Flesh

The scanning, uploading and distribution of this book via the Internet or via any other means without the permission of the publisher is illegal, and punishable by law. Please purchase only authorized electronic editions, and do not participate in or encourage the electronic piracy of copyrighted materials. Your support of the author's rights is appreciated. This book is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places, and incidents either are products of the author's imagination or are used fictitiously. Any resemblance to actual events or locales or persons, living or dead, is entirely coincidental. Flesh: the Island of Madam SIN Copyright  2003 Judith ISBN:1-55410-005-4 Cover art and design by Martine Jardin All rights reserved. Except for use in any review, the reproduction or utilization of this work in whole or in part in any form by any electronic, mechanical or other means, now known or hereafter invented, is forbidden without the written permission of the publisher. Published by eXtasy Books, a division of Zumaya Publications, 2003 Look for us online at: www.zumayapublications.com www.Extasybooks.com

Flesh-The Island of Madam SIN

Chapter One

M

arguerite Mandell excused herself from the small group of people she had been talking with. Smiling randomly at friends and acquaintances, she crossed the big drawing room that was the focal point of the reception, making her way toward the door that led to the kitchen. More than a few guests— male and female—marked her progress with interest as she wove a route through the crowded room. Generally, the women viewed her with envy; the men, if they were honest, with baser, more animal sentiments. She was a strikingly beautiful and elegant woman; tall and svelte with high cheekbones and pale, translucent skin. These attributes, together with a certain fluidity in the way she moved, gave her the appearance of the quintessential fashion model, which was what she had been until, fifteen years earlier, she had forsaken the cameras and the catwalk to marry Charles. At thirty-eight, she was still stunning. Indeed, her male admirers would say that, if anything, she had grown more desirable with maturity. The emerald-studded gold earrings and the matching choker that embraced her throat, though of the finest quality, seemed almost understated against her natural radiance. Her lustrous copper hair with its natural highlights—her 'signature' in her modeling days—normally tumbled about her shoulders as she moved; tonight though, she wore it up, held in place at the back of her head by an antique Chinese jade pin, thus accentuating her slender neck. And she still knew how to dress to 1

Judith devastating effect. Although not specifically designed to look provocative, the burgundy silk cocktail dress that hung by narrow straps from her otherwise bare shoulders did little to disguise the exquisitely proportioned form within. "Not leaving us, I hope, Marguerite?" Pausing, she smiled as she turned to answer Martin Cabot, merchant banker and close business associate of her husband. "Just going to the kitchen to check that everything is all right. I'm sure Janet will be keeping an eye on the caterers, but we haven't used this firm before. I want to see how they're performing. Have you seen Charles recently?" "Over there, talking to Stella Markham." Marguerite followed the direction of Cabot's nod with her eyes and saw her husband, apparently engrossed in earnest conversation with his personal assistant and a group of other people. As if he sensed her looking at him, Charles turned and smiled at her across the room before returning his attention to his guests again. "Wonderful party," Cabot said, accepting another glass of champagne from a passing waiter. "I"m glad you could make it, Martin. Excuse me, will you—the caterers..." "Sure. Catch you later." Like an actress exiting the stage, Marguerite's demeanour changed the moment she left the drawing room. Unobserved now by her husband and their guests, she seemed to consciously cast aside the role of attentive, self-composed hostess. As she moved along the corridor toward the kitchen, her pace picked up something of a sense of urgency. The kitchen was bustling with activity. As she had anticipated, Janet, the housekeeper, was overseeing the preparation of food for the guests by the caterers. In fact, despite what she had said to Martin Cabot, Marguerite had not the slightest doubt that the catering company could be totally relied upon. They had come highly recommended by a friend whose judgment she trusted implicitly. 2

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"Everything going smoothly?" she asked rhetorically. "Everything's fine, Mrs. Mandell," Janet confirmed. Jennings, the catering manager, merely smiled indulgently, as if to suggest that no such confirmation was necessary from him; as always, the proof of the pudding… Marguerite returned the smile. "Good." Instead of returning the way she had come, she crossed the kitchen and left by another door, beyond which an enclosed spiral staircase ascended to provide servant access to the two upper floors of the house, as an alternative to the main stairway in the entrance hall. *** At the top of the stairs, on the uppermost floor, Marguerite approached a door, set back from the main landing at the end of its own, smaller, L-shaped corridor. The bedroom beyond the door was situated at the rear of the imposing Georgian residence, in the southwest corner of the building. It was a spacious but strangely asymmetrical room, as if it had been built into the house as an afterthought using unexpectedly leftover space, but it had a fine view over the extensive grounds and the open countryside beyond. The room was rarely occupied, guests invariably being accommodated by the Mandells in the more conveniently situated bedrooms on the floor below. In fact, these days it was only ever used by one visitor to Rylands, who enjoyed the eccentricity of its shape and the tranquility afforded by its isolation from the rest of the house. Marguerite's hand was trembling as she reached for the door. Her heart, already beating faster than normal, quickened as she turned the handle and pushed the door inward. The room was softly lit by a trio of table lamps, one on each of the bedside tables, and a third on the walnut writing desk that stood by the window. As in the rest of the house, the decor and antique furnishing within the bedroom had been tastefully selected to complement the period character of the 3

Judith property. As she entered the room, someone stepped out from behind the open door to take hold of her upper arms from behind. It was a firm grip, and she gasped as she was drawn back against an unmistakably masculine body. A slither of excitement burgeoned in her stomach…and lower. She felt his breath, warm and moist, on her neck; knowing instinctively that he was naked—a fact confirmed anyway by his discarded clothes lying on a chair by the dressing table. He made no attempt to disguise from her the fact that he was aroused. On the contrary, he pressed his hips against her so that she could feel his male hardness against her buttocks through the thin silk of her dress. "At last, you come to me." His voice was low, hoarse, the accent French but not pronounced. "I…" She was suddenly short of breath in the intimacy of his embrace. When she was at last able to answer him, her voice was little more than a whisper. "The way you looked at me as you left the room…I knew, could see in your eyes that you wanted me to come. I followed as soon as I could." Armand's hands caressed her bare arms lightly. "I thought you would have come to me before tonight. I've been here two days already." She gasped as he moved his hands to cup her breasts, taking their weight. She tilted her head back against his shoulder. "I know. I wanted to, but it's been…difficult. Katrina only came home the day before you arrived. It's been almost a year since she was home last, and she's spent nearly all of her time with me since she got here. With Charles away at the office in London during the day, she's been like my shadow." "And at night?" "I could hardly leave Charles in bed alone as soon as you arrived. That wouldn't have been very tactful, would…aah!" She broke off mid-sentence, the exclamation her response to the 4

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pressure of his fingers and thumbs as they pinched her nipples hard through the silk. Moving his hands up to her shoulders, he slipped off the narrow straps and eased the dress down her arms. She was not wearing a brassiere, and the silk glided easily over her skin, falling away to bare her breasts. He took them in his hands, caressing, then squeezing the yielding flesh, delighting in the hardness of her nipples now that they had swollen and stiffened with her arousal. Only her hips prevented the dress falling to the floor. Above the waist, she was naked but for her jewelry. "Are you going to…punish me for keeping you waiting?" Her voice was low, her breathing shallow. "Should I not? Tell me I shouldn't, and I won't." She shook her head marginally, the movement reminiscent of a small unconscious shudder. "I can't. It isn't for me to say. Whatever you decide." "Yes." "Yes?" Was he agreeing with the statement or answering her question? "Yes, I think that I shall punish you." Her cheeks and the pale flesh at her throat flushed pink. "Now?" she asked diffidently. "Very soon. But there is something you must do first." He turned her around to face him. He did not answer the question in her eyes, instead raising his arms and reaching behind her head to remove the jade pin. Her hair, thick, shining, cascaded about her shoulders. With a single toss of her head, she shook it free. Then, for the first time since she entered the room, her eyes were able to take him in. He was older than she by perhaps three or four years. Not handsome, exactly; his nose was a little too aquiline and his jaw a fraction too square to allow him that description, but neither was he unattractive. Indeed, there was a dark intensity about his eyes, which, together with the hint of mockery in his smile, many women found appealing, if somewhat intimidating. His body, like hers, was well 5

Judith proportioned, but there the similarity ended. He was lean and hard, the muscles precisely defined beneath his skin, crafted by a lifetime's devotion to sport and rigorous outdoor pursuits. As she looked at him, her gaze was drawn inevitably to his erect penis, a rigid limb of flesh protruding from his groin. It was at once fascinating and terrible in its state of arousal. The pupils of her eyes dilated to better accommodate the image. He stepped up close to her, taking hold of her again by the shoulders. "Kneel." She obeyed, her nipples tracing two invisible parallel lines down his chest and stomach as she sank to the floor. His erection flinched as her breasts momentarily enfolded it in a transient embrace. Then she was on her knees, the swollen head of his cock mere inches from her face, its single eye seeming to glare at her voraciously as if it would devour her. The entire pillar of hardened flesh pulsed to his heartbeat. The skin, stretched taut, had taken on a satin sheen. He placed his hands on either side of her head, drawing her to him. Up close like this, the blood-engorged organ appeared monstrous, somehow incongruous with her fragile beauty. But she was not deterred. She moved her head slowly from side to side, allowing his cock to brush across her cheeks and half-closed eyelids. A low growl deep in his throat told of his hunger for her. He took the shaft in his hand and guided the head to her mouth. Her lips, glossed pale pink, pursed to pay homage by kissing the tip where a tiny bead of clear, viscous fluid had formed in anticipation of what was about to happen. He paused, holding the moment as if to savor her submission, the absolute surrender of her delicate charms to the conscienceless instrument of his passion. "Now." She parted her lips obediently to admit him. Then, slowly, carefully at first, began to take him deeper into her mouth, working her lips incrementally down along his shaft. He watched the process in rapt fascination. The prospect of her mouth distending to 6

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accommodate the expanded girth of his cock as it eased between her lips was almost too much for him. He struggled to maintain control as she warmed to her task. Raising her hands, she grasped his cock near the base with one hand while fondling his testicles with the other. Her tongue was busy also, wetly exploring and massaging every part of every inch of hard flesh as it filled her mouth. But she could not take his entire length, and when the rounded head nuzzled against the back of her throat, she began to withdraw again, gently kneading his balls and slowly masturbating him from the base of his cock. Each time it seemed he was about to slip free of her lips, she lowered her head onto him again, sucking him back in to repeat the process. Soon, her head was moving to and fro in a steady, insistent rhythm. Seizing her by the hair, he threw back his head in abandon. Unable to withstand her expert ministrations for long, he was very soon on the brink of eruption. Feeling the flow rising in his loins, he looked down at her again, at the feverish working of her mouth. His penis gleamed wetly in the lamplight as it slithered back and forth between her lips. He could hold back no longer. Pulling her to him, he thrust deeply into her mouth as the torrent began to surge from deep within him. "Aaaargh!" Armand's cry of release was accompanied by a low moan of vicarious satisfaction from Marguerite herself, although in the rage of his passion he probably didn't hear it. She tried to consume the hot, salty flood entirely, but his repeated spasms rendered this impossible, so that what she was unable to swallow escaped between her lips and his frantically thrusting penis. Suddenly, in the final throes of his climax, his cock sprang free of her mouth, spilling yet more of the viscous fluid onto her face and breasts, where it clung like pearls studded on her flesh. Spent now, he bent on one knee to embrace and kiss her. She wrapped her arms around him, exploring with her fingertips the hard musculature of his back. Their bodies, slick with perspiration and the 7

Judith random discharge of his seed, slid easily against each other. After a moment, he rose and went to the bathroom. Marguerite resumed her original kneeling position as she waited for him to come back. She listened to the sound of rushing water from the bathroom for several minutes, until he returned with a damp flannel. Taking her by the hand, he helped her to her feet, and began to wipe her face with the flannel. Then he carefully cleansed her neck and breasts before tossing the flannel aside. Standing before her, he looked directly into her eyes. "Now it is time for your punishment." He turned away and crossed the room to an antique leather chesterfield. Sitting on the edge of the sofa, he held out his hand toward her. "Come here, my darling." Diffidently, she moved toward him. When she was within his reach, he took her by the wrist and pulled her to him. Laying her face down across his thighs, he took hold of her other wrist and held both together in the small of her back with his left hand. With the right, he grasped the hem of her dress and pulled it up above her waist. He arranged the folds of silk until he was content. Marguerite was acutely conscious of her condition, draped across his lap in the manner of a child about to be chastised for misbehavior. Her dress was now bunched around her waist, above which she was quite naked. Below, she was wearing only a minuscule pair of silk panties, a matching suspender belt to support her stockings, and high-heeled shoes. He made an adjustment to the panties, pulling them up toward her waist, at the same time easing the silk off her buttocks so that it disappeared into the cleft between. This way more of her flesh was exposed. Raising his right hand palm downward, high above her rump, he paused. "Are you ready?" The question was rhetorical, her response the flinching and tautening of her buttocks and thighs in anticipation of what she knew was to follow. The first slap was hard, although it did not seem so from the 8

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sound, which was absorbed by the soft furnishings in the room. It evoked a sharp intake of breath from her. He paused for a moment to watch the imprint of his hand and fingers materialize, bright red upon the pale flesh of her right buttock. He landed another slap, this time on the left, then another…and another, strategically positioning the blows to spread the growing flush further afield. So far, biting her lip, Marguerite had managed to remain silent, but now as he increased the pace and force of the spanking, she marked each slap with a little cry of anguish. "Aah… Ooh… Aah!" Gratified, rather than deterred by her response, Armand intensified his efforts until she at last called out, "Oh, please stop. I don't think I can bear any more. Haven't I been punished enough?" He stopped. She turned her head to look up at him, her eyes glistening with tears. "Thank you," she whispered. But when he did not release her hands, she realized that her torment was not yet over. With a heavy sigh, she hung her head again in resignation. He gripped her panties at the waist and peeled them slowly down over her buttocks, pushing her thighs slightly apart as he did so. Sliding the panties down her legs, he noted with satisfaction that the silken crotch was moist and slick to his touch. Removing the garment completely, he tossed it onto the floor, then returned his hand to the back of her thighs, easing them further apart. With his fingers, he explored the mysterious niche that marked the confluence of her thighs with her buttocks, and was pleased to confirm that the lips of her sex were very wet. She shuddered and moaned as he explored the slippery cleft with his fingers, then gasped when his forefinger, lubricated by her own secretion, probed the tightly puckered flesh at the entrance to her anus. "Aaah." She writhed on his lap in a vain attempt to evade the inevitable as he insinuated the finger slowly into her, exploring the forbidden orifice deeply. Ironically, when he began to withdraw the 9

Judith offending finger, her sphincter muscles reflexively gripped it tighter as if unwilling to allow an end to her humiliation. She sighed when the intimate foray appeared to be over, but then cried out as without warning he slapped her—hard—across the buttocks again. The blow was followed by another, then another as he resumed her spanking. Over the next few minutes he alternated the rain of blows with brief interludes of insistent caressing and probing of her sex and anus. It was during one such interlude that she turned her head to look up at him again. Her face was flushed and her tears still flowing freely, but there was something else in her eyes besides pain and humiliation now; an urgent plea for something more than just an end to her ordeal. "Oh, please, Armand," she sobbed. "I'm…burning up inside. Please don't make me beg you." Now, for the first time, he smiled at her. Releasing her wrists, he helped her to her feet as he rose from the chesterfield. He scooped her up easily in his arms and as her body brushed against his, she noticed that he was erect and hard again. Carrying her across the room, he laid her across the width of the bed, her feet extending a little over the side. Her arms lay at an angle to her body, hands pressed palms-down against the surface of the bed. Her hair was scattered about her shoulders and breasts, the latter rising and falling delightfully with each urgent breath. She stared at him intently, the expression in her eyes a mixture of reproach and challenge. Standing at the side of the bed, he took hold of her by her ankles and pulled her toward him until her buttocks were on the very edge. Then, pushing her legs apart and back, he bent them at the knees. This parted her buttocks and completely exposed her sex, the glistening, swollen lips pouting from their luxuriant mantle of bright copper hair. He knelt on the floor at the edge of the bed, slowly lowering his head, brushing his face and lips softly up along the inner side of one stocking-clad thigh, and onto the white satin flesh at the top. At the point on her upper thigh where his face touched the moist forest of her hair, he paused to inhale her essence deeply. 10

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Purposefully he placed his palms on her buttocks, then, like a virtuoso addressing his instrument, extended his fingers to the soft flesh on either side of her opening, easing it apart. "Oooooh!" The exclamation, triggered by the contact of his lips with her vulva, seemed to emanate from somewhere deep inside Marguerite. It was a raw, guttural sound; an almost violent outburst, as if she had been suddenly immersed in a pool of glacial melt-water. As he began to explore her with his tongue, her soft little cries changed pitch, becoming high and tremulous. She dug her fingers into the bed cover, frantically grasping the material as the tip of his tongue located her clitoris. Like a foraging serpent, he flicked his tongue repeatedly across the hot, slippery kernel of flesh. She responded by whimpering and tossing her head from side to side as if suffering an unbearable ordeal—which it very nearly was. But it was an ordeal of exquisite, undiluted pleasure, from which he allowed her senses no respite. Now, in the manner of a starving man presented with a ripe, luscious peach, he sucked and licked and probed every part of the succulent flesh, one moment focusing on her clitoris, the next thrusting his tongue deeply inside her. She began to tremble from the onset of her first orgasm. She would experience several before he finished with her—he knew her very well. Like a growing electric charge, the irresistible force surged through her body as, once again, his forefinger delved the tiny opening between her buttocks. The relentless conspiracy of tongue and finger, executed with practiced dexterity, catapulted her to climax, and with her liberation came total abandon. Writhing uncontrollably, she cried out to him, begging him in the most graphic terms to use her as he might the lewdest of whores. Even before her spasms had subsided, Armand rose to his feet. Observing the spectacle of Marguerite's journey from suffering and humiliation through mounting pleasure to wanton release had left him fiercely aroused. His penis, stiff and swollen, ached with his need to possess her. He guided it with one hand to the saturated furrow of flesh that cleaved her pubic hair, and inserted the head between her 11

Judith pouting labia. In response, she thrust up her hips to meet him, urging him to enter her. "Yes, Armand. Fuck me now, my darling!" The aggressive emphasis of her tone was not lost on Armand. Without further hesitation, he drove his cock hard into her, sinking its entire length in a single movement. She responded with an animal grunt. For a moment, he did not move, preferring instead to savor awhile the sheer carnal satisfaction of being buried inside her. The walls of her sex tightened around his cock, embracing the intrusion. Trembling, she bit her lower lip. He leaned forward, placing his mouth close to her ear, and whispered an analogy to her: that opened wide and impaled upon his prick like this, she was like a beautiful mounted butterfly. Her trembling intensified, and he recognized the signs that she was close to being transported by a second orgasm. She breathed a long, sibilant exclamation as he slowly withdrew his penis, then cried out as he plunged forcefully back into her again. Seizing her by the calves, he lifted her legs high and straight, forcing them wide apart so that they pointed to the ceiling in the shape of a letter V, tipped by the long slender heels of her shoes. He had toyed with her long enough. Now, he set to in earnest, slowly at first, moving rhythmically from the hip so that with each thrust he penetrated her completely before withdrawing again. But he had barely begun when she was overwhelmed by orgasm again, and cried out like a wounded animal. Relentless, he picked up the pace, driving deeper, faster. With his increasingly frantic effort, a veneer of perspiration bloomed on his flesh, throwing his face and taut musculature into glistening relief in the lamplight. Fixing his gaze on his own rigid and painfully distended penis as it shuttled back and forth in the embrace of Marguerite's vulva, he seemed entranced by the way the glistening pink lips were drawn out, as if sucking eagerly at the shaft each time he withdrew from her. Twice more in the next few minutes, Marguerite shivered and moaned as she was overcome by successive orgasms. But now he felt 12

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his own tide rising within him, and there was no resisting it. He was no longer in control. The frenzied thrashing and slapping of his hips against Marguerite's buttocks and thighs was driven by a force as ancient as his species. It could not last for long, and yet, on the very brink of his release, something at the periphery of his vision, some small movement on the far side of the room caught his attention. Instinctively, his gaze switched from Marguerite's beautiful writhing body to the bedroom door, which was slightly ajar now, to fix upon the eyes that were spying on them from the shadows beyond the threshold. Eyes of the palest blue, agleam with fire and ice. But nothing could stop the raging avalanche within him now. He cried out, his face distorted beyond recognition as the starburst of his senses seemed to fragment and disintegrate his entire being. For a brief hiatus in time, he was totally consumed by the rage of his orgasm as it ran its shattering course. Then, what began as a roar gradually subsided in his throat to become a sustained growl, rising and falling with each successive thrust of his hips. And as for Marguerite, the sudden expansion of Armand’s cock and the torrent of his ejaculation had swept her away again on the crest of yet another orgasm of her own. At the instant of release, Armand had chosen to ignore the burning intensity of the pale blue eyes that bore witness to all this, preferring to concentrate his senses exclusively upon on the beautiful and naked Marguerite. Now that it was over, he cast his gaze across the room toward the doorway again. But the door was closed, the watcher gone. *** Armand Levequ was the first of the overnight guests to leave Rylands the next morning. Although there were a few others about, they were either still at breakfast or strolling about the grounds, taking advantage of the crisp but sunny autumn morning. Charles and Marguerite Mandell had accompanied Armand to the front driveway 13

Judith where Bertrand, his chauffeur, was loading his luggage into the boot of the Rolls Royce. "Thank you, both," Armand said. "Last night's reception was excellent. As usual, you did the company proud." "Got to keep the clients happy," Charles responded, obviously pleased by his senior partner's favorable comment. "You taught me that well enough, Armand." Armand smiled. "Absolutely. And I'm sure this year's reception will have gone a long way to keeping them all happy. A truly splendid affair. They must have got through a ton of caviar and a cellar-full of Dom Perignon last night." Charles laughed. "It's tax deductible. And they do give us an awful lot of money to play with." "Must you talk business, Charles?" Marguerite chided. "Armand is about to leave us, and who knows when I'll get to see him next. Maybe not until next year's reception." She looked at Armand purposefully. "You're sure we can't persuade you to stay a day or two longer, Armand?" Armand shook his head. "Not possible, I'm afraid. I have to be in New York for a very important meeting tomorrow morning. But you may see me sooner than you think. There's a chance I could be back in London for a few days next month." "Well, come and stay if you are. If I find out that you've been back to England and not visited us, I'll be very angry with you." Armand laughed. "Well, we can't have that, can we?" Charles said, "I have the Hong Kong trip next month, so I may not be here. But come and stay at Rylands anyway if you're in London. Marguerite will look after you." Armand looked at Marguerite, holding her eyes with his own as he answered, "I'm sure she will." Turning to Charles, he held out his hand. "You've both been very kind. It's been a pleasure, as usual. Thank you." "Our pleasure," Charles replied, shaking Armand by the hand. "We're always happy to have you, old boy. Aren't we, darling?" 14

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Marguerite took Armand by both hands. "Yes. Always happy to have you, Armand." Drawing him to her, she turned her head, first to one side then the other, as Armand kissed her lightly on each cheek. Had Charles been watching intently, which he didn't seem to be, he might have noticed Armand inhale deeply when his face brushed Marguerite's—as if he were savoring the bouquet of a fine wine. "Goodbye, then." Turning away, Armand strode to the car and got into the back. Charles and Marguerite waved until the limousine disappeared around a bend in the oak-flanked driveway. They had traveled less than two hundred yards when Armand said, "Stop the car, Bertrand." Bertrand pulled into the side of the drive and brought the car to a halt. Ahead, leading a sleek black mare by the reins, a young woman in her early twenties was walking along the driveway toward the house. Tall and tanned the color of honey, she was very attractive. Her flaxen hair, jouncing about her shoulders with every movement, provided the perfect complement to her tan. The tailored riding jacket and jodhpurs she wore emphasized the shapely contours of her figure. "Mademoiselle Katrina," Bertrand said, recognizing Marguerite Mandell's stepdaughter. Armand got out of the car and began to walk toward the young woman. When she saw him, she stopped. As he drew closer to her, he thought how beautiful she looked this morning, the sun striking highlights in her hair and casting her face in a pale golden glow. Dew sparkled on the foliage of the tall oaks behind her and a few remaining wreaths of mist swirled about the legs of her horse as it pawed the ground restlessly. "Katrina. I'm glad I've seen you before I left." She did not respond with her usual warm smile as he approached, merely regarded him with those extraordinary ice-blue eyes. Just a couple of feet from her, he stopped. "I know you saw us last night in my room. I could only see your eyes, but I'd know them 15

Judith anywhere." Still she said nothing, but continued to fix him with her gaze, her face expressionless. "I need to explain about Marguerite and me. Your father…" The sentence remained unfinished. As he spoke, Katrina moved up close to him in a single stride. He didn't see the movement of her arm until it was too late. The slap of her hand across his face unbalanced him, not just with surprise but because of its sheer force. He raised his own hand to his stinging cheek. Stunned, he watched through watering eyes as Katrina turned her back on him and moved alongside the mare. Raising her foot to the stirrup, she swung up into the saddle. Her face tinged red with anger, she looked down from the horse at Armand. "I hope I never have to see you again, you bastard!" Driving her heels into the mare's flanks, she urged the animal forward. Armand, his hand still held against his cheek, turned to watch as the horse broke into a canter along the driveway toward the house.

