Chapter 11
Jan Caldwell went back to her office and dabbed at her eyes with a perfumed handkerchief, an expensive box of which (with her own initials monogrammed on them) her fickle and perverse employer had given her six months ago. When the crisis had stopped, she examined the handkerchief, then wadded it into a ball and furiously flung it into the wastebasket with a grimace of jealous rage.
The old axiom, "Hell hath no fury like a woman scorned," was beginning to work in Jan Caldwell's psyche. Coming in on Ernestine Helms and Dr. Weirath as she had, and seeing the utterly passionate way in which the silver-blonde nymph had been flinging herself at her employer-lover without any rejection on his part (indeed, quite the opposite!) had begun to plant the shadow of doubt in Jan's quick if passion-obsessed mind.
For the first time since she had come to work for him three years ago, she began to examine a little more critically the entire operation of which she had become such an integral part. She had endangered her own reputation for him, by becoming involved in the illegal abductions and seductions of attractive women and girls who ultimately wound up on the stage of "Les Masques," for the amusement of all the jaded and dissolute men and women who were Dr. Weirath's associates and from whom he so unscrupulously profited. And this knowledge, coupled as it was with her discovery that the suave gray-haired psychiatrist could reject her and take the sexual favors of a young slut, for that was precisely what she considered Ernestine Helms to be infuriated Jan almost irrationally.
Finally she gained control of her nerves, and remembered that he had told her to make a phone call to a certain Jason Barnes in Houston, Texas. What she didn't know was that this was the very man for whom her voluptuous body was destined about a week hence, for Dr. Weirath had impulsively decided to eliminate the one source of danger to him in his entire operation and at the same time be rid of a jealous mistress at an enormous profit while accepting in her stead the abandoned and uninhibited favors of Ernestine Helms.
And while she was making that phone call whose purpose it was to invite the multimillionaire up to the doctor's mansion for a special festivity of "Les Masques," the man who was going to be her Judas was at this moment having seconds with silver-blonde Ernestine.
Ernestine had gone down on her knees to French him, to restore his vigor for this return engagement. Insatiable as she was, she was now even more infatuated by him than Jan had been at the outset of her employment three years ago. In the first place, Ernestine was bored to death with her uncle, Harold Buttridge, who, it seemed, could be aroused only after he had witnessed or was witnessing a scene of torture. While Ernestine enjoyed this, there were many times when she was alone with him when she was in the mood for being fucked or for performing one of the many variations on that theme. But of late her uncle had not been able to respond quite so much as she desired. To her delight she discovered now that Dr. Helmuth Weirath, though almost as old as her uncle, was enormously more virile. She had had a furious climax during that first fuck, and she was deliriously happy. Of her own accord therefore, she knelt down and began to French him, her hands rubbing the backs of his hairy legs, her eyes swimming with the misty languor of insatiable passion.
And when she had drawn his prick to a new hardness, she rose and led him to the wide leather-padded couch beside the wall, whispering, "Oh you have to do me again, darling, you just have to! That little bitch in the trunk of the car can wait, I'm so hot for you I can't stand it!"
"What an impulsive and lovable child you are, my dear," he chuckled hoarsely. He was thinking of something else besides Ernestine Helms' enticing body and her willingness to fuck at the drop of a hat (or the drop of a fly). He was thinking of her enormous wealth, and the fact that her uncle was a very bad insurance risk at his age. If anything should happen to Harold Buttridge, Ernestine Helms, being his only next of kin, would stand to inherit a great deal of money and a very beautiful house. This was a kind of dowry which would make the silver-blonde heiress even more irresistible than she was now.
And that was why he flattered and sought to prove himself a veritable Casanova so as to leave the impression in her scatterbrained mind that he was the real man for her, not her uncle.
He came willingly with her to the couch, his hands on her titties, and then he pressed her back down. He had already gamahuched her to her ecstatic delight, for this was something that her Uncle Harold rarely if ever did. Harold Buttridge was a selfish kind of satyr, and preferred to be worked upon rather than to create and show imaginative wooing.
But this time, to her even greater delight, though he didn't gamahuch her, he suddenly rolled her over onto her belly, then put his hands to the sides of her hips and hoisted her up onto her knees, with her face still buried against the pillow. "What-what are you doing, Helmuth dear?" she panted huskily.
"I'm going to love you in a different way, my darling," he murmured thickly. His fingers stroked her quivering bottom-cheeks, and then suddenly and delicately gaped them apart to expose the pink cleft of her dainty asshole.
"Oohhh, Helmuth!" she squealed, "you're too big for me, you'll hurt me, oh no, not there, please, darling-fuck me again instead, oh please!"
"You're wrong, and it will be very pleasant for you, mark my words," he gasped. He delicately prodded the furtive crevice and then, with his right thumb and forefinger succeeding in keeping the cheeks of her behind separated enough for his organ to attain the inlet, he applied his left forefinger to her soft moist cunt and began to frig her lingeringly.
Ernestine's protests began to change to cooing murmurs of ecstasy and delight. Her bottom also began to wriggle, her knees to bend, so that her satiny nether globes rubbed against his belly in the most stimulating manner. Now his forefinger attacked her clit, and Ernestine Helms was beside herself with joy: "Aaahh-oh you darling-oh there's nobody like you-you're driving me crazy, you sweet darling-mmmm, do it if you want to, put it into me, only please don't hurt your little Ernestine!"
