Chapter 8
What Dr. Helmuth Weirath was considering was not so much a letter from a potential member of "Les Masques" but actually a phone call from Houston from a man who identified himself as Jason Barnes, with interests in oil and cotton. Jason Barnes was a name to conjure with, certainly so far as Dr. Weirath was concerned. The retired psychiatrist had seen that name in the financial columns not only in the San Francisco newspapers, but also those of New York and London. He was a man of multiple interests, and yet a shadowy figure. One columnist had written him up as one of the potentially wealthiest men in America, but nothing was known of his background or his personal life, except that he was known to be married or to have been married, but without progeny.
The fact of the matter was that Jason Barnes was sixty-one, extraordinarily vigorous and virile for his age, that he had been married when he was twenty-two, that his wife had been a kind of "camp follower" in the oil fields of Tulsa in the days of wildcat wells and overnight booms. Jason himself had been at first a driller, then a pipe fitter, and then he had worked for a man who was long on talk and short on money. Then he had shrewdly decided that the land was good and that he might make more money by taking out his pay in a vested interest rather than in any stipulated sum.
The speculator for once had struck it rich, and Jason, who had got himself fifty percent of the vested interested, was able to buy out his former boss. That well, known as the Barnes Numbero Uno, was the beginning of his windfall. Within three years he had made his first million, and within ten more was up to an even ten, in stocks, fiduciary settlements, land and bonds.
By then his wife had left him for a salesman who traveled Oklahoma, Texas and Arkansas, and two years later she was dead when her new husband caught her in bed with a sixteen-year-old neighbor's son. Jason had no time to mourn her, he was too busy making more millions.
At the age of fifty, with a fortune close to a hundred million at a rough estimate, he felt it was time for him to enjoy some of the fruits of this rich material life which up to now had only been theoretical for him. He lived in a modest hotel room most of the time, and it was only two years ago he decided to build an extraordinary mansion, whose basement was large enough for a catering party of over two hundred, with room to spare.
Of rugged stock, Jason had thrived on hard work, and he had had only a few casual fuckings with prostitutes in his early youth. But now, with more leisure time on his hands, with his money making income for him just on the basis of interest alone, he came to a decision that he was going to taste the fleshpots.
One of his friends, Albert Barndee, a Dallas financier, had gone with a member of "Les Masques" about three months ago and had witnessed the whipping and compelled subjugation of two attractive young cousins, ages seventeen and nineteen, who had subsequently been sold as slave-girls to a wealthy Lesbian who owned a chain of dress shops in upper New York and Baltimore.
Barndee had spent a lavish week at Jason Barnes's palatial estate on the outskirts of Houston and had told his friend of the thrilling and perverse joys to be gleaned from visiting Dr. Weirath's establishment and becoming a member of that highly esoteric and extremely expensive coterie.
In the weeks that followed, Jason Barnes was involved in several stock manipulations, had to fly to London to sell some of his holdings at an astonishingly large profit and he decided to take the bull by the horns and call Dr. Weirath on the phone.
Dr. Weirath had a private line that couldn't be tapped, and he listened with growing interest and then with greedy avarice when Jason Barnes reached him on the phone.
For what Jason Barnes wanted, he said, was to purchase a slave, not a young girl, but one who was reasonably mature, sophisticated, cultured, imaginative, and physically attractive. It would not be necessary to subjugate her into slavery, for he wished to do that himself. And the price he offered was fifty thousand dollars in hard cash. For that amount of money, Dr. Weirath might well have sold his own sister into bondage.
And that was why, unbeknownst to amoral Jan Caldwell, he was contemplating placing a call to Dr. Barnes' private number and inviting the eccentric multimillionaire to visit "Les Masques" ten days hence, when he intended to have a very special presentation for a very select group of members. Indeed, each one of the members would have to pay $2500 as an extra premium to be privileged to attend. His idea was that at the end of this festivity, he would leave Jason Barnes alone with Jan Caldwell, and thus learn whether Jason Barnes coveted her. If he did, Jan Caldwell would leave with him, gagged and bound, blindfolded and in chains, that very night.
Meanwhile, Henry Wadsworth was doing some snooping around, though he didn't want to attract too much attention. He had taken a cab within two blocks of the Weirath mansion, and when he saw it in all its imposing grandeur, he whistled long and respectfully. Anybody who could afford the upkeep on a place like this, must be in the chips, and with a mediaeval castle like this, had all sorts of opportunities to capture a girl and have her locked away and helpless to get free, so he could do just about anything he cared to with her. The more he thought about his theory, the more he felt it had considerable validity now that he had seen where Dr. Weirath hung out.
But getting into that house was another thing. He had no search warrant and he couldn't very well ring the doorbell and tell the old doctor that he had a sneaking hunch that young girls were being kept there against their will, and that he wanted to look around. He could lose his license for the unauthorized harassment of an important citizen, and certainly Dr. Weirath was an important citizen with a domicile like this.