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Chapter Two

C

harles Mandell placed a hand on each of his daughter's shoulders, holding her in front of him to look into her eyes. "Thanks for organizing this year's reception, Katrina. I can handle the actual event once it's up and running, but I'm hopeless at arranging these things beforehand. That's where I relied so much on Marguerite." Katrina smiled. "I know, Dad. It's all right. I'm happy to help." Drawing her into his arms, he hugged her, then stepped back and said, "I need to catch up on some work. Would you mind very much if I left you alone for a while?" "Of course not. You go ahead. Mr. Jennings will be here soon to finalize things for tomorrow night. We've more or less sorted everything out now, but he wants to work out how much of the pricier stuff we'll need; you know, the caviar, truffles, oysters, lobsters. Oh, and the wines, of course." Her father nodded. "I'll leave it to you. You know what you're doing. Just one thing, though..." "Mm?" "Don't skimp on anything. This is an important occasion. Only the best." Katrina smiled. "Of course, Dad. Only the best." Her father returned her smile. "I'll be in the study if you want me." When he had left the room, Katrina sat by the open French 17

Judith windows. It was a perfect late September morning, warm and sunny, with a light, capricious breeze that played fitfully with her hair as she looked out into the grounds, thinking. Since Marguerite, her stepmother, had been killed in a motorway accident six months earlier, Katrina had spent more time at home with her father, as much to fill the void after his loss as for any other reason. But it had been her loss too. Katrina's parents had parted when she was only five. Since Marguerite's marriage to Charles Mandell three years after the divorce, she had not only treated Katrina as her own daughter, but also as a friend. In fact, Katrina had been much closer to Marguerite than to her real mother, whom she barely remembered. But she had seen little of Marguerite, or her father for that matter, during the eighteen months or so before the accident; from the time she had witnessed Marguerite's betrayal of her father with Armand Levequ, in fact. Using her increasingly successful acting career as an excuse for staying away from Rylands, she had managed to avoid Marguerite without upsetting her father unduly. Of course, she had never let Marguerite know that she had seen her with Armand that night, and now she half regretted not broaching the topic with her. Perhaps there was some excuse, some reason why Marguerite had… But, no. She didn't want to think about it. Partly because it was too painful, but also because of her own sense of guilt, the guilt she would not—could not—consciously acknowledge, but at the same time could not escape. She hadn't actually done anything, of course. But the memories, the thoughts and conflicting emotions of that night were etched in her soul, and could not be denied. It was something she had learned to live with, and could deal with…most of the time. But tonight would be different. Tonight, she would meet Armand Levequ for the first time since she had slapped his face on the driveway that crisp autumn morning two years ago. And she didn't know if she would be able to handle that meeting. Armand Levequ was a wealthy entrepreneur who ran a vast and diverse commercial empire that spanned the globe. Property, 18

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information technology, mining, gems, shares and derivatives, wine, jewelry, fashion—his business interests seemed infinite. The product of an ancient but impoverished family of the French aristocracy, he had achieved everything through his own endeavors and ability, beginning by restoring the neglected family vineyard to its former glory, and the wine to its rightful place among the leading classed growths of Bordeaux. Shrewdness, determination, an international network of influential associates and legendary powers of persuasion had assured him success in virtually his every undertaking. Two years ago, Forbes magazine had tentatively placed, but not ranked him somewhere among the fifty wealthiest men in the world. But it was an educated guess only, since Armand Levequ's financial affairs were by no means entirely in the public domain. He was a very private person, but that seemed only to increase his appeal to the media. And despite his dislike of publicity, he had gained a reputation as something of a hedonist—a man who regarded his wealth simply as a means to enjoy what he considered the finer things in life. The women's magazine, Cosmopolitan, had only last year declared him one of the world's most eligible bachelors—an event that did not seem to particularly impress him, and to which he had reluctantly at last responded by saying that he didn't even understand what that meant. Because he visited England infrequently, and Rylands even less, Katrina had met Armand on only a few occasions over the years. Uniquely, she had never been overawed by his wealth or reputation, or even by the air of mystery ascribed to him by the press. And although she found him pleasant enough, she had never been particularly attracted to him—a fact she had unconsciously attributed to the difference in their ages. As far as Katrina was concerned, Armand Levequ was simply her father's business associate. The London-based investment company of Levequ Mandell had been a thriving success almost since its inauguration. The concept and vision had been Armand's, but he needed someone to actually run the business while he attended to his numerous other interests 19

Judith around the world. Charles Mandell's reputation in the field of financial investment had not escaped Armand's attention. Moreover, it had come as no real surprise in the city when the two joined forces, Armand providing the lion's share of the capital and the exotic international investment opportunities, and Charles, a decidedly smaller proportion of the capital, supplemented by his expertise and UK connections. Every year since the company had been founded, Katrina's father had thrown a celebratory party at Rylands. Formally known as the 'Annual Reception', and attended by a select group of Levequ Mandell's more affluent or influential clients and associates, the function was invariably a lavish and popular affair. Politicians, entertainment celebrities, members of the English aristocracy, even a couple of lesser 'royals' were regulars among the guests at the exclusive annual event. And this year would be the first time that Marguerite Mandell had not overseen the proceedings. This year it was Katrina, with advice and assistance from the caterer, who had taken on the responsibility, and to say that she was nervous about the prospect would have been an understatement. But Jennings, the catering manager, knew what he was about and had assured her that he would do everything in his power to ensure that tomorrow night's event would be at least as successful as in previous years. Nevertheless, the responsibility for arranging the reception and the prospect of meeting Armand again, together with all the underlying implications of that meeting, were daunting. So much so, in fact, that Katrina had hardly slept the previous night as a result, and now, as she gazed unseeing across the gardens to the rolling hills beyond, her thoughts and emotions were in turmoil. Later that day, when Armand called her father from the airport to say that he was on his way, Katrina suddenly realized that she was not yet ready for the confrontation, and made the excuse that she needed to drive into London to pick up a dress for the reception. It was gone midnight when she returned to Rylands and slipped silently in by a side door opposite the old coach house. As she walked along the 20

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corridor toward the entrance hall and the main stairway, she noticed a strip of light under the door to her father's study. She paused and was about to knock when she heard the muffled drone of conversation beyond the door. Placing her ear close to the door, she recognized the voices of both her father and Armand Levequ, and although she could not hear what they were saying through the solid oak, it was clear that the discussion was not amicable. Armand's tone was stern, almost threatening, while her father sounded acquiescent, contrite. This troubled her, since she had never seen the two men on anything other than good terms. Suddenly, despite the fact that she couldn't hear what Armand and her father were talking about, she realized that, in principle at least, she was eavesdropping. With a childlike sense of guilt, she withdrew from the door and stole softly away along the corridor. Her sleep that night was troubled by dreams of her father and Armand Levequ locked in some sort of unpleasant business dispute, and when she awoke the next morning, it was with an irresistible sense of foreboding. As much as to avoid Armand as for any other reason, she got up early, saddled her horse and struck out through the woods that lay behind the house. In the past, whenever she had felt unhappy or distressed, riding through the rolling countryside that surrounded Rylands had been a therapeutic experience. Today, though, she was unable to dispel the feeling of disquiet that had been with her constantly since she had heard the ominous tone of her father's discussion with Armand the previous evening. When she got back to the house, she was relieved to learn from her father that Armand had gone into London on business and would not be back until evening. Her father seemed withdrawn and preoccupied throughout the day, a fact she attributed to whatever had arisen between him and Armand. She briefly considered asking him what was wrong, but dismissed the notion almost at once, partly because it seemed like prying, but also because she wasn't sure that she really wanted the answer. 21

Judith *** The Annual Reception was well under way before Katrina saw Armand for the first time since his arrival at Rylands. The drawing room was the focal point of the affair, but as usual the throng of guests spilled out into the cavernous reception hall with its grand stairway, and beyond, to the morning and music rooms. It was as she passed through the reception hall that she spotted him. A glass of champagne in hand, he was about half way up the staircase, sitting alongside and talking to a beautiful black model who was currently taking the international catwalks by storm. Levequ Mandell and Company had presumably identified a home for her newfound wealth. Almost at the very instant Katrina saw him, he turned to look in her direction. At once averting her eyes so that they would not meet his, she pressed on through the guests toward the music room where an accomplished jazz pianist was livening things up on the grand piano. Surprisingly, she didn't see Armand again until just before midnight. It was a warm evening and the French windows in the drawing room were open, allowing those who were so inclined to drift out onto the broad paved terrace beyond. It was here, in a small cluster of guests, that Katrina was listening to the unexpectedly amusing anecdotes of a cabinet minister, when she felt a light touch on her shoulder from behind. She turned, and there he was. No avoiding him this time. "Katrina, I'd like a word. In private." Easing away from the group a little, she lowered her voice. "I have nothing to say to you." "Perhaps, but I have something to say to you." His face was expressionless. Katrina made as if to turn away from him, but stopped abruptly when he said, "It's about your father." A thrill of dread flared in her belly as she recalled the conversation in her father's study the previous evening. "What about 22

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my father?" "He's in serious trouble. If you care anything about him you will listen to what I have to say." "Trouble? What kind of trouble?" "Not here. In private." "Where, then?" "The gazebo." He looked at his watch. "At twelve-thirty." Katrina's pulse was suddenly pounding in her ears. "The gazebo? Can't we talk in the house? The library…we won't be disturbed there." "The gazebo. Twelve-thirty." Before she could protest, he had turned and was walking back inside the house. *** An ivory moon, full and bright, cast Katrina's shadow darkly before her as she made her way through the trees. The mingled murmur of voices, laughter and music from the house drifted after her on the night air. She glanced at her watch, saw its face clearly in the moonlight: almost twelve-thirty. The gazebo, a classical Roman-style structure in white marble, was located in the grounds at the rear of the house, beyond the limits of the immediate formal gardens. Open to the elements on all sides, it consisted of a domed roof suspended above a raised dais by ornamental pillars, with a circular bench seat at its center. Built on a grassy knoll, the gazebo commanded a fine view of the house and the surrounding countryside. It was a place in which Katrina had spent many happy hours when she was young—the desert island of her childhood fantasies. But now, as it loomed bone-pale in the moonlight among the trees, the ancient edifice seemed somehow alien and sinister. Armand was waiting for her. He had discarded his dinner jacket and bow tie. His white dress shirt, open at the neck, seemed almost 23

Judith incandescent in the light of the moon. She climbed the steps of the gazebo and walked toward him. "I don't want to be here with you," she told him, flatly. "I think you know that. I'm here only because of my father. What is it you have to tell me?" She sounded composed, her voice calm and steady. But it was a sham, generated by sheer determination. She did not want him to sense the emotional tumult that churned within her. "I know you hate me," he replied, without emotion. "Because of Marguerite. You think I betrayed your father." "Think?" In a sudden flush of anger, Katrina almost, not quite, lost the pretence of composure. "Well, maybe someday we'll talk about that. But not tonight. Right now, the issue is your father's betrayal of me." "What? You have the gall to..." "Katrina, he's been stealing from the company." The statement hit her like a physical blow. "My father? You're suggesting that my father is a thief?" "Nearly five million pounds, over a five-year period. Levequ Mandell was on the verge of collapse until I injected capital from my own personal funds. The reason I went to London today was to finalize the formalities." Stunned, but unwilling to believe what she was hearing, Katrina said, "Why are you saying this, telling these lies? Don't you think you've done enough to my father and me already?" "I'm not lying, Katrina. He managed to avoid detection for a long time by…what is the English expression? Robbing Peter to pay Paul. But he couldn't hide what he had done forever. The figures didn't look right, and when my personal accountant conducted a surprise audit last week, it all came out." Tears welled in Katrina's eyes. "No! It isn't true. You're lying to me." Armand shook his head. "No. If you want proof, read this." Hesitantly, she stepped closer to him, taking from him the piece of paper he held out to her. 24

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"You might want to sit down while you read it." Unconsciously accepting the suggestion, she sat on the marble bench seat and slowly unfolded the sheet of writing paper. "Here, use this." He handed her a small pencil flashlight. Switching on the flashlight, she steadied the beam on the surface of the paper, recognizing at once her father's unmistakable handwriting. The confession was short and to the point; it told, in his own words, how Charles Mandell had been using clients' funds to speculate on international currency transactions on his own behalf. For a while, he had been successful, and had made substantial profits for himself. But then, during a brief and largely unpredicted turnaround in the Asian economy, came the failures. And since the deals were huge, so too were his losses. In the manner of a desperate gambler, he had doubled and re-doubled the size of his transactions in an attempt to recover, but had instead met total disaster, all but ruining the company and its clients in the process. The confession concluded with her father's pledge to attempt repay the embezzled sum. When she had finished reading, Katrina began to sob. "Oh, Dad. Why? Why?" "Your father made a good living out of Levequ Mandell, but not enough to sustain the affluent lifestyle he enjoyed. I knew that, of course, but I assumed he had other, independent, sources of income. It never occurred to me that he was stealing from the company and our clients. After his first major losses, I suppose he thought he had no choice but to continue, in the hope that he could recoup the money. The alternative was personal ruin, and jail. He would have lost everything; all this...everything." Armand raised a hand in a gesture that encompassed the big Georgian house and its grounds. "And it goes without saying, of course, that you yourself benefited considerably from your father's fraudulent dealings. The horses, your sports car, exotic holidays, drama school—not to mention the money he gave you to supplement your income whenever you needed it. It all came from what he embezzled from the company. Need I go on?" Katrina shook her head. Armand's reference to the vast sums her 25

Judith father must have spent on her was unnecessary. She was already overwhelmed by guilt at what she perceived as her own contribution to his downfall. "But to steal from the company. I thought my father was an honest man, a good man." Armand shrugged. "He chose to think of the theft as borrowing. As you see from his confession, he deluded himself into thinking he'd be able to repay the money some day without being discovered." "Have you been to the police?" "Not yet." She looked up at him. "But you will." The question was rhetorical. Of course he would report the matter to the police. Five million pounds! "That depends entirely on you." Puzzled, but encouraged by the suggestion that incredibly, there might be some way to save her father, she said, "Me? What can I do? I don't have any way of raising that kind of money." He looked at her intently. "If I report the theft to the police, your father will go to prison. My legal advisers say probably for eight to ten years, but an absolute minimum of six. I am prepared to accept six months of your life instead." "What?" She stared at him, incredulous. "We—you and I—enter into an agreement. I will undertake not to prosecute your father for the theft. More, I will allow him to remain with Levequ Mandell and pay back what he can over the years at a rate that won't ruin him. In return, you will become my…property—I can think of no more appropriate term for what I have in mind, I'm afraid—for a period of six months." As he was speaking, Katrina stared at him in disbelief. Now he was silent, waiting for her response. At last, she said, "If this is some kind of sick joke..." Armand shook his head. "I am completely serious. What I am suggesting is the only way your father can avoid going to prison." "But, I don't understand. What do you mean, your property? Do 26

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you want me to be your mistress for six months? Is that it?" It was the only explanation she could think of. "It's nowhere near as simple as that. I want absolute control over you, your complete obedience." She stared at him, perplexed. "You make it sound as if you want to make me your slave." "Still not quite right, but if you think of my proposal in those terms you will have a better appreciation of the implications. Here, read this." Reaching inside his shirt, he withdrew a second piece of paper and handed it to her. With trembling hands, she held the paper in the beam of the flashlight and read: Contract of Indenture I, Katrina Mandell, do hereby agree to be indentured to Armand Levequ for a period of six months from the date of signing this contract. During that period, I acknowledge and consent to Monsieur Levequ's absolute authority over me. I will obey at once and without question every instruction given to me by him or his authorized representative. In return, Armand Levequ undertakes not to institute either civil or criminal proceedings against my father, Charles Mandell, in respect of the latter's embezzlement of funds from Levequ Mandell and Company. I understand that I am not to discuss the existence or contents of this contract with anyone other than Monsieur Levequ or his authorized representative. Furthermore, when questioned by Monsieur Levequ or his authorized representative on any matter, I am always to answer truthfully and fully. I accept that, if I breach the terms of this contract or choose to voluntarily terminate it, as I may do at any time, Monsieur Levequ will, as a consequence, be released from his own undertaking contained herein. Dated: ........................ Signed:....................... Signed:...................... (Katrina Mandell) (Armand Levequ) 27

Judith When she had read the document, she shook her head. "I can't believe this. It's just too bizarre." "Bizarre or not, your father's only hope of avoiding prison lies in your signing—and honoring—that contract. And I'm afraid I can't give you any longer to consider your decision. What is it to be?" "But what does it mean? What exactly do you want from me?" His eyes gleamed in the half-light as he looked at her. "The contract contains all the information you need for the time being. If you sign, you must be prepared to do whatever I require of you. Anything. If you refuse me, even once, then our agreement is void— and I will go to the police." "Blackmail." "I prefer to think of it as a settlement out of court. It's simply a question of how much you care about your father, and how far you are prepared to go to keep him out of prison." "But you could order me to do anything under this contract. Even commit murder." "I could, but I won't. You have my word for that much, at least. Besides, you will always have the option to terminate the contract at any time." "But then you would report my father to the police." "Yes. It would be a question of balancing what I ask of you against the consequences of refusal. In other words, the choice will always be yours. "And when the six months is up?" "You —and your father —are free. The choice is yours, Katrina. But now, I must ask you to decide. Will you sign?" Stunned and alarmed by Armand's revelation about her father, not to mention his outrageous proposition to her, Katrina had hoped to play for time, perhaps even speak to her father first. But it was clear that Armand was determined to force her hand right now, one way or the other. Like clothes in a washing machine, a confusion of thoughts and questions tumbled around in her mind as she groped for an alternative solution. But she could think of none. 28

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"Katrina?" The unavoidable realization that she had no real choice made her suddenly light-headed. If she hoped to protect her father, there was only one decision possible. "I'll sign." Taking a pen from his pocket, Armand handed it to her. "Here. You can rest the contract on the back of the seat to sign it." She rose to her feet and took the pen from him. Turning, she rested one knee on the seat and placed the contract on the flat marble ledge on top of the backrest. Although it was not particularly dark, the moonlight was not sufficient for her to see the contract properly, and Armand trained the flashlight beam on its surface while she signed her name with a trembling hand. "There," she said, handing the pen and the contract to him. "It's done. I don't know what you want from me—apart from the obvious—but I'll do whatever you ask. I have no choice. I can't let you send my father to prison." Armand smiled. "You made the right decision." "A question." "Yes?" "How am I to know who is your…what does the contract say…authorized representative?" "A good question." Holding out his right hand to her, palm down, he said. "You see this ring?" She looked and recognized the design molded in the gold ring on his third finger. It had been reproduced exactly from one of the lower quadrants of his family coat of arms—an upright sword with a serpent coiled around the length of the blade. "Anyone who gives you an instruction accompanied by this device is my authorized representative. You must obey him…or her…as if it were I myself giving the instruction." "I see. And what now?" "The obvious." "Sorry?" 29

Judith "You said a moment ago that you didn't know what I wanted from you apart from the obvious. Now that you've signed the contract, I would like...the obvious. To put the seal on our agreement, as it were." "You mean, you want to—" Armand nodded slowly. "What, here in the open, right now?" "Take off your clothes." "But—" "At once and without question," he said quietly, reminding her of the wording in the contract. She hadn't expected to have to face the consequences of her decision so soon, but she knew that she was bound to this man's will now, and that her father's freedom depended on her acceptance of that fact. At that moment, she consciously wrote off the next six months of her life. In reality, they no longer belonged to her, but to Armand Levequ, and she had no alternative but to embrace that reality. Looking the Frenchman directly in the eye, her head held high, Katrina began to undress. The silk dress, cut just above the knee, was a somewhat deeper hue than her eyes, and thus emphasized their extraordinary ice-blue brilliance. In it, she had drawn appreciative glances throughout the evening. As was often the case with elegant and beautiful clothing, the dress was deceptively simple in design. Although not exactly cleaving to her, the fluidity of the silk as she moved hinted tantalizingly at the dimensions of the female form it concealed. Now, as she crossed her arms at the hip and grasped the silk in her hands to haul up the dress, the garment surrendered its superb inner secret. In a single, surprisingly graceful movement, she hauled the dress up over her head, then let it fall to the floor. Although until now her sun-tanned legs had belied the fact, she wore no stockings, only a matching brassiere and panties of delicate white lace that contrasted with the honey tone of her skin. Still holding him with her gaze, she 30

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deftly unclasped the brassiere and tossed it aside, as if she had no more use for it. Armand's intake of breath at the liberation of her breasts was audible in the hush of the night air. Full and firm, though not overly large, they seemed to tremble slightly in response to some barely controlled emotion within her. Without pausing, she slipped her thumbs into the sides of her panties and, stooping to remove them, cast them after the discarded brassiere. Entranced, Armand watched with unconcealed admiration the way her breasts, without losing their shape or firmness, hung like ripe fruit on the vine as she stooped. It was only when she stood erect again before him that he noticed the subtle transformation in her; a sudden quality of pride—almost defiance—had emerged in her demeanor. He liked this, and smiled. Though she did not think of herself as especially beautiful, she knew that her body was as close to perfection as a woman had a right to hope for, and she knew that Armand Levequ desired her. In these simple truths, she now thought she saw an opportunity to gain control, to turn the tables on him in some way so that, perhaps, she could improve her situation. He would allow her self-delusion to continue—for the moment. But before he was finished with her she would be totally subjugated, accepting him as her master not only on paper, but in her soul also. "No." He checked her as she reached a hand to one of her diamond pendant earrings. "Keep your jewelry on, please." Compliantly, she lowered her arm to her side again. The diamond earrings and necklace she wore emphasized her nudity. Apart from those, and her high-heeled shoes, she was naked now. He moved up close to her. Placing his hands on either side of her face, he brought his lips to hers. She did not respond to the kiss, but remained immobile, like a human statue. He withdrew to look her in the eyes. "This will not do, Katrina. It is not enough that you merely pay…lip service to our agreement." At the unintentional pun, a smile played briefly at the corners of his mouth, then was gone. "I expect total compliance from you. You must respond to me as if I were the love of your life, the one for whom you 31

Judith would do anything to give pleasure. If you fail, I shall consider the contract breached. You understand?" Averting her eyes from his, Katrina nodded slowly. "I understand." This time when he kissed her, she moved with him, yielding to his lips as they pressed urgently against hers. Although the night was warm, she shivered as he ran his hand down from her shoulder to her left breast to caress and squeeze the resilient flesh. The nipple blossomed and stiffened when he pinched it between a finger and thumb. Now, like small creatures meeting for the first time, their tongues touched and began to explore each other, snaking, darting between parted lips. His hand was moving again, down along her hip, then inward, across her belly to the confluence of her thighs and the silken thatch of hair that marked it. He eased a knee between hers, urging her legs apart to enable him to place his hand directly upon her sex. She flinched involuntarily as his fingers probed the tender flesh. She was moist but not yet saturated with the manifestation of desire, as he would have her. Releasing her from his kiss, he told her, "You are not ready for me." "I… I'm sorry. I…can't help it. I think I'm too tense." She sounded genuinely apologetic, perhaps frightened that he would terminate the contract because she had failed to meet his expectations. Placing gently on her lips the forefinger that only a few seconds earlier was exploring her sex, he silenced her. Her nostrils flared at the unexpected immediacy of her own intimate aroma. "It's all right, Katrina. I understand. You are still coming to terms with the situation. It is not a problem." Lowering himself to kneel on the floor before her, he placed his hands on the backs of her thighs and drew her closer to him. Responding to the pressure of his hands and seeing what he intended to do, she placed her feet further apart on the marble floor and bent her legs a little at the knees so that her thighs parted to admit him. He eased forward between her open legs, then sat back on his calves. 32

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Now his body was bridged by Katrina's parted legs; his shoulders pressing against her inner thighs, his up-turned face brushing against her soft pubic hair. He inhaled extravagantly, savoring her feminine essence. Gripping her buttocks, he pulled her against his face. "Oooh!" Katrina's exclamation escaped unbidden as Armand's tongue penetrated her labia, then began to explore the furrow dividing them. Rotating his open mouth against her sex, he spread her lips apart with his own while his tongue searched each and every fold of flesh. Her legs were trembling now, and she cried out again when he found and focused on her clitoris with his tongue. Here, he set to in earnest, caressing and probing and teasing the sensitive little knob of flesh relentlessly. Her sex was awash with her fluid, his face slick from his baptism in its inexorable flow. At intervals, he briefly abandoned her clitoris to plunge his tongue deeply into the channel of her sex, causing her to shudder and moan softly. But always he returned to the nerve center of her passion, pushing her higher and higher up the scale of sensual pleasure. Her breathing was rapid and shallow now, her thighs quivering as if charged with electricity. Suddenly, she seized him by the hair, pulling his face into her while at the same time thrusting her hips against him. "Oh, God! My God, I'm coming!" Somehow he managed to continue the fervent probing of her sex with his tongue as her hips bucked wildly against him in her orgasm. After a timeless age, the quaking of her body at last subsided, and he felt her go limp. Rising from the floor, he embraced and kissed her, sharing with her the secretions of her own arousal. Then, taking her hand, he led her to the circular marble bench seat. "Kneel on the seat. Rest your arms on the back here, like this." Her breathing was rapid, shallow, her face flushed—the latter evident even in the moon's pale glow. Obediently, she knelt on the bench seat, bending forward under his guidance to rest her forearms along the flat top of the backrest. He stood back to look at her. 33

Judith "Part your legs wider." She did as he asked, setting her knees further apart to give him an unobstructed view of the pouting lips of her sex, moist and glistening in the moonlight. "Is this all right?" "Perfect." She turned her head to look back at him. He was undressing. "Why are you doing this to me? Is it revenge?" Her eyes were strangely bright. "Partly, yes. When you slapped my face in front of my chauffeur that morning on the driveway, I vowed that some day, somehow, I would punish you for that indignity." "I think what I did was justified…under the circumstances. But even if it hadn't been, don't you think that you've already punished me more than enough? And as for indignity, you've forced me to behave like a whore. Just look at me now." "I am looking, Katrina. And I like what I see." Already, Armand had stripped to his briefs, leaving his clothing in a small heap beside him. Now he removed these also. Katrina's eyes widened. She swallowed hard as his erection sprang free. It was longer and significantly thicker than any she had previously encountered. "Besides," he continued, "didn't you enjoy what I just did to you? Didn't you find it pleasurable, exciting?" "I… You gave me no choice. You forced me." "That isn't the point," he replied, walking slowly but purposefully toward her. "Remember the terms of the contract. I made you come, using my mouth and my tongue. If you tell me you didn't enjoy that, we both know you will be lying. And then the contract becomes void. Now, will you answer my question?" "Yes." "Yes, you will answer my question, or yes, you enjoyed it?" Turning her head away again so that he couldn’t see the humiliation in her eyes, she answered reluctantly, "Yes…I enjoyed 34

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it." Satisfied, he stepped up close behind her now, guiding his erect penis between her thighs, nuzzling the head into the protruding lips of her vulva. He felt her body tense at the intrusion. She gasped as he began, slowly at first, to ease the limb of hardened flesh into her. Despite its considerable girth, the shaft easily penetrated her moist, slippery cleft. He grasped her by the hips and without warning, plunged the entire organ into her. "Ngh!" The low, glottal exclamation registered her dismay at the sudden savagery of the violation. Slowly he withdrew again, taking pleasure in watching the distortion of the sleek, pink flesh of her sex. He felt her tense again when he paused with only the head still inside her. She was waiting, anticipating the next thrust. But even though she was prepared, she couldn’t help but cry out again when he penetrated her a second time, and a third… Gradually, he picked up the pace, his hips taking on a steady rhythm. As his strokes became faster, more determined, the wet slap of his thighs against her buttocks marked the increasing tempo aloud. After a little while, Katrina lowered her head to rest it sideways upon the pillow of her forearms, her eyes taking on a distant, glazed quality. From time to time, she ran her tongue wetly across her lips. Acknowledging the futility of resistance, she had surrendered herself to the instinctive response of her senses. She was now totally acquiescent; her lips slightly parted, moist; her face and throat delicately flushed. Her breasts, pendulous in space beneath her, swung rhythmically, shuddering in response to each of Armand's powerful thrusts. The gazebo resounded to a carnal symphony—the cadenza of Katrina's soft, plaintive moans accompanied by his increasingly labored breathing, the percussive slapping of flesh on flesh rising inexorably toward crescendo. Expertly and with precision he drove her, panting and whimpering, to the limits of her endurance. But then, at the critical moment, he abruptly withdrew from her completely, leaving her suspended on the very brink of 35

Judith orgasm. "Aaah!" she sighed, making no attempt to disguise her frustration. The intensity of her arousal, it seemed, had consumed the remaining vestiges of her pride. With the denial of fulfillment, the tension in her posture slackened…but only for an instant. "Oh!" Her body stiffened again, the muscles suddenly taut as he inserted the tip of a finger into her anus. He pushed it deeper, as far as it would go. "Oh, please, Armand, no! Nooo!" An observer might have had difficulty in distinguishing whether her reaction was one of distress or pleasure. In fact, it was a combination of both, enlivened by astonishment. "Have you ever been penetrated here?" he asked. "By a cock, I mean." Trembling, unable to respond vocally, Katrina shook her head. "Good." She gasped as he removed the finger and placed the tip of his penis to the orifice instead. She recoiled instinctively as he pressed against her. "Oh, no. Please! Not that!" "Do not resist. Remember our contract." Holding his rigid cock with one hand, he pressed steadily against her. "You will find this easier if you relax." For a brief moment, her sphincter muscles resisted the invasion, but then the great rounded head of his cock, still slick with the fluid of her own passion, breached the puckered entrance. He took her by the hips and pulled her toward him, at the same time pushing against her. She grunted in response to the intrusion, then bit her lip to fight back the compulsion to scream as he began to sink his shaft between her parted buttocks. Ignoring her moans of protest and the instinctive squirming of her hips, he inched slowly forward until at last his entire length lay buried inside her. For a moment, he didn’t move, although she could feel his cock pulsing to the powerful beat of his heart. Impaled upon him like this, 36

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she felt truly violated for the first time in her life. Yet strangely, yielding to him in this wretched, unnatural act had spawned within her other, conflicting feelings she would have preferred to deny but could not. She discovered with alarm that her absolute submission to Armand's demands, and the shame and humiliation she must endure as a result were perversely, but profoundly arousing. But more, the pain and discomfort of being stretched by his invading organ were beginning to seem almost indistinguishable from the warm glow of sensual pleasure now burgeoning in her vulva. She gasped as he began to move again, slowly at first, back and forth, lengthening his stroke with each irresistible thrust of his hips. Recalling his advice, she consciously willed her body to relax. It helped, but she was still unable to suppress a sustained, aspirated cry at the sheer intensity of the sensation that accompanied this unfamiliar affront. The irresistible strokes grew longer, deeper. At the end of each backward movement of his hips, just when it felt as if he were about to withdraw from her, he reversed the action and plunged deeply into her again. Like a locomotive picking up speed, he gradually quickened the rhythm. Panting now, he reamed her tender flesh with mounting frenzy. For Katrina, anguish and pleasure had somehow become inextricably mingled, the one ironically inseparable from the other. Bemused by the phenomenon but unable to resist the powerful instincts she had no idea she possessed, she not only accepted but willingly embraced her ordeal. A tingling sensation, urgent and pervasive, was spreading rapidly through her thighs and belly. Frantically, she clutched at the ledge on top of the marble backrest as the deferred orgasm swelled within her again. It happened abruptly, before she could even brace herself. An irresistible tide of sheer rapture surged through her body, devastating her senses. Now beyond caring about the consequences, she cried out aloud into the night. Within the snug forbidden confines of Katrina's anal sheath, Armand's penis reacted spontaneously to her muscular spasms. He 37

Judith came, violently and copiously. She shuddered as the hot, viscous flood erupted deep inside her. For a long moment, straining and writhing like entangled serpents, they shared the most exquisite sensual experience of which the human condition is capable. And even when the turbulence of their passion eventually subsided, they remained locked together for a while, spent, trembling. At length, Armand stirred. "Aaah," Katrina sighed as he uprooted himself from her. Once released from the instrument of her degradation, she slumped face down onto the cool marble bench, ravaged and exhausted. For several minutes, she lay immobile but for the steady rise and fall of her body in time with her breathing. When at last she raised her head to look around, she discovered with surprise that he had disappeared, vanished silently into the night. His clothes, too, had gone. In fact, eerily, there was no evidence to suggest that Armand Levequ had ever been here with her in the gazebo at all— apart, that was, from her perversely gratifying sense of violation and the warm glow he had ignited deep within her. *** On discovering that Armand had gone, Katrina hurriedly dressed and, cautiously, lest she stumble into someone unexpectedly, made her way back toward the house. As she moved through the gardens, the sound of voices and music reached her from the direction of the rear terrace, confirming that the reception was still in full swing. Keeping out of sight among the trees, and giving the terrace a wide berth, she approached the house from the north. Letting herself in through a side entrance, she took a little-used stairway up to her room on the first floor without encountering anyone on the way. After a steaming shower, she emerged refreshed, if only physically. Emotionally, she was in a state of chaos as she dressed and with quivering fingers, re-applied her make-up. When she was ready, she looked in the mirror. Outwardly, she looked little different 38

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than she had an hour earlier, before slipping away from the reception to meet Armand in the gazebo. The events of that hour, though, had changed her beyond the bounds of her imagination; had forced her to admit things about herself that should have remained locked away inside the Pandora's box of her soul. But now the box was open, and as she stared back at the pale blue intensity of her own gaze in the mirror, a terrifying thought occurred to her. Would those eyes betray her? Was the reality of what she had done tonight, of what she had learned about herself, there to be seen by anyone who cared to look? How could she return to the function downstairs if that were so? Everyone would surely know at once that she had become a whore. With an effort, she brought reason to bear. "Don't be stupid, woman," she chided herself aloud. "Get a grip." Of course no one would know. How could they? What she was feeling was nothing more than guilt, she told herself. Only she and Armand Levequ knew what had happened out there tonight. The eyes may be the windows of the soul, but only those she chose to allow might look in through them. Thus, her composure restored, Katrina left her room and descended by the main staircase to mingle with the remaining guests. As she moved through the drawing room from one group of acquaintances to another, her father spotted her and came over. "Katrina, my dear. Where on earth have you been? You've missed Armand. He had to go suddenly. An urgent business matter. He asked me to say goodbye to you for him." The news came as an immense relief. She did not have to face Armand again. At least not tonight. And she was pleased to see, too, that her father had lost the air of gloom and anxiety that had been so evident since the previous night. Now, he seemed relaxed, almost buoyant, and certainly more like the man she knew. Armand, she supposed, must have given him the news that he was off the hook. She prayed he would never know the price she had paid for his deliverance.

