Chapter 12
As the bell rang in the depths of the empty house, the American jumped as though he had received an electric shock. His glass slipped out of his fingers and fell with a thud on the carpet in front of the bar. He stood motionless, praying that he had not in fact heard it ... that it had been something else.
A minute passed.
The bell rang again. This time the ring was long and peremptory.
He stood as though turned to stone.
So the Swede had not been pulling his leg, after all. Here they were. With their whips, no doubt. Here they were, probably all five of them, and all thirsting for his blood.
Literally for his blood! he suddenly thought. He glanced at the terrace windows, and wondered whether he should fly through them for his life. His car was there in the garage, waiting for him.
It was a choice between two types of courage, he reflected, as he stood there. The courage to go without the comforts that his rich wife gave him, or the courage to suffer under the whips of five bloodthirsty young women who wanted to flog him.
He swore luridly in his indecision.
The bell rang again. Five short, peremptory rings.
He made his decision. He turned, almost regretfully, away from the terrace window and walked slowly into the hall. He paused before putting his hand to the lock of the door. Though he was not a religious man, he breathed a silent prayer. Then he opened the door.
"Good evening, Bradley," said Kristina. "We were beginning to think you had been unwise — that you had run out on us."
"How could you think that?" he said with automatic gallantry, but with his fear sounding in his voice. He stood aside. "Do please come in."
In a daze he watched four very lovely girls follow Kristina through the hall into his living-room. One of them, he noticed, was carrying a fat briefcase. He followed them slowly, and then, remembering his manners, quickened his steps.
"Well," he said, with false heartiness, and with a pathetic attempt at a deep-South accent, "what are you — all gonna drink?"
"Thank you, Bradley," said Kristina, "but won't you let me introduce my friends first?" She turned to the others. "This is Mr. Bradley Wetherston, Junior." She indicated the girls, one after the other. "Miss Joan Lyveden, from England. Miss Sophia Conti, from Italy. Miss Danielle Yves, from France. And Miss Olga Kerokovski, from Russia and the United States."
With the same nervous heartiness, he shook hands with them all. "And now," he repeated, "What are you-all gonna drink?"
They told him what they wanted. While he was at the bar, dispensing the drinks, Joan moved up beside Kristina, who had been speaking in English all the time. "You are a witch," she said, in English. "Kalt told me you didn't speak any English. Was this some sort of a conspiracy between the two of you?"
"Yes," admitted Kristina, with a grin. "She wants us all to speak German. Actually, she's quite right, isn't she?"
"Yes, she is," admitted Joan. "And the others, do they all speak English? I know Danielle does, but what about the others?"
"We all speak English," said Kristina. "Most of our finds, or victims, or whatever you want to call them, are American anyway. We have to speak English!"
"He's rather attractive," said Joan, looking at the American at the bar. "In fact, he's more than attractive. I would call him damn handsome."
"So would I," agreed Kristina. "And that's why I'm looking forward very particularly to flogging him."
The American had taken his time over the dispensing of the drinks, but he felt he could not take any more time. He had been glancing, as surreptitiously as he could, at the girls, sizing them up, admiring them, and wishing that they were going to be his bed mates, not his torturers. He picked up two glasses. He came out from behind the bar. He gave one to Kristina and the other to Joan. He went back to the bar and picked up two more glasses. These he gave to Danielle and Sophia. He returned a third time to the bar and took the last two glasses. He came up to Olga and gave her her glass with a little bow. He raised his own.
"Extraordinary good health," he said, jocularly.
"Are you trying to parody the English?" asked Olga.
He shook his head nervously. "Not really," he said, with a wan smile that touched her heart. "I'm just a bit nervous."
"Of course you are," she said, more friendly. She touched the rim of his glass with hers. "Extra-ordinary good health to you, too, then."
He drank, and looked at her dress. "That's a lovely dress," he said. "Is it — can it be of rubber?"
"Yes," she said. "It is of rubber."
He drew in his breath sharply. "I thought it was — when you came through the hall."
Olga looked at him coolly. "Are you a rubber fetishist?"
"Of course not," he said quickly, and then met her eyes. "Well," he went on lamely, "I suppose I am, kind of."
