Chapter 6
Don awoke with a start and looked around his small room at the Bay City Hotel. Remnants of a dream remained and his heart still thudded heavily, but as he looked out the window and saw that it was already early morning, calm came to him and he crawled out of his tousled bed.
He had left the party of the Bay City High School students with a deep regret that he had felt the rejection of the unusual girl, Lio. But, even with this rejection, he had left the young people feeling strong and virile and anxious for every sexual encounter that he could arrange. Gone was her conservative attitudes. Gone, too, was worry over the consequences that any of his new decisions might cause.
When Don left his bed, he walked naked across the floor to the small window. He looked down at the main street of the small town. No one stirred. It was quiet. He turned and looked at the clock on the dresser and saw that it was only five in the morning, an incredible time for him to be arising. Yet, he felt rested and refreshed as much as if he had enjoyed a full night's sleep. He smiled, thinking that this was the result of sexual satisfaction, of his decision to partake of all that he could find.
And the previous night, after arriving back at the hotel after the beach party, he had not immediately retired. He was inclined to pursue a subject he had for many weeks investigated, so he had gone to his books and delved once more into the mysteries of the sexuality of the very early ages.
Don turned from the window and went to the small desk that stood in the comer of the room. He looked at the stacks of books upon it. He put his hand on the top book which rested above a half dozen others. Then he opened it and leafed through the erotic pages he had already reviewed many, many times. And as he did so, he felt a return of the same sexual strength he had known the previous night with the teenage girls.
He slammed the book shut, his decision instantly made. He turned from the desk and walked to the closet. He whipped a robe from a hanger, put it on, then jammed his feet into slippers. Then he shuffled to the desk again and picked up a book. He shut the door quietly, then moved down the corridor to the exit sign at the end. He took the stairs to the next lower floor and made his way past the closed doors until he came to the room of Cass Bigelow. He hesitated a moment, looked around, then lightly rapped on the door.
Don knocked once more, then waited several long seconds before the door edged open. Her blonde head popped outside and her eyes rounded in surprise when she saw Don, dressed in bathrobe and slippers and with a book tucked beneath his arm as casually as if he were appearing at a lecture class.
"Good morning," he said cheerily.
"Good-. Don! Do you know what time it is?"
"Of course, it's a little after five." He stopped, and for a second looked quite embarrassed. "Oh say, I am sorry, I didn't even consider that you might not be up."
She smiled, then said, "I am now. Come on in."
Cass opened the door fully and stood just behind it as Don entered the room. It was very dark and Don remained still while Cass glided away from him to the desk where she flicked on a low light.
Then Don had a full view of the beautiful young college instructor. She looked amazingly sexual for so early an hour in the morning. Although obviously awakened by the surprise of his knock on her door, she seemed more pleased than upset. And she looked rumpled in the sweetest way; like tangled sheets that still held the musty scent of love making. Her hair was a mass of gold-glinting ringlets. She wore a shortie nightie that ended high at her thighs, and her body was plainly visible beneath it. Don looked at that body and thought of his own, nude except for the robe that covered it. Then he thought how deliriously youthful it seemed for both of them to be so lightly covered, for them to have the pure nakedness of their bodies so close. Her breasts looked sleepy. The nipples had not yet joined the rest of her wakefulness. They thrusted slightly as if trying to decide to come fully erect. But Don could see that the rest of her body looked very much alive. Her legs sloped prettily, the thighs firmly descending to her good, strong legs. And her hips rounded outwardly, making quarter-moon shapes below her flat belly where her navel trembled slightly.
For a moment, it looked as if Cass deliberated the choice of securing a heavier robe or remaining as she was, fully and sexually revealed to Don. Then she sighed and said, "I suppose it's a silly question to ask, but what brings you out so early this morning? And what especially brings you to me, my friend?"
"I awakened early and wanted to see you," he said, walking closer to her.
"How flattering," she smiled. "And I suppose that's why you brought a book along-because you want to see me. "
The sight of her body had made Don forget the book he carried. He raised it and laughed, then said, "Oh, this, it's just something I wanted to discuss with you if you felt like it."
"Books, I hardly feel like this early in the morning, Don."
He held the thick book up again, then said, "This one concerns the sexual perversions of primitive tribes."
She brightened. "Oh, now that's different. Something like that I just might be in the mood for, even at this hour." She paused and looked at him interestedly, then added, "How did the party go last night?"
"Quite well," he said. "These youngsters were an interesting group."
"I bet," she said with heavy over-tones. "I wanted to go there but my host simply would not let me go."
"Too bad," he said, shaking his head. "You would have enjoyed the beach party."
Cass turned, making a swirl of the bottom of her nightie which caused a quick-flashing, full revelation of her buttocks. She moved to a desk near the window. Then she took a cigarette from a package, place it between her lips, and looked around for a match. Finally, she spied a package on the dresser near Don.
Don turned, then picked up the package of matches and hurried across the room to strike a light for her.
Cass held his hand as she accepted the flame. And as she leaned forward she managed to allow her heavy breasts a close touch to his elbow.
