Chapter 8

Roger wheeled his Lincoln into the parking bay and cut the ignition. It had been a long one, with several crisis patients and a couple of accidents. And he'd had a man die under his knife. Not his fault, but still depressing.

He was looking forward to a relaxed evening. He had not been home to his place in the hills. The maid had been told not to prepare dinner. He had come instead to the apartment. To the black room. To an evening of carnal adventures. And most of all to young Suzanne Corville. Suzanne of the untapped passion, of the firm, beautiful body. Suzanne of the fawnlike innocence, the wary trust. Roger was looking forward to an evening of furthering his seduction of the girl from Louisiana.

He let himself out into the humid, smoggy evening and locked the car behind him, listening to it crackle and pop as the engine cooled after the run down the freeways.

He pocketed the keys and walked to the stairs. He almost paused at Suzanne's door, but thought better of it. Best to shower and change first, get the hospital smell off him. Tonight he was going to be plain Roger Watlington, male human.

Upstairs, he fitted his key in the lock but the door swung open before he could turn it. Flo stood just inside, smiling at him. "Hello, big handsome doctor-man." She was wearing a filmy nightie that revealed more than it hid, and a pair of absolutely transparent panties of a hot, vibrant pink. In her right hand she held a short, thick whip.

Roger smiled back and leaned on the doorjamb. "Hello, Flo, me black beauty. Don't you ever think of anything else?"

"Not with you around, sweetkins. 'Specially the way you been neglectin' me for that skinny little tart downstairs."

Roger came inside and patted Flo familiarly on the butt. "Aha. Jealousy rears its green-eyed head."

"Not jealousy, honey," Flo said, following him into the bedroom, "just old-fashioned hornies. An' besides, my eyes are brown, not green."

Roger laughed. "So's your ass, darling-brown that is. But the green-eyed monster shows through just the same."

Flo dropped to her knees in front of Roger, who had sat on the bed, and started unlacing his shoes. "Well, just the same, I don't see what she's got that I don't have."

"Not a thing," Roger said, lifting his legs to let the black girl pull off his socks. "It's just that I haven't sampled hers, yet."

Flo removed his socks and commenced unbuttoning his pants. "Then what was you doing the other night in the black room? Seems I remember you sticking that big cock of yours halfway to her stomach."

Roger laughed. "How could you tell? You looked to be a little busy yourself, sucking her nipples off."

"I can tell, honey-man. I can always tell."

Flo succeeded in removing Roger's pants and started caressing his cock through his shorts. "Come on, pretty man. Let's get that big ol' thing out in the open where I can see it."

"See it?"

"Well, where I can do whatever comes up."

"It looks like it's the cock that's coming up."

"Sure does! Roger, you got to have the nicest dick I ever saw on a man before. You built more like a horse than a man."

"I assume you have some experience with horses?"

"Once. But it was a little horse. One of them Shetland ponies. I used to do stag shows around Dallas."

"How was it?"

"Well, next to you, I think that critter was the best fuck I ever had."

"I'll bet you tell that to the horse, too."

Roger folded up laughing and defended himself against Flo's mock attack. They rolled around together on the bed until gradually their wrestling became rubbing, and the rubbing became undulations of need.

"Ohhh," Flo sighed softly, her mouth over Roger's ear. "Ohhh, c'mon. Let's do it now."

Roger kneaded the girl's buttocks and rubbed his chest across her tits. "Okay. How shall we do it? Shall we make love here and now? Or shall I... prepare?"

A shiver ran up Flo's spine. She smiled and a misty look came over her. "Yesss. Why don't you get into the things and do me up right?"

Roger nodded curtly. "Right." He pushed the girl off him and rolled to a sitting position. "Just wait here, Flo. I'll be back in a minute."

"Why'n't I get things together out here, hon?"

"All right. Do that."

Roger rose, his cock stiff and huge, and left the room, entering a curiously heavy door across the bedroom.

Flo stood quickly and went to the walk-in closet. She opened it and began to take out a series of metal tubes and shiny accoutrements. She carried them to the center of the room and piled them on the floor. Then she moved the bed as far against the wall as it would go and returned to the pile of tubes. She began-to assemble them, screwing pole into socket, joint into joint. Her lips were parted as she worked and occasionally her bright pink tongue darted out and licked them moist. The look on her face was a mixture of many things: fear and lust and anticipation. And a hint of fanatic arousal.

When she was done, the metal tubes stood in a double "A," connected across the top by a heavy bar. The affair resembled a chromed child's yard swing. But in place of the swing there were two short chains ending in a bar which had handcuffs on either end, and a longer chain which supported a curious leather harness. And from the bottom of the structure, attached to each "A," hung two more manacle-ended chains. Everything - chains, supports, cuffs - was shiny chrome.

