelle had promised not to disgrace him, nor had she; the frock, with its off-the-shoulder look and the smart way it clung to her thighs and ended just at her kneecaps, which certainly set off her voluptuous figure to its best advantage. She had put on charcoal-brown nylons' which he decided he liked even more than the smoke-hued ones, and a pair of open-toe sandals. As for jewelry, he had given her a little seed pearl necklace a month ago, which marked an anniversary for the two of them, and she wore this. She was never lovelier.
There was not too much traffic on the road, and it began to appear that he would reach the chateau easily before sundown. But out of nowhere, a truck suddenly appeared out of an intersection ahead and, without stopping as was the law. turned sharply towards the direction in which the Mercedes Benz was speeding. Fortunately, his quick reflex prevented a crash, but in twisting the steering wheel frantically over to the right and going off the road to avoid side-swiping the truck, he came perilously close to a picket fence enclosing a flourishing orchard. Then, still furious at the thoughtless truck driver, as he was about to get back on to the highway, there was the frustrating sound of a tire blowout.
He swore under his breath, and apologized to Michelle. But the coppery-haired beauty, her color high, her eyes sparkling, exclaimed. "That was very exciting, Roger, and you handled the car beautifully! I felt so safe with you.'" This remark, coupled with the annoyance of knowing that he was going to have to change a tire and waste at least half an hour before setting out on the road again, very nearly made him lose his temper and swear at her. He checked himself in time, realizing that at this point there was no need for antagonizing or rousing the suspicions of his beautiful mistress. He shrugged philosophically, smoked a cigarette, and then took the jack and the spare tire and set to work.
Michelle held his tuxedo coat on her lap and called encouragement to him. In about twenty-five minutes, he had the tire changed and inspected a few other parts of the luxurious car for possible damages when the accident had made him graze a portion of the fence. Everything seemed to be in order. Getting back behind the wheel, he soon had the Mercedes-Benz speeding onward to make up the lost time. All the same, it was nearly seven in the evening when he finally passed the little village of Vanricourt, and, heading to the northwest, took a further turn to a little-used road surrounded on both sides by towering birch and fir and poplar trees. Michelle exclaimed over the picturesqueness of the setting. The purplish twilight had given way to a shadowy soft dusk and darkness. But the powerful headlights of the car let him see the road ahead. Presently he came to another turnoff, a wooden stake on which was affixed a piece of tin over which a hand had been painted in red pointing down the turnoff route and above it, in yellow letters, the initials "CdelO." He recognized the terrain now and let out a sigh of relief. "We're almost there, ma belle," he told the coppery-haired beauty beside him.
Sir Henry Wilmerson had already told Roger Vancourt that he had been quite fortunate in being able to acquire several hundred acres of land surrounding the site of the chateau, which gave him the privacy desired for such an anterprise as "Les Amants Prodigues." Apparently, the chateau had originally been built by an extermely wealthy recluse of which very little was known, and his heirs had put it up for sale to the highest bidder, since it was a virtual white elephant. The upkeep of such an enormous building and of its grounds, to say nothing of the wages needed for servants, would have been staggering. Roger Vancourt began to understand why the fees for admission into membership were as high as they were; they doubtless went towards the upkeep.
All around the chateau itself, as Roger Vancourt's car approached on this narrow road, was a wall at least eight feet high. The road led to the main gate, where there was always a guard on duty in a kind of little kiosk, with telephone communicating back into the chateau and Sir Henry himself. There was a sort of park within these entry gates, for about five hundred feet; then a tall iron grille surrounded the chateau proper in a complete circle. Between the park and the grille were exquisite miniature garden plots, some devoted to the growing of rosebushes, others to azaleas, still others to hedges of ivy and nasturtiums and chrysanthemums. Between the grille and the chateau itself, there were about a dozen sectioned-off areas. A completely enclosed passageway led from the grille to a part of the chateau; one had to be either a member or a guest to be admitted thus far. Intruders, who could not have possibly got into the passageways without being admitted by either the guard at the maingate or one of the Negro servants on Sir Henry's staff, would have had to take their chances trying to climb the grille and from there making their way along one of the sectioned-off areas. But since each of these sections was patrolled by at least three great ferocious Danish hounds, it would have been extremely risky and perhaps lethal for anyone to attempt to invade the sanctity of that fearsome building in which was housed a private little world dedicated to debauchery and vice of every kind and, most of all, so far as poor unsuspecting Michelle Robuis was concerned, the annihilation of all equality for women!
No sooner had the Mercedes-Benz approached the wide high gates of the main entrance than there was the ringing of a bell, the kiosk seemed to light up, and a tall robust Negro, wearing red livery and the boots of a hunter, emerged. Roger Vancourt thrust his hand into the pocket of his tuxedo trousers, brought out the telegram which Sir Henry Wilmerson had sent to him and handed it to the powerful Sengalese, who nodded and made a gesture. Going into his little hut, he pressed a button and as if by magic-though to be sure, it was through electric current!-the huge gates rolled back.
"Your friend must be extraordinarily rich to take such precautions," Michelle gasped, quite obviously impressed. Roger did not bother to answer this, being too busy driving in and parking the car off to one side where he saw a number of others neatly arranged. The guard had also turned on some floodlights along which, Roger Vancourt noticed, were fixed in tall oak trees in the park, lighting up the way sufficiently. He stared longingly at the distant building of the chateu, it was three stories high, with gables and eaves at the top and even castle-like turrets at each end. "He must be one of the richest men in France," Michelle said again, her eyes very wide.
"He is, my darling. And he'll be richer still after tonight," Roger Vancourt could not refrain from this sardonic jibe. "Here, we have to go into that passageway. Rou see it's all enclosed. And the guard will let us in." Indeed, the Sengalese had left his post now at the kiosk-hut, and was approaching, inclining his head in deference, to his master's visitors. Taking a silver key from a large ring which was fixed to his heavy leather belt, the Sengalese unlocked a narrow door made of thin wire but strongly reinforced with horizontal steel bars, and gestured for Roger and his beautiful companion to enter. "Sir Henry will be waiting to conduct you at the end of this passageway, M'sieu," the Negro courteously informed him.
"My," Michelle exhaled an envious sigh, "even the servants wear the richest costumes I've ever seen, even better than the doorman at Maxim's!" And to think, you naughty darling, you've waited all this time to introduce me to such a fabulously wealthy man!"
"You will find that you've lost nothing by waiting, my darling," Roger Vancoutr ironically remarked. "Come on, this is a narrow passage and the two of us can't walk abreast. I'll go ahead and lead the way, so you can have every confidence."
"How quiet it is now," Michelle breathed, for the flood-lights had suddenly gone out and there was darkness again. In the distance, there suddenly rose the sound of the baying of huge dogs. She shuddered: "Mon Oieu, what was that, Roger dearest?" she gasped nervously.
"My friend is fond of pets, that's all. Come along, my dearest. We're already later than I'd hoped to be and we probably have lost at least the first course of that sumptuous dinner in our honor," Roger Vancourt urged.
"You haven't even kissed me," Michelle pouted. "You've been in a fine mood, you have. Thinking about your dinner and your friend, and you didn't even stop on the road for a little fun. You know, when you blew that tire, we could have gone into the forest there and done zigzag, you and I."
"Again, you'll lose nothing by waiting, my dearest. I can assure you that we'll do all the zigzagging we want to once we arrive. Now, I'll put my right hand behind me and you hold onto it so you don't stumble in the darkness."
And thus Roger Vancourt led his beautiful mistress towards that dark and ominous building which was to be from this moment forth her new home ... but one in which she would be a prisoner and prostitute and finally a human bitch!
CHAPTER SEVEN
At last Roger Vancourt reached the end of the passageway connecting with one of the side entrances to the imposing chateau. Just as where he had been let in by the Sengalese guard, a similar door barred his pathway now. But just as he was scowling and wondering how he was going to be let in, the door of the Chateau opened and another Negro guard, resplendent in red livery with gold buttons and gleaming white boots, approached, unlocked the reinforced mesh-wire door and with a powerful flashlight in his hand, directed the beam upon the door of the chateau which he now proceeded to open. "The master bid you enter. M'sieu Vancourt," he said in a resonant, deep voice.
"Here we are at last, my darling," Roger's voice trembled with impatient eagerness as he led Michelle up the short steps into this wing. He found himself in an elegant foyer, with a high ceiling and thick drapes covering the end of the foyer from the corridor which would connect all along the front of the chateau. It was obvious that Michelle was quite impressed by all these ritualistic steps I in the simple act of getting into a house to which; her lover had been invited, for she stared at him I with open admiration. At that moment, the drapes f swept back, and Sir Henry Wilmerson entered.
He was nearly bald, with a neat, very thin Van Dyke beard, and he wore a manacle. His forehead was high, his nose hawk-like, his eyes cold and blue as the steel of a gun barrel. His lips were thin and ascetic, but nothing could have been farther from the truth, since he was a master of sadism and the erotic arts. Although he bore the title of a nobleman of England, Roger Vancourt was not quite certain that the title was either actual or earned. Nor, for that matter, did he have the least idea of where Sir Henry had originally made his fortune: the only important fact was that he had it, and this chateau irrefutably proved it.
He wore a silken dressing gown, and sandals, and the gown was belted but it was quite obvious from the first moment as he came forward and took Michelle's hand and bowed low to kiss it, that he was naked under that robe.
The coppery-haired beauty uttered a stifled gasp when she discovered this, looking questioningly at her lover whose face remained impassive. "I compliment you on your taste, Vancourt," Sir Henry said in a dry tone. "She's quite delicious, really. I suspect that she has a sensual temperament, and this of course is all to the good. Those who are required to service many men and to gratify every desire, however importuning it may be, can count herself fortunate if she has the nature that leads to enjoyment. We do not here, to be certain, make any provision for the pleasure of the female. I think you know this already, Vancourt."
Michelle was mystified. Again she sent her lover an appealing glance, but he ignored her. "A thousand apologies, Sir Henry, for my being late. We had a little accident on the road. Some fool of a truck driver made me swerve, and one of my tires blew out."
"You are fortunate indeed, Vancourt. I had a premonition that you might be late, so I instructed our fine chef to wait until you were at the table. As for my guests, and the other members, they were able to amuse themselves quite acceptably. In fact, we even have a few minutes before we go into dinner. Would you like to show me this tempting morsel that you've brought along?"
"Well, really!" Michelle sarcastically observed, drawing herself up and staring angrily at the manacled and bearded host of this singular abode. "M'sieu Wilmerson. I'm not used to having someone talk at me in the third person as if I weren't here."
"Ah, but you are, and there is no doubt of that," the master of the chateau chuckled humorlessly. "Yes, it's plain that you have a very fiery nature, in keeping with your red hair. I should like to observe you at your very best, which is to say, when you are quite naked. My dear Vancourt, will you allow me this privilege?"
"But of course," Roger Vancourt said.
Michelle was thunderstruck. She recoiled, a hand to her gaping mouth, staring first at one man and then the other, and then she spluttered: "This is not a very nice kind of joke, gentlemen! We've had a long drive and we came here for dinner."
"Which you shall certainly have," Sir Henry Wilmerson blandly interposed. "And you need not enter your new service until tomorrow, so you will have ample time for comprehension, my very attractive and lovely Mademoiselle."
"Roger! What kind of nightmare is this? What is he talking about? Who is he, and why-"
"I am afraid, Michelle," Roger Vancourt broke in as he took out his silver cigarette case and nonchalantly lit one, "that I failed exactly to give you all the explanations you should have had about the Chateau de L'ombre."
"The Chateau de l'Ombre?" Michelle echoed.
"Precisely. In order to become a member in good standing with us, my dear little Michelle," Sir Henry now took over the role of benevolent tutor, "M'sieu Vancourt was required to bring to me an acceptable young woman whose duties it will be henceforth to service all of us who are members here and, to be sure, their guests, whom we call visitors by permission."
"Have you both gone mad? What in heaven's name are you trying to tell me?" Michelle had begun to tap her sandaled foot, her eyes narrowing, her cheeks bright with anger.
"If you will have patience, my dear little Michelle, you will learn everything in time," Sir Henry mockingly retorted.
"I am not your dear little Michelle nor anyone else's, it would appear! And you, Roger, telling me that this was your dear friend. He may be the richest man in France, but I don't like his manners! And why don't you stick up for me, instead of standing there so silently and letting him offend me?'" she cried.
"Because, from this moment forth, now that I have decided to accept you-at least on probation until you have had an official presentation and then a training,-" Sir Henry once again interposed, "you no longer belong to him, but to 'Les Amants Prodigues.'"
CHAPTER EIGHT
The beautiful coppery-haired mistress of Roger Vancourt, a hand to her mouth, her eyes wide with incredulous alarm, continued to stare at the arrogant bearded master of this domain, still believing up to the very last moment that all this was a joke in very poor taste. Finally she stammered. "Oh, come now, Sir Henry, all this is very mysterious and terrifying, but please let us have an end to the joke. It's no longer amusing-at least I don't find it so."
Sir Henry Wilmerson stared coldly at the beautiful young Parisian, and then uttered a mirthless laugh: "Oh, my dear young lady, I'm quite convinced that's true. But your opinions are really of little consequence to me. In your own best interest, I advise you to change your tune and at once tell yourself to obey from this moment on whatever orders I deign to give you."
"Roger! He must be demented, to talk to me this way! Aren't you going to say anything, m'amour?'" Michelle turned to stare appealingly at her lover. But he was aloof, his face a bland mask, and to her horror she heard him casually remark, "You had best do what he says, my dear. It would be regrettable if your very first evening here as a guest-for such you are until your training-you should constrain your host to use the whip on you."
"The whip?" Michelle echoed, her eyes dilating even more. "But the two of you have suddenly gone mad! And why must I obey him, Roger?"
"Because, my charming and spirited red-haired Michelle." Sir Henry Wilmerson now insolently interposed, "you are at the Chateau de l'Ombre, whose owner I am. as I am president of Les Amants Prodigues. M'sieu Vancourt is desirous of becoming a "member of this illustrious group who are drawn together from every port of Europe in quest of unrestrained and unbridled pleasure. He has paid the initiation fees and the membership as well, and there remained only for him to bring the final proof of his sincerity of application-namely, yourself. I tell you here and now, M'sieu Vancourt, that I eagerly and enthusiastically accept this proof in the person of your charming companion. Barring any unforeseen difficulty in her training, I pronounce that you have fulfilled the conditions of your application and that you at least temporarily, until the happy moment of formal announcement of your status, a full fledged member of Les Amants Prodigeus."
This pompous exclamation absolutely stupefied the beautiful young Parisian. She clasped her hands together as in prayer, staring first at Sir Henry and then at her lover, but the sententious words and tone of the former and the confirming silence of the latter suddenly made her blood run cold. "Ah no, it's too much! I have had enough of this nonsense, gentlemen! Roger, you will be kind enough to drive me back to my apartment. And I think you will owe me an explanation and apology before I permit you to visit me again. I trust you understand me."
"It appears," ' Sir Henry Wilmerson coldly remarked, "that, like most women, you find it difficult to distinguish between fancy and fact. I shall therefore be forced to acquaint you with the fact that you are now a slave and that from this time on your welfare will depend upon the strict obedience which you pay to my orders."
With this preface, the bearded Englishman walked over to a marble table at the wall of the elegant foyer, and seized a braided leather dog whip. Returning to the thunderstruck young beauty, he drew back his right hand and viciously slashed her across the breasts. The thin frock was scarcely any protection. With a shriek of pain, Michelle Robuis clutched at her breasts, sank down on her knees, and, tears blinding her eyes, cried out, "Roger, Roger, why are you having this done to me? Why am I being punished so? Is what this man says true? I conjure you, in the name of our love, to tell me the truth!"
"It's quite true, my dear," Roger Vancourt uttered a weary sigh. "For a long time now, I've wanted to be accepted here as a member, free to come and go as I please, free to enjoy every kind of love and with as many beautiful women as make me desire them. As Sir Henry has just told you, I am indeed paid in advance all the money required for my membership, but the stipulation is that I turn over to him and to the members a girl who is physically desirable and of a given age and, moreover, has no family ties to mourn her sudden disappearance. You fulfill all those conditions, my dear, and I am proud to be able to offer to Les Amants Prodigues so estimable a prize."
"Oh no! It can't be true! You-you're playing with me, Roger! You're trying to test my love-oh Non Dieu, what have I done to make you doubt me so?" Tears streaming down her cheeks, still on her knees before her former lover, Michelle raised her clasped hands before him in a desperate supplication.
With an angry hiss and crack, the dog whip bit across her lovely bare shoulders, and Michelle uttered a scream of pain as she twisted round to stare helplessly at the sardonic face of the lord of the chateau.
"Decidedly, my dear Michelle," he commented with that same blood-chilling coldness of demeanor and tone which characterized him, "you are somewhat less intelligent and quick to perceive reality than I had believed from M'sieu Vancourt's glowing praise of you. But I tell you this and without dissembling, that unless you at once strip naked before me, I shall use this whip on your body until the lesson is driven home. Do you understand me now?" And once again, without waiting for an answer, he sent the dog whip across her creamy shoulders, leaving a new angry bright weal to mark its infamous course.
Another cry responded as Michelle stumbled to her feet, sobbing brokenheartedly, cowering away from the bearded despot. 'Then-then it's-it's true, what you and Roger have told me," she panted, her magnificent bosom rising and falling, choked with audible sobs. "He has betrayed me. and without any explanation or warning. Oh, nom de Dieu, what is to become of me now?'"
"Nothing that will really distress you, ma jolie," Sir Henry chuckled sardonically, "unless you persist in this folly of refusing to obey my slightest wish. I have already given you an order, strip naked. This whip will remain the guarantee of your submission and of my determination to bring you to that happy state of obedience which is required of all Dispensers of Joy ... as such we name our charming female companions whose conduct still merits their being privileged to gratify our most secret and lustful desires."
"How many do you have at present in service, Sir Henry?" Roger Vancourt now nonchalantly broke in.
"There were ten until the other day when I sent you that telegram, my dear Vancourt," was Sir Henry's suave reply. "One of them, alas, a certain Edmee by name, was unfortunate enough to accumulate thirty punishment demerits and was thus deprived of her happy estate and degraded to the servicing of my mastiffs. "If you wish, after dinner, you may watch Edmee being studded."
