Colonel Fong had just touched a match to the small bowl of his opium pipe when a knock sounded at the door. He shouted an order to enter, and leaned back with his eyes closed. The sharp, acrid taste of smoke filled his mouth, stung his nostrils as he inhaled deeply. And then like a gentle tingling in his blood, the narcotic began to caress him. He floated lazily in a cloud of softness.
"The preparations have been completed, sir," said Liu-Che, the colonel's obsequious orderly.
Colonel Fong nodded and stood up. Taking one more puff from the pipe, he put it on his desk. Then, without a word, he mentioned toward the closet door. At once the thin orderly opened it and took out a full length suit that was made of scarlet rubber.
Lying the rubber suit on the bed, the orderly unbuttoned Colonel Fong's tunic. Carefully, so as not to wrinkle the cloth, he hung the tunic on a hanger. The colonel sat on the bed while Liu-Che removed his boots and trousers. Then he stood up and stepped into the legs of the single-piece rubber suit.
The orderly smoothed carefully, stretching and pulling at the rubber, shaping it to the colonel's stocky body. He adjusted it beneath the arms, drew the flap tight across the chest and fastened a series of buckles.
Only the colonel's hands and head remained uncovered. The orderly produced a pair of rubber surgeon's gloves and held them up one at a time while the colonel inserted his hands.
Standing before the full-length mirror, Colonel Fong studied himself with satisfaction, a faint smile playing on his thin lips. The rubber suit enclosed his body like second skin, clinging tightly to his naked flesh. Already sweat was beginning to seep from Fong's pores, reducing the friction, giving the rubber a feeling of special intimacy.
However, it wasn't just the physical pleasure he derived from the suit that prompted him to wear it. Every time he descended into the dank, evil smelling dungeon, he put on the rubber suit and gloves, as well as a gauze mask to cover his mouth and nose. It was protection against bacteria which he felt was everywhere, especially in the cellar where the prisoners were kept.
Colonel Fong was aware that he had an almost pathological fear of disease. It was this fear, in fact, which made him insist on being brought only virgins whenever his sexual cravings demanded female entertainment.
Turning to the side, he continued to stare at his strange rubber suit. It was as if a scarlet prophylactic sheath of rubber covered his entire body. The heat that was generated by this tight-fitting second-skin had another beneficial effect. It kept his tendency to put weight under control. One hour in this rubber suit would reduce his bulk by at least five pounds.
Still standing before the mirror, he pulled a tight rubber cap over his head, much like a bathing cap, but of the same scarlet color as the rest of his suit. The gauze mask was the final addition to his bizarre costume. After the colonel tied the mask over his face, he turned and walked out the door of his quarters and down the hall to the cellar entrance.
Descending the narrow stone stairs was like entering another world--a damp, slimy inferno which was dominated by a heavy silence broken only by the echo of footsteps and the occasional cries of prisoners in pain.
At the end of the main underground corridor, Colonel Fong and his orderly came to the door which opened into the special province of the jail-keeper, Messalina.
In the three months since the colonel and his group had moved into this house, she had turned this section of the cellar into a dungeon from out of the past. The torture chamber boasted of every implement which man had invented since the days of the Inquisition.
The orderly knocked on the door. It was answered at once by Messalina. She was a tall, statuesque girl who always dressed in leather costumes--costumes that were sometimes studded with sharp metal spikes. And, she always hid her identity with a black hooded mask which covered the upper half of her face.
Colonel Fong smiled vainly. He was the only person in the Paris branch who knew the secret which she guarded with her ever-present mask. He would never betray her, because she was too valuable to him. Colonel Fong was not a squeamish man, but there were times when even he felt nausea at some of the tortures which she devised as a necessary part of the Secret Service.
Messalina never faltered in performing her duty. She seemed to take a positive pleasure in the most sadistic treatment of her prisoners. And, she reserved the right to perform such punishment herself.
The instant she saw the colonel, Messalina braced herself and stood at rigid attention.
"The prisoner is ready, Colonel. Awaiting your pleasure--"
"Very well--" Messalina led the way to the large room where the girl had been stripped naked and hung by her ankles from a large wooden beam. Her legs were spread-eagled, as wide as they could be stretched. Her flesh was pink from the rush of blood, from the increased circulation caused by being tied head-down.
The Colonel examined the taut muscles of the girl's lithe young body, the fullness of her hips, the roundness of her buttocks which afforded a special target. Her long, blonde hair swept to within an inch of the floor, which she could not quite reach with her outstretched arms. She was struggling to touch the floor to support herself and relieve the weight that pulled at her ankles and hip sockets.
"Greetings, Colette--" the Colonel said with a mirthless laugh. He turned to Messalina and smiled. "Does she still refuse to reveal her identity--to admit it--?"
"She won't talk at all--" said Messalina, baring her full lips to show her even white teeth. "But we have ways of loosening the tongue. She'll come around."
"Yes--I have a very good remedy," said the colonel, looking at the girl who was squirming in terror.
Turning around, the colonel examined the portable rack which his orderly had set up behind him. The rack contained a selection of rubber implements of various sizes and shapes. Colonel Fong had his own, private collection, since he preferred rubber implements.
But there were also collections of wooden and metal instruments, but these were reserved for the more serious tortures as the victim's will come closer to cracking.
The colonel was convinced that everyone had his breaking point, although some held out with amazing persistence. The one thing which sustained most prisoners was the desperate desire to cling to life. For they knew that as soon as they broke and revealed all they knew, their usefulness was finished. They would be killed.
After studying his collection of instruments with solemn pleasure, like a philatelist pouring over rare stamps, the colonel selected the one that he intended to use.
It was the device known to sadists and masochists as the flail. It was a jointed rubber weapon which produced much the same effects as a length of chain, except that instead of tearing the skin it left only deep, painful bruises.
Messalina's eyes glowed with bright intensity behind the two round holes of her mask. Her cruel mouth became slack as she watched the colonel advance on his victim.
"If you'd like to confide in us, my dear, you'll save yourself a lot of pain," the colonel said softly.
The girl, whose face was turned to the wall, did not reply. She flinched the instant Colonel Fong's hand touched the soft inner part of her thighs. He ran his hands over her buttocks, pinching painfully the tender flesh.
And then he stood back, taking a stance with his legs spread wide, studying the distance to the target of his victim. The girl's body tightened. Tremors of anticipation made her thighs quiver, and the sight of her trembling filled Fong with excitement.
The first blow was very gentle. He lashed at the blonde's legs only to get the range. And then he struck, swinging the flail with a fierce side-armed motion. The harsh splat echoed off the stone walls of the dungeon.
The girl screamed.
Her hanging body swayed slightly, making the second blow land on the small of her back.
The colonel tightened his jaw. He did not want to damage her kidneys, at least not yet. So he aimed at a spot where her legs and buttocks joined.
The next three blows landed on her juicy buttocks, leaving vivid welts on the tender cheeks. The girl's screams split the air. He had decided not to stuff a gag in her mouth because the cries of pain had a sobering effect on other prisoners.
Laying the full weight of his stocky body into the blows, the colonel began to beat her brutally, all of his sadistic power concentrated on her luscious buttock cheeks.
The flail walloped the dangling blonde viciously. She jerked and screamed in anguish. The weapon battered her rump. Angry red welts and bruises crisscrossed her jiggling cheeks. She wailed as the colonel beat her buttocks with fury. The impact of each blow flattened the sassily jutting moons of her ass. And then the tortured blonde gave an eerie wail and slumped as she hung there helplessly by her ankles.
Colonel Fong paused. Inside his rubber suit his body streamed with perspiration.
He walked around the hanging girl. He saw that she was unconscious from the brutal, concentrated beating of her buttocks. He dashed water from a bucket into her lovely, face, but it did not revive her.
Fong decided that she had been tortured enough for the moment. Besides, the heat inside the clinging rubber suit was becoming unbearable. He wanted to strip the suit off and take a shower, which would be as refreshing as a douse of cold water after a Turkish bath.
"Return her to her cell," Colonel Fong said, putting the cruel rubber flail back on the rack.
He hadn't expected the light love taps of his truncheon to break the lovely blonde down. He did not really want to break her down yet and spoil his pleasure. This was one of the high points of his day--the aperitif before the main course, which was to be served to him in his own private quarters by his orderly, Liu-Che, who was also his chief procurer.
As chief security officer of the Paris mission, Colonel Fong was able to indulge in his own peculiar and exotic tastes--one of which was an extravagant delight in young and untouched female flesh.
He found a particular delight and pleasure in young girls whose bodies had begun to show the first subtle changes of puberty. Something in his nature demanded that he play the part of a sacrificial priest. There was a wonderful excitement in the act of profaning the secret, of crushing the freshly bloomed flower which no other hand had as yet touched.
But as with a taste for the finest brandies, or for jellied eggs and shark fin soup, the problem of supply was a major difficulty. Just like a bottle of vintage wine--so with a young girl. Once the seal was broken and the contents enjoyed, another must be produced for the next banquet.
Soon the supply which he had brought with him from China, in the guise of young servants or trainees, would be depleted. Then Liu-Che, his procurer, would have to find a new source of supply. However, considering the sexual perversities of the French, this should not prove too difficult.
When they reached the privacy of his quarters, Colonel Fong removed the mask and rubber cap while his orderly unfastened the buckles which held the rubber suit in place. Once he had shed the outer covering of rubber, his skin began to tingle with a delightful coolness.
He stepped into the shower and turned on the cold water, letting it pour over his steaming body. For five minutes he stood under the shower, slapping himself, stimulating the flow of blood through his veins.
He was drying off with a soft, big towel when Liu-Che returned with the-piece de resistance.
Colonel Fong was overly pleased when he saw her. This one his orderly must have been saving for a special occasion. She appeared to be about eleven or twelve years old, and in the loose fitting silk dress of robin's egg blue, she looked like a small China doll.
Without taking his greedy eyes from her, he waved his hand, and Liu-Che walked out quietly and closed the door. Fong circled the young girl, trembling with excitement. Then with a movement of his fingers, he indicated that she was to remove her dress.
Quickly she slipped the silk gown over her head. She wore nothing underneath. Stepping out of her sandals, she stood before him proudly.
She had surprisingly round buttocks and bronze thighs which had a hint of the fullness that would soon develop as she matured into womanhood. But she was still a girl, and that was the thing which gave her an added piquancy.
Colonel Fong could not take his eyes from the lovely young girl. He felt a stirring in his stomach as he examined the small, firm, teacup breasts with their small, sharp, pointed nipples. Her firm little stomach was flat above the curve of her thighs.
Colonel Fong dropped the towel he had been holding, revealing his own nakedness. He watched the young girl carefully as she looked at his naked body. He grinned when he saw the way she stared with open curiosity at his very big cock. A glow of hidden desire began to glow in the girl's dark eyes.
It was obvious, that though the girl was a maiden, that she was naturally, by nature, a wicked little bitch with ideas that far exceeded her tender years. He liked to see the expression of sensuality in a girl so young. It was the kind of evil which appealed to his own profligate tastes.
"Come here, my dear," he whispered, holding out his hand. "What's your name?"
"Jasmine," she replied.
"Jasmine--lovely, lovely, yes--" Her almond eyes fluttered, her nostrils flared as she drew a deep breath through her fresh, pink lips. Then she walked slowly up to him, twisting her small thighs with a shameless display of total wantonness.
"Do you know why you're here, Jasmine?"
"Yes. To please you, sir."
"And you shall do that--I'm sure."
"I shall--" she smiled.
He could not keep his eager hands off of her. His fingers reached out and stroked the round bowl of her small belly and dipped into the moist core of her pussy lips.
Her teeth bit into her lower lip as he fondled her. And, with a sudden response, she began to weave her hips, pushing them forward and up, seeking to increase the delightful pleasure she was experiencing as his hand cupped and his fingers played with her pussy.
He smiled as he assured himself that she was an unplucked little flower. He was going to be the first of what would, no doubt, be a vast number of men who would know her body. But it was essential that he be the first.
He caught his breath with sudden surprise when he felt her little hand reach down and grasp his hard, big cock brazenly. She was entering into the game with as much relish as he--unstopped by her innocence.
Sliding his arms around her, he tightened his hands on the firm little buttocks and pulled her against himself. She was very light as he lifted her and carried her to the bed. She snuggled joyfully on his lap, rubbing her juicy buttocks over his big hard-on, and tilted her face up for a kiss. Her lips were as soft as rose petals.
At once he introduced her to the delights of passionate kisses. Her small naked body shuddered as he slipped his tongue through her parted lips.
And then she was thrusting back with darting jabs of her own tongue.
He closed his hand over her sweet little tit and pinched the nipples to shivering hardness. His hand slid downward and stroked her thighs. He felt the muscles of her excited body ripple beneath his fingers.
The stirring inside of Colonel Fong, as the wild little girl responded with surprising intensity, leaped suddenly into flames that surged through his body. The pulse pounding in his head made him dizzy. She was a little bundle of squirming sexuality.
While his hands continued to caress her, she squirmed and arched her body. Her Oriental face remained expressionless. The passion that seethed inside of her body, driving her into a frenzy of anticipation, did not even show in her eyes; she did not betray the fiery emotions that she was experiencing.
With a sigh she reached behind her head and loosened her hair. It fell like a dark veil around her face, flowing beautifully over her neck and shoulders.
She smiled up at Fong, parting her full lips, revealing her small white teeth. And then she seized his big hard-on with her small, grasping hand. As she surprised him, commencing to torment him as she caressed his lurching cock with delicate fingers, a shudder passed through his body.
Rolling her onto her back on the bed, Colonel Fong leaned above her. He covered her firm little tits with his wet, greedy kisses, kissing them one at a time, drawing the nipples between his teeth.
While she squirmed beneath him, her fingers raked up and down over his chest, her sharp, long nails scratching and cutting gouges painfully in the flesh, making him groan. Warm breath poured through her gaping lips. Her eyes squeezed closed and then opened wide to stare hotly at him. Her Oriental calm had deserted her. He had roused her to a frenzy of desire, and how it was apparent by the lust-crazed expression on her delicate face.
"My Jasmine--"
"My Colonel--"
"So sweet, so innocent--"
"Will it happen soon?" she sighed. "I want it to happen. I can't wait much longer--" The tone of her words sent chills along his spine. Her little voice made him more aware of her tender years and the wickedness of the act he was about to perform.
The bare, shining skin of her body looked as soft as velvet as she wormed beneath him, her hand jerking urgently on his hard-on. Almost reluctantly she clasped her thighs together, and then, with a deep sigh, she parted them, opening for him.
His cock teased at her virginal pussy lips. She pushed them at the hard, blunt head of his cock. Slowly he achieved slight penetration.
"More, more--" she urged.
He went slowly. She was so tight. Even though her cunt was moist and ready, she was unused and tight, very tight. But then his excitement got the better of him and he took her with a sudden, powerful lunge, his big cock plowing in, plundering her little cunt. A shrill cry of pain burst from her lips. She fought to escape the cruel impalement, pounding her small fists against his chest and face. But he could not, would not, release her. His cock burrowed up into her, breaking forever her hymen, severing her virginity with a painful lunge.
Brutally he drove at her cunt with his heavy body and plundering cock. She gasped and sobbed under him with each downward lunge that shatteringly shafted his cock way up into her cunt.
But gradually, her cries of protest and pain diminished. And then she flung her arms around his bull-like neck and pressed her small body upward, twisting her hips, seeking to impale herself on the hard, exquisite pain which had become a voluptuous new pleasure.
Her tender lips became frantic as she showered his face with passionate kisses. He felt her tiny body twisting, twitching and shuddering.
The delirium grew so intense that suddenly she reached the pinnacle and lifted him with her through the final spasms of completion. His sperm shot into her and boiled in her cunt tunnel as her internal muscles clenched on his spurting cock. Her juice flowed, soaking his spitting cock.
She clung to him with her legs locked high around his waist. She tossed and rolled and arched up from the bed, trailing the pointy nipples of her tits over his bare chest. She clawed at his back, cutting his flesh open with her nails, and she bit sharply into the muscle of his neck with her teeth, wounding him, drawing blood.
For more than a minute she shuddered and thrashed about on the bed under him, carrying him with her, as she found her new delight impaled on his hard, sperm-pouring cock.
Colonel Fong was desperately weakened by the violence of the struggle with the tempestuous young girl. He struggled to break away from her now, but still she clung with her arms and lunged at his wilting cock with her demanding cunt.
She was no longer innocent. She was a voluptuous little beast, a sensual female animal who would not let him go. He stared down and saw her lips drawn back from her teeth. A whine came from the depths of her throat.
"I want more!" she cried demandingly to Colonel Fong.
"I have nothing left--" he panted, his collapsed cock still a captive in her clenching pussy lips.
"More! I want more!"
"I'm finished--" he gasped as she tore at him with her sharp nails, ripping his back open with deep scratches.
"No, no, no--more, more more!"
"No--it's useless--need rest--" Colonel Fong said in desperate exhaustion.
With a look of anger and malice and frustration on her pretty young face she heaved his bulky, tired-out body off of her. She scrambled up with energy as his slumped back, sucking for breath.
"Give me more! Oh, look at it!" she cried, pointing at his soaked, wilted cock. "It's like a dead worm!" she sneered with contempt.
"Jasmine--"
"Is this what you are? Is this what a man is? One quick ride and then helpless nothingness?" she mocked.
"Please, my dear, Jasmine--give me a moment to revive and--"
"It's a useless worm! It was a proud, hard monster, and now it's a useless worm!" she cried with frustration, wanting more as she fingered his wilted cock with her delicate fingers. She squeezed his slippery cock with her hand, hurting him, making him cry out. He was desperately trying to regain his strength that she had completely drained from him.
"Jasmine--a moment--a few moments more, and then--"
"A useless worm!" she cried in disgust.
She snatched up the rubber cap that he had worn. With vicious, frustrated fury she began to slap him hard with the rubber cap. It slapped violently over his chest, hurting him, leaving a vivid red splotch on his flesh.
"Jasmine!" he shouted, stunned by her fury as she began to beat him with the rubber cap. It hurt him as much as a belt would--the rubber cap was thick, coarse rubber and stung viciously.
He rolled over and cried out and tried to crawl away from the furious young girl. She swatted him again and again on his rear end with the rubber cap, each vicious swat leaving a deep scarlet welt on his buttock cheeks.
Never had one of these young girls turned on him in such a vindictive, sadistic way. He could not get away from the little girl as she flogged his ass brutally with the rubber cap, swatting his ass cheeks to glowing, puffy red.
He collapsed on his face as she attacked him from the rear, beating him solidly with the rubber cap.
"I was taught a man gives a girl pleasure!" she cried out as he writhed under her flogging.
"I--gave you--pleasure--" he whined in humiliation and pain.
"Not enough! Not enough!" she cried.
"Jasmine! Stop!"
"Worm! Worm! Worm!" she shouted in rage.
She beat him wildly over the back and buttocks, hurting him with the stinging blows of the rubber cap. Fong, writhing in pain, felt the pain she was inflicting on him suddenly turning pleasurable. He began to whimper and whine as she flogged him with youthful vigor.
She grabbed him by the ear and rolled him over onto his back. He rolled over, lurching, whimpering in humiliation that a girl so little and so young could so thrash him into helpless pain.
She began swatting him about his hard, mellon of a belly, and over his thighs, hitting the rubber cap dangerously close to his groin. And, as she beat him, his cock began to rise and stiffen.
When the girl saw his cock rearing up, she let out a cry of glee.
"Look! Look! It's rising! Hardening! Your cock's coming back to life!" she cried.
She tossed the rubber cap aside and began to claw wildly at his groin, scratching painfully with her sharp nails. He wailed in pain. But his cock continued to rise, as if stirred by torture. She ripped with her nails and squeezed frantically with her little hands at his groin, squealing with joy.
And then, with a wild shriek, the little girl, who moments ago had been a tender virgin, leaped up over him, squatting astride him, mashing her pussy down on his stiff shaft, impaling herself on it.
She let out a wild cry as her cunt sank down on his prick. She sat down on it, delighting as the big cock filled up her vagina deliciously.
"Jasmine!" he cried, stunned by her youthful aggressiveness.
"My Colonel! My lover!" she laughed as she began to hump up and down on the pole of his hard prick.
She rotated and hopped up and down on his slippery, captive cock, arching her body, her small, firm tits bouncing, her sassy bottom skidding around on his straining thighs.
She fucked him insanely from the top, using him to suit her own passionate need, giving him great pleasure as her cunt encased and throbbed around his impaling prick.
Jasmine fucked the Colonel, completely overwhelming him with her passionate embrace as she rocked her body over him, her head thrown back, her long dark hair whipping from side to side, the cords in her long, pretty neck standing out as she gaspingly rode his cock toward her climax.
Under her, Fong bucked and ground his hips up at her as she snaked her clasping, hot cunt downward, driving his cock up into her pussy. He was sweating profusely as he labored beneath her, straining to keep up with the tempo of the furious pace that she was setting.
"Jasmine! You're a wild bitch!" he shouted through his gasping puffs for breath.
"Come on! Give it to me!" she shouted down at him.
She heaved and rode on his cock, swirling her pelvis as she drove up and down, up and down, with a tempo that was blinding and near impossible for him to keep up with.
Finally, her cunt began to convulse. Her juices poured as she screamed out her finish. The oozing cream dribbled down the shaft of his cock to soak and mat his wiry pubic hair. And her clenching, convulsing cunt triggered his eruption, and his bloating, lurching cock began to shoot boiling semen up into her flashing, oozing cunt.
It was a wild finish for both of them, and the young girl collapsed, falling onto top of Fong as they finished hugely, together. She lay on top of him, panting, covering his sweating, flushed face with grateful kisses, squirming her still tingling cunt on his fast deflating cock.
They lay together, arms and legs entwined, his limp cock still buried in her vibrating pussy. No female except the sadistic Messalina had ever treated the Colonel in such a way, overcoming him, beating him and then taking him. But Jasmine was a tender girl, and Messalina was an adversary of stature.
"Dear Jasmine, this must be our secret," he whispered.
"Secret?"
"Yes. Secret. No one must ever know that you subjected me to a beating--"
"Oh?" she grinned at him wisely. She understood. Knowledge that a girl as young as she could defeat and subject him to torment would humiliate him if it ever became common knowledge. She knew now that she could exploit him.
"Jasmine?"
"Yes. I'll keep it a secret. But there's a price--"
"A price?"