What made things more complicated was that a tall head-high iron grilled fence enclosed the estate, and even the gate was locked. The gate was controlled by an electrical current piped under the ground and into Dr. Weirath's own personal study-den. He also had a closed circuit TV setup, so that when the bell rang, indicating that someone was trying to get in, he could flick on the switch and see exactly who was out there. It had cost him a pretty penny, but with the money he was deriving from the wealthy amateurs who were members of "Les Masques," that was a mere bagatelle.
Henry Wadsworth made a few notes on a memo pad, smoked a few cigarettes, glowered at the house, and then got onto a streetcar as far as it would go, whence he made connections across the Bay Bridge and on to San Francisco and his office. A lot of ideas were going through his head, but he hadn't come up with one that would get him any closer inside that house than he had been standing outside the house and on the wrong side of that gate wondering what the hell was going on inside.
He would have been greatly intrigued if he could have seen what was going on inside that mansion. For Jan Caldwell, who had of her own volition donned a bondage costume and who had just, upon her knees, bowing her head down to her employers' feet, begged him to punish her for being a bad girl, was about to show him that she loved him blindly and was ready to offer herself as a private love slave.
She now lay across his lap, and the rubber tights had been dragged down to reveal her naked ass. His right leg clamped over her calves, his left arm went around her waist but higher up, so he could edge over and squeeze one of her titties, Dr. Helmuth Weirath was spanking her beautifully firm, jouncy, naked behind with a black wooden hairbrush. It made a lovely sonorous noise, and Jan's bottom jumped every time it cracked on down, flattening the tender flesh and letting it spring up again, a sight that was one of the loveliest in the world to the perverse retired psychiatrist.
He gave Jan about fifty spanks, and she tried to be quite stoic, to bow her head and close her eyes and take it to prove how brave she was and how glad she was that he was accepting her as his slave. She did this to cement their relationship, because she was inordinately jealous and she knew that her employer lost no opportunity to fuck nearly every pretty girl who passed through the portals of this mansion.
But towards the last fifteen, she was crying like a baby and kicking her legs about, and it was all he could do to keep her on his lap to get the rest of it.
At last he finished, and she lay sobbing plaintively. He put the ruler in his left hand, pressed it to her lips and commanded her to kiss it, then to thank him for spanking her naked seat. Jan Caldwell humbled herself and went through the formula, then turned back her tearstained face, her eyes full of naked longing.
"Now do you think you can be a good girl from now on, Jan?" he asked, his own voice thick with passion.
"Oh yes, master," to his delight Jan used the word which thrilled him to the core, for he had always seen himself as a ruler of beautiful girls. "I'll be ever so good. Only please don't spank my poor bare bottom any more, please, master!"
"Very well. You may kneel down now and take my prick out of my shorts and see how nicely you can pay homage to it with the tip of your tongue. But don't make it come, because I want to use that juice to put into that sweet pussy of yours, Jan."
"Oh yes, master, I'll do just what you want," she declared abjectly.
With all the burning zeal of a true masochist, Jan Caldwell now, shackled though she was and by her own hands (for it was not difficult to apply the wrist-irons and ankle-bracelets with their chains and fasten the spring lock on each set which would clamp tightly around her limbs) drew his swollen ramrod out. Her eyes glistened with a feverish desire. Her tongue darted out and began to swipe at the glans while the doctor stood there, straddled, hands on hips, puffing at a cigar now, eyeing her with great relish.
Definitely, Jason Barnes would pay a fortune for a handsome, imaginative, experienced piece of cunt like this one.
The idea of making fifty thousand dollars by disposing of his trustworthy aide who had been invaluable to him in the past and yet might one day have the power to blackmail him or turn state's evidence against him, managed to make Dr. Helmuth Weirath savagely excited. He had to clap his hand over his prickhead and push Jan Caldwell away almost rudely, closing his eyes and breathing deeply until he had regained his self-control.
"Now then, slave," he ordered," go lean yourself over my desk-wait-take a book and put it under your belly. I want to raise that belly of yours so I can get at that sweet cunt."
"Oh yes, master!" Jan Caldwell panted. She wriggled forward to the desk after he had released her, and in a moment was bending well over, her bottom reddened and lewdly upreared, her gaping pink cunt temptingly exposed in ready invitation.
Moving to her, he dug his fingernails into the edges of her bare hips, and guided himself towards the soft petals of her pouting cunt. Slowly he tantalized her by rubbing his weapon all over her cunt, softly against the lips and just barely touching the open cleft while she moaned and sobbed and gasped, her own passions mounting fiercely.
Then, with unerring aim, he crammed himself home to the balls in a single decimating jab, and Jan's face rose, eyes goggling and glassy with her rapture. Her mouth gaped in a wild, husky cry, and then she began to thrust her body back to him every time she felt him press against her, wanting to go ahead of him and prove how fervently devoted she was to the proposition that she was now his most intimate slave of slaves.
At last with a cry of ecstasy, his head tilting back and his eyes closing, she felt him burst into her womb. Her climax came with his, and when it was over, she felt him move away from her and then, he leaned forward, trembling, almost sagging with aftermath as he felt his prick gripped by the embracing walls of his lovely secretary's cuntwalls. He was thinking that Jason Barnes ought to have seen this, because then there wouldn't be any doubt in the multimillionaire's mind that this woman was worth far more than fifty thousand dollars.