Flo bent to place the floor-level chains straight. There was a quick whistling sound, followed immediately by a sharp crack, and a band of fiery pain laced her buttocks. She screamed - almost an indrawn sound, and jerked upright. She whirled, one hand on her buttocks, the other flung protectively before her. There stood a tall man in black leather, with hooded face and dark eyesockets. His penis bobbed stiffly before him. A whip dangled from his clenched fist. "Into the harness," he demanded.

A quick, savage smile crossed Flo's face, to be replaced by a look of supplication. "Oh, no. Please! Not the harness." There were tears in her eyes, but they were tears of pain. But the look that burned through them was more excitement than fear. "Please, sir. Not the harness."

The black-clad man raised the whip and brought it down in a stinging lash across Flo's arm and face. "Into it. Now!"

Whimpering, trembling, Flo obeyed, climbing into the leather harness with the ease of one long familiar with its use.

The harness consisted of a belt that fit around the waist and two others that fit around the upper thighs, just below the crotch. They were so constructed that when weight was put on the harness, the thigh belts tightened first, drawing the legs upward and apart.

Flo strapped herself in and put her hands over her head, holding her weight off the harness by holding its supporting chain.

The black-clad man moved forward and grasped her wrists in his hand. "Into the cuffs."

"No." Defiant, proud.

The man slapped her - hard-across the face. Then slapped her again, rocking her head back and forth. Flo's eyes flashed fire and excitement. She bared her teeth. "You can't make me."

The man struck her again and again, snapping her head each time. He held her steady by grasping the belt of the harness. Throughout it all, Flo kept her hands over her head, making no attempt to fend off the blows. Each time he hit her, her big breasts quivered and swung from side to side.

Finally, as if in great humiliation, she allowed herself to slump against the harness, her head bowed.

"That's better," the man said roughly. Swiftly, efficiently, he locked Flo's hands into the restraining cuffs. Then he bent and dragged her feet apart roughly. He locked first one, then the other into the lower cuffs.

Then he stood, breathing rapidly, and surveyed her. "Now. Let us begin." He moved behind her and did something to the harness chain. He gave a powerful heave and pulled it up a foot. The result was that Flo was lifted clear of the floor, her thighs pulled apart and her feet dangling.

"Ohh," she moaned, tossing her head back and forth. "Oh, gawd. That hurts."

"Not yet it doesn't," the man said, coming around to the front of the spread-eagled woman. "Just wait. You'll see what the word hurt really means." He backed off a couple of feet and touched the woman's right breast with the whip. "Here first."

"No. Please, don't."

As if he had not heard, the man carefully measured the distance. Then, with an almost casual gesture, he flicked the whip up and back and brought it whistling down precisely on the nipple. Flo screamed and writhed in her chains. A welt could be seen even through the fabric of her nightie.

The man moved the point of the whip over her skin, tracing a course from breast to belly, then up to the other breast. His free hand fondled his own genitals all the while, caressing his big cock. "Here, now," he said, stopping the whip's point on the other nipple.

Flo whimpered and shook her head, pleading in a low voice. "Don't. Don't hit me again. It hurts so bad. Please don't."

Ignoring her pleas, the man made his casual motion again and brought the whip sizzling down on Flo's left nipple. This time her scream was genuine. The blow had been so sharp that it tore the flimsy fabric of her garment. A thin redness appeared wetly alongside her chocolate-brown nipple.

The black-leathered man turned his back on the girl and walked across to the bed. He threw himself indolently on it and regarded her through his hooded eyes while he continued to fondle himself. His tool stood out starkly white against the glossy black of the leather suit.

"Not so hard, honey. Be a little careful, please," Flo said in a low voice. Her head was down and her voice shook slightly. Tears leaked from the corner of her eyes and splashed onto the thick carpet. A smudge of dark red began to stain the area around her cut breast.

"All right," the man said. "We'll dispense with the whip." He rose catlike and sprang across to the bound woman. With a savage motion he grabbed her nightie at the neck and ripped it to shreds. As Flo gasped in a quick, startled breath, the man took her wounded breast in his hands and clamped his lips over the cup. He sucked hard, licking at her nipple and her wound with a rough, insistent tongue. Flo threw back her head, her mouth silently open, her eyes shut. There was pain and intense pleasure in her face. "Ohh, Gawd! Gawd!"