"Yes. You must be mine. You must come to me and give yourself to me and let me fulfill my basest whims--"
"I--see--All right, agreed--" he said, defeated, knowing he'd have to play it her way. And, it might be pleasurable, if future bouts with the wild young girl matched what he had just experienced.
"Good!" she smiled with pleasure.
CHAPTER TWO
Only one man was in the room with Hank Devlin. Two chairs had been pulled close to the window which faced the street. Jacques Boussous, who had been staring through the drawn Venetian slats with a pair of binoculars, turned and smiled at Hank.
"Five o'clock," he said, "they'll be leaving soon."
Hank nodded. Lifting a second pair of binoculars from the empty chair, he sat down and looked through the slats at the big, stone, three-story house across the street.
Number 7, Rue Castelet. Until a few months ago--until the DeGaulle government had recognized Red China, to be exact--the house had been like any other in this upper-middle-class residential section of Paris. But change brings more change. With the arrival of a Chinese delegation to open an embassy, there were other arrivals, less conspicuous.
Number 7, Rue Castelet was not the address of the Red Chinese Embassy. It was the supposedly secret headquarters of the Chinese Communist Secret Service. And, as such, it was of special interest to British and French Counter Intelligence. With the approval of the French government and the aid of a couple of French agents, the British Security Services had set up this room across from Number 7 to keep a detailed account of who entered and who left the house.
At the moment they were watching especially for one person who had entered three days ago and hadn't come out. The rear entrance was being watched, too, by other agents of the group which Hank Devlin commanded for this particular job.
"No sign of Colette?"
"She must still be in there," replied Jacques, shaking his head grimly.
"They may have broken her cover--"
"Why else would they be keeping her so long? She's probably getting the treatment right now. If she breaks--" Jacques didn't finish his sentence.
Hank chewed his lip. 'Colette' was the code name of a French girl who had been working as a double agent. Posing as a fanatic Communist, she had even made a trip to China. And the information she had been feeding the British service was of top quality.
If she were even suspected by the Chinese, they had the diabolic means with which to break her down. Once they gained all the information she had about British and French intelligence, she would no doubt be killed.
But before that happened, Hank knew they had to get her out of there. But as an annex to the Chinese Embassy, Number 7 carried the same diplomatic immunity. A bit of the old China sod on French soil.
"You say the staff leaves at five?"
"Every night--shortly after five."
Hank nodded. When the Chinese moved into the house, they had kept the servant staff. The most obvious way to get an inkling of what was happening to Colette was through one of the servants, who might possibly have seen something mysterious, something that would give them a clue.
"Here they come now," Jacques said. "They all leave together. The guards open the door only once."
Hank peered through his binoculars at the six people who came through the door of Number 7. Two men and four women. One of the women was much younger than the rest. She was a tall, fine-limbed brunette who wore a nurse's uniform and cape.
As a nurse, she might have seen things which the others hadn't. Hank put down the binoculars as he stood up.
"I'm going to see what I can find out. We've got to start moving."
"Good hunting," Jacques replied with a meaningful smile.
Hank caught up with the servants at the comer, just as they split into smaller groups and went their separate ways. The nurse paired off with one of the women. They caught a bus on the Avenue d' Orleans, and Hank climbed aboard as it left the curb. The old lady got off first. Then the nurse left the bus by herself at the Rue de Berri.
Hank followed the nurse past several bookstores and antique shops which seemed to be a specialty of the street. He caught up with her just as she turned into a doorway which led upstairs.
"Pardon me, mademoiselle," Hank smiled and showed her his identification. "May we talk a moment in private?"
Her dark, brooding eyes stared for a moment, and then she let a faint smile cross her lips.
"I live here. We'll go to my room."
Hank nodded and followed her up the stairs, enjoying the fine swivel of her hips with each step she took. She unlocked a door at the end of the hallway and walked inside.
"We're investigating certain activities of the Chinese Communists," Hank said, coming to the point, after they'd exchanged a moment of small talk. "Since you work at Number 7, Rue Castelet--"
"I've seen nothing out of the ordinary," she said coolly.
"Well, to you it might seem ordinary--" And then Hank produced a photo of Colette and handed it to the nurse. "Have you ever seen this girl?"
"I'm sorry. No," she said after studying the picture.
"Are you allowed to go everywhere in the house?"
"Everywhere except the cellar. They keep the door to the basement locked and guarded at all times."
Hank nodded. That meant something was going on in the basement. He put the photo back in his pocket.
"If you notice anything out of the ordinary, or if you should see the girl whose picture I showed you--would you please get in touch with us at once?"
"I'd be glad to. Is she being held a prisoner?"
"We think so."
"Then I'd be happy to do anything I can. A French girl?"
"Yes."
"I will help."
"Thank you." He got up and smiled as he began to walk toward the door.
"Won't you have a drink before you leave?" she asked quickly. Her lips pouted sensuously. She was a looker with a stunning body. "I don't have whiskey. But--if you'd like some sherry--?"
"Sherry's fine, thank you."
Hank watched as she removed the cap from her shoulders, revealing a luscious pair of soaring tits which strained at the front of her white starched uniform.
They were so big and so full that it was amazing to see them standing so erect, without a trace of sag. He knew that those tits would be two-mouthwatering cones, and he longed to get his hands and mouth on them.
She smiled at him, licking her tongue over her lush lips; her eyes were a warm invitation. Before she could reach the wine bottle on the shelf above the fireplace, Hank slipped his arm tentatively around her slender waist. She responded at once, arching her back and shoving herself against him hotly. Her soft little tummy rubbed against his as her thighs wormed, beckoning. Her breasts were two rolling pillows that mashed deliciously against his chest.
He kissed her, tasting the sweetness of her mouth, letting her tongue invade his mouth. She was giving him an open invitation to the bedroom.
"You didn't think I'd let you get away so easily, did you?" she smiled, her voice low and husky.
Hank didn't reply. His lips ware busy, nuzzling her long throat as his hands caressed her ass and tits avidly. She shoved hard against him, letting his hands roam, rubbing her pubic mound teasingly against the growing lump of his cock.
"Don't play around, lover. I'm a girl with a short fuse."
"You're deliciously desirable."
"You, too--" Her hands dug into his back, her nails biting painfully. Her thighs began to wriggle with fiery longing. Her hand moved down between them and found and began to fondle his bulging erection.
"Ahhhh, lover--you have a big one--the kind I like--"
"God, I've got to have you."
"So take me," she grinned.
" She was so ready she seemed about to have an orgasm standing up. His search for the zipper might have taken longer if she hadn't guided his hand to it. He pulled it down and the dress began to fall away. With slow, luxurious movements, she stripped out of her clothes. And Hank was quickly stripping, too.
The instant that they were both naked, they fell across the bed. At once his face found her huge, shapely breasts.
"What a pair! Never seen them so big--and they're so firm--"
"Like a cow, no?"
"No," he laughed, beginning to suckled on her long, pink nipples.
Her fantastic tits were more fantastic than he'd imagined they would be. He covered them with kisses, paying special attention to her long nipples, sucking them, licking them, tongue flogging them, and she squirmed, loving it, running her fingers through his hair as she sighed.
"Yes, yes--I love that. Bite them! Mmmmmm, that's the way--"
"Beautiful--"
"I'm a fiend for fucking," she said with brazen frankness. "Especially when the man is a stallion--a stud--like you! Ahhhhh, mon cherie--kiss my nipples. Bite them. Ahhhhh! Mmmmmm! Yes, chew on them like bonbons!"
Hank kissed and tongued one nipple, then the other, drawing the hard nibs between his lips, stroking them with the flat of his tongue as she wormed beneath him in delight, tossing her thighs so that their bellies slapped and his hard-on thudded against her.
The slightest teasing of his lips made her sob deep in her throat.
He lavished kisses and licks and sucks on her tits for five long minutes, driving her wild, teasing himself. Her fingers were thrashing wildly at his arching erection.
"Now--" he said, rising up over her.
"No, no, no--!"
"No?" he frowned as she pushed her hands against his chest.
"No! First--my bizarre moment--!"
"Bizarre moment?"
"Yes, mon cherie! I am--how you say--a freak?" she giggled, rolling out from under him, her hand still jerking up and down on his hard cock.
"What kind of freak?"
"A pain freak!" she laughed wildly.
"I'll be damned--"
"You will indulge me, lover? Ehhh?"
"What's your pleasure?"
"Ah, good! After, I will give you a ride, a wild fuck you will never forget! I promise!"
"Okay. What's the game?"
"Ah, you will see," she laughed, getting up, running across the room, every inch of her voluptuous body in glorious, groin-gripping motion.
"What the devil is that?"
"You shall spank me with it, no?" she squealed with masochistic delight. She handed it to him, draping her luscious body over his lap in spanking position.
It was a hand-carved wooded paddle. It was carved in the shape of a spanking hand. The palm and undersides of the fingers--the part that would hit her juicy buttocks--was studded with tiny, fine needle points.
"You want me to spank you with this?"
"Oh, yes, yes! I will love it! Please, spank me, lover!"
"But--the needles--they'll--"
"Hurt me! And I'll love it, love it!"
"It's your ass, baby," he grinned.
"It's yours to punish! Begin! Please!"
"All right--" She was so sexy and desirable lying over his lap, her ass jutting up, presenting a firm, delectable, ample target. As she lay squirming over his laps her belly rubbed wildly over his throbbing hard-on, making Hank groan. He knew that the sooner he got this bit of perversion over with, the sooner he could sink his aching cock into her enticing snatch.
He rose his arm. He held the beautifully carved wooden hand tightly. Then down he brought it smartly, right across the shimmering cheeks of her flawless ass.
Splat!
The wooden hand walloped her buttock cheeks hard. She squealed in pained delight. The red imprint of the hand was etched in puffy red on her ass cheeks. And there were dozens of tiny beads of blood where the tiny, sharp needle points punctured the lush flesh of her bottom.
Splat!
Splat! Splat! Splat! Again and again Hank's arm rose and fell, beating her ass with the carved wooden hand. Now her ass cheeks were splotched with the blending red, welted imprints of the spanking hand, and her buttocks were covered with a rash of tiny punctures that bubbled tiny beads of blood.
"Oh, spank me harder, my lover!" she squealed, her voice a mixture of pain and delight.
Hank's cock was lurching under her as she squirmed on his lap as he spanked her. Up and down his arm flailed as he flogged her bottom with the cruel wooden hand. Now the tiny beads of blood were smearing over her juicy, welted behind.
He beat a fierce tattoo on her upjutting buttocks. She squirmed and squealed, shoving her ass up at the down-coming hand, wanting the pain, longing for the suffering each wallop brought her.
"Again! Again, lover! Harder! Harder! Faster!" she cried.
He spanked her hard and fast as she writhed over his lap, her fantastic tits dangling, jiggling, her ass a ruin of red welts and smears of blood. He beat her and beat her, and still she urged him to beat her more. He didn't know how she could take it.
Finally-- "Enough, lover! Enough!" she cried.
Hank was sweating from the exertion of beating her ass raw with the carved, needle-studded, wooden hand. He tossed it aside as she rolled off of his lap. She got to her feet, grinned at him wildly and then, with a high-pitch cry she leaped at him, knocking him back on the bed.
"Now we fuck, my stud lover!" she cried, her hands mauling him.
She grabbed him with strength that surprised him and flipped him over as she rolled onto her back. She pulled him down on top of herself as she joyfully spread her thighs wide and yanked out his throbbing cock toward the moist, open mouth of her cunt.
"Now, cherie, now! The torment of the spanking--I need your cock in me! Now! Give it to me now! Please, please--!" Her voice quivered as she arched up with beckoning thighs, yanking his cock right at the core of her cunt.
Before she could guide his cock into her drenched slit Hank reached down and put his hand on her naked pussy, dipping his fingers into the moist, heated softness.
She lay on her back beneath him, tossing her head and her long, dark hair, clawing at the mattress, writhing and moaning.
"Don't tease me, my stud lover! Stick it in me!" she screamed.
She lunged her cunt against his hand as he fingered her cunt and her arms reached up to encircle his neck. Both of them were straining with sexual hunger.
And then they made crushing contact. There was a fierce grafting of bodies, a frenzied tangling of arms and legs, a plunging of hard cock into soft, moist, receptive cunt.
They went wild. She bucked and rolled and reared beneath him, and he held on for dear life as he impaled her, screwing her viciously. Lust destroyed the final trappings of civilization. They became like two primitive animals, with the predatory madness of their passion.
Her burning hot thighs and cunt clung to him as her legs scissored his bucking, churning waist. Like a terrier shaking a rat, like a whale trying to throw off a harpoon, she arched her demanding body, lifting him up from the bed with herself.
And then with a sudden grunt of conquering manhood, he rammed her down hard, driving her into the squeaking mattress, making her squeal in pain and delirium. He slipped his hands under her fleshy thighs and dug his fingers brutally into the round, wounded cheeks of her heaving buttocks.
She wanted it this way--fiercely and painfully--and she got it, got it, impaled on his long, thick, hard, lunging cock and under his crushing body until she was whimpering in insane submission.
He held her body locked in his arms and used his body as a battering-ram, plunging his cock savagely into the palpitating channel of her pussy as she screamed and lunged back with equal ferocity. Her fists pounded his back and her sharp, long nails clawed, ripping out bits of flesh painfully. Her hot breathing panted into his ear as she cried for him to thrust faster and harder.
"Stab me!" she wailed. "Deeper, deeper!"
With one final brutal plunge he conquered her, sending spasms of orgasm through her worming thighs. The instant Hank knew it was happening for her, he felt his own body stiffen as blazing tremors hit him. His cock spat gobs of hot sperm into her convulsing, oozing cunt. They shouted, cursed and cried out, grunting through their climaxes.
And then he fell on her, exhausted, with her hot thighs still clutching him, her drenched, oozing cunt still clenching his collapsing cock. They lay panting together for a long time until finally strength ebbed back.
"Lover--that was fantastique!" she purred, hugging him close.
"It sure was--"
"After this delicious session, lover, I'll watch everything that goes on at Number 7. I promise. But you must promise to see me again."
"I promise. You just try to keep me away, you wild wench," he laughed.
"I was good, no?"
"You were great, yes!"
"Ahhhh, then we shall have some more--now--in a moment--"
"Yes--"
CHAPTER THREE
The next day Hank was back watching the entrance of the house on the Rue Castelet. He watched for more than an hour. Then he saw a man come out. The man roused Hank's interest. He was a tall, elegantly dressed Chinese who strangely wore a dark suit and a homburg--the Chinese simply didn't dress that way.
The man, whose name was Tung Pei-Chu, was a top Chinese agent, although he masqueraded in Paris as an off-beat member of the diplomatic staff.
Hank got up quickly, putting the binoculars aside.
"I'm going to do a little tailing," he said quickly to the agent whose job it was to maintain surveillance of the house.
The man nodded and took Hank's place at the window. At a half-run, Hank went out the door and down the stairs to the sidewalk. He stood in the darkened entrance until he saw Tung Pei-Chu pass under the street light on the corner. Keeping well back, Hank followed.
In the next block, three cabs were lined up in front of a hotel. Hank stepped into a doorway, keeping out of sight, as the Chinese agent climbed into the first cab. As soon as it pulled away from the curb, Hank dashed, hopping into the next cab.
"Keep that cab in sight!" Hank said to the driver, stuffing money into his hand. The driver slammed Hank against the back of the seat as he took off with a lurch and sped down the street after the first cab.
For nearly thirty minutes they rolled through the deadly Parisian traffic, nearly losing their quarry at a lunatic intersection where six streets came together.
At last the taxi bearing the Chinese agent pulled up to the curb in front of a brightly lighted Cantonese restaurant. Hank quickly paid his cabbie, tipping him generously. He entered the restaurant only a few seconds after the agent.
After passing through the intricately carved doorway, which was lacquered a bright red, Hank found himself standing alone at one end of a long passageway. There were muted sounds of dining in the distance, but not a trace of the man he had been tailing.
Then he saw that there were two doorways at the far end of the passageway. Both of them were covered with a screen of stringed beads. Hank noticed movements of beads at the door to the left, an indication that the Chinese agent had passed through.
He hurried along the carpeted hall. Glancing toward the door to his right, he saw through the beaded curtain that it led to a large dining room. The agent hadn't come to dine.
Stepping through the other doorway, Hank found himself in a continuation of the passageway. It led to a dark stairway at the far end that was lit by the dim glow of a single, ornate lantern which hung from the ceiling.
Cautiously, Hank listened at the head of the stairs. Then he walked down toward another beaded curtain. He could hear the muffled murmur of voices and the faint wail of stringed oriental music. There was a heavy scent of incense in the air.
As he edged up to the curtain, it parted suddenly. A dark-haired woman with an ageless Chinese face smiled up at him. She wore a long, flowing robe of blue silk with intricate brocaded designs. Her arms were crossed in front of her stomach, and her hands were thrust into the wide sleeves of the robe.
"Welcome," she said in a low, throaty voice. "You have come to choose your pleasure?"
Hank nodded uncertainly.
"I am Madame Wong. I will be your guide. Come with me, please."
Bowing slightly, she turned and walked through the beaded curtain. Hank stayed close behind her. He found that the narrow passageway went on endlessly. Far off he heard the muted clash of cymbals accompanying the shrill sounds of a lute.
There were several doorways, screened with curtains, on either side of the long corridor. He followed Madame Wong as she passed through the first beaded curtain they came to.
Hank found himself standing in a dark room lit by one flickering candle on a far wall. When his eyes adjusted to the light, he saw a dozen low pallets where men lay smoking long-stemmed pipes, their heads resting on large pillows. The air was heavy with acrid, suffocating smoke.
"Do you wish a pipe?" asked Madame Wong.
Hank shook his head.
"You seek other delights, then?"
Her eyes narrowed as she smiled at him. Her face became a lascivious mask, reflecting the ancient evils of the Orient, centuries of vice and corruption which the Chinese had developed to a fine art.
This wasn't helping him find the Chinese agent he had trailed here. But he had no choice but to flow with the action in the hope that it would lead him to the agent. He puzzled over why the agent had come here. Could it be a trap? Hank wasn't sure. All he could do now was react and hope, and keep alert.
Hank followed her along the corridor and through the next door. The room was not quite so dimly lit as the opium den they had just left. Hank was able to make out a number of pillows against one wall. Madame Wong seated herself and indicated with her eyes that he was to sit beside her.
At once two young Chinese girls appeared in the room, or perhaps they'd been there all along. It seemed to Hank that they had materialized out of the air, vital and alive, despite their expressionless faces. There was passion in their dark eyes and full lips, but it was a controlled passion, like a spark in dry tinder ready to leap into flames.
Both girls wore long silk robes. But they stood facing each other like fighters preparing for a bout. Then they untied the sashes at their waists. A supple twist of their shoulders made the robes slide to the floor.
Both girls stood before him, stark naked, their skin gleaming in the dim light like burnished bronze.
Hank sat stunned momentarily by the lushness of the female beauty that was so suddenly revealed to him. Both girls had the same long, dark hair and delicate, oval faces. One girl was much taller. Both girls had mouth-watering bodies.
The girls sat down on the extraordinarily thick rug in the center of the room. They faced each other, with their legs crossed. Hank watched the naked beauties intently, a warm sensation glowing in his groin.
Until he had stumbled into this den of vice, he had only known such places as Macao, and other cities of corruption in the Orient. This place was a highly glorified whorehouse. It was by no means a run-of-the-mill brothel. It was organized with imagination. They were plainly applying the Chinese technique of increasing a man's desire by withholding the grand finale until his nerves screamed for release.
It was a very effective method. Hank had encountered it first one night in Singapore.
Now he was encountering it again, in the heart of Paris. It had not been what he'd expected when he stared trailing the Chinese agent. He was going to absorb and enjoy it all and keep hoping he might discover something worthwhile along the way of eroticism.
He continued to stare at the two naked Chinese girls as they sat facing each other, like two bronze statues of beauty.
Suddenly Madame Wong got up and walked over to the girls. From her voluminous sleeves she slipped weapons to the girls. Hank gave an intake of breath when he saw what she slipped into the girls' hands.
The weapons looked similar to the kind of fans women used to use to stir the breeze gracefully on warm days. These fans were now locked open, fanned open. Each fan brace was gleaming metal; the material of the fan was stretched between the gleaming braces of metal. The material could cause pain--it was made of brightly colored, stiff rubber.
Though the fans looked innocent enough, Hank knew that they could deal out pain. The metal braces would cause pain when they struck the flesh of a victim, just as the tightly-stretched rubber of the fan could. And, the tips of the braces were filed to sharp points.
The girls held the fans in their left hands. Their right hands were free. Then, without warning, the taller girl slapped the other solidly with the flat of her hand, leaving a bright red splotch on her cheek.
The other girl slapped back, jolting her partner's head. Then slowly and methodically the two girls traded slaps until their cheeks glowed from the imprint of slapping hands. Their dark eyes became animated, for the game they were playing was having an erotic effect on both of them.
Hank was erotically stimulated, too. His cock began to harden in his trousers. And the flesh began to tingle at the base of his skull.
The girls continued to slap each other in turn. The movement of their arms made their naked tits dance, bob and quiver enticingly. They began to breathe heavily as the intensity of their desire grew more inflamed with each slap delivered and each clap stingingly received.
And then they went to work on each other with the cruel, exotically bizarre fans--who would ever think of a gracefully fluttering fan as a weapon of pain?
The girls began to smack the fans against each other's bare breasts, making them bounce provocatively. With each fan-slap to the tit, the tit grew redder. They were now hitting with such force that each slap of the cruel fans nearly flattened their tits. As they hit each other they groaned in pain.
Quickly, the taller girl lunged forward and grabbed the other girl painfully by the hair, and, with a deft yank, she pulled the screaming smaller girl across her lap and began to spank her naked squirming buttock cheeks with the fan. The hard rubber and the metal braces blasted over the smaller girl's buttocks, inflaming them.
The girl being spanked fought back savagely, finally escaping and grabbing the taller girl by the hair. In a flash, positions were reversed. Now the taller girl lay over the other's lap, suffering a violent spanking. The taut, rubber fan hit bare ass cheeks hard, and each slap echoed loudly. The smaller girl now turned the other girl's ass into a welted ruin. They were even.
The taller girl struggled and got away from the spanking fan. The girls began to grapple, rolling slowly over and over, hitting each other with the fans, jabbing the sharp points of the metal braces into buttocks, puncturing the skin, making blood ooze.