"I do, indeed, Sir Henry," Roger Vancourt hoarsely and eagerly rejoined. Then, staring at his weeping red-haired mistress, he added, "Michelle, if you obey, as a Dispenser of Joy you will want for nothing. Lovely quarters, superb cuisine and wines, elegant garments and the companionship of the most devoted and imaginative men in all France. It is for him, however, to explain to you in detail your future duties and the punishments you may risk by showing yourself rebellious to his dictates. It is true, I still love you, and I shall love you more in your new role. Believe me, then, cherie, when I suggest that you had better undress very quickly or he may sentence you to punishment before your new life truly begins."
Trembling violently, her eyes swollen with tears, Michelle Robuis bit her lips and stared once again at the pitiless face of the bearded Englishman. He stood, legs insolently spread apart, the whip upraised, and with a shudder she began to remove her cocktail frock. It slithered to her feet, and Roger Vancourt caught his breath with lustful admiration at the sight of her voluptuous and sumptuous body clad now in the deshabille of a low-cut satin slip, her charcoal-brown nylons and high-heel pumps and a wispy garterbelt whose tabs clutched the tops of the sheer stockings high on her curvaceous thighs. The sight of the welts left by the dog whip and which marred the creamy glory of her naked skin made his prick stiffen with desire. In this new excitement, reveling in his newly won rank Roger Vancourt had quite dismissed the affection which he had nurtured for the beautiful Parisian victim.
Sir Henry approached and with the tip of the dog whip, grazed her slip over her right breast. "Remove that now at once," he decreed.
Michelle's trembling fingers found the straps, dragged them down and let that garment join the fallen frock at her slim ankles. Roger Vancourt could not suppress a cry of ecstatic delight: she wore neither brassiere nor panties, only the garterbelt, her hose and pumps.
"A hardly conventional but quite delightful costume," Sir Henry Wilmerson permitted himself a thin-lipped smile as his glittering eyes scanned those high-set love globes with their coral tips, the sleek belly and the dark red triangular bush of pussyhair at the peak of her long, gracefully rounded thighs. "Now turn around, spread you legs and put your hands on your hips, Michelle."
With a soft tremulous groan, the young woman obeyed. Sir Henry's eyes fixed on the luscious creamy cheeks of her behind, observing their tensing and flexing, and then with his left hand, lingeringly caressed the shuddering naked hindquarters of the captive. At his touch, Michelle closed her eyes and stiffened, grinding her teeth together to hold back the instinct of revolt, knowing herself to be helplessly vulnerable to that burning whip which his right hand still brandished.
"Now, your hands at the back of your neck and bend well over," he dryly commanded. After an instant's hesitation, Michelle obeyed. The sinuous crease between her bottomcheeks was exaggeratedly distended by this lascivious pose. Under the onus of her shame at thus displaying herself to a stranger, and in her lover's presence which made it still more humiliating, Michelle contracted her bottom and thigh muscles, which only served to accentuate their voluptuous charms the more.
"Don't dare to move now," Sir Henry instructed the trembling captive as his left forefinger glided down the amber furrow between her buttocks, pausing at the dainty puckering rosette of her still virgin asshole. "Tell me, Vancourt, has she ever been buggered?"
"No, Sir Henry. She seems to have a reluctance for that little game, and I did not pursue the matter, since I knew that here she would receive plenty of instruction."
"But of course her mouth and her pussy have often serviced you, I take it?"'
"To be sure, Sir Henry! But as you see, she comes to you at least one-third virgin, so to speak," Roger Vancourt uttered a suggestive little chuckle.
"Bravo! My compliments to you for your thoughtfulness. Your fellow members will be most gratified to learn of your heroic sacrifice," Sir Henry Wilmerson ironically resumed, prodding Michelle's anus until the young woman uttered a groan of deepest shame and had to grind her teeth to keep from straightening up and moving away from that humiliating contact. "One thing more-when she services you with her mouth, Vancourt, does she swallow all your seed upon ejaculation?"
"No, she isn't particularly fond of that, either. Generally, she brings me to the point, and then takes my discharge in a handkerchief."
"Here she will swallow every drop," Sir Henry dryly observed. "Very well, Michelle, now stand up, turn around and face me. your legs spread well apart, holding the back of your neck with both hands!"
"Oh Roger, Roger, save me-you surely aren't going to leave me here with this horrible-Aiiii! Ohh, please don't! It hurts me-please don't-oh Roger, make him stop!'"
For at this instant, the master of the chateau, with an imprecation, had taken her right nipple between his left thumb and forefinger and savagely pinched and twisted the dainty coral bud, while at the same time regaling Michelle with two swift and stinging lashes of the dog whip across her naked belly. She shrieked and sank down on her knees, turning her face back to Roger Vancourt in a desperate plea for pardon.
"Retract that insult at once and beg his pardon, ma cherie," her lover ordained. "You must be humble as well as obedient here, or the consequences will be painful, as you've already discovered."
The pain was excruciating. Michelle finally forced herself to look up into the mocking face of her captor and executioner, and gasped out, "F-forgive me, S-Sir H-Henry-I beg pardon-oh please let me go, you're hurting me terribly!'"
"That will do for the time being, though I will teach you other forms of humble respect when you are in the presence of any member of Les Amants Prodigues," he coldly informed her. "Now stand up and take the pose I already asked you to do, without anymore delay!"
Dominated by the whip, her nipple aching with pain. Michelle tearfully rose to her feet, spread her legs, and grasped the back of her neck with both hands, regarding him with anguish through tear-blurred eyes.
Once again, with the utmost deliberation. Sir Henry Wilmerson put his left forefinger to her cunt, and began to forage beneath the thick crisp dark red curls which fleeced her love core. She gasped and winced and squirmed, but otherwise did not evade his touch.
"The little bitch is already somewhat moist there, Vancourt," he chuckled after his inspection, "I really compliment you, my dear fellow! She has a very ardent temperament, one that will delight all of us when she has been trained how best to serve us." Then, glancing down at the unfortunate Michelle, who had bowed her head as she sank down to her knees, and covered her face with her trembling hands, he ordered: "Get control of yourself quickly now, and we shall go in to dinner and meet your future masters."
And thus Michelle Robuis began her first night at the Chateau de l'Ombre.
CHAPTER NINE
Michelle Robuis realized that she was utterly helpless and that there was no way of escape out of this chateau. And the throbbing agony of the whip welts which Sir Henry Wilmerson had administered, sufficiently edified her as to what she might expect it she attempted any revolt.
Naked in her garterbelt and hose and footgear, which so provocatively and elegantly displayed the marvelous attributes of her physique, Michelle contented herself with staring at the man who had been her lover and whom she believed to be sincere and tender and devoted. He had been her Judas, and this was now her Gethsemane.
"I am happy to see you now more sensibly resigned to make the best of the situation," Sir Henry mockingly took charge of the scene. "And as it is my custom to be first to sample the charms of a new Dispenser of Joy, you will do me the honor of giving yourself to me here and now.'"
"Ohhh!" The beautiful red-haired young woman turned scarlet with mortification, and she gave her lover a last despairing look. But Roger Vancourt had folded his arms, and was cynically enjoying the scene, at his ease in a deep loveseat in the foyer. Smoking a cigarette, he inspected his mistress's lovely creamy-skinned and almost naked body as if he were seeing it for the first time.
"I'm addressing you, ma belle,'" Sir Henry said with a trace of irritation in his dry voice. "I think I shall take you en levrette. Will you be so good as to bend over the side of that chair in which M'sieu Vancourt is seated."
Michelle caught her breath at this scandalous command, but a good cut from the dog whip over her naked waist made her stumble back, rubbing her welted flesh with tearful dismay. Another lash, which wrapped the thong across the top of her bare hips, made her scream in pain and almost run towards the loveseat in which her treacherous lover took his ease. Her trembling fingers grasped the arm of the loveseat, and she was at his right and her eyes imploringly stared into his. He calmly inhaled the cigarette and then blew a gust of blue smoke into her face, as he remarked: "I advise you, my dear girl, not to give Sir Henry any trouble. You would hardly want to start your new life with several blacks marks on your record. And now, if you will give me your hands, I will hold you while Sir Henry fucks you."
"Now that is really gracious of you, Vancourt," the head of the love club chuckled. Michelle, understanding that all was lost, bowed her head and closed her eyes as she bent over the arm of the chair and held out her wrists. Roger Vancourt, his pulses hammering violently and his own prick swollen with lust, grasped her slender wrists and stared avidly into her tearstained face. All the power of the voyeuristic impulses which had so long fascinated him in the consideration of his erotic pleasures now inflamed his rut and made him totally disregard the prickings of conscience. It was as if, by holding her wrists, he could put himself in Sir Henry's place.
The master of the chateau bared his organ, which was commendably long and gnarled and thick for his age, and, crouching over Michelle's bent body, put his left hand on one of her titties and squeezed it possessively while he thrust with his stiff ramrod towards the moist opening between her straddled thighs. He thus had the supplementary delight of feeling her warm satiny bare bottom rub against his belly, while the angle of incidence with which he made contact with her cunt added an exceptionally stimulating degree of friction to his fornicatory pleasure.
Michelle Robuis whimpered, her eyes tightly closed, refusing to look at her lover. And he gripped her wrists painfully, and from time to time let blue whorls of smoke waft from his cigarette up into her face, making her cough and choke. In turn, these convulsive spasms of her body only served to accentuate the rutting fervor of Sir Henry Wilmerson, who, seeing that she was passive and obedient, dropped his whip and clutched her other tittie with his right hand as he quickened his in and out thrusting.
At last he discharged with a hoarse shout of delight, and sagged over her body, till at last he righted himself. "Really outstanding Vancourt," he said in a hoarse and trembling voice. "I compliment you. You have given us a true Dispenser of Joy, and her training will take place tomorrow directly after luncheon. Thank you, my dear Michelle. It was really a delicious fuck. You have a wonderfully tight cunt, but I am longing to know how your mouth and your other little love-trough can accept a man's organ. Now one of your duties will be to clean the organs of your masters to whom you have given pleasure; take my handkerchief and wipe me properly clean. Go down on your knees and do it!'"
Michelle was almost fainting, but she managed to kneel down, to accept the handkerchief, and. her face stained with tears and the fiery-red blush of shame, moped Sir Henry Wilmerson's limpened cock and restored his handkerchief to the pocket of his gown.
"You may dress, my dear," he said languidly" and you, Vancourt, will find in that little wardrobe closet just behind your chair a red silken dressing gown which you are now entitled to wear since you are one of us. We have a terminology around here, Vancourt, and each of us is called Cockmaster. I, to be sure, am the Head Cockmaster. if you please, and these Dispensers of Joy live but to gratify our cock-wishes. There is no need for the charming young lady to change her attire, she is quite lovely in that cocktail frock and the lack of brassiere and panties. She will, however, wear even less when she has formally passed her training tests.'"
Roger Vancourt turned to look behind his loveseat, saw a narrow door and observed that it was more of a panel which slid to one side. Having opened it, he discovered a red silken gown with a high collar and descending to the ankles in a single piece. He understood that he would be naked under this. Sir Henry, with another amused chuckle, left the foyer to see to his other friends and to complete the preparations for the dinner, while Roger Vancourt swiftly undressed and put on the dressing gown. It was like a monk's robe, and he was indeed naked under it and it titillated his flesh and made him more fiercely ardent than ever, especially now that he had seen Sir Henry dominate and fuck his beautiful young mistress. Michelle had mournfully put back her slip and frock and was dabbing at her tear-swollen eyes with a handkerchief, while she kept looking at him reproachfully. "Why?" she at last murmured in a choking voice. "Why did you tire of me so soon? What did I do to displease you, Roger? If only you'd explained it to me, given me another chance-"'
"But my poor child." he interrupted, with a grimace of irritation, "be reasonable. Could you have expected permanence from me? I surely would not have married you, since you had given me everything I wished. No, on the contrary, I'm quite grateful. If I cast you aside, you might drift from lover to lover till finally you lost your beauty and all your charm. You might wind up in a poorhouse. Whereas here, as you will see, you will be well fed and clothed and housed, and you can devote your entire life to pleasure. I know how passionate you are, I know that you are insatiable and that it takes more than one man to satisfy you. Well, here, you'll have all the men you can dream of, wealthy and sophisticated, men of the world and you will find them interesting. No, I think you're quite fortunate, Michelle, because in this way I have provided for you."
She looked at him as if she could not believe the hypocrisy and the treachery of which he had just shown himself to be capable. Then she lowered her eyes, and tears began to seep from under her eyelids as she drew a long breath, taking stock of what was happening to her. Finally she said, in a trembling voice, "If that is the way you wish it, Roger, let it be so. I have never hurt you and I have never had anything for you but the kindest of thoughts, all of my love. You were the first man who ever had me, and I think you know that. If you say I am insatiable, it is because, wanting to please you. I gave myself willingly to all of your desires and your impulses. But if you are finished with me, then I won't plead, only, in the name of heaven, this is nothing more than a whorehouse-"
"You do Sir Henry Wilmerson a great injustice, Michelle."' he interposed. "It is nothing like that at all. Only a very limited number of men are allowed to join Les Amants Prodigues. And not every woman offered to this organization is accepted by Sir Henry. It is a bringing together of men dedicated to pleasure and of women whose only role in life is to make that pleasure possible."
"Call it by any name you wish. Roger, it is still a brothel. I see now what you think of me. But I realize that I can't do anything about it now that I'm a prisoner here, and I have no desire to be further whipped and shamed. So I'll resign myself. I only hope that one day you don't really fall in love."
And with this, she turned away and put a hand to her eyes to hide from him the agony of soul that had seized her.
It was true at this moment that a tiny bit of remorse entered his mind, but was as quickly dismissed, "You'd better dress so that I can bring you into the dining room, Michelle," he said impatiently, glancing at his wristwatch. "For tonight, at any rate, you are the guest of honor. You will meet many of there other members and discover how fascinating cultured and personable they are. Come along now be a good girl."
She straightened now. took a long deep breath and her eves were tearless though they were still red from her fit of weeping. "I'm ready,'" she said in a voice that now betrayed no emotion. "If I must be a whore, I'll try to be a good one. I owe at least that much to you. who were my teacher."
He flushed with indignation but realized only too well the justice of her scathing remark. "At least give me your arm. so that it will appear that you are escorting me to dinner," she said as she eyed him. her face expressionless.
"Willingly."' She took his arm as he extended it, and together they went down the corridor and into the elegant dining salon. There was an enormous table, which could hold easily a hundred or more guests. The room might have been styled from some great Norman castle of the thirteenth century, with a dining hall as large as nearly a dozen rooms. There were tapestries on the wall, the chairs were straight backed, carved with exquisite craftsmanship, thickly upholstered with red velvet, and they had arms which could be grasped by the hands of the guests-and for what purpose we shall readily see.
But tonight, at the dining table there were only about a dozen men. All of them wore the red silken robe like that which Roger Vancourt had donned. The gray-bearded host, in view of the small attendance, had abandoned his post as the titular head of the table as the establishment, and came to take a seat next to the Baron Claude Renoir, a man of forty-seven, paunchy, with haughty features, and whom Roger Vancourt knew to be a perverse sadist and voyeur.
As Michelle entered on Roger's arm. the guests at the table looked up and a simultaneous, admiring gasp of "Aahhh!" rose to greet the newcomers.
"Fellow Cockmasters," Sir Henry Wilmerson rose, a glass of sherry in his hand, "May I introduce to you Roger Vancourt, who is now one of us, accepted this very night as a Cockmaster, and the charming Michelle, who is to become our latest Dispenser of Joy, to succeed unfortunate little Edmee!"
"What a ravishing redhead!" the Baron Claude Renoir hissed, staring boldly at Michelle's thrusting bosom against the low-cut styling of the frock.
"Is she ours yet. Head Cockmaster?" there came from Count Richard Everard. a disdainful-looking wavy-brown-haired man in his late thirties who looked far too effete to be feared by a woman, and yet who was in his own way perverse a sadist as the Baron across the table from him.
"Not yet,'" Sir Henry replied. "You know our rules, Cockmaster Everard. You will have ample opportunity to enjoy her favors tomorrow when she is put through the training tests. For tonight she is our honored guest. Come here, my dear Michelle, and sit beside me."
"What an enormous table!" Michelle gasped.
"That is because on occasions, like our annual meeting, the semi-annual festivities and of course our Carnival at Lent,'" Sir Henry Wilmerson retorted. "We have not only our full contingent of members but they also have the right to bring a visitor. A visitor may come to us twice a year, upon being introduced and accepted by the majority of members at the time of his first visit and his introduction by that member of our society. But only twice a year. However, he is allowed to take part at that time in the, shall we say special entertainment facilities of my chateau. Sometimes our girls, our Dispensers of Joy, I should say are extremely occupied. But tomorrow, my dear Michelle, I promise that you shall be the center of attention."
Roger Vancourt led his coppery-haired mistress into the huge room, and brought her over to Sir Henry Wilmerson, who himself rose and very courteously assisted her to sit down to his right. She turned scarlet at meeting his avid gaze, remembering how he had used her in the foyer of the chateau just a little while ago.
"Are all the other Dispensers of Joy present, Sir Henry?" Roger Vancourt inquired as he took his place on the other side of he table, next to Edouard Troblieu, the 42 year old industrialist from Lyon who had just been admitted to the secret cult and who, it was rumored, had divorced his wife of twenty years so that he could be free to enjoy his newly won membership.
"We have six this evening, and the others are. at my request, enjoying a little sabbatical as it were," Sir Henry Wilmerson retorted. "But I wish Michelle here to meet them, for she is going to morrow to become one of them-that is, as soon as she passes her initiation."
Turning to the scarlet-faced redhead, he put his hand on her thigh and whispered in an ardent voice loud enough to be heard by his nearest neighbors, "I myself shall conduct that initiation, my beauty, but be sure that I shall give you every consideration and assistance. As far as I am concerned, you are already worthy of being a Dispenser of Joy. But you must. I fear, meet the tests we have set down as obligatory."