39

Judith

Chapter Three

T

he days immediately following Armand Levequ's departure from Rylands were a time of deep disquiet and introspection for Katrina. She rode a lot during the day, and at night retired early to her room. There, like a caged lioness, she alternately paced the floor and lay upon her bed, but always immersed in contemplation. Night after night, she relentlessly explored her inner self in the light of what had happened between her and Armand in the gazebo. She was deeply troubled by the experience, and not solely by fact that he had defiled her so unspeakably, although God knew that was bad enough. What disturbed her on a much more fundamental level, overwhelmed her with shame and guilt, was that she had derived such profound gratification from the experience. She had been no innocent virgin, of course, but on the other hand she had made love with only a few men in her life previously, and nothing she had encountered thus far had prepared her for the sheer animal intensity of Armand's sexuality. The odd combination of ruthlessness with sensitivity and consideration for her own sensual pleasure was outside her experience. It was a phenomenon she found bewildering, but fascinating also. Likewise, when she thought about the future— the remaining period of her 'contract' with him—she was seized by dread, but also by willful anticipation of the unknown…and desire. Worse, she had discovered with dismay that she was unable to either come to terms with or dispel this heady cocktail of conflicting 40

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emotions. Thus, blighted by confusion and self-recrimination, the days at Rylands passed slowly, and throughout this time Armand Levequ was never far from her thoughts. Ironically, therefore, the phone call came almost as a relief. It was a Monday morning, just over three weeks after Armand's departure. "Miss Mandell? Katrina Mandell?" The voice was that of a young woman. "This is Katrina Mandell, yes." "My name is Anne Novak. I work for Armand Levequ." Katrina detected a very slight accent. Eastern European? Her heart was suddenly beating furiously, her mouth dry. "I see. What do you want?" The words did not come easily. "It is time." "Time?" Time for what? "You must come with me. Today. Now. I'll pick you up in half an hour." "But I can't go just like that. My father..." "Make an excuse. Tell him you have been offered a part in a film, that you have to leave right away. You don't know how long you will be gone, but it might be some time before you see him again. Months, perhaps. You will be on location overseas. You will write to him." "But..." "I'll pick you up in thirty minutes. Be ready, please." Katrina was about to protest again, then remembered her contract. What was the point in resisting? As in the gazebo on the night of the reception, she had no choice. "What should I pack?" "A single change of underwear is all you need bring. And your passport. Everything else will be provided. Everything. Wear something comfortable for the flight."

Passport? Flight? "Where are we going?" "You don't need to know that. Thirty minutes. Goodbye." Katrina was writing a note to her father in the morning room 41

Judith when, half an hour to the minute after Anne Novak's phone call, the security phone from the front gates buzzed urgently. She rose from the desk and crossed the room to look at the screen of the closed circuit television monitor. A young woman's face looked into the camera from the open rear window of a car. Katrina pressed the talk button on the security console. "Yes?" "Anne Novak for Miss Mandell. Is that you, Katrina?" "Yes. I'll open the gate. Just follow the driveway up to the house." In the moments that followed, Katrina said goodbye to Janet, the housekeeper, and gave her the note for her father. Then, out of nervousness rather than because it was necessary, she re-applied her lipstick and eye shadow. She was standing outside, under the portico by the front door, when the long, black Mercedes limousine drew up. A uniformed chauffeur got out and opened the rear passenger door. Katrina stooped to peer inside. Anne Novak smiled. "Get in, please, Katrina." *** "I'm sorry I couldn't give you more notice," she said pleasantly to Katrina as the car moved off. "My instructions, you understand." She was around thirty, with a petite, compact figure and very short, black hair cut neatly into the nape of her neck. She was also very attractive in a rather boyish way. Her eyes, dark liquid brown, had just a hint of the Orient in their slightly upward sweep, but her finely sculpted features and fresh complexion were distinctly European. She wore a stylish black business suit over a white silk blouse. The skirt rode several inches above the knee, revealing shapely legs. "Have we met before?" Katrina asked. "Your face seems very familiar." It was true. The moment she had set eyes on this woman, Katrina had the feeling that they had met previously, perhaps long ago. 42

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"I don't think so." When they were out on the open road, Anne Novak said. "Please don't be concerned, Katrina. I'm here to take care of everything for you until we get to—until someone else takes over. If you want anything, just ask." As she spoke, she opened a small leather briefcase that was on the seat beside her. "Thank you." Even as Katrina spoke, her response felt incongruously polite. She was, after all, here against her will, being virtually abducted by this woman. And what Anne Novak did next reinforced that reality. "Would you take off your jacket, please?" Katrina stared in alarm at the hypodermic syringe the other woman had removed from the briefcase. Seeing her reaction, Anne Novak smiled and said, "Don't worry, it's just medication. A sort of sedative. It will make you drowsy and a little disoriented, that's all. You won't find it an unpleasant experience. Quite the reverse, in fact. And there will be no lasting effects." "But why? What is it for?" "You are going on a journey. A long one. But you are not permitted to know the destination or the route. You'll understand why in due course. The first leg of the journey will be by private aircraft, but of course we shall still need to clear customs and immigration. The effects of this injection will prevent you from recognizing or remembering anything that might help you retrace your steps later." "Look, Miss Novak..." "Anne...please." "All right, Anne. Look, I wasn't expecting this. I don't like the idea of being injected with some mind-altering substance—whatever it is." "Monsieur Levequ's instructions, I'm afraid. In the event of your reluctance to co-operate, I am to remind you of the terms of your contract with him." In fact, Katrina needed no reminding; it was the answer she expected. She was simply trying to get the other woman's measure, 43

Judith testing her resolve and strength of character. "But it doesn't seem logical. I mean, if we clear customs, there will be stamps on my passport. All I have to do is look at it to find out where I've been." "Ah, but you may never see your passport again. It will be kept for you until a decision is made whether or not to return it to you at the end of your contract. If it is decided that you should not get it back, you will have to apply for a duplicate, report the original lost. In that event, you will obviously have no idea where you've been. Simple, but effective." "I see. And what will that decision depend on?" "Armand Levequ, of course. Now, would you take off your jacket, please?" After a moment's thought, Katrina asked, "How can I be sure you act on his authority?" "A valid point. You are entitled to see my credentials, I think." Anne placed the syringe on the seat beside her, then unfastened the buttons of her fitted jacket. This done, she began unbuttoning her blouse from the collar down. That she was not wearing a brassiere became immediately clear. When she reached the level of her navel, she paused for a moment, then, looking directly into Katrina's eyes, slowly drew the white silk blouse to one side. The action completely exposed her left breast, full, pale and inclining ever so slightly upward toward the tip. Katrina gasped, involuntarily, and not just at the perfection of Anne Novak's lovely naked breast. For, there, tattooed in deep blue upon the smooth flesh of her breast, just above its prominent pink nipple, was the unmistakable evidence of her delegated authority—a miniature upright sword encircled by a coiled serpent. "I... I'm sorry," Katrina murmured, feeling her face flush fiercely. "I didn't mean to embarrass you. How could I know?" There was a hint of mockery in Anne's eyes as she smiled at Katrina's obvious discomfiture. "It's all right, Katrina, I'm not embarrassed. As long as you are...satisfied. Concerning my authority, 44

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I mean." "I…Yes. Yes, of course," Katrina mumbled. "Your arm, then?" Katrina meekly slipped off the jacket of her trouser suit and unfastened the buttons of her shirt at the wrist. As she rolled up the sleeve, Anne held the syringe upright, flicked it with her finger and depressed the plunger slightly to expel any air that might be inside. Laying aside the syringe for a moment, she took a damp cotton swab from a plastic container in the briefcase and rubbed it on Katrina's arm. "Are you frightened of injections?" Katrina shook her head. "Not normally. But this..." "It will be all right, I promise you. I'm very good at this." Katrina barely noticed the needle as it penetrated her flesh, her attention remaining fixed instead on the bare breast which Anne had made no attempt to cover again. If the chauffeur was aware of the state of his companion's exposure, he betrayed no hint of the fact, and resolutely kept his eyes to the front. The drug, whatever it was, acted quickly. Within just a few minutes of the injection, Katrina began to feel light-headed and euphoric, as if she'd been drinking or smoking a joint, something she'd tried only once with a former lover. "I feel...high," she said, her voice already a little thick, slurred. She giggled at the sound. "I hope that stuff isn't addictive." "Not in the amounts or frequency you are likely to experience it." Katrina watched with a tinge of disappointment that might have disturbed her but for the effects of the injection, as Anne fastened her blouse and jacket again. "You have beautiful breasts." Anne smiled. "You've only seen one of them." There was no mockery in her eyes now, just amusement. Gradually succumbing to growing drowsiness, Katrina laid her head on the back of her seat and turned to look through the window at the passing countryside. Within a few minutes, consciousness 45

Judith slipped away from her. *** There followed a period in her life that Katrina would never be able to accurately quantify, a time during which she fluctuated between a state of deep, all-embracing sleep and moments of confused, partial wakefulness, through which she drifted as if in a dream. During the latter, she was vaguely conscious of a disjointed series of events that interested her only mildly, as if she were not actually a part of them, but rather an observer. Later, she would fix these events in her mind in some sort of logical chronology, identifying them, if only obscurely, as her arrival at a small airport, the formalities of clearing customs and immigration—Anne explaining apologetically that Katrina was not well—and the boarding of a small jet aircraft. Her first moment of true lucidity since Anne had administered the injection came—how much later she could not begin to guess— when she awoke on board the aircraft. She was lying on a sort of bed, and at first thought she was still asleep and dreaming. The compartment was dimly illuminated by the faint blue glow of a nightlight in the bulkhead above. Her first impression was that she was in a cabin on board a ship, except that what little movement there was seemed too subtle and irregular. For a moment this puzzled her, but then recognition of the whistling resonance of the jet engines, coupled with her hazy recollection of boarding the airplane earlier, established the reality in her mind. She tried to sit up, but couldn't because something held her body immobile. Her arms, though, were free, and she began to explore with her hands. Her freedom of movement, she found, was restricted by two straps that bound her to the bed, one across her thighs and the other over her chest. Her initial panic at the discovery subsided when she realized that each had a metal buckle. But they weren't like the standard seat belt buckles on commercial airlines, and try as she might, she was unable to open either of them. Panic began to rise in 46

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her throat again, but then she saw the dimly glowing red button in the bulkhead alongside her. She pressed it. A few seconds later, a door opened, revealing a woman's dark silhouette against a lighted background. Anne Novak reached out to a switch at the side of the door and flicked on the cabin lighting. "Hello again. How are you feeling?" "I... I'm not sure. Can you get these things off me, please?" Closing the door behind her, Anne crossed the cabin to the bed. "They're just safety belts. This is actually a fully reclining seat that converts into a bed. I strapped you in so you wouldn't be hurt if we ran into turbulence." Unclipping the buckles so easily that Katrina felt rather foolish, she said, "There, you're a free woman again," then smiled wryly and added, "Well, sort of." Pushing the safety belts aside, Katrina sat up. The irony of the throwaway remark had not escaped her, and despite the uncertainty of her situation, an irresistible spark touched her sense of humor as she looked at the other woman. In a spontaneous and improbable moment of empathy, both women began to laugh. When the moment had passed, Anne said, "Here, let me show you how to adjust that." Reaching out to a small console on the right armrest of Katrina's seat, she pressed a button. The seat responded electronically, the head end elevating against Katrina's back, while the lower end dipped at an angle to the floor to become a footrest. "Mm. It's very comfortable." "I told you, it's my job to look after you. For this part of the journey, anyway. If you want anything, you have only to ask." "For this part of the journey? You won't be with me all the way?" "No. When we land, I'm to hand you over to someone else." "I'm sorry. I wish you could stay with me." Anne smiled. "For what it's worth, so do I. But it isn't possible. I have my instructions. In the meantime, how about something to eat? Are you hungry yet?" "Not desperately, but I wouldn't mind something light." "I have just the thing. Give me a couple of minutes." 47

Judith While Anne was away, Katrina took stock of her surroundings, which were surprisingly spacious for a private aircraft. Her reclining seat was one of a pair, each situated on either side of the aircraft alongside the windows. Facing these, more or less opposite but set at asymmetrical angles to provide an air of informality, there was a white leather sofa and a matching armchair. A coffee table occupied the space in between. To one side there was a wide-screen plasma television screen with video facilities, while the forward bulkhead of the cabin incorporated a small, but well-stocked, cocktail bar. On the left of the bar was the door through which Anne had entered and left, and which, presumably, led to the flight deck. The furniture, Katrina supposed, would be bolted to the floor, which was covered by cream thick-piled carpet. All in all, she had to admit that this was one hell of a way to travel, and under different circumstances, she would have reveled in the experience. As it was, though... With a sigh of resignation, she slid up the shutter of the nearest circular window to peer out through the Plexiglas. The night sky, like a cloth of indigo velvet slashed by a bright sickle moon, sparkled with the scattering of a myriad stars. Beneath the aircraft, an uninterrupted sea of rolling cloud, pale and luminescent in the moonlight, extended as far as she could see. "Quite a sight, isn't it?" Anne had returned, carrying a tray. Closing the door behind her with her foot, she set the tray on the coffee table. "It's beautiful," Katrina agreed, watching as Anne transferred the contents of the tray to the table. There was a platter of open salmon sandwiches with capers and slices of lemon, a dish of caviar with blinis and an ice bucket containing a bottle of Dom Perignon. When she had set down the refreshments, Anne sat on the sofa. "Join me?" Rising from her seat, Katrina moved to the armchair where she could better reach the coffee table. "Champagne?" Katrina shrugged. "Why not? God knows what's ahead of me. I 48

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may as well make the best of things, I suppose." Anne grinned. "That's the spirit." She poured two glasses of champagne, and handed one to Katrina. "I don't suppose you're allowed to tell me anything?" Katrina ventured, sipping the wine. "About where we're going or what's going to happen to me, I mean." The other woman seemed to consider this for a moment, then said, "Let me see. What can I tell you? Very little, I'm afraid. Just that you are going somewhere very special, unique in fact…and quite beautiful. You couldn't possibly imagine what awaits you, so there isn't much point in trying. More than that, I dare not say. It doesn't really help much, does it?" "Will Armand be there?" "I can't answer that." Fixing her custodian with a steady gaze, Katrina said, "Anne, I'm afraid. Should I be?" "I don't know. Perhaps. The only advice I can give you is to do exactly as you are told. Always. There may be times when you will find it very difficult to submit, but if you hope to serve out your contract— whatever that means to you—you must accept that until it expires, you belong to Armand Levequ. That you are as much his property as...this aircraft, for example. His to use in whatever way he wishes." Katrina bowed her head. "I've already experienced something of what that can mean." "And you survived…obviously." "Yes, but what if I'm not strong enough. What if he wants something from me that I just can't give?" "The choice is always yours, Katrina. It depends how important it is to you that you fulfill your contract. But let's not talk any more about it now. Drink your champagne, and tell me about yourself. I'm sure being an actress must be demanding, but isn't it fun, also?" Diffident and self-conscious at first, Katrina began to talk about her work. And she was honest. She had learned the basics of her craft at the Royal Academy, and she knew she was a competent actress. But 49

Judith in the acting profession that was simply not enough. In a world where thousands of talented individuals were competing for very limited opportunities, you needed any edge you could get. And that was where her father's contacts and influence had come to play; in the beginning at least. Eventually, through regular exposure in small television and film parts her father had 'arranged', she had established a reputation as a reliable, professional performer. These days, she could justifiably claim that whatever work came her way was in recognition of her own merit as an actress. But she never forgot the role her father had played in making it all possible. She was not proud of the advantage his influence had given her, but she acknowledged it, and was grateful for it. Now, it was payback time. As the wine flowed and Anne skillfully steered the conversation, Katrina found herself disclosing all manners of things about her life in general. An hour later, when they had eaten most of the food and drunk all the champagne, she suddenly realized that the other woman now knew much of what there was to know about her, including her father's transgression. What Katrina did not tell her was precisely what had happened in the gazebo at Rylands on the night of the reception. At last, emboldened by the wine, Katrina said, "Your turn, now. Tell me, Anne Novak, how does a nice girl like you come to be working for a bastard like Armand Levequ?" The words were understandably slurred; she had drunk most of the champagne. Anne seemed amused at Katrina's suddenly assertive demeanor. "I sold my soul to Armand Levequ a long time ago. It's a simple enough story. I am Czechoslovakian. When I was a young girl, my parents had a small farm not far from Prague. It was a hard life. I had two brothers and four sisters. There wasn't much money. I wanted to be a gymnast. I'd been good at it in school, and my teacher thought I might have a future if I worked at it full-time. But that was a luxury we couldn't afford. I went to Prague when I was thirteen and got a job as a chambermaid in a hotel. In the evenings and at weekends, I trained—hard. But it wasn't enough. One day, Armand came to stay 50

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at the hotel. I had matured young and was quite pretty. I was very attracted to him. And he liked me. I managed to convince him I was eighteen. For a while, anyway. He made love to me. My first time. "When he found out how old I really was, he was angry at first. But he was still fond of me, and he knew of my love for gymnastics. He came to watch me train. And then he made me a proposition. He told me he would sponsor me, pay me a generous allowance so that I could support my family, yet concentrate on training full-time. In return, like you, I had to agree to be indentured to him. The terms of my contract stipulated that however long I received his patronage, I would later be indentured to him for the same period. During that time, I would be his property, to use in whatever way he wished." "My God, what a terrible price to pay to realize your ambition." "Not really. I considered myself very lucky. With his help, I eventually won a gold medal in the Olympic Games. It was all I ever wanted." "That's it! Now I know why you seemed so familiar. I saw you win that medal on television. When was it? Nineteen—" "Shh! I'm proud of that medal, but I don't like to be reminded of how long ago I won it. I still train regularly, of course, and I'm still a fairly competent gymnast, but nothing like I used to be." "And your contract with Armand. How long —?" "Three years in all. But that was over a long time ago. Now I work for him because I choose to. And I am well rewarded. As I said, I sold my soul to Armand Levequ. But I have no regrets." Katrina yawned. "Are you okay?" "Oh, I'm sorry. Feeling a little tired again. And woozy. The champagne, I suppose." "How about a hot shower?" "Really? There's a shower on board the aircraft?" Anne nodded. "An excellent one. Come along, I'll show you." Rising from the armchair, Katrina felt suddenly light-headed. She stumbled, but was supported by Anne taking her firmly by the arm. 51

Judith "Let's get you showered, then you can go back to bed again; sleep off the champagne." *** Still holding her by the arm, Anne led Katrina aft, through a door into an en-suite shower room. Opening the shower door, she turned on the water while Katrina, still unsteady on her feet, struggled to unfasten the buttons of her shirt. "Here, let me do that for you." Compliantly, Katrina let her arms drop to her sides, allowing Anne to take over the task. "Thank you. Sorry to be a nuisance." "Nonsense. I told you, I'm here to look after you." Pulling Katrina's shirt free from the waistband of her trousers, Anne flipped open the remaining buttons. Katrina reached for her shirt. "Thanks, I can manage now." Anne brushed her hands aside. "Relax. You don't have to do anything. I'll take care of it." Slipping the shirt off over Katrina's shoulders, she hung it on a clothes rail on the bulkhead, then reached under Katrina's arms to unhook the brassiere clasp behind her. As she pulled the garment free, she stepped back a pace to look at Katrina admiringly. "You, too, have beautiful breasts," she said softly, the hint of mockery reappearing in her eyes. But there was something else in the liquid, brown depths now, a gleam that Katrina found at once intimidating and tantalizing. "Anne, I—" Katrina felt herself blush, tried to continue, but faltered. Anne placed a forefinger softly to Katrina's lips. "Shh." Returning her attention to her task, she unfastened Katrina's belt and trousers, then dipped to the floor on one knee to lower and remove them. While still in this position, she hooked her fingers into the top of Katrina's panties, easing them down over her hips. 52

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Light-headed again, Katrina reached for the clothes rail to steady herself. Conscious also of the quickening of her pulse and a growing tingling sensation about her neck and shoulders, she realized that she wasn’t just suffering from the effects of the wine. These sensations, she acknowledged, were largely attributable to Anne Novak, a woman who, although she barely knew her, she was permitting to strip her naked in the intimacy of this cloistered shower room in the sky. "You'll have to help me a little with these, Katrina." "Mm?" "Your panties." Anne gave them a gentle tug. "Oh." A mental shrug from Katrina. Too late now to object. She placed her feet slightly further apart, the action easing the pressure between her thighs. Anne slid the flimsy silk garment to the floor. Now Katrina was naked but for her stockings and suspenders. These Anne quickly removed. Then, taking Katrina by the shoulders, she guided her into the shower cubicle. "Hold on to this so you don't slip if the aircraft should happen to roll," she said, indicating a chrome safety rail that was fixed at waist height to the walls of the shower cubicle. She closed the door on Katrina. Katrina slowly gyrated in the hot, steaming torrent, allowing it to rush over her body. It felt good; refreshing and sensual. She groped through the rising steam to reach for the shower gel that stood on a recessed shelf at the back of the cubicle. Just as her fingers closed around the bottle, another hand plucked it from her grasp; a slim, delicate hand with finely manicured fingernails. She turned to look into the smiling face of Anne Novak, who had joined her in the shower. Instinctively lowering her gaze, Katrina caught her breath at the realization that Anne also was now quite naked. The onetime Olympic gymnast's body was as close to perfection as Katrina's, but in a different way. Anne was compact, but beautifully proportioned. Her limbs, though slender and smooth, had the firmness of tone that 53

Judith develops with regular and vigorous exercise. Her legs, long and shapely, were somewhat muscular at the thighs, as were her buttocks, but this did not detract from her femininity. And her breasts…these were a source of particular fascination for Katrina. Unlike her own, which were full and pliant enough to sway with every movement, Anne's smaller breasts jutted defiantly from her body. Extraordinarily firm, their initial swell barely seemed to acknowledge the existence of gravity before they strained upward, tapering to the prominent pink cones of her nipples. Anne uncapped the bottle and emptied the entire contents over Katrina's shoulders, breasts and back. Replacing the empty bottle on the shelf, she reached for Katrina, first lathering her neck, shoulders and upper arms, then moving her hands down her body until they slid onto her breasts. Katrina gasped, her nipples stiffening instantly in response to the unfamiliar touch. Anne's hands roved repeatedly over and around the softly yielding flesh, lingering far longer than was necessary to perform their cleansing task. "Nice?" Closing her eyes, Katrina nodded. The champagne had banished her inhibitions. "Very nice," she admitted. Now, stepping up close to her, Anne slipped her arms under Katrina's and around her, ostensibly to lather her back. But the action also brought the two women's bodies into intimate contact. Katrina flinched as the other woman's breasts closed on hers in the embrace. Slippery with lather, their breasts rubbed against each other as Anne massaged Katrina's back and shoulders. More than once, Katrina shuddered at the delicious sensation generated by Anne's nipples when they brushed against her own. The other woman's busy hands slowly worked their way down Katrina's back to her buttocks, where she kneaded the flesh, working the twin globes around and apart with strong, insistent fingers. "Oooh." Anne smiled at the little cry of dismay as her fingers delved between Katrina's buttocks, gently probing, exploring. Then, moving 54

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around a little to one side, she transferred her right hand to Katrina's belly, slowly moving it down until her fingers encountered the luxuriant expanse of her pubic hair, wet and clinging sleekly to the mound of her sex. Straining upward to the taller woman, Anne kissed her full on the lips. As her tongue penetrated Katrina's mouth, so the fingers of her right hand parted the cleft between her thighs. For what seemed an eternity, Anne's tongue and fingers continued their insistent exploration. Katrina's legs were trembling. She was already on the verge of orgasm. But then, at the crucial instant, Anne withdrew her hands. Katrina sighed as the wave of mounting pleasure fell away, depriving her of the expected climax. As she was about to discover, though, Anne's attentions thus far had been merely the prelude. "Hold on tightly to the rail." As she spoke, Anne began to undulate, snake-like, down Katrina's body until she was kneeling before her on the floor of the shower. Placing her hands on Katrina's thighs, she coaxed them apart. Katrina looked down to watch, intrigued, breathless, as Anne eased forward on bended knees between her open thighs. Urging Katrina's legs off the floor of the shower in turn, she adroitly stooped to shrug a shoulder under each of her thighs, then straightened her back again. Now Katrina's weight was supported partly by her own arms, resting on the safety rail, and partly by Anne's shoulders. Her sex, laid open by her parted thighs, was almost touching Anne's face. Looking up at her through the veil of cascading water, Anne gripped Katrina's buttocks and eased her closer still. At the first touch of the other woman's lips against her sex, Katrina's entire body stiffened and quivered as if receiving an electric shock. She cried out aloud as Anne, moving her head marginally from side to side, took the fleshy labia between her lips, sucking at them gently in turn, savoring their texture and essence. Then, pressing her face full into the soft, wet flower of Katrina's sex, she probed with her tongue, first flicking at the nub of her clitoris, then penetrating the deep mysterious channel leading to her womb. 55

Judith Katrina could bear no more of this sweet anguish. Suddenly and absolutely, her senses imploded in a violent, nerve-searing orgasm, from which, for one fleeting fragment of time, she truly believed she would die. *** Devastated by Anne's expert and ardent lovemaking, Katrina stood, dreamily acquiescent while the other woman toweled her body and hair dry. Like a child taken from its bed in the middle of the night, she seemed half-asleep, but smiled contentedly at every little kiss Anne placed about her body and face as she went about her task. When Anne had finished, she produced a silk nightdress, which she helped Katrina into before leading her back to the cabin again. "Time to rest again now, Katrina." Compliantly, Katrina allowed Anne to guide her back onto the reclining seat, where she lay smiling at the other woman. "Thank you." Anne returned the smile "Would you like a blanket?" Katrina shook her head, drowsily. "I'm not cold." Still naked, Anne went back into the bathroom to dress. When she returned, she sat on the edge of the seat next to Katrina. Fixing her intently with her gaze, she said, "Please don't tell anyone what I just did. It would be…bad…for me if anybody were to find out. You won't give me away, will you?" "No, of course not," Katrina responded at once. "It's hardly the sort of thing I'd be likely to brag about, is it?" Then, suddenly embarrassed by the ambiguity of the statement, she felt her cheeks flush hotly. "Oh, I'm sorry, I didn't mean... Oh, I'm not sure what I meant. I'm so confused." Anne laughed. "It's all right. I'm not offended." "You understand?" "Of course." "Can I ask you something bluntly? I can't think of a subtle way to 56

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put it." "Go ahead." "Are you a lesbian?" Anne shook her head. "No, not a lesbian." "Then you're...bisexual?" "I haven't bothered to put a name to my sexuality. I never felt the need to. I suppose bisexual might be technically correct, but the term doesn't feel quite right somehow. I look at it this way; just because I am female, and sexually attracted to men, that doesn't mean I can't appreciate a beautiful woman. Most women do, you know; we're very different from men in that respect. Think about how often you hear women admiring others of their own sex—'Isn't she gorgeous? What a fabulous figure.' You've heard it a thousand times. How many of them, do you suppose, would really like to touch rather than just look? "I believe most women, if they are honest, have the innate capacity not only to admire and appreciate the beauty of other women, but to be sexually attracted to them also. It's just that social taboos force most women to repress that capacity. But don't misunderstand me. That doesn't mean I view men and women in the same way. Sexually, I am generally oriented to men. But occasionally—rarely—I meet a beautiful woman who has a certain quality; something indefinably...special. Then, if she is willing, I see no reason why I should not enjoy her, and she me. Does that answer your question, Katrina?" "You think I have that...certain quality?" "Without a doubt." "I don't know what to say. You must think me very naive." "You are not very experienced…sexually, I mean." It was a statement. Katrina shrugged. "Well, I'm not entirely inexperienced, but...no, you're right. There have only been three..." She paused, remembering Armand. "...four men." Raised eyebrows from Anne Novak. "Really. Only four? I'm 57