Slowly, as they wrestled, pummeling each other with the cruel fans, inflicting pain, their writhing bodies began quivering with increasing passion. Imperceptibly the battle turned into love-play. It seemed the logical conclusion for two girls whose lusts had been fanned by perverted needs--they rolled into an intimate lesbian coupling.
They covered each other's tits with sucking, greedy kisses. They buried their faces in each other's voluptuous curves, suckling on each other's nipples, nipping them with their teeth, squealing with pleasure and pain.
They shifted and now faced each other in an inverted way--moving toward a 69. They mouthed each other's tits, bellies, thighs, moving relentlessly toward each others' cunts. Open lips finally covered soft pussy mounds and hungry mouths sucked as tongues caressed with succulent pleasure.
The voluptuous sight was getting to Hank. His heart was pounding against his rib cage.
The lush bodies of the girls wormed in sensual rhythm as they buried their heads between each others' thighs and cunt-lapped. Legs opened wider and thighs lifted eagerly. With tenacious rapture, each girl clung to the other. The cunt sucking grew feverish. Hands closed over spanking-reddened, softly yielding buttock cheeks. Both girls thrashed in shivering ecstasy as they used their stiff, knowing tongues to impale each others' boiling, heaving cunts.
Surrounded by a swirl of dark hair, both girls' heads began to weave in a frenzy of delirium between thighs. Whimpering cries were muffled by cunt flesh.
With animalistic urgency the girls lunged their faces between each others' thighs, submitting and devouring with equal fervor. Firm, plump, tawny buttocks lifted and churned as fingers dug into soft flesh and mouths and tongues worked on cunt.
Hank was hot. He could see the wildly flickering tongues as they stabbed in between moist pussy lips. With earthshaking suddenness both girls were touched off by the consuming paroxysm of their climaxes. Writhing spasmodically, they tongue-stabbed each others' cunts as they drove each other through the final pulsing moments of their rapture.
And then slowly their emotions subsided, and they lay exhausted and serenely contented, still clinging to each other with a kind of passive desperation.
The lights began to grow dim. The two girls lying together on the thick carpet became a faint mass without shape or substance. Gradually Hank became aware that Madame Wong was standing in front of him.
"We go now--" she murmured.
And he followed her out of the room, sporting an aching hard-on.
Walking further along the corridor, Hank followed Madame Wong into another room. Several people were in the room that was bathed in a strong, acrid smell of smoke, the same narcotic smell which he'd noted in the den where the men were lying around puffing on opium pipes.
Madame Wong led him to one corner of the room where they once more seated themselves on pillows.
Then Hank noticed that the couples lying on the low couches were men and women, all Chinese, all without a stitch of clothes on. They were drawing lazily through the long stems of pipes.
Hank tried to figure out why he was being allowed to watch all these lustful activities. Obviously the girls he had seen fighting with fans and making love were prostitutes. But the men lying in this room seemed to be customers, and the girls were probably there to serve them.
As Hank watched, one of the lovely, naked girls slithered to the floor and began to crawl like a snake toward her male companion's feet. The man put aside his pipe and leaned on his elbow, watching the girl.
Hank heard the man groan as the girl began to lick her tongue around the man's toes, darting the point between each one in turn. As she did, the man sat upright, staring down at her as she bowed her head and continued to kiss first one foot and then the other.
Her full, pursed lips caressed tenderly as her body swayed and her head moved with trance-like motion. Her small pink tongue flicked out, rapidly flickering, stroking the bottom of his foot and the curve of his arch.
As she displayed her erotic foot fetish, the man receiving it began to beat her as he sat above her. In his hand was a long, limber switch of birch. He flogged her bent, curved, graceful back with the length of birch, and it cut scarlet welts over her back.
The girl worshipping the man's feet began to quiver with intense excitement as he beat her painfully over the back with the birch rod. Her hips twisted and writhed, making the fleshy cheeks of her ass jiggle voluptuously.
Returning to his toes she drew on them methodically, one at a time, with her suckling lips. And still, as she did, he whipped her back with the birch rod, cutting jagged, bleeding welts... and the man's face was contorted as if the girl had touched a raw nerve with her wild display of foot fetish. His mouth was gaping and his breath was heavy with his passion as he flogged her and received her foot-devotion.
Even Hank could imagine what the man was feeling. He had never considered the foot a particularly erotic zone. But the way the girl's tongue slithered along the arch, and the way her mouth lovingly caressed each toe--it was enough to start Hank's blood boiling. But Hank could do without the way the man was beating the girl's back brutally.
In his own mind Hank could almost comprehend the strange sensations that this display of foot fetishism would arouse in the man who received such attentions. He could practically feel the moist warmth of the girl's lips, the inner warmth of her mouth as it enclosed a toe.
The whole damn thing was unnatural--and yet he could not deny that there was a certain bizarre sensuality in watching the strange act. He felt a fierce compulsion to receive the same kind of adoring caresses.
He shuddered at the thought of what it would be like to have the girl's mouth glued to the bottom of his foot, to feel her fluttering tongue as it stroked across his foot and dipped between his toes.
He actually cringed. He could not deny a certain weird, dizzying attraction.
Finally the girl began to move upward along the man's legs, still kissing and pressing with her possessive mouth. She was so positioned now that her buttocks were a lush target for the flogging rod of punishing birch that had already whipped her back raw and bleeding.
The man began to flog her juicy ass with the birch rod, striping it with deep, bleeding welts. And, as he flogged her, his dilated, feverish eyes darted from her ass as he flogged her there to her head that moved up closer and closer to his firm, up-sticking hard-on.
The instant she seized his cock with her lush lips he grunted and walloped her vulnerable ass with the birch rod, cutting a bleeding gash in the jiggling buttock cheeks. The girl's excitement surged like an electric jolt through her body. Her body grew taut and her toes dug into the carpet for support.
Her head lifted and bobbed with a rotary movement, making her firm ass swivel even as it was being whipped. Her heavy breasts swung pendulously back and forth.
The man groaned with pleasure, flogging her ass brutally even as she smothered his cock, making wild, suckling love to it with her fiercely active lips. Her mouth devoured with a mad possessiveness.
The man was jerking his hips, shoving his cock at her surging lips as he slashed her ass viciously with the birch rod. When he came, he was whipping her ass into a bleeding, pulpy mass with the rod, but she didn't complain--she continued to suck avidly as his tool poured a fountain of sperm into her starved mouth.
Only as the man's climax subsided did Hank's eyes come unglued from the bizarre and erotic scene he had witnessed. And he became acutely aware that the other people in the room were moving, too. Several of the couples were now fucking openly. Near to Hank three naked girls were crowded around a naked man. Their eyes were glazed by drugs and sexual urgency.
The three girls were all kissing and caressing the man at the same time. The man was surrounded by young, oriental curves--three eager, high-sex-charged girls who were acting like ravenous beasts.
Overpowering the man, the girls fell with him to the thick carpet. There was a moment of ferocious fighting as the girls tried to possess the man--each girl struggling to possess him.
After a moment of clawing and hair-pulling, one girl emerged the victor. The two girls, who had lost the struggle came over toward Hank, their hips swaying, their tits bobbing, a leer of arousal on their pretty faces.
Reacting without thought, Hank, who was wild with his own need now, jumped to his feet and stripped off his clothes. The girls came up to him. Their greedy, dilated eyes feasted on his nakedness, especially on his big hard-on.
The girls pushed him down on the thick, soft carpet. He was between them--and he could feel the steaming heat of their slick flesh as they lunged at him voraciously.
Catching the nearest girl around the waist, Hank pulled her to himself, crushing her in a furious embrace, smearing his mouth on hers, spearing his tongue in between her parted lips. He felt the responsive flicker of her tongue. He felt the soft, malleable pressure of her tits against his chest and her thighs as they ground and shoved at him. He felt excited hands crawling up his back, the nails clawing savagely.
The other girl was not content to be left out. She clamped herself around Hank's waist, worming her hand through the tangle of limbs until she found the monstrous, throbbing shaft of his cock with her hand.
Hank sucked breath as the girl began to jerk seductively on his swollen cock, tormenting him with her grasping hand and stroking fingers.
Hank shuddered with ecstasy, delighting in the wild sensation. He was being attacked by two lovely girls. He was surrounded by voluptuous females, hemmed in by hot flesh and caressing hands.
As he rolled lasciviously in that seething mass of wantonness, his hand found a tit. It was a ripe young tit, full and round and luxuriant.
He cupped it, molding it with his palm and fingers. Finding the nipple, he began to pinch it gently. He felt the hard core throbbing against his fingertips. He felt a shiver pass through the softness and heard a drawn-out sigh of pleasure.
He was so completely intertwined with the two girls that he could not tell to whom the tit belonged. He teased the nipple again and felt a response in the girl who was kissing him wildly, her tongue deep in his mouth. Each time he squeezed her tit her tongue fluttered wildly in his mouth, attacking his tongue.
As the three of them lay grappling on the carpet, there was a battle between the two struggling girls over who would possess him first.
All at once Hank found himself trapped between the clinging haunches of one of the sex-crazed girls. Her legs clamped tightly as she searched with her writhing hips for his big cock. Then her pussy lips found the hard head of his shaft and with a sudden lurch she drove her cunt onto it. Her pelvis began to swivel in rapid circles.
He shoved his cock hard into her hot, shimmering cunt. And she turned the attack with her sup-pie thighs and clutching cunt, giving unmistakable evidence that her need was as aroused as his.
With rapid, swiveling thrusts she took him, drawing his huge cock down, down, deep into the boiling, enveloping hollow of her snatch. She wormed and lashed at him furiously. Her arms circled his neck, choking him. Her legs scissored around his waist. She grafted her body to his and pivoted her hips while at the same time she caused a miraculous friction by a frantic inner muscular contraction.
The other girl, refusing to be left out, was riding on Hank's back, rubbing her creamy gash hard, trying to gain thrills that way. She squirmed her hot cunt wildly, exciting herself with the intimate contact of flesh on flesh. But it wasn't enough for her. She wanted to squat her cunt over his mouth, but she couldn't since Hank was on top of the other writhing girl.
Falling away from Hank, she stretched out on her back and seized Hank's arm. Lifting her hips up, she directed his hand toward the moist and tangled nest of her cunt.
A shudder jolted through her loins as his fingers went to work in her inflamed cunt. A babble of strange sounds poured from her gaping mouth. Holding his hand a captive against her worming cunt, she began to buck and arch, rotating her hips, helping heighten the stimulation of the finger-fucking.
Hank's brain grew dizzy as he found himself involved in two totally different acts of sensuality at once. He was surrounded by wanton sex.
He was being overwhelmed.
He was being consumed by the lush, clinging cunt of the girl wriggling beneath him, mangled in the breath-taking whirlpool of tenacious girl-flesh. And, at the same time, he was aware of the other girl lying beside him with her cunt mashing wildly on his stiff, impaling fingers.
The girl being finger-fucked began to come, screeching. He rammed at the girl under him, pounding her unmercifully as she screamed in delirium and clawed his back with slashing nails. She detonated. He began to come.
Lashing at him in demented passion, she carried Hank over the top with her. It was stunning, thrilling, convulsing.
For one blazing moment of sheer rapture, the three of them trembled through a series of fiery convulsions, thrashing, clinging to each other with demented fury.
Hank was caught up by the numbing power of his release, then slammed down again, still struggling, still seeking, still surrounded by hot female flesh. But his passion gradually ebbed away, and he was left weak and hovering at the edge of consciousness. Slowly his sanity began to return.
Two wickedly smiling faces stared down at him, two lovely faces surrounded by tangles of dark hair. Two pairs of breasts rose and fell as the girls' labored breathing slowly subsided. There was a glazed look in the girls' eyes. Hands continued to caress him gently.
Then another face appeared above Hank, and it was a face that was not sweet and feminine. It was not a face softened by sexual satisfaction and warm gratitude.
It was a hard, cruel Chinese face with very thin lips pressed together so tightly that they looked like the lips of a lizard. And the eyes were dark and flat. Unfeeling eyes that glowed with malice.
The man was staring directly at Hank. He was dressed in a flowing Mandarin robe, and in his hand he carried a hypodermic syringe with a long, vicious looking needle.
Hank flinched.
Then he tried to sit up, but the two girls suddenly tensed above him. Their hands shoved against his chest. The weight of their bodies held him down. Hank filled his lungs, then heaved a deep sigh. When he relaxed, he felt the girls relax with him. Their hands were not quite as heavy on his chest.
Just as the man leaned down and aimed the needle at the upper part of Hank's arm, Hank lashed out with his fist. The head of the nearest girl swiveled as his knuckles cracked against her jaw. She went limp and fell off his chest. Hank drew up his legs and rolled away from the jabbing needle.
The second girl rolled with him. He shoved her aside and dove at the man. But the man was quick and wiry. And Hank was still wobbly on his feet after the sex with the girls.
Still holding the needle, the man backed away. Hank stalked him, then rushed. This time his fist crashed solidly against a flabby stomach. The syringe fell to the floor as the man grunted and dropped to his knees.
Hank chopped the man on the side of the neck, holding his hand stiff. Then he brought up his knee and smashed the sickly grinning mouth.
The man sank to the floor and lay unconscious.
Hank looked quickly about him. The others in the room had moved away when the fighting began. They were crowded against the wall, their eyes staring fearfully.
Some of the couples in the room were still screwing, not even aware of the fight that had just transpired. If they had been aware, they had decided to stay out of it. They were still too preoccupied with themselves anyway.
Hank scooped up his scattered clothes and quickly dressed. He had been a fool to let himself get carried away. He could not continue to be a fool.
He had to get out fast. The man with the needle had made it plain enough that Hank's identity was known.
Shoving his shirt into his trousers, Hank rushed through the beaded doorway, into the dark corridor. There were still the gracious sounds of dining as he passed the entrance to the restaurant.
He reached the street without encountering anyone. He ran three blocks, searching for a cab. Only after he found one and leaned back in the seat did he begin to feel safe.
His scalp crawled as he realized how close he had come to falling into a trap.
It was clear to Hank. The Chinese agent knew that Hank was following him. As soon as Hank came into the building, they were wise to him.
He had acted foolishly, stupidly. He had indulged his sexual urges at the expense of every- thing. He had performed like an amateur. Now several Chinese knew his identity. He'd have to stay clear of them.
CHAPTER FOUR
Colette lay on the hard bunk, squirming from the constant discomfort of the bare wood pressing against her naked flesh. Most of the time she had to lie on her stomach, because there was just enough friction against the rough pine boards to keep tearing open the wounds on her back that had been inflicted by Colonel Fong.
There was a dull, steady ache over every inch of her body, an ache that seemed to go to the very center of her bones. Even her eyes ached from sleeplessness, and her brain reeled under the nagging pain and fear.
In this dark underground cell, Colette could not tell the passage of time, but she was sure that it had been at least twenty-four hours since Colonel Fong had last subjected her to grueling punishment.
And yet she hadn't broken down to reveal her identity. She was well aware that revealing it would be the end for her. Once they knew for certain that she had been operating as a double agent, they would know that all they had to do was get the rest out of her, and, once they did, she would be of no further use of them--alive.
She shuddered, feeling the sudden splitting of flesh along her shoulders, the opening of wounds.
Colette had no doubt that this period of relief which they were giving her had its own sinister implications. They were adding mental torture to the physical.
They were waiting while her fear grew like a gnawing worm in her stomach. Many prisoners were known to crack quicker under the terror of waiting than from actual torture.
The bare light bulb that glowed continuously from the ceiling of her cell made sleep nearly impossible. It wasn't only the glare of light that disrupted her sleep, but also the frightening sounds which came from various parts of the dungeon.
Then Colette heard the shuffle of feet along the stone corridor. She froze as she realized the sound was approaching her cell.
The footsteps halted outside of her cell door. There was a rattling of a key in the lock, and then the door pushed open. The masked woman stood looking down at her, a merciless smile on her thin, cruel lips.
The big, statuesque woman was dressed as Colette always saw her--wearing a satanic black mask, the sleek leather corset, the gloves and spiked-heeled boots.
"Hello, Colette," Messalina said. She laughed humorlessly, her eyes glittering like cold gems. "Have you slept well?" she mocked.
"That's not my name," Colette said coldly.
She sat up and glared back at Messalina, summoning her courage and defiance.
"Of course Colette's your name. You're working for the British Service, and your code name's, Colette. Admit it."
"I can't admit something that isn't true."
"I have ways of changing your mind, Colette. There are tortures you can't begin to imagine."
Stepping quickly across the small cell room, the masked woman caught Colette by the hair and twisted violently. Colette winced as much from the sudden opening of partially healed whip marks on her back as from the pain in her scalp.
"Let me go! "
"We'll make you talk, you traitorous little bitch!" Messalina growled. "But--I prefer to see you hold out for awhile--it gives me and Colonel Fong the chance to use you for our own personal amusement."
"What're you going to do to me?" Colette asked.
There was a look of pure malice in Messalina's hooded eyes as she pulled roughly on Colette's hair, dragging her off the bunk to her knees.
With her gloved hand the masked woman caught Colette by the jaw and squeezed. The leather caused a painful friction as it twisted the flesh of Colette's face. The woman's hard, black eyes bore into Colette, chilling her to the bone.
She pulled Colette to her feet. Messalina towered over her. She grabbed Colette by the back of the neck and pulled her close. Colette's nakedness was pressed hard against the harsh leather corset that Messalina was wearing.
Messalina kissed Colette full on the lips, as a man would, drilling her tongue into Colette's mouth. Colette struggled feebly and then went limp in Messalina's powerful, torrid embrace. Colette felt weak as Messalina continued to soul kiss her and caress her. Colette reeled with dizziness as Messalina kissed her and mauled her.
And then, with a harsh laugh, Messalina let her go. Colette staggered, her face flushing with shame. When she wiped her hand over her lips, as if wiping away the kiss she had suffered, Messalina slapped her so hard in the face that Colette spun half-way around.
Then Messalina came up beside Colette and further humiliated her. She cupped her gloved hand over Colette's ass, down very low, and her long index finger jabbed up into Colette's startled cunt.
"Ouch! That hurts!" Colette protested.
"Don't tell me you never had a finger up your twat," Messalina laughed.
"Let me alone!"
"Like it?" Messalina taunted.
"Oh, God--!"
Colette felt shame. She was being finger-fucked by the big masked woman as she stood up. Her face burned with humiliation.
"Come with me."
"W-where--?"
"March, bitch!"
And Messalina forced Colette to obey, walking beside her, her hand still cupped low over the underswells of Colette's jiggling buttock cheeks, her finger still stirring lewdly around inside of Colette's pussy.
Colette was burning with shame. And it was difficult for her to walk with Messalina's stiff finger fucking around up inside of her cunt. It was totally degrading. And in her shame she blushed even more as the friction of the finger stirring inside her started her juices flowing. The friction triggered Colette's clitoris and made her pussy begin involuntarily begin to cream.
"It's getting to you, ehh, bitch?" Messalina laughed as she felt Colette's snatch responding juicily to the finger-fucking as she walked.
"You're a horrible monster!"
"Save your breath, Colette."
"That isn't my name, and you know it," Colette said hotly.
"Bullshit. Here, hot pussy," Messalina laughed, pushing Colette through the door.
And she forced Colette to enter the dungeon torture room, walking stiffly with a finger up in her cunt, feeling shame as the finger teased her, waking her emotions, hating herself that she was responding, not able to help it.
Messalina marched the finger-impaled, degraded, naked girl over to the rack. It was a big wooden wheel. She withdrew her finger from Colette's slippery pussy slowly, and Colette groaned in spite of herself. Messalina laughed.
"You like walking with a finger up your cunt, ehhh, bitch?"
"Stop it! Let me alone--"
"I'm going to have some fun with you, and make you talk, too."
"I have nothing to say--"
"We'll see--" And Messalina handled the weak girl with ease, easily knocking aside her feeble attempt to fight back. She strapped Colette to the wheel rack, on her back. Colette's wrists and ankles were strapped to the rack and she was stretched and spread-eagled, bent painfully backward.
Messalina gave the rack several cranks and it creaked and groaned, pulling Colette's arms and legs apart, stretching the anguished girl to the limit, until horrible shocks of pain blazed through her arm and leg sockets.
"Aiiiiieeee! You're tearing me apart! Stop, stop!" Colette wailed in pain.
"Tell me about yourself, Colette," Messalina said with a malicious grin.
"There's--nothing to--tell" Colette whimpered in pain. "No! No, no, stop!" she cried as the cruel masked woman gave the crank another turn, stretching the poor girl even more painfully.
"What is it you wish to tell me?"
"N-nothing--"
"Come, come, dear. Tell me and the pain will end."
"I have nothing to-to say--"
"Don't be stupid. Talk and the pain will end."
"N-nothing t-to say--"
"See what I have, Colette?"
"W-what? Oh, my God, nooooo!" Colette whined in fear.
"See. It's a long, sharp hat pin."
"D-don't touch me-me!"
"I won't if you'll get smart and talk, dear "No, nothing to say--I have n-nothing t-to say--' Colette moaned in fear and pain, her sockets flashing with awful pain.
"You've felt a prick before," Messalina laughed lewdly. "But the kind of pricks you've felt in the past have belonged to men. The kind of prick you're going to feel now, bitch, is the vicious prick of a hat pin."
"R-rather feel the other kind of p-prick--" Colette said, bravely trying to smile and make a joke in her misery.
"Very funny," Messalina laughed. "You're either very stupid or very brave."
"Leave me alone. Please! I'm innocent. I d-don't know w-what you expect of m-me--"
"Yes you do. You lie. Dumb bitch. You'll talk once you begin to feel the prick of this hat pin."
"Noooooooooooo--"
"Let's start on your pretty, flat tummy," Messalina mocked cruelly.
"Don't--" Colette whined. "I've done n-nothing wrong--Let me alone. Let me go!"
Messalina's cruel answer was a fierce, slow, plunge of the long, sharp pin into the soft flesh of Colette's belly dome. Slowly the sharp pin punctured into the flesh, driving in, in, and, as it did, blood began to bubble up around the in-driving pin.
"Ahhhhhaiiiiieeeeeeahhhhhhggggghhhh!! " Collette wailed in torment.
"Your tummy makes a nice, pretty pin cushion," Messalina laughed as she slowly withdrew the bloody hat pin from the cruel wound.
Messalina pain-teased Colette by inflicting three shallow pin pricks into her stomach, stabbing the pin in just deep enough to hurt and break the skin.
"Stop, stop, stop, nooooooooo!" Colette cried.