So saying, he lifted a silver bell and shook it several times. At the far back of the room, a door opened and Roger Vancourt saw six breathtakingly beautiful young women approaching. They wore what seemed to be a silken tunic, with shoulder straps so narrow that they were hardly visible at first glance, a garment which molded the waist and followed the curves of the hips, and then, like a dress, ended at mid-thigh. They wore no stockings, but high-heeled sandals pedestaled them and set into exquisite relief the musculature of their calves and thighs.
"Approach, my dears," Sir Henry called. Then, turning to the redhead beside him, "Yes, this is the costume you'll wear from tomorrow on. It's quite practical. Observe-come here a bit, Renee."
At this command, a delectably petite auburn-haired young woman of about twenty-three, no more than five feet three inches in height, smilingly approached and stood before the head Cockmaster. With right thumb and forefinger he lifted up the hem of the tunic, and the scandalized Michelle could see that Renee was absolutely naked under it.
"It is, as you will observe, quite practical," he said in the manner of a professor explaining a lesson to a shy pupil." This Vancourt, is Renee. She has been with us some eighteen months, and in another eighteen, if she does not have the misfortune to incur enough demerits to become a bitch, she will become a household servant with many privileges. All right. Renee, get along with the others, they may want something of you." He gave the charming petite auburn-haired girl a slap on the bottom and then leaned back to study Michelle's reactions at close range.
Roger Vancourt devoured each Dispenser of Joy with glittering eyes, for now that he was a fully qualified member he could hardly wait to enjoy his prerogatives of compelling these delectable girls to submit to him in any way that he would choose. Sir Henry Wilmerson had already pointed out, just as the first course was being served, that when Michelle would have her initiation the next day, she, like all the other girls who filled this role of servicing the members, would be impressed with the need for not only obedience but also enthusiasm. Punishment could easily be awarded to those who, while mechanically yielding their bodies, showed in any way a hesitance or holding back and thus limiting the pleasure of their masters. Even a visitor could complain of a Dispenser of Joy if, while servicing him, she failed to delight him with her eagerness and humility. And there were several other orders which Roger Vancourt knew would be difficult for beautiful spirited Michelle to carry out without some measure of revolt
... revolt which would inevitably condemn her to punishment and thus perhaps hasten that terrible day when she would be consigned to the ferocious Danish mastiffs who prowled the park of the chateau to keep out any unwanted visitors.
After Renee, who wore a silken tunic of a warm yellow shade, Sir Henry Wilmerson introduced Amelia. She was tall, about five feet eight inches in height, twenty-two years old, with a wistful, oval-shaped face and long golden hair that fell beneath her shoulderblades and nearly to her waist. Her tunic was a flaming red, and since her skin was unusually milky, this color combination accentuated in a very provocative way the tint of both hair and skin. Whereas Renee had small but beautifully rounded and widely spaced titties, Amelia's bosom was high-perched, closely set together and juttingly rounded, like young cantaloupes and her behind was quite as opulent, which was in delicious contrast to her long shapely legs.
Roger Vancourt felt his prick stiffening savagely, naked as it was under the ritualistic robe which proclaimed his status in this secret society. It was all he could do to keep from summoning first Renee and then Amelia to service him, and he had the impression of being like a little boy in a candy shop, not knowing which tempting morsel to select for a first bite. He remonstrated with himself and told himself that from now on, he could take all the time in the world he wished and enjoy as many women as he wished without having to give account to any of them. They were slaves, their opinions meant nothing, and their needs must pleasure him or else be punished. And those scenes of punishment would also serve to entertain him.
Truly this was the ideal way to enjoy a woman!
The third Dispenser of Joy in service on this particular evening was Dolores, who was twenty-five, with jet-black hair, olive skin, svelte of figure and with the face of a sensual courtesan. Her tunic clung to her shapely body, emphasizing the spectacular thrust of big ripe pear-shaped titties, the narrow waist and then the flaring hips with their broad bottom-ovals sinuously separated. She was the senior of all the girls, having been a Dispenser of Joy for thirty-two months. Four more and she would be elevated to the role of servant, thence to be dispatched to some elegant bordello in Buenos Aires or Rio or possibly Panama City. As Sir Henry Wilmerson introduced each of these beautiful houris to the newest Cockmaster, Roger Vancourt, he gave a brief biography and a commentary on how many punishment demerits she had acquired. Dolores, in her almost three full years of service, had incurred the wrath of her masters only twenty-seven times. If in the next two months she could escape getting more than seven demerits, she would successfully have completed her term of office and thus be immune from the atrocious punishment of being mated with the sixty Danish mastiffs.
Her silken tunic was green, and it made her look the more exotic and insolent. Roger Vancourt felt his prick ready to burst, and it was only with the greatest of efforts that he could restrain himself.
The fourth girl was Reba, an American girl, twenty-four, of medium height with small orange-like breasts but a breathtakingly sumptuous bottom and delightfully rounded thighs. Her hair was dark-brown and styled in a long pageboy; the color of her clinging silk tunic-like garment was blue. Sir Henry, with an affable chuckle, introduced her as, "Here is a Dispenser of Joy who does credit to our noble cocks, for I tell you, Vancourt, that of all the charming damsels whom you will find here to pleasure you, Reba has the most talented mouth and also anus for the satisfaction of your cock's most ferocious desires. I would pronounce her unhesitatingly the finest French artiste of all our girls, although to be sure Dolores is a very close second. One of our pleasures here, as you will find out for yourself soon enough, is the game of comparisons, which is never really settled or over. Many of you will doubtless want to wager on which girl is more expert in fucking or sucking or being buggered. It is a tourney in which no one really loses, gentlemen. But to continue. Now we have the charming new Dispenser of Joy known as Madge, a very charming girl from London who came to us only three months ago and is therefore ahead of Michelle, our latest recruit. I say that she is English, gentlemen, but by now all of you know that she does not have the general prudery so characteristic of many English girls. Isn't that right, my little beauty?"
The girl in question, with chestnut hair set in a fashionable upsweep and wearing a glossy black silk tunic and matching high-heeled sandals, demurely lowered her eyes. She had an impertinent heart-shaped face, with an up-tilting nose and rather full lips, particularly the upper lip. She had dark blue eyes and highest cheekbones, and a delicious accent which Sir Henry identified as being Cockney. She was about five feet six inches in height, twenty-one years of age, her skin had the soft warm pinkness of a baby's. Her breasts were elegantly rounded but not overly spectacular, her hips were curvaceous but not exaggeratedly so; but the real verve of her beauty was, as Sir Henry himself remarked, her obvious enthusiasm for erotic pleasures. She was also, he intimated with a sly wink, something of a masochist.
The sixth girl on service for this night was as tall as Amelia, but much slimmer. Her name was Stephanie, she had sandy-colored hair, was from Bordeaux, twenty-six years old, and she had been a Dispenser of Joy for a little more than two years. She looked sophisticated, worldly, and her dark-brown tunic voluptuously contrasted with her carnation-tinted skin, just as it emphasized the long shapely thighs and calves the saucily impertinent and high-set, spacious ovals of her bottom, and the closely spaced pear-shaped globes of her bosom. Sir Henry introduced her as second only to Dolores in rank, and as the former fiancee of a member who had since died just six months ago after delivering her over to the chateau ... not unlike the way Roger Vancourt himself had done with his red-haired mistress Michelle.
Michelle herself sat there trembling and glancing all around the table at the various men in their silken robes, for Sir Henry from time to time, turning to whisper into her ear, had informed her of this or that member's sexual proclivities as a kind of prospectus of her future duties. She was very pale now, and she trembled fitfully, and she could not bear to stare at Roger Vancourt across and at the other end of the table.
But the meal was festive. Course followed course, and the six beautiful Dispensers of Joy moved here and there among the members of the visitors to fill their glasses with wine or their plates with the excellent rack of lamb and garden vegetables which was the main course. The dessert was a bombe surprise in the form of a naked nymph standing on a pedestal with hands on hips and thighs widely spread offering herself. As Sir Henry Wilmerson himself mockingly declared, it was unusually appropriate and fitting. The chef had outdone himself in modeling this dessert after lovely and unfortunate Edmee, who had regrettably earned thirty-five black marks before her three years of service were up and as a consequence had been consigned to the servicing of Sir Henry's dogs instead.
"Well, that completes the introductions. The other Dispensers," Sir Henry concluded, "will doubtless be on hand tomorrow afternoon when we have Michelle's initiation. And now I think it is time to send these delightful young ladies under the table, for I see by the state of many of you that you are in need of relief ... you most of all, Vancourt."
Roger nodded, his face flushed and his body shaken by tremors. His companions on either side of him looked and smiled good-naturedly, understanding how excited he must feel on this first night as a Cockmaster.
"Dolores," Roger Vancourt finally pronounced in a voice that trembled with impatience and desire. "Come between my legs and relieve me of this ache in my prick!"
"At once, noble Cockmaster," the Spanish beauty murmured as she sank down on her knees and disappeared under the table. A moment later, Roger Vancourt stiffened and uttered a cry of delight as he felt her slim fingers pushing up the hems of his robe and then felt her warm breath on his thighs and finally the touch of her lips on her swollen prickhead.
"If I am your guest, Sir Henry," Michelle Roibuis said in a hoarse voice that trembled with anger and grief and thwarted despair, "Should I not too be allowed to have my pleasure?'"
"But of a certainly, my dear Michelle," the bearded Englishman was all attention. "You have only to indicate your preference, and you will have your heart's wish carried out!"
"Not my heart's. Sir Henry, my pussy's." Michelle naughtily corrected, to Sir Henry's uproarious delight. "I've never had a girl do to me what she does to a man. Do you think it could be arranged?"
"Why yes, to be sure. And I think that Amelia has at heart a bit of eagerness for that sweet sport," Sir Henry confided. "Amelia, my dear, will you go under the table and do dear Michelle soon to be your companion in love and pleasure the favor of gamahuching her until she spends?" I "With the greatest of pleasure, Head Cockmaster," ' Amelia gasped as she disappeared under the table on all fours.
A moment later, Michelle uttered a sobbing gasp as she felt Amelia's fingers glide up her stockinged legs, push up her cocktail frock's skirt, and slip, laying bare her quim. And then Amelia's warm lips and tongue began to caress that love-core of hers, while her head sank back against her chair and her eyes rolled in ecstasy.
"Enjoy it while you can, my dear Michelle," Sir Henry said with a sardonic little smile. "Once you become a Dispenser of Joy, it is strictly forbidden any girl to have these unnatural relations with her colleagues. Indeed, discovery of any Lesbian activities condemns the Dispenser to from eight to ten demerits and as many nights in the punishment dungeon. When we command that you perform before us, that is one thing, my dear ladies; but you may not solace yourselves, since your bodies no longer belong to you, but to us who are your masters. Remember that always, Michelle, if you don't want to mate with my Danish mastiffs!"
Michelle was groaning now, and it is doubtful that she heard the warning of the sardonic and cruel lord of the mansion. Amelia's tongue and lips were now bringing her to come, while at the same time her lover who had delivered her into the hands of these unleashed and depraved voluptuaries, was groaning with his own joy at feeling Dolores's lips and tongue draw his own organ to explosive frenzy.
He suddenly uttered a roar of ecstasy as he felt himself discharge. Dolores swallowed it all, and then he felt her lips and tongue cleansing his organ, and as she finally withdrew from under the robe and between his thighs, he heard her mutter in a very soft voice, "Thank you, revered Cockmaster."
"You are quite welcome, Dolores," he gasped. Sir Henry Wilmerson called out to him: 'This is another of our customs, Vancourt. Whenever a Dispenser of Joy relieves the urgency of a man's cock, whether by mouth or anus or pussy, it is obligatory upon her to thank him humbly for the privilege and honor he has done her. Similarly, if during your stay at my chateau, you should come upon any of these charming girls alone, they must at once kneel down, take out your cock and pay homage to it or run the risk of severe punishment."
"It is a veritable paradise, Sir Henry, even more fascinating than the once which I am told Mahomet promised to the faithful of Islam," Roger Vancourt boisterously shouted.
"You may well say that, Vancourt. But now, what do you say we all adjourn to the compound where we shall watch dear little Edmee whom we all miss, in her debut with one of my virile hounds?" the master of the chateau now smilingly proposed.
CHAPTER TEN
The dinner was as good as one could find in any of the gourmet restaurants of Europe, and the wines served were vintage and proper to each course. Hence, by the time coffee and liquors were served by the beautiful Dispensers of Joy, Roger Vancourt was in a state of erotic frenzy. Small wonder: here within an hour or two of entering this mysterious chateau, he had already realized some of his most intoxicating fantasies. There, in a silken robe under which his flesh quivered and was naked and vulnerable, he savored elegant food and wine, while under the table and with her head bowed between his thighs and hidden by the robe, one of the most delectable and tempting young women he had ever seen, was busy Frenching him.
Besides this, he watched his former mistress swoon and moan and cry out with ecstasy as she herself was being gamahuached. It seemed to him that in his own spasm, he could even feel Michelle's.
"I wish to show you, Vancourt, what is known as the Bitchery," Sir Henry Wilmerson touched his ascetic lips with his napkin, lit a cigar and rose from the table. "We shall have Renee and Amelia put Michelle to bed in her room. The other young ladies will accompany us to the Bitchery, for the sight of this will be most useful in reminding them to be always obedient and gratefully cooperative when we do them the privilege and the honor of wanting to enjoy their bodies which belong to us, after all."
Michelle Robuis had drunk a great deal of wine as well as the dessert champagne, and she was tipsy by now. She staggered to her feet, maudlin tears running down her cheeks, and she exclaimed, "I don't want to stay here! The only people who have been nice to me are those girls under the table who loved me! What are you men good for, anyhow? And you, Roger, tiring of me and turning me over to this horrid man who says such terrible things about women! You'll be sorry one day, you mark my words!"
Sir Henry Wilmerson grimaced. "Disgusting. But then, it is our rule that a girl who is to become a Dispenser the next day is given-much as a condemned person, you can understand her final night of liberty in which whatever she wishes is granted. Well, she has tasted Lesbian love perhaps for the first time. Henceforth, if she does it, she will be in violation of our rules, and she and her partner will be subject to the most stringent punishment we can devise." Having delivered this pithy dissertation which expressed in a word his contempt for womanhood save as a vehicle of pleasure, the bearded and titled English man glared at Renee and Amelia, who hastened to lift lovely Michelle by her elbows out of her chair, smooth down her frock and slip, and then convey her upstairs to the room she was to occupy henceforth. She began to weep as they led her away, but on the threshold of the huge dining chamber, she managed to turn around and send a last imploring look at Roger Vancourt. He did not see it; his attention was already obsessively fixed on delicious olive-skinned Dolores, who had suddenly been ordered to kneel down and French the insolent and vicious Baron Claude Renoir. She swallowed all the gism he gushed into her mouth, without losing a drop, and then she thanked him. This was the rule, Sir Henry pointed out, and he complimented Dolores on her expertise.
He, Roger Vancourt and the other Cockmasters in their red silken robes and the several visitors in their blue robes (thus color was used to designate the rank of any guest in the chateu) followed Sir Henry Wilmerson down a long and narrow corridor to the south wing of the enormous mansion. The bearded lord of the chateau, having lit a cigar and blowing wreaths of smoke as he walked ahead, carried on a didactic lecture of the various features of this particular wing of his domain, probably for Roger Vancourt's benefit as well as that of the several new visitors who might stay only for a weekend and then come again only one more time till the following year. In every way, as he pointed out, membership in Les Amants Prodigues was shown to be a rare prize, an exclusive property of a very privileged and fortunate few, so that even those who were permitted a taste of this carnal heaven on earth-the visitors would mournfully remember that they could not enjoy it as they would most desire.
"You may wonder," he said as they reached at last an opaque glass door, "what becomes of all the charming girls who have, over the years, gratified our noble pricks. Well, I have felt it best to replace them after three years, since with all the enthusiasm in the world, even a young and lovely and voluptuous girl becomes too familiar to the palate. One becomes jaded, and in a paradise such as this, particularly when one pays such a premium to be admitted to it, it would be mundane to the utmost to be bored. Hence, a new girl replaces the Dispenser every three years. Now, if that girl has been diligent and dutiful and has not acquired thirty-five punishment demerits, each demerit counting as one night in the punishment quarters, she becomes a servant. She may wait upon tables, she may execute small errands, but she is sexually forbidden to us of the club, since after all we enjoyed her long ago. Ultimately she is sent to an exclusive bordello beyond Europe generally to South America or the Caribbean. The receipts from these sales help defray our own expenses, gentlemen. Also, the goodwill of such sales very often makes it possible for us to find an exceptional new candidate for the post of Dispenser of Joy.
"And now as to the Bitches-such I call them when they have been sentenced to he Bitchery. But if a girl who is privileged to gratify us all is punished for thirty-five nights out of her three years of service, it can be assumed that she is rebellious or lacks enthusiasm or wit, qualities vitally essential here for our own pleasure. Well, then, she must be punished, and she must be shown that she is losing a great deal in not being permitted to service our noble pricks. And what could be more fitting, gentlemen than to have her service my superb mastiffs, who deserve a reward for protecting the estate from robbers or prying fools who would annoy us? That is why I have created this Bitchery. Finally, after a year, if it occurs that several girls are sentenced to the Bitchery, those who have already had a year of service in it may be salvaged as servants, thence to be sent to the brothels of which I have already spoken. As you can see it is a kind of cycle, continually redoing itself but the upshot of it is that we who are the masters have always at our disposal a new and tempting supply of delightful young women to gratify and to renew our desires.'"
At last finishing his somewhat professorial lecture, Sir Henry Wilmerson opened the door and beckoned to the others to follow him. For Roger Vancourt, needless to say this was strikingly new, and he could not help uttering a gasp of stupefaction. He had not seen this enclosure leading to the chateau, since it had been dark when he had driven into the entrance of the great park But here was a long wide passage constructed of heavy weatherproofed glass, completely opaque. It ran for about fifty feet, and then it broadened into a kind of little greenhouse perhaps twenty feet long, and ten feet wide, with a ceiling of about eight feel in height. But one would not say that there were flowers grown in this singular kind of greenhouse: for here was the terrible, obscene coupling machine which Sir Henry Wilmerson and his Sengalese trainers had invented for the mating of lovely naked girls with his huge Danish hounds!
