Sadism, exactly like its diametrically opposite counterpart which is masochism, is a psychiatric term first applied in the late nineteenth century to a particular kind of erotic behavior and outlook which was originally derived from a famous historical personage whose own frenetic life and remarkably candid writings constantly embroidered on this recurrent theme. This was the Marquis Donatien Alphonse Francois de Sade, who lived from 1740 to 1814, and was notorious not only for his acts of completely amoral cruelty during his lengthy lifetime, but also for the philosophy of selfish, warped pleasure through cruelty which appears tinted with almost rhapsodic veneration in the work which is admittedly his masterpiece, "Justine."
In the broader sense, the Marquis de Sade was well aware of the counterforce of masochism, which motivates the individual to acceptance and enjoyment of domination by cruelty, nearly a century before Count Leopold Sasher-Masoch (from whose name, of course, the famous German psychologist Richard von Krafft-Ebing was first to derive the psychiatric term of "masochism") wrote his famous "Venus in Furs" and made Wanda his imperious heroine who spurns the servile and adoring male.
We find a kind of parallel between Wanda and Justine, indeed, since the latter, who epitomizes for de Sade purity and innocence, is drawn in his book as one fated to experience nothing but degradation and depravity, torment and suffering, until the reader comes to believe that she must have a latent self-destructive force which drives her on from experience to experience without once seeking to avert that ill-fated destiny and thus, again in the broad psychiatric sense, be endowed with at least a latent tendency toward masochism.
But we know that the sadist is very often capable of masochistic acts, experiences and feelings. Webster, in our perennial source for definitions, holds that sadism means the following: "Psychiatry: 1. sexual gratification gained through causing physical pain and humiliation. 2. and enjoyment in being cruel." Here indeed is our clue in this second part of the definition: the enjoyment procured from being cruel. Sadism is not only physical domination, but it is mental and psychological as well. Veritably the true sadist finds quite as much sexual pleasure in subjugating someone to his will, to blind acceptance to his thoughts and feelings and moods, as he does in the infliction of pain itself. Even a pampered child who is approaching puberty, who may take malicious delight in humiliating his nurse or governess because he senses that she is a paid servant and must submit herself to his whims and tantrums, is capable of demonstrating the force of psychological sadism within his immature ego. He is enchanted when the servant is distressed or finds it difficult to cope with his fancies.
And in maturity, in the adventure of love, we find on every hand how either the male or female partner may seek a superiority to domination, not necessarily by force or pain, by whip or rod or shackles or costumes of bondage, in his or her desire to assert the stronger force of the relationship. The man who is unhappy with his job may seek to vent his spleen and frustrated ego on his passive wife, so browbeating and tyrannizing her that he can compensate for the infuriating kind of "masochism" which he must outwardly show his boss in order to hold the very job he dislikes because of its economic importance to him. And conversely, the female who knows her powers of seduction and meets an ingenuous, awkward male who has no knowledge of the technique to win her, and overcome her capricious teasing, will derive a kind of latent sadistic pleasure in discomfiting, in frustrating him, in making herself untouchable to his most passionate advances, in denying herself to him not only in the flesh but also in mood and spirit.
If the power of sadism is sufficiently developed in the female ethos, psyche, as the doctors often call it, then in due course this cruel little device of thwarting the suitor, or later, even the husband, may yield to her such sexual gratification that it fulfills her amorous needs and so turns her into a true sadist.
This is an age of materialism, an age of "cold war" and prejudice and strife, while on the other hand science and the luxury of material possessions have given us the richest and most promising opportunities the people of the earth have ever known. The fear of death, the fear of sudden annihilation by nuclear weapons, the suspicions and bigotry and prejudice which haunt our daily lives, all tend to drive out the idealism and romanticism which was known when the world was a quieter place in which to live. Thus sadism grows apace. In this book, the author presents case histories which exemplify the premise that sadism is, in its most simple definition, the will to master, the urge to dominate for the mere sake of ego. To be sure, sexual fulfillment will often accompany this urge. Yet sometimes that very fulfillment may be for a particular male or female found more in physical manifestations of cruelty and authority, or again it may be for another personality in the subtle psychic ways by which he or she can impose his or her will and personality upon another, who becomes the victim.
We do not need to go back to Stekel or Jung to touch on the psychotic sadist whose urge to inflict pain is in itself sufficient sexual fulfillment and leads him ultimately to terrible sexual aberrations and hideous crimes of violence. There is, as any psychologist will tell us, the incipiency towards sadism in all of us, just as there is the seed of masochism. But in this book we will find out how the most seemingly normal man or woman may find delight and even sexual orgasm while using the symbol of domination which has come down through the ages, the symbol of the whip.
For the whip has always been a kind of sexual scepter--and to the male it becomes the phallus, while for the female who has penis envy, it becomes the embodiment of the phallus which she usurps from the male-virtually since the dawn of time. Today it is as much a fetish as the thigh-length black leather boots and the shoulder-length gloves which the female wears to proclaim herself an imperatrix over her male vassal. She uses the whip to show him that she has wrested his age-old symbol of domination from him and that he is henceforth her chattel as in earlier times she was always his.
Similarly, the male who feels the power of his virility and who considers women, despite our twentieth-century "Women's Lib" movement no better than a slave as she was in Biblical and medieval times, achieves a kind of spiritual transference back to those eras of antiquity when he was lord and master and she the groveling slave.
And so this book will open for you doors into worlds of seemingly pleasant, gifted, even brilliant people in every walk of life, yet men and women who inwardly quiver with anticipation of the thought of inflicting pain, of corporal punishment and bondage and domination and all the costumes and ceremonials which accompany these fetishistic symbols of a sadism which is joy through conquest.
CHAPTER ONE - NICHOLAS, LONDON SOCIALITE
Nicholas Tremayne (which is obviously not his real name) had inherited some twenty thousand pounds from his father, who had run a small chemical factory in Manchester. In addition, being the only son and heir, his legacy included the plant itself, a fashionable flat near Kensington Gardens, and a little summer house not far from Peak National Park. But quite unlike his industrious father, he seemed to have inherited a passion for indolence and the good life.
There was nothing in his background to indicate such a penchant. His mother, indeed, had been a pretty, none too well educated Manchester shopgirl. His father had visited a little tobacco shop regularly for his preferred pipe mixture, and had fallen in love with the shy blonde who waited on him, and they had been married. There was nothing here to indicate exotic passions for lascivious intrigues. And Nicholas Tremayne, born to this modest couple eighteen months later, was a frail child who, indeed, had not been expected to survive. He had very nearly cost his mother her life and left her unable to bear any more children.
His father, who intended the boy to take over his business, sent him on to a good public school. Here he was at once the butt of pranks and taunting, these weapons which children know how to use so well and in their way are far more sadistic than their elders. For Nicholas was stoop-shouldered, wore spectacles, sometimes stuttered when he was excited, and suffered from a bad case of acne. Certainly he was not prepossessing enough for the pretty girls in his classes to show the slightest interest in him, and many of them, to be sure, allied themselves on the side of the boys who tormented him the worst.
Perhaps that was the beginning of his sadism, born out of a kind of defense attitude which he always had to adopt through his school days. Since he could not excel at sports, his only recourse was to put his jeering fellows to shame by surpassing them in examinations and class recitations. This to be sure he did, but all his endeavors earned him only the deprecatory sobriquet of "teacher's pet."
And so it was here, indeed, that the first tendencies to sadism were inculcated within his keenly impressionistic mind. The noted German psychologist Krafft-Ebing nearly a hundred years ago declared that most fetishes and perversions are the result of prepuberty impressions and conditioning, at a time when latent sensuality can be most immediately awakened. And certainly the predisposition of this mocked and scorned boy was towards a "revenge" which would not only wipe out the rankling sarcasm and the slurs of his fellows but also prove indisputably that he was very much a man. This indeed is how sadism can be engendered, out of a will to master and to dominate, as a kind of defense mechanism against a secret fear that one may be actually inferior and hence capable of being mastered instead.
After public school, he went on to one of the less distinguished colleges, since his father deemed it socially valuable for his later life to acquire the good manners and well-rounded ability to think for himself. Hence he urged his son to pursue the courses of Liberal Arts even though he would ultimately go into the trade. This was where Nicholas Tremayne began to read novels of the past as well as history and learn from his studies that invariably the successful were the strong, not necessarily by physical force but by intellectual mastery over others. It was a lesson that was to serve him in good stead in the ultimate pursuit of passion!
At college, Nicholas fared only slightly better than he had in public school. To be sure, his excellent educational preparation and his natural aptitude for study made his scholastic work comparatively easy for him. But once again his fellows considered him "a greasy grind" and thought it odd that he should show no interest in the opposite sex. He was still insignificant in appearance, for his puny condition as a child of delicate health had foretold that he would never be an athlete or one of those sturdy and gregarious extroverts who may rank low in classroom marks but who are infallibly the most popular members of the campus.
But his first sexual experience was to lead him down the dark and devious pathways to perversity, and we may only speculate on what turn his life would have taken if the experience had been different for him. We noted that the French psychologist Binet back in 1887 held that fetishist motivation (or sexual obsessions) could be created in the individual during childhood, and that when this condition was strengthened by repeated impressions through the prepuberty and adolescent stages, they could become so intensified as to create a kind of fixation which would lead the individual in his maturity to seek to repeat those very impressions which had been first to rouse his latent insecurity. Undoubtedly this theory held true for Nicholas Tremayne.
But the experience was not in childhood; it was at the age of twenty-one while he was a senior at the college, that he first enjoyed the joys of fornication, with the accompanying overtones of sadistic mastery of the female. It was an experience that did leave an indelible mark on his psyche and turned him into a voluptuary who ultimately could not have sexual gratification without resorting to the lash.
By this age, his parents had already died, and the legacy which he had from his father was being administered by a barrister, a friend of his father's. If, as we have already indicated, Binet theorized that sometimes traumatic conditions can be handed down between generations, examination of Nicholas' background showed absolutely no signs that could point to what the youth himself became in later life. Perhaps also the fact that he had twenty thousand pounds as a comfortable security in the bank to assure his future helped urge him along to become a wastrel where his father had been the most industrious and circumspect of men.
At any rate, a week before Christmas, he had twenty-five pounds of spending money in his pocket. There was no point in taking off for the holidays, because the house which his father had left him was vacant, his parents were dead, the few living kin he had were scattered through the British Isles and had really no ties of affection for this introverted youth. Thus it was that his roommate who had contemptuously jibed at him for the past year on his lack of demonstration of manhood, finally decided to "take him in hand" and proposed an outing in Soho.
Soho, the capital Bohemian district of London, was then, as it is now, a kind of seamy melting pot for not only ethnic groups but also young artists, even "hippies," and nonconformists in general. Prostitutes frequented the area, and there were numerous houses of ill fame to which those in the know could go when they sought diversion beyond the norm.
If today soliciting for prostitutional purposes is illegal in London, the women in the trade resort to advertising their wares by putting display cards in shops near where they live, detailing their physical attributes and their bedroom talents. However, Nicholas' roommate knew of a particular house in Soho where, as he told the youth, "You'll find lots of gash, and not just for screwing. Some of them have a lot of cute tricks. For instance, if you pay Mrs. J-- an extra fee, she'll let you take a pretty bitch and tie her over a sawhorse and lay half a dozen of the best with a cane over her backside."
This casual suggestion was inflammatory. Nicholas Tremayne had brooded about women all through his preparatory school and college days. It had rankled in his mind that his fellows rejected him and condemned him as not being a man. He thought by this one bold stroke of accompanying his scornful roommate to a house of prostitution that he could thus prove his manhood.
And so he accompanied the youth to London for that weekend, and went directly to the aforementioned house, where he was introduced to the madam. She obviously knew his roommate from several past visits, as Nicholas at once gathered. It amused her to see this reticent, intellectual youth come for the first time to a house of ill fame for initiation, and so she took him aside and asked him quite bluntly what sort of pleasure he wished.
Nicholas blushed and stuttered, "My friend--the one who brought me--said that if one pays something extra, one can find a girl to thrash."
"Oh, I see, one of those," the madame disparagingly remarked with a knowing smile. "Yes, but I must be sure that you aren't, say, violent. It would never do to hurt my poor girls so that they couldn't earn a decent living, you understand. No lasting marks, no blood, no brutality. Oh, a good spanking or smackbottom is quite permissible, so if you will tell me what exactly you wish to do, then we shall talk about the cost."
Nicholas blushed even more. He wasn't used to discussing the bartering of female flesh for money. Yet a desperate urgency rose in him, the need to affirm his irresolute self, and most of all the need to show his roommate that he was as much a man as anyone on that college campus.
"Maybe I should like to spank her a little, and maybe give her one or two strokes with a cane, not too hard," he ventured.
That could be arranged. "It will be five pounds for the girl, a pound for the room and the towels, you understand, and then ten pounds for what you wish. There are one or two girls here who don't mind taking a thrashing from a nice handsome fellow like you, if it isn't too cruel. I'll show them to you, and you can make your choice. If you will pay me now, sir?" the madame coaxed.
Nicholas Tremayne took out his wallet, paid out the sixteen pounds (worth about $75 in American currency at the time) and then followed the woman who was quite handsome and in her early forties, to a parlor where presently an attractive Jamaican maid complete with frilly lace cap and apron, but wearing opera-length black mesh stockings and an extremely short black satin skirt and sleeveless blouse which was so low-cut that he could see the valley between her titties, pushed in two strikingly attractive young women. She also asked if he would like something to drink, like pink champagne. Not wishing to be a spoilsport, the youth casually nodded, gave the Jamaican another pound note, and meanwhile timidly contemplated his "choices" for the night's pleasure. One of them was a tall, haughty-looking red-haired young woman about twenty-six, in a silver-sequined evening gown, daringly cut almost to her chinkbone in the back while at the front it dipped midway between her high-perched round and closely spaced titties,
whose pale ivory skin intoxicated the sexually starved Nicholas. The other girl, who spoke up first to him and who introduced herself as "Joyce, and my friend here is Enid," was about twenty-three, also tall, with sandy-blonde hair styled in a mannish do, who gave forth a rather provocative and almost tomboyish appearance. She wore a white satin blouse with short sleeves, and black satin trousers and sandals, and he could see that she was wearing beige-colored nylon stockings also. He turned red under their scrutiny, and the two of them glanced at each other with a mocking wink, each sharing the knowledge that he was undoubtedly a timid virgin male, which indeed he was.
Finally, gathering up his courage, he chose Enid, the tall blondish girl. Psychologically, there was every reason for it. She represented to him the aloof, unobtainable and insolent type of female who had snubbed him during preparatory school and college, and the thought that he would be able to order her to prepare herself for a smackbottom and then a few strokes of the cane on her naked flesh, thus humiliating and degrading her and making her inferior to him, thrilled him inexpressibly.
Enid walked up the stairs ahead of Nicholas Tremayne. His eyes fastened on the compactly tight cheeks of her behind which the black satin trousers accentuated so enticingly. He felt the perverse excitement take hold of him, at the knowledge that soon he would have this delicious creature at his disposal to whip and then fuck or perhaps even to make her apply her lips and tongue to his male organ, as he chose. Since it was his first time with a woman, he had not become connoisseur enough to appreciate the difference between spontaneity and the unemotional commercialism which the prostitute could offer.
Once inside her room, the sandy-blonde prostitute turned to him and asked indifferently, "Now what's your pleasure, Johnny?" (Undoubtedly, just as the American prostitute calls her "tricks" by the rather unendearing term of "John" to designate their anonymity to her, so her English counterpart adopts the same denigrating term.) Nicholas flushed hotly, lowered his eyes, and then stammered, "I--told--I told the woman downstairs--who runs the place--you know--"
"You want to give me a smackbottom and then maybe two strokes with the cane on my, um, bummy, don't you, sport?" she insolently inquired. He nodded, feeling even more sheepish than when he had come to the house, and Enid smiled coldly to him as she went on, "I know. But mind you, not too hard and don't leave any marks with that cane. You've just got two coming, that's all you paid for, and I'm the one who says when you've had enough of the smackbottom."
"Of course, of course," he hastily agreed. Perhaps he was beginning to regret his impulsive folly, but it was too late now. The idea of being rebuffed by a prostitute would have been galling to his ego.
However, satisfied that her new client understood the rules of the game, Enid now shrugged, lit a cigarette, asked him if he wanted one, and then drawled, "Now how do you want me, lover boy? Do you want to do it over my trousers, or on the bare?"
"On the--on the--b--b--bare," he stammered, more ill at ease than ever. "And over my lap for the first, third and then maybe more--well--we'll see about the cane."
"You're jolly well right. We'll see about the cane," she retorted as she began to let down her black satin trousers. Under them she wore only the sheerest white nylon panty briefs, which exposed a good deal of her slender pale, milky-white thighs. The hue of her beige-tinted nylon hose set off its contrast with her bare flesh, and now Nicholas Tremayne began to regain his composure and looked forward to the sophisticated joy of dominating this attractive female, even forgetting for the nonce that he paid for her and that it was not by his own mastery that he would conquer her.
She gestured towards a couch. "Just sit yourself down there and be comfy, lover boy. I'll be with you in a jiffy."
He imagined the girl tortured cruelly. He imagined that she was strapped to a spiked table while he was lowered on her. Then he returned his attention to the present situation. The pale, bulky globes of her jouncy bottom were upturned and he began to tremble and felt his prick harden with anticipation. At last he had come upon his fetish which was to rule and dominate the rest of his life: the obsessive urge, almost a mania, to inflict pain and to feel himself superior and exalted through its infliction upon a desirable female.
By now, inexperienced though he was, his imagination and omnivorous reading of erotica stood him in good stead so far as procedure was concerned. His left arm tucked around Enid's waist, he roamed his right hand over her bare behind. Propping herself up with her elbows thrust down against the surface of the couch she looked back indifferently to him with an amused and contemptuous smile on her lips. "Whenever you're ready, Johnny," she drawled.
Anger now replaced sheepishness. That such a common creature would dare order him about, rankled the incipient young sadist. He raised his right hand and brought it down with a sonorous smack on the right cheek of Enid's naked behind. She frowned and squirmed a little and kicked up a sandaled foot and murmured, "Hey, take it easy, chum."
"Now you look here, I paid a good deal of money for this and you're just going to take it. I won't be too cruel, but I don't want any remarks from you as to how I'm going to do it," he countered.
"Well, pardon me for living," she gasped, and gave him a hostile look. And then, putting her hands to her face, with bowed head she abandoned herself.
A feeling of exultance crept over him. Now for the first time he could indulge in all the dream-fantasies which had haunted his lonely nights as an adolescent. Again his hand came down, this time on the other cheek. The feel of her resilient, springy flesh under the impact of his palm, the sucked-in sound of her flurried gasp and her sudden nervous glances back at him, further added to his newly acquired sense of domination. Now he could take pleasure in this game, and it was actually a serious drama for Nicholas Tremayne.
Tightening the hold of his left arm around her waist, he concentrated on spanking her. Alternating on the firm satiny white cheeks of her bottom, he applied vigorous smacks, until finally Enid, who had been kicking up first one leg and then the other, called out, "Now that's enough, say, that hurts, that really does, lover boy!" He had in all given her some twenty-two spanks.
His heart was pounding wildly, his face was flushed and his eyes glittering. Enid was half-afraid of her new customer, afraid perhaps that she had pushed him too far, as he had been so seemingly mild-mannered. It was perhaps well for her that he heeded her petition, for as he glanced down at her bottom, he could see that it was furiously reddened and that the flesh was twitching and quivering uncontrollably.
"All right, now for the cane," he said in a thickened voice. Enid squirmed off his lap on the floor. "I'll get the swisher," she announced. "But just two, mind you now." One hand went back to rub her bottom, as she stood there quite unconcerned about the fact that she was exposing her pussy to him, with rather thick brown hair fleecing it. But he was staring at her face, and he saw that it was flushed and that her lips were trembling and her nostrils quivering. And now the sense of triumph seeped through his very bones, for he had made this prostitute almost cry, almost admit that he had hurt her by this simple, childish chastisement.
Enid now walked slowly towards the closet, opened it and brought back a yellow rattan cane about three feet long, with a cord grip. This she handed to him, and then slowly got down on her hands and knees on the couch with her bottom toward him, and looked back over her shoulder apprehensively. "Just two, now, and just don't you forget it, lover boy," she whined.
By now, Nicholas's alter ego was strengthened by having turned theory into practice. Gruffly, he commanded, "Turn your face around, bend your head down to the couch, and stick that bottom well up so I can get at it, you wicked girl!"