"I've got a little joke for you," Messalina taunted. "Did you hear about the thirteen-year-old girl who swallowed a pin? She didn't feel the prick till she was twenty-one."
Messalina burst into laughter, enjoying the old joke and the relationship it had to the pain she was inflicting on the unfortunate girl who was bent and stretched on the rack.
"Colette--don't you think that's a funny joke?"
"Yes--very funny--" Colette said with a forced smile. "But it's an old joke."
"You're a tough little bitch," Messalina said, admiring the girl's courage. She knew Colette wouldn't be easy to break.
"I--wish you weren't forcing me to prove I'm tough," Colette said.
Colette had untensed slightly. As a result, she was not prepared for the shock of pain she felt as Messalina again jabbed the hat pin into the flesh of her stomach. She screamed loudly. The pin sank in, plunging, opening a deep belly wound.
"Talk!"
"No!"
"Talk, damn you!"
"Nooooo--nothing to say--"
"I'll make you talk!"
Messalina ground the pin viciously in the wound as she withdrew it, only to jab it again into Colette's belly dome, using the hat pin as she would a dagger.
Blood oozed. Colette screamed and struggled helplessly against her bonds, reopening the semihealed wounds on her back as she did. She groaned, her body wracked with pain.
Messalina jabbed and jabbed the hat pin into Colette's blood-smeared belly, opening fresh, gaping holes that pulsed blood.
"Ready to talk, bitch?" she snarled.
"Go to hell!"
And again the bloody hat pin drove into Colette's wounded stomach. Again Colette shrilled in pain and suffering.
"Going to talk?"
"I told you where t-to go--!"
"Stubborn, stupid cunt!" Messalina shouted in anger. "Okay, using your belly as a pin cushion was only a start. Now I'm going to work on that pretty pair of tits you have!"
"Nooooooooooo! Don't! Please--don't!"
"It'd be a shame to ruin such a pretty set of boobs. They must be your pride and joy. But, it has to be--"
"Let me be--let me be--!"
"I will if you'll talk. We know your code name's Colette. And we know you're working for the British Secret Service. You had a damn good cover, but your cover's blown, bitch."
"I--don't k-know what y-you're talking a-bout--" Colette protested bravely.
"The hell you don't! Tell me about the operation--your contacts. Spill it all and I promise you your suffering'll be over, Colette."
"My name's--June--"
"Crap! All right, Colette, you asked for it!"
"No, no, no, no, no--please--I'm innocent! Y-you've made a mistake--!"
"We don't make mistakes for long. Our mistake was being fooled by you for so long. You were a damn good agent. But your days of effectiveness are ended. Talk!"
"You're sooo wrong about me--it's all a m-mistake--"
"You're making the mistake by not talking, bitch."
"Aggghhh! " The blood-coated hat pin stabbed into the firm flesh of Colette's right tit. The pain Colette felt was so strong that it choked her, silencing her scream of agony.
Again Messalina used the hat pin like a dagger, stabbing it repeatedly, deep into the firm, fleshy cone of Colette's wounded right breast.
"God--God--God! Agggh!"
The hat pin viciously and repeatedly stabbed into her right breast until it was a hole-punctured, bleeding cone of aching flesh.
"Ready to talk?"
"No, no, no! Can't t-talk about w-what I don't know--" Colette wailed miserably.
"Then you'll continue to suffer for your stupid stubborn refusal to talk!"
And then Messalina switched the attack of the bloody hat pin to the perfect mound of Colette's left breast. Eight times she coldly and viciously jabbed the pin into the girl's tit, puncturing the flesh, marring it terribly, grinding the pin around deep inside of each bloody tit wound.
"Nooooooooooo! Agggggh! Aiiiiiieeeee!"
"Talk!"
"Can't--!"
"Talk, damn, damn, damn you!"
"Can't--! Know nothing!"
Colette's bravery infuriated Messalina. She cursed the girl loudly as she subjected the girl's breasts to bloody, sickening torture.
Now Colette's breasts were covered with deep punctures--gaping wounds that seeped blood. Colette was dazed by the pain, stricken by it, but she would not give in.
"Just look at your belly and tits! Why they're bloody ruins. You dumb broad! Why cover up for the British? They don't appreciate it. They're willing to sacrifice you or any other agent once your usefulness is gone. And now you're useless to them--your cover's blown. They'll just write you off coldly and forget you. The proof is they haven't attempted to rescue you. Don't you understand that?"
"D-don't know what you're talking about--" Colette said miserably, barely able to cling to sanity in her pain.
"You know, Colette, you still have pretty nipples--" Messalina said.
"You wouldn't!"
"Oh, wouldn't I?" Messalina grinned maliciously, her dark eyes cold behind her satanic mask.
"No, no, no! Please, not that!"
"Your nipples are so pretty," Messalina taunted. "So nice and pink. Perfectly formed--each looks like a ruby. And so very long. They say that long nipples indicate a girl's passionate nature. The longer the more passionate. Yours are very very long--you must be a very passionate girl."
"Don't torture me with words--Hurt me, kill me if you have to--"
"If you're dead you can't talk, bitch. You'll suffer torture till you talk. Just think--think Colette--the more torture you suffer, the uglier your body becomes. Your long, lovely nipples signify you're very passionate by nature. No man's going to want you after your body's disfigured with ugly, ugly scars. Think about it."
Messalina's words seeped into Colette's anguished mind and struck home. She knew that what Messalina said was true. She groaned as the impact hit her, adding new anguish to the awful torture she was suffering at the hands of the sadistic woman.
"Now why don't you talk, dear, before things get worse?" Messalina said gently.
"I have nothing to say to you," Colette said, almost choking on her lie. What was the use? If she talked they'd kill her anyway. She refused to break down, and clung to the hope of rescue and life.
"You're as dense as they come," Messalina said bitterly when she failed to get the confession that she sought.
"Words--! " Colette said with defiance.
"All right, bitch. I'm going to stick the hat pin into your nipples now!"
"Don't! Nooooo don't!"
Messalina ignored Colette's desperate plea. With a cruel downward plunge she drove the hat pin into Colette's left nipple. Instantly, bright blood spurted from the afflicted nipple.
The pain was brutal. Colette squeezed her eyes closed and bit her lower lip until it bled. And then with slow, torturing cruelty, Messalina withdrew the hat pin from the badly injured, blood-spurting nipple.
With a wild cry Messalina plunged the long, sharp hat pin into Colette's other long, pink nipple.
Blood gushed. Colette screamed at the top of her lungs, and then slumped on the rack, blacking out, sinking mercifully into unconsciousness.
Colette's belly and breasts were smeared with pulsing blood. She was a heart-breaking sight to see. Her lovely breasts were torn and punctured and bleeding badly, as was her stomach.
CHAPTER FIVE
Messalina knew that further torture of Colette would be useless now. She was frustrated. She cursed, turning on her stiletto heel, and strode out of the dungeon, leaving Colette stretched on the rack, bleeding horribly, unconscious from the inhuman torture she had bravely suffered.
Messalina locked the heavy door of the dungeon torture chamber and quickly went up the stone stairs.
She entered Colonel Fong's suite of rooms, after discovering he was not in his office. Fong smiled at Messalina as she entered. He was tying the sash of his silk robe, fresh from his bath.
"How did it go, Messalina?"
"Badly."
"Oh? How so?"
"She's brave. Very brave. Few men, really brave men, could take the torture I inflicted on her. She didn't break--didn't talk--"
"Too bad. What did you use?"
"The hat pin."
"Ah! How?"
"Her belly and breasts. Ruined her. Even drove it into her nipples. That was last--that's what caused her to pass out. I left her on the rack, unconscious, a bloody mess."
"Is one of our people going to tend to Colette's wounds?"
"Yes. We don't want her dying on us now. She can't take too much more torture."
"What do you propose as her next torture, Messalina?"
"Two things--"
"Name them."
"Hot slivers of metal under her nails, followed by hot metal slivers driven through her clitoris and pussy lips."
"Excellent, excellent. She'll never be able to withstand that."
"No girl can. She's the first female agent who's withstood the torture she suffered today. When you start on a girl's breasts, and then threaten to drive the hat pin into her nipples, she always caves in and talks. It's psychological. Breast torture--especially nipple torture--is something that a woman can't mentally accept. It's part of the feminine nature, Colonel. But Colette took it all and didn't break. That damn girl--I admire her bravery."
"We could use agents with her stamina, intelligence and, most important, courage."
"That's the truth."
"When do you plan to subject Colette to the final torture, Messalina?"
"Some time tomorrow afternoon, Colonel Fong."
"So soon after what she endured today?"
"That's the point," she grinned coldly. "And, I don't think we should waste anymore time than we have to."
"And if that fails--truth serum?"
"That's the easy way. Using it would be admitting we haven't thoroughly refined our torture techniques."
"You're right, of course. I can't accept the failure of our torture practices. Certainly this girl Colette isn't going to be the one to force our first failure," Colonel Fong said firmly.
"Agreed," Messalina said. "And, Colonel, what have you been up to?" she asked with a calculating grin.
"Guess," he laughed.
"Which little virgin did you deflower?"
"Ming-Tu."
"Ah! Pretty little thing. A baby, really. Was it good?"
"It's been better. She didn't respond as vigorously as I'd hoped."
"What do you expect of sub-teenage virgins?" Messalina teased.
"Oh, you win a few and you lose a few--"
"Your sturdy cock deserves better."
"Ah--I see, I see--"
"You see what, Colonel?"
"I see you're tense and keyed up after your fruitless session torturing Colette. I see that you'd like to release your tensions impaled on my prick," he winked.
"You have keen insight, my Colonel. The continuing obstacle remains your pathological fear of disease--hence your reliance on tender virgins."
"So?" he challenged.
"So I suspect I shall have to rape you, as I've had to on occasions in the past."
"I am your superior," Colonel Fong said with stern authority.
"Not when you and I are alone--as we now are," she said with lazy confidence.
"The past... rapes... I've suffered at your hands were mere accidents when I was not at my physical and mental peaks. You caught me those times when I was so physically and mentally degenerated that it was impossible for me to ward off your unwanted, lewd advances."
"Colonel," she laughed, "as the Americans so aptly put it--that's a crock of shit."
"Messalina!" he said, scandalized.
"Dear perverted Colonel Fong," she grinned as she quickly reached out and untied the sash that held his silk robe secured over his nakedness.
Grasping the robe she pulled it wide open, baring the front of his stocky, naked body to her gaze. "Messalina!"
"That nice big cock of yours deserves the suck of an experienced cunt--mine!"
"Messalina!" he shouted, pulling away from her. As he did, she held fast, tugging hard, and the silk robe tore asunder, baring his body completely. Messalina tore the rest of the silk robe from the sputtering, protesting Colonel.
She was half-a-head taller than he, and when he looked up at her in rage, she further humbled and enraged him by spitting contemptuously in his face.
He was so furious and enraged by suffering spit in the face that, for the moment, his shock and raging anger rendered him speechless and immobile.
And that was all the time Messalina needed. From experience, she understood her intended victim. From the long, slender leather holster belted to her hip, Messalina quickly withdrew her dainty, compact whip.
She gripped the small leather handle firmly, her knuckles going white. The lash of the dainty whip uncoiled, only two feet long; the lash was very slender leather, but the leather was harsh and tightly braided and capable of inflicting cruel punishment. All that it lacked was the weight and length and thickness of a heavier, more brutal lash.
Nevertheless, Colonel Fong quickly backed away in fear of the lash of the whip, knowing from previous experience the pain that it could inflict on a victim.
"You wouldn't!"
"I would! I will!" Messalina laughed as he cringed, backing away, as she advanced menacingly.
"I'm your Colonel--your superior!" he protested sharply.
"You're my Colonel--my victim!" she laughed. "Prepare to be flogged and raped," she grinned.
"I will not permit this!"
"You are nothing--"
"Hand me that whip!"
"I'll hand you a flogging."
"You'll be stripped of your rank!"
"You're already stripped."
"Messalina! I'll have you punished!"
"You're going to suffer punishment--right now! " And the whip lashed at Colonel Fong. He tried to dodge the whistling lash, but she was skilled with a whip and the lash cracked, snapping stingingly over his bare chest.
Colonel Fong stumbled backward, a vivid red gas etched diagonally across his sweating chest.
Messalina advanced gracefully, purposefully, after him, her hellish eyes glittering through the holes in her satanic mask.
Messalina struck again, sailing the lash at Colonel Fong. He gasped in pain as the lash coiled cuttingly around the hard mellon of his belly.
"Stop!" he shouted, cowering before her, all his authority and dignity gone.
"Squeeze a pimple and you get puss; flog a Colonel and you get blood," she mocked, laughing at him.
And she flogged him hard, the coil of the whip slicing hard over his chest, ribs and stomach. The Colonel cried out in pain and then turned his back to her as he attempted to flee, to escape the torture of the flogging whip.
The biting tip of the whip snapped viciously against his ass as he tried to escape. He howled. Then she struck his ankles. The lash coiled around his ankles, tripping him. He fell, sprawling forward.
He didn't have a chance to recover.
She began to viciously lash his upjutting ass with the dainty whip, and the slash marks the coil cut across the cheeks of his ass were anything but dainty.
He howled. She beat him with fast rhythm, beating his ass cheek hard, with a furious tempo. Colonel Fong moaned and groveled, accepting the humiliating, painful flogging. She lashed his ass again and again and again. He groveled and writhed and whined.
She knew he'd had enough but the sound of his voice. She detected a note in his cries that told her all she wanted to know. His ass was badly welted and bruised and slashed.
She kicked him hard with the sharp toe of her leather boot and, with a mournful cry he pitched over onto his back. Wagging up from his groin was a rigid erection--it was there, just as she knew it would be. Flogging never failed to turn him on.
Colonel Fong lay there on his back, whimpering, defeated. And his heart was pounding hard and fast. His breathing was frenzied, hissing through his teeth.
He closed his eyes as he saw Messalina hovering nakedly over him. And then she descended, her body covering his, and it seemed to the defeated Fong that she was surrounding him, engulfing him, sending chills and hot flashes through his nerve ends.
She had whipped him to rouse him for her purpose, and that purpose was to screw him and relieve her tension.
She moved, quickly placing herself above his middle and lowered her beautiful, voluptuous body, holding his cock in her fist, guiding it. She spread her tossing thighs.
She sat-astride him, impaling herself on his hard-on.
"Mmmmmmmmmmmm--" she sighed as she sat down on his hard cock.
She began to move. Sitting astride him, she twisted and churned and revolved her hips in a dozen maddening directions at once. Clinging to him with the amazing muscularity of her inner cunt, she used her body with precision. He could feel the firm clutch of her warm, inner cunt flesh and the thrilling friction as she rode his cock.
She shoved up and down with her worming thighs, straining in search of her own pleasure, using him as her instrument to achieve it. She moved, swirled, adjusted, mauling his cock with her starving cunt.
Fong loved it.
He began to respond exactly as she wanted him to, and she gasped in delight. He reached up and squeezed her big, bouncing tits as she rode his shaft wildly.
She rocked and rolled and humped over him, sobbing with feverish pleasure, seeking her fullest fulfillment with urgent thrusts of her enveloping pussy.
Tossing and writhing they came together, and, when it was over, she collapsed on top of him.
"That was good--"
"Yes--" he panted.
Meanwhile, the British and French Secret Service was at work. The woman they had captured was in her late twenties. Her hair was a sleek black with faint blue lights in it like the color in a raven's feather. Her hair went perfectly with her light coppery skin and her black, fierce eyes. She was Albanian, a woman of furious passions and wild defiance.
Yet everyone has a breaking point.
It had taken the combined efforts of the British and French Secret services thirty-five hours to break through her shell of resistance.
But when she talked at last, the words poured out. She revealed a number of things which had been checked and verified, so it was evident that the whole of her story was true.
While the woman lay exhausted with her head down on the interrogating table, Hank Devlin and Jacques Boussous watched her from across the room.
"What about the messages you found on her?" Hank asked, lighting a cigarette.
"She was a courier from the Albanian government," Jacques replied. "The usual type of messages, and a couple of pretty hot items. We've decoded them all."
"This was her first trip to Paris?"
"That's what she says--and she's been telling the truth about everything else, once she started spilling it out."
Hank nodded with satisfaction.
"This might just be the opening we need--if it's true that nobody at the commie headquarters knows her personally."
"I'm sure it's true," Jacques replied. "She's never been to Paris before. That's how we caught her. She doesn't speak the language and she was trying to find her way. A suspicious policeman took her into custody and called us."
"She says they have a photograph to identify her--that and a couple of passwords, which we have--"
"Then if we could send one of our agents in disguise--" Hank paused to puff reflectively on his cigarette. "I'd like to get one of our people into that house for a look around. But who do we have that looks remotely like her?"
"Nobody," Jacques said, heaving a sigh. Then he said: "I think I might have an idea, though. A man named Henri--"
"A man?" Hank laughed and shook his head. "We'd have a hell of a time finding a woman who could look as sexy as this girl. But a man is out of the question."
"Not this man," Jacques replied quickly. "He's a female impersonator, and a damned good one at that. His specialty is imitations of famous women. I've seen his act. You can't tell him from the real article."
"But would he know what to do--once he got inside that house--Number 7?"
"He was in the resistance. He's a Frenchman, and a patriot," Jacques said with pride. "He's got the kind of experience needed to carry out your plan. And, he speaks seven languages."
"All I want to know--is Colette being held a prisoner--? And if so--where?"
"Henri could handle that."
"Then let's go have a talk with him," Hank said. "We've got to get things moving fast. The Chinese'll be wondering what's keeping their courier."
"Let's grab a taxi," Jacques said, moving toward the door. "We can be there in twenty minutes."
Just as they entered the large, smoke-filled cafe, the house lights dimmed and a spot appeared on the curtains of the stage. A five piece band was playing a low, gutty number with a pounding tempo. The drummer beat on a tomtom, a pulsating rhythm like that beating of a heart.
"Is this Henri's act?" Hank asked as they found a table in the near darkness.
The curtain parted, revealing a gorgeous creature who was clad voluptuously in a black sequined evening gown. Her pale golden hair made a brilliant halo around her lovely face.
"Henri's a singer, not a dancer," Jacques replied.
"My mistake," Hank said, staring at the lush female who was beginning a slow walk across the stage in time to the music. "No man was ever stacked like that!"
Jacques was staring intently at the girl. Hank noticed a breathless silence all around him as everyone strained forward expectantly. The only sound was the steady beating of the tom-tom and the vibrant wail of the sax, accompanying the languorous gyrations of the woman on the stage.
Pale hands with long scarlet nails moved slowly, rhythmically across the sparkling black gown. The hands came to rest on the woman's loins; the fingers stirred and flexed, like tiny points of flame in the night.
Her arms and shoulders were bare. Her thrusting breasts quivered inside the strapless gown, bouncing and shimmering with each undulating movement of her hips.
Hank had seen a few strippers in his day--but this girl was something special. He found himself edging forward, his elbows on the table, ignoring the bourbon and water the waiter had placed before him.
There was something fascinating about this bewitching blonde. She really got to him--with an impact like a fist in the stomach.
The expression on her face was pure disdain. Her eyes had a superior, condescending look beneath her arched brows. Her mouth expressed boredom.
Sinuously she reached behind her and pulled a hidden zipper. The gown split and fell away. She caught the front of it for a moment, and then whirled around as she let it fall. Her shimmering body was revealed, clad only in small black tights and a narrow halter.
Lazily she curled her arms above her head while her hips wormed to the tempo of jungle drums. It was a pagan dance which caused a pulse to pound in Hank's veins, and brought warm flushes to his face.
She swung her shoulders, making her breasts dance and jerk inside the spangled halter.
She tossed her head, and her long hair swirled around her neck like golden drapery. Her body began to move faster as the tempo quickened. She danced with her eyes closed, her mouth pursed for kissing.
As she wound her hips with succulent movements of pure temptation, she slipped her palms along the bare flesh of her belly to her flanks.
Her hands crept across her haunches, to the gleaming white of her naked thighs. And there they stopped, gripping the tender flesh in a frenzy of obvious desire. The fingers dug with wanton hunger.
Her lips parted with a silent gasp.
Everybody in the audience seemed to feel the passion the dancer was feeling. There was a trembling of muscles, a soft undulation of the belly. Her whole body seemed to be attuned to the steady beat of the music.
Arching her back, she leaned her body and tossed her lovely shoulders. Rhythmic shudders were visible on the surface of her flesh. Ripples ran through her revolving breasts, down to her thighs.
She danced faster and faster while her body surged within the confines of her costume. She whirled and spun on the stage, moving from one side to the other.
She stopped with her back to the audience and let them watch as her fingers loosened the clasp which held her bra. Then with a quick motion, she tossed it away.
Her breasts were bare, but she withheld the final moment of revelation, keeping her back to the tensely waiting audience, tempting them beyond endurance.
When she whirled around at last, her breasts were revealed in all their naked beauty. Small, perfectly formed breasts with sparkling cones covering the centers. Drawing her arms together in front of her, she shaped the two mounds until they touched and became a single, two-peaked dome of quivering flesh.
Holding her exposed breasts this way, as an offering, she began to roll her hips. Passionate shudders ripped through her thighs as they twisted and churned in an imitation of fucking. Her tilting haunches, her slim legs, her straining breasts--every part of her body ached for fulfillment.
The throbbing of the music and the beat of the drums increased in volume. The tempo grew faster. She raised her arms and danced with wild abandon. Her pillowy breasts snapped and jerked in a circular motion, bouncing with the rhythmic worming of her hips. With a final pounding of drums and clashing of cymbals, she danced off the stage.
There was a thunder of applause.
She returned to bow. And then she reached up and removed the wig of golden hair, revealing the unmistakable head of a man on the fantastic body of a woman.
Hank gasped in amazement.
"Fooled you, didn't he?" Jacques grinned.
"But the tits--?"
"A plastic injection. There's this operation they can perform, even on men."
Hank shook his head, still finding it difficult to believe that he had been so completely fooled. His mind was slightly dazed, as if he were suffering from a mild state of shock.
He was still trying to regain his perspective when the curtains parted again and another woman walked out--or at least a man cleverly dressed as a woman. He realized now that every act was probably performed by female impersonators.
"Now watch--" Jacques said, "--and listen--" Hank was amazed once more when the woman--or the man masquerading as a woman--began to sing in a lilting female voice. He figured that this was Henri. Jacques said Henri did female singing impressions. And Henri was a dead ringer for the popular woman singer he was imitating.