Judith surprised. You're such a beautiful woman. How old are you, Katrina?" "Twenty-five. But it isn't that I've been short of offers." She lowered her eyes self-consciously. "In fact, I've had so much hassle from persistent men over the years that I consciously developed an aggressive technique to discourage them. It's earned me a reputation as something of a stuck-up bitch, of course, but at least I'm generally left in peace these days. I like to do the choosing." "But you've barely exercised that prerogative, it seems." "Credit Marguerite, my stepmother, with that. She's dead now, but she told me about men—the basics—when I was very young. She taught me to be discerning, indoctrinated me you might say. She used to say that for each woman, there are only a very few men who are "right", and that it was easy to make the wrong choice. I grew up believing that I should be very selective. "And the men you selected, they were...right?" Katrina laughed. "Probably not. Well, one might have been, under different circumstances." Despite her light-hearted response to Anne's question, Katrina recalled how angry and foolish she had felt when she had discovered Marguerite with Armand in his bedroom at Rylands. Had Armand Levequ been her stepmother's idea of the 'right' kind of man? Her first impulse had been to avenge herself on Marguerite by having sex with the first man that came along, no matter who or what he was. Later, though, she realized how illogical and self-destructive that would be, and reason had prevailed. "What about women?" The question recalled Katrina from her introspection. "Sorry?" "How many women have you made love with?" "Women? Why, I've never—Oh, I mean…not until—" Katrina instinctively averted her eyes from Anne's again. Placing her hand on Katrina's, Anne said, "Tell me about the men. Or would that embarrass you?" "Before the shower, it might have. Not now." To prove the point, Katrina went on to talk about the four men with whom she had been 58

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sexually involved. Three men and a boy, really. Not that there was much to tell. She had met Jason at college when he was just seventeen and they had "gone steady" for a while. He was a nice enough boy. Almost too nice, in fact. It took him six months to get round to taking her virginity, despite the fact that she'd made it plain to him that it was on offer. Perversely, she lost interest in him soon afterwards. It wasn't that he was a bad lover; in fact, she had found the sex exciting and enjoyable in the few remaining months of their relationship. She'd just outgrown him somehow. When she'd told him it was over, he'd wept, which, although burdening her with guilt, at least confirmed that she had made the right decision. At twenty-two, Nick was more mature, although he, too, was a student when they met—this time at RADA. Nick's principal contribution to her erotic education was in introducing her to oral sex. The relationship was a pleasant and convenient one, with neither party caring to commit beyond enjoying each other's company and body. It lasted almost twelve months, then dissolved almost as an afterthought when they left the Academy to pursue their respective careers. Klaus was an Austrian television director she met while working on a film. Theirs was an intense relationship, but he was married and basically still in love with his wife, from whom he was separated. They lived together for six deliriously happy months, and then parted, friends, he to return to his wife, and Katrina to immerse herself in her career. Klaus was a sensitive and generous lover, the only one of the three who had been able to consistently bring her to ecstatic orgasm. In fact, for months after they had parted, she physically ached whenever she recalled their lovemaking. On the whole, her sexual experience thus far had indeed been limited and relatively conventional—compared, that was, to the lurid accounts of some of her female friends. The exception—the glaring exception—had been Armand Levequ, and Katrina thought she detected a strange gleam in Anne's eyes as she eventually described the events in the gazebo on the night of the Annual Reception. 59

Judith When she had finished, Anne said, "There is much you have yet to learn, Katrina; to experience. Your life is about to change dramatically. In some ways, I envy you." Rising from the seat, she added, "But now it's time you slept." "What do you mean? About my life being about to change?" "Forget it. Please. I shouldn't have mentioned it. I've said too much already." "But..." "Please, Katrina, don't ask me any more. Would you like a drink? Some hot milk to help you sleep, perhaps?" Resigned to the obvious fact that Anne would reveal no more, Katrina simply said, "Thanks, that would be nice." Within minutes of drinking the milk Anne had brought her, Katrina had fallen into a deep and untroubled sleep. She had no way of knowing how much later it was when she emerged into partial consciousness... *** Neither fully asleep nor yet completely awake, Katrina seemed to be drifting aimlessly in a strange dream-like state. She peered, drowsily at first, through half-closed eyelids. As when she had first awakened in the aircraft, the main lights were out, the cabin bathed in the ethereal blue radiance of the nightlight. Nevertheless, this was more than sufficient for her to discern her surroundings and situation with a growing sense of bewilderment. The first thing she was conscious of was the fact that her seat had been raised into a partly elevated position. But more disturbingly, her nightdress had been interfered with. Someone, it seemed, had removed it from her shoulders and pulled it down to bare her breasts. The hem, too, had been displaced, raised well above her thighs. Her left leg, bent at the knee, lay "hooked" over the padded armrest of her seat, the effect being to lay her thighs open wide, completely exposing her sex to the view of any interested observer. 60

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Right now there was just one such observer, who was clearly very interested. Anne Novak was sitting on the white leather sofa, opposite to Katrina. As Katrina's eyes gradually focused on the other woman's eerie blue image, she was startled by the discovery that Anne was masturbating, and that she, Katrina, was the undoubted focus of the other woman's arousal. Her buttocks perched on the front edge of the sofa; Anne was reclining against the corner, where the armrest joined the back. The jacket of her suit and her blouse were completely unbuttoned and open wide so that, like Katrina, her breasts were exposed. Her skirt was hiked up around her thighs, almost to the hip. Bent at the knees and elevated by the long stiletto heels of her shoes, her legs were spread wide. Her panties lay abandoned around one ankle. Strangely, the nightlight's blue iridescence seemed to accentuate the milk-paleness of Anne's thighs where the dark stockings gave way to naked flesh. Her gaze was fixed firmly upon Katrina as, alternately lavishing attention on each of her own breasts in turn, she languorously fondled them, and teased the nipples between the thumb and forefinger of her left hand. The other hand, engaged in more urgent activity, was busy deep in the forest of her pubic hair, night-black and mysterious. Periodically she brushed her tongue back and forth across parted lips, leaving them moist, lustrous. Her labored breathing was audible above the muted noise of the jet engines, her eyes wide, the better to accommodate Katrina's sensual image in the ghostly light. Was Anne aware that she was in turn being observed by Katrina? Katrina could not be sure, but thought not, and this spawned a weird sensation; a paradoxical conviction that it was she, not Anne, who was the real voyeur. The fact that she, in virtually naked disarray, was the stimulus for the other woman's arousal detracted nothing from that conviction. Bizarre and unlikely though it seemed, Katrina found the phenomenon profoundly exciting. And now, after a moment's puzzlement, her excitement was intensified by a new sound in the cabin. Pulsing blood pounded in her ears with the realization that she 61

Judith could actually hear Anne's fingers slithering urgently among the saturated folds of her sex. Katrina was conscious of her own blossoming moistness as she watched. She imagined the appearance of a crystalline spring, glistening among her pubic hair and threatening to betray not only the fact that she was awake, but also that she, too, was fiercely aroused. But Anne, her fingers working feverishly in pursuit of release, appeared to notice nothing new. The moment seemed very close, signified by little whimpering noises not unlike the kind that nightmares evoke from very young children in their sleep. Suddenly she froze as the forward door of the cabin opened. Someone stepped inside, closing the door again. It was a man wearing some sort of uniform: dark trousers and a white, shortsleeved shirt with epaulettes striped in glittering gold braid. Katrina's excitement was suddenly displaced by fear. Exposed, effectively naked, she was totally vulnerable. Consciously swallowing her panic, she decided to maintain her pretense of slumber. The man drew nearer. It was an illusion, she knew, but the intensity of his gaze seemed to burn into the corolla of delicate flesh between her widespread thighs. Through the narrow slits of her eyelids, she could see his features now as he bent over her. Probably in his mid-thirties, he was handsome in the classical sense. His complexion was dark, as was his hair, which, short and curly, overhung a broad forehead. He had a long, straight nose and full, voluptuous lips, which, although they might equally have graced the features of a beautiful woman, were prevented from making him appear effeminate by the angular set of his deeply cleft lower jaw. His eyes were dark, but the nightlight imbued the pupils with an electricblue gleam. He reached out a hand toward Katrina's right breast. Panic rose again, constricting her throat. Anne Novak's voice broke the relative silence. "What are you doing?" Withdrawing the hand, he turned to look at Anne, his look of surprise immediately supplanted by a sly grin when he saw her 62

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condition. "I didn't see you there." He looked briefly back at Katrina again, then returned his gaze to Anne, who had made no attempt to adjust her clothing or remove her hand from between her thighs. "Enjoying yourself? " Ignoring the taunt, Anne said, "You haven't answered my question, Dimitri." "What am I doing? I've come to claim pilot's privilege, of course. Gerry can fly the aircraft for a while." Unlike Anne's, the accent—Greek? —was pronounced. Anne shook her head. "Not with this one, I'm afraid, Dimitri. Katrina is special. She is to be delivered to Madam SIN…intact." "But Madam SIN will only—" "What Madam SIN decides to do with her is not our concern. Katrina is not to be touched." "I see. That explains why you are watching, not touching. What a pity for both of us. She's very beautiful." "Isn't she, though?" "Is she sedated?" "Just a mild hypnotic I put in her milk." Dimitri half turned toward Katrina again. "Then—" Anne shook her head. "Not this time, Dimitri." "Mm. This a big disappointment." As he spoke, he walked toward Anne, still reclining unselfconsciously on the sofa. "But if those are the instructions—" He shrugged. "You will substitute for her?" He was standing by the arm of the sofa now. "Naturally." She turned her head toward him, her face level with his hips. Reaching out toward him with her left hand, the right remaining between her thighs, she dexterously unfastened his belt and trousers, letting them fall to the floor. She tugged at the waistband of his briefs. He took over the task, bending at the hip to push them to the floor. As he straightened up again, Katrina was barely able to withhold a gasp at the sudden appearance of his penis—very long, slim and projecting stiffly from his groin. He 63

Judith kicked his trousers and briefs aside while Anne, looking up into his eyes as if to gauge his reaction, wrapped her slender fingers around his rigid shaft. "Yes," he rasped. "Do it." Smiling, she parted her lips, guiding the swollen head of his cock into her mouth. He groaned as she inched her lips along the organ, taking him incrementally deeper until, incredibly, she had accommodated almost three-quarters of its length inside her mouth. Katrina could see from the fluttering movement behind her cheeks that she was working on his stiffened flesh with her tongue. Meanwhile, her right hand had begun to move again, the middle finger ploughing the furrow of her sex. Katrina's own arousal was fired again as she watched her beautiful new acquaintance abandon herself to the task of pleasuring both Dimitri and herself at the same time. Dimitri grasped a handful of Anne's hair, pulling her onto him against each thrust of his hips. Compliantly, Anne responded by moving her head rhythmically back and forth, her lips sliding along his glistening shaft. After a few minutes, Dimitri withdrew his cock from between Anne's lips. "Stand up," he said, breathlessly. "I want to fuck you." Rising dutifully from the sofa, Anne slipped off her jacket and blouse, unfastened her skirt and let it fall to the floor. As she did so, Dimitri hurriedly removed his shirt. He was slim with narrow hips, but his lean frame was muscular, built for power and endurance. If, like Anne, he was an athlete, he would be a distance runner. "How do you want me?" Anne asked when they were both naked. In answer, he guided her around to the side of the sofa so that she faced the arm. Standing behind her, he stooped to take hold of her left calf, just below the knee. Seeming to recognize the approach, she responded by leaning forward to grip the back of the sofa with her right hand, at the same time allowing him to raise her left leg behind her. He continued to support the leg, which, now bent at the knee, was horizontal to the floor. Thus poised, he and Anne appeared to Katrina like dancers in a pas-des-deux from some extravagantly 64

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erotic ballet. And Katrina had a front row seat, just a few feet from the performers. Among the dark thatch of Anne's pubic hair, she could plainly see the glistening lips that flanked her now gaping sex. Dimitri set his feet apart, bending a little at the knees to set his straining cock toward its goal. Katrina stared, mesmerized, as he took the shaft in his hand, easing his hips up and forward to introduce the head into Anne's vulva. Looking back along her own body, Anne watched, engrossed, as Dimitri slowly penetrated her. The prospect of his rigid organ, partially buried in the entrance to her womb, clearly excited her. Eyes wide, lips parted, she took a deep breath, anticipating his next move. But even though prepared, she was unable to withhold a cry of dismay when he suddenly plunged his entire length into her. After the first few long, exploratory strokes, he increased the tempo. Anne, supporting her weight on her right hand, continued to look back with glazed eyes while with every thrust of his hips he sank his long, slick penis deep inside her. Her breasts, inclining earthward, jiggled in response to each forceful impact of his body against hers. Katrina was increasingly aware of a growing pleasurable sensation, an insistent tingling in her sex. Risking a downward glance at her widespread thighs, she was shocked to discover that her right hand had stolen unconsciously to her vulva. She watched with almost detached interest for a moment while her fingers, as if with a will of their own, continued roving the deliciously slippery pleats of flesh. Her brain warned her to desist, but she could not. Like Anne and Dimitri, she was simply too far-gone. She supposed that this peculiar condition in which she found herself, her shocking behavior and loss of inhibition, were the result of the 'mild hypnotic' in her hot milk. But she had neither the will nor desire to resist its effects. Returning her attention to the frenzied coupling by the sofa, she discovered that Anne was watching her now. As their eyes met, the other woman smiled, and there was another moment of empathy, a sharing of passion and intimacy. But it was a 65

Judith brief moment. As quickly as it had appeared, Anne's smile was gone, her features suddenly distorted in a combination of shock and anguish. For an instant, Katrina was puzzled by the sudden transformation. Then she understood. Dimitri had withdrawn from Anne's vagina, but was still fiercely erect, and had by no means finished with her. Remembering her own ordeal in the gazebo, Katrina stared in anxious fascination while, holding Anne's buttocks apart with his free hand, he gradually impaled her anus upon his erection until his pubis was flush against her parted buttocks. When satisfied that he had penetrated Anne fully, he withdrew again. Anne groaned, but she could expect no mercy from Dimitri, whose savage expression betrayed the gratification he was deriving from her torment. Delighting in his violation of so intimate a preserve, he picked up speed, his hips bucking frantically as he forged deeper into the forbidden, narrow passage. His eyes took on a glazed look, signaling approaching orgasm. Anne's body was gleaming with perspiration. With obvious effort, she bent her raised leg double, wrapping her left arm around the back of her knee and pulling her thigh up against her shoulder. Spreading her thighs and buttocks to the utmost, this exotic contortion of her body seemed to spur Dimitri to even greater frenzy, but Katrina guessed that was not precisely her purpose. By exploiting her gymnast's suppleness in this way, Anne was able to open herself wider to accommodate Dimitri in her rear. The strategy seemed to work, because in this position Anne's discomfiture gradually seemed to dissipate, at first equaled, then judging by her changing expression, overtaken by mounting pleasure. Dimitri emitted a low growl as his orgasm exploded. In the throes of his climax, his aggressive pelvic lunges all but lifted Anne off her feet. During these final frantic moments Anne's eyes were enigmatically closed. She bit her lower lip in a beatific smile, but uttered no sound. Then, a sudden convulsive shuddering of her breasts and shoulders provided confirmation that Dimitri's release 66

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had triggered her own. This in turn proved the catalyst for Katrina; her body suddenly seized by the most intense orgasm she had ever experienced at her own hands. Slumping back in her seat in the aftermath, Katrina closed her eyes and was immediately overwhelmed by exhaustion. She neither saw nor heard anything of how Anne and Dimitri concluded their carnal engagement. Nor was she even conscious of her nudity. She simply drifted off into a sleep that, this time, was both genuine and absolute.

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Chapter Four

T

he first thing Katrina noticed when she awoke was the unfamiliar, rhythmic motion. Opening her eyes, she looked about her without actually lifting her head from the pillow. Recollection of recent events began to crystallize randomly in her mind, and she was surprised to discover that she was no longer on board the aircraft. Now—there could be no mistake this time—she was in the cabin of a ship. She could hear the unambiguous sound of seabirds and the slapping of the ocean against the hull. Had there been any remaining doubt, it would have been quickly dispelled by the tang of salt air sifting through partially-open portholes in the bulkhead above the bunk in which she was lying. Sunlight, too, streamed through the portholes. For some inexplicable reason, although her surroundings were totally alien to her, she neither panicked nor felt unduly ill at ease. Somewhere deep in her subconscious there was acceptance of the inevitability of her situation, whatever it might be. But she was curious. She closed her eyes again and began raking through mingled fragments of mental imagery in her memory. They were like excerpts from a film, but lacked chronology at first. The prospect of two starkly contrasting human figures, both naked, suddenly coalesced in startling clarity on the screen of her imagination: Anne Novak, poised with balletic grace on one leg, the lusty Dimitri ravishing her with bestial fury. Katrina dismissed the provocative image. It was information, not arousal she needed. But 68

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the erotic recollection had triggered memories of other, subsequent events; of awakening later in the flight, and of unsuccessful attempts to concentrate on reading the magazines that Anne provided to help pass the time. The two women had talked again, but only in general terms, and there had been no allusion by either of them to the lurid events involving the aircraft's pilot. And later still, Katrina now remembered, Anne had apologetically administered another injection as they approached the end of the flight. As on the first such occasion, her memory of what had followed was confused, patchy, like a half-forgotten dream: images of glaring lights and lofty halls; queues of milling people, many of them black; another encounter with officialdom—immigration and customs again? —and then outdoors in the rear seat of a big, black car, a limousine cruising along busy, neon-bright streets. Beyond these images, there was nothing to fill the void. A dull, repetitive sound, like a short drumbeat, tugged Katrina's thoughts back to the present. It took her a few seconds to identify the sound as someone knocking on the door of the cabin. She pushed herself upright into a sitting position, the sudden movement making her momentarily light-headed. "Hello? Who's there?" "Miss Mandell? May I come in?" It was a man's voice, deferential, polite. Someone used to obeying orders. Pushing back the bed-sheets, she swung her legs over the side of the bunk, noticing as she did so that she was wearing a thigh-length, striped cotton nightshirt. It was comfortable, good quality, something she might well have chosen for herself. It was also a good fit. But it was not hers. As Anne had instructed, the only clothing she had brought with her was a single change of underwear. "Come in," she called. The cabin door swung inward and a short, sandy-haired man of about thirty-five stepped inside. He wore shorts, an open-necked shirt with short sleeves, knee length stockings—all in pristine white—and a pair of topsiders. The effect was that of an informal uniform. 69

Judith "Good morning, Miss," he said, jovially. "I'm Henry, your steward...among my other duties." The accent was English; a hint of East London, eroded, perhaps, by years of absence. "Steward? Where am I?" "You're aboard the barquentine Aphrodite, Miss." "Barquentine? This is a sailing ship?" "Aye, Miss. One of the finest afloat." "And we're at sea?" "That we are, Miss." "What time is it?" "It's—" Glancing at his watch. "—nine-fifteen in the morning. I'm to invite you to breakfast with the skipper; the captain, that is. In his cabin." "Breakfast. I... Where are my clothes? How did I —?" She tugged at the nightshirt, leaving the sentence unfinished. "I gather Miss Novak put you to bed." "Anne? Is she here?" He shook his head. "No, Miss. She brought you aboard last night and made sure you were settled in all right. She left before we set sail." "Oh." A pang of disappointment—and, now, apprehension. She was in the hands of people about whom she knew absolutely nothing. Henry continued, "Before she left, she stocked your cabin with everything you're likely to need on board." Gesturing to a pair of slatted double doors in the bulkhead opposite the bunk, he added, "Your clothes are in here. Everything else is pretty much where you'd expect it to be, but if there's something you need and you can't find it, just let me know, and I'll see what I can do." Crossing the cabin as he spoke, he glanced around as if checking that all was as it should be. Demonstratively opening and closing a door set in the far bulkhead, he said, "This is the head; the bathroom." Then, walking back to the door by which he had entered, he turned to cast a final look around the cabin. "I think that's all I need to tell you for now. Oh, the red button next to the bedside light will 70

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get me if you need anything. Give it a push when you've showered and dressed, and I'll come for you, show you to the skipper's quarters." When Henry had left, Katrina surveyed her surroundings from the bunk. Much bigger than she would have expected for a single occupant, the cabin was beautifully fitted out in varnished teak, mahogany and glinting brass. Tastefully furnished in American colonial style, it was somewhat masculine in character, but nonetheless luxurious for that. The atmosphere was redolent with the mingled aromas of leather, wood polish and sea air. For a moment, as she took all this in, she had the strange sensation that she had slipped back a century in time. Peering through one of the portholes, she could see nothing beyond but foam-flecked ocean and empty blue sky beyond a distant horizon. She began to explore the cabin, a task complicated at first by the constant listing of the deck beneath her feet. But her sense of balance adjusted surprisingly quickly, and in very little time at all she was no longer even conscious of the phenomenon. The slatted doors opened onto a wardrobe and a built-in set of drawers that contained an assortment of female clothing—dresses, shoes, accessories, casual wear, lingerie—all bearing leading designer labels. The fact that the sizes were exactly right was remarkable enough, but what she found uncanny was that Anne seemed to know exactly her taste in clothes. Likewise, in the dressing table that was fitted into a shallow alcove, she found a selection of her own brands of cosmetics and perfume. Anne Novak was clearly not just intuitive, but had also obviously thoroughly researched her subject. Subtly concealed inside a built-in teak cabinet, she found a wellstocked mini bar and a small refrigerator. There was also a writing bureau and a bookcase containing an assortment of books. As on board the aircraft, it was clearly intended that she should want for nothing, but although she could not help feeling flattered at being singled out for such special treatment, it also disturbed her. At first, she couldn't quite put her finger on the cause of her unease. It was 71

Judith something to do with an elusive concept that hovered tantalizingly on the periphery of her memory, just out of conscious reach. It was not until later, when she was taking a shower, that the reason for her apprehension surfaced. Hadn't she once read somewhere that some ancient South American Indian civilization had treated young maidens like VIPs before subjecting them to the sacrificial knife? Now that it had eventually emerged, she realized at once that the analogy was both fantastic and melodramatic. Feeling foolish, she consciously dismissed the thought, and felt better for it. Her underlying anxiety at the uncertainty of what awaited her at the end of the voyage, however, persisted as she toweled herself dry and dressed. Perhaps subconsciously defensive, she selected the most conservative option from the wardrobe. A simple white cotton dress, belted at the waist, it was both cool and comfortable. A pair of elegant but practical sandals completed the outfit. Eschewing make-up, she looked at her reflection in the full-length mirror inside the wardrobe door. Satisfied that her appearance was as unprovocative as her natural attributes would allow, she rang for the steward. *** The captain's cabin, it turned out, was about thirty yards away, at the end of the same convoluted passageway onto which her own opened. Henry knocked once, opened the door and stood aside to allow Katrina to enter. The cabin was considerably bigger than her own, and even more luxuriously appointed. Gold leaf scrollwork adorned ornately carved panels on the bulkheads. "Ah, Katrina. Good morning. And welcome aboard." The speaker, a tall, broad-shouldered man of about forty, rose from his seat to greet her as she entered the cabin. Before him was a circular dining table covered by a white linen tablecloth, and set with china and silver cutlery. There were four place settings, one his own, one for each of the two women who sat facing each other on his left 72

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and right, and another in front of the empty chair opposite him. "I'm Greg Larsen, the skipper," he explained. Gesturing to the empty chair, he added, "Join us, please. We've already started, I hope you don't mind." The captain was an extraordinary individual. As his surname allowed, he might easily have descended from Viking stock. The deeply tanned complexion, blond hair and neatly trimmed beard seemed to naturally complement each other, but his penetrating, ocean blue eyes made for a startling contrast. His face was hatched by countless fine creases, the result of a lifetime's exposure to salt winds, Katrina imagined. A deep scar ran from just below his left eye to the corner of his mouth, a seemingly cruel counterbalance to the latent humor in the blue depths of his eyes. While he might once have been regarded as handsome, the most flattering description to which he could hope to aspire now was 'striking'. Less flattering, but equally appropriate as far as Katrina was concerned, would be the term 'fearsome'. Here, she felt instinctively, was a man to whom laughter and ruthlessness came with equal ease, depending on circumstances. Despite his Scandinavian name, Larsen's accent was distinctly Canadian, and in contrast to his appearance, he was surprisingly softspoken. His khaki short-sleeved shirt and matching shorts were immaculately pressed and starched. But what really caught Katrina's attention were the pale blue epaulettes on his shoulders. These bore a design in fine gold braid that she recognized instantly. Within a circle depicted by a loop of rope joined by a nautical knot, was the now very familiar serpent, entwined about an upright sword; confirmation that Captain Larsen was not only Armand Levequ's man, but that he also possessed his delegated authority. As Katrina sat down, Larsen resumed his own seat. The other two women at the table were no less remarkable than the captain in their own ways. Both were exceptionally beautiful, but very different in appearance. In fact, as she looked at them, Katrina thought it would be difficult to imagine a greater contrast. About Katrina's own age, the woman on her left had a luxuriant 73

Judith mane of bright copper hair and eyes the color of emeralds. She wore white leather shorts and a beige lace-up bodice that displayed to advantage the upper swell of ample breasts. The other woman, probably five or six years her senior, was black, with high cheekbones, an angular jaw and full, pouting lips. The color of her dress, pale pastel green, provided an unlikely, yet perfect complement to the dark satin sheen of her skin, while the deep Vneck invited comparison of her breasts with those of her companion. Neither woman had taken her eyes off Katrina since she entered the cabin. "Let me introduce you," Larsen said. "Katrina, meet Tiffany—" "Hello, Katrina," the redhead said. "—and Safire." The black beauty acknowledged the introduction with a restrained inclination of her head to Katrina. "With an 'F'," she said. "With an 'F'," Larsen confirmed, amusement briefly crinkling the corners of his eyes. With the introductions over, the other two women resumed eating breakfast. "What would you like, Katrina? We have eggs, bacon—the usual breakfast fare. Or continental, if you prefer." "Thank you. I'm not very hungry. Do you have orange juice?" "Of course. Thomas!" A man whose presence Katrina had barely noticed, appeared at the table and poured her a glass of orange juice from a crystal jug. "Anything else, Miss? Some coffee?" "Thank you, yes. And perhaps just a little toast?" "Certainly, Miss." He glided back across the cabin to a serving trolley containing heated food trays and drinks containers. Like Henry, who had now left the cabin, he wore a white shirt and shorts. Larsen seemed to have already finished eating and had pushed his plate to one side to make room for his coffee. Raising the cup to his lips now, he took a mouthful, swallowed. "Ah, great coffee. I need this stuff to kick-start my day." 74

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The man, Thomas, brought Katrina's own coffee and toast and placed it on the table before her. "Well," Larsen said. "Now that you've met each other, it's time for me to give you a little briefing concerning the ship and what's expected of you during this voyage. The Aphrodite is a two hundred and eighty foot barquentine. Although she was built just before the turn of the century, she's been fully refurbished and has all the latest navigational aids and safety features, so she's as safe as anything afloat. She also has engines, but we use them only when we have to, since she's essentially a sailing ship. There's a good steady wind right now, and if it holds we should reach our destination within three days. We're carrying a full cargo, and only three passengers— yourselves. "As master, my word is law aboard this ship. The crew understands that fully, and is highly disciplined. There are just a few rules that you, yourselves, must obey while you are on board. You are all three indentured to my employer, Armand Levequ, but the terms of your contracts and the circumstances leading to your entering into them are not identical. One common feature, however, is that you are not permitted to discuss these matters. I understand, of course, your curiosity about what awaits you, but you must be patient. All you need to know will be explained in due course. In the meantime, if you need anything, just ask Henry. "Unless I invite you to dine with me, you will take all meals in your cabins, where you will remain anyway between eight in the evening and eight in the morning. Outside those times, you may spend as much time on deck as you wish. Astern, behind the wheelhouse, there is a small sun deck where you may wish to take advantage of the beautiful weather we're enjoying right now. Aside from the open deck and your own cabins…and the most direct route between the two…everywhere else is out of bounds to you unless I direct otherwise. If you breach these any of these rules or others that I may give you individually, you will be punished. Have I made myself clearly understood?" 75

Judith "Aye, aye, Cap'n," Safire responded, with a smirk. She seemed to find the 'briefing' hugely amusing. Ignoring her levity, Larsen simply said, "Good. Tiffany?" In marked contrast to Safire's response, the redhead nodded solemnly. "Katrina?" "I understand." "Fine, then we shouldn't have any problems. I suggest you make the most of the trip. Treat it as a holiday cruise." Conversation throughout the remainder of breakfast tended to focus on the ship, which was the topic Larsen seemed most inclined to talk about. Katrina and the other two women—both Americans— had questions, but whenever they touched upon issues it appeared he did not want to address, he simply steered them in a different direction. When they had all finished eating and Thomas had begun clearing the table, Larsen summoned Henry back to the cabin by pressing a button on the nearby bulkhead. "Henry will give you a quick guided tour, show you how to get from your cabins to the deck and back. Then your time is your own. If you let him know what time you want your meals, he'll take care of it. Henry." "Aye, skipper. This way, please, ladies." *** Safire and Tiffany were accommodated in different areas of the same deck as Katrina. Leading the small party to the three cabins in turn, Henry then showed them the nearest companionway to each that led to the upper deck. As they emerged onto the open deck, Katrina was amazed at the prospect that met them. The ship was much bigger than she had envisaged, and it was a magnificent sight. Four great masts probed skyward from the deck, supporting an asymmetrical array of blinding white sails, taut against the wind and heeling the ship slightly to one side. The deck seemed to resonate beneath her 76