She turned slightly and pointed with her glass to Sophia. "Then you'll be excited with her too. Her skirt is rubber."
He looked at Sophia's skirt. "My word, so it is," he said incredulously. He gazed at it for another moment and then turned back to Olga. "But your dress is better," he said, with obvious sincerity in his voice. "Your dress is a million dollars."
"Thank you," said Olga simply, touched by his admiration.
"Tell me, though," he asked curiously, "why do you wear rubber? Are you a fetishist, too?"
Olga shook her head gently. "No, I'm not a fetishist. And I hate to give you your answer. You're rather sweet, and I don't like to frighten you."
He immediately looked frightened. "What do you mean?"
"I wear this rubber dress," said Olga deliberately, "and Sophia wears her rubber skirt, for a very practical reason." She glanced at him with another access of pity. Then she went on, telling herself that they had not come to his house to be sorry for him: "The practical reason, if you want to know it, is that your blood will be very much easier to wash off this rubber dress than off anything else."
His face turned as white as a sheet. She thought he was going to drop his glass. "Oh," he said, expressionlessly.
Kristina said: "I think you had better get your clothes off, Brad."
He looked at her stupidly. "My clothes off?"
She smiled silkily. "Yes, my dear Brad. Have you forgotten why we're here? We're going to flog you, and we can't very well do that to you with your clothes on, can we?"
He glanced quickly at each of their faces. They all stared at him implacably.
He forced a laugh. It sounded like a cackle. "Aw, come on!" he said. "It's been a good joke, and you took me in for a while, I'll admit that. But let it go now, huh? How about my taking you all out to dinner and then on to some nightspot? How about that? I can call a few of the boys. We'll make up a party."
Sophia smoothed the front of her skirt. "He still can't quite accept the situation, can he? Of course, if he's never met a female sadist before, it's not surprising." She turned to Joan. "Just show him what you've got in your bag."
"All right," said Joan, and opened the catch of her bag."
Bradley looked at it with his eyes slightly narrowed, as though he expected some dangerous beast, some predatory wild animal, to jump out.
With her eyes on him, Joan slowly drew out her shining steel handcuffs and dangled them up.
He took a couple of gasping breaths, and cackled again. "I must say you girls know how to pull a guy's leg!"
Kristina pointed to the briefcase, lying on its side on the sofa. "Just open that, Brad."
"Why, what've you got in it? More handcuffs?"
"Just do as I say. Open it."
He hesitated for a second, and then put down his glass. He went to the briefcase. He opened it, and stood up straight as though he had received another electric shock. He gazed into its interior with awe.
"Take them out, Brad," said Danielle, silkily.
Like an automaton, he put his hand inside the case and drew out the instruments, one after the other. He put them down on the sofa. He stared at them for a long moment. Then he turned and went quickly to the bar.
"Don't get drunk, Brad," said Kristina warningly. "You remember what I told you?"
"Yes," he muttered, pouring himself a strong drink. "I remember. I won't get drunk." He drained the glass at a gulp.
"Now get undressed," said Kristina. She picked up the nine-tailed knout. "I think we'll start with this. What do you say, Joan?"
"I'm just dying to use that," said Joan simply.
Kristina handed it to her. "You can start then." She looked at Bradley, who had begun to pull at his tie."Good God! Aren't you undressed yet?" She reached suddenly for the whip. She walked quickly to the bar. She brought the whip slashing down across his shoulders. He put up a hand as though to protect his face. She slashed again. "Now, come on," she ordered, with a snap of authority in her voice. "Get undressed! And quickly. Otherwise we'll add another full hour of beating."
He glanced once more round the room. The lovely faces of the girls were set, he saw, in expressions of determination. With a deep sigh, and with a great emptiness in his stomach, he began to take off his clothes.
When he was quite naked, he stepped into the middle of the room.
There were several murmurs of appreciative admiration. He had a fine, lean figure. His skin was deeply tanned by the sun.
Olga went up to him and took his penis in her hand. It erected with what seemed to be a leap. He gazed in fascination first at her face and then at her flimsy rubber dress.
"You like this dress very much, I can see," she said, pulling him, by his penis, close to her. "Come, press yourself against me then. Get a moment of pleasure, if you can." She still felt a little sorry for him.