"Fantastic!" Hank said.
"See?" Jacques grinned. "What did I tell you? That's Henri. And the marvelous blonde stripper you saw first was Henri, too!"
"Good Lord! He looks like a she! And he can change his female appearance so completely!
"See what I mean?"
"With his ability, he should have no trouble disguising himself as our little Albanian spitfire."
"It will be a cinch for Henri."
Hank sipped his drink, watching Henri perform, and once more the illusion was stronger than the reality. Hank was actually convinced that he was watching a lovely young woman--and all along he knew he was watching a man.
After the show, Hank and Jacques went backstage to speak to Henri. Henri sat at a mirror, removing false eyelashes and makeup. With the wig gone, it was plain to see that he was a man, although he was small and delicately built.
Jacques did the talking, explaining the proposition to Henri.
"This could be very dangerous, couldn't it?" Henri asked when Jacques finished his explanation.
"Yes. You know how ruthless the Chinese Reds can be," Hank replied.
"I've known danger before," Henri smiled.
"Then you're willing to tackle this?" Hank asked.
"Yes. But of course! It's a real challenge."
"There's a very real chance of death, Henri--"
"I know," he laughed. "It will put my ability to a difficult test. And, it might be fun. Who knows, ehh?"
"You might be taking this too lightly."
"No. Never. I never take my life lightly. I've become too used to living," Henri grinned.
"The Albanian girl is about your size---just a shade shorter, really."
"I have to see her," Henri. "Only after looking at her closely and studying her carefully can I be certain that I can undertake this."
"Oh--so you might not?"
"I won't if I don't think I can pull it off, ehh?"
"You're right."
"I will get dressed and go with you to see this Albanian spitfire."
CHAPTER SIX
Henri spent an hour alone with the girl, observing her mannerisms, listening to her voice. He was fascinated by the Albanian girl's fiery temperament and her dark, hypnotically ravishing beauty.
This would be a challenge.
A real challenge.
His only worry was that someone in the Chinese secret service would speak the girl's native language. But it was unlikely--as improbable as a Frenchman speaking Chinese.
Henri understood that the French girl, Colette's life was at stake. She had taken great risks for her country. All he had to do was get into the house and learn if the girl were being held prisoner. It wouldn't be easy, but he had taken more dangerous chances when he was with the resistance, fighting the Nazis.
As the Albanian girl watched, Henri opened her suitcase and looked over her clothes. A blue-and-white dress caught his eye. He took it out and put it over the back of a chair. Then he fished around till he found a bra and a pair of nylon panties.
He felt a sudden glow of anticipation as he ran his fingers over the silky panties. He liked the cool texture and the way it clung to his hands. It would be delightful to wear the underclothes of such a charming female.
The girl watched him with puzzled eyes.
Picking up the clothes he wanted, and a small overnight bag which contained makeup, Henri walked across the room as the girl watched him, frowning.
For a long moment, Henri stood before the mirror, looking from his face to hers, planning the transformation. And, as always when he prepared to dress as a female, little shivers of excitement welled up in him.
Henri had long ago recognized the peculiar longings in himself which could only be satisfied by the caress of clinging hose and silky undies.
He uttered a suppressed laugh and put a dressing screen between himself and the girl as he took off his clothes. When he was naked, he picked up the nylon panties that belonged to the Albanian girl.
He stepped into them, shivering with delicious delight. In a few moments he was completely dressed in her clothes. He got a heavenly kind of joy as a female impersonator. He loved to cross-dress.
She pushed the screen aside and the girl saw him. She gasped when she saw Henri wearing her clothes. She started to get up, shouting in anger at him. He smiled at her and waved for her to sit down. Curiously, she did, as if she wanted to see what else he was going to do. Her natural instinct was to rush him and try to claw him with her nails.
Henri sat down at the dressing table and glanced in the mirror, and then darted his eyes to the girl's face. He put on a dark wig that was fixed like the girl's hair.
Henri went to work with quick skill, working makeup into his face. He plucked at his eyebrows to bring them to a thin point at the ends, the way the Albanian girl wore hers. Then he applied a black eyebrow pencil, drawing the high arch and the curving line.
Next came the mascara to darken the eyes. Lipstick. For ten minutes he labored with concentrated attention. And then he was done. He had outdone himself. He was pleased at how closely he now resembled the Albanian girl he intended to imitate. He arched one brow and stared sullenly into the mirror, just the way she did. His eyes were ablaze with the same kind of intense passion.
He was the girl. He stood up and faced her. She let out a strangled cry of surprise. She seemed to freeze, as if she were seeing her identical twin.
Henri felt a glow of personal, professional pride. The girl's mouth gaped open as she stared at the image of herself. Henri smiled and paraded delicately across the room, swinging his hips. The Albanian girl was stunned. She stared at him speechlessly, her eyes wide.
He was a complete success. Even the girl could not believe what she saw. With a parting wave, he walked out of the room and down to the office where Hank was waiting.
The two secret service men in the room jumped to their feet as Henri, disguised as the girl, entered.
"I'm ready to go now," Henri said in a seductive, female voice. "How do I look?" he added in his own voice.
"For a moment I thought you were the girl!" Hank said, shaking his head in admiration. "The Commies'll never see through your disguise. It's incredible."
"I'm a professional, ehh?" Henri grinned.
Henri, disguised as the girl, was driven to the railroad station where he took a cab and headed for the Rue Castelet. He had the girl's belongings with him, including the travel guide book which contained several messages on micro-dot film.
Henri climbed out of the cab at Number 7, paid the driver and walked up to the door. A uniformed guard opened the door before he could knock.
He gave the password.
The guard let him through without a reply and led him down the hall to an office where a Chinese officer sat at a large desk.
Henri spoke in a lilting voice, using a few Albanian words which he had learned from the girl.
Evidently he had deceived the Colonel, whose eyes were gleaming lasciviously as he looked at Henri's voluptuous figure.
The Colonel took the travel guide containing the messages and had his orderly lead Henri from the office.
Henri spoke a few words in French to the orderly and learned that he could speak the language fairly well. In a halting manner, so the orderly would think he was unfamiliar with the language, Henri asked if it were possible to be shown around the house while he waited for his orders.
"Of course," the Chinese replied with a slight bow. "Is there anything in particular you would like to see?"
"My father's a jailer in Albania--a member of the party, of course. I've always been interested in dungeons. You have one here?"
The orderly's face twisted into a sinister grin. He led Henri down a long corridor and stopped before a heavy door. Taking a key from his pocket, he unlocked the door, which led down stone steps into the dim bowels of the house.
"I am sure you will find our dungeon an excellent one, perhaps as good as the one your father tends," the orderly said with a trace of pride.
Henri, walking like the girl he was dressed to imitate, followed him down the stairs. They went into a small office where there were two bare desks and a filing cabinet. On the wall was a gun rack which held a variety of rifles, riot guns and sub-machine guns.
Henri was startled by the masked woman who sat grimly behind one of the desks. Her black mask was a kind of hood which covered the upper part of her face. Two dark fierce eyes glared through the openings--and it seemed to Henri that they had actually burned the holes in the mask..
"This is comrade Truska, from Albania," said the orderly, introducing Henri. "She expressed a wish to see our dungeon. Her father's a jailer back home."
"Very well," Messalina said to the orderly, "you may go."
For a long moment Messalina sat staring at Henri. It was an open, lascivious stare that left no doubt that she had a taste for pretty women as well as for men. Her hands toyed with a pencil as she surveyed Henri. And then she stood up.
Her size was awesome to Henri. She was nearly six feet tall. She was an amazon of a woman with a magnificent body clad in a strange black leather corset. Her breasts thrust up superbly, twin meaty globes which seemed ready to burst out of the clinging leather.
Her provocative thighs were covered by a small skirt of pliant leather which was very very short, barely covering the V at the juncture of her thighs. A pair of leather gloves covered her hands. And on her feet were two highly polished boots with soaring arches and long spiked heels.
"Greetings Comrade Truska," Messalina said. "I am Messalina."
She held out her gloved hand. Henri experienced a shiver of fright as he felt the power of Messalina's grip.
"If you will come with me, Comrade Truska, I'll show you around."
Messalina spoke French fluently. Henri cautioned himself to be certain to make his own accent heavy, using guttural tones an Albanian would probably use.
Henri followed Messalina down an echoing corridor, past several cells which could be looked into through small barred windows on the doors.
Curiously, Henri paused to look quickly through each window. The first cell was empty. The second contained a man who seemed more dead than alive. His body was emaciated and his flesh was scarred with the marks of whip lashes.
It was in the third cell that Henri caught a quick glimpse of the girl. She lay on a bunk, staring at the wall. She had to remain on her side because both her front and back were mangled by torture.
Henri turned away at once, keeping his face expressionless. But he knew that this was the French girl, Colette. He had seen photos of her. But her physical condition was miserable from the torture she had been suffering.
He made a mental note of the location of the cell she was in while they continued along the corridor.
Already Henri's mission was accomplished. But he might find it difficult getting away from this evil house. If his disguise were ever discovered--he shuddered to think what would happen to him.
"Here is our torture chamber," Messalina said, leading Henri through a door.
There was a smile of grim pride on Messalina's lips. Obviously she thought Henri would be pleased with the collection of racks and instruments of torture that were worse than a nightmare. The whole room reminded Henri of something right out of a medieval prison.
Henri, using his lilting girlish voice, carefully accenting his French, raved over everything to Messalina. Messalina bloated with pride.
But Henri found it difficult not to hide his horror. It was not just horror he felt, however. There was a fierce anger building inside of him. This was the kind of brutality the Nazis had taken such pleasure in. The very thing he had fought to drive from French soil.
Henri watched, smiling and nodding with faked approval as Messalina demonstrated every savage device and told of the effects each had on her prisoners.
Messalina ran her gloved hand over the large wheel of a rack which was used to stretch bodies beyond endurance. Her fingers stroked lovingly. Her eyes stared with a far-away look.
At last Messalina looked into Henri's eyes.
"So? Does your father have anything to match this?"
"No. He would be just as awed by this as I am."
"Good. I designed everything myself."
"Oh, how proud my father would be to meet you, Messalina," Henri cooed, laying it on thick.
"Ah, that it was possible," Messalina smiled. "Now, my dear. Come. We'll go to my quarters."
"Yes. Of course."
Henri followed obediently. Messalina led him back along the corridor where he could hear the moans of her victims. She paused at one of the cell doors, and Henri paused behind her, wondering what was going on.
"Look in through this cell door, Comrade Truska," Messalina said to Henri.
"It's a man," Henri said. Inside the cell was a naked man. He was big, but his stay had peeled so many pounds off of his big frame that you could see his ribs. And, his body was badly scarred.
"We broke him," Messalina said.
"Oh--?"
"He was a counterspy--a double-agent--the-worse kind. He resisted our torture for a long time. Come, as we walk to my quarters I'll tell you what we did to him to break him."
Henri followed Messalina, listening as they walked. Messalina painted such a vivid picture of the torture inflicted on the man in the cell that he could see it all happening in his mind's eye.
Messalina told of how she had flogged the man with a cruel bull whip, and as she did, Henri could see the man writhing in pain, as he dangled from overhead chains, as the lash of the bullwhip slashed open the flesh of his back, tearing the skin open, starting a heavy flow of blood.
The man jerked in his chains, crying out for mercy, but Messalina ignored his plea, laughing as she laid the lash of the brutal whip to his sliced-open, bleeding back. After she flogged his back to tatters she began to concentrate the vicious blows of the bullwhip on the man's cringing, naked buttocks.
She beat his ass until the bullwhip had chopped the flesh raw, turning his ass into sickly pattern of crisscrossing slashes and thick smears of blood.
But the man didn't break.
He was made to suffer more torture, and Messalina was the one who inflicted the pain.
She dripped boiling hot wax all over his body, scolding and blistering his recoiling skin. With a tack hammer she drove sharp tacks into his chest, stomach and back--the man passed out before the final tack was pounded into his ruined flesh.
He was stretched on the wheel rack; the vicious pulling dislocated his arm sockets, causing him excruciating pain. Later, wires were attached to his naked flesh and jolts of electricity were fed through the wires, making the victim suffer near electrocution.
Messalina degraded him by screwing him violently in the asshole with a monstrous dildo. The shaft of the cock-like dildo had prickly hard rubber nipples that tore the tender flesh inside of his rectal cavity.
It was when Messalina took a razor to his cock that he finally gave in, breaking, telling all of his secrets.
Henri felt sick to his stomach as he listened to Messalina telling how she had tortured the man. He struggled to put those thoughts out of his mind. He had to concentrate on being agreeably pleasant to Messalina.
Instead of going back to the office, Messalina led Henri into a small apartment near the dungeon stairs where she lived. It appeared to Henri that she was so wrapped up in her cruelty and sadistic pleasures that she didn't wish to leave her beloved dungeon.
Perhaps the moans and screams of the prisoners was like music to her ears...
As soon as they entered the apartment, Messalina locked the door. She turned to Henri and fixed him with her deep-burning eyes, which glowed like hot coals from behind the black mask.
"You're very lovely, my dear," Messalina whispered in a voice that was husky with emotion.
Despite Henri's apprehension, he could not help but feel awed by the splendor of her figure, which was molded in the tightly laced corset. She was tall and imperious, a woman of cold, intense passions. A sudden excitement had come over her the moment she had Henri alone in her apartment. Her large breasts rose and fell with quickening breathing. The shimmering white spheres of her tits pushed up by her leather corset nearly overspilled the leather bra cups.
Henri shuddered when he realized that Messalina thought that he, too, was a woman. Of course Messalina didn't doubt for a moment that Henri was the lovely Albanian courier whose place he had taken. But if she learned that he was a man--!
"Don't be frightened, my dear," Messalina said, moving toward Henri. "I won't hurt you."
"I--must go--" he replied.
"There's no hurry."
Messalina reached out her gloved hand with the grace of a cat and touched his cheek. Henri took a step backward, trembling inside as if he had been taken by a chill.
The both of Messalina's hands caught Henri by the shoulders, holding him in a powerful grip. She was a huge woman, much bigger than he. She could break every bone in his small body. And strangely Henri felt a compulsion to submit to Messalina-- Messalina's hands were moving lightly down Henri's girlish arms, stroking delicately, beginning to explore. Henri shuddered. If Messalina's hands should stray lower-- In sudden fright of discovery, Henri dropped to his knees.
Impulsively, he flung his arms around her bare legs and pressed his face to Messalina's warm flesh. He felt her begin to tremble.
"You excite me," Messalina murmured. "It gives me pleasure to have such a lovely woman grovel at my feet."
"I worship you--" Henri said in his girl's voice. "I can't help it--I do--"
"You're so sweet."
Henry clung tenaciously with his arms encircling her legs. After a moment, he dared to look up. Messalina's eyes were bright behind the mask, and her mouth was smiling grimly. The intensity of her emotions made her nostrils flare.
"I'm your slave--" Henri whispered, sensing that those were the words Messalina wanted to hear.
"Of course you are," she replied. "I am your master. You must please me."
"I will--"
"Of course you will. You're my slave, my pet."
"Yes--I am--"
"Adore me."
"Your wish is my command, Messalina." Messalina moved her legs apart and lifted her short skirt, displaying her lush, naked thighs. She wore nothing below the bottom of the leather corset. Henri felt a jolt of excitement leap through his body as he stared at the naked splendor of Messalina's gleaming white belly and the dark, mysterious cave of her cunt.
Holding the skirt high above her waist, Messalina tilted her hips lewdly forward, flashing her cunt lips. It was not a request. It was a command.
Henri knew better than to refuse. But strangely, he didn't wish to refuse this tantalizing creature. He was trapped by the raw power of her tyranny. He was helpless against her. She could control him with her fierce, commanding eyes and her dominating will.
"You know what I want, Comrade Truska?"
"Yes--yes, yes. It's my honor to serve you."
"Good. Service my pussy, dear."
"I will--" He was fascinated by the utter wickedness of Messalina's soul. She had shamelessly exposed herself, knowing that Henri could not resist. He dared not refuse her.
While she stood before him with her back arched rigidly and her thighs thrust forward, he began to kiss the soft meaty flesh of her inner legs.
Messalina seemed to melt under the feverish heat of his kisses. Her body began to weave hypnotically, as if she had fallen into a trance, an evil dream-world of lustful hungers.
"Ahhhhh, I like that, dearest," Messalina purred.
"I worship, adore you--"
"I know, I know--" His lips trembled as they worked slowly upward along the flushed warmth of her legs, thighs, drawing closer and closer to the dark, erotic hollow. Messalina's thighs were now damp with excitement. He could feel the glow of her body heat against his cheeks.
Henri's own excitement grew until it was just as blazingly intense as Messalina's. He was not submitting to her just to save his life, but because he had a violent craving to give in to her, to be her captive.
He knew it was unnatural, and yet so were so many of his desires. He was drawn magnetically toward her pussy, entrapped and enraptured by the sight of the soft, furry crown. The sweet scent of Messalina's perfumed cunt ignited fever in his mind. He kissed ravenously as his delirium increased.
"Mmmmmmmm, soooooo nice--higher--higher "My queen--" He was very close to her naked, worming snatch now. His lips were exploring the moist warmth of her quaking thighs.
Suddenly he lunged at her cunt with his hot, gaping mouth and fastened himself there, clinging tenaciously while his eager fingers dug into the firm flesh of her buttocks.
"Agggggmmmmmmmmahhhhhh--" Messalina's body went rigid as Henri's tongue impaled her pussy. An electric tremor shot through her cunt as he sucked and caressed with his hungering lips and thrusting tongue.
Shivering now from cunt-sucking exhilaration, driven by his own flaming need to service her, Henri attacked Messalina's worming, impaled cunt like a voracious animal. Kneeling on the hard floor, he cunt lapped, cunt sucked, explored the hot depths of her pussy with his long, stiff tongue.
"Ohhhhh that's delicious!"
As his cunt-sucking and tongue stabbing grew more violent, Messalina commenced to twist her hips and jerk her pelvis, mashing her cunt at his hot mouth and twisting, fluttering tongue. Her entire body began to squirm. Shudders of delight rippled over her heated flesh. As she gasped for breath she made strange gurgling sounds in her throat.
Henri was caught up in the rapture and the madness of what was happening. Her cunt was creamy. A sharp, exotic scent now emanated from her snatch, filling his nostrils, making his head spin with dizziness. The harsh, voluptuous churning of her hips filled him with breathless excitement.
"Eat me! Eat me gloriously! Tongue my cunt! Harder! Harder! Ohhhhhhh yes! That's the way, that's the way! MMMMMMMMMmmmmmm!"
Tightening his grip on her round, smooth buttock cheeks, he pressed his groping, sucking mouth harder against her squirming, inflamed cunt.
Messalina gave a tormented cry.
"Eat meee!"
He chewed and sucked and tongued wildly, as if inspired by her cry.
"Now! Now! I'm coming! Noooooowwwww!"
Her body jerked with the first spasm of her completion. And then she was writhing and pumping while he clung to her, driving screams of delirium from the depths of her being as he ate, sucked and tongued her juicy pussy.
Wave after wave rippled through her cunt. And still he tormented her with his agonizing mouth and tongue. The fiery dart of his tongue drew a hedonistic cry of delight, a shrill scream which echoed off the walls.
Probing deeper and deeper with his stiff, jabbing, squirming tongue, he forced her over the pinnacle in a flaming completion that left her weak and trembling. She staggered back and fell into a chair. Still on his knees, Henri watched as her breathing slowly subsided.
Messalina's eyes never left Henri's disguised face as they stared hard and unfeeling from behind the mask.
"That was wonderful," she sighed.
"I loved doing it."
A cold shiver passed along his spine. Her eyes were as if frozen. His own excitement was gone now, as quickly as it had come upon him. Terror had returned to haunt him.
He had only one thought--to get out of this evil house before his true identity was discovered. Messalina would have found out if she had continued to feel his girlish body. But Messalina's own greedy passion to have her cunt sucked had saved him.
"You're a talented cunt-lapper," Messalina grinned, but her eyes were still cold.
"You inspired me."
"You're such a dear. Are you staying long?"
"I wait for my orders." He got to his feet. "I really must go now--"
"You may go," Messalina nodded. "I'll send for you later, my dear. We sill spend the evening--the night--together--" Henri smiled as if thrilled by the thought as he walked quickly out. He ran up the stone steps. The guard was nearly asleep in his chair as Henri walked out of the front door.
CHAPTER SEVEN
Messalina stepped from the shower and began to rub her wet, steaming body with a towel until she glowed bright pink. The fiery cunt sucking of the lovely Albanian girl had filled her with lazy contentment--a contentment which would soon dissipate and become once more a lustful need for the kind of violence she craved, as some people crave drugs.
It was a special kind of need which she had no trouble satisfying in her position as jailer for the Chinese Secret Service.
She smiled grimly at the thought that there was always someone who could put her particular talents to use. In the days of the Third Reich she had been in her glory. She had indulged her sadistic craving to the fullest. She had been able to saturate herself, her body and soul, with evil.
Life had been very good to her. There had always been a supply of victims--a never-ending supply.
She smiled with relish as she thought about the lovely French girl, Colette. This one was going to give her a great deal of pleasure. But she had made up her mind to wait until the right moment--the moment when the fruit was at its ripest, when the tasting of it would afford the most pleasure. By abstaining, she increased her appetite.
Tossing aside the towel, Messalina reached for her mask and slipped it over her head. A person could never be too cautious, even among friends.
Everyone was filled with treachery, even those you wished you could trust. And if it were known that there was a bounty on her head, a small fortune in fact, somebody's greed would sooner or later cause her downfall.
So, the mask was absolutely necessary.
Colonel Fong was the only man in the world who knew of her whereabouts. Except for her father, of course, who was safely hiding in Argentina.
And so long as Colonel Fong had a need for her special abilities, she was safe. Even if the colonel might decide to collect the reward money, the party would never let him keep it.
Anyway, these were minor problems which she could not afford to worry about.
Still naked except for the mask, Messalina pressed the button the wall which would summon her maids. In seconds there was a light rap on her door.
"Come in."
Two small, dainty Chinese girls entered and bowed politely. They were still in their early teens--two girls whom the colonel had brought from China for his own particular pleasures.
The girls were dressed in loose-fitting blue gowns of silk with the usual split on the side to reveal their smooth, shapely legs. Their hair was combed out and neatly tied behind their heads with blue ribbons.
"I'm ready to dress," Messalina said imperiously.