"Oh, dear me, I'm for it, I guess," she halfheartedly quipped, as she complied with his request. He could see the muscles of her thighs tighten and flex, and even though she clenched her legs together, the soft pink fig of her cunt peeped through to excite him and to remind him that after this thrashing she would be his bedbitch for fucking; after all, he had paid for the "usual" as well as the premium for this sadistic prelude.
Holding his breath and extending his right arm, he laid the cane squarely across the plumpest curves of both tensing bottom cheeks. Once again he was rewarded by hearing Enid suck in her breath and observing her shifting knees and the movement of her sandaled feet as she sought to steel herself against the scalding bite of the rattan.
He kept the cane pressed against her quivering hindquarters for some little time until once again she nervously looked back. In that very moment he drew back his arm and then directed a forward-lunging stroke which cut precisely over the area he had selected in advance. The sharp "Splatt!" excited him. So did the immediate appearance of the angry welt which superimposed itself over the uniformly reddened epidermis of Enid's bare ass. But best of all was to see her hips weave and jerk from side to side as she tried to shake off the burning sting of that swishing cut, and so, even more was the anguished little yelp she gave as her face twisted around, her eyes very wide and filmy with tears.
"One more time, and that's it, you've had it, and so have I," she announced in a shaky voice.
"Yes, get your head down again and that bottom up, and keep still," he commanded, with a new authority in his voice. He patted her naked, squirming bottom with the cane, to emphasize the order, and Enid, cowed despite herself, quickly complied. Knowing that this was the last blow he would administer in this session, he took a long time with it, so long, indeed, that Enid plainly groaned, but this time, to his immense satisfaction, without taking her face out of her hands to look at him--"Oh please, do get it over with!"
When the stroke was finally administered, he cut across the base of both her bottomcheeks, and she uttered a wild yell, straightened up to her knees and grabbed at her blazing bottom with both hands and energetically began to rub. Then she ruefully looked back at him, and there were actual tears streaming down her face as she gasped, "Oh, Lordy, you almost did me in with that one, Johnny!"
Nicholas Tremayne stood there, the cane in his hand, and he stared down at himself. His prick was in violent erection, thrusting against the fly of his trousers. Enid saw that too, and now still rubbing her bottom she sidled up to him and murmured, "Now wouldn't you like a little loving and make me feel better in front after what you've done to my poor bummy, lover boy?"
"Yes. Undress me. And then you can start by sucking my cock, Enid," he said, his voice and harsh and commanding for the first time.
She was about to reply sarcastically, but she caught the look in his eye and she saw the set muscles of his jaws. Remembering how authoritatively he had spanked her, she had a new respect for him, grudging though it was. "Sure, honey, that's what I'm here for," she murmured. And then she began to undress him. When he was down to his shorts and socks and shoes, she knelt down, opened the buttons of his shorts, took out his bulging ramrod, and began to fondle it between her palms while she nuzzled the tip against her mouth.
Nicholas closed his eyes and shuddered with pleasure. Forgotten was the commercial aspect of this interlude. It was the supreme realization of all his longings. And it compensated him for all those years of isolation and insularity to which his companions had forced him during his school days. Now for the first time he felt himself to be a man, a master of women, a dominator of slaves. And thus his sadism flourished and was fortified.
But the ecstasy of her act of fellatio was prematurely ended with an act of ejaculation, and Enid then promised him that she would restore his vigor, said that they could "just jolly well fuck and leave like friends, eh Johnny?"
Enid stood over him and offered her tit to him. He felt a surge of lust and he reached out with his tongue, drool dripping off of it. He licked her breast and Enid felt a twinge of desire through her body.
So once again she fondled him, and since the edge of his first violent ejaculation had eased the frenzied dimensions of his lust, he was better able to prolong the act and to enjoy coitus for the first time. Now Enid acted almost motherly to him, lying with her knees up, drawing him to her, stroking his prick with one hand while with her other hand she opened the lips of her pussy and inserted his organ. But she held him tightly, even kissed his cheeks and murmured, "Johnny, still mad at little Enid, are you? You won't tell Mrs. H-- that I haven't pleased you, you wouldn't do that, would you?"
"Why? Would she have you whipped?" he asked.
The shock had apparently struck home, for Enid giggled, then looked a little scared: "Well, not really. That is, if there are complaints, a lot of times she can be awfully stiff. She does have a bouncer, an awful brute by the name of Dick T--, and sometimes he uses his cosh on a girl when she isn't treating the customers the way Mrs. H-- wants. I'll make it nice for you, you'll see."
Thus already he could see the rewards of his dominatory role, and told himself that never again would he concern himself over the jibes of his fellows.
As Enid wriggled under him, wrapping her legs around his waist, urging him on, with her palms against his shoulder blades, even kissing him on the mouth to show her cooperative attitude as against her earlier contempt, Nicholas knew that he had found his milieu...
But that lesson was to lead to others. By the time he was twenty-five, his acne had vanished, he had filled out a little and was more robust--though still stoop-shouldered and he still wore spectacles. However, he no longer stuttered when he was excited.
After college, he decided to learn the ropes in his father's chemical factory at Manchester. The business was still thriving, and his own natural acumen in respect for money helped improve its profits. He therefore was quite an eligible young bachelor for he not only had the legacy and the factory, but the flat in London and the little summer house near Goyt Canyon.
However, his sexual proclivities had been developed almost entirely in the company of prostitutes like Enid--whom, by the way, he visited regularly once a month for about two years after he had first met her and lost his virginity. She then married and left the trade, and he contented himself with two or three of the other girls at the same establishment who, for a price, allowed him to spank their bottoms and to conclude the sadistic ritual with two or three strokes of the cane or with a lead taws.
Then, a year later, he met a girl that he really wanted to marry. Her name was Martha Foulks and she was the only child of an elderly retired Army colonel and a socialite mother.
Martha was dark brown-haired with a sweet, meek face, a magnificently voluptuous figure and pale white skin. She had met Nicholas Tremayne in a book shop where she clerked part-time, and they had become interested in each other through literature--though Nicholas hardly sought his favorite kind of reading matter in that shop!
Martha's mother had been an invalid for the past two years, and so she had devoted much of her time to taking care of her. As a consequence she had few suitors, and most of them thought her a bit too placid for their tastes. Nicholas, however, could see her potential. She was ideal for a slave. But he realized he could not have her without marriage so he pursued her assiduously and she finally agreed to marry him.
For their honeymoon they went to Nice along the French Riviera. Martha, of course, was a virgin, and Nicholas was gentle with her on their wedding night. But a week later, after the union had been effected, the old urge to inflict pain and to dominate came upon him. He picked a quarrel with Martha on a pretense that she was much too shy and old-fashioned, and when she tearfully remonstrated, he turned her over his lap, pulled up her slip and tugged her knickers down and spanked her bare bottom until she cried and begged for mercy.
She locked herself in the other room and refused to come out for the rest of the night. The next morning, pale and shaken, she was extremely laconic, and even when he apologized, seemed to appear greatly upset by the episode. He could not placate her until the very end of their honeymoon, when after joking with her about it, and making love to her, he finally succeeded in winning forgiveness.
When they went back to live in Manchester, however, the urge again returned. And about four months after they had been married Martha was ironing his shirts and happened to be called to the phone and forgot the iron. When he returned home and discovered that she had burned the shirt, he flew into a rage and then forced her over his lap, again stripping her, and this time whipped her bare bottom with his belt.
She broke away from him, ran to the phone and called the police. This charge was quickly quashed, but Martha decided to leave him, even if she could not obtain a divorce. Nicholas was able to get a clever solicitor to have the marriage annulled, and paid Martha a handsome settlement by way of conscience money.
But by now the uncontrollable sadism which he had learned in that house of prostitution and which perhaps he had always dreamed about, to turn himself from an inferior to a master and one who is looked up to with fear and apprehension and respect, had taken full sway over him.
After visiting another brothel, he learned of a special key club where, for about a fee of three hundred pounds a year and expenses, a man could find obliging women who would lend themselves to be tied up and whipped and who would then be slaves. It was a sex group exclusively for the upper set, and with his background and money he had no trouble becoming a member.
His first night found him paired with a divorcee of about thirty, a tall, insolent beauty with auburn hair and tawny skin and an opulent bottom which excited him from the very beginning. She was a latent masochist, and loved to be dominated. Nicholas obliged her. He tied her across a table, lathered her naked behind with his belt until she passionately begged to be allowed to suck him off. Then followed a further strapping of her thighs after which he sodomized her. For Nicholas, it was the most glorious episode of his entire life.
A few weeks later, another girl, this one only twenty and already a nymphomaniac and on drugs, became his partner. She longed for excruciating pain, and once again he obliged her. Tying her to a whipping post in a special subterranean chamber in the basement of one of the club members' houses, he flogged her with a carriage whip so brutally that blood ran down her back and thighs and she fainted under the lash.
While he was allaying her hurts, there was a raid by the police in this house. They had been tipped off by an anonymous source, that sexual perversion and orgies were taking place. Nicholas, along with the other members of the key club, was arrested and arraigned.
When released on bond, he went to his flat in Kensington Gardens and put a bullet through his brain. He had lived by the whip and he could not bear the thought of his inevitable public disgrace and the airing of his lusts in the press and the court.
CHAPTER TWO - BARBARA, CHICAGO DEBUTANTE
Barbara Wilson (again, for protective reasons we give these real-life men and women a fictional name) was twenty years old, stunningly attractive, the only child of wealthy socialite parents who lived in an exclusive residential area in Chicago's Rogers Park. All the advantages of wealth, physical beauty, education, and solicitous affection by her parents, however, did not save Barbara from pursuing a demon-ridden course which blighted and scandalized her life. For she, like all the other people in this book, pursued the will-o'-the-wisp of passion gained through domination of another, and when she finally discovered that it did not suffice to gratify her feverish needs, she took her own life as dramatically and flamboyantly as she had lived it.
In studies of juvenile delinquency, whose statistics daily grow in the United States, psychologists find danger signs, particularly in the urban communities of the middle-class and upper-class families. These signs are invariably the same: too much affluence, too much concentration on material things, a breakdown of communication between parent and child, a failure to set moral standards and ethical codes of behavior and in genera to inculcate respect for authority and the demands which a conventional society imposes upon the individual. Barbara Wilson led an untrammeled life, her parents adored her because she was the only child they could ever have, but she might have been considered a juvenile delinquent if they had had the foresight and the insight to comprehend the sinister path she had begun to take even a. the time of puberty.
To begin with, Barbara's father was an importer of fine linens, and consequently traveled frequently to Europe. His wife, a gifted designer in her own right and herself the daughter of a pioneer Chicago family, usually accompanied him on his buying trips, working with foreign weavers and designers to perfect original workmanship for her husband's retail offerings. His store on North Michigan Avenue was nationally renowned for the quality and craftsmanship of table and bed linens, monogrammed tea sets and the like. His patrons included the wealthiest and most celebrated professional people in the city.
Barbara was born when her mother was forty and her father twelve years older. They had despaired of having a child, and so it was understandable and instinctive for them to surround her with every known luxury, because she was the epitome of all their' hopes for the future. Her father would have preferred a boy, to be sure, to carry on the business, but her mother assured him that a girl could learn designing and commerce and combine the two in just as capable a career as he himself had done.
Barbara was sent to a private school and had a governess as well. These two facts marked her at once apart from the normal child, because very early in life she learned that she was someone special, and that she was not to mix with the hoi polloi. Even her governess intensified this fallacy of training by pointing out to her that she must know her place and not fraternize with children from less eminent families. That, indeed, was why she was sent to the most expensive private school in the Midwest.
She was brilliant scholastically, as might have been expected. Her relationships with children of her own age, however, were not the happiest. She was already a snob, an insolent and precociously intelligent little girl who knew precisely, as Oscar Wilde might have put it, the price of everything and the value of nothing. And on occasion she picked violent quarrels with some of her schoolmates. The authorities at the school benignly smiled upon these expressions of temperament--after all, Barbara had not yet resorted to physical force. They regarded her as highstrung, sensitive, and exceptionally gifted. Moreover, the staggering fees which her father paid the school made it worth their while to overlook some of her foibles.
But when she was twelve, an episode occurred which even the ostrich-like principal could not very well overlook. Barbara had an argument with a school chum named Eloise, a golden-haired, meek, sweet-faced little girl who had made the mistake of picking up one of Barbara's toys without asking permission. Barbara fell upon her, cuffed her with her fists, then rolled Eloise over onto her face in the sand of the playground, and began to spank her energetically. The girl's shrieks attracted the recreation supervisor, a bespectacled, mild-mannered woman who was horrified at the ferocious expression of Barbara's face, her gleaming eyes, and the savagely relentless way in which she continued to apply her hand to Eloise's swollen, chubby bottom.
Barbara was brought before the principal, sternly lectured, repented, and was given a mild penance. That private school did not believe in corporal punishment. And judging from Barbara Wilson's temperament, spanking her would doubtless have been a grievous error, since she was the sadist, not the masochist.
Oddly enough, the next semester little Eloise became so sentimentally attached to her former assailant that she was inseparable, running errands for Barbara and being what in England might be called a fag for her adored school chum.
This episode was not related to Barbara's parents. Besides, they were in Europe at the time. For her high school education, she was sent to still another private school, even more expensive and exclusive. Here she fared about the same way; her scholarship was undeniable, her teachers praised her quick retentive mind, but some of them had grave misgivings about her anti-social conduct. She became the vice-president of the secret sorority, and although hazing of any kind was banned at the school, Barbara Wilson was able to initiate it.
In her junior year, she was again brought before the principal, and this time expelled. She had organized a group called "The Hellers" which was comprised of many girls like herself, who longed to dominate their weaker sisters. Membership was extremely selective, and so naturally all the girls wanted to join. There were about fifteen members and they maintained discretion enough to keep the organization secret--that is, until the sadistic initiation rites which Barbara herself elaborately devised. Candidates for membership were told that they must submit themselves for a test of worthiness. One by one each girl was led into a dark room, blindfolded, her wrists tied behind her back, and then her skirt and slip were rolled up and pinned securely, her panties lowered, a rope put around her neck and drawn along by its other end in the hand of an officer of the sorority. As she moved forward, hairbrushes, coat hangers, switches, belts, and open palms landed on her bare behind, and soon her pleas for mercy rose shrilly. But that was not all Barbara had concocted, for that would have been much to banal. After the gantlet, the victim was stripped naked, her hands once again bound behind her back and this time, her ankles also fettered. She was then placed on her back on the couch and she was told that the supreme test would be required of her before she could be accepted. The first girl timidly agreed to submit herself. Barbara then donned an artificial male prick, which she had managed to purchase in a little suburban novelty shop which carried erotic books as well, and proceeded to deflorate the pleading, sobbing, naked pledge. The girl was told that she had just lost her cherry to a fraternity boyfriend of one of her new sorority sisters. She was also told photographs had been taken of her surrender, so that if she dared to spill the beans to the school authorities, those pictures would be spread all around the school and perhaps even sent to her parents.
The next two pledges also submitted. But the fourth was made of sterner stuff. She heroically resisted, and when she began to feel the paddle and switch and hairbrushes landing on her bottom, twisted round to kick and as it happened, she seriously injured one of the girls. The ceremonies were suspended while Barbara and some of her cronies frantically tried to get a doctor, for the rebellious pledge had broken three of the girl's ribs.
The doctor came, took in at a glance what had been going on, and made a report to the principal. The next morning, Barbara, pale and glowering, was scathingly lectured for her unethical and indecent behavior, and expelled from the school. When she got back home, her father was still in Europe, but her mother took her part at once. A lengthy series of angry letters between the mother and the school ensued, while Barbara enjoyed a few weeks of idle luxury (her mother sent her to Mackinac Island to prevent a "nervous breakdown.") It was there on the island that Barbara had her first voyeuristic experience. It was to be something that would leave an indelible mark on her perverse nature. She was staying in a hotel on the island, and in the next room she frequently heard screams. One night, she went out onto the balcony and peeked into the next room.
What she saw filled her with desire and passion. A well-stacked girl with long blonde hair was sitting on top of a swarthy man. Her body was beautiful and Barbara felt a yearning for her. There was a twitching in her cunt.
The woman had beaten the man's ass, but now she applied a lamp to it. The lampshade was removed and the lamp and bulb were applied as he screamed in intense anguish as the light bulb burnt his ass.
Here was something new and daring to Barbara--the possibility of using electricity.
She thought about a cage that was fitted with electrical coils. There would be a control unit so that she could turn the heating device on and bum whoever was imprisoned.
A few weeks later, Barbara's trusting mother enrolled the girl in another private school in southern Illinois. Barbara was careful this time not to incur the wrath of the authorities, and once again she was a model so far as scholarship was concerned, and she graduated with honors. But during her senior year, she had compelled two girls, sophomores at the school, to run her errands, even shine her shoes as if they were bootblacks, and by this time she had learned the mystic rites of Lesbos and forced one of these girls into performing tribalistic and cunnilingual union with her. To compel this, she had taken the younger girl across her lap and humiliatingly spanked her, threatening the victim with doing it in front of all her friends.
So at the age of seventeen, Barbara Wilson was already a confirmed sadist. She was rather tall, with strikingly good looks. Her jet-black hair was sophisticatedly coiffed in a very modish upsweep. Her oval face showed high-set cheekbones, slanting, dark-blue eyes with an intense luster. She had a small thin mouth, sometimes the characteristic mark of the sadist, and the delicately winged nose whose thin nostrils flickered mercurially. Slim-waisted, svelte of hips and thighs, small but firm of bosom, and with olive-sheened skin, she was already beginning to stir interest in men, but she despised them. Perhaps she realized subconsciously that she could not hope to dominate them, and therefore sought out her victims from among her own sex, younger girls who would be by nature submissive and easily malleable.
After her graduation, she received a trip to Europe as a reward. Moreover, her parents so trusted her that they let her go alone, with ample spending money and letters of introduction to some of their important clients and friends in cities like Brussels, Paris, Prague, and Berlin. Barbara completely ignored these sources of family contact, for she had her own devious schemes in mind. What she wished was to learn whether there were in actuality exclusive houses where one could watch girls being whipped and tortured. Perhaps, too, she thought to herself, she might find a submissive lesbian partner on whom she could exert her full authority, and thus vaunt her already unbalanced ego.
In Paris, she met her father's business representative, Alain Dourenavant, a gray-haired, deferential widower in his mid fifties. She was dying to find out where she might see some of these orgiastic entertainments in maisons de specialte about which she had read, but she didn't want to offend Monsieur Dourenavant by asking, for he might write her father and thus disclose her deviate desires. However, quite by accident, she was introduced to a stunning and prematurely gray-haired woman, who was not over thirty, and from some of the woman's remarks, discerned that she must be Dourenavant's mistress-which indeed Elise Sanspierre was. The latter owned a chic little dress shop just off the Rue de la Paix, and invited Barbara to come in for a fitting of a very exclusive gown on which she would be only too happy to offer an unbelievably low price, as a courtesy to Monsieur Dourenavant's friend from America.
Barbara readily accepted. And Elise personally fitted her, alone, in a little salon tastefully decorated. "Eh, bien, Mam'selle Wilson," she smilingly demanded, "how do you like Paris?"
The perverse young brunette shrugged. "So-so," she drawled. "I always read that it was wide open."
"What do you mean by that, Mam'selle?" Elise Sanspierre looked puzzled.
"Oh, come on, Elise," Barbara almost sneered. "Don't act so naive. I'm a big girl, you know, and I've got plenty of money. I'm going to inherit my father's business, and you know how prosperous that is."
"Of course, ma petite, but this is none of my business. I am simply a friend of M'sieu Dourenavant, and he has asked me to be kind to you and look after you while you were here in Paris," the handsome coutouriere explained.
Barbara stared at her, until the latter's eyes fell and a slight flush suffused her tawny cheeks. "Don't give me that," Barbara slyly insinuated. "I'll bet you and Dourenavant have a thing going. You let the cat out of the bag yourself the other night when we were talking together at the party, you know. Admit that you and he are living together."
"Please, Mam'selle Wilson!" Elise gasped, glancing nervously around. "I do not wish others to hear this conversation. And if I am, as you say, his chere amie, I really do not see what about that matters to you."
"Oh, but it doesn't, dear Elise," Barbara retorted sarcastically. "Except that if I were to go back home and tell Daddy that his best representative in Paris isn't really tending to his interests the way he should because he's spending so much time with you, he just might decide to change representatives."
"Oh, please, Mam'selle Wilson, please, you mustn't tell your father a thing like that. And besides, it isn't true. We've been friends for some years, after my husband died in Algiers. He is--my--well, my sponsor, you may say. He lent me the money for this shop of mine when I was only a seamstress with a few ideas for designing, just before I met my husband."