Don felt the contact and was ready that very moment to grab her, embrace her hard, then wrestle her to the floor where he could overpower her. But he did not. He merely bumped his arm in a return pat to her breasts as she inhaled and drew back.
The slight contact caused a look of pleasant surprise to come to her eyes. They narrowed as they looked at Don.
"Cass," he said sharply and directly. "I've been doing some unusual studying lately. It's resulted in many things. Or rather, my study has resulted from some astonishing things that have been happening to me-that have really changed my life and my attitude about it."
"How interesting," she said. "Why don't we sit down so you can tell me about it, Don?"
"Excellent idea," he said.
Cass walked ahead of him to a small couch that rested at the opposite end of the room. As she seated herself, Don walked over and took a seat next to her.
"Now this book is from a private edition," Don said, lifting the heavy volume. "I had quite a time getting it, but it's been amazingly interesting. And Cass, I just wondered if you've had any experience-I mean, have you ever studied any of the patterns of man's early sexual history."
"Quite a bit, as a matter-of-fact," she told him.
"Really?"
"Of course."
"You mean you know about all the different schemes men used to devise in order to obtain different and more intense sexual satisfaction?"
"I do," she said. She took a deep drag on her cigarette.
"Well, my word."
"It's really not so surprising, Don," she laughed. After all, we're not very much different today than other civilizations were. The difference is mainly because today we keep our sex drives-and practices-concealed, while the other civilizations openly displayed them, even had public displays of all types of sexual experiences."
"You feel that, too?" he asked, turning and edging a little closer to her.
"Certainly."
"Amazing," he declared. "That's exactly the conclusion I've come to after considerable study on the subject."
Cass smashed out her cigarette in an ash tray at her side. Then she turned and curled her legs beneath her buttocks, moving in a way that encouraged the lift of her nightie, the lowering of her bodice.
Don, more than any look of hers, could testify to the excitement that he felt. And he felt very warm. And at the same time his mind buzzed with dozens of fantasies, fantasies that had eluded him most of his life. And all of the fantasies seemed quite real and workable. And he felt again the refreshment of the decisions that had so recently brought him the pleasure, the driving joy, of wild, female bodies thrashing beneath the strength of his masculinity.
"Some of the early people even liked whippings," Don said, looking anxious but maintaining a tone of matter-of-factness.
"It's odd that you should mention that particular thing," Cass said.
"It is?"
"Yes. You see, that's something I know quite a bit about."
"It is?" he questioned again.
She smiled, swung her legs to the floor, then pushed upright. She glanced at Don once, then went to a large suitcase that she had stored in the closet. She rummaged through it for a few seconds, then withdrew that which she sought and turned back toward Don.
"My word," Don exclaimed, moving to the edge of the couch as he saw the short, but thick, black whips Cass held, one in each hand.
She walked toward him, dragging the ends of the whips behind her like two devil's tails.
She paused immediately in front of him, then said, "You see, I had a friend once-a very good friend, and he-well, he had a problem that was really not much of a problem at all."
Don tensed, but did not fill the pause that Cass had made.
"My friend loved to be whipped," she continued. "It was his great, great pleasure. But because it was against society's code-society's phony code-he was a nervous wreck. You see, he could not live with his desire to be whipped and his society manufactured conscience that told him it was abnormal. Finally, he broke altogether and the last I heard he's still residing in a mental institution."
"Amazing," Don exclaimed.
"Yes. Amazing. But only because he was a damn fool to mentally object to that which he physically demanded."
Don, staring at Cass, seeing her body out-lined through the thin, short nightie, watching her breasts rise and fall and her stomach pinch inward and outward, and noticing the slight quiver that became noticeable at her thighs, was sure that she was the most beautiful woman he had ever encountered. And, incredibly, the sight of the black whips held in her hands added to her beauty, made her seem more pagan and wild and with greater lust than he imagined she could contain.
Don moved to the very edge of the couch and looked up at her. "Cass-have you ever-been whipped?"
"Yes." She looked directly into his eyes.
"Did you-like it?"
"Yes."
"A lot?"
"Not as much as some things. But more than other kinds of sex I've experienced." . "Would you-? Could-? I wonder if you'd let me-."
Cass reached her right hand out and presented him with the thick handle of one of the whips. Don took it. He lifted it, felt its smooth handle, the roundness of it and its weight. And he thought how much it was like a man, even like himself that very instant; heavy, hard, very, very capable, and he wondered if it was this that made flagellation so exciting for some people, if perhaps, by symbol and extension, the whip became part of the man, a long, hard, superhuman part of a superman who used his sex's symbol for the destruction of others.
Cass, stepping backwards, her eyes glued to Don, moved to the center of the room.
Slowly, Don pushed up from the couch. He moved a few steps closer to Cass, then stopped as she struck a lurid pose. She dropped her whip to the floor and threw her head back a bit, raised on her toes, brought her hands beneath her breasts to cup them, then tensed all of her body toward Don.