"It is our delight to serve you," one of the girls said softly.
"Of course it is," Messalina grinned as she stood before the mirror so that she could glory in the magnificence of her naked body.
"You have lovely body," the other girl said.
"When you grow up, perhaps you'll have one, too."
"No, no, Missy Messalina. Never we have bodies so like yours!"
She liked their humility.
"Dress me."
"Yes. At once."
"Good."
While one of her maids laid out the clothing she had decided to wear, the other dusted her naked curves with powder.
Messalina took a deep breath, filling her lungs, proudly raising her tits. They were huge globes of firm, buoyant flesh tipped with long, pink nipples. At her slightest movement, her fantastic tits swayed heavily, firm and outjutting, defying gravity.
The two girls held an end of the black leather corset Messalina had chosen to wear. Fitting it around her body, they pulled it tight and drew it together in the back. Methodically, they began to lace the heavy thongs through the eyelets and to draw them tight.
"Nice and tight now."
"Yes, yes--"
"I want it very very tight."
"Yes."
Messalina took a deep breath, thrilling to the tight, restrictive sensation as the leather became taut and pressed against her spine.
As Messalina stood immobile with her legs planted solidly apart and her hands on her hips, the two young Chinese maids pulled at the laces with all of their strength.
Messalina could feel the constriction of leather and the painful friction as it cut into her flesh. But it was a delicious pain which filled her with a kind of glowing excitement.
She closed her eyes and sighed.
When the girls could draw no tighter on the corset, they tied the laces.
Raising her arms, Messalina turned slowly to examine herself in the mirror. Her lips spread in a pleased smile. The pressure of the leather had lifted her tits, making them thrust up with stunning splendor.
Two holes were cut out of the front of the leather half-bra cups, and her long, pink nipples thrust through them. Her milky white skin contrasted vividly with the jet black of the constricting leather corset.
"Very good girls, you tied it up nice and tight."
"We live to serve you."
Above her naked thighs the corset formed an arch--a kind of frame to enhance the dark mystery of her pubic mound.
As soon as Messalina had finished indulging in self-adoration, the maids brought her boots from the closet. They were the finest boots that she possessed--made of shiny black leather, with pointed spike heels which could actually pierce a victim's flesh if properly used.
The boots laced up the front. The brilliant white cords had been washed until they were spotless, so that they would make a gleaming contrast to the black leather of the boots.
"I'm ready for the boots."
She sat on her bed and raised a leg, crossing it over her knee. Both young girls worked together, straining to tug the tight-fitting boot over her foot. When it was in place, they smoothed out the wrinkles by running their hands upward along the calf of her leg.
"Very nice--now good and tight, girls."
They drew the laces tight, pausing to make certain that they were just the proper distance between each eyelet. The finishing effect had to be a tapering symmetry. Messalina. would not permit their handiwork, they took the other boot and put it on in the same slow, painstaking way.
Then Messalina stood up. For a moment she was unsteady on the long heels, but only for a moment.
"Excellent, girls, excellent. Now my gloves."
They were a matching pair of black leather gloves. She held out her arms as the two girls slipped them on and fitted them into place, adjusting the snugness on each individual finger, smoothing it over her arms.
"Very good, girls."
"Thank you--" A smile of satisfaction spread over Messalina's face as she stood once more before the mirror. She was a fascinating sight. And the black mask added the final touch--the touch that was calculated to excite fear in anybody who looked at her, including even those who had no need to fear her so long as they did not displease her.
Walking across the room to her closet, she took a riding crop from the shelf. Holding it in her gloved hands, she bent it in a curve.
"Now I'm ready," she said to the girls. "You're dismissed."
The girls bowed, backed away, and left, leaving Messalina alone. She left herself and walked toward the dungeon.
The sound of a key grating in the lock awakened Colette from a shallow, fitful sleep. As she awoke, numbing pain racked her body. She knew that her tormentors wouldn't allow her a moment's peace.
The cold, biting fear began to gnaw at her en trails once more. They never came to her cell unless it was for the purpose of adding to her misery.
Two Chinese guards entered through the door and without a word took hold of Colette. Roughly they dragged her to her feet and led her out of the cell and down the long stone corridor, toward the sound of a screaming man.
Colette's blood turned cold.
She knew without being told why the man was screaming. Messalina was indulging once more in her favorite sport, torturing helpless victims.
Colette was led into the torture chamber of the dungeon. The screaming man was chained to the wall, his arms in heavy shackles, his face pressed against the cold stone. And behind him stood the masked Messalina, a grim smile of satanic pleasure on her curling lips.
In her hand she had a long black snake whip. It was cruel looking. The end of the lash lay coiled at her feet like a thin, tapering tail. The tail of the devil, Colette thought with a shudder. And this evil masked woman was the devil incarnate.
The two guards dragged Colette to an opposite wall and lashed her wrists. They left her hanging in chains, facing the struggling man. She was going to be forced to watch his torture.
A cold worm of fear crawled through Colette.
Was this the preliminary to her own renewed torment? Was the masked woman doing this to reduce her to screaming hysteria before she too was lashed with the whip?
Colette tried to close her eyes, but it was impossible not to look at the frightened, struggling man.
Colette didn't know the naked man. She was convinced he was an agent who had fallen into a Chinese trap. Most likely they wanted to break him down in order to obtain some information. But it was also possible that he was merely a victim to the Messalina's insatiable hunger for sadistic torture and cruelty.
With a flick of her wrist, Messalina made the whip move like a lazy, striking snake.
The long thin strip of the lash circled twice around the man's lower leg. It had moved too gently to hurt him, but he screamed in terror at the touch of the lash, knowing well enough that the next blow wouldn't be painless.
Messalina laughed insanely.
She took great pleasure in taunting her victims, adding to mental torture.
Sensing the first sharp blow that was about to land on his back, the man tensed his body. Straining his muscular arms, he pulled helplessly at the shackles. The hard metal bit into his wrists, but there was no escaping his cruel fate.
Colette saw that the man's naked body was unmarked. He must have been captured only recently, for he showed none of the signs of imprisonment. She shuddered to think how his firm, muscular limbs and smooth back would look after the vicious Messalina was finished with him.
Planting her feet wide apart, Messalina drew back the whip. She swung with all of her weight. The man jolted as if he had been shot.
"Aiiiiiiiiiii!"
His piercing cry sent fire through Colette's blood. She began to tremble all over; and it seemed to her that she too could feel the biting horror of the lash.
A brilliant red mark appeared on the man's broad back. He jerked and strained helplessly at the chains. His legs tensed and his thighs grew taut. His entire body was bathed in sweat which had begun to stream out of his hair, across his back and arms.
Messalina stepped forward and examined the mark she had made. Smiling grimly, she studied the muscular bulge of the man's shoulders, his narrow waist and firm buttocks.
She was looking him over like a diabolical artist--planning her sadistic work in advance. It seemed almost as if she were a sculptress preparing to carve on a magnificent piece of marble.
Moving her arm, Messalina drew back the long whip coil. She snapped her arm. The lash made a singing noise as it cut through the air. Then there was a sharp, explosive crack.
The man let loose a tortured scream, and his body jerked.
A second red line was on his shoulders, an inch below the first, and it was oozing blood. The two lines ran neatly parallel across the man's back, attesting to Messalina's mastery with the whip.
Once more she drew back her arm. The whip sailed ominously above her head and then struck. The man's screams of pain turned to sobs of delirium.
A pattern was beginning to take shape of his back. Bright red diagonal lines etched against the paleness of his flesh. Small trickles of blood ran from his wounds, down the channel of his back into the cleft of his buttocks.
Suddenly, as if she had been seized by a wild mania, Messalina began striking with violent fury, as rapidly as she could move her arm.
With piston-like strokes, she laid the lash again and again across the man's back, moving lower with each blow. The whip cut into the tender globes of his buttocks, then left its mark on his straining legs.
With demented fury Messalina put every ounce of her strength into her diabolic work. Her arm swung back and forth, striking like a hammer, placing the leather with amazing accuracy.
Flecks of blood began to fly, dotting the floor with tiny bright circles of red. And still the crazed Messalina struck with fury, while a shrill animal cry of pure bloodlust poured from her gaping mouth.
Finally, Messalina began to stagger from her own exertion. Her body began to rock, almost drunkenly, as she stood balanced on her high spiked heels. Her body was drenched with sweat. Streams of perspiration ran down her face from beneath the heavy black mask.
But, even though she was too worn out to any longer wield the whip, Messalina was not yet finished with her hapless victim.
Crossing the room, she picked up a strange object from a table which was covered with paraphernalia. Colette shivered as she realized what this particular instrument of torture was, and how Messalina planned to use it on the man. Colette realized that Messalina could use it on her, too.
If it were made from rubber, it would be horrible enough. But it was made from hard, smooth, unyielding wood. Quickly Messalina lashed it to her, fastening the buckles which held it in place.
"You're going to love this," Messalina laughed to the bleeding man.
"What're you going to do--oh, no!" he cried as he looked over his wounded shoulder and saw what she was wearing.
The long, thick, wooden dildo stuck out from the mound of Messalina's cunt hill, giving her the appearance of a man. A fantastic freak.
Glancing fearfully over his bloody shoulder, the struggling man saw what Messalina was going to do. He gave a blood-curdling cry of terror. Messalina laughed harshly.
"Ever fuck a girl in the ass?" she taunted.
"No, nooooo, don't!"
"You look like the kind of stud who just loves to shove his cock up a girl's rectum."
"Leave me be!"
"Turnabout's fair play," Messalina laughed.
"Noooooooooooo! Don't!"
Taking hold of his naked waist, she lunged viciously, without warning, without preparing him. The dildo struck at the exposed asshole of the man with unerring accuracy.
He screamed. He arched and twisted his body, trying to escape the horror. But she clung to him like a mad animal, thrusting pitilessly with her hips, plunging at him with the hard, wooden dildo, driving it forcefully, painfully, up into his bloodied, cringing asshole.
"Aggggggghhhhhhhggggg!"
"You have a nice ass," Messalina laughed wildly.
The man screamed in an agony of pain.
She clamped her arms tightly around his chest and wormed her hips, plowing the awful wooden cock way up inside of his bleeding rectum. She shrieked with glee each time she shoved her hips forward, driving it way in, impaling him unnaturally, with brutal, ripping force.
The blood from the impaled man's back smeared against Messalina's chest, even smearing the polished surface of her leather corset. But she didn't care about anything except the sadistic pleasure she was getting from plugging him brutally in the asshole.
"Move your ass!" she laughed lewdly.
"You're killing meee!" he screamed.
He writhed in delirious agony as she lunged with the lower part of her body, fucking him viciously, cruelly in the asshole. With a final plunge that she delivered by thrusting, up on her toes, she rammed it to the hilt and violently rammed it around inside his rectal tunnel, ruining him internally.
With a coughing scream, he slumped, bloodily impaled. He dangled limply from his chains as Messalina slowly withdrew the bloody wooden dildo from his ragged asshole.
"Did you enjoy that, Colette?" she asked as she unbuckled the bloody dildo and tossed it aside.
"God! It was awful--"
"You're chicken-hearted," Messalina. "How'd you like to be fucked in the asshole with the dildo?" she taunted.
"What's the difference what I answer? You'll do whatever you want to me--"
"Dam right I will!" Messalina laughed.
"Who is the man?"
"An American agent."
"Why did you bring me in here?"
"I wanted you to watch, my dear."
"Is that all?"
"Of course that's all."
"But--"
"Why, do you want me to renew your torture now, my dear?"
"God, no!"
"I have no plan to. You see, Colette, tomorrow afternoon you're going to tell me everything I want to know."
"I've told you and told you--I have nothing to tell you. This is all an awful, horrible mistake. You've mistaken me for someone else."
"No. We haven't. We know who you are. Protest your innocence as much as you like, dear girl. Tomorrow you'll tell me all."
"What are you going to do to me?"
"You'll be subjected to torture you can't possibly endure, my dear Colette."
"I can hardly wait," Colette said with spirited sarcasm.
CHAPTER EIGHT
Hank pulled himself up to the top of the high stone wall and lay in the shadows to study the darkened rear of the house. One light glowed in a third story window, but it was several rooms away from the heavy drainpipe of iron which ran from the roof to the ground.
He had spent two hours that afternoon examining Number 7 Rue Castelet, from every possible angle. Finally he concluded that there was only one way to gain entrance without alerting the guards that he knew were constantly patrolling inside. That was to climb the pipe to the roof, then let himself down to one of the upper story windows.
It wasn't a very brilliant plan.
But, because it was so simple, it might just have a chance of working.
Since Henri had given his report that Colette was being held a prisoner in Number 7, Hank had been plotting her rescue.
It was unthinkable to leave her there in the house at the mercy of the Chinese Reds. At the most, she could only survive a few days of the kind of torture that Hank knew she'd been enduring.
And, there was a strong probability that she'd break soon, revealing all she knew about the people connected with the operation on which she'd been working.
For five minutes he lay on the wall and watched the rear of the house. He had almost decided that the back of the house was unguarded when a match suddenly flared, outlining a man against the stone wall near the door.
Hank froze. He stared at the spot where the man had just lit a cigarette. So there was a guard after-all. He could see the faint red glow in the dark. Occasionally it grew brighter as the man took a drag on the cigarette.
Hank cursed under his breath.
This was going to make it a lot more difficult. But he would have to wait it out and look for a chance.
Something moved in the dark just below him, at the base of the wall. A shadow drifted slowly. And then he heard the faint sound of sniffing.
A dog.
He had expected that they'd use dogs for guarding the house, and he'd come prepared. Moving slowly, he took a small package from his pocket and unwrapped it. It was a ball of hamburger about the size of a golf ball. He let it fall to the ground.
The sniffing grew louder. A growl. And then the dog found the meat. Two minutes after it gulped it down, the dog would be out cold. The hamburger contained a drug.
Hank listened until he heard a low whimper, the sound of the dog's body as it fell to the ground.
The spark of the cigarette glowed bright once more, then shot through the air like a tiny rocket. It burst in a red shower when it hit against the wall.
A door opened, throwing light into the areaway. The man who had finished his cigarette stepped inside. Hank didn't know how long he would be gone.
He could wait no longer. Quickly he dropped from the wall, landing on his hands and knees in a patch of soft, dry grass.
His foot struck the dog's still body, and he angled around it. As soon as he reached the drainpipe, he tested it and found that it was solid. His rubber-soled shoes gave him traction against the stone wall as he started climbing.
He struggled quickly until he reached the jutting edge of the roof. Grasping the eave trough, he pushed away from the pipe and swung his leg up. His heel caught and held. Slowly he pulled himself over the edge. Then he lay for several minutes to regain his breath.
It was going to be easier getting into the house than getting out. Colette would never be able to make the climb down from the roof, so he would have to blast his way out if necessary. He was fully prepared to fight if he had to, if there was no other way to rescue the girl.
Then, rested, Hank stood up and surveyed the situation. He began to crawl along the roof to a point twenty feet from the corner. Looking over the edge, he saw the darkened window directly below, and the ledge which jutted out six inches beyond it.
Tying the end of the rope to the metal frame of the gutter, he tested it, then eased over the edge. The window was locked. But, he'd brought a glass cutter and a rubber suction cup. Quickly and carefully he cut a hole in the glass and reached in to release the lock.
The window made a faint grating noise as he slid it open. He was inside the room. It was empty except for a wooden table and two chairs.
Hank tiptoed across and slowly opened the door. The hall was empty. At the far end he could hear the rapid clicking of a typewriter. Stepping cautiously, he walked toward the head of the stairs.
As Hank slipped cautiously past a door he heard a soft metallic click. He whirled and raised his automatic in his hand. But he was too slow. He caught a glimpse of the man, saw the black clublike thing he was swinging. And then nothing.
The whole side of the wall seemed to cave in on his head. Lightning flashed somewhere behind his eyes. A big hairy paw reached out and smashed him to the ground. Bells rang in his ears as he fell into a black, bottomless void.
When Hank came to, he was lying on his back, strapped to a hard wooden table which was tilted up at a forty-five degree angle, permitting him to see the dungeon-like room into which they had taken him.
He had been stripped naked.
"Welcome, Mr. Devlin," said a Chinese officer with a flat, fat face and very narrow eyes. "We're most glad you decided to pay us a visit."
Hank didn't reply. They knew his name. His identification--of course. His mind was still groggy, and when he tightened his arms to test the leather straps which bound him, he nearly passed out again.
There were several people in the dungeon besides the Chinese officer. Hank saw two guards and a fantastic amazon of a woman who wore a bizarre, revealing leather corset and leather boots with long, high heels. He also saw Colette.
Colette was naked. She was dangling from a low beam. Her wrists were clamped in heavy shackles. Her face was distorted in pain and fright. Her body was marred by ugly welt and cuts--she was a ruin.
"It was Colette you came to see, wasn't it, Mr. Devlin?" asked the Chinese officer.
Hank did not respond.
"If he won't talk, let me have him," he heard the masked woman say harshly.
"Not necessary," the Chinese officer smiled. "Well, Mr. Devlin. Since you came to see Colette, we've arranged for you to see her. There she is. I know you're not going to act as if you know Colette. But never mind that. Please allow me to introduce myself. I'm Colonel Fong. And my stately jail keeper, the beautiful woman in the mask and provocative costume is called Messalina. You, I am certain, sir, would be very interested to know her true identity. But, unfortunately, that isn't possible."
Hank shook his head slowly to clear his vision. Gradually, every detail of the fantastic dungeon came into focus. Not only were there many incredible instruments and devices of torture, but on the floor there was a large, padded leather mat. Evidently this pack of sadists combined business with pleasure.
They undoubtedly permitted their enjoyment of torturing victims to descend into out-right orgies on a grand scale. Hank had heard stories about Colonel Fong which indicated that such things went on in this house. But of Messalina, he knew nothing.
As the strength returned to his limbs, Hank tried once again to pull against the straps which bound his wrists. But it was hopeless. He gave up and relaxed to conserve his energy.
The Colonel smiled.
"Are you feeling any better, Mr. Devlin?" the Colonel asked.
"Yes. But I'd feel superb if I could get out of here."
"Tut, tut," the Colonel laughed. "How can you want to rush away after striving so hard to gain entrance? "
"Call me fickle," Hank said.
"You have a sense of humor. I like that. And, you'll need it, Mr. Devlin. Believe me."
"Oh, I believe you, Colonel Fong."
"I'm sure we understand each other--"
"Perfectly."
"Well, Mr. Devlin. It's been pleasant conversing with you. But I have to tend to some pressing matters. That Albanian girl you so shrewdly passed off on us has perplexed us."
"That wasn't even a girl," Hank laughed. There was no need in pretending now. They knew who he was.
"I beg your pardon?" Colonel Fong said.
"I said that that wasn't even a girl, Colonel Fong."
"Nonsense. I have eyes."
"It was a man masquerading as a girl."
"Impossible," Messalina said.
"It's a fact," Hank said.
"He lies!" Messalina flared.
"Pay him no mind, Messalina," Colonel Fong smiled. "He's trying to further disturb us. The important thing is that the Albanian girl got in here, and then slipped out, her mission accomplished. And, once having accomplished her mission, she relayed information to Mr. Devlin. Hence, he's here with us now."
"Your security isn't the best, Colonel Fong," Hank said.
"It will improve. We were taken in by the girl. Obviously a double-agent. But we captured you, sir. Enough. I must leave to tend to other matters. I'll leave you in the capable hands of Messalina," Colonel Fong said.
"She looks as if she'll be a charming hostess," Hank said sarcastically.
"She's most charming," Colonel Fong laughed. "Aren't you, Messalina?"
"I drip with charm," Messalina laughed.
"Till later," said the colonel.
The colonel walked out of the dungeon without another word, taking the guards with him, leaving only Messalina to watch Hank and Colette. No guard at all was needed, because both Hank and Colette were helplessly bound.
Hank wriggled his body, trying to get comfortable on the hard wooden table which slanted beneath him. But it was impossible. The table hadn't been made for comfort. It had been made for victims.
"Doesn't Colette look lovely?" Messalina grinned at Hank.
"It looks like you're slowly killing the poor girl with torture."
"She's getting what she deserves."
"What you obviously think she deserves."
"Don't fence with me," Messalina sneered. "Why pretend you don't know Colette? Before another day passes I'll break her and she'll tell everything. Everything we want to know. What she's suffered so far, and what she might still suffer at the hands of Colonel Fong is as if nothing when compared with what I have planned for her."
"And what do you have planned?"
"You'll see. I'll make certain you witness her finish. The torture Colette is to suffer gives exquisite pain, pain so exquisite that one cannot withstand it. As a woman I know about these things.
It's torture planned to break a woman's will."
"You really are charming."
"Thank you," Messalina grinned.
Hank was surprised when Colonel Fong returned; he gaped in surprise.
Colonel Fong had put on a fantastic rubber suit which covered all of his body, with the exception of his head. But he wore a brownish red cap, the same ugly color as the suit.
The moment Colonel Fong entered the dungeon, he paused to tie a gauze mask over his face.
The two guards entered. They carried a rack which contained a collection of rubber and metal instruments of torture. It was evidently the colonel's own private collection.
The colonel walked over to Colette.
"How are you feeling my girl?" he asked.
"Swell--" Colette smiled weakly through her anguish.
"I'm very glad to hear that, my dear. Let's have a look at you."
"Be my guest," Colette said with irony.
The colonel laughed.
"You're a very brave girl, Colette. If only you had as much sense as you have courage."
"We're not all perfect," she said acidly.
Again the colonel laughed. Then he began to examine her naked body with interest as Colette flushed and gritted her teeth, humiliated. When he reached out with his rubber-gloved hand and touched the bright red gash on her breast, she uttered a cry of pain and terror.
The chains rattled as she struggled against her shackles.
"D-don't touch me!" Colette cried.
"You tender virgins are all alike," Colonel Fong mocked.
She cringed as Colonel Fong ran his fingers across the trim curve of her thigh and reached around to caress her sassy buttocks. His fingers probed the soft, wounded flesh, kneading and massaging, and she moaned in pain. He began to touch her intimately, and she whimpered helplessly.
Colette's eyes were wide with shame and terror. She blanched. Her face was distorted by the shame and pain she suffered.
From behind the Colonel's gauze mask came a low, guttural laugh.
He said something in Chinese and held out his gloved hand. One of the guards took a small rubber implement and put it in his hand, like an assistant passing a scalpel to a surgeon.
"Noooooo!" Colette wailed.