"I really don't care to hear the history, Elise," the insolent young brunette responded. "And I'm not really a snitch. All I want is for you to give me some of the lowdown where I can see some real fun. Then I won't say a thing to Daddy."
"What--what do you want me to tell you?"
"Well, I've read there are certain houses in Paris where you can pay to watch--well, certain things going on."
"Yes, it's true there are such places."
"Do you know where any of them are?"
"There is one, perhaps, and, as it happens one of my customers, a divorcee with a good deal of money, visits there occasionally. But you must be very discreet, and I beg of you not to say anything about this to your father."
"Don't worry. Daddy thinks I'm sweet and pure and stupid, and so does Mother," Barbara sneered.
"In that case, perhaps I can arrange for you to visit there. It is quite expensive, however."
"I've got money with me, and a letter of credit besides. So tell me."
And thus it was that Barbara was able to blackmail and browbeat Elise into revealing the existence of an exclusive maison de luxe which catered to voyeurs and to sadistic perverts as well. The very next night, provided with the address and also the name of the madame in charge and told that she was to identify herself by saying that Mademoiselle Hortense had recommended the house, Barbara was driven there in a cab and walked up the steps of a large grey stone three-story house in one of the southwestern suburbs of Paris.
She struck the elaborate knocker, which symbolically enough was the figure of a naked Venus, and was admitted by an exquisite mulatress maid, complete with lace cap, white apron, a ridiculously short black satin dress whose hem reached only to mid-thigh, opera-length black mesh hose and high-heeled black leather pumps. Barbara quickly explained her mission, and was ceremoniously admitted into the presence of Madame Renee Gourdier, a majestic, buxom, black satin-gowned woman in her late forties.
As soon as the young brunette had mentioned the magic password of Madame Hortense, Madame Gourdier ingratiatingly welcomed her to the Rendezvous des Amants which was the picturesque name given her costly and well-protected bordello (Rendezvous for Lovers, indeed all-embracing and apt.) "Has Mam'selle any special wishes?" she craftily inquired once Barbara had shown her a wallet well-filled with hundred-franc notes as well as the letter of credit.
"I'd like to see a girl whipped," the brunette drawled. "And perhaps if it's possible, I'd like to whip a girl myself."
"C'est bien possible. But it is very expensive, I warn you."
"I'm not asking the price. I think I have enough to cover it. Can you arrange it tonight?"
"I think so, Mam'selle Wilson. Celeste will take you to a little salon and bring you some refreshments. There will be in about half an hour a--special show, shall we say? This is quite unusual, and you are very fortunate to have arrived here this evening, considering your special interests."
Barbara was touched with interest. "What is it, Madame?" she eagerly asked.
"Well, sometimes, I arrange to have people who are not in the profession use one of my specially furnished rooms, you understand, Mam'selle. And this evening a very aristocratic and well-known woman, whose name of course I dare not reveal and who will be wearing a mask, is going to punish her younger rival for having tried to take her lover away from her. I think you will see something quite extraordinary, because it will not have been rehearsed. It is a matter of a woman's revenge. C'est juste."
"Yes, I'd certainly like to see that! And then about the girl that perhaps I can whip myself?"
"When you have seen the revenge, Mam'selle, by that time I shall have had one of my girls informed and ready for your pleasure. Now, shall we settle this little matter of the fee? Five hundred francs for the show, and fifteen hundred for the other thing. I told you it was a bit dear. But then, there will doubtless be certain expenses. And I hope, by the way, I hope you will not be too cruel with the girl I shall place at your service. I should hate to lose her from her employment for even so much as a day or a night."
"I shan't kill her," Barbara smiled cruelly. "I'll just whip the hell out of her. And I'll pay you double the fee to let me do it. I really want to give her a thrashing, and she might not be able to sit down or lie on her back and take on a man as early as tomorrow night when I finish with her. Do you mind?"
Madame Gourdier considered her young customer. Decidedly, there was no accounting for tastes. In her opinion, Barbara was delectable enough to satisfy any man's lustful hunger, or many a woman's, for that matter. But she hadn't expected so poised and young an American girl to be such a sadist, a devotee of the whip.
The provocative mulatress, Celeste, thereupon conducted Barbara to a small room, brought her a glass of excellent Bordeaux, some crackers on which goose liver pate was thickly spread, and deferentially told the young American heiress that she would return to summon her when preparations had been completed for the scene of revenge.
Barbara's eyes lingered on the attractive mulatress as the latter left the salon. She had sinuous calves, long thighs, upstandingly round, tightly-spaced bottom cheeks which the tight black satin skirt accentuated in all their voluptuous undulations. Barbara felt the pernicious quiverings of her dark desires, her nipples stiffening, her pussy lips beginning to twitch with anticipation, and she decided that she wanted to whip Celeste more than any other girl Madame Gourdier should select from her establishment.
About fifteen minutes later, Celeste returned to inform her that all was ready. She thereupon led Barbara up the stairs and down a long, velvet-carpeted corridor towards a little room which was the salle des voyeurs. Here, in a comfortable armchair, Barbara seated herself and was shown a shove-away paneled section of the wall which, when she opened it, gave out upon a rectangular glass panel, opaque from the inner side so that the participants in the room it looked in on could not see through it, but through which she herself could see every graphic detail.
The room before her was a quite ornately furnished one, with a four-poster bed, a chaise lounge, a padded leather bench on which lay a five-thonged martinet with a short red wooden handle, and tapering, glistening black leather thongs, as well as a supple birch rod bound at the handle end with a strip of black cloth, and a leather sole, polished and worn and quite formidable-looking. There were also lengths of cord in readiness.
A moment later, the door of the opposite end of the room entered and an imposing beauty entered, drawing off her picture hat and long black leather gloves. She was about forty, buxom, magnificently arrogant, with high forehead, slantingly-set cheekbones, a thin mouth, aquiline nose, and piercing black eyes with very thick brows. Her black hair, which was beginning to gray a little at the sides, was bound in a coronet braid around her head. She was followed by a young woman who appeared to be her maid, a meek- mannered, rather tall blonde girl of about twenty-two, wearing a short black satin dress much like the one worn by Celeste, but of course without cap or apron.
"I think we have everything we need here, Edmee," the buxom dominatrice haughtily remarked. Though both women spoke in French, Barbara understood them without difficulty. She leaned forward, lighting a cigarette, staring at the scene before her.
"Yes, Madame."
"Now, when that bitch is brought in, Edmee, I want you to tie her up on the bed, and then pull up her clothes and take down her panties and slap her big naked bottom with your hand, as you would a child. Do you understand?"
"Bien sur, Madame Croibart," the maid meekly replied.
"Tais toi, you little fool!" said Madame Croibart, as she approached the young blonde viciously slapping her face. "You know better than to mention names here. Although Madame Gourdier promised that no one would observe this little affair between this little Constance and myself, one can never be really sure. She's a greedy bitch, and I wouldn't be surprised if she's sold places for some people in the room next to us. For a price, of course, just to enjoy this."
"I beg your pardon, Madame. I shan't do that again."
"You had better not!" the imposing dominatrice hissed, "or when I finish with Constance, I'll have you tied on that bed and give you a sound thrashing, too, with my bare hand. Ah, attention now. I think we are about to have a visit from Mam'selle Constance herself."
At that moment, the door again opened, and this time, two men dressed in the livery of chauffeurs entered, forcing between them a tall, auburn-haired young woman, fully dressed, blindfolded and gagged, her wrists bound behind her back with clothesline. She was fuming and sputtering, but not a word could be heard through the gag.
"Thank you, mes amis," the Junoesque matron smiled. "One last favor. Since you are much stronger than my little maid here, would you mind tying that bitch on the bed by her wrists and ankles, and then leave us?"
It was swiftly done. The men solemnly inclined their heads and trundled their victim over to the bed, lay her down on her belly, untied her wrists and swiftly began to retie them with the cords taken from the bench, so that when they had finished, she found herself spread-eagled, with her legs and arms hugely stretched and her entire body forming an X.
The imperatrix gave them a substantial pourboire, for which they thanked her effusively, and then left the room. Edmee was sent to lock the door, so there would be no further intrusion. Then, Madame Croibart addressed the blindfolded, gagged and tethered captive.
"Well now, petite Constance, we meet again at last. Didn't I warn you that if I caught you making eyes at my husband, I'd settle your hash? And yet you went ahead, you bold little baggage, and now I find out that he's got an apartment on the Rue de Firconne, and he's set you up there. Well, I'm going to divorce him soon anyway, but I just don't like the idea of a nobody like you taking Robert away from me. He's very rich and he's going to have to make quite a settlement on me. And I'll have my own lover, too. But what concerns you, you bitch, is that you went ahead and defied me, and that I won't stand for. I'm going to give you a good whipping, Constance, and if he should visit you tomorrow evening, I'll guarantee you he can see the marks. You might find it a bit difficult to lie down on the bed and spread those long legs of yours for him so he can put his big stiff cock into that dirty little slit of yours. Get her ready now."
"Oui, chere Madame." The blonde maid moved quickly to the bed, lifted Constance's faille skirt and the thin, cream-colored slip under it, and when she encountered difficulty in pulling them to the victim's waist, because of the straddle of Constance's legs, she quite directly and simply ripped the garments off and flung them to the floor, amid her mistress' applause.
Barbara was trembling now, leaning forward on the edge of her thickly upholstered chair and her hand had slipped between her thighs, and her finger was tickling her own pussy through her panties. For Constance was indeed a tempting morsel for the whip.
She was about five feet seven inches in height, with gorgeously long legs, flawlessly proportioned thighs and calves which, though somewhat slender, nevertheless retained mouth-wateringly tempting curves enough to whet the lust of the most discriminating male. Her bottom comprised two long ovals, with a deepening fissure between them. That bottom was tightly encased in black nylon panties, and there was a white nylon-satin garterbelt, whose tabs hooked to her gunmetal-gray nylon hose.
Her skin was a pale creamy tint, fascinating and lascivious to see in its accentuation by her black lingerie. Madame Croibart derided this: "Well now, the little putain! She's all prepared for a night on the streets, and you'd make a fine trottoir, Constance, believe me, with those fancy panties. Wouldn't she, Edmee? I want her entire bottom bare, by the way, for the thrashing. Rip them right off."
Barbara's heart was pounding wildly and her face blazed with perverse lust as she watched the blonde maid approach the bed again. Edmee leaned over the squirming captive, whose plaints were muffled through the gag still imposed on her, and, after finding that the panties would not descend past Constance's ass cheeks tightening in her instinctive and apprehensive attempt to diminish her spacious contours at this threat of the whip. Madame Croibart now nodded to her maid, who knelt down on the bed to the left of the victim and, palming Constance's back with her left hand, raised her right and began to apply a very vigorous and noisy spanking.
Whimpering sobs, groans and gasps exuded through the gag and Constance, more mortified than hurt at the outset, continually thrashed about, trying to find a way to break the bonds and escape this mortifying, childish chastisement. But Edmee persisted until a sign from her mistress made her stop, breathless and flushed. Constance's naked seat was a flaming red from the tops of her hip slopes to those of her upper thigh. She was crying like a child.
Barbara Wilson's finger was frantically rubbing her pussy. She was very near to orgasm herself already. For there was such an ingenious hi-fi system installed in that room and in this one that she could hear Constance's faintest gasp as clearly as she could hear her own quickened, thickened breathing.
"Now, you man-stealing little bitch," Madame Croibart hissed as she bent over her younger rival and removed the gag, "are you beginning to feel sorry for what you've done?"
"Oui, oui, Lucille, have mercy on me, I beg you!" the auburn- haired victim groaned. "Let me go--isn't that enough?"
CHAPTER THREE
"Enough?" the brunette matron maliciously laughed. "What a child you are, Constance! And you fancy yourself to be a femme fatale, don't you? I only wish that dear Robert were here right now to see what a stupid little child you really are. Yes, Constance, to see your big naked bottom so nicely red and to hear you crying like a child over a mere hand spanking by my own maid. Do you think he would want to make love to you any more after that?
And to answer your question, no, it's not even a beginning. Edmee, get me the martinet which Madame Gourdier so thoughtfully provided. Yes, Constance, my dear, this will be a little more serious than just a spanking. And you needn't try to beg me for mercy, it will be quite useless. I'm going to make you learn once and for all not to try to break up homes. Go try to find a man of your own, if you're woman enough. Though I suspect that the best you could do would be some waiter in a cheap cafe or perhaps some young beardless student from the Ecole Poly technique. That's all you're really good for, you know. Unless you wish to walk the streets and gain some very valuable experience."
Constance sobbed and jerked at her bonds, but quite in vain. She was still blindfolded, and Barbara, in the adjoining secret room was frantically excited at the thought that this magnificent young woman, who had already been furiously humiliated by having been spanked by her rival's maid, was now to endure a thrashing with the martinet.
The charming Edmee had procured the instrument from where it lay on a little tabouret at the side of the wall. It had a red handle, short and polished, from which five tapering black leather thongs dangled. These thongs were about two and a half feet in length, not quite a quarter of an inch thick, and about as wide. The last three inches of each leather strip was narrowed till it ended in a viciously pointed tip. Thus it could be used to smack the entire bottom, or to concentrate just the biting tips against the tenderest parts of Constance's already inflamed and shuddering behind, visiting both cunt and asshole for atrocious punishment.
While Edmee was getting the whip, Madame Croibart had swiftly removed her black satin dress and slip, and stood in the imposing dishabille of a gleaming black satin corselet. It left her big, closely spaced titties naked, took her below them and lowered just to the hips, permitting Barbara a full view of the thickly black-fleeced pubis. Opera-length black mesh hose sheathed her sumptuously curvaceous calves and thighs, and high heeled pumps pedestaled her; she looked even more imposing than when she had been fully clad. Her skin was tawny, and the aureoles of her boobies extremely wide and brownish-orange, with large nipples of a dusky coral hue. Barbara moaned with desire, and her finger sped even more rapidly than before against her moistened panty-crotch. "Attention to the martinet, Constance," Madame Croibart imperiously ordered. Taking her place by the left side of the bed, she raised the instrument and brought it down with a wicked crack so that the thongs spread out fantail over the entire naked bottom of the unfortunate auburn-haired rival. Constance emitted a desperate shriek, turning her tear-stained face back towards her tormentress, jerking at her bonds and convulsively weaving her lithe hips.
"Did I not tell you it was somewhat more serious than a spanking, ma petite?" the brunette dominatress smiled. "Edmee, you will count to twenty. That was just a little advance taste. Get ready now, Constance."
"Sauvez-moi--oh, je meurs!" the victim wailed piteously. "I won't ever see him again, I give you my word, please, please, Lucille, have mercy!"
"If you had kept your promise that time before when you said you wouldn't see him, you wouldn't be here now, sale putain!" the brunette hissed. The martinet swept down, the leather hands clinging to poor Constance's shuddering reddened bottom globes. A wild cry of pain resounded, and once again the tethered body jerked and twisted in a frantic attempt to evade the burning kisses of the martinet.
"C'est une!" the pretty blonde maid announced.
Barbara closed her eyes and shuddered violently. Never before in all her life had she been so excited, feeling herself so intensely a part of this secret drama. And yet she yearned above all else to take the brunette's place, to wield the whip over that furiously discolored naked young behind. Her sadism was now fully wakened, and even though she yearned to see this spectacle to its finish, she was almost impatient in wanting to handle the lash herself and to taste for herself the glory and the ecstasy of inflicting pain on a fellow creature.
While Edmee continued to count, Madame Croibart applied nineteen more strokes of the five-lashed instrument, making several of the strokes dart the biting tips of the thongs right into the shadowy crease between Constance's asscheeks, or again, at times when the frantic writhings of the whipped young beauty allowed, directly right into the gaping pink fig of her rival's exposed and vulnerable cunt.
By the time the twenty lashes had been inflicted, Constance was hysterical, her fingernails had left gouge-marks in her palms, her face was haggard and swollen with tears, and her throat was hoarse from screaming.
But Madame Croibart had not yet finished with her unfortunate rival. "Now then, Edmee," she directed, "help me tie this bitch down on the whipping bench. She still has to get the birch and the sole."
The maid hastened to obey, and the two women dragged the moaning, pleading, weeping, auburn-haired captive over to the padded leather bench and forced her down on her belly, then swiftly strapped her wrists and ankles and buckled them tightly.
By her refinement of cruelty, the brunette imperatrix ripped off the nylon bra, leaving Constance in only her garterbelt and hose, for her pumps had been kicked off in her frantic struggles under the whipping and the spanking which had preceded it.
"I will admit that you have a rather attractive figure, little slut," she said scornfully. "Use it to entice someone of your own lower class the next time, and you may save your big bottom the sound thrashing I am giving you now. Hand me the birch, Edmee."
"Oh, in the name of le bon Dieu, I implore you, Lucille, no more, no more, I won't ever see him again, I--I'll give up the apartment--I'll do anything you want, only please, no more!" the blindfolded naked beauty hysterically implored.
"I will listen to your promises when you have had all that I have pledged myself to give you, you slut," was the pitiless answer. The birch rose, swished down, whisking the supple withes against the base of the scarlet posterior. A piercing cry arose, and Constance wriggled and twisting on the bench, once again turning her contorted face back towards her executioner.
"Count twenty, Edmee!" was Madame Croibart's order.
And heedless of the young woman's pleas, her brunette rival applied the switches over the bounding, writhing, violently striped and swollen ass cheeks of the shrieking and weeping young woman until Constance lay panting, half-conscious, her body twisting and jerking uncontrollably.
"Now," Madame decreed, "Edmee is going to give your big bottom the sole. This will conclude your punishment, but I am going to test your promise to obey me." With this, she stationed herself at the head of the whipping bench, straddled it, reached down with both hands and cupped the crimson, tear-stained cheeks of her young rival to force Constance's mouth up against her hairy cunt. "You are going to become a gounotteuse, ma cherie," she laughingly told the sobbing, shuddering naked victim. "Edmee, lay the sole on as hard as you can. Now them, Constance, you will receive it until you have made me die of joy, tu m'as compris?"
"Oh please--aiiiiii, ohh, pitie, epargnez-moi, je meurs! Constance shrieked as the leather sole whacked down right over the crease, pinching the inner edges of her swollen bottom cheeks.
"Pay attention, little slut!" Madame laughed. "Didn't you hear me the first time? I said, you're going to get the sole on your big red bottom until you have made me come. So you had best begin. Come now, I am sure that you have taken Robert's becque in your mouth and licked it and sucked it, so you should know how to do it to a woman, too. Again, Edmee, and in the same place!"
Once again the sole smacked down right over the crevice between those luscious and now violently swollen and angrily discolored ass globes. With a frenzied cry, Constance gave up all thought of argument or protest, and, gluing her lips to the brunette's cunt, began to gamahuch her.
Continuing to cup that tear-drowned face and force it against her pussy, the brunette imperatrix ordered her maid to keep on spanking poor Constance until she had achieved her climax. Frantically, Constance probed with her tongue, wildly sucking and licking and kissing, thinking only of ending the abominable torment of her burning, agonized and martyred ass. Nonetheless, it took forty blows of the sole before the unfortunate young woman could bring her rival to organism.
And then a final indignity and degradation awaited her. Madame now opened a letter case, and took out a formidable dildo, with webbing straps to secure it about her loins. Armed with this, she moved to the back of the bench, knelt down upon it, and, instructing her maid to pry open poor Constance's inflamed buttocks with her hands, viciously buggered the shrieking captive.
Then and only then did she have her maid untie the blindfolded victim, and ring for two of Madame Gourdier's girls to help the almost fainting captive to a room where she would be salved and given brandy, then dressed and sent back to her apartment in a cab.
As soon as the Madame had left, another woman came in. She was carrying a whip. The woman was tall and statuesque. Her breasts were full and round, her eyes dark and cruel, and her hair was raven black. She was dressed in a pair of black bikini bottoms, a blouse that was tied around her tits, revealing most of her bosom, and garter belt with stockings.
She lashed the whip around in the room, striking out at the air. Suddenly the door was flung open and a woman was thrown into the room. The girl was dressed in little, and she looked very good. The clothes were not overly fashionable and looked like they were made to wear functionally, but hardly for anything else.
The woman made the girl grovel at her feet and then she started whipping her. The whip came down hard and fast on her body and soon the clothes were whipped off of her. Angry red welts were raised on her flesh. Soon the act was finished. The girl was beaten until she collapsed in fatigue, and then she was removed from the viewing room.
As soon as the woman had left this vengeance chamber, Barbara, who herself had tasted a violent erotic climax from her own onanistic fingering, pulled the bell rope in her little room to summon Celeste.