He put his arms around her, and pulled her tightly against his body. She continued to play with his cock. He sighed: "You and I could have had a very good time together," he said softly. "In bed, I mean."
"We still can," murmured Olga. "If you want it badly enough."
"What do you mean?"
"You know what our price is."
His face fell. "Oh Christ!" he said despondently.
Kristina waved her whip. It hissed ominously. "Come on," she said. "Let's get started."
Joan picked up the handcuffs. "I'd better put these on him."
"Yes, you'd better."
Olga pulled herself away from him and went to the sofa. He watched her go, with an anguished longing in his heart. In addition to being sexually hungry for her, he sensed that she was a little sorry for him. She seemed, in some way, a possible ally. He watched her sit, cross her legs, and smooth her exciting dress.
Joan came up to him. "Hold out your wrists, Brad," she said. Her tone brooked no possibility of argument. And refusal, he realized, was quite out of the question. He held his wrists out to her. He tried not to look at the knout under her arm.
His heart seemed to drop into the pit of his stomach as the steel handcuffs clicked shut over his wrists.
She gave him a dazzling smile. She put her hand to his penis and led him to one end of the sofa. "Bend down over here," she said, letting his penis go.
Olga shifted nearer to him. She reached out her hand and took hold of his penis again. "I'll hold him tight while you whip him," she said.
He trembled with pleasure as he felt her hand take a firm hold of his rock-hard penis. The tantalizingly sweet smell of her dress reached his nostrils and increased his pleasure. If it were not for the flogging, he thought, he would be having a very pleasant time now. He squinted sideways and saw Joan take up her position behind him. He saw her raise her arm. The nine-tailed knout dangled down, its rubber-covered wire lashes touching her hair.
"Listen," said Olga. "When she starts, don't try to stand up. I shan't let go of this" — she squeezed his penis — "and you'll injure yourself if you try to pull away from my hand. Just stay bent over as you are. Grit your teeth and take it like a man."
Joan stood with the knout above her head, gazing at his unmarked flesh. She was remembering the time, a month or so before, when she had gazed at Robert's unmarked flesh, and had remarked that that would be the last time she would see it unmarked. She felt a series of stabs of anticipatory pleasure in her genitals. She was in a very high state of excitement.
Danielle sat down in an easy chair, and then immediately moved to another one which would give her a better view. She put her hands above her genitals and pressed downwards. She could feel that her twat was already moist.
Sophia stood beside the sofa, and beside Olga. "Don't you want to tie up his balls?" she said. "He may jerk himself away from your hand."
Olga chuckled. "He'll leave his penis in my hand, then. I've warned him not to try."
Bradley heard her words, and felt his last hope die. He had thought she might be something of an ally. How wrong he had been! He looked at Sophia's shirt, and then at Olga's dress. Two lovely girls wearing rubber! He would have been the randiest man in the world if the situation had been different. He had been born with this fetish for rubber. It had plagued him in his childhood, in his adolescence, and in his manhood. He had confessed it once to his wife, had bought her a shimmering silky-rubber mackintosh, and had asked her to wear it, over her naked body, when he made love to her. She had done what he asked, but she had made it plain that she thought he was crazy. He had not asked her again. And now ... Here was a ravishing-looking girl in a dress — not just a raincoat — of the same shimmering silky-rubber material. And there, beside her, was another glorious creature in a skirt of the softest, supplest rubber. And they were both wearing these things because they wanted to wear them — not because a man with a fetish had asked them to do so. But — and at once his spirits dropped even lower — they were wearing them for a very terrible reason ...
Kristina said: "All set, Joan?" She stood a little behind her friend. She was interested to see just how much of a sadist Joan was. She had used only canes and a switch up to now, she had said. Now she was going to have her first real taste of major flagellation. She had used the whip on the bottom of the pansy half an hour before, of course — but that had been very quick. Too quick to show how much of a sadist she really was. Kristina felt very interested in what she was going to see. If Joan had an orgasm while using this knout — well, that would mean that she was a worthy member of their group.
"Yes," said Joan, breathlessly. "I'm all set."
"Then off you go. And bon appétit!" Joan swung the knout down with all her force. Its nine black tails splayed a little outwards as it fell and cut into the virgin flesh of Bradley's buttocks and legs.