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feet as the great hull sliced through the water. The whole world seemed to consist of the ship, the ocean on which she sailed, and the vast blue dome of cloudless sky. As Henry showed them around, describing various aspects of the ship and functions of equipment, deckhands dressed in blue shorts and T-shirts busied themselves about a variety of tasks, some working on lines to trim the sails in response to shouted commands. They were indeed disciplined, Katrina observed. The presence of such beautiful women in their midst would evoke admiring glances, if not hungry stares from most men. These barely glanced at Katrina and her fellow passengers as they worked. Perhaps to do otherwise would be to incur censure—even punishment. The sun deck was an improvised affair; actually a small raised afterdeck in the stern, surrounded for privacy by a sort of white canvas screen stretched between vertical stanchions. Access was via a small flight of steps from the main deck. When Katrina had seen enough, she left Safire and Tiffany with Henry and went below. For some reason she was unable to define, she had decided even before leaving Rylands that she would keep a journal in which to record her experiences from the moment Armand had presented her with his ultimatum until...well, that remained to be seen. The journal had accompanied her single change of underwear—the only personal possessions she had thrown into the small bag she had taken with her from Rylands. Now, sitting at the writing bureau in her cabin, she took out the journal and put pen to paper for the first time since she had left home. Time slipped by quickly for Katrina that first day onboard the Aphrodite. She alternated writing with reading a novel from the selection in the bookcase. In between, mealtimes and occasional turns around the deck also helped to break up the day. It was almost possible for a while to forget that she was virtually a captive en-route to the unknown, and to believe instead that, as Larsen had suggested, she was taking an exclusive, luxury cruise. By noon the next day, she had reduced to writing everything of 77

Judith relevance that had happened to her since her fateful encounter with Armand Levequ in the gazebo at Rylands. Now, reading what she had written in the journal during the last twenty-four hours or so, she realized just how incredible it all was. To any rational individual, her account of events would seem like the extravagant sexual fantasies of a crazed nymphomaniac. Indeed, there were giddy moments— transitory, but nevertheless a little frightening—when she actually doubted her own sanity. But then she only needed to consider her present situation and the tangible evidence of her contract for confirmation of the reality. Recalling events and setting them down in her journal had proved to be an absorbing and, she had to admit, perversely satisfying process. But there was a downside too. In deciding to record her experiences, she had also inadvertently subjected herself to renewed emotional conflict and uncertainty. Reviewing her recent bizarre and extreme sexual experiences, she found herself once again questioning her own morality. In the days that followed her encounter with Armand in the gazebo, she had eventually managed to convince herself that she had had no alternative but to submit to his demands. To have refused him would, after all, have meant imprisonment for her father. But now, reliving the event through her own written account, she discovered to her dismay that she was unable to suppress a thrill of excitement at the recollection; that, even now, so long after the event, arousal vied with shame and guilt for dominance of her emotions. And what of her encounter with Anne Novak? No threats had been involved there, yet she had nevertheless willingly submitted to the woman's intensely intimate advances. And later, as a spectator, she had achieved sexual release again by brazenly masturbating at the prospect of Anne being ravished and sodomized just a few feet away from her. She could not lie to herself; she had experienced potent sexual excitement and gratification during each of these incidents. But then again, she reasoned, it could hardly be said that she had been acting 78

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entirely within the realm of her free will at the time. Surely the preflight injection, the champagne and the 'hypnotic' in her milk must have been contributory factors to the way she had reacted? Thus, having voluntarily placed her character, her moral integrity, on trial, Katrina found herself playing the role of accuser, while at the same time arguing in her own defense. Had she been corrupted by Armand Levequ and, by extension, Anne Novak, or had Armand simply uncovered her true self? Was the virtue she had always believed to be a fundamental element of her personality nothing more than an insubstantial veneer to be stripped away so easily? Her smug self-image, based on a previously unshakeable belief in her own values seemed suddenly blurred beyond recognition. At length, she eventually concluded, with a conscious effort, that there was nothing to be gained by relentlessly persecuting herself. Besides, the jury was still out, and for the time being she preferred to leave it that way, since there seemed a better than even chance that the verdict might not be to her liking. As she mentally pulled down the shutters on her own perverse ambivalence, she was startled by a knock on her cabin door. "Who is it?" "It's me, Safire." She opened the door. Surprisingly, she had seen neither of her fellow passengers since she had left them on deck with Henry the previous morning. Now the extraordinary black beauty stood in the doorway, and she looked stunning. The white skirt, overprinted with multi-colored tropical flowers, clung to the flare of her hips. A slit at one side revealed one long, shapely leg to the thigh. Above the bare expanse of her midriff, she wore a matching halter-top, the thin silk yielding irresistibly to the prominence of her nipples. Her hair, a lustrous mane of raven silk, hung almost to her waist. The only make-up she wore was a coat of matte purple-red lipstick with just a touch of matching blusher to accentuate the upward sweep of her cheekbones. High-heeled sandals with narrow ankle straps pushed her already considerable 79

Judith height close to six feet. "I'm bored. Will you have lunch with me?" The slight drawl hinted at origins somewhere in the American Deep South. The accent seemed to complement her exotic appearance perfectly. "Lunch?" Taken off-guard by the unexpected invitation, Katrina couldn't immediately think of a more appropriate response. "In my cabin. I'm tired of reading, I need someone to talk to." "What about Tiffany? I thought you two were friends." "Sort of. But I need to talk to somebody different. For a change. Won't you come? We'll drink wine. It will be fun." Katrina was doubtful. "I don't know. I'm not sure it's allowed. Captain Larsen—" "He said we were not to discuss our contracts. I don't recall anything about not talking." "Not specifically, no. But I thought we were restricted to our own cabins. In fact, I got the impression from Captain Larsen that he was discouraging us from socializing generally. And I didn't like the reference to punishment. He sounded quite serious about that." "Well, I guess it's a question of interpretation," Safire replied, a little petulantly. She held Katrina with her gaze for a moment, then shrugged and made as if to turn away. "Of course, if you're afraid..." Katrina was suddenly transported back across the years by the taunt. At school, she had never been one to resist a dare—the consequence of a rebellious streak in her nature that, although largely dormant, had remained with her in adult life. Safire had inadvertently tapped into that streak. "Of course I'm not afraid," she responded, spiritedly. "I'd love to join you for lunch. I just think we should be discreet about it, that's all." Safire bared white, perfectly even teeth in a radiant smile. "Deal. Leave it to me. I'll go order the food and wine. You know where my cabin is. Give me half an hour." When Safire had gone, Katrina went straight to the wardrobe. 80

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Without really knowing why, she shed the shorts and T-shirt she was wearing in favor of a beige crepe Givenchy dress. When she had dressed, she looked at her reflection in the wardrobe mirror. Chic and figure-hugging, but casual enough to be comfortable, the dress was very short, the slanting hem rising to just above mid-thigh level. There was a single short sleeve on one side. The neckline, following the slant of the hem, left her opposite shoulder bare. She particularly liked the dress. And it liked her. More importantly, she realized now why she had changed. There was something about Safire, a sort of vibrant force that she found a little intimidating. Dressed as she now was, Katrina felt somehow more confident to be in her company. *** Half an hour later, making sure she was not observed, she made her way along the passageway to Safire's cabin. She knocked once and the door was opened immediately. "Is this where the party is?" Safire laughed. "Damn right, sugar. Come on in." The cabin was similar to Katrina's, but smaller. Dishes of seafood and salad were set on a big, circular coffee table. A bottle of wine in an ice bucket stood on a nearby bar with a couple of glasses. "Looks good," Katrina said. Safire grinned. "I ordered enough for two. Henry must think I have a ravenous appetite." Crossing to the bar, she poured two glasses of wine, handing one to Katrina, then placed the bottle on the coffee table. Katrina took a sip of the wine. It was good, a crisp edge to the fruit. "Mm, not bad." "Sit down. Have something to eat." Katrina sat in one of two low armchairs by the coffee table. Taking a plate, she helped herself to some lobster and salad. Safire took the other armchair. "Can you manage to talk and eat at the same time? Some people 81

Judith can't." Katrina laughed. "I think so." "Good. Then tell me about yourself. I'm curious." "What do you want to know?" "Everything. What do you do?" "I'm an actress." "Ah, a fellow entertainer." "You're an actress also?" Safire shook her head. "Tiffany and I are dancers. Go on. Please." Feeling as if she were at a job interview, Katrina gave Safire a cursory autobiography as they ate. She was careful, however, to make no reference to either Armand Levequ or any of the salacious encounters she had experienced as a result of her recent association with him. Safire listened with what seemed like eager interest, topping up their glasses at intervals. At last, feeling that she had spoken about herself long enough, Katrina turned the conversation toward the other woman. "What about you, Safire? Is that your real name, by the way?" "Stage name. Distinctive, isn't it?" "Striking." Katrina said, slightly slurring the word. The wine was beginning to have a marked effect. "How long have you been a dancer?" "All my life. As a child, I trained in ballet. When I left school I went to a dance academy, then joined the Metropolitan Ballet. I was good, too. I was told I had a great career ahead of me. But then I was injured in an automobile accident. Damaged my knee badly. It took me the best part of three years to recover fully, and by then it was too late to make up lost ground at the Met." She shrugged. "So, I became a showgirl." "How tragic. You must have been devastated." Safire smiled. "I wasn't ecstatic, but that's life, honey. It hasn't been so bad. I've had some good times." "What about Tiffany? You two work together?" "Only recently. We met a few months ago." As she spoke, Safire 82

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refilled their glasses again. The bottle was already nearly empty. "Las Vegas. I joined a show at Caesar's. Tiffany was already working there. She had a very nice apartment that was bigger and more expensive than she really needed. Since we got on well together, she invited me to move in with her and share the rent. It was an ideal arrangement for both of us. To begin with, anyway." "Something went wrong?" "Yes. No. Well, not exactly. But relationships change. Things happen…you know? We just sort of started to get on each other's nerves after a while. It's complicated. Boring. I'd rather not talk about it." Reaching for the wine bottle again, she tilted the last few drops into Katrina's glass. "That's it, sweetie. All gone." "Perhaps it's just as well. I think I'm a little drunk." Safire laughed. "Well hang on in there, honey, because this party isn't over yet. I've got a little something special." Rising from her chair, she moved to the built-in bedside cabinet at the head of her bunk and took something from one of the drawers. Then she went to each of the cabin's portholes in turn, making sure that each was opened as wide as possible. When she turned to face Katrina again, she was smiling mischievously. She had a cigarette between her lips. It was not until she lit it and Katrina smelled the distinctive aroma— sweet, yet pungent—that she realized it was no ordinary cigarette. The smell of marijuana instantly took her back to the only occasion she had ever smoked the drug—coincidentally, or perhaps not, the night Nick had initiated her in the art of oral sex. The marijuana had helped her overcome her inhibitions sufficiently to first allow him to go down on her, and then to reciprocate. That first 'soixante-neuf' was the most intensely stimulating sexual experience of her life up to that time. Even today, she remembered vividly the drug-induced illusion of metamorphosis; the bizarre sensation of disintegrating, then being reincarnated as her own vagina, and the all-consuming orgasm that had seemed to last an eternity. But later, on a deeper, psychological level, she found the overall experience— perhaps the ease with which the marijuana had dispelled her 83

Judith inhibitions—unsettling. She had resisted the temptation to try it again since. After twice inhaling deeply from the joint, Safire held it out to Katrina. "This is very good stuff." Katrina shook her head. "No thanks. I'd rather not." "Oh, come on, Katrina, relax." "No, really. It...doesn't agree with me." Safire sat down again. Taking another draw from the joint, she smiled at Katrina across the coffee table. "Afraid the nasty captain will punish you?" she asked, slyly. Again, Katrina reacted instinctively, like an unwary trout snapping up an expertly cast fly. In response to Safire's second taunt of the afternoon, she leaned forward to reach across the coffee table and took—almost snatched—the joint from the other woman's hand. Then, sitting back in her chair again, she threw back her head and took a long pull on the cigarette, drawing the cannabis-charged smoke into her lungs. Safire gave a little squeal of delight. "Go, girl, go!" After two more deep draws, the drug began to kick in, mingling with the effects of the wine to evoke in Katrina a growing sense of euphoria. "Wow!" she whispered, hoarsely. "You're right. This is good." "My instincts were right," Safire said. "You're a gutsy girl." Finding Safire's approbation inexplicably but immensely gratifying, Katrina said, "I'm glad you approve," as she handed back the joint. As Safire herself inhaled from the cigarette again, Katrina asked, "How much have you and Tiffany been told about what your contract entails?" Safire raised an eyebrow in surprise. "I thought that topic was taboo. What happened to 'I think we should be discreet'?" Katrina shrugged. Safire was right, of course, but by now the wine and the marijuana had begun to erode her original caution. "Who's going to know, apart from you and me?" she reasoned. 84

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"All right," Safire answered, making no attempt to disguise her amusement at Katrina's suddenly cavalier attitude. "I suppose we can trust each other. Tiffany and I weren't given any details, but we understand the basic principle. I don't think either of us has any illusions. Effectively, we've sold ourselves—body and soul—into the service of Monsieur Armand Levequ. They use the term 'indentured', but it amounts to the same thing." "How did Armand persuade you to do this?" "Armand? You know him personally?" Katrina nodded. "Only too well." Handing the joint back to her, Safire said, "You're obviously well connected, girl. Tiffany and I don't move in such illustrious circles. One of his people recruited us. A man named Andrew. I've never actually met Armand Levequ, although obviously I know of him. Who doesn't?" "This Andrew—" Katrina paused, drawing on the cigarette. "—He somehow blackmailed you and Tiffany?" Safire laughed. "Blackmailed? Hell, no. He made us an offer we couldn't refuse—a very attractive package. To be fair to him, I think he told us as much as he could, so there wouldn't be any misunderstanding. He made it quite clear that if we signed on we wouldn't be joining a convent, if you know what I mean. The way he put it—he sounded like a lawyer—he said we could expect to be involved in —I even remember his words —'sexual extremes that might sometimes seem degrading or morally distasteful'. Sounds pretty lurid, doesn't it? But the deal was just too fantastic to turn down. They say everyone has their price. I guess it's true. I'm no hooker, but for what I've been offered, I'll do anything—anything— they want me to. There are safeguards, after all. And it'll only be for a year, maybe two. Then, with any luck, I'll never have to work again. It's the opportunity of a lifetime if you have the guts for it." Katrina was astonished. "So you weren't forced into this?" "No, of course not. Wait a minute, are you telling me you were?" As she spoke, Safire rose from her seat, walked around the coffee 85

Judith table and sat on the arm of Katrina's chair. "That explains why you were unconscious when they brought you aboard. I just assumed you weren't well or something." Placing an arm around her, she said, "Oh, honey, I'm so sorry. No one should be forced into this. Whatever this is." "Not exactly forced. But then I'm not here by choice exactly, either." Safire's eyes widened. "They blackmailed you?" "Sort of, yes. But it's all right. At least I know now I'm not alone. And in a way it helps to know that you and Tiffany are here voluntarily. I don't know why that should make me feel better, but somehow it does." Katrina held up the smoldering remains of the joint. "So does this." She giggled. "Oh, my goodness, Safire. I'm really high." Safire laughed. "Good. I'm glad to have been some help—on both counts. Here, let me take that before you burn yourself." Taking the joint stub from Katrina, she rose and tossed it through an open porthole. When Safire turned to face her again, Katrina said, "You mentioned safeguards. What did you mean?" "Yes. Without them, I wouldn't be here, believe me—no matter how much money they offered me. The place we're going to…where we'll be staying for the duration of our contracts…is a private island somewhere in the Caribbean. I haven't the slightest idea where. We sailed out of Miami, by the way, in case you didn't know. The important thing, though, is that nobody gets on that island without undergoing thorough medical testing for contagious diseases— especially sexually transmitted ones. Those who stay on the island are tested on a weekly basis for as long as they remain." "I haven't had any tests." "Oh, yes, you have. The woman who brought you aboard? —I overheard her talking to Larsen. The tests were done while you were unconscious on the airplane. Check your arms, girl." Katrina looked at her arms. Sure enough, there was a tiny recent 86

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puncture mark in the crook of the left one. Anne Novak, it seemed, had taken a blood sample from her while she slept. "Well, that's a relief," she said, breezily. "If I'm to become a whore, at least I'll be a healthy one." Even as she spoke, Katrina knew deep inside that the cavalier remark was merely a product of the wine and marijuana, but right now it didn't matter. For the moment, she felt euphoric and carefree—as if the future held no threat she couldn't deal with. Safire laughed. "You are one spunky Brit, Katrina." "Of course. Lie back and think of the empire, my dear." They both giggled. "Hey, it's stuffy in here after that dope. What do you say we catch some rays on the sun deck?" "Mmm. Sounds great. I'll go and put on a swimsuit." "Good. I'll see you up there in a few minutes. Don't bother with suntan oil, I'll bring my own special blend." "It certainly seems to have worked for you," Katrina quipped mischievously. Safire laughed. "Get out of here, white trash." *** On her way back to her own cabin, Katrina felt as if she was floating along the passageway. Dreamily disoriented, she made two wrong turns before finally reaching her destination. Stripping off her clothes, she stood naked, looking at herself in the full-length mirror on the inner door of the wardrobe. She crossed her arms, caressing her shoulders, then languorously drew her palms down her upper body. Pausing briefly to fondle her breasts, her hands moved on down across her belly to the confluence of her thighs, where her fingers stroked the soft, blonde bush of pubic hair. "I wonder what lies in store for this body," she asked her reflection in a low, hushed voice. Then, a sharp intake of breath as she slipped the middle finger of her right hand between the moist lips 87

Judith of her vulva. Raising her free hand to her breasts again, she squeezed them in turn, delighting in the hardening of her nipples. The foraging middle finger slipped deeper into her sex. "Aaah." She moved to the bunk, sitting on the edge. Lifting one foot onto the bed and spreading her thighs, she stared at her reflection in the mirror as she sank her finger up to the knuckle. Simultaneously, an image crystallized in her mind: the swollen, rigid penis of Armand Levequ. "Ooh," she murmured, slowly withdrawing the finger again. When the tip of the finger reached the slippery little knob of her clitoris, she began the rhythmic circular motion she knew would bring her to orgasm. Suddenly she remembered Safire. Reluctantly removing the finger, she whispered a promise to herself: "Later…" After splashing her face with cold water in the bathroom, she returned to the wardrobe and slipped on a pink bikini before leaving her cabin. *** Emerging onto the upper deck, she made her way aft, toward the sun deck. It was another beautiful day, the azure sky sparsely flecked with fragile wisps of cloud. Although relatively stable, the ship inclined slightly in response to the prevailing wind that both propelled the vessel and mitigated the sun's heat. Those of the crew who saw Katrina nodded respectfully. Did they not know, she wondered, that she was about to become, perhaps already was, nothing more than a whore? After speaking to Safire, she was resigned to the seeming certainty that this was her destiny. Ironically, in her present marijuana-induced condition, she derived a perverse pleasure, almost a thrill from the thought. Arriving at the sun deck, she was disappointed to find that she was alone. Had Safire changed her mind? She hoped not. The vivacious black American had succeeded in lifting her spirit, albeit with a little 88

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help from the wine and the marijuana. But there was something else, an admission possible only in her present state of intoxication. She was captivated by the woman's sheer beauty: the ebony flesh, almond eyes and full, sensuous lips; the firm, straight jaw-line and high cheekbones that gave her the regal appearance of some ancient African goddess. Tall, Junoesque, she had a sensational figure. With these arousing thoughts drifting across her mind, Katrina selected one of several padded sunbathing mats, stretched out on her back and closed her eyes against the sun. Its warmth on her flesh, tempered by the capricious sea breeze spilling fitfully over the canvas screen, felt deliciously sensual. The languid, rhythmic motion of the ship as it cleaved the waves was potentially soporific, but alcohol and cannabis had sparked a chain reaction in her senses. Now, as the process advanced, lurid fantasies materialized in her imagination: Armand Levequ and her late stepmother, Marguerite; Anne Novak and the pilot, Dimitri; the delectable Safire—all had a role in the unbidden reverie, a carousel of wild and graphic images. Wanton, and in various stages of nudity, they writhed and tangled in frenzied carnal excesses, pausing only to change partners, which they did frequently. "Sorry I took so long." Startled, Katrina opened her eyes. Safire, wearing a minuscule white bikini, was standing over her on the sun deck. She tossed the towel and the plastic bottle she was holding onto one of the sunbathing mats. "Time to soak up some sun." There was mischief in her smile, but the light in her eyes hinted at another sentiment; something feral, of greater complexity. Holding Katrina with her gaze, she reached behind her back with both hands. In an instant, the white bikini top fell away and dropped to the deck, freeing the most splendid breasts Katrina had ever seen. Big, but firm, the dark, gourd-like globes were surmounted by protuberant nipples that made her think of blackberries, autumn-ripe and luscious. But Safire had not finished. Hooking her thumbs into the bikini briefs, 89

Judith she slipped them down over her thighs. Stepping free, she kicked them carelessly aside to stand naked before Katrina. "Safire! What about the crew?" "They can't see anything. That's what the canvas screen is for." Raising her arms, she stretched skyward. "I love being nude in the sun. And swimming in the nude also. It's so liberating, don't you think?" Safire's naked body was exquisite, almost exactly as Katrina had imagined it—with one exception. What she could not have foreseen was the luxuriant mass of pubic hair; thick, seemingly impenetrable, it covered the delta of her sex like a vast black forest. Katrina had never seen the like on any woman. And yet it did not detract from her charms. If anything, in some inexplicable way it added to her mystique, imbued her with a kind of sensual earthiness. "I don't think I've ever done either," Katrina responded, a little belatedly. Safire laughed. "Girl, you've really led a sheltered life. Time you hung loose awhile." Bending to pick up the plastic bottle from the mat, she opened it and poured some of the contents onto her shoulders and chest. Glistening rivulets trickled down onto her breasts. Smiling broadly, she began rubbing the fluid into her skin. "This is it, Safire's special blend of suntan oil. All natural ingredients: coconut oil, lemongrass, cinnamon, aloe vera and few other good things. This stuff will give you skin like satin, child." Katrina watched, fascinated, as Safire spread the oil further afield. It was an erotic sight. Slick with oil, the other woman's hands systematically massaged her own naked body, deliberately lingering, it seemed to Katrina, over her breasts, inner thighs and buttocks. Her skin gleamed in the sunlight where she anointed it with oil. "Do my back?" Turning away, Safire squatted on the end of Katrina's mat, easing Katrina's legs apart with her buttocks. Sitting up, Katrina took the bottle from Safire, and began to massage oil into the smooth expanse of naked black flesh. Safire rolled her shoulders sensually as Katrina kneaded them with her 90

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fingers. "Mmm, that feels good. Around here, too." Raising her arms a little, she gestured for Katrina to apply oil on the flesh below, over her rib cage. Dutifully Katrina complied, feeling in the process the outer swell of Safire's breasts under her fingertips. Suddenly, Safire seized her hands and pulled them around her to place her palms fully on her breasts. Holding Katrina's hands under her own, she began to rotate them over the pliant flesh. Katrina felt the thick nipples nuzzling against her palms and fingers like nubs of slippery rubber. "Do you like my tits, Katrina?" Katrina was unnerved by the abrupt turn of events, and the bluntness of the question. "I… I don't know what to say," she responded, hesitantly. Her face was hot, flushed with a sudden surge of blood, her mind whirling. "Tell me what you think about them, Katrina. Describe them for me. Don't be embarrassed." "I… Well, they're—" "Big. Start with big." Katrina swallowed, hard. "Yes…big. Very big. And heavy." No longer covered by Safire's hands now, Katrina continued to massage the resilient flesh of her own volition. "And they're soft," she continued, "but firm." "And my nipples?" With fingers and thumbs, Katrina fondled both nipples at once, squeezing them experimentally. "Like fruit. Berries. They make me want to…" Safire sighed. "Yes?" "To take them in my mouth…taste them." A part of Katrina couldn’t believe she was doing this, speaking these words. It was as if like Jeckyll and Hyde, she had become two people; one happily indulging herself in Safire's naked breasts while the other looked on in dismay. Was the phenomenon a consequence of the marijuana, she wondered momentarily, then decided she didn't really care. She liked 91

Judith what was happening. It was pleasurable, exciting. Safire slipped from Katrina's embrace and turned around, kneeling between her thighs to face her. "Be my guest, honey." She rose on her knees so that her breasts were level with Katrina's face, the nipples jutting provocatively just inches away. No longer smiling, she inched forward until the right nipple brushed Katrina's lips. She pushed gently, but insistently, until Katrina's lips parted to admit it. Katrina sucked the nipple fully into her mouth, rolling her tongue around the taut, swollen flesh. The tactile sensation, accompanied by the mingled aromas and tastes of coconut and spices, was a heady combination. Raising her hands, she took the weight of the breast in them as she alternately sucked on the nipple and licked the expansive stippled areola that encircled it. For the moment, totally preoccupied, Katrina was not conscious of the effect of her ministrations on the other woman. Safire's eyelids were half closed, her breathing shallow, rapid. When Katrina ventured a tentative bite on the nipple, she gasped, her body stiffening. Instantly releasing the nipple from her mouth, Katrina looked up into Safire's eyes. "Oh, I'm sorry, Safire. I hurt you." "Yes. You did." The flicker of a smile played across Safire's lips, then was gone. "Do it again." "But I don't want to hurt—" "You don't understand. I like it. Really. Go on." Returning her mouth to the nipple, Katrina bit again. "Aah! Oh, yes. Again. Harder." Katrina obeyed, repeatedly. After a while she turned her attention to the other breast. Listening to Safire's whimpered responses, she began to understand something of a phenomenon that because it was previously beyond her experience had hitherto bewildered her—the paradoxical relationship between pain and sexual pleasure. In certain circumstances, she now began to realize, pain—not just the physical manifestation, but its psychology also—really could intensify sexual experiences. This was a revelation, a veil of mystery being slowly 92

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drawn aside. That Safire was enjoying the pain inflicted by her in this very intimate fashion now seemed somehow perfectly natural. What surprised Katrina was the sudden realization that she, herself, was deriving sexual excitement, pleasure from inflicting that pain. "Lord! That's enough for now, Katrina," Safire said, breathlessly. "You've got me really wet, girl." Taking Katrina's head in her hands, she tilted her face upward. "That was nice." She pressed her lips to Katrina's in a long, warm, scented kiss. Then, embracing her, unfastened Katrina's bikini top and pulled it free. Reaching for the sun oil, she poured it liberally over Katrina's shoulders, then began to massage it into her back. Throughout the process Safire's oil-slick breasts slithered repeatedly against Katrina's. Katrina surrendered herself to the sensory delight of melding with the beautiful black body. When Safire had finished oiling her back, she pushed Katrina gently back onto the mat and poured oil onto her breasts and belly. Massaging Katrina's flesh, she lingered as she had when applying the oil to her own body, over her breasts, squeezing the firm flesh, pinching the nipples in a way that made Katrina's sex tingle deep inside. At length, Safire's hands left the glossy mounds and moved on down across Katrina's belly to her hips. Katrina barely had time to realize what was happening before Safire slipped her fingers into the sides of her bikini briefs and deftly pulled them down onto her thighs. She flinched, instinctively grasping Safire's wrist. "Hey," Safire whispered softly. "You're not going to make me stop now, are you, girl? It's a little late to turn coy on me." "But what if someone comes?" Safire grinned. "Oh, someone's going to come all right. You just leave that to Safire." Feeling herself blush again, Katrina silently cursed her inability to control the annoying reflex. "No," she replied. "I mean…" "Shh. I know what you mean. I'm teasing. But listen, if you're going to spend your life not doing things you really want to do because of what might happen…well, you're going to miss out on a 93

Judith lot, honey." For a moment Katrina hesitated, then hurled discretion to the sea breeze. She couldn’t deny that she didn’t want this to stop. And Safire was right, what was the use in being coy now? Her body was no longer her own, anyway. She allowed her hand to slip from Safire's wrist. "No," she whispered. "I'm not going to make you stop, Safire." Safire's response was to quickly remove Katrina's bikini briefs entirely, so that she, too, was now naked. Then, snaking a leg across Katrina's body, she straddled her hips. Reaching for Katrina's breasts, squeezing and kneading them, she simultaneously began to gyrate her lower body from the hip, sliding her sex over and around Katrina's now moist mound. Katrina raised her head to look, gasped at what she saw. Safire's widespread thighs now displayed her wondrous black pubic mane in all its glory. Overlaying and entangled with Katrina's own contrasting golden hair, it now looked even more intriguing than when she first saw it. Safire leaned forward to kiss her again, her breasts compressing Katrina's under their weight, then dismounted to lie alongside her. "Ooh! Aah!" Again, Katrina's reaction was reflexive. Because she had not been aware of the close proximity of Safire's hand to her sex, she was startled by the sudden insertion of a finger deep inside her. She shuddered in response to the delicious thrill that rippled through her flesh. Now that she had made the conscious decision to submit to Safire's advances, there was no conflict, no ambiguity. Her response came easily. Unreservedly, wantonly, she raised her knees and spread her thighs wide to allow Safire unrestricted access. "That's it girl, let it go," Safire whispered. Then, "Mmm. Nice to see I'm not the only one with a wet cunt." Cunt! Ordinarily, the expression, reminiscent of offensive exchanges between foul-mouthed louts, would have made Katrina cringe. But here, in her present state of arousal, the word miraculously transcended its corrupted expletive association to become wholly appropriate. 94