The man took his hands off her breasts and began to rip the shreds of her nightie off her body. His fingers found her panties and tore them away, too, so that she hung naked in the harness, with wisps of rent cloth dangling from the chains. The man's hands found the firm curve of Flo's belly, slid down to the swell of her mound, and began to caress it. There was no hair to disturb the smooth lines of her sex. She kept herself shaved in the Egyptian fashion, clean of pubic hair. Her thick, brown labial lips swelled strongly like twin halves of a ripe fruit.

His fingers found the slit between those lips and entered. They groped a moment, then settled on the thick, round protuberance of her pudendum. They squeezed - hard.

Flo arched her body and gave another scream, this time of almost pure pleasure. She threw her body to the limits of the harness, twisting her arms and legs against the manacles that bound her. Her free breast bobbed and bounced, its nipple rigid and puckered.

The man continued to suck noisily and savagely at her cut breast and to finger her clit. He moved his other hand behind her and lifted her by the butt, pushing her cunt forward to facilitate his hand's entrance into it. Then he bunched his fingers and began to shove the whole of his hand into Flo's body. She moaned and began to gasp in short, sharp, painful grunts. But this only served to spur the man on. He twisted ferociously. The muscles in his wrist strained and bulged with his efforts. He drove upward until his hand was buried past the knuckles in Flo's cunt. Juice dripped from her and ran down his hand and arm, dripping silently onto the carpet, perhaps to mingle with the tears she had shed earlier.

Flo ceased to thrash about and hung limply in the harness. She wasn't unconscious. She was coming. Her body was almost still, but the intensity of her climax could be seen in the rigidity of her stomach muscles. As she vented her passions, the man felt her sphincter muscle close like a vise around his hand, almost painful in their strength. At the very height of her passion, the man released her breast and clamped his lips over hers. They kissed in deep need, exchanging breath and saliva and pent-up lust. Kissed for ages while he kneaded her pussy and she came and came and came.

And finally even Flo's stomach relaxed and she hung in complete submission in the chains. And in complete satisfaction, too. But that was not the end. The black-clad man still had his enormous hard-on. And he proposed to satisfy its needs.

He stepped behind Flo again and made further adjustments to the chains that bound her. He loosened the wristlets, tightened the harness, and stretched the foot cuffs wide. The effect was to draw the black girl's butt up and back while causing her to bend forward with her legs spread wide. Her bushless pussy thus swung up toward him like pouting lips awaiting a kiss.

But no kiss was forthcoming. Instead, the captor backed off a step or two and took off the broad belt that bound his waist. "Now, Flo," his voice said, "I will prepare you for my entry. I will tenderize your flesh so that you will be sensitive to my every touch. So that the very contact of our bodies will send an intense alarm through you."

Flo gyrated in the harness. "Oh, must you? Do you have to? It hurts so much when you d - " Her words turned to a sharp indrawing of breath as the belt smacked sharply into the fleshy mounds of her buttocks. Involuntarily, she tightened her ass, creating two hillocks of tense brown flesh, a redness tinging the welted portion of her skin to purple.

Again the belt descended, and again. Flo gave sharp cries at each striking. She writhed in her bindings.

The sight of her pain seemed only to spur the man on to greater effort. His mouth was drawn back over his teeth in a merciless grin as he beat the girl's tender flesh. Sweat was visible on the line of his jaw, beneath the bottom of the mask. Light flashed off his deep-hooded eyes. His prick pulsed visibly with each blow he struck. "Now," he hissed. "Now you are ready for me. Your stallion comes to mount you, black beauty."

Flo hung limp in her chains, her head sunk beneath her shoulders. Her lips hung slack and there was a glaze over her eyes. A thin trickle of spittle shown at the corner of her mouth. But the look on her face was of ecstasy.

The man stepped up to Flo and grasped her by the hips. He swayed on the balls of his feet, letting the tip of his cock brush the girl's tormented buttocks. She quivered at the contact and moaned a little. Then the man lowered himself a little, went into a semi-crouch. This brought his hard cock below Flo's naked cunt. He hunched forward at the pelvis and brought the blunt tool up against her sex. She cried again, but a cry of need. He rubbed it up and down, slowly, letting it seek its own path into her still wet slit.

The chocolate lips parted softly and the rigid member slipped two inches into her hole. Before the spasm of lust had ceased to course through the girl, the man straightened his legs abruptly and jammed his cock full into her body. The force of his move lifted her entire weight in the air; so that the harness chain rattled alarmingly and hung slack. Flo's scream this time was almost entirely pain. The man withdrew as swiftly as he had entered. He grasped the undersides of her tormented buttocks with his hands and squeezed painfully. Giving her no time to recover from the brutal shock of that pain, he once more drove home his spear. And again. And yet again.