He gave a, wild scream and jerked involuntarily upwards. Olga's grip on his tool had tightened as she saw the knout falling. He felt an agony in his penis, as though it had been almost torn away from his body.
"I warned you," she said urgently. "You'll injure yourself if you don't stay bent over."
Joan gave a very deep sigh of pure pleasure. His scream had rung in her ears like intoxicating music. She looked with excitement at the nine livid weals which had sprung to life on his flesh. "Hadn't we better gag him?" she asked, hoping that it wouldn't be necessary. She wanted to hear him scream a lot more. "If he's going to make that noise, shan't we be heard?"
"No," said Kristina, "we're quite alone, I think." She looked at the bending man. "You did send your servants away, as I told you?"
"Yes," he muttered.
"Then it's quite all right," she said to Joan. "And the house is very far away from the road, as you must have noticed."
"I did," said Joan. "Good, I'd much prefer not to have to gag him!"
"So would I," said Danielle, from her chair. "I like to hear them scream. Go on, Joan, make him yell."
"All right," said Joan willingly. "Here we come ... "
She began to flog him, rhythmically, relentlessly, and as hard as she could. After about six lashes her senses began to swim with pleasure. Her vagina grew damp, then wet, then saturated.
His screams, at first individual and separate with each lash, now changed into one long-drawn-out yell of agony. His penis lost all its hardness. Olga found it difficult to hold him down.
Kristina watched Joan with interest. Oh yes, she thought to herself, here is a thorough-going sadist all right. And she seems to be going to have an orgasm at any moment. Just look at the way she's trembling ... !
Joan was trembling very much. She was, in fact, actually shuddering with the rapture of her mounting orgasm. She knew it was going to take her in its grip any moment. All she had to do was to go on flogging with total abandonment ...
She flogged ... lash after terrible lash ...
The screams rang in her ears and gave her an almost unbearable ecstasy in her genitals.
And suddenly — like the lava of a volcano, hurling itself high above its crater — her orgasm took her in its grip and hurled her high into the skies.
The hand that held the knout fell to her side. The lashes of the knout dangled beside her legs and just touched the floor. She stood transfixed, shuddering with rapture, and moaning. A full minute passed. Then she seemed to come back to life. She turned and tottered to a deep easy-chair. She fell into it, face downwards.
Yes, Kristina said to herself again, she certainly is a sadist! But I doubt whether she'll have much interest in the rest of the proceedings tonight.
Bradley had fallen forward over the end of the sofa, as the lashes ceased biting into his flesh. He was in a state of near-unconsciousness. Savage, searing waves of pain racked him. He groaned and sobbed in his agony.
Olga put a hand to his head. She lightly ruffled his hair with her fingers. "Poor, poor Bradley," she said softly. "That was a hell of a flogging! I'm sorry for you."
He heard her voice but did not at once understand her words. He raised his head and looked at her supplicatingly. Then he realized what she had said. "But you are going to do the same thing to me," he said, in a hopeless voice.
She shook her head. "No. I don't exactly know why, but I'm not going to whip you at all. I'm going to made love to you, when it's all over — if you're in any condition, that is to say, to have anyone make love to you."
He gave her a twisted smile. "I had a feeling that you were on my side. Bless you for that."
"I don't know why I am," she said. "I came here with the full intention of giving you a terrific flogging. But now I don't want to. You're lucky."
He nodded his head, amid the searing, rolling waves of pain. "Yes," he said humbly. "I know I'm lucky. You are a nice person. You are on my side. The others are devils."
She gave his hair a playful tug. "Don't let them hear you." She looked up at Kristina. "Who's next?"
"Do you want to be?" said Kristina. She had seen Olga murmuring to Bradley, but had heard nothing of what had been said.
Olga shook her head. "No, not tonight. I'm feeling a bit tender about him, for some curious reason. I'm going to let him make love to me — or, rather, I'm going to make love to him. I doubt whether he'll have enough strength left to do anything about it himself, after you've all finished with him. But go ahead and finish first. I'll wait."
Kristina was very surprised. "How are the mighty fallen!" she quoted. "And you — the most sadistic of us all!"