Actually, there were three machines, and the principle was remarkably simple but effective. Imagine a kind of baby's cradle, with a horizontal kind of log in the middle which could be raised or lowered. Imagine a girl crouching on all fours with her body fitted over this cradle from waist to neck. A rubber yoke was fitted to the horizontal log in this simulated "cradle," and this in turn was locked around the neck of the girl-bitch. Her wrists were shackled to rings made of iron and which locked just by pressure, fixed to the rear sides of this singular device.
To the left of each of these apparatuses there was fixed a tall metal post, around the middle of which was soldered a long chain ending in a hook. This hook snapped onto the metal buckle of the leather collar which was put around the neck of every girl-bitch, for she was scheduled to report to the coupling machine at such-and-such a time during the day. Sir Henry Wilmerson had drawn up an elaborate and quite scientific schedule for the three unfortunate young women who presently occupied the Bitcherry. If another girl should suddenly fall into disfavor and earn more than the maximum number of punishment nights allowed, then the girl who had been longest in the Bitchery would be made a servant and the other girl would take her place in this curious enclosure where three machines allowed three beautiful young women to service three Danish hounds all at the same moment.
There was a rubber mat on the ground in front of each of these cradles. Here each girl would kneel, and then arch her body forward over the "cradle." Sir Henry Wilmerson turned to the bemused spectators: "As I told you, lovely Edmee was condemned to the Bitchery, thereby creating an opening in the ranks of our delightful Dispensers. To this our newest member, Cockmaster Vancourt owes his presence among us now as a duly qualified member, since it was his charming Michelle who tomorrow, assuming she passes all her tests, will replace darling Edmee. But now let us see how this coupling machine of mine works. I will call Caliban."
With this ,he took a silver whistle dangling from a chain round his neck and blew it three times. A huge Sengalese in uniform and fez, hurried out into the glass enclosure of this curious "greenhouse"" which was actually a mating room for two-legged bitches with their four-legged "husband." He was enormous, with a huge, moonlike face, grinning from ear to ear.
"Caliban, let us see Edmee in one of these machines."
"Very good, massa! She sleep now, but I bring her out right away."
"Thank you, Caliban. Since we are giving her one extra coupling today, she can be spared one tomorrow, I believe."
"How many times does a girl-bitch couple with a dog per day?" Roger Vancourt demanded in a voice that trembled with lust.
"I have about sixty hounds in all, my dear fellow. Figure three girls in the Bitchery, each girl has five matings a day. Thus within twelve days, she is back to her first lover. Of course the schedule is rotated so that the other two girls have approximately the same obligations. The only problem is that occasionally some of my hounds prefer a girl's anus to her pussy when they mate. Then it is unfortunate, because it becomes a greater ordeal. But the girl-bitch is shown her schedule the day before it begins, and she is expected to crawl in, completely naked, depilated (she is punished if a single hair appears on her pussy, for all girl-bitches are at once depilated before being mated with my hounds), and woe betide her if she is so much as thirty seconds late!"
Roger Vancourt shuddered, but all of a sudden his eyes bulged with disbelief, and he felt his prick hardening savagely under his robe.
For here came the giant Sengalese known as Caliban, holding a dog leash which was affixed to the collar around the neck of a completely naked and hairless-pussied sandy-haired girl who was tall, yet of gracefully rounded thighs and surprisingly plump bottomcheeks, though her breasts were somewhat small and pointed. She forced a beaming smile on her red lips as she neared the group and the bearded master of the dwelling, and she docilely followed Caliban towards the first of these "coupling machines" at the extreme left of this rectangular enclosure at the end of the passageway of thick and non-transparent glass.
"In winter, the girl-bitches exercise here," Sir Henry promptly explained to all within hearing, "but in summer and spring, when it's pleasant they are allowed outdoors. They are left to their own devices so long as they present themselves well ahead of schedule for their matings. Also, once a girl has become a Bitch, she cannot have the right to sexual intercourse even with my Negro aides or the cook or the tailor or anyone else who is a servant at my household. And her hairless pussy symbolize this deprivation, you see. On the other hand, a former Dispenser of Joy who has escaped the Bitcherry and becomes a servant and retains her pussyhair, may satisfy the Negroes and the rest of my household staff. Thus even in the lowly, we have privileges and restrictions."
"Incredible!" Roger Vancourt stammered hoarsely.
The Sengalese known as "Caliban" now led poor Edmee over to the apparatus on the left. She knelt on the rubber mat, taking care on it to straddle her knees to maximum. Then she extended her arms out towards the forward and distant sides of this "cradle," and the Negro at once locked her wrists into the metal rings. Now, adjusting the rubber yoke from the log around her neck, and also pushing a lever in the "cradle" which seemed to lift the horizontal log-piece up against Edmee's bare bubbies and forcing her head to tilt up higher than her bottom, he adjusted her to his satisfaction. Roger Vancourt stared between the pale white thighs of the unfortunate girl-bitch: it was true, the lips of her pussy were pink and hairless and twitching already as if in expectation of what was about to take place.
"You see, gentlemen," Sir Henry explained didactically again, "while this cradle seems to be on rollers and movable, it is actually fixed into the floor, but it may be lifted or lowered at will. This depends not only on the good attitude of our charming girl-bitches but on their individual physique, and particularly on the proclivities or particular physical characteristics of the mastiff to which they are scheduled at the moment. Now in Edmee's case, we shall have Scipio, who prefers her dainty bottomhole to the soft beguilement of her quim. This is why I have not up-reared her bottom quite so much as might be expected if I wished to gratify Scipio only with her quim. But you will see for yourself!"
Edmee had closed her eyes and she was shivering as the Negro competently finished the fettering. She could not very well lift herself or twist from side to side once all the applications of the "cradle" had been effected. On the other hand, she could close her thighs or move her feet as she chose. "In general, a girl does not do this unless she is passionately eager to taste a little more friction from the mastiff's cock than is customary," again Sir Henry explained. "These animals have been enjoying female pussy for a good many years now, and they would not think of passing up their daily rations. As a result, they are enthusiastic and energetic each day when it comes time to visit their new brides at the coupling machine. And hence if a girl moves around a great deal and readjusts the angle of her thighs or tilts up her bottom, she get a little more gouging than she bargained for and her animated partner may also claw her back with his sharp claws. I do not think, Edmee being quite new to the Bitchery, that she will move around too much. Well, my dear, if you'd only have been more careful, you might still be pleasuring us all. What a pity!"
A choking sob was Edmee's only reply as she waited, her body beginning to shiver. The Sengalese had disappeared, and now they could hear the baying of a great dog which he led forward on a leash, holding it in check and muttering to it in a dialect which apparently the great beast understood.
The other beauties who had followed the members of this club out to the enclosure were petrified with terror as they saw "Caliban" lead Scipio up to the genuflecting naked Edmee, saw the Negro prod her asshole and then mutter in the mastiff's ear, saw the bony red organ of the Danish hound thrust out. And then with an avid bark, the huge dog lofted itself in the air, its front paws bearing down on the girl's upper back as it gouged its organ towards the shadowy crease between her trembling buttocks.
"I warn you not to move about too much, or he may lacerate you, my charming one," Sir Henry called ironically.
Edmee uttered a cry. The dog, with unerring accuracy, had just entered its bony protuberance into her tender asshole. Her eyes bulged with agony as she felt the animal thrust itself as far as it could go. Her body shook and jerked against the "cradle" to which she was tethered. Then whimpering sobs and piteous wordless cries were heard while the animal bayed and growled its joy.
Finally it ejaculated deep in her bowels, and Edmee uttered a gurgling cry, her eyes closing, her entire body jerking violently, with abhorrence and involuntary response-for after all she had been a whore to men who had taught her to enjoy being buggered.
Roger Vancourt was trembling as he turned to wards chestnut-haired Madge and commanded, "Suck my cock, I'm bursting!" And as the voluptuous young woman at once docilely knelt and obeyed, Roger Vancourt knew he had made no mistake in becoming one of "Les Amants Prodigues,"
CHAPTER ELEVEN
Roger Vancourt slept a long and dreamless sleep that night, in the huge four-posted and canopied bed of the elegant guest chamber to which he had been assigned and which would be his whenever he visited the Chateau de L'Ombre, now that he was officially accepted as a Cockmaster. When he woke, it was well past noon, and he hastened to don his silken robe and sandals, and to go down to the dining room in search of breakfast.
He was fearful that he might have missed the initiation ceremonies of his beautiful mistress Michelle, and the fear of that disappointment came to his mind more readily than a twinge of conscience over having abandoned her to this den of debauchery. As he strode down the corridor towards the winding stairway which led to the main floor, he encountered two beautiful young women whom he understood were Dispensers of Joy, since they wore the customary long tunic-dress and highheeled sandals. One was jet-black-haired, about five feet five inches in heights, with oval-shaped face, dark blue eyes and a sensual mouth. Her skin was a flawless ivory, and as he stared at her elegantly supple white thighs, he felt his prick hardening. Her breasts were stunningly rounded and widely spaced, like small melons, in contrast to the rest of her elegantly proportioned body.
Her companion was a light-brown-haired girl about an inch taller, with round, sweet face, a soft carnation-tinted skin which her purple tunic set off delectably and revealed as it clung to the forms of bosom and hips a lush ripeness that made Roger Vancourt experience a new desire.
At the sight of him, both girls knelt down and, bowing their heads, simultaneously chorused, "Good morning, honored Cockmaster Vancourt." And his ego swelled as much as did his prick at this recognition of his status and the feeling of power which it gave him to stare upon these two beautiful young women whose kneeling humility proclaimed them slaves. If he had met them on the streets of Paris, they would assuredly have twitted him or mockingly looked away with annoyance at his stare of desire. But now they were subservient to his slightest wish on pain of punishment.
"Will the honored Cockmaster Vancourt permit each of us to pay homage?" the black-haired beauty anxiously queried. Pleasantly puzzled, he stared down at her for an answer. "My name is Daphne, honored Cockmaster," she quickly replied." It is our rule that if we should see you or any other Cockmaster when we are alone, we kneel and salute your royal prick. However, since both of us are together, we wish both to homage you and pay our respect. The difficulty is that, if it is your desire to have fulfillment, the first of us who so homages you may succeed and thus prevent the other from proving her own joyous submission."
It was so ingeniously expressed that Roger Vancourt beamed with delight. Here at last was a paradise on earth, a paradise even more tempting and lasciviously exciting than any which Mahomet had promised the faithful of Islam with a garden full of houris to while away their cares in eternity. Yes, this present, this nowness, was far more thrilling to him, and it made the sacrifice of money and the abandoning of Michelle very much worthwhile.
"Why as to that, my beauties," he replied, "you may each of you do what you wish. I am not at the moment in need of fulfillment, but if your sweet lips and tongues can procure it for me, so much the better. And you, my lovely one, what is your name?" This, to the light-brown-haired kneeling girl.
"Alice, honored Cockmaster."
"I will let you begin then, Alice, with your lips and tongue. But when you feel me growing desirous, let Daphne replace you," ' he instructed. "Oh, one thing more-has the initiation of the new Dispenser of Joy begun as yet?"
"No, honored Cockmaster Vancourt," black-haired Daphne at once rejoined. "The Head Cockmaster insisted that it take place only if you were present, and since many of the Cockmasters enjoyed the pleasures of the library and of the special films of the collection last night, some of them are still abed as you were. The weather is very beautiful today, and the initiation will take place at the rear of the chateau, in the south section of the garden."
"Very good. And now, Alice, I await the display of your technique,"
"Roger Vancourt lightheartedly declared.
Now it was really thrilling to have Daphne move suddenly to one side of him and lift up his robe and hold it there so that her colleague might caress his bare calves with her slim fingers the while she applied her soft lips in a gentle O to the dormant meatus-tip. But at the first contact of her warm breath and the feeling of her moist lips against his ramrod, Roger Vancourt suddenly stiffened with a savage surge of gismic energy, and had to dig his fingernails into his palms to restrain the maddening urge to ejaculate then and there.
It was evident that Alice was an expert, by the very way in which she brushed the tip of his prick without at once taking it into her mouth. She tantalized him thus, sending soft gusts of breath against his organ, till she had made the tour of the entire shaft and then the gnarled and hairy balls and the scrotum. By this time he was absolutely panting with lust, and Alice thrust out her nimble pink tongue and drew it backwards down along his cock to the very tip as she retreated. He rolled his eyes and closed them, grinding his teeth and gouging his palms with his nails, for he had seldom before experienced so imaginative and prolonged a Frenching.
"Now let Daphne try,'" he hoarsely commanded.
So it was Alice who moved to one side to hold up his robe so that her black-haired colleague might replace her. Daphne put her soft red lips to the tip of his prick at once and gently took it in between them, nuzzling lightly with her teeth, and then with the tip of her tongue against the puckering lips of his meatus. At the very first touch of her tongue on his sensitized cock, Roger Vancourt felt all his tides ready to burst, and with a hoarse bellow he announced: "I'm coming, bitch, swallow it down now, quickly!" His body shuddered violently, and he exploded into Daphne's warm sweet mouth.
The lovely brunette, without in the least being flustered, held onto the backs of his calves with her supple fingers while she noisily and swiftly swallowed his essence. When she had finished, she demurely took a perfumed handkerchief from the pocket of her tunic, delicately wiped his organ, and said, "Thank you, Honored Cockmaster."
"You're quite welcome,'" he said languidly. "How long have you two girls been in service here?"
"I myself, not quite two years," the lovely black-haired sensual Daphne replied. "My friend Alice has been here just a year. She has only two demerits so far, which is one of the best records any novice has ever made. I myself have five. But they were incurred at the very start of my service here, and I have tried very hard to learn a lesson from them."
"How could anyone wish to punish you, my lovely black-haired goddess of gougnottage?" he chuckled.
"Well, Honored Cockmaster," Daphne flushed adorably as she explained, still on her knees beside Alice and still holding up his robe in case he wished more sexual attentions, "My former master who brought me here taught me much about love, but I never did like to use my mouth on his noble organ. As soon as I had become a Dispenser of Joy, I naturally had to do this, and I'm afraid that I showed certain hesitation. But I am sure, Honored Cockmaster Vancourt, that you would not wish to report me now for indifference?"
Though her lips smiled, her eyes were anxious, and the cynical Roger Vancourt hastened to reassure her: "To be sure, I would not report you, lovely Daphne. You are almost the equal of Alice, whom I find to be one of the best cocksuckers who has ever saluted my noble organ. But I am starving for some breakfast now, so will you two lovely charmers not join me?"'
"We are honored, Cockmaster Vancourt," Alice said in a sweet clear voice. Both girls rose, and Roger Vancourt jubilantly gestured to them to let him escort them, each taking an arm, and thus the trio moved to the huge dining hall.
There were a number of other Cockmasters present as well as some of the visitors he had noticed the night before. Most of them, like himself, were breakfasting but the breakfast was robust: roast mutton, omelets, mushrooms in wine and brown sauce, fresh fruit of the season, a magnificent raspberry tart and strong coffee. Evidently the chef understood that robust fare tended to replenish the sexual fluid so copiously expended. There were, as Sir Henry Wilmerson had once told him, innumerable aphrodisiacs which might be tried in the event of prolonged orgies, which the doctors attached to this singular club had tested and perfected to prevent any harm to the individual's system if, of course, the dose were not repeated too soon.
Sir Henry, however, was not present, and Roger Vancourt learned from the piggish-faced Baron Hugo Baron who had his own harem back in Stuttgart, that he was busy with the preparations for Michelle's initiation into the roster of the Dispensers of Joy.
At the table now were twice as many of the Cockmasters in their red robes as he had met the night before. Evidently, whenever a new girl was added to the list of talented whores-which they undeniably were-Sir Henry Wilmerson as president of the club must have sent out invitations to the many members who did not reside too near the Chateau de L'Ombre. It was apparently an interesting and unusual ceremony, and many of the members came from as far as Italy and Holland; one man seated next to Roger Vancourt had come all the way from Constantinople. He was a tall, saturnine man in his late forties, with gray hair, his features pockmarked by what had once been smallpox as a youth-this he explained voluntarily and he was in the diplomatic service of his country, stationed most usually in Syria or Lebanon. But because of his seniority and the importance of his post, he had accumulated a good deal of sick leave, and so he utilized that time to visit the chateau when there were events of a particularly exciting nature. His name was Abdullah Monangi.
He told the envious Roger Vancourt how he had witnessed poor Edmee's debut as girl-bitch, and how she had wept and pleaded to be spared, which had cost her ten cruel lashes between her legs and across her shuddering buttocks, administered with a carriage whip by Sir Henry Wilmerson himself. Only then had she submitted to being knelt down and fettered to the "cradle" and bound in such a way that her bottom tilted lewdly up. thereby giving greater access and prominence to her hairless and plump cunt. And, as Abdullah Monangi himself declared with gusto, "It was a sight to watch her bottom try to wriggle about the moment Caliban led in Brutus, the biggest of Sir Henry's mastiffs. I swear that dog has a prick on him as large as a horse's, and when poor Edmee felt the bony tip penetrate between those tender lips which had formerly welcomed only the bony cocks of privileged persons like yourself and myself, my dear Vancourt, her wailing and her tears and pleas were really exquisite to hear. I myself required the services of Dolores for a much longer time than I had estimated, since even after she had sucked me off, I still felt savagely hard. That was because my eyes were glued to Edmee's bottom tossing and twisting under Brutus's energetic digs. And so nothing would do but that I had to bugger Dolores while facing that tempting scene and imagining myself to be Brutus servicing our departed Edmee."
From the Turk, Roger Vancourt understood that once a girl had been made a bitch and thereafter required to keep her pussy always hairless, she was not privileged to be fucked or buggered even by one of the servant like the Negroes. They could only use her mouth, and this they did to enforce upon her the awareness of losing her rank as a Dispenser of Joy; she had forever afterward forfeited the privilege of entertaining their pricks in either of her love-holes.