Flo jerked and swung to his attack. Her body rippling with the shock of his mount. Her breasts jiggling at each attack. Her hands, locked in their cuffs, clenched and opened. Her toes were curled back as far as they would stretch. As the fury of his assault mounted, her mouth once again fell open in a wide gape of pleasure, and her eyes rolled back in their sockets. She was experiencing the absolute ultimate in pleasure.

And so was the man. He was in the grip of his heat. His body jerked and drove of its own accord now. His fingers taloned into the flesh of Flo's ass. He was on his toes, the muscles of his calves taut with the primordial effort of lust. He threw back his head as if baying silently at an unseen moon, rose to a final constriction of muscle and will, and spent himself in Flo's body, coming in an almost solid stream. And Flo came with him.

The spasms passed and the two people stood spent and exhausted. Flo swung idly in the harness. The black-clad man, his meat still in her, stood drawing in huge gulps of air. Then, gently, he disengaged himself and walked to the heavy door, his prick still ramrod stiff. He spoke not a word to the bruised and comatose girl in the chains. Flo hung in silence a time, catching her breath. She shifted position every now and again to ease the strain on various parts of her body. Then she looked up at the sound of the heavy door's opening. She smiled.

Roger walked over to her and kissed her tenderly on the lips. "Let's get you down, angel."

He released the chains and helped her out of the harness, steadying her as she stepped free. With gentle hands he guided her to the bed and laid her face down on it. Then he retrieved his medical bag and took out ointment and cotton. He swabbed down her wrists and ankles, and the whole of her buttocks, taking care to touch as lightly as possible. "How do you feel?"

"Like I've just been hung, beaten, and fucked out of my mind, pretty man."

"Well, that sounds like a good combination to me."

"It was, lover. It was."

Roger gave Flo's ass a final swipe and rose. "Well, I'm for a shower and a change. Then I think I'll check in on our patient downstairs."

"What's the matter? Didn't I drain off all that sexual energy you always have?"

"Business, Flo. Strictly business."

"Yeah. And I know what business, too."

Roger laughed and went into the shower. Fifteen minutes later he was downstairs at Suzanne's door, dressed in jeans and a sports shirt and smelling of soap and aftershave. He pressed the buzzer and heard the bell inside. He waited awhile and pressed it again. Perhaps she was asleep. When there was no answer this time, he tried the door. Locked. He put his ear to the door. There was a radio playing somewhere inside. Maybe she couldn't hear the doorbell for the music. He knocked forcefully and waited. Nothing.

Roger stepped back and frowned. There were lights on in the apartment. And there was the radio. It wasn't likely that she would go away and leave things on like that. Country girls were too frugal. On an impulse, Roger trotted around to the back of the apartments and knocked on Suzanne's bedroom window. "Suzanne?" No response there, either. Frowning more deeply, he hurried around to Craft's door and rang the bell. The door opened almost instantly, as if Craft had been just inside, waiting.

"Yeah?"

"Give me the spare key to Suzanne's door, Walt."

"I don't have it."

"What?"

"I lost the ring yesterday."

Roger looked silently at the little manager. Craft met his gaze for a moment, then dropped his eyes. "Besides," he said, "she's not home."

"Where is she?"

"I don't know. She went out this morning, just after everybody went to work. She's not back yet."

"And you saw her leave?"

"Yeah. I saw her."

"What was she wearing, Walt?"

"I don't know. I didn't notice. A dress, I guess."

Roger continued to look hard at the dead-eyed man. Then he spoke softly. "I'm going into the apartment, Walt. I think perhaps you had better come with me."

Craft shook his head violently. "No. I'm... I've got something on the stove."

Roger nodded curtly. "All right. I'll go alone. Then I'll come back, Walt."

"Sure, Rog. Sure."

Roger went around to the back of the apartment again and tried the bedroom window. It was locked, but that was no real barrier. The apartment was cheaply constructed and the windows were of the mass-produced aluminum variety. It took little more than a twist to lever the lock out of its place.

He pulled the screen off and slid the window aside. The curtains blew outward in the rush of hot air escaping into the cool evening. Roger brushed them aside and climbed through. He knew immediately that something was wrong. Suzanne had only one pair of shoes, and they were tossed casually on the floor by the dresser. A glance showed him that her pitifully few clothes were all either in the closet or scattered around the bedroom.

Moving swiftly, Roger ducked into the bathroom. A tubful of cold water. Water. Water on the floor. A towel soaking wet in the rub. He made a swift passage of the apartment, just for confirmation, then let himself out the front door. He walked deliberately back to Craft's apartment, his face a tight mask. He rang the bell.

This time, there was no answer.