When the lovely mulatress maid appeared, she said boldly "Tell Madame Gourdier that I want to whip you, and that I will give her another fifteen hundred francs."
On Celeste's face, the shadow of fear appeared. But she knew very well that her greedy employer would not pass up such an advantageous profit. She returned in a few moments, her face downcast, to stammer, "She says it will be all right. If you will give me the money, I will take it to her, and then I will be at your service, Mam'selle."
"Tell her to give you one of those artificial cocks too, Celeste," Barbara smirked as she opened her purse and handed the trembling mulatress the requisite fee. She had paid already the American equivalent of $100 to watch the revenge of the matron and $300 for the privilege of herself applying the lash. The fee for Celeste as her chosen victim was another $300. But money did not matter to the beautiful young sadist, roused as she had been by what she had seen and heard.
In a few moments, Celeste returned with another case which she opened to exhibit the long thick dildo. Barbara approved of it, and then ordered the mulatress into the room which the rivals had just quitted. Locking the door, she commanded, "Take off everything, I want you all naked."
Celeste swiftly obeyed. Then Barbara tied her on the bed, belly down, straddling the lovely legs to the maximum. Seizing the martinet, she began to flog Celeste, who tried to hold out by gritting her teeth and closing her eyes. But the sadistic American girl soon became an adept practitioner, and was able to make the pointed tips of the lashes dart into Celeste's asshole crease and against her tender pussy, whereupon the mulatress frantically begged for mercy and promised she would do anything Barbara asked.
"Oh you will, anyway, honey," Barbara laughed cruelly. Then she untied Celeste, ordered the sobbing mulatress over to the whipping bench, but this time ordered her to lie upon her back. Strapping Celeste's wrists and ankles, she took up the frayed birch rod, and began to whip the naked beauty over her titties and belly and inner thighs until once again, feverish with pain, Celeste humbly swore she would do anything in the world to stop the whipping.
Barbara then striped naked, put on the artificial prick, and savagely fucked the weeping mulatress. When she rose from the bench, panting and trembling with her own violent climax, the demon of lust had taken hold of her for all time. Henceforth, she would not be content until she could hold another palpitating, naked female under her lash and force her to the most debased of erotic services...
In Berlin, Barbara pursued her demon also. A complaisant cabdriver, for a bribe of several marks, took her to an exclusive bordello very much like Madame Gourdier's. The Germans have always had a penchant for flagellation, even more cruelly applied than in the French manner--one has only to recall the infamous punishments inflicted on girls and women in Ausbruck and Ravensbruck, where it was customary to begin each morning's assembly by binding half a dozen culprits to heavy wooden whipping blocks and birching them while a prison orchestra played German marching tunes to drown out their wails and screams for mercy.
Though she was not yet eighteen, this perverse young sadist acquitted herself with expert aplomb, to the mingled amazement and admiration of the fat madam. First, the madam let her flog a handsome young matron, who had, being masochistically inclined, come to the bordello to pay to be flogged--though she had originally wished a man to wield the lash. Reluctantly acquiescing to Barbara's substitution, she had no reason to complain of the thorough thrashing the American girl gave her with birch and strap, and then, calling for an artificial dildo, requited her with a savage fucking that drew her several times to orgasm. Indeed, the matron begged Barbara to visit her home and satisfy her with several more does, but the girl declined.
After watching Barbara's performance with the matron, the madam of the establishment wheedlingly begged the teenaged brunette to gratify her by punishing one of the girls who worked for the bordello, an attractive copper-haired twenty-five-year-old prostitute named Klara whom the madam accused of goldbricking and of holding out customers' tips, for the rule was that these were to be divided with the house.
Klara was tall, slim, with boyishly short hair and the compact, highset bottom of a boy; moreover she wore blouse and trousers and bowtie, for many of the Berlin gentry found it perversely exciting to make- love to a woman dressed as a man. Barbara had Klara stripped to her trousers by two bruisers of the bordello and bound kneeling with her neck and wrists locked in the yoke holes of an antique stocks, so that her tightly sheathed bottom jutted out at an ideal angle for the flogging. The young brunette then applied a leather strap split at the punishing end into three strips, much like the classical English taws, till Klara was shrieking for mercy. Thereupon, her trousers were dragged down as well as the panty briefs beneath them, and Barbara resumed with the leather cat-o-nine-tails to the blood. Klara hysterically swore to outdo herself thereafter, and the grateful madam made Barbara a present of the bloodied cat--which the sadistic young brunette carefully wrapped and hid at the bottom of her steamer trunk. When she came back home for the fall semester, scheduled to begin her freshman year in a private college in Wisconsin, she found her mother dying of leukemia and her father gravely ill from worry and the overstress of business problems. It mattered little to her, for by now she lived but for the thrill of sadistic gratification. Callously, knowing that she would be a rich heiress if her parents succumbed, she went on to school, planning how to repeat the exciting experiences she had enjoyed in Paris and Berlin.
Once again, she found herself a submissive toady, a girl of nineteen named Ella Castron, whose parents had had to sacrifice to get her tuition fee and who was openly envious and almost worshippingly impressed by Barbara's sophistication, superb wardrobe and plentiful allowance. Ella was also a potential lesbian, since she was angular of features--though her body was quite excitingly developed--and had been ridiculed by many boys who had dated her in high school for her sharp, almost bony nose and thin lips and aggressive chin. Yet Barbara perceived the voluptuous body, especially the highset, spacious ovals of an ivory-sheened bottom, and she proceeded to initiate Ella into the mysteries of Lesbos as quickly as possible.
Before Christmas, Barbara was an orphan. Her mother had died in October, and her father, after a medical checkup which revealed he had a probable cancer, put a bullet through his brain. She came back to Chicago to attend both funerals, but paid only token respect to their memories; all she could think of was that now she was free, wealthy and unhampered to pursue the career of domination which was so vital to her very existence. So she brought Ella home for the holidays, and the very first night, lured her into the basement of the two-story house in Rogers Park, blindfolded her and tied her to a crossarm whipping post which she had had a carpenter in the neighborhood fabricate for her for a premium. Then stripping her friend naked, she used the cat-o'-nine-tails on Ella's white skinned buttocks till the blood ran down her shrieking, pleading victim's thighs. Affixing the dildo to her loins, she then buggered the tall sandy-haired girl, and then went upstairs to sleep dreamlessly.
The next day, at noon, after bathing and breakfasting, she returned to the basement. Ella was half-conscious, with a slight fever, lolling in her bonds from the whipping post. Barbara stripped naked save for garterbelt, hose and pumps, and amused herself by digging pins into Ella's bottom and anus till the victim fainted. Then she lit a cigarette and marked her own initials on the girl's back and thighs till Ella regained consciousness, and then again resumed the whip.
But a neighbor's little son, playing in the huge yard next to that of the Wilson house, had heard Ella's raucous shrieks and cries, and told his mother, who went out to listen for herself. Terrified, she phoned the police, who entered the Wilson house at the moment when the brunette sadist was heating a fireplace poker on a gas stove, preparatory to branding her agony-crazed naked victim. In her mania, she seized the poker and tried to strike one of the officers, who, in self-defense, drew his gun and fired a snap shot, thinking only to wound and then disarm her. But her violent movement made the bullet strike with unerring aim into her heart.
It was greater mercy than she had ever shown any of her victims in her short life of eighteen years. It was far better than to be confined for the rest of her days in an insane asylum--for she was hopelessly, psychotically mad. The lure of the lash had led her down its sinister pathway, and there had been no turning back for Barbara Wilson.
CHAPTER FOUR - PAUL, LOS ANGELES CULTIST
Paul Gradnoch openly pursued the exotic pleasures of sadism, almost by dedication. His own background and imagination led him to participation in a secret cult, whose creed was very nearly that of the infamous Alistair Crowley, often called "the Black Beast" and avowed satanist. The credo was one of unmitigated pleasure, the end in itself towards which all law and consequence were directed.
But Paul Gradnoch's passion for the whip came out of a boyhood which in some ways resembled that of Nicholas Tremayne's. Like that London socialite, he came of well-to-do parents, and like him also, he found himself rejected and ridiculed by his fellows at school. Most especially, rejection by the female in the most impressionable period of his adolescence brought about an unwavering hatred for the opposite sex and a burning determination to "avenge" himself through leading them towards degradation, suffering, and sexual surrender through coercive means.
He too was an only child. Psychiatrists believe that such offspring are from the very outset more sensitive and impressionable than those who have brothers and sisters to divert attention away from their own individual egos. And assuredly the fact that Paul Gradnoch's father and mother were wealthy and could give him every lavish care was a nurturing which harmed rather than aided him in later life.
Paul's father ran a lucrative export business, and made his headquarters in Los Angeles, where he preferred to live, though he had branches in New York, Chicago, Dallas, and Miami. He was originally Austrian-born, as was Paul's mother. There was also disparity in ages between the boy's parents; Emil Gradnoch was fifty-one when he sent back to Grindzing for the village beauty, Marie, who wed him on her twentieth birthday. And three years later Paul was born, a difficult child birth which cost Marie Gradnoch the possibility of ever again having children. Of course it was because of this deprivation that she, and his elderly father who realized that this son of his loins would be the only one, surrounded him with pampering attentions and luxuries.
But since Emil and his young wife Marie traveled extensively, it was decided that Paul was to be brought up by a governess and sent on to private schools. It was of course the worst thing that could have happened to him, for it made him more of an introvert than he would have ordinarily become. For all the plebian influence of a public school, there is no gainsaying the fact that its rough, competitive associations swiftly force an adolescent to cope and to "shape up or ship out." The boy who exhibits unusual scholarship or draws away from the physical exuberance of sports and the conventional excitement over dating members of the opposite sex instantly draws opprobrium and derision upon himself. That was to happen to Paul Gradnoch even in the private school to which his parents sent him.
But his governess was also a hardly fortunate choice for the malleable period of his young life. She was English, aloof and haughty, she came with a formidable list of references from well-known employers, one of whom had been a duke. Forty-four, dour, and herself a spinster, Evelyn Amesbury believed that sex was disgustingly vulgar, an unfortunate necessity for the propagation of the species, and hence should be suppressed for the sake of moral decency. She remained with Paul until he was seventeen, and what she instilled in him was an admixture of inferiority complex towards the opposite sex and a secret, almost blind, lusting after them. She told him, among other things, for example, that even if he were married he should not kiss his wife unless he expected to conceive a child by her. Once she caught him masturbating, and she contemptuously told him that such practices would lead him to insanity and debauchery of the most detestable sort. She never spanked him or reproved him other than by her icy, scathingly rhetorical lectures. Yet he came to love her simply because she was with him more than his parents were, as the business prospered and their foreign trips became more and more extensive and frequent.
At the age of twelve, Paul began to show those traits which were to mark the rest of his life. The boys in the neighborhood considered him a sissy and often viciously hazed him. He was afraid of dogs because one of the bullies down the block had once set his big Airedale on the timid boy. Paul wore glasses, suffered from acne, and his slovenly posture and slightly overweight condition made him the ready butt of cruel, sneering jokes by both girls and boys in the neighborhood. However, he had managed to find two or three playmates, girls of about nine and ten, whose timidity and whose own lack of friends drew them to him because he did not show towards them the rowdyisms which the other boys in the neighborhood displayed. So Paul and his little companions Amy and Phyllis were constant companions after the boy had come home from private school. Paul's father had bought a large house in the swankier residential area of Santa Monica, with a huge yard and a seven-foot wire fence surrounding it. He had installed playground equipment, even a swimming pool. There was also a little summer house, painted white, with Japanese motifs, and a birdhouse and bath. It was a sylvan setting, and there were trees and bushes and a flower garden, which made the yard a kind of hidden retreat. Even the governess could not always see what was going on. And, if truth be known, she paid very little attention. She was more concerned with developing her young charge's mind, and in this regard, since she had had an excellent education herself (at one time she had been a teacher in London, after being jilted by a man who had professed marriage and tried to lure her into yielding her maidenhead before the banns had been read).
The two girls and Paul often played in the little summerhouse. And it was Paul who concocted the fanciful games of Indian and white settler, of Arabian sheik and his seraglio. At twelve, he was an insatiable reader and familiar with the works of Dickens, Shakespeare, Galsworthy, and other authors whom his schoolmates would not acquaint themselves with--and then only with distaste--till their senior year in high school.
These games invariably wound up with forfeits, and the forfeits were also invariably spankings. With his glib tongue and quick mind, it was easy for the boy to convince Amy and Phyllis that this was playacting and fun. They too, sheltered as they were and virtually friendless, doubtless accepted the forfeits as part of the price for having this dear friend who otherwise treated them with respect and equality. Paul would take Amy over his lap as he sat on the bench of the little summerhouse, pull her skirt tight to shape out the nubile cheeks of her behind, then make Phyllis hold her hands while he applied a dozen sound smacks with his palm over her wriggling posterior. Then it would be Phyllis's turn, and Amy would solace her and hold her hands while her own bottom was warmed.
For Paul Gradnoch had already begun his nocturnal fantasies, to which masturbation was the final goal. One of the older boys at the private school which he attended had lent him a scabrous erotic book, covered in brown paper wrappers, with crude but explicit drawings showing whipping, fucking, and bondage.
He had thumbed through the book eager to see the pictures of the suffering women. There was one picture that disturbed him greatly and was to carve a prominent image in his mind. This was the picture of a band bound in what looked like an excruciatingly painful manner.
The young man was hanging from a cord, and on his back were four candles. According to the text of the book the candles had been secured to his back by burning wax.
Two young women sat underneath the man and branded him with hot pokers.
There was another picture of a woman being tortured. It looked as if the victim was about to have sugar and honey inserted up her cunt so that ants could then torment her pussy.
Amy and Phyllis thus became' his early models for the sexual outlet he was to seek in maturity. Banal as was the spanking game, it nonetheless whetted his early adolescent desires, crystallized them, gave the sensation of being all-powerful when he could have these young girls lying across his lap, their bodies squirming, their voices squealing and raised in tearful petition as his hand visited their resilient young behinds. Not that he never made any sexual overtures towards them; even at that early age, he was much too astute for that. Nor did he really hurt them, but inevitably this innocuous "game" served to make him physically conscious of his virile young manhood. After they had left, he would sometimes go to the very back of the garden and behind the hedge and there open his playshorts and masturbate to climax. Then he would imagine that he had Phyllis and Amy tied naked in some of the poses he had seen in that book, and that he was whipping them until they would cry for mercy and promise to do anything he ordered.
A year later, the two girls moved away from the neighborhood and Paul was left without his playmates. There were none to replace them, and so he plunged himself more deeply into his schoolwork, losing himself in the world of books, reading novels and plays, even writing in his composition classes historical romances in which, had his teachers been perceptive enough, there was ample evidence to show the sadistic bent of his thoughts.
His governess, who did believe in self-reliance for a boy, permitted him to go to the movies by himself every Friday night. Although these movies were a far cry from our "liberated" blue films of today, there were many scenes of seduction, spanking, and even whipping, particularly in the historical epics of the time. He saw "The Unconquered," a C.B. DeMille production, ten times, trembling with excitement as he watched Paulette Goddard tied to the wagon and about to be whipped by Mike Mazurki, and later in the film, bound to the Seneca torture stake and divested of her clothing by the cackling squaws. And when he came home and went to bed and was away from his governess' scrutiny, he let down his pajama trousers, closed his eyes, and softly stroked his cock and balls and imagined himself laying on the whip or applying the torture to that voluptuous actress.
In high school, he studied French, primarily because his father had indicated that he wished Paul to continue with the business and travel in France, Belgium, Czechoslovakia and other countries where French was a universal language of commerce. This also was to lead him even more forcibly down that dark path to perversity.
By the time he was graduated from high school, the most exclusive, private one in the area, to be sure, his mother had succumbed to pneumonia. His father, almost seventy, followed her to the grave six months later. There was money enough so that Paul would not have to worry about his future, and the business was taken over by Emil Gradnoch's capable sales manager, Carl Dutton. Profits were put in trust under the estate which one day Paul would inherit.
But by now Evelyn Amesbury was beginning to ail and age as well, and she asked her adolescent charge if he would terminate her employment so that she could go back home to London. He arranged a handsome bonus for her through the trustee of his estate, said farewell to her with genuine affection. She was, after all, the only woman to whom he had been closely drawn--though not sexually. And yet her training had been so well inculcated in his nature by now that he viewed sex as both wickedly exciting and morally sinful. Thus the terrible conflict between carnal desire and warped moral outlook further channeled him towards his appointment with the demon of lust.
He planned to go on to college, choosing UCLA, and majoring in journalism. In the private high school, he had become editor of the weekly paper, printing many of his own poems and little essays. These, to be sure, showed not one whit of his secret longings. He had become a kind of devil's advocate, and his fluency and specious mind allowed him to utter and write the most profound moral judgments, whereas inwardly, each time he saw an attractive girl, he was already undressing her, tying her to the whipping post and applying the lash over her shuddering, welted flesh.
This summer between high school and college proved momentous in shaping the ultimate direction of his introverted life. He had already visited the UCLA campus, and discovered a bookstore about a mile away, whose iconoclastic owner was a "free thinker." In the back room of the shop, the dealer kept a choice and expensive selection of classical pornography, from The Memoirs of Dolly Morton to The Kama Sutra. His name was Jason Mertain, and he himself was a frustrated novelist, several of his works having been rejected by major publishers. Paul introduced himself to the cynical, middle-aged dealer and impressed the latter with his sophistication despite his adolescent age. When he mentioned that he was interested in reading current French novels, Mertain asked him how well he read the language. He then procured a work by Romain Rolland, opened it at random, and handed it to the boy. Paul translated as fluently as if he were speaking his mother tongue.
Jason Mertain marked this for future reference. A few weeks later, when the youth visited the shop to purchase another book, he felt him out and learned that Paul was mildly familiar with the world of erotica. As it chanced, Jason Mertain had a sideline which brought him considerable profit, though it was not without risk. Many of his wealthy customers, trustworthy middle-aged men on whose discretion he could rely, asked him from time to time to find them "real racy French books, the kind with drawings in them. The real stuff." The trouble was that few of them read French. He therefore proposed to Paul that the latter translate some special items which he just had received, for which he would pay a few hundred dollars. Paul was not so much interested in the money, which was a pittance, since he himself had a sizable inheritance. He was, however, fascinated by the opportunity to plunge into the world of erotic books and to find a kind of sublimation in the colorful and sadistic fantasies which those authors concocted.
So, in the next two weeks, he translated three such books and turned the manuscripts in to Jason. A few days later, the dealer excitedly called him. He had sold the translations to his customers, but he had also used a planograph photocopy process (which equipment he had in the basement of his shop) to make many copies which he was also selling. He was expecting a good customer to return from Paris in the next few weeks with a supply of new erotica smuggled in his trunks. Meanwhile, perhaps Paul would like to try his hand at writing an original.
Paul would and did. He called it "The Torture Chamber of the Sheik Sharif." The plot was diaphanously simple. A pretty and wealthy young heiress visits Morocco with her parents, disparagingly comments on the backwardness of the people. In the marketplace, a Bedouin chieftain overhears her remarks and decides to teach her a lesson. That night he has three of his men kidnap her from her hotel and bring her to his tent in the desert, where he informs her that she is to yield to him or endure proper punishment for her slander against his people. Haughtily the girl refuses, whereupon the sheik has her strung up by the thumbs to the tentpole and uses a leather whip upon her back and bottom until she weepingly implores mercy and agrees to submit to him. In his embrace, she experiences deep passion and abjectly agrees to be his love-slave.
Into that first opus, Paul put the distillation of his own lusts and yearnings. Omnivorous as he was, gifted with a large vocabulary, this his first piece of writing shows the fanciful erotic mood and for its kind has a kind of literary elegance: "Joanne was dragged to the tentpole, kicking and scratching, screaming out threats and abusive profanity which one would not expect from a young lady of her station in life. But by sheer brute force the swarthy Arabs overpowered her, and in a moment she found herself with her arms dragged high above her head, all her weight bearing down from her corded thumbs, her pump-shod toes scarcely able to scuff the sand, totally helpless before the ordeal which awaited her. From his couch, El Hasar watched her with glittering, brooding eyes. 'Prepare the bitch for the lash!!!' he commanded with a harsh voice."
Jason Mertain made several copies of this neatly typed book, which ran about a hundred and fifty pages and which originally he sold for seventy-five dollars to one of his best customers, adding to it a few color photos and line drawings from his own enormous collection.
He conveyed the client's praise to his young author, and Paul thus knew his first acclaim. It was a heady wine, and it would intoxicate him fatally.