Having eaten well and being in superb appetite for the spectacle, Roger Vancourt and his new Turkish friend walked out to the section of the park behind the chateau where the initiation of Michelle Robuis was about to take place. The area had been roped off and a platform had been erected with a little stairway of about four wooden steps leading to it. On this Sir Henry, in tophat and tails, presided with a long black carriage whip, the wielding of which indicated that he was a master of the art. He ironically welcomed all the Cockmasters and their visitors, announced that because of the departure of Edmee for less worthy cocks than his and those of his friend, a new and very beautiful novice was about to make her debut as a Dispenser of Joy, assuming that she could pass the test about to be imposed upon her.
With this he ordered Michelle to ascend the stairway and stand beside him. She wore her cocktail frock of the night before, but she had been given lingerie, for she was now going to be stripped by auction. So, like a matser auctioneer, Sir Henry Wilmerson announced that bids were open for Michelle's frock. The winning bidder had the right to summon the beautiful red-haired victim down to his side, himself remove the frock, and then, with a chuckle of amusement, thrust the banknotes which had been his winning bid, into either her asshole or cunt, whereupon she was obliged to return to the platform and present the money to the Head Cockmaster.
Finally she was stark naked, the sadistic and piggish-faced German Baron Hugo having won her panties. That bid carried with it the right to either of her orifices, which he decided to enjoy during a respite in her forthcoming initiation.
Naked except for her sandals and trembling with fear, Michelle was now sent down among the spectators who formed a kind of semicircle between the platform and the ropes which sectioned off this part of the park. The weather was marvelously warm and the sun bright and clear. It accentuated her pale creamy skin to the utmost, and on the platform Sir Henry, whisking the carriage whip in the air above her, commanded: "Clench your fists at your sides and jog round and round until I tell you to stop!"
She did so, all too miserably aware of how her titties bounced and jiggled with every movement, and when she was too awkward or too stiff, a savage little flick of the carriage whip bit against her bottom, or, one supremely agonizing time, right into the shadowy crease separating those luscious bottomcheeks.
She was bathed in sweat after about ten minutes of this sport, and then it was that the German sadist claimed his time with her. Ordered to all fours, and told to bend her forehead down to the grass, Michelle crouched, shaking violently with the nervous reaction of this cruel ordeal. The Baron Hugo bared his prick, gripped the cheeks of her bottom and yawned them apart; then without lubrication dug himself into her asshole. A cry of pain tore from the coppery-haired victim, but instantly Sir Henry's lash leaped out and with remarkable skill bit against Michelle's shoulder, without touching her ravisher, who was crouching behind her dog-fashion.
All of the other Dispensers of Joy were present, and they were kneeling down to suck the organs of the excited Cockmasters and Visitors, or in some instances to offer their cunts and assholes to the straining organs of the excited spectators. Michelle was recalled to the platform and told that this would be a test of submission and self-discipline. There was a small tabouret and she was told to place her left leg upon it after doffing her sandal. This done, balancing on her other foot, she stared with horrified eyes as Sir Henry took a thin birch switch and announced to her, "You will keep your foot there until I have given you a dozen lashes. If you remove your foot at any time, we shall start all over again until you have reached the count of twelve. Till you do, you have not passed your test."
Roger Vancourt, standing right below and staring at Michelle as if he had never seen her before, felt his prick bursting with lust. He called hoarsely to lovely young Madge, the chestnut-haired Dispenser of Joy, and she crouched on her knees beneath him. taking just the tip of his prick between her lips at his instructions.
"Come back at once," he commanded, lifting the switch and slashing it across the ripest curves of her behind.
With a scream of pain, Michelle staggered to her feet and managed to put her left foot back on the tabouret. It was obvious that she was exhausted, but there was no pity in the audience for her, no respite. With a supreme effort of will, she dug her right fist into her mouth and gnawed at her knuckles as the slashes of the switch visited the tender bare sole and heel again. And by a supreme effort of will, though tears drenched her face and she swayed violently, she managed to accept the full twelve.
Applause broke out, and by now all the Dispensers of Joy were in considerably harassed use, for the excitement of the witnesses knew no bounds.
"And now a final test of submission! You will bend over, Michelle, grasp your ankles and endure two good lashes on each of your bottomcheeks from my whip," Sir Henry Wilmerson declared.
Groaning with anguish, the unfortunate naked redhead complied. It was evident that her endurance had reached just about the limit and her body was damp with sweat, but she endured courageously the four whistling lashes which left dark red streaks, soon turning to blue, on the creamy glory of her bottomglobes.
Then, kneeling to face them all, one hand on her cunt, the other against the crease of her bottom, she swore the oath of a Dispenser of Joy: "Henceforth I pledge my mouth by which I speak to you, my cunt which I widen for your gaze, my asshole which I equally distend with my fingers, to the service of all of you, my noble lords and Cockmasters, and I acknowledge your right unquestioningly to sentence me to punishment which may, if I'm not apt in my duties, remove me forever from this illustrious privilege."
And then finally she was compelled on all fours to crawl about and to kiss each cock presented to her in token of total submission.
It was all that Roger Vancourt could do to keep from throwing himself at his former mistress and ravishing her then and there. Instead, after Michelle had kissed his cock and stared up into his congested face, he summoned Dolores to suck him off a final time.
CHAPTER TWELVE
Roger Vancourt did not waken until two the next afternoon. He was wakened by a knock at his door, and when he groggily stumbled from his bed and opened the door, he found that it was the enchanting Madge, the exquisite chestnut-haired twenty-one-year-old Dispenser of Joy who at once knelt, took up the hems of his dressing gown, lofted them and saluted his prick, then stammered, "Honored Cockmaster, the Head Cockmaster awaits you at the Bitchery. He told me to bring you a quick breakfast, if it pleases you, and he will await your presence there before formally entering Michelle as the newest girl-bitch."
"By all means, Madge! I shouldn't want to miss that at all. I'm not too hungry-some coffee and, and perhaps hot rolls and butter will do quite nicely. And a melon, if you please."
"At once, honored Cockmaster,'" Madge murmured, and, after again kissing his prick, she swiftly withdrew, to return a few minutes later with a silver tray. She knelt beside him as he quickly downed the late repast, and then, without bothering to shave, followed her swiftly down the corridor which led to that enclosure known as the Bitchery.
But this time, to his astonishment and erotic excitement, he perceived that there were three "cradles" stationed in separate, partitioned stalls, for evidently three girl-bitches now served their dismal sentence, each required to couple with each one of Sir Henry's sixty Danish mastiffs. He saw that there were two tall and brawny Sengalese aides already preparing to fetter the weeping naked Stephanie and the charming, dainty Edmee to the "coupling machines" in the left and the right hand stalls. The one in the middle remained unoccupied as yet. There were present, crowding in the corridor which opened on this rectangular and opaque-glassed enclosure known as The Bitchery, some twenty Cockmasters, all in their red silken robes and sandals, and the gray-bearded Sir Henry as Head Cockmaster, presiding as master of ceremonies as he always did.
The jibes and slurs and lewd jokes which his colleagues hurled at the unfortunate Stephanie and Edmee made the two naked young women sob and groan in their shame. Sir Henry had made them first kneel down, clasp the backs of their necks and reveal the fact that their pussies were absolutely hairless. "If any girl-bitch should be so unfortunate as to let a single sprig of hair grow out, she would repent it, I assure you," he said with a sardonic smile. "The last girl-bitch who was negligent in that regard, if she were not already servicing wealthy clients in a very fine bordello in Casablanca, could edify you on the subject. I will give you a hint: the French, during the recent Algerian disturbances, used a technique which the Cubans and the Spanish Fascists employed to great advantage during their struggles for political power. It consists of some very simple devices, gentlemen. Some electrodes and naked wires and a little generator with a metered gauge and a handle which enables you to determine the power of the charge."'
"I know," the corpulent Baron Hugo sniggered, taking his cigar out of his fat mouth and winking obscenely. "You put one electrode in between the cheeks of a girl's Arsch and the other on her Kootzele, and then you give her a few little shocks."
"Exactly, my dear Baron."
"But I have done even better." the German sadist announced. "In my own little menagerie back in Stuttgart, I had three girls punished in this way, two with the electrodes pressed into their sweet Kootzeles, the other with the applicator lodged well up her rectum. Then I myself staged a kind of walking tournament of fornication, if you follow me. It was quite a tour de force. For example, while I was fucking little Gretchen, I was sending a charge of about twenty-five volts into her dainty and tight Arsch, and then while I was moving to the next girl, Erda, who had the electrode in her Kootzele, I put my cock into her dainty little Arsch while I gave her thirty volts where she would much rather have had my cock, and so on!"
Roars of obscene laughter greeted this imaginative narrative, and Roger Vancourt felt his prick swell with a savage turgidity. The two Sengalese, one of them being the giant Caliban, had already affixed Stephanie and Edmee to their machines. The girl's heads rested upon foam-rubber pillows, a delicate little nuance added by the sadistic Sir Henry, their bosoms were lowered and their bottoms up-reared. Since the "cradle" straddled their legs enormously by at least a yard, access to both anus and pussy was unhampered and, indeed, facilitated. Edmee seemed to have resigned herself, but Stephanie kept whimpering and pleading to be pardoned, which irritated Sir Henry to the point of seizing his riding crop and applying two ferocious slashes across each of her bottomcheeks, declaring, "Silence, or I'll treat you to the electrodes after you've mated with Ajax! You know our rules, you broke them, and now must pay the penalty. Ah, gentleman," ' turning now to face the corridor down which the members could hear the panting of a huge mastiff led on chain leash by one of the sturdy Sengalese aides, while another behind him, holding her by the elbows and pushing her ahead of him, marched the unhappy naked coppery-haired Michelle into the enclosure and past the members who sarcastically applauded her to "cheer" her debut as a girl-bitch.
Roger Vancourt had maneuvered himself so that he stood closest to the middle "cradle," wanting to miss nothing of this spectacle. His eyes were glazed with lust, his breath was quickened, and he felt himself ready to burst at the very sight of her. Make-up had been applied to her face, her beautiful glossy coppery-red hair had been neatly combed and even, by way of mockery, a blue ribbon bow tied to the sheaf of curls which fell to her shoulderblades. But that quim, that tight, and savory quim which moistened so ardently for him, was hairless. Pink and coral, the lips like a conch shell, twitching now with a nervous apprehension which was certainly understandable, the naked captive was pushed forward towards the cradle and then the Sengalese, his black hand on her creamy shoulder, forced her down to kneel to face the apparatus to which she was to be bound.
"I will do you a service on this memorable occasion of your first coupling, bitch," Sir Henry Wilmerson ironically declared. "Caliban, give me Seneca's leash, and I will hold him till you have placed Michelle to receive her canine lover!'"
"Oh please, mon Dieu, I don't want to-oh, have pity, I would rather die!" Michelle Robuis burst into hysterical tears. But already the giant Sengalese, with a bawdy laugh, seized her and forced her forward onto the infamous apparatus; swiftly he buckled a strap round the small of her back, which was used for those who proved least recalcitrant in submitting to their mastiff partners; thus captured, it was only a moment's work for the Sengalese to fix Michelle's wrists, to clamp her neck in the upright rubberized yoke, and to force her ankles well apart and gyve them. Then, manipulating a lever which tilted the "cradle" frame forward at an angle, he elevated her naked bottom and yawning thighs well up into the air so that they were higher than her head.
"We shall allow her a few moments while Edmee and Stephanie are serviced," ' Sir Henry remarked, as he patted the huge mastiff's head with his free hand. "Seneca is a discriminating beast, he won't mind waiting a bit for such a tasty morsel as we're offering him today!"
Now the two other Sengalese aides led in the animals destined for poor Edmee and Stephanie on either side of the struggling and sobbing Michelle. With horror, the coppery-haired naked victim turned her horrified eyes to the left, and she beheld the mastiff known as Ajax being led up to the quivering naked hips and loins of poor little Edmee, who began at once to sob and groan, as the dog first nuzzled the crease of her behind, then sniffed lingeringly, and finally, with a yapping bark, reared up in the air and mounted over the crouching human bitch. The Sengalese, crouching beside the mastiff, cackled with glee as he seized the bony protuberance of the mastiff, explaining to those absorbed members nearby, "Ajax like dig into bottomhole of pretty girl-bitch, I have to show him where to go most times; There we are, Ajax, go fuck pretty bottom good and hard!"
Edmee's wild shrieks resounded, and Michelle, closing her eyes, shuddered violently and her lips were seen to move in prayer. Roger Vancourt, his heart pounding wildly, shouted to her, "You've only yourself to blame, you bitch! You weren't content with your lot here, no, you had to try to escape and to involve all of us! You could have been well off for life, but you had to interfere! Well, no more cocks for you, my beauty, except those Sir Henry makes you a present of!"
Now it was Stephanie's turn, but her mastiff, longer and leaner than poor Edmee's, was seen to thrust its long red organ towards the hairless cleft of her pussy, and the Sengalese beside the animal took only a moment to ascertain the proper entry. With a whine, the animal seemed to glue itself to Stephanie's hindquarters, beginning to fuck in that short and jerky and rapid movement so characteristic of the canine act of copulation. Stephanie, shuddering, moaning, closed her eyes and pretended not to hear the insults and taunts being heaped upon her by the excited members, whose own cocks were being serviced now by the kneeling Dispensers of Joy which included Renee, Dolores. 'Alice and Reba. Roger Vancourt himself dug his fingernails into his palms to hold back his spunk until he could see Michelle coupled with her first dog-lover.
And now the unfortunate redhead saw that Stephanie too was being used by the brutes, and she knew that her own turn had come. Caliban, squatting there, nodded to Sir Henry, who handed him the leash and called out aloud to Michelle, "Be docile now when Caliban inserts Seneca's cock, my love! When a girl-bitch struggles, sometimes her canine partner becomes angered and claws or bites! This will teach you docility, my pet!"
"Oh please-kill me instead-I don't want it to-aah-arrowwaaaiii-oooohhhheeeooww!" Michelle's body fought the pinions as the huge grinning Sengalese guided the panting, whining mastiff's prick between the twitching hairless pink lips of Michelle Robuis's cunthole. With all her might she tried to twist away, but the dog was already too well implanted, and at once, whining excitedly, up-reared and with its front paws rubbing against Michelle's creamy upper back, it began to fuck.
"Reba, to me," Roger Vancourt shouted, delirious with rut. The exquisite dark-brown-haired Dispenser of Joy, her small firm titties contrasting with the ripe contours of her magnificent bottom, swiftly knelt before him, lofted his robe and demurely took the tip of his straining organ between her soft red lips and began to suck.
Roger Vancourt followed the shuddering naked red-haired victim's contortions to the very end, watching Michelle's fingers claw the air, her toes curl and twist, her heels jerk, the muscles of her thighs and calves ripple and flex violently as under convulsive spasms, all the while the animal thrust in and out its long shining red appendage. Her voice was raucous, interspersed with cobs and shrieks and incoherent pleas to be put to death mercifully. Finally, as the dog reached its crescendo of mating, and suddenly seemed to press itself convulsively against Michelle's jerking bottom, Roger Vancourt felt his essence burst into Reba's throat, and nearly swooned with the unspeakable ecstasy of this visual and tactual release.
He had come full cycle now as one of "Les Amants Prodigues." Now he knew what he must do: more than anything else in the world, he wished to replace Sir Henry Wilmerson, to be the lord and master of this chateau, to have all these beautiful slaves, yes, even the girl-bitches, at his disposal, at his slightest whim. But to do this, he would need to bring another sacrifice to the grim Chateau de l'Ombre.
CHAPTER THIRTEEN
It was October, but Roger Vancourt had not yet seen the change in the lovely countryside from verdant green to mellow brown, for a sudden turn of business affairs had kept him from visiting the Chateau de l'Ombre for nearly two months. For one thing, the manageress of the shop where bespectacled, brunette Sonia Verechamp was employed had suddenly succumbed to a heart attack, and Roger Vancourt had after some reflection appointed Sonia in her stead.
It pleased him to think that people were venal and could be corrupted; he remembered only too well how humiliated and shamed the chaste young brunette had been when he had discovered her theft on the pages of his ledgers, an dhow she had committed that crime out of love for for her fiance, for whom she had kept herself an untouchable virgin. Having confronted her with the evidence of being found out, the suave bachelor had forced Sonia to yield her maidenhead to him for a weekend to save herself from prison and scandal. The weekend had been interrupted by his being called to the chateau to witness the final debaucherie of his beautiful mistress Michelle.
But when he had returned to Paris, and thrown himself back into the work required to keep all the salons moving forward and showing a decided profit, it amused him to seek out Sonia again and to dangle the plum of managing this, one of the most profitable of all the salons. His terms had been quite simple: "You may still marry your fiance and I myself will give you a handsome dowry." he had told her. "All I ask is that once or twice a month, whenever I should call, you would come to that summons no matters when or where it would be." And then he had named the salary which he was going to allocate to the new manageress, double what the dead predecessor had earned. Sonia had hesitated, and he had smiled, knowing that he would win in the end: "Very well, triple," he curtly declared. And, her breath quickened, her eyes humid, she had finally nodded.
Two of the other shops required changes of supervisory personnel, and Roger Vancourt himself saw to this, promoting from within rather than bringing in new personnel, for that was the way to gain loyalty and it was also the way his father had handled the business so successfully. But if he'd stayed away on purpose from this chateau in the South of France where his dream world existed unbeknownst to any of those who thought they knew him well, there was another pressing reason; it was his determination to find, as he had found Michelle, a girl who would belong to him entirely, body and soul, who would have no affiliations or family ties, whom he could deliver to Sir Henry Wilmerson as a further token of his right to Cockmastership. And more than this, if he could procure from among his own salons some of the exquisite midinettes and seamstresses and even models, many of whom he knew had no parents or strong ties to keep them in Paris, why could he not supplant the bearded Englishman as lord and master of that domain which ruled by power and the despotic domination over an enslaved femininity?"
He could foresee also that the profits would be enormous. It would be simple enough to learn exactly how Sir Henry Wilmerson disposed of girl bitches and servants once their term of duty was at an end; obviously someone paid very well to have them transported to the elegant maisons de luxe in South America, Africa and along the Mediterranean. Besides, with more girls, there could be more diversions; one could, for example, stage a torture tournament with three beautiful victims, and promise the winner of the tourney unbounded freedom, almost that which she had had before she had been abducted, while the loser should be further punished and then sent to the Bitchery. Sir Henry, in his opinion, was much too prissy with his orgies, and they were becoming repetitious and stale.