"Of course I won't, my darling," he said, his voice trembling with rut. Gently he prodded the tip of his cock against the flinching petals of her anus, and then just inserted himself, enough to tell her what pleasure there could be from this lascivious distension.
At the same time, he speeded up the tempo of frigging her love button, and Ernestine lifted her flushed, contorted face from the pillow, her eyes glazed and widened as new sensations thrilled her beyond words.
Convulsively her hips jerked, and as she executed this backward maneuver, she succeeded in impaling herself; at least two inches of his stiff ramrod pressed beyond the sphincter muscles, and Ernestine Helms uttered a raucous, "Aaahrroohhh!! ! ! Oh, Helmuth, Helmuth, I can't stand it, it's so wonderful, oh you're going to kill me with it, oh I love it, oh Helmuth!"
If at this moment Ernestine Helms had been told that she could save her uncle only by leaving Dr. Helmuth Weirath's study and going back home and fucking Harold Buttridge, she would have told the emissary, "Let the old fool die." For Ernestine Helms was a creature of sensation and hedonism, living for that alone. And at this moment, she had never been so thrilled.
Now that he was inside her, he could use his right hand, and he did so by reaching forward to grab one of her bubbies and to massage it lovingly. His thumb and forefinger found the nipple and caressed it till it grew hard and dark with erogenous desire. Her whimpering little cries and plaints were music to his ears, as he now foraged another inch deeper into the tight canal of her asshole.
The clenching spasms of her rectal walls around his organ thrilled him in his turn, with a kind of maddening Tantalus. But since he had already burst his first bubbling jet into her quaking cunthole, he was manly proof against the danger. Once a man's edge had been removed, he can keep up coital activity a great deal longer the second time without finding a sudden desperate need to ejaculate. He knew this, and it was true for him as he knew it would be.
By the time he had thrust his prick to the very hilt and his belly was grinding against her satiny warm ass-cheeks, Ernestine Helms had almost collapsed with ecstasy, for his finger had driven her to no fewer than two passionate spends.
She crumpled after the second one, lying flat, and he followed her. Weighing down over her, his prick bladed to the very balls, he could luxuriate and feel the convulsive clippings and grippings and nipping of her bumhole walls, while his forefinger continued to ply her clit with delicate caresses and his other hand to fondle her heaving tittie . . .
It was fully half an hour before Ernestine recovered from the almost delirious crisis which his furious lovemaking had evoked, and then both of them, dressing, languidly began to think of the captive redhead locked up in the trunk of the Chevrolet. The two of them went into the garage through the secret passageway, opened the trunk, and carried the girl who called herself "Vilma" back into the mansion and down the stairs to the cellar. At one end of it, there were several wooden storage cells which would serve very nicely as dungeons. Indeed, the door had been changed from a full wooden planking to one which had several iron bars in a kind of window-grille, through which the amateur would be purchasers of slaves could view their prospective merchandise at their leisure and also in which either recalcitrant and rebellious captives or newly abducted slaves could be locked up safely.
The naked redhead, still blindfolded and gagged and bound, was put into one of these storage cells, which was then padlocked, and Dr. Weirath and Ernestine Helms went back up to the living room. There, placid now and only glancing at each other form time to time with a smile that exchanged the silent knowledge of the pleasure they had had of each other, Ernestine and Dr. Weirath chatted about the forthcoming spectacle to be held in that basement to which they had just brought the unfortunate young girl who had been "rented" by Ernestine and her elderly uncle.
"You know, dear Helmuth," Ernestine murmured as she sat close to him and put her arm around his waist, "I think I like best to watch a slave who fights and who doesn't want to give in. Somebody who doesn't suspect she's going to be a slave-you know what I mean? That's why watching that little bitch who calls herself Vilma was so exciting, and why both Uncle Harold and I bid for her."
"I follow your meaning, my dear," he said. His left hand was around her, and now it rose slyly to cup her left tittie. She turned her face to him with a giggle, and he promptly kissed her. Their tongues met, and she began again to squirm because passion was always seething between her thighs.
"Let's talk sensibly, my dear," he said huskily, for he had to admit to himself that she was a very potent temptation, being so close beside him. "I too believe that for the sadist and the voluptuary, the most thrilling sight of all is the coercion of someone who detests and loathes exactly what is being done to her."
"That's exactly my feeling, Helmuth! Oh, you and I have so many things in common! If only-"
Suddenly she looked down at her lap, and folded her hands and then frowned.
"If only what, my darling?" he pursued.
"Well, I really shouldn't say it, it does sound so ungrateful. But if anything should ever happen to Uncle Harold, well, I think I could do what I wanted to. And you know what I'd like best to do, don't you?"
"I can't guess, my darling."
"Be with you all the time," she whispered. And then her tongue flicked into his ear, making his prick throb again with longing.
He also had had the same idea, but now that she had come out with it and it lay between them as a naked and tangible thing, the ingenious mind of Dr. Helmuth Weirath was already racing ahead to work out some way whereby this lovely silver-blonde nymph with all her money and her house could become his permanently and Harold Buttridge would exist no more as a deterrent to his niece's change of lovers.