Her frightened sobs echoed off the stone walls. She twisted her body, but it was useless. She could not escape the torment which Colonel Fong intended for her.
With oriental patience, he waited silently for her to stop her struggles.
"Calm down, Colette. Struggling will only further exhaust you," Colonel Fong said.
"I love--the way--you look after my--good and welfare--" Colette said with courage.
"You're a remarkable girl, Colette."
"And look what it's got me," she said with a wry grin.
Colonel Fong drew the band of rubber into a circle, stretching it between his fingers.
"W-what are you going to do with t-that?" Colette asked in fear.
"Patience, my pet."
With a quick, dexterous motion he slipped the band of thick, harsh rubber over one of her firm, wounded, jutting tits and released it.
Colette howled in pain.
The thick, harsh band of rubber clamped around her breast, pressing tightly, forcing it out of shape. The tight rubber cut into her tender, wounded flesh, stopping the flow of blood. The nipple began to swell and turn bright red.
"God, the pain--!"
As the helpless Colette squealed in pain against the biting torture, Colonel Fong placed a band around her other tit in the same way. He let it go and it snapped in place, squeezing horribly.
He stepped back to watch Colette with sadistic intensity, like a man who enjoyed disemboweling animals and tearing wings off flies.
His laughter, joining with Messalina's, was diabolic.
Hank was enraged, but could do nothing. He saw that Messalina was getting weird delight from Colette's cruel punishment. Messalina looked almost as if she were experiencing a kind of sexual arousal. Her body was writhing inside the clinging leather corset. Her hips twisted shamelessly, voluptuously.
In spite of his rage for what was happening to Colette, Hank was fascinated by Messalina. Now her body was bathed in sweat, even though the dungeon was damp and actually chilly.
Her lust seemed overpowering--a mixture of sadistic cruelty and sensual craving. He watched as Messalina cupped her hands over her thighs and began to massage them slowly.
Amazingly, Messalina seemed to now be unaware of anyone's presence. Her eyes stared like bright embers through the holes in her mask as they feasted hungrily on Colette's pained, desperate struggle against torture.
Walking over to the rack which held his instruments, Colonel Fong stood for a moment in deep concentration. Then he made his selection.
It was a long strip of rubber, thick and harsh, and about an inch wide. Hank saw that it was very flexible and elastic as the colonel stretched it between his hands.
The dull, narrow eyes of the colonel gazed at the terrified girl with a total lack of compassion.
Reaching behind Colette, he wrapped the rubber strip around her waist. Pulling with all of his strength, he drew the ends together and tied a knot. The result was to cruelly pinch in Colette's body with an hour-glass effect.
Gasping for breath, Colette fought futilely to free her bound hands. But the effort only weakened her so that her legs sagged, unable to support her. The cruel shackles around her wrists stretched her arms taut as they supported the full weight of her body.
"Let her alone!" Hank shouted.
"This is no concern of yours, Mr. Devlin," Colonel Fong smiled.
"She's a human being, so she's a concern of mine. Treat her like one, dammit!" Hank said in frustrated fury.
"You're wasting your breath, Mr. Devlin."
Hank cursed and jerked at his bonds. It was futile to try to escape from the table to which he was bound, but his anger was so intense that he was no longer behaving in a rational way.
Once more the colonel walked over to the rack, and this time he picked up a three-foot length of rubber hose. As he flexed it in his hands, Hank saw that the hose could do brutal damage. It was a lethal weapon.
The colonel walked behind Colette and stood trembling in anticipation as his gloved hand pinched the rounded domes of her buttocks.
Colette screamed in pain.
"Leave me alone--" she cried in a weak, suffocating voice. The constriction of the rubber clamps squeezing her tits horribly out of shape and the choking rubber around her waist were sapping her strength.
Colette's eyes began to roll; her eyelids began to droop. Her breath was coming in sharp, quick gasps. Her body was squeezed out of shape, distorted by the cruel rubber clamps the colonel had applied.
Taking a step back, Colonel Fong fixed his feet wide apart and aimed a hard blow at Colette's back. He hit her.
Colette lurched against her chains. She gasped, trying to draw breath into her lungs as pain blazed through her. And then she uttered a pitiful cry.
Hank's blood ran cold. He gave up trying to fight against the straps which held him down, but he had taken a silent oath to have his vengeance on the Colonel and Messalina.
If he had to die in the process of gaining vengeance, he was going to see to it that Colonel Fong and the masked bitch would get what was coming to them. Colette would have her revenge for the terrible tortures she was enduring.
Once more Colonel Fong struck with the rubber. It splatted into Colette's body. He put the full weight of his body into the next blow, swinging so viciously that he staggered from the force of the blow he crunched into Colette.
Colette cried out silently.
Colonel nearly fell down. It was the rubber suit he was wearing that made the horrible scene even more grotesque. Clad in nothing but rubber, he looked like an ugly toad.
An ugly toad wallowing in the slime of this sadistic dungeon.
But his day was coming--Hank swore to that as he watched the cruel scene, helpless to do anything to help Colette, to stop the torture she was enduring.
The colonel was flailing at Colette steadily now, as fast as he could draw back his arm. Blow after blow landed on Colette's tender, wounded flesh, each making a harsh slapping noise.
Colette's weak cries were nearly continuous. Yet they seemed so weak and so far away. She had to expend every ounce of her breath. It was only a matter of minutes till she would faint from lack of air.
The rubber hose in the colonel's hand struck relentlessly at Colette's bleeding buttocks. Her lovely behind had suffered so much. It was bitter to have to watch more anguish suffered by her back there.
Hearing a strange wail, Hank glanced over at Messalina. She was weaving in a hypnotic trance, her eyes fastened hungrily on Colette's tortured body.
All at once Messalina became so excited that she thrust the blunt end of her riding crop between her legs, up into the creamy lips of her naked cunt.
Shamelessly she pushed forward with her revolving thighs, pumping and arching, wantonly fucking her cunt with the handle of the riding crop.
Her body began to weave in a sinuous way. Sweat poured over her feverish flesh, glittering on her naked, writhing thighs.
Her hips wormed as she sought the handle with her sucking cunt. She was masturbating wildly, openly, stirred by watching Colette's torture.
Her heavy tits tossed and shimmered, nearly bursting from the confines of the tight leather corset. Bending her legs at the knees, she bumped and ground her cunt as her hands held the riding crop handle, jabbing it in and out of her squirming cunt.
She threw her head back, staring at the ceiling through the holes in her black, satanic mask. She made sharp barking sounds in her delirium.
Everything that was happening was a horrible nightmare.
Hank shivered as he stared helplessly at the frenzied scene. Messalina was totally lost in the mania which possessed her. And the colonel continued to flog Colette like a crazed automaton--like a bizarre rubber toy that had been wound up by a spring that would never run down.
And worst of all, Colette's gasping cries were growing weaker and weaker.
"Are you going to talk, Colette?" Colonel Fong asked between the swings he took at her battered, ruined body.
"N-no--" Her voice was a weak whisper.
"Too bad, too bad."
Hank knew that Colette's torment had to end soon, or it would be too late. She would suffocate from the brutal pressure of the rubber that was tied around her waist, cutting off her breath--and by the clamps on her misshapen tits.
The rubber hose landed with a rhythmic regularity, a mad tempo which transmitted itself to Messalina. With each stroke, her body flinched. A shudder passed through her, from head-to-toe.
And, in the same rhythm, as if to the beating of drums, Messalina's worming hips thrust and withdrew as she fucked her cunt with the handle of the riding crop.
With a sudden low moan, Messalina arched her back and strained with her hips, jabbing the handle way up into her convulsing cunt. Her whole body froze in wanton rigidity, like a lewd, stone statue.
As she whimpered and sobbed like a crazed demon, her release flooded over her. She gasped breathlessly and commenced to work her hips with maddening fury, fucking her cunt wildly with the riding crop handle, rocketing through her perverse climax.
Then she staggered back, quivering, and slowly sank down on the large, padded, leather mat. From there, leaning weakly on her arms, she continued to watch the colonel beat Colette.
Colette slumped in unconsciousness, scarcely breathing.
Colonel Fong stopped.
He could no longer swing his arm. The gauze mask was wet and sticky with sweat. His whole body was melting with perspiration inside the clinging rubber suit.
Hank's stomach churned with contempt and bitter hatred for the colonel and the masked woman.
Hank closed his eyes. It was impossible. It seemed unreal. Depraved. Senseless.
And then, as if he was going to suffocate, just as Colette was, Colonel Fong ripped off his mask. Then, with the help of his two guards, he unbuckled the rubber suit and stripped it off his sweaty, steaming body.
CHAPTER NINE
He stood naked, dripping sweat, before the girl he had beaten senseless. He toweled his body. His lips curled in a satanic smile as he stared at Colette's limply hanging body.
Then he removed the rubber clamps from her tits and untied the strip of rubber which had pinched and choked her waist so viciously. With loving care he returned them to the rack.
He turned and gave an order in Chinese.
The two guards went out of the dungeon immediately. The Colonel lit a cigarette and began pacing the floor.
"That was good," Messalina said with admiration to Colonel Fong.
"She's a courageous bitch."
"She sure is. I'll break her tomorrow. You'll see."
"Be sure that you do. Tomorrow's the time limit on the girl."
"Have I ever failed you, colonel?"
"Never," he grinned, rubbing the sweat off his body with the towels.
Neither Fong nor Messalina were now paying any attention to the brutalized Colette. She hung there, unconscious, her breathing shallow but getting stronger.
The dungeon door opened.
But this time it wasn't guards returning.
Instead, two Chinese females entered. One was a full-blown woman, but the other was a young girl in her very early teens. The girl wore a glowing robe of silk that clung tightly to her lovely young body, and in her hand she was carrying a flower, as if it was a symbol of purity--it was white.
The instant Colonel Fong saw the girl he began to tremble as if seized by a violent fever. He dropped the towel and stood naked before the young girl.
His hands reached out and touched the points of her budding breasts. And then he began to undress the girl, his fingers working frantically.
Fong was like a man crazed on drugs. A new and different passion had taken hold of him. Another side of his diabolic nature was about to be revealed openly. And Hank, who was bound to the table, was forced to be a witness.
Messalina got up and moved away, watching intently with dark, hard, sharp eyes, grinning grimly.
Colonel Fong slipped the gown off of the girl and tossed it carelessly aside.
"Lovely," Fong said. "How old are you?"
"Thirteen," the girl answered softly.
Then, with his small eyes bugging, he stood motionless for nearly a minute, staring at the tempting loveliness of her ripe, young body.
She was not completely naked. She was wearing an outfit that heightened the appeal of her budding breasts and flaring thighs. She wore a tightly fitting halter around her breasts, but it wasn't an ordinary halter. Two holes had been cut in the front of it. Her tits, young and firm, seemed to squeeze into the openings, seeking release from the binding cloth. The round twin cones of dusky flesh and the pink circlets with their stiffened nipples protruded through the holes.
The panties she wore were also strange. There was no bottom to them. They spread out in an inverted V, exposing the shadowy cave of her cunt.
Although the young girl was a virgin, she'd been specially trained for just this moment. With a wanton smile on her lovely young face, she began to parade before Colonel Fong, walking lightly back and forth, letting him see the flexing of her sinuous thighs and the muscular movement of her slim legs and the jiggle of her curves.
She arched her back, pushing forward with her tits. Her tits and the hard little nipples thrust out even farther, like tempting morsels asking for a mouth to gobble them up.
Hank shook his head. He could not believe it. He could not believe that this was happening in a torture chamber of a clammy dungeon. It was as if the young girl didn't see the torture equipment or Colette's battered, unconscious body or even Hank. It was absurd.
The girl pursed her lips, blowing a kiss to Colonel Fong, who stood naked before her. The tiny point of her pink tongue flickered out as she blew him the suggestive kiss.
Hank figured, as he watched, that the young girl had been taught her lessons well. Hank was certain that she could feel only contempt for Colonel Fong; but, not a trace of disgust showed on her pretty face. And then, too--you can never tell about females.
The colonel's excitement suddenly flared up. He could no longer stare at the lovely young oriental girl without giving in to the raging lust she had roused in him.
With rude hands he tore at her clinging garments. She stood impassively until he had stripped her naked. Then she raised her hand and began to scratch her long sharp nails viciously over his chest, clawing out a bleeding furrow with her nails.
Colonel Fong shouted as her fingers now flitted nervously over his sweaty flesh, working down slowly over his stomach, scratching over the hard mellon of his belly, her nails clawing, ripping the flesh, digging out bits of flesh.
The colonel, with bleeding nail-gashes over his chest and stomach, began to tremble as if his nerves were raw electric wires. He covered the girl's bare breasts with his hands and began to squeeze them hard, making her squeal.
They tumbled to the padded mat, lost in the sudden violence of their lust. Neither was aware of Hank, Colette, Messalina nor the Chinese woman.
The young girl's true nature had become aroused. She was a passionate little feline whose sexual hunger had burst into flames.
The colonel held one of her tits while his fingers prodded the nipple. The bright red nob was as hard as a piece of rubber, and it was as flexible as he teased it with his thumb and forefinger.
The young girl shifted her body, offering herself up to the greedy caresses of the colonel. She threw her naked thigh over his legs and pressed closer to him. She lay her face against his neck and began to nibble with sharp little white teeth.
Colonel Fong groaned.
He squeezed her tit tighter, so tight that the delicate flesh seemed to crush under his fingers. The girl whimpered in excitement and pain.
With his other hand he began to explore her lush young body. He slid his palm across the small bowl of her belly and down to her quaking thighs.
Quickly she opened her thighs, eager for the touch of his seeking fingers. He drew his hand up and clutched tightly, cupping the entire hill of her cunt.
She squealed with delight and reached down and grabbed ahold of his hard, throbbing cock with her little hand. Her small hand began to move with rapid jerking motions, making his body quiver.
Hank stared in amazement at the sensual young girl. She was a voluptuous little animal who was not fully matured. And yet she had a fiery nature and an uncanny knowledge of how to excite a man. She knew a man's most vulnerable spots, and attacked them delicately, teasingly, creating a maddened reaction in the rolling colonel.
Hank found himself forgetting where he was, and even forgetting his and Colette's predicament. He found himself envying Colonel Fong. After-all, he was a man, despite the fact that he was a captive facing unknown tortures and certain death. He could not look upon such a scene of total wantonness without feeling the twist of desire in his guts.
He ground his teeth.
Perhaps this was part of the torture---just the beginning of what was in store for him--what would give him severe pain later on. To make him watch such heated love-making and not letting him join in and get release--that could be subtle torture, too.
Now the little girl was on the attack. She was kissing the colonel's body with her hungering mouth. Her lips and darting tongue moved actively as they worked down over his chest.
The colonel was out of his head with delirium. She was touching every sensitive nerve with her hands and lips and tongue.
Colonel Fong lay on his back. The young girl, now the aggressor, even though she was a virgin, bent her slim body over him as she kissed and tongued the mellon of his belly. Her hands stroked with the delicate touch of a teasing feather, jangling him to throbbing hardness.
Her childish hand closed around the shivering shaft of his cock and began to stroke it with warm, precise motions.
The colonel's eyes bugged even wider. He reached out and held the girl's shapely young body, clasping her waist with trembling fingers. All the while she continued to overwhelm him and minister to him with her bewitching hands and lips and tongue and teeth.
Her dark hair tickled across his belly as her head moved downward. Her sharp teeth began to nibble on his balls and cock, making him writhe in delirious agony.
The sharp biting of her teeth over his sac of balls and cock hurt him, but the excitement made the pain bearable.
He was writhing on the padded mat when she finally swooped down and attacked him with the moist softness of her ovalled lips. Her mouth surged down over the bulging, satiny head of his bloated cock. He bolted up, arching his back, shoving his cock fiercely at her consuming mouth.
His body went tense as violent tremors shot through.
She was sucking greedily with her wet, surging, active lips, devouring his cock like a hungry baby with an all-day sucker--this was, for her, the ultimate lollipop.
When she teased him by pulling her mouth suddenly up and away from his soaked, shivering cock, he let out a pained cry and caught her roughly by the head. He forced her head down once more, and she returned to her lascivious cock sucking. Her face was avid with emotion as she sucked wildly on his cock. It looked as if she was drawing nourishment from sucking on his big prick.
The colonel thrashed under her like a man whose body was wired into an electric socket--the socket was her mouth. He shuddered and quaked under the burning sucking of her mouth. Her lips nursed, and she agitated him with her stroking, flogging tongue.
He groaned and ran his hands over her naked body, stroking the rounded flesh of her buttocks. His fingers sought her youthful thighs and clamped, cupping hard, over the hill of her pussy.
She squealed with delight, her squeal muffled by the big cock stuffing full her mouth.
She tossed her head with a rhythmic motion as she sucked on his cock wildly, giving him exquisite pleasure.
Her own excitement was obvious. Her body began to heave and squirm more actively as she held on with her enveloping mouth. Her hips wormed and revolved as she bunted her cunt on the cupping palm and the finger that impaled her and fingered her juicily. Her arms clung tighter around his waist as she sucked desperately, her lips clinging like a leech.
Turning his body, Colonel Fong reached up and caught her by the waist. Pulling her around, he directed her in such a way that her rapidly gyrating cunt was directly over his face.
His eyes stared avidly up at the juicy, perfumed center of her pussy. His fingers reached up and stroked her pussy, pressing deeply, dipping into the sensitive cleft.
With an erotic cry of sheer pleasure, the young Chinese girl parted her thighs and lowered her body, inviting him to suck her cunt as she was sucking his cock.
The colonel pulled her down, his hands digging into the delicious cheeks of her sassy ass. He crushed his mouth to her cunt. Tilting his head, he began to devour her cunt with his palpitating lips and sticking tongue.
The young girl shivered over him, seeking even more of his cock in her tongue-impaled excitement. She opened her thighs even wider and mashed her cunt down over his face, her pussy slowly swallowing up more of his stiff, flickering tongue. She glued her mouth to his cock as he grafted her mouth to her cunt.
Then she shoved down with her body, lifting and shoving, seeking greater delight on his sticking, plowing tongue. And her head bobbed frantically, twisting in a circular motion which made her long dark hair swish back and forth over his quaking thighs.
He lunged with his mouth and tongue at her cunt. She gave a muffled sob and increased the intensity of her own cock-sucking. Her buttocks rolled and tossed in quick, rapid circles as she impaled her cunt on his tongue.
Their bodies were grafted together, and they seemed to move like one body. The arched and twisted and churned together, clutching each other, attacking with their mouths.
Helplessly strapped to the tilted wooden table, Hank could not keep from watching the wild, libidinous sight. His own hard-on was now arching as he watched, stirred to boiling sexual hunger. Colette's eyes were fluttering as she came to, and she stared at the sight of Fong and the girl as if confused, not able to understand, groaning in pain. Messalina and the Chinese woman were sitting on the padded mat, close to Fong and the girl, leering as they watched.
The lasciviously struggling couple continued to writhe in delirious agony. Colonel Fong's body grew suddenly tense, and his nails dragged across the girl's buttock cheeks, leaving deep gashes.
He pulled away from the girl at the very brink of his climax. Their breathing was ragged and heavy as they gazed hotly at each other. Like a wild animal she reached for his soaked, hard cock, but he shoved down at her, pushing her back on the mat.
She understood.
She lay on her back, her knees drawn up, thighs parted, drenched cunt exposed and open.
The colonel poised over her, withholding for a moment the final penetration which would forever destroy her maidenhood.
She arched her body sinuously, twisting her hips, inviting him with her open thighs and open arms. He held off a moment longer, until she began jerking on his cock frantically.
He fell on her, driving a gasp from her. Her body tensed, her arms encircling his neck. She looked frightened.
He pushed. His cock began its slow penetration. A look of agony contorted her face. She wailed in pain.
And then, slowly, as he plunged his cock into her virginal cunt mercilessly, the expression on her face changed. Her lips began to smile as she began to discover the new delight. Her virginity was gone.
Her legs and thighs clamped voraciously, and the slim loveliness of her hips and body writhed with wanton hunger, meeting him, jab for jab.
She stared up at him with wide, wild, dark eyes, begging for more, pleading to be driven beyond the limits of endurance. He began to hammer at her ferociously. She screamed.
Her arms twisted around his neck. Her nails clawed his back bloody. Her legs scissored around his waist. They rocked and slammed and flailed at each other, and she took every shock of his plowing cock with hunger, mashing her cunt up on it.
They came wailing wildly.
When it was over they lay in a quivering heap of tangled arms and legs on the mat. The colonel's breathing was harsh and rapid. Again and again the happily ravished girl uttered sobs of joy.
A gross, animal-like grunt made Hank turn away from the hedonistic sight of Fong and the girl. Messalina and the Chinese woman, who had been watching, were overcome by their own lusty desires. Entranced by the passionate combat they had witnessed, they joined in the libidinous orgy.
Messalina, her lips parted, stood at the edge of the mat. Her long tapering legs were parted, and her pelvis was tilted forward. The black leather of her corset formed a frame around her naked pussy hill.
And it was before her dark nest of passion that the Chinese woman knelt.
While Messalina directed the woman, her hands clamped to the back of her head, she began to gyrate her hips slowly, hypnotically. She was inviting the woman to suck her cunt.
Slowly, the passive oriental face drew closer to the core of Messalina's cunt. The Chinese woman's nostrils spread--the only indication of the hungering emotions that she felt.
She moved. Her mouth closed over Messalina's entire pussy cleft. She began to suck. Her tongue began to stroke up and down, the edge of the point of her tongue dragging in the deep, soaked cleft, flicking at the bud of Messalina's clitoris.
Messalina's body began to quiver. Her breathing became intense, making her majestic tits rise and fall inside of the half-cups of the binding leather corset.
She groaned as her cunt was sucked, chewed, nibbled on, tongue-stabbed and tongue-flogged.
The kneeling woman reached up and clamped her hands to Messalina's buttocks, digging her fingers into the soft, bulbous flesh. With a wail of delirium, the masked woman lowered to the padded floor, the other woman's mouth still glued to her cunt, the tongue still impaling her.
There was a moment of frantic struggle, and then the two passion fired women came together in a grappling of flesh, an inverted position of mutual lesbian love--a perfect 69.
With mouths sucking, darting tongues snaking, they clung desperately, writhing in an inferno of lust. Seeking mouths and tongue slaved at cunt, and their legs wrapped around each others heads.
The tempo of the cunt-lapping grew quickly frantic as the two women worked together to give each other the most exquisite pleasure.