He drew the whip back. Then he lashed it forward. It sung a whistling tune for an instant before it nicked Cass across the tit. Her body jerked from the impact, but she did not cry out. Her hand dropped from that breast and Don could see that the whip had seared the light material of her gown and that her breast stuck out from the jagged edges as if it were escaping from casual imprisonment. He lashed the whip forward again. It struck her on the same breast and a short, ragged line bubbled with blood. Don changed the direction of his singing whip. With an expertness that he almost disbelieved, he brought the whip hard against her shoulder, snipping her shoulder strap in two. It dropped to beneath her other tit. Then Don struck that breast hard, slicing painfully across the nipple, making it pop bruised looking as it drooped. Then he struck with a snapping series of blows that tore at her hips, her breasts again, her belly where her nightie severed into halves and fell apart and away from her body, leaving her total bareness as his target. He struck furiously at her thighs, cutting them, and as he struck her there, Don felt disposed to move closer, to bestow upon this beauty his love, his hate, his anger, his respect-everything that any man could feel for a woman, or all women.
Now, as she received each new blow from his whip, her body shuddered and jerked, but it came not alone from the whip's sting but was motivated in part by the excitement that gathered within her. She felt her breasts crushed, and enjoyed that crushing, that nipple-bending abuse. Her body shook. Her mouth gaped open and her tongue began to work feverishly against her lips as if she were parched and dying. But it was life that she felt, new life, exciting life, the thrill that life was made of, the very thrill that created life, herself and Don and all the world. And the whip struck her cruelly and she gasped.
It struck again and she moaned the long wail of trembling urgency. And then she sobbed and cried out, demanded more of the whip, more of anything and everything that Don would give her.
He gave her the whip. At her breasts again, across her belly, at her thighs again and again, then the final, underhanded cutting at those thighs that made her body ripple even as it bled, that made it thrust toward him even as it was struck backward with the whip, that made her both seek and evade the stinging end of the whip each time it lashed cuttingly across her body. And at last, when Don shortened his blows so that they could rain continually against her thighs, Cass erupted with a scream, with a great, frantic final shuddering of her body that bloated her, then diminished her in exhaustion.
Don dropped the whip and stood perfectly still as he watched her final spasms of hurtful delight. Her reaction seemed to begin at her toes, ripple through all of her body, become a heavy tide of feeling at her thighs, then shoot upward to surge at her breasts, enlarge and strengthen them, then move onward to her shoulders and neck until at last it flushed her face and was gone.
No words passed between them as calm came to Cass. Don watched as the flush left her face to be replaced by a faint smile. Then his heart thumped even heavier as she picked up the whip she had dropped and walked over to him.
"Now you, darling," she said in a thick, husky tone.
Don did not hestitate. He dropped his whip and walked to where Cass had stood in the center of the room. Anxiously, he whipped his robe from his body and stood very straight.
He waited expectantly, without thoughts for anything but how it might feel when he felt the first lash of the stinging, singing whip. And then he knew.
Her tits bounced wildly and bloody as she brought the whip far behind her then lashed it forward. It struck Don at the chest.
He felt the sting, and liked it. He felt strength come to him as if the whip were igniting him, rather than abusing him. It struck him at the waist, low across his thighs, at his knees and legs. But he did not diminish, he did not fall, he did not and could not fail before the whip's biting end. It lashed him again and again, but he remained erect and strong, proud, even a little overbearing because of all that he endured, all that he felt.
Her body became a flying mass of erotic flesh as she brought the whip to him again and again and again. He felt his blood warm, even as it oozed from his body. And he felt the massing of a gigantic regiment of feeling readying for release. But it did not come. It remained damned and unmovable. But hope for fulfillment soared as he watched her moving, lashing body. And with it came the realization that he must do something for that lovely, blood-smeared body, do for it some semblance of that which he was receiving.
Don lurched forward even as the whip continued to lash against him. At her feet, he bent. She, as if sensing his desire, arched deeply and extended one long leg out to him. The sole of her foot barely brushed the floor. Her toes were pointed. Her leg was taut.
As she lashed the whip down for the first time across his back, his body convulsed and he lifted her foot and kissed it. She lashed him again and he buried his mouth to her instep. He kissed her rapturously, just as passionately as the sting of the whip was to his body. And as the cutting whip came to his back again and again he kissed ever harder until at last that which he was giving merged with his beating and relieved him as his body shuddered mightily and he bit into her foot to find a grip that might sustain him during the raging, shattering, earing, eruption of his body.
Don had expected that he would experience self-consciousness and shame once Cass and he had finished with the whips. But it was not so. Instead, a great, carefree happiness took them both.
They went to the shower like children embarking upon a bold and forbidden adventure. They washed and soothed each others cuts and bruises. They massaged themselves, and each other, and as they shared the crash of the water, Don felt again the rustle of desire, the deep, sincere wish to know Cass wholly and perfectly in a normal act of love. He knew, too, that everything else, all aberrations, were really this-a defense against the thrill of normal loving.
The thought made him feel very good, rather placed normalcy in a place not too far from his own realizations.