Since by now Jason was Paul's only real friend and confidante, it was perhaps only natural that the youth should haltingly ask the book dealer to help him towards his first sexual experience. While he confessed, not without blushing and stammering, that he was still a virgin, Jason affected disbelief. "But you write about lovemaking as if you'd had a dozen women already, Paul." He shook his head incredulously. "You mean you want me to find you a girl? That isn't exactly my line. However, I do happen to know a certain young lady who, shall we say, in return for a payment of a certain fee, would be happy to make your acquaintance."
"Oh yes! I'd like that very much, Mr. Mertain. And do you think she would mind--that is--I--I'd like to spank her. You know, I've never done it and if I'm writing about spanking and stuff like that, I ought to get a perspective by doing it, don't you agree?" "Well, now," Jason Mertain hedged, "that's not going to be easy. And you certainly can't expect a nice girl to let you do to her what you had that sheik of yours in your story do, you know. But maybe she wouldn't mind a little spanking, you, know, just playful."
"That would be all right," Paul panted.
"I'll see what I can do. Come by here Saturday noon, and I'll see if it can be arranged."
Jason had still another sideline. A few years before, he had met two ladies of the evening, enjoyed their services professionally, and then acquainted them with an idea that could make profit for them as well as for himself. They had been most amenable. Besides his photocopying equipment, the book dealer had a superb camera, as well as additional equipment for duplicating, cropping, and mounting as well as developing. It was in his mind to buy a hand press and set his own books. They could be limited editions, costing his wealthiest customers from two to four hundred dollars each, and the return would offset the cost many times over. He had in mind a book on flagellation and slavery, and he could easily avail himself of props from theatrical costume houses, from fetishistic opera-length hose and extravagantly high-heeled pumps and gleaming leather boots to stocks and pillories, whipping posts, chains, and other paraphernalia of bondage and flagellation.
These two young women were named Ellie and Adele, the one a buxom blonde of twenty-four, the other stately looking, tall brown-haired, a beauty of twenty-eight. Both of them were on register with the casting agency of several movie companies and occasionally had extra or bit parts. Their histrionic ability was not enough to let them expect greater success, and so they had fallen in with Jason Mertain's profit-making scheme.
It was blonde buxom Ellie whom Jason chose for Paul's initiation into the mysteries of Cythera. When the youth came by that Saturday afternoon, the book dealer took him to the back of the shop and explained the situation. It would cost him a hundred dollars, and Ellie would allow herself to be spanked. But there would be no whipping, no tying up, and no permanent marks. Failure to comply with this restriction would mean an absolute breakoff between himself and Paul, and he would certainly be sorry to lose the youth's translating and creative services.
Paul still lived in the luxurious house in Santa Monica which had become part of his inheritance. He was able to do his own cooking, though he ate out most of the time. Of course he had hired no servants since the departure of Evelyn Amesbury. So that night he found himself alone with Ellie, and his feverish excitement was indescribable.
She was of medium height, with a soft pink skin, a vapidly pretty heart-shaped face, large, blue eyes, overly large breasts, but her bottom was succulently lush and firm. She had come to the house in a green satin evening gown, which emphasized her opulent figure. Paul began to tremble the moment he ushered her in, stammered as he led her to the couch, asked her if she would like some sherry, and then, sitting down not too close to her, began to talk about himself. Jason had already documented the amateur prostitute-actress on her young client's aptitudes and feverish desires. But Elbe found Paul Gradnoch's virginity an exciting challenge. Eventually she herself proposed that they go into the bedroom where they could be more "comfy." It was she who began to undress him, and to his utter delight, midway through it, knelt down, fondled his prick and balls, and, coyly looking up at him, insinuated, "Mister you-know-who says you know a lot of French. How'd you like me to talk to you a little, Paul honey?"
He trembled and nodded, unable to speak for the emotional fury which choked him. When he felt her soft fingers open his shorts and then draw out his bulging organ, he writhed, his eyes glassy and bulging. He stared down at her, and saw her kneeling with her head bowed before him, in the attitude of a humble salve, demeaning herself to him.
The excitement of the first time and the startling unexpectedness of her oral caress brought about a shattering though swift climax. But he knew that he was a man at last, and now it mattered nothing to him what his classmates might say of him. He had been jeered and scorned in high school, and he very likely would be in college too, but at this moment he couldn't have cared less.
When they both were naked, she whispered to him, "Relax, honey, I know it's your first time. I want to do all the work, I want to be your little slave-girl. Won't you let me?" And of course he did. She began to tongue-bathe him, using her tongue from neck to feet, until again he was agonized and stiff with desire. This time, mounting astride him, inserting his prick into her soft, tight cunt, she whispered as she flattened herself over him, "I'm an awful naughty girl, Paul darling, you ought to spank my heinie good and hard for taking advantage of you like this. Go ahead, spank me while we fuck it'll be that much nicer for us both."
Overwhelmed by delight, and a kind of pitiful gratitude for the young prostitute's sympathetic understanding of his needs, Paul lifted his hand and began to slap the plump round pink-sheened asscheeks of his voluptuous naked houri. Just as she had said, the combination of spanking and fucking brought him to cataclysmic fulfillment.
He was so grateful, indeed, that he awkwardly asked her, "Ellie, could you-I mean, would you-could you stay the weekend? I'd pay you a lot. I've got lots of money in the bank. I get it all when I'm twenty-one."
"Well, I'm not really--I don't have any dates with any other nice men this weekend. I guess maybe I could. But it would be sort of expensive, honey."
"How much?"
"Say, two hundred more?" she hazarded. As a matter of fact, she and Adele relied almost entirely on Jason Mertain. The police in Los Angeles at the time were conducting a citywide roundup of known prostitutes, and neither she nor her brunette companion cared to be so identified.
"Sure. Look, I'll--I'll even give you more than that if maybe, later, you let me do something. It won't hurt, I promise it won't. But it was such fun spanking your lovely bottom, I--I want to do it again."
CHAPTER FIVE
"Sure honey. But just what is it that you want to do?" She was lying beside him now, playing with his prick, her other hand caressing his chest, ruffling his hair. He felt like the sheik of his own story, and all self-assurance of his own manhood flooded him. He had bought this girl, her lush pink flesh was his, she would do whatever he wished.
"I--I want to tie your wrists behind your back and blindfold you. Now wait a minute, don't get scared, I--I'll just put you over my lap and maybe use a hairbrush on you a little. When it hurts too much, you can tell me to stop and I will. Would that be all right?"
"Oh sure, honey. My goodness, Mister you-know-who got me really scared of you when he told me some of the things you'd written about. But my dad used to swat my rear end with his razor strap, and I can surely take a hair brushing from a sweet boy like you."
So, an hour later, to his wild delight, Paul, naked in his bathrobe and slippers, reveled in the spectacle which projected into reality all the thrilling lust-fantasies he had had since adolescence, as the buxom young blonde callgirl knelt before him, submitted to being blindfolded, then having her wrists tied behind his back, and was then taken across his naked lap while he fondled her round lush titties with his left hand and slowly spanked her wriggling, furiously reddened bare behind with a black wooden hairbrush. Nor did Ellie have to playact convincingly; already sensitized by the hand spanking she had earlier received, she felt the sting of the hairbrush quite acutely, and her squeals, sobs, and supplications for mercy made Paul nearly frenzied with lust.
He thought he was going mad.
As the pain surged through Elbe's body, she thought back about what she had done to one man. It had been a long time ago, but the thought of what she had done to the man, made her pain somehow endurable. She had tied her man to a chair and then with her belt she had mercilessly beat him.
There had been another man in which she had to battle him with whips and he had lost badly. His body had been torn to shreds as the whip had lashed into him. He had screamed endlessly as she had flogged his body. She knew that she could endure the pain that Paul was giving her.
And finally, sobbingly and wriggling on her knees, once the spanking was over, she knelt before him and, still blindfolded and bound, sucked him off to violent ejaculation. He had at last achieved the imaginative role of that first erotic novel of his, and the ease by which he had contrived to achieve his fantasy was to be a pernicious and fatal lure. There are those who believe that money can buy anything, and unfortunately Paul Gradnoch had been able to translate his secret, sadistic lusts into exciting actuality simply by buying Ellie's voluptuous young body. And this success was to induce him to believe that he could do this whenever he wished. One thing more: if the experience had been unsatisfactory, if Ellie had been a more hardened prostitute and not provided him with such fascinating reactions, he might have been disgusted with purchased passion and abandoned it. But fate already had hold of him and was to control him as a master puppeteer controls the strings which motivate the actions of the puppet.
By the time Paul was in his junior year at UCLA, he and the book dealer had formed an unholy but extremely profitable alliance. He regularly wrote at least one book every two months for Jason Mertain, and at least once a month, as part of his fee for writing this original erotic novel, he was "paid off' by the services of either Ellie or stately-looking brown-haired Adele.
Both young women had been discreet enough, as had Jason, to avoid getting into trouble with the police. Mertain's customers continued to buy his privately produced erotic books with their illustrations at extremely high prices, and they were trustworthy enough not to betray his confidence in them. Of course they realized that if he were to be halted in his operation, their source of sado-masochistic reading matter would at once be curtailed.
Paul found Adele even more exciting than Ellie. To begin with, she was older, and she had that patrician look of elegance which so aroused him, because it was a challenge to his desire to dominate the imperious female who thought herself superior to the male. That, indeed, had been the theme of his book about the sheik--and of course he himself had been the sheik, himself the hero of his own first creative opus, as is typical of most authors. Once, indeed, he arranged with Jason to write a book the entire payment for which would be a weekend with Adele, with full permission to tie her up and use a leather whip on her--though with the promise that it would not be to the blood and that he would not be overly sadistic so as to spoil her earning capabilities for the book dealer.
He dressed Adele in a long white diaphanous nightie, blindfolded her, tied her wrists with cords in front of her, and took her into the basement of his house. There he had constructed a crude kind of whipping post, for Paul was not at all mechanically inclined. Yet it sufficed for his febrile imagination; it comprised a heavy ladder against which he had placed a wide wooden plank at an angle, and driven a heavy spike through the top of the plank into the ladder's top to secure it firm enough to place his "victim" upon it. Adele lay against this plank with a rope around her waist, another cord around her slim ankles, her wrists still bound in front of her. In order to ease the position for her, he had put a small cushion between her chin and the plank so that she would not scrape her pretty face when she moved about under the lashing.
Jason had given him a braided leather dogwhip. Naked except for his sandals, Paul plunged himself into the erotic mood of this fantasy-transmutation. In it, he took the role of strict, jealous husband who suspected that his beautiful young wife was unfaithful to him. She was to be "interrogated under the whip," and punished if he discovered that she had truly sinned against the bonds of holy matrimony.
Adele was a consummate actress and what was more, she had even more masochistic fever in her psyche than Elbe. Moreover, Ellie had told her of Paul's overwhelming passion for spanking and tying up girls, and Adele shrewdly realized Paul's value to her pimp-employer Jason Mertain. The latter, indeed, had instructed her to "take care of him, Adele, keep him happy, because he's making lots of money for all of us. You might have to put up with a little discomfort, but it'll be worth it. I think he's got brains enough not to go too far with you."
But the demon of sadistic lust is very much like Pandora's fateful box; once unleashed, once brought out into the open, it will not so readily be forced back into its container and be shut away until the next time. And each time it is let out, it grows like the genie in Aladdin's lamp, stronger and more powerful and finally overpowering. As he stood there, his eyes devouring Adele's svelte figure against which the thin, filmy nightie clung, feasting his eyes on the spacious, tightly spaced ovals of her magnificent ass, the long supple thighs, the nervously muscled calves, the slim and deeply hollowed back, her pale white skin, he felt like a God in this little isolated world which he alone had created, she his vassal, his slave, his thing. He began to harangue her, playing the role, and Adele took her cues from his ranting speech. No, he was unreasonably jealous; no, he was absolutely wrong, she never slept with another man; he could kill her, but she couldn't tell him anything else except that.
"Perhaps a taste of the whip will make you confess, you tricky bitch," he thundered. He put his left hand to the neck of the nightie and ripped it down, exposing her milky skinned body to the waist. The dogwhip rose and fell, slashing across her slim shoulders, leaving an angry, bright red streak. Adele gasped and squirmed. The angle of the plank presented her in such a way that she felt herself bearing down with all her weight against its hardness. The pillow was actually a little too thick, forcing her head back, although it did protect her chin and face from the rough wood. The tightness of the cords round her ankles and waist which forced her up against the plank had begun to chafe her now, and so the discomfort she felt was real and not feigned.
A second lash followed, a little lower down, and then a third and a fourth. The fifth whistled round her side and the tip of the braided whip bit against the outer curve of her right tittie. Adele uttered a shriek, "My God, not there, not on my boobs, honey, it hurts too much!"
"You're going to be whipped until you tell the truth, Adele," he snarled. He stopped now, ripped off the rest of her nightie, and his eyes fixed on the flinching spacious ovals of her quivering ass. He saw too the darkening welts left by the dogwhip. Now for the first time he knew the ecstasy of applying the lash to a helpless, formerly defiant female. He was triumphing over her. He was punishing her for her elegance, for her heartlessness, for her psychic emasculation of his youth; because by now Adele, like any other female who might have taken her place at this moment, symbolized the eternal woman, the longed-for, thwarting bitch-goddess after whom Paul Gradnoch had so desperately yearned in his formative years.
The whip smacked viciously across her naked ass, and soon a pattern of angry stripes marred the smooth milky skin while the brown-haired callgirl shrieked and begged him for mercy. Now she was becoming a little afraid, for the ferocity of his face, his glazed eyes, his quickened and hoarse breathing, as well as the severity with which he applied the lash, made her fear for her safety.
As another blow smacked wickedly across the base of her squirming ass, Adele shrieked out, "Oh for God's sake, Paul, stop it, stop beating me like this, I'll do anything you want, I'll do anything in the world if you'll only stop!"
"You mean it?" he panted.
"Oh yes--oh please, it's killing me--oh I can't stand it anymore, please, darling, I'll make it up to you, just tell me what you want and I'll do it, only put down that awful whip!" Adele wept.
He released her from the plank, but did not untie her wrists. "Get down on your knees then before me, suck my prick, and then beg me to bottom-fuck you, bitch," he growled. Adele sobbingly obeyed, preferring sodomy to the torture of the ship. He got behind her, sank his fingers into the welted cheeks of her shuddering bottom, and thrust himself deeply into her rectal fissure. He made her clench the whip in her teeth, promising her another thrashing if she dropped it. His fingers kneaded her titties, pinching her until she moaned, and finally she dropped the whip. In an access of furious erotic sadism, he dragged her by the hair back to the plank, and when she resisted, struck her in the jaw and dazed her.
Then he bound her once again, a rope around her neck, one around her waist, another around her ankles. Resuming the whip, he laid the first lash across her uptilting pearshaped bubbies, and the agony wakened her from her semi-unconscious state. Mad with terror and pain now, she babbled hysterically for him to pardon her, saying that she would come to him every night for nothing, if only he'd spare her. By now, the demon was unleashed, and would not go back into the Pandora's box. Shuddering, his face working convulsively, slavering at the mouth, Paul Gradnoch thrashed the hysterical, agonized prostitute till blood oozed from her titties, her belly and her thighs. And he flung himself upon her and viciously fucked her, and only then, when his savage ejaculation poured into her cunthole, did sanity slowly return and with it, a kind of self-disgust... the old Latin proverb that after coitus all animals are sad, was repeated even with this imaginative and fantasy-ridden young man.
Then he was all contrition. He salved Adele's hurts, gave her money, begged her not to tell Jason how cruelly he had treated her. Adele had at first determined to denounce him to the book dealer, but after reflection and considering the enormous profit she had made (he had given her $500 for her silence) reasoned that there was no need to tell Jason of this substantial bonus and so she would be able to keep it all.
That too was an error. Perhaps if she had complained and if Jason had decided to dispense with the services of this potentially dangerous young sadist, Paul Gradnoch might yet have been saved. But his demon lurked, knowing now that it would once again be released and that, the next time, it would never go back into the box again...
As it happened also, Jason decided to suspend the operation of his two callgirls for a week or two because one of his customers had telephoned him that detectives from the vice-squad had questioned him about a book they had found on the seat of his car after he had been stopped for going through a red light. In his embarrassment and fear, he had blurted out that he had bought the book from a dealer and that it was his own property, but they had confiscated it and he was afraid that they might trace it back to Jason. Thus Adele was able to recuperate from the wounds Paul had inflicted on her with the dogwhip, and for at least three weeks there was a suspension of all activity from the shop. His sanity temporarily restored, Paul went about his studies, passing his examinations brilliantly and going on to the senior year.
But then Jason's avarice and greed led him to the final stage of the inevitable destruction of the already warped mind of his brilliant young colleague. Several of his customers had bribed him to put out a book which would have actual photographs of sadistic and erotic acts, offering an unheard of premium. Of course, Adele and Ellie would be the models; to look for others would be dangerous at this time of reform in the city. But the male model would not be so easily to come by, till Jason thought that perhaps Paul might agree to take part. Consequently he approached the youth, suggested that Paul might wear a face mask and thus conceal his identity, and offered him a substantial share of the enormous profits he was being offered for the venture.
Paul eagerly accepted. The first book was to be a story of the Spanish Inquisition. Jason used his own props and costumes. Paul was dressed in the black hood and cowl of the interrogator-monk, and in the cellar of his own house, the apparatuses of torture from Jason's own private studio had been set up, with the book dealer himself as the cameraman.
Adele and Ellie, wearing gowns appropriate to the period, appeared in the very first scene, blindfolded, their wrists tied in front of them, kneeling in front of the rack. Paul then seized Ellie, tore off her gown and the long tunic-like shift which was to pass for the lingerie of the period, so that she was revealed naked in silk stockings and high-heeled pumps. He put her on the rack, suspending her in midair, her bosom and loins upturned. Then he took Adele, stripped her naked also, and dragged her to the pillory, into which he locked her wrists and neck. Now taking a three-thonged leather whip, he proceeded to flog Ellie over her belly, and titties and thighs until her deafening shrieks and frantic twistings were realistic enough to please the most critical of lust-connoisseurs.
He then moved to the pillory, and flogged the equally wailing and hysterical Adele over her bottom and thighs, several times sweeping the thongs up between her squirming thighs to attack her cunt.
In the script which he himself had written, Ellie was now obliged to offer her body to the torturer to stop the torment. Paul mounted the rack, lifted his robe, and fell upon her, fucking her violently while the delighted Jason faithfully turned the handle of the movie camera to preserve this intoxicating scene.
Then Paul released Adele from the pillory, made her kneel down and suck his cock back to strength, after which she was obliged to get down on all fours and submit to bottomfucking, while Ellie was made to stand in front of her partner, to be gamahuched by Adele.
The pictures were taken in color, the book was duly produced, and Jason's customers were enraptured. Now Jason received more orders, but also a suggestion that he use newer models; after all, for the past several years, Adele and Ellie had been the only models illustrated in these privately produced works of erotica.
And now the demon of lust was to come out of the box for the last time. Paul had by now met an exquisitely lovely young junior at UCLA, an auburn-haired girl of twenty, Marcella Young. He had actually fallen in love with her, so far as it was possible for him to love anyone except himself. In fact, they had actually become engaged, and he had been startled to find Marcella so yielding and eager for him. Although she was a virgin, she was anxious to become a woman, and that was precisely what she told him. They had set the date for their wedding six months hence, but she had whispered to him at their last date that she wanted to go to bed with him as soon as possible because she knew it would be wonderful with him.
And so he told her that he would if she would agree to let him take pictures of their lovemaking. He glibly told her that there was a time-set camera which would record their amour, and that these photos would be put into a secret scrapbook which they could both peruse later in their married life and from which to find inspiration for their future lovemaking. Marcella eagerly agreed to this, and so on this fateful Friday night in late May, she accompanied Paul to his house, in the basement of which Jason, Adele and Ellie were waiting.
This time, the book was set in modem times, and it was a story of white slavery. Paul was to be first the abductor of girls and then their trainer. Adele and Ellie were dressed, their hands tied behind their backs, and they were standing against the wall of the dungeon-like chamber in which the movie was to take place. Paul entered with Marcella, who, seeing Jason Mertain with his camera and the two callgirls, shrank back and with a gasp of consternation, demanded, "But, darling, what does this mean? You said you were going to take the pictures by yourself and that there wouldn't be--oh no, this is impossible! I wouldn't ever do a thing like this!"
"You're going to. You're going to be my wife, and you might as well get used to the way I want you to act. Help me with her, Jason," Paul panted.