Groping with ravenous mouths, revolving their mobile hips, they plunged closer and closer to the instant of cataclysmic release. And then, like being struck by a bolt of lightning, they shivered as the final paroxysm from them in electric rigidity.
With a piercing, muffled wail, the two maddened women writhed and tossed, their bodies jolting, their heads weaving between each others wildly quaking thighs.
They collapsed and slowly unwound their tangled bodies. Following the violence of their climaxes, they lay breathless and groaned.
Hank's own breathing was harsh. His balls hurt. He still had a big erection from watching the orgy. And he was still bound to the wooden table, unable to join in the debauchery.
He cursed and struggled with the straps which bound him to the table. It was useless.
Colette was conscious, but in such an agony of pain that she was unstirred by what she was witnessing. Hank tried to close his eyes and think of something else--anything but this savage sensuality that was taking place all around him.
During the whole orgy the two Chinese guards stood at attention on either side of the door. Their faces were so expressionless that they looked like two statues.
He saw Messalina motion to the guards. Obediently they walked over to Hank and released his ankles. Then they unfastened the straps which bound his wrists. Hank jumped forward the moment he was free, leaping from the table, as if struggling to escape.
But his knees were weak from being strapped so long to the hard wooden platform. The two guards held him easily and led him across to the wooden beam to which Colette was bound.
"What now?"
"Now it begins for you," Messalina smiled.
"I see--"
CHAPTER TEN
A shackle was quickly snapped on Hank's wrists. The long chain was thrown over the beam, and the shackle at the other end was fastened to him as well. Hank's arms were stretched over his head, supporting his full weight. Only the tips of his toes made contact with the floor, and he could not maintain his balance to relieve the weight of his dangling body.
"Very nice," Hank grinned at Messalina.
"Glad you like it," she replied.
"What's not to like?"
"You're quite a comedian."
"Thank you."
"We'll see how long you remain a joker."
The masked woman stood before Hank, her cruel mouth twisted with debauchery. Her glazed eyes stared at him through the round holes of the hideous black mask.
Then he saw the circle of leather in her hand, and his blood turned to ice.
"You gonna play patty-cake on me with that?"
"Why not?" she laughed.
With a malicious laugh Messalina unrolled the whip and it coiled on the floor like a snake. A flick of her wrist made the whip writhe, giving it an even more realistic appearance of a coiling snake.
Hank began to tremble. A cold sweat broke out on his face as she brandished the whip over the head.
He twisted his body, trying to escape the descending blow, but it was hopeless to resist. A slashing pain, like the stroking cut of a razor, cut diagonally across his back, from his shoulder to his hip: He lurched and clamped his teeth in his lip to keep from crying out.
The cruel whip landed again, spinning him around. The iron shackles cut into his wrists. He fought against his bonds, arching his body, bulging the muscles of his back and arms.
But it was hopeless.
Struggle would only increase his pain. She intended to beat him senseless, and there was nothing that he could do to prevent it. He had been captured, and he knew what to expect.
Once more she drew back her arm. From the corner of his eye he saw her lean her full weight into the blow. A fiery shock ran across his back, like the sudden searing touch of white-hot metal on his flesh.
He could not hold back the cry. His whole back was numb except for the fierce, biting pain.
There was a sinister whispering noise as the leather whip cut through the air once again. He tensed his body. A bolt of shocking pain struck him, sending shock waves to his brain.
The whip landed lower, creating a whole new area of pain. The brutal leather of the lash had cut into the soft, taut flesh of his ass. It seemed to Hank that his skin was opening up, as if he were being hacked to pieces. He felt the trickle of blood channeling down his spin, into the cleft between his flogged buttocks.
Another blow stunned him, sending his reeling brain into a spin. His flesh alternated between sensations of heat and cold. The bite of the whip was like the touch of a branding iron.
She beat him viciously with the powerful bull-whip, flogging him mercilessly. Spots began to dance before his dimming eyes. He knew that he was on the verge of passing out.
His body hung limply. He could no longer support himself. He knew he'd survive the flogging.
As his mind dimmed under the pain of the flogging he strangely thought only of the satanic mask she was wearing. There was a reason for it. It was hiding her identity.
Later he was being led to a cell by the two guards and Messalina. The guards stepped back as she pushed him into the cell. His back was sliced open and caked with blood and ached terribly.
For that moment, he was alone with her in the cell, out of the line of sight of the guards.
With a sudden spasm of uncontrolled anger, he reached out and tore the black mask from her face. She covered her forehead with both hands, but not before Hank had seen the swastika that was branded there.
All at once he knew. And she saw by the fierce look in his eyes that he knew.
Hank made no effort to keep the mask. She grabbed it from him and slipped it over her face again. But he had already seen enough.
He had heard about the brand on her forehead--the vengeance of her captors before she escaped them, during the last turbulent days of the Third Reich.
Greta Heinrich, the daughter of the commandant of a Nazi concentration camp, who, at the tender age of twelve had been infamous for her sadistic torture of prisoners. She had had the dubious distinction of being the only minor on the list of wanted war criminals.
But she had escaped, and the search had gone on all these years. She had almost been captured once in South America. Then there were rumors that she had disappeared behind the iron curtain, in one of the Balkan countries. And now she had turned up in Paris.
Her lips were thin with hatred as she pushed her masked face close to his. She stared at him through the holes of the mask with hard, unblinking eyes.
"So, you know who I am?" she hissed.
Hank shrugged.
"How would I know?" he replied. He tried to act innocent, but there was an edge of nervousness and pain gripping him.
"You're with the British Secret Service," she said. "They're the ones who've been hounding me--"
"That thing branded on your forehead isn't very pretty."
"Don't smile! You have nothing to smile about. Now that you know--you must die! You've sealed your own death warrant."
Turning away, she gave an order to the Chinese guards, who caught Hank by the arms and led him out of the cell. They walked down a narrow corridor past a row of cells. The guards shoved him through an open door and locked him in.
Hank sat on the hard bunk in the small cell. He began to shiver as if he'd been taken with a fever. He knew that she'd made no idle threat. Very soon she would have her vengeance on him for discovering her true identity.
They gave him clothes to put on, a ragged pair of dungarees and a tattered shirt. They were not the clothes he'd worn, but at least they helped against the damp cold of the dungeon cell.
Hank lay on the wooden bunk and stared at the opposite wall. Something he saw vaguely caught his eyes. He stood up and walked over for a closer look, struggling against the pain in his back.
A dampness on the other side of the wall, maybe even a pool of water, had seeped through the blocks of stone. Years of moisture had decayed the mortar. When he dug at it with his fingers, the mortar crumbled.
Hank went to the door and looked through the small opening that was framed with four vertical iron bars. There was no guard in sight. He listened for nearly a minute, and heard nothing.
Quickly he glanced about the small cell room. His eyes fixed on the bunk.
The hard slab of board was supported from the wall by two chains which ran down diagonally. He pulled at the place where the chains were fastened to the wall, but nothing gave. Then he examined the bunk where the chains were bolted. They were rusty bolts that were beginning to crumble with age, like everything else.
Evidently this dungeon had been part of the house long long before the Chinese Reds had leased it. And they hadn't as yet had the time for extensive remodeling.
Hank grasped one of the chains with both hands and rattled it. There was a splintering of wood. He shook it again. A bolt popped out and clattered to the floor. The rusty nut had sheared off.
Picking up the bolt, Hank ran to the wall and began scraping at the mortar. It crumbled like soft sandstone, pouring in a steady stream to the stone floor.
In five minutes he had a stone loose enough to giggle when he shoved on it.
He went to work on the surrounding stones, cutting away at the mortar with the bolt. His knuckles were raw and bleeding, but he continued to scrape away with fierce desperation.
Suddenly, a small stone came loose and fell.
Hank caught it and lay it aside. He could reach his hand into the hole, far enough that he was able to feel slime on the back surface of the stone wall.
He dug at the mortar until a larger stone broke away. Two more stones, and he had an opening large enough to put his head in.
There was an open shaft on the other side of the wall which went up through the foundation of the house. And beneath was a pool of water, two feet below the opening he had made.
Hank removed one more stone.
He pulled and pushed and slid through the hole.
The shaft was three feet wide, with jutting edges of stone which gave him a foothold. He squirmed upward toward a small square of light. Cool air blew down the shaft, and water trickled over the stone surface of the wall.
Slowly he made his way up to the top of the shaft.
The light came through a grating in the wall. Hank raised his head carefully and looked into an ornately furnished room. At a desk sat Colonel Fong, smoking a small-bowled pipe--the kind that was used for opium.
Moving his hand cautiously, Hank tested the grating. It was cemented in the way, with the same crumbling mortar.
Hank waited, watching the colonel, whose eyes blinked lazily as he puffed on the rancid smoke. Five minutes Hank waited, hoping no guard had discovered that he was gone from his cell.
And then Colonel Fong shoved his chair back from the desk and stood up. He looked weird in the rubber suit he was wearing again. He walked over to his bed and fell across it with a contented grunt.
Hank waited until he could hear the faint wheezing sound of the colonel's snores. Then he began to dig at the mortar with the bolt, working slowly, breaking up the larger pieces with his fingers to reduce the sound of the splashing as they hit the bottom of the shaft.
One of the sides of the grating came loose, and then the bottom.
Setting his feet, Hank pulled it into the shaft, tilted it sideways, and lid it through the opening. He put the grating carefully on the floor and then wormed his way into the room where the colonel was snoring deeply.
Hank held his breath. He crouched, ready to spring, as the colonel stirred restlessly on the bed. And then the snoring became louder and regular again.
Hank walked over to the desk. On the top was a paperknife in the shape of an oriental dagger. He tightened his hand around the handle, gripping his fingers.
Cautiously he opened each drawer of the desk. In the second from the bottom he found a freshly oiled automatic. He slid the clip out and found it loaded with shells.
He was turning around when his foot caught the chair and slid it along the floor.
The colonel grunted and raised his head, blinking his sleepy eyes. His face remained blank for an instant, his mouth fell slack.
He was still staring in disbelief, his voice stuck in his throat, when Hank ran to the bed. The colonel croaked and raised his arms. Hank brought down the knife, aiming at a crease in the rubber suit directly over the breastbone. He felt the blade sink in and strike a rib, then slide into softness.
Colonel Fong jolted up, doubling over, his hands clawing at the grip of the knife which stuck up from the center of his chest.
Then his head dropped back and his eyes stared at the ceiling with a glazed, far-off look. He was dead, a pulsing pool of blood throbbing around the buried hilt of the knife stuck in his chest.
Hank felt a momentary shudder pass along his spine. And then he smiled. This was revenge--the revenge he had promised himself when he had watched the colonel flog Colette into insensibility. But this was only a part of the vengeance.
Messalina was next.
Moving quickly to the door, Hank pulled it open and looked into the hall. A guard leaned sleepily against the wall, beside a door that probably led to the dungeon.
Hank moved carefully and noiselessly along the hall, hugging the wall. He had his hand raised high, the butt of the automatic aimed at the guard's skull, when the guard opened his eyes.
There was a moment of frozen terror on the Chinese's face before the gun landed with a cracking sound. The guard folded up and slid to the floor.
Quickly Hank stepped over him and ran down the stone stairs which led to the dungeon below.
The masked Messalina sat alone at her desk when he entered her quarters. Her mouth fell open Her eyes stared with surprise. Hank raised the gun and aimed carefully at a spot between the two eye holes of the ugly mask. He knew that was just below the mark of the brand of the swastika.
He squeezed the trigger.
The gun jolted in his hand as the explosion echoed off the walls of the room. Messalina never uttered a sound, except for a feint sigh which welled up from deep inside of her.
She slumped forward on the desk.
Her head pitched forward. Her face pressed against the desk's blotter, and the blotter began to soak up the large pool of blood that poured out of the mask.
Hank stared at the dead woman with grim satisfaction.
There was a clattering of boots running along the corridor. Crouching low, Hank wheeled around and stepped through the door. The two guards were running toward him, the first one drawing a pistol from his holster.
Calmly Hank took aim and fired.
The first man went down. He fired again. The second guard's face exploded with blood as he fell forward. They both sprawled, unmoving, on the floor.
The first guard began to writhe. Hank walked up to him and put a bullet in his brain. It was silent again.
Hank went back into Messalina's office and searched her desk until he found the keys to the cells.
As he passed the fallen guards a second time, he stopped to pick up the pistol the guard had dropped. He stuck it in the top of his dungarees and ran on.
In the first cell was a man, an emaciated wreck whose back had been cut to ribbons by Messalina's whip. But the man was able to walk. Eagerly the man took the pistol which Hank held out to him.
"We're getting out of here," Hank said. "Follow me."
"I'm with you!"
"Let's go!"
There were three other prisoners in the cells. Colette was the last to be released. While Hank guarded the corridor, two of the men helped her dress with some raggy clothes they found. Then, giving her support, they followed Hank up the stairs which led from the dungeon.
A guard stood warily before the door at the end of the hall. It was the door that led out of the house. His rifle was raised and at ready.
Hank eased his head up from the steps, hiding behind the man whose skull he had cracked. For a moment the guard with the rifle was too startled to respond.
It gave Hank the edge he needed. Taking deliberate aim, Hank squeezed off a shot which sent the guard spinning, his face full of blood, a hole neatly placed between his eyes. The rifle clattered to the floor.
"Let's go!" Hank called urgently.
The prisoners ran, dragging Colette with them. In a moment they were outside the evil house, running along the sidewalk while the bright sunlight glowed on them. The light of the day was glorious after their escape from the dungeon of hell.
After visiting Colette in the hospital, Hank returned to headquarters. Colette was going to be all right. The doctors said the surgery they were going to perform would make her whole again, and would heal and cover her wounds. After a few months no one would ever be able to see on her skin the horror she had suffered.
The London Office of the Secret Service had been shaken up by the shooting spree at Number 7 Rue Castelet. But of course if there were an international incident, they had several escaped prisoners to attest to the kind of sadistic cruelty the Chinese had been practicing under the cloak of diplomatic immunity.
"How about the Albanian girl?" Jacques Boussous asked as he entered Hank's office. "What do you want to do? Release her or what?"
"Is she still around?"
"Yes. We thought we'd wait until you had a chance to decide about her. She doesn't seem too anxious to leave."
"No?"
"No. Not since her cover's blown."
"I see."
"She'll have a tough time explaining to her home office. She knows how nasty they can be--"
"Yes. Okay. I'll talk to her."
The guard let Hank into the room where the girl was being confined. She looked up from her bed, blinking her eyes sleepily. The dark pagan beauty of her face caused a reaction in Hank, like the twisting of a knife in his guts.
"So, you're back?" she said in highly-accented English.
"Oh, you can talk English, ehhh?"
"Yes. Of course."
"You kept that a secret well."
"No use keeping secrets anymore."
Her fierce black eyes and raven hair gave her a look of wild, protesting passion. He knew she would be a hellcat when aroused sexually. The kind of spitfire who could really curl a man's toes.
She was challenging him with her eyes and her body.
Hank could not deny that he wanted her. He knew that she wanted to use him to insure her safety. But all at once his hunger for her was like a throbbing in his blood. After all, what was there to stop him from taking what he wanted--her? After the way her side had treated him and the other prisoners--she ought to receive some of the same medicine.
But he wasn't thinking about torture--not the kind Colette had suffered. The girl was the kind of fiery bitch who would fight back. He wanted her. He was going to have her---rape her if he had to.
She sensed the mood he was in from the glare of his eyes as he walked up to the bed on which she was lying. Springing up, she clawed her hand and raked at his face with sharp nails.
Hank caught her wrist and jarred her head with a solid slap. She fell back on the bed, kicking and clawing, screeching at him.
With sudden emotions, compounded of both hatred and sensual craving, Hank caught her long black hair and worked his hand several times across her face, smacking her with his open palm, then with the back of his hand.
She bit him and scratched him as they struggled. She even surprised Hank by solidly digging a hard-fisted punch into his gut, almost knocking the wind from him.
He was knocked off balance on the bed. With her skirt fluttering up over her waist she pounced on him, momentarily pinning him down on his back as she sat astride him, smacking him in the face with her hard little balled fists.
But he was much bigger and stronger. He heaved and tossed her off. He smacked her hard in the face with his open hand, and her head snapped back. Then, with a quick movement, he jerked his arm down and tore her dress off completely in shreds.
She had nothing on underneath. He stared in fascination at her naked beauty. Instead of striking back at him, she curled away from him on the bed, waiting, conserving her strength, watching with blazing eyes full of fury as he stripped out of his clothes. He thought she was finished, was ready to give in, but the instant he leaned down to embrace her she kicked out hard, nearly wiping him out with a kick to the groin--but she just missed. She raked her nails over his chest, digging out bits of flesh, bloodying him. She was a wild, naked, lusty, fighting animal now.
They rolled about on the bed, struggling, and she was so fast and slippery that he had trouble with her. Finally Hank got angry and hit her with his fist in the jaw, stunning her momentarily.
She sprawled back on the bed, her lovely breasts thrusting up. He pounced on her and shoved his hand brutally between her naked, yawning thighs. His cruel, searching fingers invaded her cunt.
She moaned, writhing in agony.
She tried to fight him off.
But he lunged at her, shoving her kicking legs wide apart. With a yell he slammed down on her and his rigid cock quickly and viciously penetrated her pussy.
The excitement of the fight had made her ready. Her pussy lips were moist and slippery as his hard, solid cock drove in, impaling her.
"Uggh!" she grunted as he plowed up into her.
He began to fuck her furiously, and she fought back even though she was impaled, her cries of pain and anger filling the room. But, as he flashed his cock in and out of her she began to respond, and her cries of pain and anger slowly faded away, and in their place came gurgling sounds of delight.
He attacked her, raping her like a madman, trying to rid himself of the anger that had built up inside him. And suddenly her defiance turned into unmistakable craving.
"Rapist!" she cried.
"Damn right!"
"But--are you a--good one?" she taunted as she writhed under him, challenging him to conquer her.
"I'll fuck you silly."
"Try it!"
She uttered a wild scream and arched her body up from the bed, receiving him and lunging back, drawing him deeper into the hot, clinging flesh of her sucking cunt.
He lashed his body down at hers. He wanted to conquer her completely. But she wasn't easy to overwhelm. She fought back with her own wildly worming body, meeting his every vicious downward slam with an answering jerk of her body. He increased the tempo, and she lunged up, keeping pace with him, taunting him.
"Come on, rapist, give it to me!"
"Bitch!"
He pounded her, banging her with a violence he didn't know he had in him. And she stayed with him. No matter how viciously he used her, he could not subdue her.
And then her entire body began to shake and quiver with spasms of climax. He slaved to control himself, not to plunge into his own orgasm. She pitched and rolled and squirmed, her cunt convulsing and oozing as she came wildly. She screamed and raked her sharp nails over his back.
He held off, fought successfully for control as she came hugely.
He fucked on, and now she was weakened, partially spent by her climax. He was gaining control. He was fucking her with blinding tempo and she shook under him like a leaf in a windstorm.
And again she convulsed on his stiff, plowing, skewering cock. And again he staved off his own finish, banging her through her second eruption.
Now, she was weak and used up by two blinding climaxes. He let himself go and drove at her brutally, using her as a receptacle as he hammered toward his own finish.
But just as he rose to the edge of his finish, she convulsed for a third time, wailing, her eyes rolling, and then he was engulfed and his cock began spewing boiling sperm into her clenching, drenched, creamy cunt.
She passed out, three sensational, closely-spaced climaxes too much for her emotions to stand. She was vanquished, raped into unconsciousness. Hank had never bettered a girl as he had this wild one. Never had a girl offer as much of a challenge with her body. It was only through supreme self-control that he vanquished her, fucking her silly, into a faint.
And then it was over, and his anger faded away. He held her for a moment, feeling the throbbing of her renewed excitement as she came to, defeated, but wanting more.
She looked up at him with dark eyes that were still untamed. There was still hatred in her eyes. He understood. It was as if she had lost one battle, but hadn't lost the war.
She wanted more. Wanted to continue to challenge and fight his body with hers. Hank knew better than to take up the challenge. He instinctively knew she'd stay after him until he wore himself out, and then she'd claim her victory by taunting him for more when he had nothing left to give.
He wouldn't give her that satisfaction. His cock had conquered her cunt in the big challenge, and that was all that counted. She had fought him, not wanting to give in, and had been beaten and turned into a willing, wanting, responding, challenging creature, fighting back until conquered into unconsciousness.
Hank started to rise, but her arms clung to his neck. She shoved at him with her clasping thighs, revolving her torso to increase the delicious cunt-enveloping-cock friction.
He began to unwind her arms from around his neck, but she fought him with fierce desperation, not wanting to let him get away, wanting to continue the sexual combat, wanting to get back at him and finally wear him out into defeat.
"No," she whispered. "You can't leave me now. I want you again."
With a sudden jerk, Hank broke her grip. She tried to sit up as he crawled to his feet, but he shoved her down on her back. Her lips began to tremble.
"Please--" she moaned, holding her arms open to him.
"I raped you silly. That's all you get."
"More."
Hank ignored her. He gathered up his clothes and put them on. Then he returned to the bed. The girl's dark eyes were aflame with a need for more lust, and with a challenging hatred.
"One more time," she said.
Hank chewed his lip reflectively.
"No."
"Come to me."
"No. You didn't deserve what you got, bitch."
She began to lean up to him. He felt it had been a stupid thing to rape her. But somehow it had relieved him of the tense anger that still tightened his gut.
With hatred of her and her side, Hank spat in her face. She fell back, stunned, spit in her startled face.
He walked away, closing the door and locking her in the room. There had been a moment when he wanted to choke the life out of her, but that too had passed away. Maybe soon he would forget everything that had happened--and once more become a civilized man.
"What did you do so long in there with her?" Jacques asked.
"I raped her."
"What?"
"Raped her silly till she passed out."
"I see," he grinned at Hank. "Well, what shall we do with her?"
"We're not going to give her protection."
"No? Now that her cover's blown we can use her as a double-agent against her own side."
"Can't trust her. Believe me. She a mean bitch. Let's turn her over to them and let them take care of her," Hank said coldly.
"That could mean the end of her."
"That's the risk she took when she became an agent. That's the risk we take. That risk almost cost Colette her life--and it cost her terrible torture. No. She's going back to them. Let her deal with them as best she can. It's her tough luck," Hank said firmly.
"You're right. We'd do the same with a man. Just because she's a beauty we shouldn't feel sympathy for her."