So Roger Vancourt plotted, but he stayed in Paris also to be on hand for the wedding of Sonia Verechamp to Edmond Vemuies, a handsome, gentle-featured law student of twenty-four who had just passed his bar examinations and would enter his father's office as an apprentice solicitor after the honeymoon. The marriage took place on a Fri day, the 5th of September. Roger Vancourt was there, in tuxedo and top hat, watching fondly as the bespectacled and lovely bride in white organdy and with the veil of purity over her face joined her husband-to-be at the altar rail and both knelt to be blessed and then united before heaven and man.
But as Sonia, now Sonia Vernuies, passed down the aisle, he slipped into her white-gloved hand a tiny folded slip of paper saying, "Tomorrow noon, my apartment.'"
He watched her start and saw her cheeks turn rosy, and then she sent him a quick nervous glance, and he doffed his hat and bowed low to her as she and her husband left the church to get into the car. Rice was being thrown and felicitations filled the air with joy, but Roger Vancourt smiled to himself. He had intimated that he did not wish Sonia to leave on any extended honeymoon, at least not until the following Monday. He left it to her imagination to devise for her young husband a plausible reason for delaying the start of her honeymoon. This he had communicated to her in a telephone call to her flat the night before the wedding, intimating that if she found herself unable to respond to his first summons, he would be regretfully compelled to discharge her after all.
And so that Saturday morning at noon, his doorbell had rung and he had opened to find Sonia, in a suit coat and skirt, dainty felt turban, her spectacles, beige nylon hose and highheeled pumps, looking very ill at ease and with her eyelids swollen, a telltale sign that she had been weeping.
"I'm glad that you kept this appointment, my charming Sonia. Tell me. how was your wedding night? Was Edmund as attentive as you could have wished?"
"Please-I beg of you-in the name of decency, I have done what you wanted, let me lead my own life," she said in a faint, tremulous voice.
"Ah, no, my little Sonia, that was not part of the bargain! Once you agree to my terms, you must keep the bargain every step of the way or I have the right to renounce it and to put you down as a common thief. Nor do I think your idealistic husband would want to know how you managed to earn the eight thousand francs you stole from me."
"He-he believes what I told him, that I that I borrowed it and that I am paying it back out of my salary,'" she stammered, biting her lips and looking down at the floor.
"I don't care what you tell him. and it's of no importance to me. How, by the way, did you manage to get away this noon? How curious, to see how you've developed your ingenuity from the shy and very modest virgin that you were-"
"You are a devil, M'sieu Vancourt, and one day you will know your own kind of hell,'" she gasped.
"That too is in the hands of Fate. But come, you mustn't keep me waiting for an answer. What did you tell him?"
She was scarlet now from her temples and her dainty little ears as, without lifting her face, she murmured in a low shaking voice, "I-I told him that I had to see my doctor, because of a certain woman's disorder which disturbed me and that was why I could not go on our honeymoon until Monday. I-I told him that the doctor had been at Cannes on his vacation and knew my case and wouldn't be back until today, if you must know, you devil!"
"I congratulate you upon your ingenuity. But tell me, you didn't deny yourself to him last night, did you?"
She raised her tormented, tear-filled eyes to him, her lips moving wordlessly, and then burst into tears and covered her face with her hands. This was a gesture which always inflamed his rut, which gave him an intolerable sense of mastery and power over the helpless female, just as it had at the chateau when he had seen Michelle given to the dogs.
"I'm still waiting, Sonia. My summons to you means that you must comply with my every order once you cross my threshold, that's understood. Now then, what about last night?"
"Yes-he-he made love to me."
"He fucked you, then?"
"Ohhh! Can't you show at least a little humanity, considering the ordeal you're putting me through?" she groaned.
"I'm showing you a great deal of humanity, my dear Sonia. I have kept it from the world and from your Edmond that you're a clever thief. Few employers would be so lenient and so generous, may I remind you. Now then, explicit details, if you please!"
Her trembling hands still covered her tear-stained face as she quavered, "Yes-he-he f-f-fucked me...."
"And he experienced no unpleasant surprise to find that you had no cherry?"
A violent shudder shook her slim delicious body as she slowly shook her head, then, after a visible effort, replied in a shaking little voice, "No-no. I-T told him that I'd had an accident on a bi-bicycle when I was in my teens."
"Better and better! You see how simple it is, after all, so there's no need for all these high-flown notions of chastity. Every woman is a prostitute, one way or another, my charming Sonia. Even the most virtuous of wives is that, since she barters the rights to her body in bed in exchange for security and her husband's good name which often she disgraces by taking a lover on the sly. But continue. How many times did he fuck you. and did he bring you to climax?'"
"Oh please! I beg of you. do with me what you will, but spare me this!"
"If you don't tell me, Sonia. you may leave here and for the last time, but you know what will happen."
She groaned and clenched her fists and she dropped her hands to her sides and bowed her head. After a deep breath, she stammered, "He-he had me tw-twice ... and-yes, he-he made me c-come the last time."
"What position did he take, my delicious bespectacled little thief?" Roger Vancourt relentlessly pursued, feeling his prick harden ferociously.
"On-on t-top of me ... the n-normal way. Oh please, don't make me say any more, I beg you humbly, don't!"
"Very well then. I can depict the scene for myself, I think. Your Edmond has little imagination, so it will be up to you to teach him the sweet mysteries of passion. I dare say you didn't use your mouth on him to prepare him for the second fucking?"
"Mon Dieu, oh no, no! Oh you monster, you horrid, disgusting beast!'" she sobbed heartrendingly.
"Be careful what you say to me, my dear Sonia. Otherwise I shall have to punish you. Now, you've come to me in a most delightful costume. It's novel and very sophisticated and you look quite like a woman of the world. Remove your skirt at once!"
With trembling fingers, the lovely bespectacled brunette unfastened the skirt which dropped to the floor.
"Now pull up your slip and tuck it under the suit coat very neatly so that it won't fall back down," he instructed.
He was in his pajamas and slippers, and he was smoking a cigarette as his eyes glitteringly studied her provocative helplessness. Sonia Vernuies stooped and lofted the chaste white silk slip and stuffed it under the hems of the suit coat. staring at him through tear-blinded eyes, her lips and chin convulsively trembling in her agonized emotion.
He saw that she was wearing nylon panties and a trim little garterbelt whose tabs snugged the tops of the beige nylons. "Now pull your panties down to your knees and spread your legs as much as you can. I'm going to fuck you standing like this. You've no idea how delicious you look with that adorable little hat and your glasses, Sonia."
Shuddering and with a choking sob, the young woman slowly dragged down the nylon briefs to her dimpled stockinged knees, and spread her thighs, crisp black curls of her pussyhairs appeared, shrouding the dainty lips of her quim. "Very good," he commended her in a hoarse voice. "Now unbutton my pajama trousers and take out my cock and rub it against that little nest of yours until it finds the way inside!"
With another stifled sob, Sonia obeyed. Closing her eyes, she guided his taut and throbbing prick against her cleft, and began nervously to rub his meatus against the black curls of her cunthole. He stood there, his left hand gripping the back of her neck, his right hand holding the cigarette which he occasionally puffed, feeling his manhood swell violently within him, till at last he gasped. "That's enough, now put it in and then put your arms around me and kiss me hard while I fuck you!"
And once again the despondent, enslaved young woman obeyed, giving a stifled groan as she felt his virile weapon sheathe itself inside the quivering confines of her voluptuous love chasm. Slowly she lifted her congested, tear-stained face and resignedly offered her mouth which he crushed brutally with his, feeling her arms convulsively clasp him. Slowly he began to work in and out of her, deliberately forcing himself to exercise the maximum self-control. Then, tossing the cigarette towards a nearby ashtray, he put his right forefinger to her clitoris and began to rub it gently. Sonia groaned and squirmed, keeping her eyes tightly closed, and he could feel her shuddering against him as he pursued the slow in and out delving of his ramrod while at the same time his forefinger flattened the dainty pink nodule back into its cowl of love flesh. She began to gasp and then to sob. as voluptuous desire, unbidden but uncontrollable, welled into her love grotto. His fingers dug cruelly into her nape to dominate and maintain her in this degrading pose of self-sacrifice, and he warned her in thickened voice, "Don't dare to move away till I've made you come, you pretty bitch, if you know what's good for you!"
Now feeling the tides of lust rampant within him, he quickened his probing of both prick and forefinger, till the anguished young brunette began to moan hysterically, her eyes opening at last, enormous pools of humid, anguished crisis. "At least," he cynically remarked, "you ought to teach Edmond how to do this to you, it's a sure way of giving you pleasure. And for all your display of hypocritical modesty, you pretty bespectacled bitch, I know that you are really dying to be creamed out of your last drop, aren't you?"
"Ahhh-ohh-mon Dieu-please oooohh. aahhh-I can't-oh please-ahh-aaaahhhh-now, oh yes, now!" Suddenly the spasm seized her, and her body squirmed and writhed against him as with a few final hard thrusts, he felt himself burst into her. She tottered, sagging against him, but now his hands gripped her bare buttocks and maintained her till the last feeble jut of his essence had been expelled deep into her quaking vagina.
Then, with a languid sigh, he drew himself out, releasing her, and Sonia sank down on her knees, one hand clapped against her pussy, her head bowed, her shoulders shaking with distraught sobs.
"Not too bad," he mockingly appraised, "and now, after you've had your punishment, you're free to go back to your darling husband and tell him that the doctor finds nothing radically wrong with you and prescribes, on the contrary, a most energetic honeymoon. By the way, as you leave, there's an envelope on the tabouret near the door. A little bonus so that you can enjoy your honeymoon at Nice. I shan't bring you back from there, so have no fear. Only, when you return, I'll expect to call you and see if you've learned anything from this sexual nincompoop you've married."
"P-punishment?" she tremulously echoed, lifting her anguished face to his.
"Go take care of yourself first and then come back, with your panties stuffed into the pocket of your suit coat and your slip still neatly rolled up as it is,'" he curtly ordered.
Then he walked over to his armchair and flung himself down in it, luxuriating in the voluptuous anticipation of degrading this delicious and so reserved young woman whom he had coerced into the most humiliating kind of bondage.
A few moments later, tears running down her cheeks, Sonia, still in her hat and suit coat, her panties removed as bidden, slowly approached his chair.
"Get down on all fours now and suck my prick clean. It may be that I have still some juice left as tribute to your artistry, my dear," he commanded. "At any rate, I am going to spank that pretty bottom of yours until you learn what is left one way or the other."
With a groan, the half-naked bespectacled brunette sank down on her stockinged knees and crawled between his legs, her trembling hands placed on his hips, she bowed her head and took his limpened, greased organ between her lips and began to suck. Leaning forward on the edge of the chair, Roger Vancourt palmed the small of her back with his left hand, and then, raising his right, began to slap her saucily upturned velvety-smooth naked buttocks. The slaps increased as she continued her Frenching, till he could see the bright pink splotches permeate the satiny globes, and she began to groan and whimper and sob and squirm in the most salacious way. He felt himself newly invigorated, and gasped out, "Quickly now, there's still plenty left, and you're to swallow every drop, or I'll use my belt on your bare bottom, understand?"
With a moan, the unfortunate young brunette continued to suck him, as his slaps increased in cadence and harshness. Her hips weaved frantically now as the burning sting became atrociously painful, and he could hear the quickened slushing of her mouth against his throbbing prick. Then with a cry of delight and triumph, he poured forth the last libation of his manhood into her spluttering mouth, and forced her to swallow it all before he permitted her to rise, tidy herself and at last leave.
* * *
Two weeks after that metutinal scene we have just witnessed, Roger Vancourt was in the manageress's office in the salon where Sonia was employed, once again examining the ledger. The eight thousand francs had been entered as a "payment overdue" by a fictitious customer, and the books were balanced. The suave black-haired bachelor planned to drive to the Chateau de l'Ombre that afternoon, as he was desirous of visiting Michelle in The Bitchery and enjoying an exciting weekend tasting the delights which the Dispensers of Joy would provide his jaded senses. As he was about to close the ledger and call in the eager silver blonde who had once so brazenly offered herself, thinking that perhaps he might accept her offer and enjoy a swift bout of love before embarking on the drive to the country, there was a knock at his door and he looked up in surprise to see the voluptuous young woman standing outside his office with another stunningly attractive young woman beside her. He made a gesture for her to enter, and she opened the door and eagerly announced. "M'sieu Vancourt, this young lady asked to see you."
"Oh?"
"Yes, M'sieu. She is seeking employment and I told her that you were the owner of the business. Since the manageress isn't-"
"Quite all right, quite all right. I'll be happy to interview her. You may leave us."
The silver-blonde salesgirl inclined her head, then sent him a coy smile as she slowly closed the door behind her.
He stared admiringly at the young woman before him. She was, he judged, perhaps twenty-five, of a rare beauty that was not at once flamboyant. She wore almost no make-up except a faint pink lipstick on full sweet ripe lips. Her face was heart-shaped, her eyes widely spaced and gray-green, surmounted by thick curly black lashes that were natural and owed nothing to mascara. She was perhaps five feet six inches in height, and she wore a cape, which she had unbuttoned at the top to show a tweed suit coat and doubtless matching skirt. Her hat was a gay little blue toque with a feather in it, giving her a most jaunty air. Her black hair was rather closely cropped, adding to the provocative appeal of her features and giving her a somewhat mannish air-though her body in no way conveyed that same troubling impression. He could see that her bottom was firm and full and rounded, and her waist was slim and that her hips flared almost opulently from that slender waist.
"Be seated, Mademoiselle-?M He rose politely from the chair and gestured to the one opposite his desk.
"Thank you very much for seeing me, Monsieur Vancourt. My name is Elise Courtelliere, and I was hoping to find work in one of the outstanding dress salons in Paris."
"I'm flattered that you should seek me out. then, Mademoiselle Courtelliere. It's true, that with all my salons I'm always in need of competent help. But I shouldn't have imagined that you, as lovely as you are, should be in need of work."
She flushed deliciously and lowered her eyes. "The fact is, Monsieur Vancourt, I've had some hard luck. Please believe that I don't say this to enlist your sympathy, for if you do employ me it should only be on merit."
"Such an idealistic outlook, Mademoiselle Courtelliere, is greatly to your credit," he suavely retorted. "But let me be the judge of that. What bad luck can a beautiful young woman like you have had?"
"I was engaged to be married, and my fiance died in Africa, Monsieur Vancourt, where he was working as an archaeologist. My parents were both killed in an automobile accident six months ago, and they left me almost no money. My father had a little grocery shop, but after his death it was found that the creditors took all that was left.
So it's necessary that I find work. But as to my qualifications, I was thinking that perhaps I might model. I do, however, know how to sew rather well."
"I could hardly see you as a seamstress, and the wages are not too high, I must warn you."
"I should be grateful for any chance, M'sieu, and you may be certain that I will be loyal and hardworking."
"I see. What schooling have you had, Mademoiselle Courtelliere?"
"I had a degree as Bachelor of Arts from the University at Bordeaux. As far as working is concerned, of course I helped out a good deal in my father's shop, though when I became engaged, I thought-" Here she paused, bowed her head and, taking from her purse a little handkerchief, dabbed at her eyes. Roger Vancourt felt his prick hardening at the sight of her poignant distress. "Won't you take off your cape. Mademoiselle Courtelliere," he gently urged, "and be more at your ease. I respect your feelings, believe me. As I said before, a seamstress is not overly well paid, particularly one without fashion experience in one of the better houses of high fashion. But it's possible that you might model for me. Often there are very demanding clients who delude themselves into believing that they are as attractive as our salesgirls," he smiled engagingly at her. "and so they are often tempted into buying things which really aren't meant for them at all simply be seeing a lovely girl wearing this or that gown or combination. Let me help you with your cape-there we are!" He had risen from his desk and came forward to her, as she had begun to remove the cape, and as he took it from her slim fingers, he felt his prick harden still more with a fierce expectancy that he recognized as a sign of ardent passion.
Seldom, indeed, had he so coveted a woman as he did Elise Courtelliere at first glance. The promise of her body was more than fulfilled, and the coincidence of her tweed suit coat and skirt recalled to him the libidinous pleasure he had had in forcing Sonia to interrupt her honeymoon and visit him just two short weeks ago. Since then, he had been continent, and more than ever he felt the need for sexual gratification. And then suddenly the wild and exciting thought rose in his mind: could not this girl possibly become another Michelle Robuis, to be seduced and won and then delivered to the Chateau de l'Ombre? What she had told him already about her life indicated that she had few relatives; that, of course, must be ascertained.
"Th-thank you, Monsieur Vancourt."' Her voice was soft and exquisitely husky, and it stirred his lust the more. "Perhaps, if you would be good enough to let me see a little more of you, I could be sure as to the possibility of your being a model for us," he went on with a casual air.
"Of course!" Again she rose and began to unbutton her suit coat, draping it over the back of the chair before his desk. He caught his breath with excitement. She wore a white blouse with Peter Pan collar ,and the glossy material clung suggestively to the magnificently round, widely spaced globes of her bosom. The gentle rhythm of her breathing made those love globes swell in the most mouthwatering way, and his fingers itched with the yearning to cup and knead them and discover their resilient charms.
"Walk a little bit, if you please, Mademoiselle Courtelliere," he instructed, going back to his desk and lighting a cigarette. He studied her with the detached air of a judge at a beauty contest, but he could hardly hide his rising excitement. Clenching his thighs together, he fought against the savage hardening of his cock which her graceful carriage and tread accentuated.
"You've never modeled before. Mademoiselle Courtelliere?"
"Oh no, never, Monsieur."'
"Decidedly, you have a gift for it. The way you tilt your head, the subtle way you more your hips, the poise with which you set down your dainty feet-all these things suggest the intuitive knowledge of a very excellent model."
"You are most kind, Monsieur Vancourt."
"I am only being just. I will be happy to engage you as an apprentice model, Mademoiselle Courtelliere. Let me see-five hundred francs a week, with an assurance that you will have more as soon as you begin to become in demand."