The book dealer hesitated, and then hurried forward. Between the two of them, they forced Marcella to the crossarm-whipping post, tied her wrists to the heavy metal rings at each end, and then Paul began to strip his beautiful sweetheart till she was down to her panties, bra, hose and pumps. Then, taking a whip, he began to lash her bottom and thighs until she shrieked for mercy. Leaving her, he tied Adele and Ellie facing each other in an isosceles triangle-frame, their wrists bound together at the peak, their legs straddled and their ankles tied to the lower legs. Stripping them, while Jason aided, he bound a rope around then- waists, whipped them both until they began to grind their pussies together in simulated Lesbian love. By now, Marcella's only thought was to escape this madhouse, and her cried and protests drew Paul back to her. She did not recognize his face, for it was warped, the eyes glittering with savage rut. He stripped her naked now, and the lash punished her. It bit against her titties, against her belly and even her cunt, until she fainted. And suddenly there was a hammering on the locked door of the basement, and Jason and Paul turned to each other in stupefaction. The door was broken down, detectives of the vice-squad poured in, and the two men were arrested and arraigned on several serious charges, and without bond.
That night, Paul Gradnoch improvised a noose from his own shirt, and hanged himself in his cell. He had at last conquered the demon, and in his last moment of sanity had condemned himself for what might well have become homicidal sadism, pronounced his own judgment and been his own executioner.
CHAPTER SIX - KATHE, BERLIN DESPOT OVER MEN
Kathe Hellweg, flaxen-haired despot, might never have made her perverse mark in the pages of erotic history if it had not been for a drunken uncle, a strict governess, and a bullying "Junge Karl," who by their actions turned her from becoming a beautiful, docile young girl who might well have married and begotten a litter of fat, healthy babies instead of dedicating herself to the domination of the male by whip, leather boot, glove and corselet.
Kathe was born two days after V-E Day, that memorable era when the fanatical and megalomaniacal regime of Hitler and his glorification of the swastika came to its predictably violent end. Her parents had been Nazis in lip service only, because in those days it was almost impossible for a decent German to remain in his native land without paying some tribute to the terrible Nazi creed. Her mother was the daughter of a wealthy shop owner, her father had been a minor government official deposed when Hitler came to power and forced to earn his daily bread as boss of a construction gang.
She had two brothers, ages nine and thirteen, and as the eldest child looked forward, doubtless as all German girls did, to marrying a man she could love and by whom she could have children. There was nothing in her parents' background, no signs of aberration in her brothers and none previously in herself, to signalize the winding, darkened pathway she was to follow.
But because her father was absent from the city for many weeks on end because of the construction work which took him to cities near Berlin where Allied bombing necessitated the vast reconstruction work, and because her mother had gone to work as a salesclerk in a department store in order to supplement the family income, it was decided to hire a governess to supervise the three children. Strict parental discipline has always been one of the bywords of the German family, and usually that authority is placed with the head of the family, the father. With Kurt Hellweg absent from his home so often, that authority soon passed into the autocratic hands of Fraulein Hertha Munsinger, a dour spinster of forty-five, who had little use for men, since her fiance had attempted to force her to give him the pleasures of the bed before marriage and then gone off to the Eastern Front and got himself killed in his first week of combat service.
When Kathe was thirteen, she had walked home from school with a tall gangling blond boy a year her senior, and Fraulein Munsinger had espied the two holding hands and talking at the comer, from the window of the little house on Blumenstrasse. As soon as the pretty flaxen-haired teenager entered the house, the governess scolded her for her impropriety, and then, to Kathe's horror, marched her upstairs to her own room and ordered her to remove her black cotton skirt and petticoat, and then to bend over the back of a chair and hold onto the seat. When Kathe protested that she had done nothing wrong, Fraulein Munsinger sarcastically remarked, "No, nothing at all except make sheep's eyes at that stupid lout, and have all the neighbors gossip about what a little Dime you are going to turn out to be! If you don't obey me at once, Kathe, I shall tell your father when he comes back home next week, and he will certainly give you the strap on your naked Arsch!"
Faced with this alternative, the tearful young girl submitted to the ignominy, but protested almost hysterically when the governess rucked down her bloomers and exposed her chubby pink-sheened bottom. She was sentenced to extra punishment for arguing and defying, and then had to submit to a humiliating and extremely painful spanking with an old leather sole which Fraulein Munsinger wielded with authority and expertise. Not only that, at the conclusion of the thrashing, during the course of which she was several times rebuked for leaving position, the unfortunate youngster was obliged to kneel down, kiss the instrument of fustigation and then the hand of the governess, and finally thank the latter for having chastised her.
The next summer, while Kathe's two brothers were sent away to a not too expensive summer camp near Bamberg, Uncle Klaus came to visit his sister and brother-in-law. He came without warning, for he was an impecunious sort, about fifty-six, given to imbibing too much beer and kummel, twice divorced and still fancying himself as a Lothario. He had served in the Wehrmacht, had been wounded in the thigh by shrapnel during the invasion of Holland, and been mustered out of active combat with an honorable discharge. A faithful Nazi, he had been given a post in the commissary in Berlin, so that at least he had not starved during the war. At its conclusion, he had gone back to his little farm about forty miles northeast of the capital.
He came at a time when Kurt Hellweg had been assigned to Cologne with his crew to repair the ravages of Allied bombers. Kathe's mother, though she loved him with a kind of pitying indulgence, was furious that he had overstepped the boundaries of convention by not informing her in advance of his desire to visit. They quarreled, and she saw to it that she spent as little time in the house as possible during his week-long stay, working overtime taking inventory at the store where she was employed.
This left the governess and Kathe in the house most of the time during Uncle Klaus's stay. And that Friday evening, feeling himself abused and neglected, he had gone to a nearby Bierstube and consumed too many steins of lager for his own good. Minna Hellweg had grudgingly given him a key to the house so he could come and go as he pleased. On this particular night she was to work until midnight. He returned to the house shortly after ten.
It was a warm August night, and Kathe had gone to bed wearing only a filmy nightie. The governess was already asleep, and Kathe, drowsing, twisting about to find a more comfortable spot on the bed because of the lingering heat in the room, had rucked up her nightie to her smooth pink belly, exposing the dainty nook of her virgin pussy and the soft dark-golden tufts which had just began to frame it. Uncle Klaus stumbled down the hallway in search of his own room in the far back, lost his balance and clutched at the knob of Kathe's door for support. Righting himself, he found that his maneuver had opened the door, and he took a step forward, then saw the vision of Kathe's virginal and nubile half-nude body on the bed.
In his drunken state, he was quite oblivious to the incestuous relationship; unbuttoning his pants, he liberated his stiffened prick, and slyly, step by step, tiptoed to the bed with the typical shrewdness of the intoxicated. Kathe awoke to feel his hands on her budding young titties, his mouth stifling hers, and his hard hot prick prodding against her virgin cunt. Frantically, she cried out, but he clamped his palm over her mouth and swore at her that if she did that again, he'd slit her throat. The governess slept on, at the other end of the house. And so, in terror and shame, biting her lips to hold back her cries, her face twisted to one side to avoid the reek of beer wafted by his panting breath, the blonde teenager felt him pierce her hymen and thrust to the depths inside her tender tight young cunt.
He did not fuck her long, because the excitement and his drunkeness terminated the violation after about four or five deep quick thrusts. But the nauseated revulsion and terror which he caused made an indelible mark on her psyche.
When he had relieved himself, he staggered off the bed. Slowly his puffy, glazed eyes contemplated his bloodied organ and dully he began to realize what he had done. "Don't you dare tell your Mutter, you hear, you little bitch? I'll tell her that you asked me in here, and that you showed yourself all naked to me, that's what I'll do," he mumbled.
But Kathe had no intention of telling her mother. Nor her governess either, fearing an even worse thrashing for this vile sin. For if she had been spanked with the sole for simply holding hands with a boy and chatting merrily with him she reasoned, what would Fraulein Munsinger not do when the latter learned what had happened tonight?
Fortunately for Kathe Hellweg, she was not made pregnant by that brutal, drunken violation. But she was indoctrinated with a growing aversion to and loathing of men. And then, a scant year later, while she was on an errand late one Friday afternoon, a leather-jacketed tough, towheaded, his hair closely cropped, a member of the dreaded "Berlin Junge Kerlen," (the German equivalent of our "Hell's Angels") saw her walking down the street and nudged one of his cronies. "Sehen Sie das, Rudi! Eine schoene Kootzele!" and took after her.
Indeed, Kathe Hellweg even at that tender age was indeed a lovely piece of pussy, to translate the young hoodlum's obscenely complimentary appraisal of her. Her breasts were already splendidly round and firm, her bottom spacious and upstandingly rounded, her thighs strong and beautifully curved, with fine rounded calves and the soft-sheened pink skin of a healthy young girl. With her flaxen hair braided into one thick pigtail, in her neat blue school tunic-skirt combination, it was no wonder that she roused the lust of this sadistic juvenile delinquent.
He had his crony, a fifteen-year-old orphan who had joined the predatory criminal gang in order to "belong", go forward and engage Kathe in taunting conversation, enough to distract her. There was an alleyway nearby, and he came out of it, clapped his hand over her mouth, and then he and his companion dragged her behind a huge wooden trashbox, flung her down on the cobblestones, ripped up her skirt and tore off her bloomers. Then each fucked her in turn. They ran away, leaving Kathe dazed and bleeding, till a passerby heard her sobbing cries for help and came to her aid.
But the irony of fate decreed that Kathe Hellweg was again to be punished unjustly. True enough, the police questioned her as to the identity of her assailants, and true enough, she was sent to the police hospital for treatment to avoid disease and pregnancy. But when she returned home, it was four hours later, and her mother had come home from work and was frantic at her absence, and Fraulein Munsinger also angrily reproved her for her thoughtlessness.
At Minna Hellweg's order, the grieving, sobbing young girl was forced to lift up her tom skirt and petticoat, lay herself across the governess's lap, whereupon Fraulein Munsinger pulled down her bloomers and spanked her lengthily and severely with the same leather sole which had dealt Kathe's lovely young bottom such unjust suffering only a year before.
Two weeks later, Kathe ran away from home and found employment as a Kellnerin in a disreputable Bierstube in one of Berlin's many slums.
She quickly found work her employer was unscrupulous enough to accept Kathe's lie about her age because she paid the girl such a pittance for slaving from four until midnight and often well beyond that hour, and she was also a decided Lesbian. She offered the girl lodging in her own apartment, a dirty little flat near the Bierstube, and Kathe gratefully accepted. That very night, the young blonde teenager was initiated into the lascivious mysteries of Sappho. The plump widow was ecstatic over Kathe's soft pink skin and lushly ripe young body, and since she was not a violently aggressive "butch," did not subject the girl to the brutality which Kathe had known twice before at the hands of a male. Within a year, Kathe was as avid a Lesbian as could be found in all Berlin, but with this one difference: she abominated men, and she had already sworn that one day she would tyrannize them for what they had done to her as a species.
She never once communicated with her parents or her brothers. In the Tageblatt two years after she had begun her association with Frau Hertha Echtmayer, she read of the death of her father, who had been trapped under falling rubble when an old building he and his crew were razing toppled the wrong way. Six months after that, her mother died of a heart attack. But she had already obliterated them and her brothers from her thoughts. Indeed, she had held her parents responsible for the governess' treatment of her, and so they too had brutalized her and would not be forgiven.
By the time she was twenty, Kathe Hellweg had enough of Berlin and noisome Bierstube, as well as the now detestable attentions of Frau Echtmayer. That fat, flaccid body, so often unwashed and unkempt, revolted her. Not that she did not feel a certain grudging gratitude to her benefactress for having shown her that there could be pleasure without the hated male, but there was no future with her. And so one night, suffering the embraces of the aging Lesbian for the last time, she waited till Frau Echtmayer was snoring, and then methodically ransacked the flat and found a cache with about twenty thousand marks. She left the apartment with the money and with the clothes she wore on her back, walked to a cabstand, and was taken to the railway station, where she bought a ticket to Hamburg. She had heard several of the customers of the tavern talk about the wild revels to be found in the Reeperbahn. There were girls who wrestled naked in the mud, there were "animal trainers" with boots and whips who gave shows in which men wearing the simulated costumes of wild beasts, were presented to well-paying audiences. And she had particularly remembered that last comment by a bearded, scarred seaman who had come into Frau Echtmayer's place quite regularly. She could see herself in a top hat and tight fitting leather boots and gloves, in trousers, holding a long whip, flogging a lion whose skin really covered the body of a male who would grovel at her feet and be her slave.
Kathe saw herself torturing various men. In one image she saw herself attacking a man, who was tightly bound. She burned his flesh with a contraption used in wood-burning. Kathe was a particularly sadistic girl, and the thoughts of the man's burning flesh pleased her.
In another mental picture she saw herself and another girl beating up two men. And each thought, each picture in her mind satisfied her sadistic bent.
CHAPTER SEVEN
As soon as Kathe Hellweg got to Hamburg, she went directly to the notorious Reeperbahn to line up a job for herself. First, she walked up and down in the evening looking up at neon signs and figuring out what sort of payment was being offered and then what she could do that would be special. Of course, she saw the famous cafe where naked girls wrestled in the mud, and she decided to take it in her second night. They didn't want to serve an unescorted young woman, but she gave the waiter a twenty-mark tip and told him that when the performance was over, she wanted to see the manager. He gave her a good table right up against the rail which separated the three big mudpits in which three couples were paired, gave her a curious look, and then forgot about her. Kathe watched. The six girls wore bathing suits to start with. But once the action started getting hectic, the suits began to be ripped off, and soon all six naked women were twisting and wrestling and scratching and hair pulling, cursing and begging for mercy, amid uproarious applause. Then they had the semi-finals, in which the three winners had to meet three more contestants. Two of the first three won. The other winner was defeated. Then the two top winners entered the middle pit and started to wrestle. The winner was a tall horsefaced brunette of about twenty-seven, who kneed her rival in the crotch and knelt down on her big plump titties and started to cover her eyes and mouth with mud until the latter surrendered. It wasn't exactly a fair competition, and the winner herself hadn't met one of the other winners. But the crowd loved it.
But Kathe rose from her table and called out, "I challenge the winner, she's a dirty coward and doesn't fight fair!"
There was a stunned silence for a moment, and then uproarious laughter and cheering. Half the audience was egging Kathe on, the others wanted her thrown out for being alone and daring to break up their fun. Some of the men had already sent notes seeking assignations with three of the girls who had wrestled in the pits. Any girl was free to do this if she wished to accept a customer after hours, so long as she stayed in the quarter and didn't bring the police down on her head and involve the cabaret.
The manager himself appeared, a fat, mustachioed man of fifty, who looked Kathe up and down with a professional eye and then asked her if she really meant what she said. "Naturlich! I always mean what I say," she snapped.
"Well, it's a little irregular, Fraulein. But the customers seem to be on your side, so I tell you what. If you can beat Ema there, I'll see that you get a hundred marks." This was worth roughly twenty-five dollars, and Kathe sneered: "I could peddle my kootzele for ten minutes and get that much. You're not offering me any bargain. I'm new and fresh and I've got a nice figure, and I'll take off all my clothes now and go right in naked and beat that bitch. I want five hundred marks. And if I win, I'll want a job here. I've got something in mind that might help your business."
"Well, you certainly know how to talk for yourself, I'll give you that. What's your name, anyway?"
"Kathe Hellweg. What's yours?" she impudently countered.
"Fritz Harschstein. All right. You'll get your five hundred marks if you win. If you don't, I'll have Ema give you a good sound thrashing just like a baby there over her lap and with her hand on the naked arsch, that will teach you to mind your manners and not to come in here alone the next time," he chuckled.
"Danke, mein Herr," Kathe Hellweg smiled and blew him a kiss. Then she set to work undressing, and in a few moments was stark naked. Once again there was a silence, but this was out of lustful admiration. At twenty, she had a magnificent body. Her titties were full and round and firm, closely spaced, and her bottom was solid and compact, though plumply rounded and enticing. The hard work she had put in at that Berlin slim cafe had paid off in giving her sturdy muscles in the arms and legs and shoulders. Nonetheless, beside the slightly taller brunette, smeared with mud and her hair rumpled, naked young Kathe looked frail indeed.
"Come on, bitch, I'm going to tear your bubbies off and spank your arsch with them," Ema sneered.
Kathe neatly vaulted over the rail amid whistles of applause and obscene encouragements from the eager spectators. She seized Ema by the wrist and tugged her, then stepped to one side, and the taller brunette went sprawling into the middle mudpit. With a shriek of fury, she got to her knees and reached for her younger opponent, but Kathe had already bent down to apply the flat of her hand solidly across Ema's nose and mouth. In wrestling, one was not supposed to strike with the fists, only with the open hand; this gesture indicated to the spectators that this tyro whose courage they had already applauded knew the rules.
Knowing that her opponent was much wirier and more experienced, Kathe had determined to make a dramatic debut by simply infuriating Ema to the point of making a fatal error. She had planned extraordinarily well. Cursing vilely, the brunette got to her feet again and tackled Kathe, who let herself fall back and at the same time brought up her knee with all her strength into the pit of Ema's stomach. With a shriek, the brunette rolled off and onto her side, clutching at her belly. It was a simple matter to twist her over onto her face, sit astride her shoulders facing her bottom, and, with both hands, to spank her soundly until she at last screamed for mercy. The spectators were flinging coins at Kathe as she calmly extricated herself from the mud without bothering to help her opponent up, and went back to her table.
An elderly white-haired man wearing an alpaca coat, who had been sitting at the table to her right, got up and took off his coat and put it around her. "My congratulations, Fraulein," he said huskily. "Will you allow a regular patron of this fine establishment to congratulate you and to praise you on your superb victory?"
Kathe gave him a quick look. She could see the glint of lust in his eyes, and it sickened her. She had no intention of prostituting herself. She had come to Hamburg to be a queen, to reign over men rather than have them rule here with their brutality and lust. "You may, and thanks for the coat. Maybe you can claim it back some day when I'm tired of it," she said in a voice loud enough for all to hear.
At this man's table, an insolent-featured young honey-haired woman was sitting, and she was furious at Kathe's distraction of her man, whose mistress she was: "Heinrich, get away from that dirty little bitch," she hissed. "You're with me, remember? Just because she's naked in the mud, don't tell me you want her, the filth! She'll give you a disease for certain!"
"I hate to be ungrateful, Her Heinrich," Kathe Hellweg interposed, having heard this disparaging remark, "but I don't allow anyone to call me what your little friend there just did. I'd like a chance to avenge my honor."
"What do you know about honor, dime?" the honey-haired young woman jeered, sticking out her tongue at Kathe.
"Not here," the man whispered. "Look, after the show, why don't you join my little friend and me? I've a nice apartment in the Kaiserplatz, and perhaps we'll have a private match there between the two of you. I'll put up the stakes."
"You mean that?"
"Of course."
"Heinrich, no, I absolutely refuse to let you bring that trash to our apartment," the young woman angrily exclaimed. But this time, the white-haired man turned to her and slapped her viciously across the face. "Our apartment?" he echoed. "Aren't you forgetting, Irina, that you are there on my indulgence? Now keep your mouth shut and let us watch the rest of the show and then we'll all go back to my place and have a drink and talk it over, hein?" Those who heard this little verbal duel loudly urged the new star of the Reeperbahn to settle the match then and there in the mudpit. But Kathe held up her hands, bowed her head, then shook it, and called out, "Tomorrow night, vielleicht, mein Herr!"
Now another act came on the stage. This act consisted of a blonde wench dressed in long black hose and a rubber jerkin. She was preceded into the lighted area by a man who was bare to the waist. He was a well built man and gave the effect of looking like a gladiator.
The blonde came into the area brandishing a whip. The man lunged at her, but before he could strike she whipped him across the chest. He howled with pain, and lunged at her again. The blonde brought him to his knees by whipping him across the back.
The audience loved the spectacle of the man being whipped. After the blonde wench had beaten him into submission she forced him to lap up her cunt. There was another act in which two lesbians were in a cage. One brutally butt-fucked the other with a spiked dildo. Kathe had watched that with a particular enthusiasm.
After that act, an obscene travesty of a naked girl being made love to by a swan, to paraphrase the myth of Jupiter and Leda, in which a man wore a swan's costume and actually copulated with the tall languid young red-haired girl who played Leda, Heinrich Schussel and his mistress Irina and Kathe Hellweg left the cabaret and found a black limousine with liveried chauffeur awaiting them. Before she had left, however, Kathe had gone to the office of Fritz Harschstein to promise that she would return the next night when she would collect her reward of five hundred marks ($125). This done, she entered the limousine and accepted a cigarette which the white-haired man offered her out of his silver case. It was obvious that he was quite wealthy, and her scheming mind at once began to plan how she could supplant the honey-haired Irina and yet at the same time follow her quest to rule over men and not become their sexual slave.