"Perhaps I used to be," Olga said. "But I think I must give up that distinction now. Joan seems to have a good deal more sadism in her than any of us have ever had. I've never seen such a flogging!"
"Nor have I," said Sophia. "But I still want my own pleasure."
"Which particular one?" said Kristina, mockingly. "Which above all?"
Sophia tossed her head slightly. "You know perfectly well. I want to thrash him while he's making love to someone — while he can."
"All right," said Olga. "You can do it while he's making love to me. But you be careful. I don't want him beaten into impotence.
Kristina walked away. Bradley looked up at Olga. "Thank you very much."
Olga smiled sweetly at him. "Not at all. And I'll tell you something else. If you want to take me to bed one night — in this dress that you like so much — I'll be happy to oblige. And without the usual payment I spoke of. I'll just give you a little bitsy whipping to make you really randy."
"You have a date," he said, happy in spite of the still surging waves of pain. "With that dress on — but with nothing underneath."
Kristina went up to Danielle, who was sprawled in an attitude of total exhaustion in her easy-chair.
"Hey, you," she said, lightly kicking one of Danielle's ankles. "Wake up!"
Danielle made no move.
"So you let yourself go!" said Kristina acidly. "You did it again."
Danielle opened one eye. "I enjoyed myself."
"More than you would have done, whipping him yourself?"
"I don't know," said Danielle, putting her arms up and hugging her breasts. "I simply know that I enjoyed myself enormously. What a flogging! I came at about the same time she did."
"You're impossible," said Kristina. "Why don't you control yourself?"
"Why should I?" asked Danielle tartly. "If I get such a thrill from watching it being done, what business is it of yours?" She closed her eyes again. "And I got such a thrill this time. My God! What a sadist that Joan is! And what an orgasm I had!"
Kristina sighed. "All right. So there's only Sophia, and myself now. And I'm next, it seems. Where is that whip of mine?"
She marched back to the sofa. "Come on, you two," she said to Olga and Sophia. "Even though you've gone soft, Olga, I trust you'll assist me as usual." Her tone was angry.
"Oh certainly," said Olga, and stood up from the sofa.
"Both of us," said Sophia. "Where's that plastic? He's too bloody to lie down without it."
"Here," said Olga, picking up the rolled-up material and opening it out. She spread it down over the sofa.
Kristina picked up the whip that was made of the shorter lengths of leather. She touched Bradley with it. "Stand up," she ordered. "You've had enough rest."
He glanced up at her, opened his mouth to say something, thought better of it, and stood erect.
"Now go and lie down," she ordered, pointing imperiously to the sheet of plastic material. "Lie down on that, on your back."
It took a moment for the impact of her words to sink into his comprehension. Then he stared at her. "On my back?" he said, incredulously.
"Yes, on your back. Do as I say, at once."
Olga gave him a little push. "Go on, Bradley. And when it's over we'll make love." She caressed him with her eyes.
"But what's she going to do?" he asked in a frightened voice, his eyes on Kristina's whip. "Where is she going to flog me?"
"Why don't you ask me?" said Kristina, with a sting in her tone.
He looked at her, terror in his eyes. "Where are you going to whip me?"
Her breasts heaved before she replied. "I'm going to whip your nipples," she said softly. "And then I'm going to whip your penis. And if you can make love to Olga after that — well, you're welcome to do so."
He looked round him wildly, as though seeking escape. He turned his eyes to Olga, begging for help.
"It won't be so bad, Bradley," she said gently. "Nothing like what you've just had. Come on, get it over with. Be a man." She patted the plastic. "Come on, lie down. I'm going to set on your head. It'll be nice for you, since you like rubber."
Like a man in a dream he lay down on his back. Olga. at once climbed up on to the sofa, lifted up the skirt of her dress, and sat down squarely on his forehead. She let the skirt fall like a tent around his head. He began to inhale the sweet heady smell of the material. In spite of his fear, it made him feel excited.
Sophia climbed up on the other end of the sofa and sat down on his ankles. "Hadn't we better tie them?" she asked.
Kristina shook her head. "Perhaps it's not necessary. We'll see. Trap them with your legs."