"That's so generous of you! I-I don't know what to say! I never dreamed that-well, it was just an impulse, coming here, because I'd heard of your salons, naturally, Monsieur Vancourt."
Now, her cheeks flaming, her eyes sparkling, she was animated as she turned to him, and he felt the agonizing stab of lust sear his organ and make him yearn to cut away all the red tape and the nonsense of courtship and then and there take her in his arms and make love to her. But he realized that with this one, a little flattery and sophistry would be the best prescription for success to lead to the bed.
"Well, you see," he smilingly replied, "anything is possible if one makes the effort. I'm in need of a model, you came along at the proper time and you certainly qualify, Mademoiselle Courtelliere. When can you start?"
"At once, if you like, M'sieu Vancourt!"
"Well, let's let it go till Monday. Meanwhile, do you have a place to stay here in Paris?"
'I'm just stopping in a little hotel on the Rue de la Moulin."
"That's a very disreputable neighborhood for a charming young woman like you. The Vancourt salons pride themselves that their employees can afford better quarters than that." A sudden impulse swept through him. "Would you allow me to take you to dinner this evening, perhaps, Mademoiselle Courtelliere, and explain to you the duties of a model and what I am looking for in you? We have an excellent designer by the same of Madame Therlieu, who will be enchanted with you. I'm certain she'll want to create a whole new set of styles which your personality brings out. Aimed at the young, yes, I can see it now-the young matron who is still virginal and nubile!"
"You're awfully flattering, M'sieu Vancourt." She lowered her eyes and he could see her blushing. "But the fact is, I'm hardly virginal."
"Oh?" He forced himself not to show a startled and happy surprise which that unexpected avowal caused him.
"Well, naturellement, my fiance and I were going to be married, and you know how it is-but you mustn't think me forward, M'sieu Vancourt. And I am terribly grateful. Yes, I'd love to have dinner with you."
CHAPTER FOURTEEN
It had been easier than he had ever dared to dream. Having decided to postpone his visit to the Chateau de l'Ombre until at least Saturday, Roger Vancourt had taken Elise Courtelliere to the elegant gourmet restaurant. Les Pines aux Herbes, near the Tuilleries. He had made a great display of his knowledge of wines and sauces with the maitre d'hotel, impressing the lovely black-haired young woman, and he had put on his best face to appear before her as a gifted conversationalist who was sentimental and courteous and deferential in the presence of the opposite sex.
But he could not forget that she had confided to him that she was no longer a virgin. If that were true and if she had no living relative to claim her or to care of her whereabouts, with cleverness and just the right amount of bravado, he could take her to the domain where, as Cockmaster, he would be but one of her overlords.
He found her fascinating, idealistic but not overly so; practical and even shrewd, judging by the way she drew him into discussion over what she might hope to earn if her services proved satisfactory. "And of course, M'sieu Vancourt,'" she concluded, "I must really find a decent place to live, now that I'm an employee of yours. It was the first place I could think of, and it was cheap-"
"Do you have any luggage there, Mademoiselle Courtelliere?"
"Only a suitcase and a few things."
"So much the better. We will make a new beginning for you. An apartment, a wardrobe, with the understanding that, of course, the cost of it will be applied against future earnings, which I am sure will soon surpass the modest expenditure."
"You mean you'd do all this for me, a stranger, meeting me for the first time today, M'sieu Vancourt?"
"I wish you would call me Roger, ma cherie. The other sounds as if I were in my fifties, and I assure you I'm not. I'm not much more than thiry, you know. And very lonely. But I hasten to tell you that I don't say this to influence you in the least. I'm too much of a gentleman as I am a businessman to let business and pleasure mix, nor would I even think of forcing myself upon you."
"But I don't know what to say-you overwhelm me!'" she said with a helpless little laugh, shaking her head and giving him a droll smile. "All this has happened to me-it's like a fairytale out of La Fontaine!"
He thought to himself: yes, ma belle, and perhaps it will be the story of Little Red Riding Hood, except that the wolf is going to eat you up! What he said was. "You can put it down to fate or to impulse or simply to benevolence on my part, if you wish. I told you I'm a very practical man. You have a kind of indefinable charm, so that your beauty tastes much longer to make impact upon the observer. Now most of my models are striking types, flashy, almost music-hall, and while it is true they have a certain experience and polish, they don't really have the elegance of a Dior or a Balenciaga model. You'll give me that chic quality which has been absent from the Vancourt salons far too long. So why shouldn't I do you a good turn? The profits you will bring back to me will more than repay me. Count it as a loan if you wish."
She put her hand across the table atop his, and she gave him a long sultry look: "I'm certainly going to repay you, you'll see, M'sieu Roger," she murmured in that thrillingly husky voice which already put into his mind's eye the picture of a boudoir with her down to bra and panties and about to remove even these as he waited for her, prick-hard and ready, on the intimate bed of love.
And so, after dinner, he had driven her in his Mercedes-Benz to an exclusive little apartment building about five blocks southwest of his own bachelor quarters, since he knew the superintendent and had occasionally done the man a few favors. Here there were apartments mostly tenanted by well-paid show-girls, invariably the mistresses of wealthy men who paid the rentals by mail and were rarely seen by the superintendent who was a model of discretion himself, since he was maintaining his own mistress in one of the smallest apartments and without his wife's in the least suspecting!
It was a matter of a few minutes to summon the heavily jowled, sparsely gray-haired superintendent from his own apartment, to hand him a bank note and to receive the key to an apartment on the top floor which rented for twenty-five hundred francs a month. Then, bringing up Elise Courtelliere to view her new quarters, Ioger Vancourt felt almost benevolently paternal, when she again dabbed at her eyes and suddenly buried her head against his chest, sniffling. "You're so good to me, and it's so impossible, and I don't know what to do, but it's the most wonderful thing that's ever happened to me since I first met my poor Georges!"
"Georges?'"
"Yes ... my poor fiance who died. We were going to be so happy, and now-and now the kindness you've shown me, M'sieu Roger, makes me think of him in a way."
"My poor little one!" he said protectively, putting an arm around her shaking shoulders. He was conscious of the delicate smell of her perfume, a kind of violet sachet and yet not at all cloying. He shuddered with this intimate awareness of her 'body, lusting to taste the sweet redolence of the perfume between her satiny warm thighs. But that would come in due time, he knew. "You mean there's no one to look after you at all? No aunt or uncle or even a cousin?"' he jested as he patted her on the shoulder.
"No one. I told you my parents died, and when Georges died, that was all there was. Oh, to be sure, I know the old lawyer in Bordeaux who handled the estate, but there is no one related by blood to me on whom I can rely now, none at all, M'sieu Roger."
"Poor little one," he repeated tenderly. "Let me have the key to your hotel room, M'amselle Elise, and I'll bring back your luggage. There's no sense in your going back there, because this is your apartment now and it's already furnished and here you are, n'est-ce-pas?"
"Oh, I don't deserve such kindness-" she sobbed, and then suddenly lifted her face and, starryeyed, hugged him tightly and crushed her panting warm moist mouth against his.
Ioger Vancourt shuddered with a rapture that swept him from crown to toe. for the pulsing feel of that vibrant, lithe young body against his was like a powerful cantharide. It was all he could do to keep from gripping her behind or her titties and flinging her down on the low wide bed. But as a true voluptuary, he knew this would be a fatal error. Since she was in this grateful and emotionally overwrought mood, it would be much better to play the tune out to the very last chord and then extract from her all the pent-up passion which was doubtless seething in her nervous system. If she and her precious Georges had done any fucking at all-and she had just as much as admitted that they had-then she wouldn't faint dead away when he began to make serious advances.
She opened her purse and gave him the ley. He kissed her hand, and then hurried down to his car and drove into the disreputable quarter where the hotel was situated. Just out of curiosity, he checked with the surly hotel clerk at the desk, and here again a bank note did wonders for the man's attitude. Yes, it was true, Mademoiselle Elise Courtel Here had lust come in from Bordeaux the night before, and she had paid two days in advance and that was all he knew about her.
Roger Vancourt smiled to himself as he hurried up the rickety stairs, opened the door of Elise's room, rummaged through the drawers, and added the few articles he found to her unlocked suitcase. Then, whistling a merry tune, he went down the stairs to the desk, returned the key and told the clerk he might keep the extra day's rental as a pourboure.
He could hardly wait to park his car and take the elevator to the top floor of the building. When Elise opened the door to him, he walked in with a cheerful smile and a "Well, that's all done now. You can forget all about that little hole in the wall, Elise. I know you'll be comfortable here, and Monday will be time enough for you to call on me at the office and we'll work up a schedule for you."
"May I-may I have a cigarette, please, M'sieu Roger?'" she naively murmured.
"Of course, my dear." He proffered his monogrammed silver case. Then he lit the cigarette for her, and she looked up at him with a poignant little smile. "Thank you again. It seems I'm always thanking you. And words are really so ineffective when one feels such gratitude as I do," she murmured.
"But you're not to feel that way at all, Elise.'"
"It isn't really the way I feel. I mean, oh, now you've embarrassed me dreadfully, and I didn't mean to say it-and I know you won't want to hear it-"
"What won't I want to hear, ma belle?" He put an arm around her waist and drew her to him. Her marvelous, luminous gray-green eyes were very wide and fixed him with an intent stare as she huskily murmured, "I feel so mixed up. I feel shameless-as if I'd known you for ever so long, and yet I know I've only met you this afternoon. I feel as I used to feel with my Georges-and that's wrong-because what must you think of me when I tell you something like that?"
"What I think, my beautiful Elise. is that I'm the luckiest man in all the world if I should be half as fortunate as your Georges ... to be able to love you as I really want to," he muttered as his hands began to stroke her back and sides.
She gave a little shiver and then nodded: "But I want you to, that's the awful thing, that's the shameless thing about it. I want you to well-love me just the way he did. And I haven't any right-"
"Let me be the judge of that, my darling one," he muttered. His mouth sealed hers and now his hands dared to roam over the magnificent rotundities of her bottom. As his fingers clenched against the succulent peaks through the skirt of her ensemble and undoubtedly a thin slip beneath, Elise Courtelliere gave a husky little moan and flung her arms around him, returning his kiss with a voracity that dazzled him. "Love me, love me then, oh I need it so much, it's been such a dreadful time for me since my folks died and I lost Georges! And now you've made me come alive again, and I never thought I would-oh Roger, Roger, I was so lucky to have come looking for that job here in Paris!"
"Yes, my darling," he murmured, gently moving her towards the bedroom, his left arm around her waist, his right hand grasping hers, exchanging kisses as he felt the brush of her thigh against his.
And then, with a sweet felicity and abandon that made him breathless, Elise Courtelliere did not suddenly turn squeamish virgin when she saw the bed. Instead, shyly, blushingly, hiding her face in his chest, she whispered. "You'll have to do everything for me, I feel so helpless now I'm all yours, I belong to you, my dearest Roger!"
What thrilling delight it was to strip her slowly naked, finally unhooking the garterbelt and then the tabs, rolling down the stockings after having doffed each pup in turn, kissing her dainty toes as she lay stark naked on the bed, one arm covering her face, sighing rapturously as his softly caressing fingers touched her here and there.
And then he was naked too, and she flung herself against him as he clambered onto the bed, her arms locking round him, giving him her mouth, pressing her belly and thighs against his, panting, 'Take me, take me! I need love so, oh Roger, take me!"
He had never been consumed by such a raging erotic fever. The feel, the smell, the warmth and moisture of her satiny-tawny skin, the sight of those gorgeous round titties and those juicy bottomcheeks and that black crisp triangle of pussyfur roused all the insensate passions that he had suppressed for so long, even passions he had not dreamed he possessed there at the chateau. He felt himself thrust into her, heard her groan with delight, felt her fingernails dig into his shoulderblades, and then he was floating into astral space, cognizant of nothing except the fierce, hedonistic joy of feeling that tight warm sheath of hers suck out all his juices, feeling her belly grind to his, her supple thighs lock and clamp over his, exhorting him to spare her nothing.
And thus it was that Elise Courtelliere became the mistress of Roger Vancourt and, a week later, unhesitatingly accepted his invitation to dine at the chateau of his good friend, Sir Henry Wilmerson....
CHAPTER FIFTEEN
"You'll find Sir Henry an unusual host, my darling Elise," Roger Vancourt murmured to the enchanting young brunette beside him in the Mercedes-Benz as he held the wheel on course down the highway leading to the Chateau de L'Ombre. "You've never seen this part of the country, have you, ma belle?"
"No, Roger." She snuggled closer, giving him a fascinating little smile. In the short time during which she had been his mistress, Roger Vancourt had congratulated himself on being able to forget the charms of red-haired Michelle Robuis, now servicing sixty Danish hounds every three weeks by fixed schedule. Since there were now three girl bitches condemned to be bound to "mating cradles" in that terrible rectangular passageway known as The Bitchery, Sir Henry Wilmerson had carefully worked out a revised but rigid schedule from which there was to be no deviation. The three girl-bitches would be required to perform on these grotesque "fucking machines" twice in the morning and twice in the afternoons, Monday through Friday. Thus in a week, each girl would take on twenty dogs, and the three together the entire menagerie of sixty. Hence within three weeks, each girl would have been fucked or buggered by each individual mastiff, and then the cycle would begin all over.
Roger Vancourt was quite satisfied with Elise; during the short time that she had been his love partner, her effusive gratitude for being given the jobs as a model and an apartment on which the rent was already paid in advance had demonstrated that she was not at all puritanically chaste. She had already enchanted him by spontaneously and voluntarily kneeling down over him as he lay at his ease in the bed after one of their fucking bouts, and taking his cock inside her mouth and rolling her tongue over the dormant head. She had even shown a slight erotic interest in a playful spanking which augured well for future seances when his jaded nature would require a serious flogging tied to the post while possibly, as Michelle had been, tied by the thumbs with her arms drawn in a cross and by her hair, and blindfolded, exposed to a circling lash which attacked her from every side and angle.
"I'm very proud of you, my darling Elise." he told her softly. They were nearly at the little village which marked the beginning of Sir Henry's vast estate. Then the swing to the narrow road, where the sign assured him of being on the proper route, and soon they would be there.
It was the end of October now, and the melancholy days of Indian summer were virtually at an end. Soon it would be bleak and raw and raining and the November winds would drive the girl bitches indoors, forced to exercise within their opaque glass enclosures, rather than out in the park where the Cockmasters could watch and mock.
He lit a cigarette as he slowed down to take the turn, and he did not notice that the lovely young brunette beside him had her right hand out over the door of the car and now opened it. A tiny object dropped and was quickly lost to view.
"Cigarette, my darling?" he said as he turned to her.
"No, I think not. You've told me so much about the wonderful chef that Sir Henry has that I want to have a ravenous appetite."
"Oh you will, I promise you that, Elise dear! You'll be surprised just how ravenous your appetite can be once you have tasted the delicacies of the Chateau," ' he could not help from making this ironic retort, so pleased he was with himself. By presenting Elise to the club, he proved that the defection of Michelle was not at all to be brought against him and that, conversely he deserved greater consideration from all of the members as one of those gifted and enlightened men who could lead and not follow. He would sound some of the members out like that snob Everard and that piggish, fat German bore who liked to be called only Count Hugo. Very likely they had a bellyful of Sir Henry by now. He could offer them fabulous orgies, sessions of torture which would pit girl against girl in a desperate struggle to avoid pain and agony and shame, and thereby redouble the direct pleasures of the group. After all, what did Sir Henry do except preside over a few initiations, set a few penalties, and perhaps develop the annual Lenten Carnival?
Once again he found himself on the narrow road down the rows of threes which led to the kiosk-gate at which he had first stopped when he had driven there with Michelle ... in what seemed ages ago, Once again, the liveried Sengalese guard emerged, asked for his credentials which he once displayed, and then the guard telephoned the chateau to verify his invitation.
Every Cockmaster was given a specially engraved card which showed a massive phallus rampant atop a prostrate naked woman, and, printed in gold letters initials, "SM" (for Cockmaster). He found that Elise was leaning over towards him as he retrieved the card from the guard and was about to put it back into his lapel pocket.
"How curious! May I see it, darling?" she murmured.
He hesitated a moment. They were here now and she couldn't escape. On the other hand, she had been so trusting that there wasn't really any reason that it could not be seen. "Of course you may. It's a man's joke, as you can tell," he chuckled as he handed the card over.
Elise took it, her dainty, arching eyebrows quizzically rising even more, and then she made a saucy little face at him: "So what you are really doing. M'sieu Roger, is bringing me to a place where you selfish men enjoy yourselves with all the women you want, is that it? A kind of bachelor stag?"
"Well, yes, in a way," Roger Vancourt hedged. "But of course, my darling, there is much more to it than that. I'm simply a guest. One must have a card like this to get in at all and he simply invited me for dinner. He is a very wealthy and eccentric recluse."
"And there are really lots of naked girls here?" she looked at him naively.
"How shall I know, my darling?" he shrugged with a casual air. "This is really the first time I've been to see the old crackpot. If it weren't for the fact that he's got a marvelous chef and that the chateau is beautifully furnished-which ought to appeal to you, my darling-I shouldn't waste my time. But I'm told that he has an incomparable wine cellar.'"
"All right, you naughty boy." she said teasingly as she put her hand on his knee and slid it up towards his crotch, "but don't you forget that you're my fellow and that you mustn't let any man in that place either make eyes at me or try to take me away from you."
"Oh that you needn't worry," he said airily "because I would never allow anyone to take you. Mine is a generous nature, as you will find." And these words too concealed a taunting irony.
All the precautions were observed as had been that first evening when he had brought beautiful red-haired Michelle to the Chateau de l'Ombre. Finally the two of them were ushered inside a foyer, and Sir Henry Wilmerson himself was there to greet them.
"I must say, Vancourt," the gray-bearded Englishman smilingly declared, "that you have impeccable taste." Then, with a courtly bow in Elise's direction, he greeted her: ' Beautiful young woman, be thou welcome as our guest, and may thy presence inspire us all to do great deeds!"
Elise gave him a friendly little smile: "How very flattering, and you are Sir Henry, then? How much my dear Roger has told me about you!"