His apartment was vast, fully twelve rooms, in a building which apparently had been spared from the bombing of Hamburg by some miracle. It was lavishly decorated, and there was a library in which, behind glass doors, Kathe could see beautifully bound first editions, as well as some of the rarest pornography.
Heinrich Schussel had come out of the war well, had been cleared of his Nazi affiliations and promptly gone into the leather business, reclaiming his father's factory which the Nazis had seized for their wartime needs. He had actually managed to get to the Swiss frontier when Hitler's goosestepping legions had invaded Poland and stayed there throughout the war until the madman of Munich died by his own hand in a Berlin bunker at the time the Russians, the English, the French and the American troops were pouring into the conquered city to crush the hated swastika into the muck and the cobblestones.
He had taken a liking to this strange girl who had come out of nowhere into the most notorious cafe of the Reeperbahn and won its critical and rough audience over with her bravado. His mistress was twenty-six, and she had been with him two years. Heinrich Schussel was impotent, and he could have enjoyment only by having Irina fellate him or put her tongue to his anus after he had taken her across his lap and thrashed her. She suffered this, because he was lavish with money and clothes and jewels. Secretly, she abominated him, but wealthy protectors like Heinrich Schussel weren't to be found everyday in Hamburg.
He led the way to his recreation room, in which billiard and ping pong tables were set up. "Now then, girls," he announced, "you can settle your grievances. Do you want to wrestle or just fight or what?"
"You have two whips?" Kathe demanded.
"Why yes, I think I do. Ah, a whip duel! You've good imagination, Kathe. How about you, Irina? Think you can take Kathe on at the end of a whip?"
"I'll tear that coat off her filthy back," Irina hissed. For Kathe Hellweg was still naked in the alpaca coat the white-haired man had lent her. She now shrugged, removed the coat and let it fall to the floor and stood naked: "You can try it on my bare skin, bitch," she jeered.
Heinrich Schussel chuckled. He was already beginning to feel a mild excitement, for a diversion like this was something he hadn't enjoyed in a long time. He was also beginning to think that perhaps Kathe could replace Irina. He was getting rather tired of Irina's whining and constant complaints and always her demands for more clothes and money. What did she do for him, anyway, the greedy little bitch? He could buy a whore for a few marks every night to lick his schwanz and give him just as much pleasure, if he only wanted to take the trouble.
"There's your answer, Irina," he chuckled as he walked over to the teakwood secretary, stooped and pulled open a lower drawer and took out two carriage whips. They had solid stock handles, and things about four feet long, tapering and finely wrought. He had found them in a leather shop on the west side of Hamburg about a year ago, bought them for a song, but hadn't yet contrived a way to use them. Now it seemed to him especially fortuitous that he had made that impulsive purchase.
Not to be outdone, Irina defiantly stripped naked, except for her highheeled pumps. She had lovely skin, her titties were small but beautifully rounded, with long sleek legs and a boyishly compact behind. She brandished her whip and hissed at Kathe, "I'm going to flay you alive, you whore, and then you can go right out into the street and peddle your arsch to get some clothes to keep you warm tonight."
"Wait a bit, Irina. We have to think about the stakes," Heinrich Schussel interposed with a chuckle as he lit a fine Havana panatela. "What do you think would be fair, Kathe girl?"
The flaxen-haired dominatress eyed Irina, her lips curling in contempt. "If I win," she pronounced, "I want her out of here, just the way she is, in the street. If I lose, I'll go. That's all the stakes I want, Herr Schussel."
"Well, I don't think that's too demanding. All right with you, Irina?" he turned to his mistress.
For answer, Irina swung back the whip and then darted it forward to curl it around Kathe's pink-sheened supple waist. With an angry cry, Kathe swept her own whip forward, heedless of the burning pain that had wrapped around her, and her blow, even more accurate, sent the whip across the top of one panting tittie and down Irina's slim back. With a cry of rage, the older beauty tugged away her whip, stepped back and cast it out once more.
CHAPTER EIGHT
But already Kathe had flung herself forward and, seizing Irina by the hair, flung her to the ground. Then, retrieving her whip, she stepped back, measured her distance, and shot it out, flicking her wrist at the last moment. The tip of the carriage whip darted right into Irina's cunthole; a wild, poignant scream of agony was tom from the honey-haired victim, and she clamped her hand over her pussy and tried to struggle to her feet. Lash upon lash Kathe rained down upon her till at last she lay sobbing, defeated, sprawled on her belly on the velvet rug.
"Give up, bitch? Or do you want some more?" Kathe purred, eyeing the white-haired man with interest. His eyes were glistening, and he had a hand at the crotch of his elegantly cut trousers, for he had begun to feel lust for the first time in many a month. An honest erection, and this sweet creature whom he had met just by chance had done it for him, without any gift except the loan of the coat! He nodded his head, and Kathe went on: "All right then, Irina, kiss my feet. Get on your knees and kiss them, I tell you. Do it, or I'll take the skin off your back as well as your butzen!"
The sobbing honey-haired young woman slowly got to her knees, and bowing her head, endured the ignominious degradation to the bitter end.
"I won't be quite so harsh on you as you would have been on me, you slut," Kathe sneered when it was done. "You can take a dress and a coat and what jewelry he's given you. Then get out. Don't ever show your dirty face round here again. You can't even fight fair to hold your man."
"She's got you there, Irina. I'm sorry, but she's won the bet. No hard feelings, I trust. You shouldn't have any trouble finding another protector," he smiled and puffed at his cigar.
Irina sobbingly got to her feet, hurried out of the room and returned a few moments later fully clothed and with a little case of jewelry which she tucked into her large purse. Then, her face contorted with rage and shame, she burst out. "You're welcome to him, you little whore! If you're looking for a man who can really fuck you, you've come to the wrong place. Heinrich doesn't go for that. He has to be licked and sucked, as if he were a baby--"
"That's enough, you drek! Get out of here!" he thundered.
"Don't forget what I told you, Kathe," was Irina's parting shot. She slammed the door and disappeared.
Heinrich Schussel turned to Kathe, who stood gloriously naked, only that burning and darkened whipmark making a circle round her supple waist. "You were magnificent! And you've taken her place."
"So I have, Heinrich. And now you're going to obey me. Get down on your knees and kiss my feet, too," Kathe smiled cruelly at him. She lifted the whip and his eyes widened. "I mean it! On your knees!"
And then, as he still hesitated, incredulous, she sent it out expertly, wrapping it around his chest. With a cry, he tried to brush it away, but already she had retrieved it and sent it snapping out again to curl round his thighs with a wicked crack. A few more lashes, and the white-haired man, sobbing and groaning, had sunk down on his knees and bowed his head to kiss her feet.
Kathe Hellweg had at last achieved her destiny.
Her bold, even if improvised, emprise, of wealthy Herr Schussel had drawn him to exemplary vigor, and even though he had never before humbled himself before any female, under the whip and the scathing, contemptuous commands she gave him, he achieved orgasm. At the conclusion of that ceremonial of conquest, Kathe Hellweg had commanded him to gamahuch her, and it was then that, shuddering with a newly found rapture, the white-haired man received his own fulfillment.
But she was not content to remain his titular mistress and bask in the wealth which came with the position she had usurped from Irina. The very next night, she went back to the cabaret in the Reeperbahn and promptly closeted herself with Herr Fritz Harschstein. She wouldn't, she informed him, demean herself by wrestling in the mud again. She had a much more exciting act to propose to him: she would be a harem queen, ruling over her own little court of slaves and eunuchs, and even wild animals. There would be men to do--leopard and tiger skins to play the role of beasts, while Negroes and vigorously built young men would be her retinue. She, clothed in only boots and gloves and a sequined G-string and her whip, would tame the entire court of this seraglio.
It was bawdy and colorful enough to appeal I to the profiteering instincts of the cabaret owner, and he allowed her to have a week's trial. From the very first night, her act was a great success. The audience went wild when they saw her send her carriage whip over a realistic tiger, heard the cries of the man inside the skin and watched the "tiger" prostrate himself at Kathe's feet and lick her boots and then gamahuch her. The Negro slave, his muscles bulging under his ebony skin, clad in flesh-colored tights and sandals, was whipped into submission till he knelt behind her, opened the cheeks of her bottom and furled his tongue slavishly over her anus.
One night she had a man enter the ring with nothing on his body but a saddle which was fastened to his back. The man sauntered into the ring on all fours. Kathe hopped on his back and then using her black high-heeled boots kicked him on the sides. He bucked and moaned as she rode him about.
One of her girls came on to the stage and hopped on to her back and the two women rode the man like a horse. When the man fell to the floor in a state of exhaustion Kathe had him gamahuch the black-haired girl.
After that one of her men came out and whipped another girl for the pleasure of the men in the audience.
And when the performance was over, she went back to that luxurious apartment on the west side of Hamburg and continued to dominate her new patron.
The delighted cabaret owner saw to it that his newest star was amply publicized. Brochures and leaflets, bearing her picture and describing her titillating act, were circulated throughout Hamburg, and he took large display advertisements in the Hamburg papers to call the attention of the public to her dynamic and domineering beauty. Kathe Hellweg basked in this newly acquired fame. She would watch the other women strip naked and degrading themselves before all of those schweinhunde by wrestling in the mud for a few marks, and then she would come out of the wing onto the stage beyond the pits as the curtain rose to show the furnishings of a vast harem chamber, with tapestries and filmy veils and huge brass lamps and jars out of a kind of artificial Arabian Nights. And she would hold the audience spellbound as she wielded her whip and men and beast alike groveled before her to lick her boots, her cunt, her asshole, and even once, as a newly improvised nuance, lying upon the wide couch with its many brocaded cushions, flicking her whip into the air as a man wearing a lion's skin crouched on one side of her to suck a tittie and a man in a tiger skin the other.
Meanwhile, her domination over Heinrich Schussel progressed, and she began to subject him to even more rigorous "training sessions." She had him strip naked before her, tied him by the wrists to the bedpost, and whipped him with birchrod or the sole of her pump, and as a concession to his generosity to her, she would use a gloved hand to masturbate him to his climax. Three months later, he had a fatal heart attack induced by the excitement of her perverse subjugation. Since he had no living relatives, and Kathe had also persuaded him to make out his will in favor of her, she became wealthy overnight, beyond her wildest dreams. The apartment, the magnificent furnishings, many thousands of marks, jewelry, furs and clothes, were all hers now. She did not need the cabaret in the Reeperbahn, not financially, but only for the pleasure of her aggrandized, thoroughly depraved psyche.
And so she went on performing night after night, to the delight of Fritz Harschstein whose coffers were filled as they had never been before. And then the reckoning came about two months later.
It was a sticky July night when Kathe Hellweg walked out of the cabaret, wearing an ermine coat, disdainfully inclining her head to handsomely dressed men who stood outside in the vain hope that she might accompany them to a cafe for a little refreshment. Well she knew what they wanted of her, but she would not go with any man unless he faithfully vowed to be her humble slave as Heinrich Schussel had been. But this time a car was waiting at the curb, and a burly negro in chauffeur's uniform accosted her: "It is for you, Fraulein," he said in his guttural voice.
"For me? No one is calling for me tonight," she elegantly replied.
"Your pardon, Fraulein, but my mistress wishes to see you. She will pay you ten thousand marks if you will let me drive you to her home. She has a disobedient husband whom she would love to see you discipline under your whip and boots. If she likes the way you handle him, she will pay you even more to do it again for her."
Kathe's eyes brightened with a cruel glow of sadistic desire. Even if it were not profitable, she would have accepted this offer, for it fulfilled the norm of her debauched yearnings. To beat some rich aristocratic bastard within an inch of his life and under his own wife's eyes, that was the zenith of degradation. She nodded: "Very well, I'll go with you."
The Negro got behind the wheel, the car drove off, and the men at the curb sighed enviously. What they would not have given to have had a rendezvous with this flaxen-haired dominatress tonight!
The car turned again and again, and the journey seemed overly long, till at last Kathe Hellweg peered out of the window at the darkened streets. They were in the worst quarter of Hamburg, near the wharf. "Hey, you there, Schwartze," she leaned forward and called out irritatedly, "where is this fancy house of yours?"
"Soon, Fraulein, we'll be there," the Negro retorted.
And finally the car stopped in front of a deserted pier, at which was docked an old freighter. The chauffeur got out, opened the door and announced, "We are here, Fraulein Hellweg."
Kathe Hellweg got out of the car, and then stamped her foot and snarled, "What sort of stupid trick is this, you dirty nigger? You call this a house? I don't know who your master or mistress is, but I'll have a word with them about this, wasting my time this way!"
"You shall have all the words you wish, Fraulein," the Negro chuckled. And then he seized the startled, flaxen-haired dominatress, one hand gripping the scruff of her neck in a nerve-paralyzing hold while his other hand forced a chloroform-soaked cloth over her mouth and nostrils.
When she came to, she found herself in an untidy cabin on the freighter, which had already put out to sea. And when the mists cleared from her eyes, she saw the loafing face of Frau Herta Echtmayer. "Guten Morgen, Kathe," the proprietress of the Berlin-slum Bierstube greeted her. "It's been a long time, hasn't it? You've done very well for yourself, I've been reading. One of my customers brought a leaflet into me a few weeks ago, with a picture of you, telling all about your act. Oh it's good, no doubt about it, but it's not as good as the act you pulled on me, you dirty little conniving bitch!"
Pale with terror, Kathe babbled, "It--it was just a loan, Frau Echtmayer! I-I was going to pay you back, yes, and with interest, too!"
"That you'll do for certain, you slut. But I don't want your money. Nobody robs Frau Echtmayer and lives to boast about it, least of all a guttersnipe I took in out of charity," the fat old Lesbian snarled. "Sam, come in here and get this bitch ready for her last act."
The burly Negro, naked now in his shorts and sandals, entered the cabin, and Kathe Hellweg uttered a cry of revulsion. From his unbuttoned shorts there protruded a massive ebony prick, the lips puckering venomously. And behind him there were two sailors, the dregs of the Hamburg wharfs, one with one side of his face hideously scarred from fire, the other with a black patch over one eye and hobbling on a wooden leg.
Frau Hertha Echtmayer turned to this trio and mockingly announced, "She's all yours, meine Freunde! I don't really care to watch such things, so I'll go have some schnapps and smoke a cigarette and think of old times when she was a good little girl and minded her manners. Auf wiedersehen, suesse Kathe."
"No, Frau Echtmayer, you can't leave me here--oh my God, hilfe mich! I'll pay you anything, anything!"
But her despairing plea was ignored as Frau Echtmayer went out and bolted the cabin door behind her.
She turned now to the three men, for the two sailors had begun to take off their clothes and she saw their disease-blemished naked bodies and a sickening revulsion seized her: "Oh no! I'm very rich, I'll tell you who I am and I can prove it. Why, the ermine coat I was wearing when I got into the car with Sam her proves it, doesn't it? You can pawn it for many thousands of marks, yes you can! And if you'll take me back to my apartment, I'll give you twenty thousand marks each, I mean it!"
But the Negro chuckled and shook his head. "We know where you live and where you have stashed away everything, you bitch. When this little business is over, Frau Echtmayer and we will go back there and take back her loan with the interest you offered. Tie her down there, Benjy and Ludwig!"
Despite her frenzied shrieks and her attempts to defend herself, Kathe Hellweg was soon stripped naked and spread-eagled on the bunk. Then the Negro fell upon her and fucked her, squeezing her titties and bottom till she howled in agony. And the man with wooden leg and the one eye, his flesh covered with the sores of syphilis, ravished her, and then his companion. She vomited in her abhorrence and her pain, and after they had cleaned her up, they untied her only to turn her onto her face and spread-eagled her once again. This time she was whipped and to the blood. And then all three men buggered her.
Two days later, after they had had their fill of her, they bound her hand and foot and gagged her, tied a heavy weight about her neck and dropped her over the side of the old freighter. She had come to the end of the road of her destiny at last.
CHAPTER NINE - ILONKA, SUBJUGATRESS OF BUDAPEST
Ilonka Varsavary may be likened to that bloodthirsty compatriot of hers, the Countess Elizabeth Bathory, whose mania for blood (which she used in her bath to preserve her remarkably ivory-white skin, so legend has it) led her to have countless young girls abducted and brought to her castle for torture under the lash and flaying alive, till an imperial court condemned her to be immured alive between the walls of her own chambers. For this auburn-haired, creamy-skinned young woman, even though living in our contemporary time and under Communist aegis, managed to very nearly rival her in cruelty to both sexes, and perished by legal execution like her historical counterpart.
Ilonka's father was a wealthy industrialist who, after his estates and factory had been restored from Nazi seizure when Hitler's regime ended, was enough of a realist to compromise with the Red commissars who took possession of Budapest as a kind of "benevolent protectorate." By collaborating with the Communists and by bribing some of the more corruptible top authorities, Louis Varsavary managed quite adroitly to retain a good part of his personal fortune and to obtain concessions from the Communists which allowed his business to prosper.
Ilonka, an only child, had been a puny baby at birth--very nearly costing her mother's life--and since she was to be their only heir, Louis and Luise Varsavary surrounded her with every luxury. A governess, private school, even trips abroad (with the approval of the authorities) to broaden her mind and educate her for the day when she would assume the wealthy estate and fortune to be left her.
Still fragile and reticent at twelve, she nonetheless showed some of the fateful characteristics which were to traumatize her personality and turn her into the indomitable and pitiless subjugatress who wielded the lash over men and women, young girls and boys, till at last her mania drew her to put her victims to death under the lash.
Ilonka had exquisite cameo-like features, and her glossy auburn hair fell past her shoulder blades. Her ethereal smile and innocent sky-blue eyes suggested the most docile and gentle of children, but Ludmilla Szarthmary would have been the first to deny this seeming placidity. Ludmilla, a mischievous and mercurial black-haired girl of thirteen, was Ilonka's roommate in the private school managed by supercilious Madame Fereczy on Golgitha Square in the ancient section of Peste (for Budapest is in reality two cities connected by a broad river).
One April weekend, when the matron supervising the girls on the third floor of the old school building was taking a much-needed nap (she had been kept up half the night by a mouse which that naughty blonde imp, Francesca Erdelyi, had smuggled into the school and let loose in her room, and Francesca was to receive the birch from Madame Fereczy herself on Monday morning before the assembled pupils), Ilonka picked a quarrel with her older roommate whom she accused of borrowing a pair of her own silk stockings without permission. Ludmilla indignantly denied the charge, but Ilonka would not be mollified. "I'll teach you, you nasty sneak!" she cried, and dragged Ludmilla over to the bed, forced her down upon it, lofted the girl's skirt and petticoat, and began to spank the brunette teenager's saucy bottom. Ludmilla kicked and struggled in vain, finding to her surprise that the supposedly fragile Ilonka was incredibly strong. And when her hand began to sting, Ilonka substituted her roommate's shoe, smacking the wailing brunette's jouncy buttocks with the thick leather sole.
At last, overcome by pain and shame, Ludmilla implored pardon. Ilonka thereupon released her. "Get down on your knees and beg my pardon then, and promise never to steal from me again, or next time I'll borrow Madama Fereczy's birch and turn your big bottom into bleeding rumpsteak!"
And this was the first overt sign that auburn-haired Ilonka Varsavary was to become a dominatress who could not enjoy life without tasting the suffering of those who came under her sway.
Three years later, then fifteen, Ilonka was permitted by the aging Madame Fereczy to wield the birch herself as punishment meted out to a new roommate whom Ilonka had tearfully accused of attempting to seduce her in Lesbian manner. The truth was that the vindictive and cruel auburn-haired teenager had determined to tyrannize pretty brown-haired Magda Szethy, who had replaced Ludmilla the previous semester. Indeed, Ilonka's precocious sensuality had led her to experiment with Sapphic pleasures, but Magda, a country girl and ingenuous, had indignantly refused to be party to such wickedness.
By now, her father's contributions to the school had made the pampered auburn-haired teenager a pupil fawned upon by instructresses, matrons and the almost senile owner herself, and Ilonka well knew this. Thus she schemed to humble and subjugate Magda, and it was easily done. She crept into Magda's bed, began to kiss and fondle the buxom young brunette. Naturally Magda protested and tried to repulse the scheming girl, who at once began to cry out, "Matron, matron! Help me, Magda's trying to make love to me!"