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A wet cunt. She silently savored the words in her mind. Safire's probing finger alternated between exploring Katrina's inner recesses and dallying at the lip to skillfully caress her clitoris. After a little while, she adopted a different technique, using the finger as if it were a slender but insistent penis. Katrina moaned, her hips rising and falling, undulating with each inward thrust and withdrawal of the insistent finger. "Oh. Oh. I think I'm going to… to come soon," she murmured breathlessly. "No. Not yet. Wait." Katrina sighed heavily as Safire removed the finger from her vulva. Rising to her knees, Safire scrambled around so that their bodies were top-to-tail. Then she straddled Katrina again, this time enfolding her head between her thighs. Katrina stared up at the dense black pubic thatch, just inches from her face. Safire's swollen, fleshy outer lips, wondrously pink and glossy, protruded from the tangle of hair, glistening wet, pouting. Soixante-neuf! The expression, in appropriately exotic French, flared in Katrina's mind like a neon sign. The beguiling, pungent aroma of Safire's sex, together with the surge of her own adrenaline at the thought of what was about to happen, set her senses reeling. Safire twisted around to look at her between their naked bodies. "Are you okay with this, honey?" Her arousal fired beyond her previous experience, Katrina was not only 'okay with this', but felt she could not bear another moment's delay. "Yes, yes. Please, Safire. Let's do it." Smiling, Safire turned away again. A second later, Katrina gasped, her body stiffening as the other woman slipped her tongue between the lips of her sex. At the same time, Safire lowered her loins toward Katrina's face. As the moist, pliant labia made contact with Katrina's lips, a concept—amusing yet also intensely erotic—materialized in her mind. She was about to join with this beautiful black body in a human loop, linked by joints of flesh—tongue…and groove. The thought disintegrated, displaced by reality as she parted her 95

Judith lips to thrust her tongue into the sodden folds of Safire's vagina. With a low moan, Safire bore down, the lips of her sex spreading to anoint Katrina's face with her wetness. Katrina returned the pressure gladly. How ironic, she thought, all these years as a female herself, and yet she'd had no idea how delicious the taste and fragrance and texture of another woman's…cunt…could be. Unpracticed in the art of making love to a woman, Katrina tried to mimic Safire's technique. This worked very well, because recognizing Katrina's ploy, Safire realized that she could communicate her needs by her own example. Whatever she did to Katrina, Katrina would in turn do to her. Each time Safire switched to something different, Katrina followed suit, faithfully replicating the new technique. The result was electrifying but weird, because at times the 'mirror image' effect created in Katrina's mind the illusion that, as if through some impossible bodily contortion, she was performing oral sex upon herself. She was amazed at the intensity and seemingly infinite range of sensual pleasures Safire was capable of evoking by her expert use of lips, tongue and teeth. At times, it seemed a very real possibility that she might die from sheer sensual joy. But the pleasure was mutual; that much was obvious from the trembling of Safire's thighs, and the soft, kitten-like growls deep in her throat. Thus, entwined and writhing in the sun like beautiful, exotic serpents, the two women drove each other through successive levels of ever mounting pleasure. Clearly experienced and intuitive in such matters, Safire made the running, relentlessly urging Katrina onward and upward with her tongue and fingers. When it came, the moment of release was explosive. Katrina tightened her grip on Safire's thighs, her hips bucking violently against the other woman's relentlessly thrashing tongue. Safire's control and co-ordination was impeccable. Just as the raging torrent of ecstasy burst its banks deep inside Katrina's womb, her own body began to convulse in orgasm. Gasping, moaning, the two women hungrily devoured each other in their 96

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rapture until, at long last, the waves of sensual delight began to ebb. But they remained locked together for several minutes more. Until… "Well, well. I didn't realize you had a party going on here." Katrina's heart leapt in panic. The voice, heavily laced with sarcasm, was familiar. Safire snapped up her head. "Shit!" Sliding her own head from beneath Safire's thighs, Katrina looked up to see Tiffany, clad in a turquoise swimsuit, standing at the top of the steps to the sun deck, her smile humorless, taunting. God! How long had she been watching? "Well, anyway," Tiffany said, with exaggerated nonchalance. "Sorry I disturbed you, ladies. I'll leave you to…well, whatever." Turning her back on the startled duo, she descended the steps and was gone. *** Katrina awoke to find her cabin bathed in the pale silver iridescence of moonlight. Night had fallen while she slept. Emerging from total oblivion, her recollection of the immediate past was at first disjointed, confused, as when she tried to get back into a book she had left off reading for a few days. She lay still on the bunk for a while, consciously striving for remembrance. It came incrementally, along with the reason for her confusion and almost comatose slumber. Familiar images crystallized vividly on the backdrop of her mind: wine the color of melted butter, swirling in the glass; the taste of liquid fruit and oak, chilled, crisp; the acrid smell of a garden bonfire—marijuana—its dense blue smoke charged with the power to unleash her reckless, animal instincts; naked flesh—her own and Safire's—ebony and ivory in carnal communion under the sun; her first taste of another woman, overwhelming, intoxicating. She ran her tongue over her lips at this last recollection, fancying she could still savor Safire's intimate feminine essence faintly lingering. 97

Judith The ship rolled ponderously to starboard with a little more emphasis than usual. The unfamiliar motion triggered another, older memory; the words of a celebrated slogan from the sixties—Sex, drugs, rock and roll! She couldn't resist a faint smile at the irony. The expression seemed to epitomize her existence from the moment she had embarked upon this bizarre odyssey. She sat up and swung her feet onto the deck, her thoughts returning to Safire again. At first seemingly unperturbed by Tiffany's intrusion on the sun deck, she had taken pains to convince Katrina that their lovemaking was nothing to be ashamed of. Afterwards, they had lain in the sun awhile, floating dreamily in the aftermath of their spent passion. But by the time Safire announced that she was returning to her cabin, her mood had changed. The air of cavalier self-confidence had gone. She had become introspective, as if something was troubling her. When Katrina asked her what was wrong, she made the excuse that she had a headache, but Katrina knew instinctively that she was lying. Perhaps she would be more inclined to share the problem now that she had slept on it, presuming that the marijuana would have had the same soporific after-effects on Safire as it had on her. After returning from the sun deck, Katrina had showered, then slept naked on the bunk, enjoying the cool caresses of the sea breeze as it soughed through the cabin portholes. Now, she rose, switched on the light and went to the wardrobe. Omitting to put on any underwear—was that a conscious decision? she wondered fleetingly—she dressed in a simple V-necked shift in pink cotton and sandals. A glance in the mirror confirmed that, despite her lack of deliberation in dressing, she looked good. The dress, although much shorter than she would have normally worn, might have been made for her. Pouting at her reflection, she applied a coat of pale pink lip-gloss to complement the color of the dress. Only then did she think to glance at her watch. Nine thirty-five—well past the curfew imposed by Captain Larsen. Theoretically, she was confined to her cabin. 98

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Considering the fact for only a few seconds, she shrugged, then made for the cabin door, a small thrill spiraling in her belly. This time, though, it had nothing to do with any movement of the ship, but rather with the growing sense of risk and uncertainty at what she was about to do. But the feeling was not entirely disagreeable. In fact, with the same ambivalence that had enabled her to derive a sort of masochistic pleasure from being frightened by horror movies as a child, she was beginning to discover that the adrenaline rush generated by these sensations could be perversely gratifying. The passageway outside her cabin was illuminated by dimmed lights set at intervals in the bulkhead above. Even now, she was still a little disoriented from wine and marijuana, which was probably why she took a wrong turn. When she discovered her mistake, she turned and retraced her steps. Reaching the main passageway again, she heard a man's voice and footsteps somewhere off to her right—the direction in which her own cabin lay. The implications of breaching the curfew flared in her mind. Now, the man was no longer speaking but the footsteps were getting louder. He was coming her way. Panic rose in her throat as she recalled Larsen's warning. If she were caught out of her cabin she would be punished. Exactly what that meant she had no way of knowing, and she certainly didn’t want to find out. Instinctively, she turned left, away from the sound of the footsteps, and moved off hurriedly along the passageway. She had gone no more than fifteen yards when she realized that she had yet again made the wrong decision. The passageway, convoluted by a series of doglegs, terminated in a dead end at a door which, although she had been through it only once before, she recognized immediately. The word 'CAPTAIN' was painted on its surface. Turning around, she started to head back along the passage, but the approaching footsteps seemed to be just around the next corner now. She was trapped! Her heart hammered in her breast as she scurried back to the captain's cabin. Reaching for the handle, she prayed that the door wasn't locked and that, more importantly, 99

Judith Captain Larsen wasn't on the other side. The handle yielded and the door swung inward. Not daring to hesitate, she stepped inside and closed the door softly behind her. The cabin lights were on, but mercifully neither the captain nor anyone else was inside. This, though, was small comfort. Somebody, probably Larsen himself, was following hard on her heels, maybe reaching for the handle of the cabin door at this very moment. The possible options for concealment were obvious and limited. In the bulkhead on her right there were two pairs of wooden slatted doors, like the ones to the wardrobe in her own cabin. She hurried across to them, tugging open first one, then the other. After the frustration of finding the first cupboard space filled with shelves and drawers, she almost cried out with relief when the second pair of doors revealed a spacious wardrobe, hung but not filled to capacity with clothing. After quickly closing the doors to the adjacent cupboard, she stepped inside the wardrobe. She had barely pulled the wardrobe doors shut when Larsen entered the cabin. She could see him clearly through the slats. He was accompanied by Tiffany, wearing faded blue denim shorts and a checkered shirt tied in a knot at her waist. Once again, Katrina was struck by this woman's beauty; by her exquisite complexion, pale and translucent like fine porcelain; by the emerald fire in her eyes, and the swirling mane of lustrous copper hair that seemed to glow even in the artificial light of the cabin. Larsen was dressed as he had been when Katrina last saw him, in khaki shorts and shirt with the pale blue epaulettes that signified his rank. "Are you sure you want to be part of this?" he asked Tiffany, as he moved around behind the big table at which they had eaten breakfast two days earlier. Now minus the linen tablecloth, the table was scattered with marine charts, navigational instruments and books. Like the rest of the furniture in the cabin, it looked antique, finely carved from some richly dark tropical hardwood. Larsen sat in a carver chair behind the table, linking his fingers together across his stomach. 100

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"I wouldn't miss it for the world," Tiffany replied with undisguised relish. "Mm. I must admit, I'm a little puzzled. While I commend you for informing me about Safire's transgression, I am at a loss to understand why you did so. I thought you two were friends." "We were…for a while." Sitting in an armchair on the opposite side of the table to the captain, Tiffany crossed one long, shapely leg over the other. "What happened?" "Well, things were great at first. We got on really well, on and off stage. We worked on this erotic dance routine together. I was Cleopatra, Safire was my slave. She had to undress me and bathe me in asses' milk." She smiled at the recollection. "Of course it wasn't really milk, asses' or otherwise. Although, there's no shortage of asses in Vegas, if you know what I mean." Larsen smiled. "The routine finished up with us both more or less nude in the bath together. But don't get the wrong idea, it was very tastefully done. I mean, it had to be. This was one of the top Las Vegas shows. Anyway, Safire needed somewhere to stay and, as we got on so well together, she moved in with me." "Ah, together at work and at home. You started to get on each other's nerves." "No, that wasn't it. It worked out well to begin with." "So what went wrong?" "Two things. When I got to know her better, I discovered that she can be very arrogant—particularly where work is concerned. Admittedly, she's an outstanding dancer—she was trained in ballet— but she was very intolerant of other dancers who couldn't match her standards. That included me. She could be very critical and demanding at times, and we…I…resented her for it." "I see. And the second thing?" "The second thing?" Tiffany smiled ruefully. "I came home a day early from a visit to my folks in L. A. and found her fucking my 101

Judith fiancée in the Jacuzzi." "Ah. End of relationship." "Sort of, but not quite in the way you mean. As you can imagine, I was furious with both of them, but I dumped Geoff, not Safire. It was a practical response. Safire and I still had to work together, so eventually I made out that I'd forgiven her. But I never really have. I always hoped to have my revenge when the time was right. What happened on the sun deck today gave me the opportunity." Inside the wardrobe, Katrina stifled a gasp. Now she knew the reason for Safire's sudden mood swing earlier. She must have been conscious of Tiffany's grievance against her and realized there was a good chance that she would betray her to Larsen. A knock sounded on the cabin door. "Come in." In response to Larsen's command, the door opened. The steward, Henry, stepped just inside the cabin, holding the door aside to allow Safire to enter. "Miss Safire, skipper," he announced, rather unnecessarily, then withdrew from the cabin, closing the door. Looking mildly puzzled, Safire seemed to appraise the situation: Tiffany alone with the captain in the privacy of his cabin, the fact that she had been effectively summoned before them, and her beautiful companion's sly smile. "What's this," she asked flippantly, "a court martial for mutiny?" Calmly reflecting Tiffany's smile, she appeared outwardly confident, but Katrina thought she detected a hint of unease in her eyes. Larsen's face was expressionless. "Something like that. Come closer. Over here by the table." For a moment, Safire hesitated, as if considering whether to challenge his authority. Then, with a light shrug, she stepped up to the table. Katrina was reminded of an errant schoolgirl called before the Head, except that no schoolgirl in educational history ever looked so stunning. She was wearing a pajama set in shimmering turquoise silk with golden mosaic borders. The sarong-style pants clung low on 102

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her hips. The tiny camisole top, suspended from her shoulders by slender silk straps, just covered her breasts but left her midriff bare. Larsen fixed her with a frigid stare. "Do you recall what I said to you both on your first night aboard—about Katrina Mandell, I mean?" In her hiding place, Katrina started at the mention of her name. Safire's self-assurance seemed to falter. "I… Yes, I think so." "What did I say?" "That she was…special. And not to be…uhm…" "I think I used the word compromised. Do you recall?" "Yes. Compromised is the word you used." Safire was beginning to look distinctly uncomfortable now. "You indicated at the time that you understood what I meant. Did you understand?" "Yes." "What did I mean?" Safire flicked a glance at Tiffany, seeing that she was enjoying her discomfiture. "Sex." "Exactly. I had a suspicion that your tastes in sexual partners might be—shall we say—ambivalent, which is why I gave you that instruction. Today, on the sun deck, you disobeyed me." Safire turned her head aside to glare at Tiffany. "You bitch!" she snarled, then returned her gaze to Larsen. "It isn't true," she told him evenly. "It wasn't me on the sun deck with Katrina, it was her. I caught them together. She's made this up to keep herself out of trouble in case I told you." Larsen's brow furrowed in obvious anger. "You make things worse, Safire. First you disobey me, then you lie and unjustly accuse Tiffany of your own violation." "I'm not lying. I…" "You were also seen by one of my crew who happened to be aloft at the time," Larsen interrupted. "But I…" Having begun to respond, Safire then seemed to acknowledge the futility of further protesting her innocence. Leaving 103

Judith the sentence unfinished, she lowered her head in resignation. "You know what to expect now?" She nodded. "Tell me." Steadfastly avoiding Tiffany's eyes now, she answered, "To be…punished." Her voice was low, hushed. "Good. I'm glad, at least, there's no misunderstanding. You admit, then, that you disobeyed my instructions?" "Yes." "And that you compounded your offense by lying about Tiffany?" Safire nodded again. "And you accept that, under the circumstances, your punishment is fully justified?" "Yes." "Very well. Before I carry out that punishment, I will remind you of your option. I have the authority to terminate your contract with Monsieur Levequ if that is what you prefer. In that event, of course, there would be no punishment. You would simply remain on board until we complete the return voyage, and then be free to go. The choice is yours." Safire raised her head at last. Suddenly proud, almost defiant, she turned her glance briefly on Tiffany, then back to Larsen. "I'll stay…and take what's coming to me." "So be it. Take off your clothes." Tiffany and the captain watched intently as Safire obeyed unhesitatingly, allowing the pajamas and a flimsy pair of panties to fall to the floor where she stood. When she had undressed, she stood erect, shoulders back so that her bare breasts were taut, prominent. Despite his attempt to effect indifference, the light in Larsen's eyes betrayed his arousal. His reaction was not lost on Safire, who seemed to interpret it as a sign of vulnerability. Only a moment ago, it had been obvious from her demeanor that she was resigned to endure whatever Larsen had in mind for her. Now, though, the barest suggestion of a smile played momentarily across her lips with 104

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apparent growing confidence that by her capacity for sheer erotic enchantment, she may yet finesse the situation. In the wardrobe, Katrina almost smiled herself. How could any man not be inflamed, seduced, by the prospect of this dazzling female, splendid in her nakedness; by her sensual, black-satin beauty; by those long legs and firm buttocks; by the elegant curvature of her hips and slender waist, and by those full, luscious breasts, tipped with their protuberant black berries. "What now?" There was, it seemed to Katrina, more than a suggestion of defiance in Safire's tone. Was she challenging Larsen? The captain, his eyes glinting with something more than mere lust now, seemed to think so. Perhaps Safire had misread her man…or overestimated her power to beguile him. Whatever the case, Katrina began to realize that she may be playing a dangerous game. Rising from his chair, Larsen walked around the table to stand beside Safire. He pointed to a big carved wooden ottoman standing in a corner of the cabin. "Bring that over here." Clearly mystified, Safire nevertheless went to the ottoman and bent to take hold of it. It was obviously much heavier than she expected, and she struggled to drag it across the floor to where Larsen indicated he wanted it. The ottoman, intricately carved from the same wood as the table, was upholstered in deep red velvet. About four feet square and standing eighteen inches high, it was bigger than any Katrina had seen before. Larsen looked toward the cupboards. Katrina caught her breath. Had she somehow given herself away, perhaps made some inadvertent sound, which, engrossed as she was in the drama unfolding before her, she was not even aware of? Instinctively she drew away from the slats as he strode toward her. Easing backwards, she slipped between the folds of the garments hanging on the wardrobe rail. Now, cocooned among Larsen's clothing, she was enveloped by the aroma of his essence: an eclectic blend of leather, 105

Judith sea salt, spices and a subtle hint of perspiration. It was not an unpleasant combination. In fact, under different circumstances she might have liked to linger, to savor the exotic masculine fragrance. As it was, she wished she were back in the relative safety of her own cabin. The sound of his approaching footfalls told her he was just a few feet away now. Terrified, she cringed in the darkness, her heart beating frantically, blood pounding in her ears. For a moment, she was unable to even breathe. But then, with the realization that he had opened the door of the adjacent cupboard, a cautious sigh of relief restored her breathing to near normality. "This is what I shall use to carry out your punishment." As Larsen spoke, Katrina heard the cupboard door close again. "I want you to see it first, to feel it in your hands. That way the experience will be more meaningful." Intrigued, Katrina eased forward again to peer through the slats. Larsen had moved back to stand in front of Safire again. In his hands, he held what at first glance looked like a slender black snake. "This is a modified version of the traditional instrument for punishment onboard ship. It is known as the cat-o'-nine-tails. You've probably encountered the term in seafaring novels or movies. Basically, it's a whip of plaited leather with nine separate strands to maximize its effect. In the old days, a delinquent seaman might have had the skin flayed from his back with the cat." Now Katrina could discern the whip quite clearly. As Larsen spoke, he held it by the handle in his right hand, repeatedly flicking the nine "tails" softly onto his open left palm. Katrina would not have thought it possible, but Safire, her arrogance totally evaporated now, had actually turned pale…or, more accurately, a shade of cafe-aulait. "Don't worry about damage to your beautiful skin, my dear," the captain continued. "This model has been specially designed to avoid serious injury to sensitive female flesh. After all, that would defeat the object of your being here in the first place. The instrument is capable 106

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of inflicting significant pain, as you will discover, but it will not actually break your skin, so there will be no permanent scarring. The tails, you see, are bound with silk. Here, feel." He presented the whip to Safire. Tight-lipped, she stared at it, then shook her head. "I said feel it!" Safire flinched at the sudden vehemence in his voice. Diffidently, she reached out a trembling hand, but when she tried to take hold of the whip, he withdrew it. She shuddered as the silken strands slithered through her fingers. "Tiffany thinks that you are arrogant. Would you agree?" "I'm…frank with people. I…speak my mind. I guess some people might call that arrogant. I call it honesty." "Mm. Perhaps you're right, but on the whole I tend to agree with Tiffany. I think a lesson in humility is called for." He pointed to the ottoman. "Kneel on there." Recovering her composure somewhat, Safire did as she was told, her erect kneeling stance a gesture of pride—or perhaps as charged by Tiffany—arrogance. But Larsen did not allow her the comfort of this dignified posture for long. "Now bend over. Put your palms flat on the floor." Again Safire obeyed, and it became immediately obvious that the ottoman was ideally suited to the captain's purpose. Positioned like this, with her knees on the ottoman and her hands on the floor eighteen inches lower, Safire's upper body was effectively upside down. Her hair had fallen in coils on the floor like a heap of black silken yarn, while her breasts hung heavily in front of her own face. Her buttocks, the object of Larsen's attention, were thrust upward, stretched taut and completely vulnerable. The luxuriant black bush peeped from between her upper thighs where they met her buttocks. With unwavering attention, Tiffany watched from her ringside seat, her expression a combination of fascination and eager anticipation. As Larsen drew the cat back over his right shoulder, Katrina raised a hand to cover her mouth, fearful in case she should cry out 107

Judith involuntarily in sympathy with Safire. There was a swishing sound as the whip sliced the air, followed by a sort of crackle as the nine tails, separated from each other by a fraction of a second, slapped randomly against Safire's upturned naked bottom. "Nngh!" Safire's throaty response was muted behind resolutely sealed lips, as if she was reluctant to acknowledge the pain. But her grimace and the sudden clenching of her buttocks were reflexive, and rendered any attempt at concealment of her anguish futile. Larsen paused for a long moment. Was he tormenting Safire, Katrina wondered; having given her a taste of what was to come, making her agonize expectantly before continuing? She could think of no other reason for the delay. When at last he brought the whip down in a second stroke, Safire flinched, her muscles tensing, but she made no vocal response at all this time. Katrina counted the strokes as Larsen continued, seeming to put increasing force into each successive blow. But, although she squirmed under the assault of the flailing nine-tails, Safire seemed determined not to cry out. Totally preoccupied by the prospect of Safire undergoing her ordeal, Katrina had momentarily forgotten that Tiffany was also present in the cabin. Only now was her attention caught by a repetitive movement behind and to one side of the two main players in the drama. Tiffany, it seemed, was enjoying her revenge in a very tangible way. Her shirt was now open to the waist, laying bare her breasts with their expansive honey-colored nipples, one of which she was squeezing and twisting between the fingers and thumb of her left hand. The right hand, inserted deep inside her now-unzipped shorts, was working rhythmically over her sex as she avidly focused on Safire's torment. The faraway look in her half-closed eyes suggested to Katrina that she was very close to orgasm—a speculation that became fact even as it formed. Leaning back in her chair, she thrust her parted legs out straight, heels against the floor, feet stretched to ballerina points. Her fingers moved feverishly beneath the denim as her body stiffened in climax. "Ooooh." The long, low moan was punctuated throughout by the 108

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sound of the cat-o'-nine-tails thrashing her companion's bared buttocks just a few feet away. With a sudden sense of guilt, Katrina realized that observing Safire's punishment and Tiffany's response to it had fired her own arousal. Indeed, squeezing her thighs together, she discovered that the oozing secretion of her desire had overflowed from her sex onto the surrounding flesh. But, conscious of the vulnerability of her situation and the likely consequences of discovery, she managed to resist a powerful compulsion to lift up her dress and impale herself on her fingers. By what Katrina reckoned to be the fifteenth stroke of the whip, Safire's entire body was covered by a gleaming veneer of perspiration, her buttocks laced with a network of fine, dark weals. Yet, though flinching and gasping in response to each and every stroke, she had still not once cried out aloud. Larsen, too, had broken out in a light sweat. Pausing again, he took a handkerchief from his pocket to wipe his brow. "I'll say one thing for you, Safire. You're one tough lady." Although she appeared to have partially recovered from her orgasm, Tiffany's face was still fiercely flushed. "It's not that," she told Larsen breathlessly. "You just don't know how to really hurt her." "What?" Larsen paused, turning to look at her with a puzzled expression. "Oh, she's suffering all right, but not enough to make her cry out. She's too proud for that…unless you know the secret." "Secret?" Making no attempt to hide the fact that she was relishing Safire's humiliation and discomfiture, Tiffany held the other woman with her gaze as she explained,"When she was a kid, her mom used to whip her bare ass with a hickory switch when she misbehaved, which she apparently did a lot. She's kind of proud about how tough it made her, you know? She told me all about it." The sly smile reappeared. "Bet she wishes she hadn't now." Larsen seemed mildly irritated. "What are you saying—that she's 109

Judith immune to this…after all these years?" "Not immune, exactly. Resistant. As I said, there's pain, but she can take it. Your technique with the whip is all wrong if you want to really make her suffer." "You think you could do better?" "Damn right I could." "Then be my guest." The peculiar light in Larsen's eyes intensified like smoldering embers stirred by a breeze as he held out the cat-o'nine-tails to Tiffany. Tiffany's face lit up. "Really?" "Why not? Safire not only disobeyed my orders, she also unjustly accused you. If she hadn't been proved a liar, it would be you being whipped right now instead of her. I think it's very fitting that you play a role in her punishment. Call it poetic justice." "No!" Her silence broken at last, Safire's protest was unequivocal. There was something approaching panic in her eyes as she looked up awkwardly at Larsen from the gap between her outstretched upper arm and dangling breasts. Larsen looked at his watch, then at Safire. "Be quiet and listen. For the next ten minutes I am going to delegate my authority to Tiffany. During that time, you will obey her orders as if they were given by me. Do you understand?" "No," Safire pleaded. "Please don't do this to me." "That is my decision. But the choice is still yours. Your contract…" He shrugged eloquently. Safire appeared to briefly consider the options again, then switched her gaze defiantly to Tiffany. "All right, then, bitch. Get on with it." "Ah, but none of that, Safire," Larsen admonished. "You don't seem to understand. While Tiffany has my delegated authority, you will not only obey her, you must also show her the same respect that you would to me." Larsen's words evoked a sigh from Safire, and she hung her head in resignation. 110

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"On second thought, though," he continued, "ten minutes is a long time, especially if Tiffany's confidence in her ability to make you suffer is justified. So I'll give you an opportunity to mitigate the ordeal. The first three minutes will be mandatory. If you then apologize to Tiffany—unequivocally—and ask her forgiveness, your punishment will end. Otherwise, you must endure the full ten minutes. Tiffany, you may begin when you are ready." Rising from her chair, Tiffany took the whip from Larsen who, one foot resting on the floor, sat on the edge of the chart table to watch. She gave her first order. "Turn around, Safire. I want you lying on your back." Sullenly, Safire changed position to lie face up on the ottoman, legs bent at the knees, feet on the floor. Despite their considerable size, her breasts remained firm and prominent in this position. The texture of her skin, stretched taut and glossed with sweat, had undergone a transformation from satin to black silk. "That's better." Tiffany took up a position in front of Safire's prone body, her feet opposite the other woman's. "Now, pull your legs up against your body. I want your thighs spread so we can see your pussy." Glaring at Tiffany, Safire gripped her thighs at the back, just above the knee, and drew her legs up and apart as instructed. The movement caused the lustrous black thatch of her pubic hair to divide, exposing the glistening fleshy outer lips of her sex. But Tiffany was not yet satisfied. "Further. Get your thighs under your arms. Hold your ankles." With professional suppleness, Safire obeyed with ease. In this position, arms coiled around each leg so that she could grip her ankles, her thighs now flanked her breasts on either side of her body. Her buttocks, lifted up off the surface of the ottoman by the contortion, were spread wide, offering an uncompromising view of her now-gaping sex and the dark, tightly puckered orifice of her anus. 111

Judith Eyes gleaming, Tiffany raised the cat-o'-nine-tails above her shoulder. "Time to even the score," she said softly. "Wait a moment." Tiffany checked the downward sweep of her arm as Larsen spoke. "Aesthetically, I think it would be better if you were both naked, Tiffany." Tiffany shrugged. "You're the captain." Handing him the whip, she quickly stripped off her shorts, shirt and panties. If anything, Tiffany's breasts were slightly bigger, heavier than Safire's, but they were also firm enough to defy the tow of gravity. The honey-colored nipples had stiffened to a peak within the broad collar of their surrounding areolas. As she stood over the unfortunate Safire, the contrast of Tiffany's porcelain skin and fiery copper hair against the black, exotic flesh of her spread-eagled companion was spectacular. Katrina's blood pulsed wildly through her arteries as her eyes devoured the scene. The warm wet glow between her thighs spread as fluid seeped from her sex like creeping volcanic lava. "Is this better?" Tiffany asked. "Much." Larsen glanced at his watch. "Your time starts now." Retrieving the whip from him, Tiffany set her feet apart and raised her arm again. As Safire looked up expectantly at her 'friend' from between parted thighs, her face betrayed her anxiety. She was not kept waiting long. Seemingly conscious of her limited time allotment, Tiffany laid on the first stroke without delay. Shredding the air, the cat produced a low whistle followed by the now familiar crackle as the silken tails slapped against Safire's flesh—not, as Katrina had expected, across her buttocks, but on her left breast. Safire's expression confirmed that she, too, was taken by surprise. Her sharp intake of breath had a vocal quality that she hurriedly stifled by biting her bottom lip. A latticework of fine dark welts began to form at once on her breast around the rapidly swelling nipple. Tiffany withdrew the whip, allowing the tails to trail down across her victim's belly. Safire shuddered as the silken strands brushed 112