"I trust it hasn't frightened you, my charming one," Sir Henry jested, with a sly glance at Roger Vancourt.
"Quite the contrary, I'm anxious to learn more about you, Sir Henry. You're a man of considerable mystery."
"Mystery?" Sir Henry Wilmerson echoed her, giving her a curious and enigmatic glance. "But I should think that everyone retains a certain mystery, my dear Mademoiselle."
"That is true, Sir Henry. But there are those in this world who have greater need for mystery than most," she tossed back at him .
He gave her another strangely probing look, and then rather coolly moved away to murmur to Roger Vancourt: "I should like a moment or two with you in my study, Vancourt. Is this the girl you had in mind as a replacement for your little Michelle?"
"Of course it is, Sir Henry. What the devil is wrong?"
"I don't know. There is something that doesn't quite ring a familiar note. I can't quite place it. The way she speaks, the way she looks-it'll come to me. Meanwhile, let's not arouse her suspicions. You will go back to her and caress her and perhaps ask her if perhaps she would like to slip into a private room with you and, make love. If she agrees, I will intercept her because I wish to question her rather closely."'
"The devil take me if I understand what you are talking about. Sir Henry!"
Sir Henry Wilmerson's face became ugly as he muttered, putting one hand on Roger Vancourt's shoulder, "I'm speaking of a spy, a detective, a possible betrayal of all of us. Now stop this playing of games and do what I told you to." Then, in a loud voice, "Well, you must excuse me for a moment. I must tell our chef that our honored guests have arrived so that he will be able to surpass himself. I languish until we meet again at the table, my dear Mademoiselle Elise.'"
No sooner than he had left the foyer than Roger Vancourt whispered into Elise's soft little ear; "I know I feel awfully foolish to confess this, my darling, but I suddenly have such a mad desire for you that I can't bear it. Dinner won't be for at least a half hour or more, Sir Henry tells me. Can't we go somewhere-and well, make love?"
"If you like, sweetheart.'" she whispered, putting two fingers to her lips and then pressing them to his.
He led her out of the foyer and down the corridor, and then suddenly, a door opened and Caliban, the huge grinning Sengalese, emerged and seized Elise by the elbow, pulling her to one side of the open door and up against the wall.
"Roger darling-why is he hurting me-what is he doing?" she cried anxiously.
"Bring her in here, Caliban," Sir Henry called. He stood, his arms folded across his chest, his eyes narrow and cruel. Roger Vancourt wanted to strangle him. He entered and went up to Sir Henry and muttered, "What sort of silly game are you playing? She had just said that she would let me love her and we were going to a private room-"
"You may be interested to know, Vancourt, that I suspect this young woman to be an operative of the French Surette!" Henry Wilmerson broke in coldly. "Caliban, toss me her purse-that's it! Now let's see for ourselves, shall we?"
The giant Sengalese had very deftly removed Elise's purse from her hand and was holding it in his left hand while in his right he gripped both of her slim wrists, twisting them painfully and pressing her back against the wall. He now passed the purse to his master, who instantly rummaged through it.
"I don't see anything incriminating here. Sir Henry," Roger Vancourt grew more and more irritated. "You're seeing ghosts!"
"I hardly think so, my friend. The Surette has for the past several years been mildly interested in the bordellos with which we deal to dispose of our girl-bitches as servants. I had thought that here in the heart of France, under the name that I have assumed, and under the careful precautions I and many of my friends have taken, we would be safe for the rest of our lives. But there is always someone who will not let an old imperfection as it were, continue.'"
"But what the devil has all this to do with Elise and the Surette?'"
"It is my business to be suspicious of everyone and everything, Vancourt. I founded this establishment. I used my own capital, and I spent much of my time recruiting the wealthiest "and most fastidious men to join me in sharing the pleasures of the flesh. There have been a few private detectives trying to track down a missing servant on occasion. Sometimes, at the outset of my little club, members were not quite so intelligent about presenting a girl who had absolutely no family ties. There were a few unhappy though minor repercussions. Perhaps it is only my natural instincts for caution. But there is something about this girl I don't like, Vancourt. Did she seek you out?"
"Why, yes, as a matter-of-fact, Elise came to my shop looking for a job as a model or a seamstress."
"Sir Henry" the lovely brunette called out in a clear unfrightened voice, "I don't know what this is all about, but I don't relish having my best dinner frock rumpled by this huge brute who keeps pressing me against the wall. If you have any charges against me, why don't you make them to me directly?"
"Since you put it so directly, Mademoiselle Elise or whatever else your name may be," Sir Henry Wilmerson smirked, "I'll be happy to accommodate you. Vancourt, you didn't think of looking in her purse, did you?"
"Of course I didn't!"
"That is why you are only a Cockmaster and I am the head of this entire menage," the bearded Englishman insolently retorted. "Don't think that I haven't had the feeling that you are hungry for power and glory and that you would like very much to replace me, Vancourt. You will hardly find it possible. Most of the members of the club would prefer me to you, since I am tested and you are still untried. Then there is the matter of the girl whom you gave to us proving to be a treacherous bitch who is now of no value to our members. And now this girl who keeps in her purse little wads of paper marked with the most interesting and cryptic pencil marks. Very well, Mademoiselle, would you be good enough to explain to me this symbol?"
So saying, he opened his hand in front of Elise's face while the Sengalese held both of her arms behind her back, and Roger Vancourt uttered a cry.
It was a rumpled slip of yellow tissue paper, and on it in red pencil appeared a crude design of the exterior of the chateau itself.
"What does this mean, Mademoiselle?" Sir Henry demanded.
"That I like to draw and sketch, that's all."
"During the drive here?" he pursued.
"Of course."
"Vancourt, you alone can tell me whether she is lying or not; did you see her draw while you were driving her here?"
"No, but that doesn't mean she couldn't have-"
"You are a man infatuated, it is easy to see. Perhaps we shall have the truth if we take this girl to The Bitchery! Caliban, if she doesn't come readily, drag her there by sheer force!"
CHAPTER SIXTEEN
The burly Sengalese servant had seized black-haired Elise at Sir Henry Wilmerson's order: with a rawhide thong, he drew her slender wrists behind her back and swiftly bound them tightly, then gripped her by the shoulder and made her march down the stairs to the subterranean punishment chamber where Roger Vancourt had flogged his naked mistress Michelle just before her sentence to the Bitchery and her introduction into the ranks of the girl-bitches.
"Perhaps, Sir Henry," Roger Vancourt nervously interposed, "you could be making a terrible mistake about Elise."
"If that is the case, I shall be the first to apologize to the young lady," the bearded Englishman tartly rejoined. "But I would rather cause a little discomfort to a pretty bitch, as I am sure you would, Vancourt, than to have this entire retreat of ours made the cynosure of every muckraking newspaper and reporter and legal snoop in all of Eurooe. Caliban, you are to take that girl and attach her to the St. Andrew's cross! And then you will strip her naked, do you understand?"
"Roger, my darling, are you going to let this man do this to me? What's the meaning of all this? You told me that you were bringing me here to meet your friend and that we should have dinner together-and now I'm being treated like a spy!" the lovely brunette protested. Roger Vancourt looked in anguish towards Sir Henry. his own indecision making him waver between his passion for the beautiful young woman who had come to him out of nowhere and his own prudent caution in not wishing his membership among "Les Amants Prodigues" to be made public knowledge.
But the giant Sengalese had already forced Elise back against the huge St. Andrew's cross formed like a giant X and in a trice he had bound her slim ankles by unlocking the fetters at the lower legs of the cross and then clamping them closed. And then, untying the thongs at her wrists, he fastened them to a similar set of manacles set into the wood. And now she found herself spreadeagled along the shape of that cross, she was very pale and her eyes fixed on the grinning Negro who stood before her and began to rip her frock off and then her slip and then her bra and panties, till she was finally reduced to garterbelt. hose and highheeled pumps.
Roger Vancourt sucked in his breath at the sight of that beloved tawny-sheened body in that provocative deshabille. Sir Henry, Elise's purse still in his hand, now came forward while the grinning Negro handed him a flexible black leather riding crop.
"You will explain to me, my dear young lady, what you were doing with these sketches of my chateau in your purse and how, if you were coming here for the first time as my guest, you knew enough to draw the details. Here is the turn of the road and the sign with the initials leading to my estate. But how would you know this if you had never been here before?"
"I am not a spy and I am not anything more than the mistress of Roger Vancourt," Elise said defiantly.
Sir Henry muttered an imprecation, and, drawing back his right arm, slashed Elise across the tops of her naked breasts. She turned her face to one side and ground her teeth together to keep from crying out. while a dull weal rose on her smooth skin, suddenly turning dark and livid. Roger Vancourt could see the pulse in the hollow of her throat quicken and hammer furiously, could see those beautiful breasts rise and fall with an agitated turbulence.
"You had better tell me the truth, you bitch, or we'll use some of our ingenious methods on you. The electrodes, for instance, or better yet the dogs, eh, Caliban?"
"Yes massa," the Sengalese retorted with an obscene grin. "I bet if the massa have Ajax or Scorpio fuck dis yeah white bitch she talk fast enough. I bet!"
"Meanwhile, I will conduct my own inquiry as I think best."' Sir Henry chuckled savagely, stepping up close to the almost naked captive on the cross, and lowering the riding crop till he pressed it between her thighs. "Now I want an explanation, young woman, and I want the truth!"
Elise closed her eyes and, with a furious grimace of frustrated rage, the bearded Englishman lowered his right hand and then swept it up with all his might. The leather crop bit viciously into Elise's black-furred cunt, and her body threshed wildly about against her bonds as she uttered a piercing shriek of pain.
"Now we're getting somewhere. The truth! Who are you and where did you come from and where did you get those sketches?" Sir Henry repeated, and at each question, he struck a quick little blow of the crop against one of Elise's bare breasts.
Her face twisted this way and that, she groaned and sobbed, and then at last he lowered the crop between her straddled thighs and swept it up. Her body seemed to leap upwards, restrained by the fetters at wrists and ankles, a wild cry tore from her, then her head drooped forward on her bosom, in a temporary swoon.
"Revive that bitch, Caliban,'" Sir Henry said in a raging tone, "and put her on the cradle. We shall try the dogs with her. Perhaps they will make her speak!"
"But, Sir Henry, it may be just coincidence," Roger Vancourt began.
"You're an idiot, Vancourt if you think that. I am not the head Cockmaster for nothing. You. thinking of nothing but your own pleasure and of wanting to replace me, when you hardly know the long history of prying attempts that have been made to find out the secret of this estate, to learn what goes on behind these walls, to bribe my faithful men, to get themselves invited here no matter what the cost. Bah, I am better qualified than anyone here to protect all of you so that you may go on enjoying your little pleasures," Sir Henry Wilmerson scornfully declared.
"I tell you, there is something about that girl that makes me certain that she is employed by a private detective agency or some such enterprise to find out scandalous facts by which they could blackmail all of us! But she won't get away with it, if she's who I really suspect she is!" he went on.
They had reached the rectangular enclosure of The Bitchery. There were the three "cradles," and Caliban hastened to lay Elise's inert body over the middle one and then to fetter her so that she knelt with her neck yoked and her wrists bound ahead of her, supported over the horizontal bars and tilted by the angling of this curious apparatus itself so that her bottom u-preared at an angle in the most salacious way.
"Now bring Hector, the strongest of my mastiffs!" Sir Henry ordered, and then, his eyes glittering, he ordered, "and have the girl-bitch Michelle brought here and placed on one of the other coupling machines. Let that be done first, Caliban, before you bring Hector."
In a few moments, the Sengalese led the naked Michelle Robuis out into the rectangular enclosure of The Bitchery. Roger Vancourt trembled, seeing his former mistress thus, still lovely, but her face was haggard, her pussy hairless. How many dogs had thrust their cocks into both her pussy and anus by this time, how often had she known orgasm through the copulation of an animal?
"Place her at the right of this Elise," Sir Henry said.
"Oh, mon Dieu!" Michelle cried, "Elise-oh no, they've captured you!'"
"Now," Sir Henry gloatingly declared, "after you have heard that little scene of recognition, Vancourt, have you any doubts that this Elise is a spy?"
"You-you know this girl, Michelle?" Roger Vancourt hoarsely demanded.
By now, the grinning Sengalese had strapped Michelle down on the cradle to the right of Elise.
"Yes!" Michelle triumphantly gasped, "Elise is my second cousin. She came to save me!"
"And now, Vancourt,'" the bearded Englishman turned on Roger Vancourt, his eyes blazing, his face livid with rage, "you have the final proof of your stupidity! You, who fancy yourself to be such a lover, let yourself be taken in by this girl! I've no doubt that she offered herself and so you brought her here. Not only that, you brought this Michelle to us and you swore that she had no living relatives. You do not deserve your membership and I will dissolve it.-but these girls will first be punished until they wish they had never been born! I will begin with a good whipping for each of them between the legs, to make the place tender for Hector. Yes, Hector shall service both of these girl-bitches!"
He raised his riding crop and, with a savage oath, slashed it across first Elise's tawny bottom, then Michelle's creamy posterior. But hardly had their cries of pain resounded almost as a echo, when suddenly a muffled reverberation like a pistol shot was heard from the front of the park near the gate of entry to the chateau. And then followed a shrill whistle ... a police whistle.
"You see, Vancourt," Sir Henry's voice rose al most to a scream of fury. "Your stupidity, your lack of caution has brought the law down on us! You deserve to die-"
He had lifted his riding crop against Roger Vancourt himself, but the suave black-haired dress salon owner flung himself on the older man, wresting away the riding crop, and then his hands went for Sir Henry's throat. With all his might he lunged forward, carrying the Englishman before him, smashing Sir Henry's skull against the thick opaque glass. There was a gurgling cry, and the master of the domain slumped to the floor.
"I'll help you get free before Caliban brings Hector, he's the biggest of the Danish mastiffs," Roger Vancourt hoarsely panted as he rushed back to the cradles and began feverishly loosening the bonds of first Elise and then Michelle. But before he could free the first girl, the hideous snarl and yapping of a giant Danish mastiff filled the corridor, and the angry shouts of Caliban mingled as he saw his master lying bleeding and inert on the floor of the rectangular enclosure of The Bitchery.
Now there came the sounds of other gunshots, closer, and the shouts of men and the shrill piping of whistles. The Sengalese unlocked the leash and snarled, "Kill, Hector, kill!"
With a hideous slavering growl, the huge mastiff sprang at Roger Vancourt, but at that moment a pistol shot rang out and the beast dropped only a few feet from the black-haired lover of Elise. Caliban turned, plucking a knife from his belt, but a second pistol shot made him stumble forward and then sprawl full length. It was over....
He had been obsessed by lust. But when he had discovered that Sir Henry Wilmerson intended to murder the two beautiful women whom he had so deeply loved, Michelle and then Elise, cynical Roger Vancourt had realized that his jaded lusts had reached full cycle and that he could not commit the sacrifice of human life simply for selfish pleasures.
The men of the French Surette had followed Elise's little signals which she had dropped out of her purse onto the road while Roger Vancourt had driven her to the chateau. Interpol, too, was working in conjunction with the French police because there had been an escape from one of the elegant brothels in Casablanca of a beautiful inmate who reaching the protection of French police, had made a statement concerning the depraved traffic in women and young girls which began at a certain elegant estate in the Southern countryside of France.
Roger Vancourt had fallen unconscious just as the huge mastiff and Caliban had been shot by the police. He had had a nervous breakdown, and it was not until forty-eight hours later that he awoke to find himself with Michelle and Elise at his bed and ready to tell him the uncanny truth.
Yes, it was true that both were second cousins, but what Roger Vancourt would never have guessed was that Michelle herself, using all her delicious tactics of female coquettery, had lured him into making her his mistress. It had been her theory that a man as rich and powerful as Roger Vancourt and also a bachelor might well seek the bizarre amusements which only a secret and forbidden cult like the Chateau de l'Ombre could provide. She had sacrificed herself, she had endured even the hell of the ordeal of mating with those dogs, but her sacrifice had not been in vain. There was a guard known as Cartouche who had not told Henry Wilmerson the entire truth. Cartouche had received two letters from Michelle and two pearls of great price ... and he had turned over only one of each to his sadistic master. So the letter had been posted and it had reached Elise, informing her in code that Michelle was now a prisoner in the infamous chateau and that the man who had brought her there had been Roger Vancourt....
"And now what will you do with me?" he stared at each in turn, tears welling into his eyes. "I wanted power, I wanted to rule that chateau, I would have consigned you both willingly to the dogs oh my God, I became a monster!"
"And yet you redeemed yourself," ' Elise murmured as she leaned forward to caress his pale cheek. "You did not let Sir Henry kill us as he meant to do. There will be no legal charge against you. Unless, of course, my second cousin wishes some restitution for the horrible months she had to endure in The Bitchery. I can assure you that the other members who amused themselves with her in the Punishment Stockade are facing prison, scandal, the loss of their social rank as well as the respect of their families. And there may be other criminal charges placed against them before this matter is settled. One thing is certain, the transfer of women from this chateau to the brothels for profit will at last be stopped!"
"I thought that money could buy anything and that no woman was better than a bitch," Roger Vancourt lowered his eyes and said in a hoarse voice.
"We are all bitches," Michelle smiled as she lean ed forward to kiss his other cheek. "But if you will marry me and let my second cousin be your chief model for the salons my dear Roger, I will drop any formal charges against you."
"I accept," ' he gasped. He could not believe his good fortune.
But now Elise and Michelle leaned towards him, one from each side of the bed, and it was Elise who had the last word: "You shall be faithful to us both, Roger. Michelle will be your wife and I I will run your business and be your model. I can promise that you will have all of the pleasures that you have dreamed of, except that it is you who will be our faithful dog. But not even in the privacy of the bedchamber, dear Roger, will so much as a lap dog or a poodle be allowed! But you will find us women enough to satisfy you for a lifetime, and we pledge this to you here and now.
He stared at them, each in turn, and he saw their luminous, ardent eyes and the promise of untold joys. Yes, he would be their slave forever more. He had learned what the hounds of he could do, but now he was to learn how cunning soft and loving bitches could bewitch, beguile and enslave.