And when the matron on that floor hastened into the room, she found Ilonka sobbing as if her heart would break and Magda, naked, crimson-faced and aghast at this treachery. The next morning, despite Magda's plaintive denials that she had done nothing and that, indeed, her roommate had falsely accused her by staging a seduction scene herself, Madame Fereczy sternly lectured the brunette on her wickedness and then declared, "So as not to disgrace the reputation of my school, I shall let your intended victim chastise you as you deserve, Magda Szethy!"
Two matrons then entered and, at Madame Fereczy's order, forced the protesting, pleading and weeping brunette to bend across a desk; her skirt and petticoat were lofted, her panties descended, and Ilonka, smirking with self-importance, was handed a flexible birch rod. "Now then, my poor darling," the white-haired school owner soothingly declared, "punish this sinful creature as she deserves. Whip her till she begs your pardon for her indecency and then humbly requests pardon of me and the school I have given so many years of my life to uphold!"
Ilonka grasped the birch firmly, her face coloring and her eyes sparkling with sadistic, gloating joy. Across Magda's jutting, round milky-sheened bare bottomcheeks, she plied the rod with pitiless vigor, till, indeed, Madame Fereczy had to counsel her not to strike so quickly. After twenty strokes, blood appeared on the shrieking teenager's posterior, and the punishment was terminated. Hysterically, Magda then had to beg pardon of her treacherous roommate and then of the deceived old woman who had been taken in by Ilonka Varsavary's vicious ruse.
Thus for the first time, this precociously imaginative and amoral young girl discovered the fatal lure of the lash, drinking in her victim's cries and sobs and entreaties, feasting her eyes on the sight of Magda's white flesh writhing and reddening till at last blood pearled on the shuddering globes of her thrashed behind. She imagined a girl hung upside down while she beat her. The girl was nearly unconscious and Ilonka reveled in her reverie.
When she was seventeen, Ilonka's father died, and a year later, her mother followed him to the grave. Her father's dearest friend, Lajos Barsunyi, a highly respected banker, became her executor. A widower of fifty-five, he advised her to secure her legacy by continuing the same cooperation with the high-ranking Communists that her father had demonstrated, and Ilonka readily agreed. But she went even beyond that in deciding to marry Geza Fortinyos, a native of Budapest who had in his youth espoused the Red doctrine and who had been rewarded for his political sagacity with the post of Minister of Education.
Fortinyos was fifty, virile and coarse, a man of the people, though his own countrymen despised him for his collaboration with Moscow. He was susceptible to Ilonka's charms, for by now the fragile girl had become a sultry beauty, well educated and sophisticated, and already sexually perverse. She had gratified her curiosity for Lesbian adventures with two young maids in her father's house; now that she was mistress of the abode, she ruled with a tyrannical hand--and the whip as well. Both girls, the one sixteen, the other eighteen, had blushingly refused to share her bed, whereupon she had summoned Pal Portisch, her major-domo, a blond, stocky man of forty whom she herself had hired after watching him perform as a lion tamer in a small circus and who was as amoral and cruel as herself. The major-domo swiftly tied each maid's wrists to hooks set in the cellar wall, stripped them naked, and then watched as his young mistress applied a leather whip on their naked bottoms and thighs till they both shriekingly agreed to do whatever she wished.
After she had forced both of them to gamahuch her and perform acts of tribadism with her, the heartless Ilonka Varsavary called in her brutal major-domo and told him he might fuck both girls and do so as often as he wished. Indeed, she watched with wild excitement as he ravished each weeping girl. And the next night, eager to explore for herself the age-old pleasures between man and maid, she called him to her bed and yielded her maidenhead to him.
Through the intervention of Lajos Barsunyi, she arranged an introduction between herself and Minister Fortinyos, and outrageously flirted with him till the Communist official was thoroughly infatuated. Certain of her sensual powers, she very nearly let him make love to her, then disengaged herself and breathlessly murmured, "Darling, you're so strong and forceful, but I mustn't. I--I'm a virgin, and I can only give myself to the man I marry."
Six months later, the doting commissar wed Ilonka Varsavary, and on their honeymoon took her to Paris. A consummate actress, she was able to convince him that her loss of hymen had been through horseback riding and gym exercises at school, and in her feignedly timid yielding in bed when he fucked her, gave further credibility to that deception. He was ecstatically convinced that he was the luckiest of all men in Budapest, married to a seductively beautiful nineteen-year-old girl of wealth and the same political convictions--for Ilonka had studied the Red literature and with her quick mind, become quite fluently able to discourse on the tenets of Lenin and Marx.
But in Paris, she spent two afternoons away from her fatuous husband, visiting bordellos where she paid a high price to whip a mature prostitute that first afternoon, and a strong, virile Negro male of thirty the next (permitting her victim to gamahuch and then fuck her after she had drawn blood from his back and buttocks with a carriage whip, which she purchased from the madam of the establishment).
When Fortinyos and his young bride returned to Budapest, Ilonka persuaded him that their conjugal bliss would be even more delicious if he would allow her to spice then- amorous interludes with the whip. Donning the boots and gloves and one-piece corselet of the dominatress, she had him strip naked and crawl before her. Gently, she flicked him with the carriage whip, playfully making him kiss her boots and gloves and then her lovely body after he had removed the corselet--his reward for bowing to her caprice.
Then the impassioned Ilonka seized with lust struck her husband across the face. He fell to the floor, and she sat on top of him and spanked his flabby ass with her hands. She brought her hand down on his ass as fast as she could making him feel the full impact of the swatting.
Intoxicated by finding that his young bride had become even more desirable in acquiring voluptuous techniques to heighten his lust for her, Geza Fortinyos gamahuched and then fucked her, and by her frenzied climax Ilonka let him infer that it was his virility and amorous skill that had procured such bliss for her.
She thus duped her middle-aged, adoring husband into letting her essay her true sadistic skills with the lash by moving into her regal house and persuading him that her young maids needed discipline. Also, like a true woman of the world, she intimated that after all, there was no harm done if he should at times care to amuse himself with these lowly peasant girls; was he not a high-ranking commissar whose word was law? Thus she initiated him in the pleasures of inflicting pain, and soon the bemused Communist leader joined her in the cellar of that great house to watch her tie and strip this or that whimpering teenaged maid and ready the girl for his lash. Then, after he had flogged the victim into hysterical submission, before his own wife's eyes he fucked or buggered her, applauded by the ruthless Ilonka, who often, after he had fallen asleep after a night of wild debauchery, crept to the bedroom of her major-domo and gave herself to him with even more amoral passion.
When her husband was summoned to Moscow for a "refresher course" in administering the Communist policy to the people of Budapest, Ilonka gave herself up to even more vicious and cruel pleasures. Pal Portisch, bribed with money and the pleasure of her svelte, alluring body in his bed, drove in the dead of night into the slums of the city and forcibly abducted an attractive female who should be the guinea pig for his mistress' depraved lusts. Once it was a blonde waitress, another night a young divorcee who had to work in a wineshop to earn food for her child. When the women would not come willingly, Portisch either beat them unconscious with his fists or chloroformed them.
The blonde waitress, stripped naked and gagged and blindfolded, was tied over a sawhorse in the cellar and whipped to the blood. Ilonka then had her lover bugger the unfortunate girl, then tie her on the apparatus so that her loins and breasts were presented for the lash which she then applied to the blood. Then Portisch fucked the half-fainting victim. Ilonka then sent him back to his room, promising to come to him late that night. Alone with her victim, she continued to whip her. Then, when she found little reaction--for the waitress had fainted again--she revived the unfortunate young woman with a lighted cigarette. Half an hour later, her victim had died of a heart attack. And then it was Portisch who aided his cruel young mistress in burying the body in the cellar. And the divorcee, strung up by the thumbs in the cellar and whipped by both Ilonka and her major-domo, also died under torture and was buried the same way.
Ilonka had become pathologically insane, and yearned for new victims. But Portisch was worried about the danger to himself and refused to take part in any more murders. Besides, Fortinyos had returned from Moscow. But by now, the auburn-haired subjugatress of Budapest lived in her own fantasy-ridden world of torture and the lash, of blood and death and lust, and ignored the dangers. After her husband had gone to bed two nights after his return, she called Portisch down to the cellar and, enticing him with her nakedness concealed only in high-heeled leather boots and shoulder-length gloves, induced him to allow himself to be tied up to taste the lash, promising she would console him as never before. She did indeed. After she had flogged him to the blood, she castrated him with a carving knife and stood, rubbing his severed penis against her cunt, as she gloated over his agony. But the noise had wakened Geza Fortinyos; when he came down to the cellar, he stood aghast, unable to speak amid this horror. And Portisch babblingly confessed to him what his wife had done, how she had murdered two innocent girls whose bodies were buried in this same cellar. When the commissar hoarsely asked Ilonka if it were true, she shrieked, "Yes, yes, bring me more girls. I want to whip them until they bleed!"
In her own mind, Ilonka had done nothing wrong. The girls had deserved the punishment she gave them. Ilonka wanted more girls to pursue her pleasures with. She wanted to fuck them all until they died of too much pleasure and too much pain.
Ilonka was told by her husband that she needed help, and she admitted that she did. She needed help in getting more victims. Fortinyos knew that he must put his wife away. He tied her to a post and then arranged for her arrest.
He loved his wife and could hardly understand what had happened to her. It was not obvious that she had been approaching such a deranged state for a long time. She was stark raving mad and there seemed to be nothing that he could do about it.
In her cell in the Erdelyos Prison, Geza talked to her. He wanted to know why she did it. Why did the pain entice her? Her answer was filled with strange allusions, but perhaps part of what she said would be helpful in trying to understand the sadistic mind.
"Why? Because it is pleasurable, but then you will surely want to know why it is pleasurable. Dear Geza, let me try to explain. There is nothing more fascinating, nothing more powerful than pain. Men, strong men, will weep like little boys when they are beaten. Girls become frenzied little creatures. There is a power there. A power that fascinates me.
"You may think that I am insane, but do you really know if I am? What I mean by that is, isn't it possible that I discovered something that no one else had seen before. I found something that no one else had seen before! I found something in the blood and the pain. I found a truth. Yes! A truth of pain and blood. We must all suffer.
"All of us must know what it is like to suffer the pain of the whip. We must undergo the awful lash and bum. Knowing all this then we can start to control the universe. Yes, we can dominate it all. Everything will be ours. Is that so insane of an idea, to want everything? What is wrong with that?
"I want to own the world. I want people to be my slaves because of the power. The power is the thing. All those people would be my slaves. Think of it. Think of the beauty of it. You think me crazy, but you should envy me.
"I have gotten what I wanted. I did a little of it, just a little. I could have done more, but you caught me. I will do more, if you will please let me out of here. I will cause more pain. Don't you see that that is my mission? I must cause pain.
"Nameless things I have seen. They sometimes crawl towards me in the night. I must fight them back. They want me, they want to hurt me, but they won't succeed. You must help me, though. You must hide me from them. They want to kill me, just because I beat people. Just because I give pain they want to destroy me. They don't understand that I do the right thing. I do what I have to do. Sometimes I don't want to hurt anybody, but I have to. Don't you understand? Don't you want to help me?
"Don't go away, listen to me. I want to tell you what I see sometimes. I see a beautiful girl. She has such fine breasts. She has large, firm breasts. Oh, they are so soft and her cunny is so soft and smooth. I love this girl, you understand? She is the loveliest creature in the world. But I can't leave her alone. I must teach her who is the master. I chain her to a wall and then I beat her with my hands. I spank her with my hands. She wiggles her ass and complains about the way my hand smacks her ass. She cries, but my hand comes down and beats her bottom.
"I don't stop. She cries, tears running down her cheeks, but I keep beating her. She is struggling madly. She wants to be free. That is the most important thing to her, to be free. I don't let that happen. I pick up a whip. It is a beautiful whip. The leather is shiny. It is brown and wonderful to feel.
"I pick it up and feel it. I love the texture of the whip. I run my fingers over it, and then I lift it, then slash! It comes down. There is a scream and then I raise the whip again, then slash! I work the whip up and down, bringing it against her ass. She screams and screams...
"I'm not finished yet. I pick up the whip and I start to beat her across the breasts. I beat her breasts and the bruises appear on her body. I can do anything with this girl. I will destroy her, but first I will have my pleasure with her. I tell her to gamahuch me.
"She is willing to do anything for me because I am her master, and she knows it. I tell her to eat me, and she is down on her knees. She eats my pussy. Her mouth presses to it and she pulls it into her mouth. She works it up and down with her tongue. It is so good. She loves to lick my pussy.
"The girl rubs her lips and mouth on my cunt. I am glazed with passion and I want her to eat me faster. Now I beat her with the whip, until her back is covered with cuts and blood is running down her back. Each time I have beaten her, she had sucked me faster.
"She is desperate now and she is eating me as fast as she can. She rubs her mouth up and down on my cunt. She wants me to stop beating. I run my hands down her back and I feel the soft, oozing slime of her blood. I rubbed my hands into it, and then I smear the blood on my breasts. I put the blood on my nipples.
"I rub the blood into my cunt as the girl eats me out. She must rub her tongue into her own blood. She pushes her tongue into me. I am wild with lust. The pleasure builds in my body and I want to come. I want to explode into a million different pieces. I can feel it all coming! I am rushed forward. I liked what is happening to my body and I am coming. Everything is so sweet, so powerful. My body is writhing and I feel the spasms controlling my body. I breathe heavily and then everything seems to stop.
"I am then satisfied with her pleasure that she has given me. I must beat her some more. I tear at her, my nails cutting deep into her flesh. I drag my nails over her body, until her flesh is tom open. She screams, and my ears listen to the sounds as if they were music. I kiss her on the mouth. She gurgles and then screams again.
"Her mind has snapped, but all minds must break when they endure the beauty of pain. It is too much for a human mind to take. There is nothing that can equal pain. Pain is the power of the universe. It is the divinity which guides all of us. We must use it to our benefit. If we are hurt, then we must deal with the hurt. We must use it.
"There is always revenge. That means more pain and that means more pain and more. You see, it is like a snowball rushing down a hill. It is rolling, you see, and it gathers more snow on it, which makes it bigger. It is so big that it will crush a town.
"Pain is like that. Pain is so big that when someone feels it they want to give it to someone else, and the person to someone else. The pain grows. That's what I know. I know that pain means more pain. Yes, there are so many things to explain. I have to show you how to use the whip.
"I was telling you about the girl that I dream about sometimes. She is a beautiful girl, and I can kill her over and over. She begs me to do it. She whines and whimpers. What can I do? I am an understanding person and so I pick up an ax and bring it down. I cut off her fingers one by one. She screams in pain, but I don't care. The screams sound so good.
"Cutting off her arm, I discard it. I throw it away. All that blood. It pools on the floor. It is a river of blood rushing forth. I touch it, and my fingers become sticky with it. I smear it all over my body. It feels so good. I love to have the blood all over my skin. I rub it into my cunt.
"I cut off her other arm. There is much screaming, and then I fuck her with the ax handle. I stick it into her cunt and I work it in and out. I hammer the thing into her body, and she screams and screams. Then I cut her body in two. I slice the corpse into thousands of pieces. I feed the rats.
"The girl comes back. It is only a dream. Nothing real. I wish I could have a girl that way. I only killed two women. They knew pain, but nothing like the girl in my dream. I cut off her arm. I did.
"Pain is something so powerful. I felt pain. I know what it is like. I have suffered terrible things. I know. I wouldn't give pain unless I did know what it feels like. I must spread the message. Pain is good. There is pleasure in it.
"I feel like a prophet. I will walk all over this earth enduring all that I must. Why? Because I have a mission. It is something so important that all must know about it. People must know the truth. They will laugh at me perhaps and say that I am crazy, but what do they know? Nothing.
"I tell you that you can not know the thrill of pain until you have given it. Pain is my deity. There is a pleasure in it. A pleasure so intense that I can hardly explain it. Not that I don't want to tell you what the pleasure is like, but I stumble over my words.
"It is all the thrill of all the countless orgasms ever known by mankind. It is higher than that, more intense. There is something mystical in it. I can communicate with the cosmos in my state of elation.
"There is a message here. If it feels good, one must do it. There is no way out. If you can see it in your mind then it can be done. I could see cutting off his penis and holding the lifeless flesh in my hand. There was something in the transaction that inspired me and so I did as I saw.
"I am a poetess of pain. Pain is the integral part of my art. There are instruments used in making the pain. The whip is one of them. A whip is like a penis to another. It is strong and a pleasure giver, looking like a large dildo. There is the long hard handle with which one can subjugate a victim.
"Don't tell me that a victim does not enjoy being the victim, for I know differently. I have seen them beg for pain. It is their desire to be beaten, whipped, injured. All I do is fulfill those desires. Is there anything wrong with that? I do what I have been called to do.
"People are bad and they must be punished. I deal in punishment, but what could be wrong with that? I do the job that many people are too weak to do. People sometimes can not stomach that which must be carried out. I can, and so I do it. Is this my reward, prison? Are you calling me evil, because I punished someone.
"I'm going to be punished, aren't I? I will surely die, and who will punish my executor. You see? Do you understand what I am saying. Who will slay the slayer? All I did was to punish the evil in this world. No one is innocent. It is impossible for anyone ever to be innocent.
"Do you kill a teacher for teaching? Do you slay a doctor for healing? Then how can you kill a disciplinarian for punishing? I am alone in this. I know what I did. Yes, all my senses are about me, and I tell you that I did what I did because I was driven to do it.
"I did not understand my reason for being chosen, but I should not contest it. I was chosen and I must deal with that calling. My duty is no more different than anyone else's duty. I am a victim of circumstance. I was chosen to be a disciplinarian and now I have carried out my order. I have done all that I was told to do.
"This prison is cold. Will I wither here? Will my bones rot and decay? Please, before I die, if that is to be my penalty, you must understand why I did as I did. It is very important to me.
"I did it because it was a pleasure. I did it because it was my calling. I did it because it needed to be done. There will be others after me, who will hold the whip, who will inflict pain. My duty is as old as that of the whore's. She claims to have the world's oldest profession, but she lies.
"Pain, as always, comes before pleasure. Does the newborn know pain or pleasure first? I say he knows pain. He is ripped from the womb. He is tom from something warm and secure out into a deadly evil place. Is not that pain? And what do we know last?
"There is pain in death, I am sure of it. The old man dying a slow death, knows the pain of surrender. He can do nothing but to give in. His life must come to an end and there is nothing that he can do about it. Surely that is painful. Knowing that there is no way out, a trap.
"My own death? There will be pain as there will be in your death. Death is a painful thing, because it is a surrender. We must all surrender that which is the most precious to us: life. I am ready. I have done what I could do to better this world. Perhaps you think that I could have fouled it, but I tell you that I cleansed it with the most potent of all purges: blood. I have been a good woman. I have made people feel the pain that they must endure to know what life is about.
"Let us not forget that pain is a very important part of life. It is the opposite side of the coin. If there were no pain, would life have any meaning, would there be any pleasure? There could not be. There would be nothing to compare it to.
"I know that there would be no pain, if there were no pleasure. Both are necessary. Some people give pleasure, I gave pain, and through it found my own sort of pleasure. I admit everything that I have done. I am willing to confess all the pain and torment that I have given, and I know that I will not be reprieved.
"There is no way out. Life is a trap. You must accept it, there is no decision for you to make, and then you die, and there is no way to deny that either. Geza, do you know that I love you?
"I do love you and I wish I were free so that I could beat you and punish you. You need it. We all need it. I would beat you with a whip. I would spank your ass. I would give you all that you would want. And I would be doing this not out of hate, Geza, but out of love.
"I understand what you must do to me. I understand that I have tainted you respectability and that I must suffer for it. But I did everything out of love for my fellows. Surely you must see that. You must understand that I have done the right thing!"
CONCLUSION
We have seen the ways of the whip--the frightening, horrifying manner in which those involved in the world of sadism and masochism live out the pleasure of pain.
We have seen, too, the immense power of a person--of persons--who have the will to dominate, to subjugate. This need for power becomes an all-enveloping characteristic, pursued at all and any cost.
So Nicholas pursued them--so Barbara, Paul, Kathe, Ilonka. The pursuance of sadistic tendencies, of course, does not exclude sexual desire.
Naturally, sexuality and the need for pain within the expression of sexuality, conies into play again and again as we recall the stories.
The use of the whip is, in itself--as we have stated previously--a sort of sexual "scepter," a penis for the male and a penis for the female, each using the symbolic meaning in his or her own way.
The whip, too, embodies a fetish, a fetish inseparable from the entire cult of sado-masochism, for it is the use of leather that has become so clearly a characteristic of this frightening world.
Hopefully, this book has enlightened its readers, and opened their eyes to the "normal" people who walk the roads of sado-masochism with no concern for the innocent victims who stand by the wayside.