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over and along the open furrow of her sex. The second stroke followed at once, this time delivered across her right breast. Recoiling in pain, Safire almost lost her grip on her ankles at the shock of this and the immediately-following third stroke, which Tiffany delivered to her left inner thigh. The next few strokes were laid in rapid succession on her breasts again, the nipples swelling as if to burst in response. Each cluster of sharp crackles as the tails slapped harshly against the pliant black flesh was accompanied by either a desperate gasp for air or a deep-throated grunt of pain from Safire. Without warning, Tiffany now switched her attention back to Safire's inner thighs again. Applying the whip with increasing force, she landed each successive stroke closer to the lush black forest and the glistening pink valley that divided it. Safire, teeth now bared in a grimace, eyes brimming with silent tears, tossed her head from side to side in anguish. But, just when it seemed she was on the verge of crying out in capitulation, Tiffany was robbed of that satisfaction by Larsen's intervention. "Three minutes." "Already?" Tiffany reluctantly lowered her arm, allowing the whip to dangle alongside her naked thigh. "My, doesn't time fly when you're enjoying yourself?" "I think she's probably had enough," Larsen replied. "Are you ready to apologize, Safire?" Trying to clear the tears from her eyes, Safire nuzzled her face against each shoulder in turn. "I…" The sentence crumbled, rendered unintelligible by the muffled sobs she could no longer hold back. "There!" Tiffany gloated triumphantly. "Not so arrogant now, is she? I told you I could break her. I'm ready for your apology, Safire." Tiffany's words had a remarkable affect on Safire. With obvious determination, she strove—and eventually managed—to regain control, to quell her sobbing. When she at last responded, her voice was relatively even again…and defiant. She fixed Tiffany firmly with 113

Judith her gaze. "Break me? You? That'll be the day." Momentarily releasing her right ankle, she brushed the tears from her eyes and cheeks with her hand. That done, she gripped the ankle again. "You'll get no apology from me, so you'd better get on with your sadistic little game." The suggestion of a subtle, sardonic smile flickered briefly at the corners of her mouth. "Or should I say, get off on it?" she added archly. "Doing this to me really turns you on, doesn't it? Have you come again, yet?" The taunt obviously touched a nerve. Anger flared in Tiffany's eyes. In the wardrobe, Katrina caught her breath at Safire's recklessness. "That was a mistake, my dear." Tiffany's voice was dangerously hushed as she moved slowly around the ottoman to stand by Safire's head. Safire's eyes followed her. Perhaps now realizing she had gone too far, her disdainful demeanor suddenly withered as she looked up at Tiffany, her brow furrowed in puzzlement. "What are you going to… Aaaiieeee!" The cat-o'-nine tails transformed Safire's question to a shriek of agony as Tiffany, with unnerving speed and accuracy, delivered a stroke forcefully between her thighs. The slender, silk-bound leather thongs struck the tender flesh of her exposed vulva, causing her entire body to convulse as she cried out. Before Safire had a chance to recover from the blow, Tiffany lashed out again, this time placing the cat a little further back, so that, while some of the tails found the same tender target again, others reached into the cleft between Safire's buttocks. Again, Safire screamed, but Tiffany, indifferent to her pain, laid on another stroke of the whip…then another…and another. Her face flushed, emerald eyes bright, the statuesque redhead appeared caught up in a frenzy as she lashed the wretched Safire's writhing body without respite. How long Safire's punishment lasted, Katrina had no idea. It seemed interminable. But despite her obvious torment and now uncontrolled cries of pain as the whip repeatedly 114

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licked at her flesh, she seemed determined not to yield. As Larsen had observed, she was indeed a tough lady. But Tiffany was equally, if not more determined. Randomly alternating the strokes of the whip between Safire's breasts, vulva and the cleft between her buttocks, she showed no mercy. And at last, she triumphed. In a sudden, explosive cry of anguish, Safire finally capitulated. "Aaaiee! Stop! Oh, Tiffany, please stop. I… I can't take any more." Tiffany laid two more strokes directly between Safire's thighs before pausing. "Ah. Apology time, I think." Her spirit truly broken now, tears rolled freely down Safire's cheeks. "Yes, yes," she agreed at once, eager to avoid any further punishment that might result from a delay in her response. "I…apologize. I…I'm sorry I…lied about you. Please don't hurt me any more." Her speech was tremulous, the sentences fragmented by irrepressible sobbing. "Good," Larsen said, rising from the table. "Time for you two to make up, then. Put this all behind you." As he stood, Katrina noticed the huge bulge in the front of his shorts. Watching Safire's ordeal at Tiffany's hands had clearly aroused him fiercely. In fact, it seemed the only person present who had not taken pleasure from her punishment was Safire herself. The thought struck Katrina with another pang of guilt. Not for the first time, she wondered what was happening to her. How could she have become so depraved by the events of a mere few days? Or was the reality, as she had considered back at Rylands after her violation by Armand, that such experiences had simply opened Pandora's box a little wider, incrementally revealing her true nature? She shivered at the thought. Whatever the case, Armand Levequ was responsible, and her feelings about him remained hopelessly ambivalent. On the one hand, she resented him for stripping away the veneer of her morality, while on the other, she couldn't deny the intense sensual stimulation and gratification she had experienced since he took control of her life. Larsen's voice recalled her attention. "Tiffany, go and sit on my 115

Judith bunk." With a smile of smug satisfaction for Safire's benefit, Tiffany obediently crossed the cabin and sat on the bunk, which was set against the bulkhead on the opposite side of the cabin to the wardrobe. Placing the whip on the mattress beside her, she leaned back a little, supporting herself on straightened arms, and waited to see what Larsen would do next. Dutifully maintaining her undignified position, Safire looked up at Larsen. "May I get up now, please?" she asked, careful to sound respectful, compliant. "Yes." Wincing as she unfolded her body, she rose gingerly to her feet. Now Katrina could see more clearly the results of her punishment. The whip had raised a tracery of fine, dark weals over her breasts, lower belly, inner thighs and buttocks. But the silken binding of the cat's tails had worked well. Nowhere was her skin actually broken. Larsen stepped up close to Safire. She gasped, shuddered, as he ran his fingertips lightly over each of the areas of affected flesh in turn. "Aaah!" Safire's buttocks clenched as, during his exploration of her inner thighs, he slipped a finger between the lips of her sex. "Does this hurt?" he asked, slowly rotating his hand. Sucking in her lips, biting them together, Safire nodded. "But there is pleasure also, isn't there? Before you answer, remember the terms of your contract. You must never lie." Briefly closing her eyes, Safire lowered her head and nodded again, very slowly this time, as if the admission embarrassed her. "I thought so. You are very wet." Larsen seemed gratified by her response. "This is interesting. You enjoyed your punishment." "I… It was very painful. And humiliating." Safire stole a selfconscious glance toward the bunk and seemed relieved to see that Tiffany was no longer gloating over her triumph. Instead, the redhead now seemed totally engrossed in the dialogue between her companion and the captain. "But you enjoyed it nevertheless." 116

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"It was…exciting." "Open your legs." Safire obeyed, placing her feet wider apart, then squirmed, tilting her head back a little as Larsen inserted more fingers between the lips of her sex, casually stroking the cleft as he continued, "Tell us about it…Tiffany and I. Describe how you felt; your emotions." Struggling now to control her arousal, Safire swallowed hard. "It hurt…a lot. But—" "But?" "Being naked—not just naked, completely exposed like that— was humiliating, but exciting." She cast her eyes down toward the floor awkwardly. "It…turned me on." "What about the pain." "At first, it just hurt. But then… Aah!" She broke off, sighing in response to Larsen's insistently probing fingers. "Then?" he prompted. "Then? Then a sort of warm glow began to spread through my body from the parts Tiffany was whipping. Near the end—just before I gave in—my…cunt…was on fire. The pain was unbearable, but I was also on the verge of…coming." At this last word, she flicked another glance at Tiffany, and received in return a smile that now contained no hint of mockery or malice. Again, Safire seemed relieved. Larsen appeared satisfied. "Mm. That pain, humiliation and sexual arousal can sometimes be totally interrelated doesn't seem to overly intimidate you. That's good. Acceptance of that concept may well stand you in good stead where you are going." Safire gasped as he withdrew his fingers from her vulva. "Now, go to your friend and ask her forgiveness." Turning from him, Safire walked slowly across the cabin toward the bunk, where she stood looking down to meet Tiffany's gaze. "Tiffany, I truly am sorry. Not just about lying. I'm sorry about Geoff also. I deserved the whipping. Will you forgive me?" "Of course she will forgive you," Larsen said, walking toward the 117

Judith two women. "Kiss her." Fixing Tiffany's eyes with her own, Safire knelt before her. Leaning forward, she placed her hands on each side of Tiffany's lower jaw and drew her nearer. Eyes glistening, Tiffany responded by tilting her head slightly to one side to meet Safire's pursed lips with her own. It was a long, passionate kiss, a lover's kiss. Something seemed to have happened between the two women, some strange chemistry that had changed everything. Larsen watched with silent interest until, the kiss complete, the two women's mouths at last parted. "Very good, Safire," he said softly. "I'm pleased that you responded so well to your lesson in humility, painful though it might have been. Now, for the ultimate gesture of contrition, I want you to kiss Tiffany again." Running her tongue lightly over her lips, Safire leaned toward Tiffany again. "No." Like an obedient gun-dog, Safire froze at the sound of Larsen's voice. "This time, I want you to kiss her…cunt." "Oh, but she doesn't have to do th—" Larsen cut Tiffany off mid-sentence. "Silence! I give the orders here. Open your legs and move closer to the edge of the bunk so that Safire can get at you." There was no scope for negotiation in Larsen's tone. Tiffany wriggled forward until her buttocks were perched right on the edge of the bunk. From her vantage point on the diagonally opposite side of the cabin, Katrina had an unrestricted view of the two women. She could clearly see Tiffany's bright copper pubic thatch and the protruding sleek, pink folds of her sex as she offered it to her kneeling friend. With a single shake of her head, Safire tossed her black mane back over her shoulder, then lowered and tilted back her head as she inserted her face between Tiffany's thighs. "Ooh!" Tiffany's little exclamation coincided with the contact of Safire's lips with her labia. Half closing her eyes, she sucked in a long 118

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breath. "Now give her your tongue, Safire. Show Tiffany that you really want to make amends." "Oh, no," Tiffany protested. "I really don't want her to have to—" "I do." There was unconcealed impatience—menace even—in Larsen's voice as he cut her off a second time. "So do I." Smiling now, Safire looked up at Tiffany from between her friend's open thighs. "I've wanted to do this for a long time, but after the thing with Geoff, I thought I'd never get the chance. Why don't you just relax and enjoy my…gesture of contrition." Placing her hands at the very top of Tiffany's inner thighs, Safire eased her cleft apart with insistent thumbs, then dipped her head again. As she set to her task, a deep gasp from Tiffany signaled her penetration by Safire’s tongue. "Oh, my God! Safire, that's… Oooh! Oh, yes, yes." The black woman's head bobbed and twisted between Tiffany's ivory thighs. Tiffany squirmed in response. "Mmmm, yes! Oh, there. Yes, there. Oh, God, that's soooo good!" Leaning back, she supported her body on a single outstretched arm, then lifted her feet from the floor to place her heels on the edge of the bunk. This spread her thighs and buttocks even wider, allowing Safire's tongue to probe her more deeply. Her free hand was not idle long, and her gasps soon gave way to moans of abandon as she fondled and kneaded each of her breasts in turn, pinching and twisting the nipples like some fanatical medieval penitent intent on self-chastisement. Until now, Larsen had simply stood over the two women, watching hungrily. Now, his senses evidently inflamed beyond control, he slipped out of his shoes, kicked them aside, then briskly stripped off his shorts and shirt. He was a big man; solid, muscular. Katrina stared in fascination as he stepped free of his briefs. It was not so much the size of his penis that astonished her, although it was admittedly much bigger than her limited experience had led her to consider average, but rather its form. Stiffened by lust, the long 119

Judith smooth shaft was not straight, but distinctly curved, both upward and to the right. With the exception of the great purplish head, the fantastic organ was light tan in color. It was an intriguing and fascinating sight that further stimulated the flow of Katrina's intimate juices as she involuntarily imagined what it would feel like inside her. Placing a foot between Safire's bended knees, Larsen nudged them apart. He knelt on the floor behind her. Placing his hands on her buttocks, he spread them wide, exposing the dark crinkly orifice of her anus and at the same time separating the outer labia of her sex. Now, between the moist folds, in the very heart of the cherry-red flesh beyond, her opening was plainly visible—dark and mysterious, glistening. Moving from the hip, Larsen guided the head of his cock between the shimmering lips, which closed hungrily around it. He paused at the low groan deep in Safire's throat. "I know you are tender, and this will hurt a little to begin with. But then the pleasure will take over. Bear with me, and I will give you a fucking you will never forget." "Mnng." From the moist heartland of Tiffany's loins, Safire's vocal response was muffled, incomprehensible. She supplemented it by nodding her head in acknowledgement that she would submit willingly. "Yes," Tiffany gasped hoarsely. "Go on, Greg, fuck her. Fuck the ass off her while she has her tongue in my cunt. You'll be fucking us both at the same time." Larsen smiled. "Mm. I have to say that concept appeals to me." Taking hold of Safire by the hips, he pulled her slowly to him, gradually impaling her on his erection until her buttocks were pressed close up against his pubis. She moaned, wriggling her hips to ensure that he was completely embedded within her. For a few moments, he remained perfectly still, then began to slowly withdraw from her again. His cock, glossed with the fluid of her arousal, looked like some bizarre glazed china ornament. When the lower ridge of his glans reappeared between Safire's labia, he thrust back into her again. With practiced artistry, he began to drive the rigid 120

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organ back and forth. The rhythmic movement of his hips, slow and languorous at first, gradually gathered momentum until, after a few minutes, his thighs were slapping furiously against hers. Now sweating profusely, he grunted with each savage pelvic thrust. And the two women were hardly silent. By turns whimpering, gasping, moaning, they seemed transported on an ocean of sensual pleasure. With the even pace of a mechanical shuttle, the gleaming curvature of Larsen's cock slithered easily along the slick, narrow confines of Safire's tightly accommodating vulva. And, as Tiffany had predicted, there was a 'knock-on' effect, because with every lunge of his hips, Safire was forced bodily forward so that her face pressed in among the slippery folds of her friend's sex, her tongue driven deeper. Observing all this from the wardrobe, Katrina was overwhelmed by the erotic bombardment of her senses; the sheer animal essence of Greg Larsen and the breathtaking prospect of the two beautiful, naked women as they reveled with him in frenzied, carnal abandon; the rhythmic slapping of flesh against flesh, and the all-pervading female musk that enfolded Katrina even inside the wardrobe. It was all too much. Hot, dizzy and fiercely aroused, she was barely able to resist the impulse to throw open the wardrobe doors and beg to be included in the unbridled debauchery. Only the remains of her long established but rapidly evaporating childhood morality—and fear that her courage might later fail her—prevented her from doing so. Tiffany, her features now contorted in what might equally pass for agony or ecstasy, was writhing frantically on the bunk. As she tossed her head from side to side, her lustrous copper tresses flew like flames from a fire. "Oh, Safire, yes, yes! God, I'm going to come soon. Fuck her harder, Greg." Obligingly, Larsen mounted his final assault, driving his great curved phallus into Safire with increasing urgency. Very soon— imminently—there would be an orgasmic cataclysm inside the small cabin. Sensing this, and realizing that now might be her only 121

Judith opportunity to escape, Katrina made a spontaneous decision. Slowly, carefully, she eased the door of the wardrobe ajar and peered out. Both Larsen and Safire had their backs to her and, provided she maked no noise, should not pose too much of a threat. Tiffany, on the other hand, was facing the wardrobe, and although at the moment her eyes were screwed tightly shut in pre-climactic anticipation, if she should open them, all would be lost. Holding her breath, Katrina opened the door wider and stepped out of the wardrobe. Not daring to linger, she moved swiftly, silently across the floor to the cabin door. Keeping her eyes on Tiffany's face, she turned the handle. As it yielded, there was a clearly audible metallic stutter. Her heart threatened to explode in her chest, and her knees to buckle at the prospect of being discovered. But the fornicating trio were far too preoccupied with each other and by the approaching climax to be distracted by the sound. Painfully swallowing the hard little ball of her panic, she opened the cabin door and slipped out into the corridor. Minutes later, in the safety of her own cabin, she almost sobbed with relief. Against all odds, she had managed to escape from Larsen's cabin under his very nose. Her senses were overloaded with emotion. Not just relief, but also fear, excitement…and unbearable arousal. Kicking free her sandals and stripping off her dress in a single movement, she threw herself onto her back on the bunk. Her breathing was quick, shallow, as she reached with her hand into the wetland between her thighs. In their urgent quest for her clitoris, her fingers slipped easily into the slick, swollen lips of her sex. No sooner did they make contact with the hot, distended little knob of flesh than her senses exploded, fragmented by violent, soul wrenching orgasm. Stunned by its suddenness and intensity, she barely managed to clamp her free hand over her mouth in time to stifle the scream that would surely otherwise have alerted the entire ship's company.

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Chapter Five

I

t was a little after nine the next morning when Katrina discovered that the voyage was effectively over. She had skipped breakfast because she felt she couldn't face Captain Larsen or her two fellow passengers after the events of the previous evening. Although she was confident that none of them knew she had secretly observed their orgiastic diversion, she had awoken that morning with an irrational but irrepressible fear that she might inadvertently do or say something that would betray the fact. Now she could no longer avoid the captain. He was at the ship's wheel, and spotted her as soon as she emerged onto the deck for a breath of fresh air. "Katrina, good morning," he called out above the rattling of sails, as deckhands busily trimmed them. Stabbing the air with his index finger, he added, "Journey's end." She turned to face the direction in which he was pointing, and was momentarily transfixed by the sheer beauty of what she saw. About a quarter of a mile away across the starboard bow, an island rose above the shimmering surface of the ocean. Verdant with tropical vegetation, positively dazzling in the early morning sunlight, it was a breathtaking prospect, a living emerald set in quicksilver. From the coast, the land gradually rose in luxuriant, forest-clad foothills toward the mountainous heart of the island, where in testimony of its aeons-past volcanic genesis, a rugged peak loomed, sentinel like, over several smaller siblings. Wreaths of cloud, tinged orange and gold by the sun, encircled the ragged pinnacles, and randomly spilled 123

Judith into steep lush valleys that scored the mountain slopes. Katrina judged the island to be about three miles wide—or long—depending on its shape. Its appearance reminded her at once of one of her favorite books from childhood—Robert Louis Stevenson's Treasure Island. Recalling now the chapter entitled, 'What I Saw in the Apple Barrel', in which young Jim Hawkins, eavesdropping from an apple barrel on board the Hispaniola, learned of the unpleasant fate that was being planned for him and his friends, she couldn't help thinking of the ironic similarity to her own experience in Captain Larsen's cabin the previous evening. Larsen's allusion to pain, humiliation and sexuality, and the value of accepting the inter-relationship between them had spawned a thrill of trepidation in the pit of her stomach at the time, not least because of his suggestion to Safire that such acceptance might be a distinct advantage when they reached their destination. This beautiful tropical island, it seemed, was that destination. What peril, what anguish and degradation had Armand Levequ in store for her here? The thought triggered a little shiver. The ship's crew was fully occupied about the deck as the Aphrodite tacked in toward the island. Picking her way among them, Katrina made her way toward the bow, where Tiffany stood with one arm around Safire's shoulders, both women gazing at their destination with intense interest. "Hello, Katrina," Tiffany said excitedly when she saw Katrina. "Isn't it beautiful?" "Good morning. Yes, it is beautiful." Katrina's anxiety must have been evident in her expression, because Safire said, "Hey! Come on, cheer up. You'll be okay. Don't worry." Looking doubtfully at the nearing island, Katrina said, "I don't know. I just wish I had some idea what is going to happen to me here." Safire placed a hand on Katrina's upper arm in a gesture of reassurance. "Look, nothing disastrous is going to happen to you. I'm 124

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sure of that. But let's be realistic. Under the circumstances—your contract—you have to accept that you may be forced to submit to…well, things you find distasteful or unpleasant. But remember, it's all in the mind. With the right mental attitude, it's surprising what you can bring yourself to do—perhaps even learn to take pleasure from." As she finished the sentence, Safire glanced briefly aside at Tiffany, who smiled fondly in return. The remark, Katrina guessed, was a reference to her treatment by Larsen and Tiffany the night before. And who knew, perhaps Safire was right. She had certainly seemed to make the most of what, by normal standards, should have been an agonizing and degrading ordeal. Drawing closer to the island, the ship rounded a steep headland to enter a broad bay with a rocky, palm-fringed shore. Now the presence of civilization on the island became apparent for the first time. Safire's mouth dropped open. "Wow!" "You said it," Tiffany added. Although Katrina said nothing, she shared the other women's astonishment. For there, high up on the hillside, set against a backdrop of vivid tropical greenery, a magnificent house overlooked the bay. It was a French-style chateau, which looked as if it had been plucked by some gargantuan hand from the heart of Bordeaux and set down again here in the Caribbean. Built of mellow golden stone with a gray shingle roof, the house seemed to glow in the sunlight. It was a big structure with many windows; tall ones—some with balconies—set in the walls, and smaller, dormer type ones in the pitched roof. At one end, a broad, rounded tower, topped by a shingle-roofed spire was built into the front corner, adding a pleasingly whimsical quality to the otherwise symmetrical dimensions of the chateau. What looked like a narrow ribbon of road, or a track, snaked down the forested hillside, sometimes visible, sometimes obscured by trees, to a stone quay on the shoreline. Under the skillful handling of her master and crew, the Aphrodite 125

Judith closed steadily on the quay, where three big open wagons and two shiny black landaus—all with teams of restless horses between their shafts—awaited, each tended by a Negro driver. The drivers all wore uniform clothing comprising black, knee-length britches with white stockings, and a black waistcoat over a white collarless shirt. Three other Negroes, dressed only in oatmeal-colored linen knee britches, ran forward to take the ship's cables as she docked with no more than a gentle shudder against thick rope buffers on the quayside. Once again, Katrina had the strange feeling that she was caught in a time warp and had somehow slipped back into an earlier century. As soon as the Aphrodite had been secured, the crew, with the help of the men on the quay, began unloading cabin trunks and cargo from the hold. Katrina, Safire and Tiffany watched the activity from their position in the bow of the ship, where they had remained throughout the approach to the island. Now, they were joined by Captain Larsen, with Henry a respectful couple of paces behind him to his right. "Well, ladies, time to say au revoir. Katrina, the landau at the head of the line is yours. Safire, Tiffany, you take the other one, please." "Are you coming with us?" Safire asked. He shook his head. "Afraid not. Other things to do. Once we've unloaded the cargo and re-provisioned, we'll turn straight around and head off again. Two or three hours at the most." "Oh." Safire made little effort to conceal her disappointment. Larsen smiled. "Of course, we will meet again…even if it's not until you leave here. In the meantime, I wish you all well." With a polite nod, he turned and walked off. Seeming now every inch the gentleman, Katrina found it hard to believe that this was the same man who had beaten and ravished Safire in his cabin only a few hours earlier. "If you are ready, ladies..." Henry said, turning to lead the way. They followed the steward down the gangway onto the quay, where the driver of the leading landau approached Katrina. "Would you come this way, please, Miss." 126

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With a final glance at Safire and Tiffany, she said, "See you later, I suppose." She followed the driver to the landau. The black lacquered surface of the carriage door was decorated with the Levequ coat of arms. Was it her imagination, or was the lower left quadrant—the one containing the serpent and sword symbol of Armand's delegated authority—brighter, more emphatic than the rest of the heraldic device? The driver opened the door for her. Concluding with a selfdeprecating sigh that she was simply becoming paranoid, she climbed into the carriage and sat on the comfortably upholstered seat. *** The metal rims of the carriage wheels rumbled over the cobbled road that led uphill toward the chateau. Looking back out of the window, Katrina saw that the second landau carrying Safire and Tiffany was following at a distance of about fifty yards. The road was steep, but the trotting horses made good progress and soon, when the hillside dropped away on the coastal side of the road, there were excellent views across the aquamarine waters of the bay. It was a fine day, the mounting heat of the sun tempered by a constant breeze that soughed up the hillside from the ocean below. But the weather seemed set to break. Way out to sea, great heaps of dark, sullen clouds were beginning to pile over the distant horizon. Periodically, bright slivers of lightning seemed to stitch the rolling, amoeba-like billows of vapor momentarily together before they broke rank again to resume their disorderly advance toward the island. For most of the journey, which had thus far taken about fifteen minutes, the chateau had remained out of sight, concealed either by the rolling upland terrain or by the forest that flanked the cobbled road. Now, a brief glimpse of the roof and the spire of the tower above the treetops confirmed that Katrina was nearing her destination—a prospect from which she took neither comfort nor 127

Judith pleasure. Looking back at the road behind, she was surprised to discover that the second landau was no longer following. Realizing that it must have turned off at a junction in the road they had passed a little way back, she felt suddenly very apprehensive. It would have been much easier to face whatever awaited her at the chateau in the knowledge that Safire and Tiffany were close at hand, but their destination, it seemed, was different from her own. She was now entirely alone. Just ahead, the road threaded a lofty arched gateway built of stone. As the landau rattled between the supporting pillars, Katrina noticed the Levequ coat of arms in stone relief overhead. Beyond the gateway, there was an abrupt and dramatic transformation in the environment. Here, many acres of indigenous forest had been cleared, and the ground leveled and landscaped to produce a vast expanse of beautiful formal gardens: sweeping lawns; stands of mature trees of various species; flowerbeds spilling with blooms and shrubs; exquisitely cultivated arbors; classical statues of stone and marble; ornamental pools; fountains—it was a truly amazing place. But what really captured Katrina's attention was the chateau itself, toward which the clopping horses were now eagerly hauling the landau up a long, curved driveway. Up close, the house was more beautiful and impressive than she could have imagined from the deck of the Aphrodite. Overlooking the gardens and the bay beyond, it stood on an elevated lawn-clad bank. Stone steps ascended the bank to a balustraded and paved terrace that ran the whole length of the house. Reining in the horses, the driver brought the landau to a halt near the foot of the stone steps. As he helped Katrina out of the carriage, a young mulatto maid descended the steps toward them. The woman, pristine in her black short-sleeved dress and white lace apron, was extremely pretty. The fact that she was smiling warmly went some way toward easing Katrina's apprehension. "Good morning, Miss. I'm Camille. May I take you up to the house?" The young woman's accent was a curious, if charming, 128

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hybrid—French with a Caribbean lilt. "Thank you." Falling in beside her, Katrina walked up the steps and across the expansive terrace to the main doorway of the Chateau. The huge double doors were embellished with rows of iron studs. Above them, carved in the arched stone lintel, the Levequ coat of arms appeared once again. Beneath the heraldic device, also carved in the stone, were the French words: 'Mon Plaisir'—My Pleasure. A fitting motto, Katrina thought, for a man with Armand Levequ's

hedonistic appetite. *** Camille pushed open one of the doors with a gothic creak that evoked a small shudder from Katrina. Following Camille over the threshold, she stepped into the cavernous entrance hall beyond. There were several standard-sized doors off the wood-paneled hallway, which terminated at the far end in a larger pair, not unlike those through which they had just passed. On either side, broad, open stairways with ornately carved wooden balustrades hugged the walls, ascending to the floor above where they joined each end of a galleried landing that spanned and overlooked the entrance hall. Pieces of ancient but perfectly preserved furniture—huge chests, chairs, tables bearing antique ornaments—were strategically sited about the hallway to mitigate the sheer enormity of the room. Tapestries and paintings adorned the walls, while the floor and both stairways were laid with thick-piled carpet in burgundy and gold. Following Camille, Katrina climbed the stairway on the right. The tall, narrow windows in the outer wall might by themselves have been inadequate to illuminate the enormous entrance hall but for the fact that the lofty ceiling, elaborately ornamented in plaster relief, was brilliant white and reflected daylight into every potentially gloomy corner. At the top of the stairs, three corridors branched off the broad landing; one to the right, another to the left and the third straight on, seemingly leading to the rear of the house. Camille conducted Katrina to the right, where more antique furniture and 129

Judith paintings lined the walls between doorways on either side. The corridor ended at an arched doorway that was taller and wider than those they had passed on the way. Camille knocked. "Come in." The female voice from within was barely audible through the intervening oak door. Camille opened the door and led Katrina into a big, very high room, which, judging from the curved shape of its outer walls was located in the chateau's distinctive tower. "Ah, Katrina. You are here at last. Welcome to Chateau Levequ." The speaker, a woman of about thirty with oriental features and skin the color of bittersweet dark chocolate, approached Katrina as she spoke. Katrina accepted the offered handshake and was left with the curious feeling that she had briefly held a butterfly in her hand. It was an odd but not unpleasant sensation. The woman wore a white silk blouse and a dark gray fitted skirt, the hem just above the knee. Her hair was drawn back in a chignon and she wore horn-rimmed glasses. It would have been difficult for her to contrive a more conservative appearance, and thus attired, she ought by rights to have looked prim, perhaps even severe. But the fact was that she was just too beautiful. Almost as tall as Katrina, she had exquisitely fine facial bone structure and sloping onyx eyes. Her movements were imbued with a fluid grace that hinted at some sort of formal training—modeling or ballet, perhaps? Ironically, the austerity of her clothing seemed, if anything, to emphasize the subtle feminine musculature of her thighs and buttocks, the swell of her breasts. But there was something else about her, too; a certain indefinable essence that Katrina had previously encountered in only a very few individuals, either men or women; a kind of innate magnetism that fascinates, attracts, captivates. "Madam SIN?" Katrina asked, tentatively. The woman smiled. "No. I am Frederique, Madam SIN's personal assistant," she answered in a pronounced French accent that, despite or perhaps because of, its incongruity with her obvious oriental origins, somehow added to her exotic charm. "I won't burden you 130