Sophia pulled up her rubber skirt. She entwined her legs round his ankles. "All right," she said. "He can't move." She reached out her hand and took hold of his penis. It erected again.
"You are spoiling him, aren't you?" said Kristina acidly. She raised her whip, aimed with her eyes, and struck at his nipples.
The pain struck through his chest and then seemed to explode. It was so dreadful that he did not realize that this first lash was followed by another nine. The agony simply burned inside him continuously, like a blazing incendiary-bomb.
Kristina delivered her tenth lash, and put a hand to her head. Dizzy with pleasure, she stood for a moment, quite motionless.
Olga waited until she made a movement. Then: "Do me a favour, Kristina?" she asked quietly.
Kristina looked at her. "I know what you're going to ask."
Olga nodded. "Do let him off. If you whip his penis he'll not get another erection tonight. And I really would like to have him. Please."
Kristina raised her whip in disgust. "If I can't flail his cock, then he'd better be ready for the whipping of his life. If you want to make love to him while I'm beating him, then you'd better get at it."
She waited patiently while Olga massaged the American's penis to a new hardness. Olga lay on the plastic on the couch and the American happily but wearily climbed on top of her. She directed his rampant prick to her cunt and he slid in easily, just as the first slash of the whip cracked across his buttocks.
Kristina whipped as a woman possessed by devils. Several times, the whip snaked across the American's back and flicked at Olga's tender skin. The girl yelled out, but Kristina paid no attention.
Time after time, her arm raised; time after time, the murderous whip sang through the air and cracked sickeningly on the American's back. Bradley began to whimper and his love-making efforts slowed. Olga raised her buttocks with more energy to make up for his slackening effort.
They came together as the whip cracked for the fiftieth time down on the bloody, raw, throbbing back of the American. She felt Bradley's full weight on her and knew that he was probably unconscious.
"That's enough," she cried to the wildly thrashing Kristina. "He can't feel anything now."
She crawled out from under Bradley's heavy body and got out of the way of the flashing whip lashes. Kristina was grinning evilly and seemed to have no intentions of stopping. Olga noticed that Bradley's entire back, buttocks and legs were covered with thick blood. His skin, from the back of his neck to just above his heels, was raw and covered with open weals from the whip.
"Stop it, Kristina," she said with a sob in her throat. "You'll kill the man."
"Beautiful!" Kristina said. She kept on whipping the poor bloody body and blood spurted against the wall, the uncovered part of the couch and onto the thick carpet on the floor. "Wouldn't that be the grandest whipping of all. My God, I think I'm coming just thinking of actually killing a man with a whip."
"He can't feel it," Olga cried. "It's no good when he can't feel it."
But Kristina continued wildly. The whip slashed across the bloody carcass and lashes actually began to tear into his face and head. The girl seemed to have her second wind and the lashes were just as hard and as terrible as they were when she began.
Joan raised her head and opened her eyes to see the beautiful beating. She felt her own juices begin to flow again when she saw the blood-covered whip tearing into the raw flesh of the American. The other girls, with the exception of Olga, were watching with the same keen interest.
And they all came together — Kristina, Joan, Danielle, Sophia — and Kristina stood motionless before the still body of the American, the bloody whip trailing on the carpet.
They were spent, almost lifeless, and stood like automatons as Olga knelt beside the couch near Bradley's head and tenderly brushed the blood and hair from his eyes. Suddenly, she stiffened, then she lifted one of Bradley's bloody arms and felt his pulse.
"God in heaven!" she said. "He's dead. We've killed him."
On the way back to the boarding school, the girls walked several blocks away from the apartment building before taking a taxi. They were certain that the original driver would not remember taking them there, but they wanted to take no chances on having two drivers to remember. They also knew that none of the authorities would ever suspect five fine young ladies from the exclusive and expensive school as being the bloody killers of the American. There was nothing to connect them with the man.
As the cab rolled along the dark streets of the city toward he boarding school, Joan relaxed in the seat and shook the horror of the deed from her mind. Actually, it had been quite exciting and she would remember it for the rest of her life.
Yet, as good as the sexual feeling had been at seeing a man beaten to death, she knew that she would have to be careful in her future beatings of Robert. After all, she did intend to marry him — no matter how great the sexual satisfaction might be to a sadist like her.