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with my surname. Being Thai, it is typically long and convoluted, and you would neither be able to pronounce nor remember it. Even Frederique is a bit of a mouthful, so I also answer to Freddie. I'm afraid Madam SIN isn't able to welcome you personally. She is, as we say here, 'off island' right now, but you will meet her when she returns, and she will explain to you personally exactly what is expected of you while you are here. In the meantime, I will tell you what you need to know until then. Would you like some tea?" Hardly knowing how to respond, Katrina simply shrugged and said, "Yes. Thank you. Tea would be nice." "Good. Camille?" Acknowledging the implicit instruction with a subtle inclination of her head, Camille left the room. "Come, Katrina, let's sit out on the balcony. There is a pleasant breeze." "It looks like it's bringing a storm, though," Katrina added, conversationally. "You are right. But that is not necessarily a bad thing. Storms are not uncommon here at this time of the year. They can be spectacular, beautiful. And they leave everywhere so much fresher and cooler. For a while, at least." Following Frederique toward the open French windows, Katrina cursorily took stock of the room. The furnishings, paintings and fine antique ornaments that occupied it had been selected by someone with a truly discerning eye. Two long leather sofas and a trio of matching armchairs provided seating, and a handsome provincial Chinese writing desk occupied a position of prominence on one side of the room. The computer sitting on a smaller side desk was one of the very few pieces of evidence Katrina had seen so far that this island existed in the twenty-first, rather than some earlier century. As if to accentuate the incongruity, the wall behind the desk was almost entirely covered by a gigantic antique mirror in an ornate gilded frame. On the opposite side of the room to the desk, a wooden spiral staircase ascended to an open gallery above. In addition to the door 131

Judith by which Katrina had entered, there were three others; one leading off the gallery above, and two more down on the lower level. "This is Madam SIN's suite," Frederique explained as they stepped out onto the balcony. "It doubles as her living quarters and office. I am here only to look after things in the latter department during her absence." The broad balcony, partly built into a recess in the tower wall, commanded a spectacular view of the chateau gardens and the bay beyond. Below, in the distance, Katrina could see the Aphrodite at her mooring, and could just make out the bustle of activity on the quayside as the cargo unloading continued. "Please. Have a seat," Frederique said, gesturing to one of several wrought iron chairs around a circular marble-topped table. Both women sat, but for a moment neither said anything, Frederique simply looking at Katrina as if assessing her. Eventually, as much to relieve her tension as for any other reason, Katrina broke the silence. "You...said that you are...Thai?" "That puzzles you? Ah, yes, the French accent. Of course, I never think about it, but I suppose it must seem strange to others. I was born in northern Thailand, yes. But I was abandoned at birth, literally left on the doorstep of a French missionary orphanage. I was raised by the nuns; hence the accent. Later, as a young woman, I was lucky enough to obtain French citizenship and went to live in France. But that's a long story." "Would Armand Levequ have anything to do with that story, by any chance?" Katrina asked, intuitively. Frederique smiled. "You are very perceptive, Katrina. Yes, Monsieur Levequ had everything to do with it. Perhaps I will tell you about it one day. But for now, there are more important things I must explain to you. Then, I'm afraid, I must excuse myself and leave you to your own devices. There are matters that require my attention." At that moment, Camille emerged onto the balcony carrying a tray. After setting a teapot, cups and saucers, sugar and cream on the 132

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table, she said, "Will that be all, Ma'am?" "Thank you, Camille, yes. But wait inside, please. We won't be long. When we've had tea, I want you to show Miss Mandell to her quarters." "Yes, Ma'am." When Camille had left the balcony, Frederique poured tea for Katrina and herself. Stirring a single spoonful of sugar into her own cup, she said, "As you see, this is a very beautiful island. You are free to move about it as you desire. Within certain constraints, that is. I must warn you that certain places, both outdoors and inside the house are out of bounds to you, and that if you enter them, you will be punished." "But how will I know which...?" "Don't worry. The signs are clear enough. Indoors, anywhere that bears the Levequ symbol of authority—the sword and the serpent, but only when it is isolated from the rest of the coat of arms—is offlimits. Outside, forbidden areas are designated by the skulls of goats set on bamboo stakes in the ground. It's a bit Lord of the Flies, I know, but wild goats are plentiful on the island and have to be culled from time to time to prevent them overrunning the place. Armand won't allow anything here that detracts from the environment. Since that would include keep out signs, the goat skulls provide an effective, if somewhat melodramatic, alternative. "Speaking of the environment, you will see very little here in the way of modern technology. It exists, of course, in a variety of forms, but rarely obviously and almost never obtrusively. Armand's intention is that, as far as is practical, this island should be a refuge from the twenty-first century." "So that's why there are horse-drawn carriages rather than motor vehicles." "Exactly." "And I suppose it also explains the Aphrodite?" "Partially, yes. She and her sister ship, the Bacchus, certainly add to the authenticity of what Armand has tried to create here. But the 133

Judith ships are more than just a convenient luxury. They are also our supply line from the outside world. Their captains make regular runs to make sure we want for nothing here. "We produce electricity with our own generators so that we can have lighting, refrigeration, air-conditioning and so on, but on the whole, we try to maintain the character of an earlier, more gracious age. This estate dates back to 1654, when it was a sugar plantation worked by African slaves. The original house and sugar mill were nothing more than a heap of rubble in the jungle when Armand Levequ bought the island seventeen years ago. The chateau is one of two that have belonged to the Levequ family for centuries. He had this one dismantled, stone by stone, shipped it here incrementally from Bordeaux, and then re-built on this site." "Good gracious!" Katrina could barely believe what she was hearing. Impressive though the chateau undeniably was, she had assumed it to be a modern reproduction. That Armand had effectively transplanted it from France to the Caribbean was nothing short of amazing. She sipped her tea, listening intently as Frederique continued. "Although you will likely see no evidence of the fact, security here is both sophisticated and effective. Uninvited access to the island is impossible, so that the privacy of guests is guaranteed absolutely. At the moment, though, there are no guests, so apart from those who live and work here, you have the place to yourself. For a few days, at least." Sensing that the conversation might be approaching its conclusion, Katrina said, "Two other women came here me with on the Aphrodite." Frederique nodded. "Safire and Tiffany, yes." "Can you tell me where they are?" "You don't need to know that. Although, like you, they are indentured to Armand Levequ, their status is very different from yours. They will not be staying in the chateau itself." "You say their status is different. I don't know what that means, 134

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but I keep hearing that I am special in some way. May I know how?" "You are special, my dear. To begin with, you have been chosen by Armand Levequ personally. That in itself makes you very special. But your exact status is difficult to define, especially since I am limited in what I am permitted to tell you. Unlike Safire, Tiffany and their peers, you will enjoy many of the privileges of a guest here. Unless they are instructed otherwise—as they may be on occasions—the servants will obey you and treat you with respect. But do not become complacent. Whatever happens, never forget that you are nevertheless indentured, and that those with authority over you may demand anything of you. Anything. Do remember the terms of your contract while you remain on this island. Complete obedience and truthfulness should be your main considerations, because those requirements are absolute, and any breach will surely attract punishment." "Do you carry the symbol, Frederique?" Katrina asked, mentally discarding the option of using the alternative, Freddie; Frederique, she considered, was too gracious a name to tamper with. "The sword and the serpent, you mean? Yes, I do. Do you want to see it?" Recalling her embarrassment when Anne Novak had revealed her own intimately tattooed emblem of Armand Levequ's delegated authority, Katrina immediately regretted the question. "No. Please. It's all right. I just...wondered." "Don't worry, Katrina. Although I may have authority over you while you are here, you have nothing to fear from me. Indeed, I hope I can be a friend, give you advice if you need it. For the moment, though, I'm afraid you will have to excuse me." "Thank you for the offer of advice. I'm sure I'm going to need it." Setting her cup in its saucer, Katrina rose with Frederique and accompanied her back indoors, where Camille was waiting dutifully. "Camille will be your personal maid for the duration of your stay here, and will take care of all your needs. She will show you to your quarters now. I think you will find you have everything you need. If 135

Judith not, simply let her know and we shall see what we can do. "As far as meals are concerned, you will generally eat alone, although you may find that you have company on occasions. If you choose to eat in the dining room, you will always take the first sitting, where you may or may not have company; breakfast at seven-thirty, lunch at twelve-thirty and dinner at seven. Madam SIN and any guests she might have will normally dine at the second sitting, so don't dawdle too long over your meals. If you are invited to dine with Madam SIN—at any time of the day—you must be there. And remember that dinner is always a formal affair, so be sure to dress appropriately. When you are dining alone, you may, if you wish, take your meals in your room. Oh, one more thing. Whenever you are offered wine—no matter by whom—you must always accept. But that shouldn't be too much of an imposition; Armand Levequ has some of the world's finest wines here. I'm sorry if that's rather a lot to remember, but it is important that you know the house rules." "I understand." "Good. Well, I think that is all for now. Oh, by the way, do you like to ride?" "I love to ride." "Good. We have some very fine horses here. The stables are behind the house. Just speak to Jacob. He'll take care of you." En route from Madam SIN's quarters to Katrina's own, Camille took a short detour on the first floor to show Katrina the dining room, a long, high chamber, resplendent with classical muralcovered walls, huge ornately gilded mirrors and crystal chandeliers. A series of tall French windows opened out onto an expansive stonebalustraded terrace that was supported by the extended building line below. Katrina's quarters were on the second floor at the rear of the house. She had been provided with a very pleasant suite, comprising a bright, spacious living room and a bedroom with an en-suite bathroom and walk-in dressing room. The suite was luxuriously but tastefully appointed with fine antique furniture. French windows 136

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opened onto a small balcony, which overlooked a big ornamental lake set among formal gardens. A cobbled driveway that led from the front of the house skirted one side of the gardens before disappearing into the trees beyond, where patches of gray stonework could just be discerned; the stables, Katrina supposed. From her balcony, the boundaries of the estate were obvious. A perimeter belt of cultivated woodland formed a sort of buffer zone between the pristine, precisely landscaped grounds of Chateau Levequ and the riotous indigenous forest beyond. The result was dramatic, effectively rendering the estate an island of civilization in the tropical wilderness. But even more remarkable was the magnificent view of the crooked gray peaks that seemed to grope skyward from the verdant mountain slopes like the arthritic fingers of some subterranean giant. Since it seemed likely that she would have plenty of time on her hands over the next few days, Katrina declined Camille's offer of a comprehensive tour of the house, preferring instead to explore the rest of the place for herself. "Very well, Miss. Then, if there's nothing else I can do for you..." "Thank you, Camille, not just now." As she made to leave the room, the maid paused and gestured to an ancient-looking gilt and ivory telephone that stood on a small table by the French windows. "I almost forgot. If you want anything—day or night—just call me. Eight for the servant's hall, or if it's late at night, you can reach me in my quarters on twenty -three." "Thank you, but I doubt that I'll need to trouble you in the middle of the night, Camille." "It's no trouble, Miss. I'll be happy to attend to all your needs." Was it her imagination, Katrina wondered when Camille had left the room, or had the maid's tone and ready smile implied something more than just the apparently innocuous meaning of her words? She allowed the thought no more than a moment's consideration, then, mentally chiding herself for entertaining so fanciful and unlikely a notion, she set about a thorough examination of her suite. By now, 137

Judith she was not surprised to find that there was, indeed, just about everything she needed. The dressing room contained a wardrobe even more extensive than her own. As onboard the Aphrodite, the clothes with which it was stocked were of the finest quality and uncannily suited to her taste. For a while, she just sat on the balcony with a glass of sparkling spring water from the refrigerator that was subtly concealed within the mahogany drinks cabinet in her living room. Used to the relative luxury of Rylands, Katrina was not easily impressed by other people's homes, period or otherwise, but it was impossible not to be affected by the stately opulence and sublimely self-assured grandeur of this ancient family home. Despite the fact that it had been torn apart and re-built, the house had not only retained its character, but seemed to have somehow regenerated its original atmosphere, an almost tangible quality that gave it an identity—like a living thing. And what of its owner? Wealthy beyond the comprehension of normal people, entrepreneur, hedonist, libertine, philanthropist; Armand Levequ was all of these things and more. Yet the more Katrina learned about him, the less she understood him. In fact, the man was a complete enigma to her. But what really mystified her was what he wanted from her, when he could have almost any woman he wished. He had already used and abused her sexually; what more could he desire, other than yet further revenge for her father's transgression against him, and the outrage to his dignity when she had slapped his face within sight of his chauffeur? And yet he had assured her that, while there had been an element of reprisal in her humiliation that night in the gazebo, vengeance was not his prime objective. Perhaps he would provide an answer in his own time. *** It was just past three o'clock when she decided on an impulse to visit the stables. With only a couple of wrong turns on the way, she found her way back through the chateau's labyrinthine corridors and 138

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stairways to the main entrance hall. Then, instead of leaving as she had entered, through the front doors, she approached the big double doors at the opposite end of the hall. Surprisingly, for its size and weight, the left door swung open easily on well-oiled hinges. She stepped over the threshold into what looked like a great banqueting hall, with a high vaulted ceiling. Half way up the walls, where the wooden paneling gave way to stonework, shields painted with heraldic devices hung at intervals. Pools of colored light lay scattered like gems about the polished wooden floor where the sun filtered through stained-glass windows high in the front wall. But it was obvious that artificial light would be needed to properly illuminate this grand hall. It was an imposing place; the kind in which visitors tend to talk in whispers. Katrina made her way quickly across it and out through a door on the far side. Moving through the corridors on instinct, she eventually found a door that opened onto an opulent indoor swimming pool. The atmosphere was warm and humid, redolent with the inevitable tang of chlorine. It would be a very pleasant place to bathe. Marble pillars rising from the water supported the molded roof, where reflected green light from beneath the surface of the pool rippled lazily. Three of the walls were painted with pastoral scenes from ancient Rome; the fourth was, in effect, a series of connected French windows that opened out onto a terrace and the rear gardens. It was through one of these that she let herself out of the house before setting off toward the rear driveway she had seen from her balcony. As she made her way through the extensive grounds, she passed perhaps a dozen or so men—all black. Some were tending the gardens, while others were engaged in more arduous work in a small plantation hidden among the trees beyond. Here, the earth had been tilled and planted in plots with vegetables and a variety of fruit trees, presumably so that the chateau would not be entirely reliant on the Aphrodite and the Bacchus for fresh produce. The workers all wore linen knee britches like the men she had seen unloading cargo down on the quay. A few wore loose shirts open at the front, but mostly they 139

Judith were naked from the waist up, muscular torsos glistening with perspiration from their labors in the tropical afternoon heat. As with the crew of the Aphrodite, the men either ignored her or merely nodded respectfully as she passed by. She found the stables easily enough at the end of the driveway. Constructed of rough-hewn, pale gray granite blocks, they formed part of a complex built in the form of a square with a cobbled courtyard at its center. Access was through a gateway that was tall and wide enough to admit not only horses, but also carriages and wagons. As she passed through the gateway into the courtyard, she saw that besides the stables, the complex also contained coach-houses where the carriages could be kept under cover, and an open-fronted smithy. Her attention was immediately drawn to the latter by the steady repetitive clanging of metal on metal emanating from within. Just inside, his back toward her, a broad, muscular Negro who was stripped to the waist was hammering away at an anvil. As she drew closer, she could see that he was working on a glowing hot horseshoe, which he was holding steady with a long pair of tongs. Seeming to sense her presence, he suddenly stopped and turned around to face her. He nodded. "I guess you must be Miss Katrina Mandell." Katrina's initial reaction was one of surprise. From behind, the lean, muscular definition of his upper body gave him the appearance of a fit young man, albeit that his head was shaved completely bald. Now that he faced her, it was apparent from his time-eroded features that he was probably in his late sixties. He had obviously been a good-looking man in his prime. Indeed, Katrina thought, dressed in a business suit at the head of a company boardroom table, rather than in his present attire here in the chateau stables, he would probably even now attract a second glance from many women—particularly more mature ones. "Yes," she confirmed. "I am Katrina Mandell. Are you Jacob?" "That's me, Miss," he replied, the accent American, but lacking any obvious regional emphasis. "You interested in riding?" 140

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"Yes. Frederique said you would help me choose a horse." Laying down the horseshoe and his tools on the anvil, he moved out into the courtyard. "Be more than happy to, Miss. But you're not thinking of going right now?" Following his glance to the dark massing clouds overhead, she shook her head. "No, not now. It looks like we're in for a storm. I thought perhaps tomorrow if the weather improves." He nodded. "Very sensible, Miss. Would you like to take a look at the horses now?" "If it's not too much trouble. You seem busy." Jacob grinned, his even white teeth reminding her of Safire. "Always plenty of work for me to do around here. It'll get done whether I show you the horses or not. This way." She was surprised to discover that there were no less than fifteen horses in the stables. As Frederique had said, they were all fine animals. Jacob named them for her as she moved along the center aisle of the stables, pausing to fondle and speak to each in turn. Having seen them all, she returned to a beautiful young palomino stallion over which she had already lingered the longest. "Can I ride him?" Jacob looked uncertain. "Sam? Depends how good a rider you are, Miss. And whether your will is stronger than his. He's a wonderful horse, but spirited." A challenge. Katrina grinned. "I'm good. And I'd like to try." Jacob nodded slowly. "When you're ready, just let me know. We'll see how he reacts to you in the courtyard first. You've a good eye, Miss Mandell. He's a fine horse—if you can handle him." "Please, call me Katrina. I'm indentured, too. But I suppose you already know that." "Surely. But there's a hierarchy even among the indentured, and I don't know anyone higher up the ladder than you. Still, if it's okay with you, I'll call you Katrina when there's nobody else around. Otherwise, it'll be Miss Mandell." She smiled. "It's a deal. Tomorrow then...weather permitting." 141

Judith "Oh, don't worry. The storm will have blown over by then." Jacob's prediction seemed unlikely to Katrina as they left the stables. The great, black-pearl storm clouds had closed in, blocking out the sun, and the first great globs of rainfall were spattering noisily on the cobbled surface of the courtyard. She glanced at her watch. Although only twenty past four, it was as if night had fallen prematurely. Bidding a hurried farewell to Jacob, she began to run back toward the house. By the time she reached the door to the swimming pool, the heavens had opened and were disgorging a vast cataract of rainfall over the island. She was saturated. Dripping audibly along the gloomy corridors, she made her way back to her quarters, and a long, luxurious shower. *** After showering, she sat naked by the window, watching great jagged forks of lightening rip the evening sky apart, momentarily strobing the emerald mountain backdrop. The clamorous rolling of thunder that followed each spectacular flash of lightning rattled the windows and caused the very fabric of the house to vibrate. It was one of the most violent electrical storms she had ever witnessed. A little before seven o'clock, she put on a black sleeveless evening dress, and selected a single-strand pearl necklace with matching earrings from the jewelry box. When she had brushed her hair and applied her make-up, she glanced at her reflection in the dressing room mirror. Frederique had warned her that dinner was a formal affair, and she didn't want to offend any sensitivities. Satisfied that her appearance was appropriate, she set off for the dining room. Given what Frederique had told her, she was not particularly surprised by the formality of the five-course dinner she was served, or the fact that she dined entirely alone at the long table under the great glass chandelier. But it was a strange experience, nevertheless. The food, which was excellent, was set out in heated trays on a 142

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serving table against one wall and served by two female servants, both of whom were black and very pretty. The wine that accompanied each course was opened and poured by a tall, handsome Negro, who also appeared to keep a critical eye on the females as they carried out their duties. As she ate, it occurred to Katrina that she had so far not seen anyone who worked for Armand Levequ who was not physically attractive. Good looks, it seemed, were essential among his selection criteria. Being black seemed to help also, at least here at the chateau. The storm raged on unabated throughout dinner, rain hammering against the French windows, and lightning flaring in advance of each tumultuous crash of thunder. It was almost eight fifteen by the time she had finished eating. Feeling isolated and insecure, she had unconsciously compensated by drinking rather more wine than she was used to. Perhaps that was the reason she chose, tired though she was, to continue her exploration of the house rather than return to her quarters for an early night. She decided to begin on the ground floor. At night, the house seemed even bigger than in daylight, the dimly lit corridors and passageways more convoluted and confusing. Having left the three servants clearing away in the dining room, Katrina did not encounter another soul, and while she knew it was an illusion, she began to feel as if she were alone in this huge, ancient house. It soon became apparent that a thorough and systematic exploration of the chateau would take a very long time. Moreover, in her case at least, such an undertaking was out of the question, because she found her entrance through many doorways forbidden by the ubiquitous serpent and sword device from the Levequ coat of arms conspicuously carved on the doors. She concluded, though, that apart from the entrance hall, the banqueting hall and the swimming pool, the ground floor was largely given over to utility rooms and servants' quarters. On the first floor, besides Madam SIN's quarters and the dining 143

Judith room, there were several guestrooms and suites, as well as a big reception room and a morning room. But although it appeared unremarkable enough at first glance, Katrina's most astonishing discovery—also on the first floor—was the library. Sections of the high, wood-paneled walls were recessed as bookshelves, crammed with books, ancient and modern, while the remaining areas between were hung with paintings. The library, or rather this part of it, was at least three thousand square feet in area. Having conducted a cursory examination of the library, or, as it turned out, this part of it, she approached a door in the wall opposite to that through which she had entered. Opening it, she stepped into a second room, identical to the first in all but one respect: the contents were all explicitly erotic. *** Katrina gasped as the flickering glare of lightning streamed through the library windows, throwing into brilliant prominence an art collection, the likes of which she could never have dreamed existed. The first item that captured her attention was a painting contained within a huge, ornately gilded frame. A life-sized woman, beautiful and naked but for a heavy-looking golden necklace and rings encrusted with precious stones, reclined upon a grassy knoll while another, whose crimson, medieval-style gown hung open at the front, exposing her breasts, observed with admiration as she spread open her companion's sex with long, elegant fingers. In another painting, a rampant faun—half man, half goat—was impaling a lovely young wood nymph upon its gigantic phallus. On a different wall, a huge canvas depicted a Roman orgy, in which both men and animals, in some instances together, ravished naked women in a celebration of unbridled debauchery. Wherever she looked, Katrina was confronted by graphic representations of uncompromising carnality, not just in the paintings but also the ornaments that stood in recesses in the walls, and upon small tables about the room. These included hand-carved ivory 144

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figurines of men and women indulging in all manner of sexual practices, life-sized penises in a variety of shapes and sizes, and finely crafted erotic pieces in porcelain, bronze and wood. Katrina picked up a number in turn, examining them in disbelief. She turned next to the books on the shelves, at once confirming that these, too, were no less erotic in character. Like the paintings and the other objets d'art in the room, the books were of fine quality and seemed mostly antique. As she removed it from the shelf, one of them fell open in her hands at an illustration of a young woman, naked and bound to a sort of bench with her thighs spread wide so that her sex was completely exposed. A bear of a man, himself naked but for a black hood, stood over her, his enormous erection communicating his ultimate intention. He held a whip which, judging by the scarlet welts on the woman's body, he had already used on her to some effect. But what intrigued Katrina—and made her think once again of Safire—was that the woman's expression not only conveyed her obvious and understandable pain and distress, but also an unmistakable element of gratification. She appeared, in short, to be simultaneously deriving both anguish and pleasure from her ordeal. Stunned and disoriented, Katrina replaced the book back on the shelf and retreated from the library. Perhaps fired by an excess of wine, the vivid carnal images she had encountered ran riot in her mind as she hurried back to her quarters. *** It was not until she closed the door to her suite behind her that she made the shocking discovery that she was still holding one of the ornaments she had picked up to examine in the library. Wide-eyed, she looked again in dismay at the perfectly sculpted, life-size ivory representation of an erect penis that she held in her hand. With a sudden hot flush of guilt and shame, she could not help but wonder if her failure to return the piece to its place in the wall recess was a genuine omission, or an act of will dictated by her subconscious 145

Judith mind. The latter possibility gradually evolved to become a probability with her growing awareness of the moist warmth blossoming between her thighs. After a brief and futile attempt at denial, she first acknowledged, then embraced her arousal. Seconds later, her clothing lay in a heap on the floor. Throwing herself nude onto the bed, she reached down across her belly with her left hand, while the right raised the ivory phallus to her mouth. Her limbs were trembling, her breathing shallow, rapid. As the smooth ivory glans slipped between her lips, she ran her tongue over and around it repeatedly. Remembering the night in the gazebo, she pushed the shaft deeper into her mouth. Why did Armand not demand this of her, she wondered, savoring the contours of the faithfully crafted swollen veins. Meanwhile, the fingers of her lower hand had found her clitoris, were softly manipulating it to send waves of pleasure rippling through her body… Almost there, now. Release would not be long in coming. Sensing this, she transferred the ivory cock from her mouth to the lips of her vulva, inserting the head between them. Although by no means small, it entered her easily enough. She began to move it back and forth, but there was no more time. The familiar, irresistible thrill was already swelling between her thighs. With no further attempt at finesse, she thrust the phallus deep inside her until its rounded base made further penetration impossible. Feverishly strumming the swollen bud of flesh at the entrance to her womb, she detonated the orgasm. Lightning flared outside the French windows, strobing her naked body as she convulsed and writhed on the bed, her features distorted by an expression not unlike that on the face of the woman in the book she had held briefly in the library. Viewed in isolation—out of context—the scene might have been a gothic representation of hell, with Katrina the sinner, condemned to eternal torment. But it was a rapturous torment, which she eagerly endured, until, like a passing hurricane, the primitive force released her, leaving her trembling, a willing victim of its spent rage. 146

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Chapter Six

W

hen she awoke the next morning, the first thing Katrina saw, lying on the silk sheet by her pillow, was the antique carved ivory penis she had used upon herself to such devastating effect the night before. Now, in the stark light of day, it was intimidating. Like a thick, accusatory finger, it was pointing directly at her, and despite the fact that she was alone, blood rushed immediately to her face and neck, then beyond, turning to pink the pale upper swell of her breasts. "Oh, my God!" The hushed exclamation was involuntary. How on earth could she have done what she had, behaving like some debauched character in a pornographic film. There had been no coercion, no threat to— literally—force her hand. There was the wine, of course, but she could hardly claim that as an excuse. Wine had never turned her into a raging nymphomaniac in the past, and if she were to continue behave like a whore every time she had a glass, then she had better watch out. But no, of course it wasn't just the wine, she reasoned; it was the combination of alcohol and the incredible erotic art collection she had stumbled upon in the library. But then, even that powerfully sensual cocktail was hardly sufficient excuse for the way she had behaved. With a sense of gloom, she concluded that her brazen abandon the previous evening provided yet more evidence of her incremental decline into moral degeneracy. She felt acutely ashamed. Seizing the ivory penis, she thrust it under the pillow, out of 147

Judith sight. When she had showered, she dressed in khaki shorts, a white short-sleeved shirt tied at the waist, and loafers. Making her way to the dining room, she found that breakfast was being served outdoors at a table on the terrace beyond the French windows. It was a glorious morning, with hardly a cloud to blemish the eye-achingly blue brilliance of the sky. Frederique was already sitting at the table, although, as Katrina drew nearer, it was clear that she had just about finished eating. "Good morning Katrina," the Thai beauty greeted her, pleasantly. "Did you sleep well?" "Very well, thank you." Irrationally, Katrina hoped the sudden blush she sensed on her cheeks gave no hint of the reason she had slept so well. One of the maids from the previous evening approached the table as Katrina took her seat. "Would you like some fruit juice and coffee, Miss?" "Thank you, yes." "And for breakfast?" Katrina ordered toast, cereal and some fruit. As the maid turned away, Frederique asked, "You have settled in all right?" "Yes, thank you. More or less. But it will be some time before I can get around the chateau without losing my way." Frederique laughed. "Yes, it's a big house. But beautiful, like this island, no?" "Very beautiful," Katrina agreed. "But the circumstances of my being here are hardly conducive to enjoying the experience." "Nonsense. Since you are here, you might as well make the most of it. Take my advice, accept your situation and don't be resentful. You chose to be here, remember, for whatever reason. Do not try to resist, and you will be all right. What is that American expression? Go with the flow." Katrina smiled, if somewhat unenthusiastically. "I'll try. I really will." 148

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Frederique returned the smile. "Good. I had hoped to spend a little time with you today, but I've just had word that Madam SIN will be back tomorrow, and I must make sure that everything is as it should be for her return. In the meantime, there is a small formality I'm afraid you must undergo." "Formality?" "Oh, it's nothing, really. A medical examination. Everyone on the island—everyone—is examined by Doctor Kreisler once every two weeks. The initial examination is very comprehensive—ECG, X-rays and just about every other kind of test you can think of. The fortnightly follow-up sessions are basically limited to blood tests and a brief physical check up. Camille will show you where to go. But don't be late. Doctor Kreisler has an obsession about punctuality." Frederique smiled. "He is Swiss, you see; very organized, very efficient. He will inspect you as if you were one of their famous watches, check that all your moving parts are working, and that your...jewels...are all in the right place." She paused, seeming to recognize consternation in Katrina's face, then added, "Oh, don't worry, you have no reason to fear Doctor Kreisler. In fact, he's quite a sweetie, really. He is also a very accomplished professional, otherwise he wouldn't be here. It's just that he's, well—" She shrugged, eloquently. "—Swiss." Katrina laughed. "That's better. You are a very attractive woman, but especially so when you smile. You should do it more often. Now where was I?" "The medical." "Yes, well, enough of that. As I said, it's just a formality. Once it's over, the day is your own. Remember my advice. Enjoy it." "Thank you." Katrina took a sip of the coffee the maid had placed before her. It was exactly as she liked it, hot, strong and full-flavored. "Mm, nice coffee." "You will find everything here is of the finest quality. Armand Levequ is very demanding in that respect." "Not only in that respect," Katrina replied, meaningfully. She 149

Judith regretted the remark immediately, fearing that implied criticism of the man who was effectively to be her lord and master for the next six months might attract some form of censure. She needn't have worried. Frederique merely said, "I wouldn't disagree with that. But then he is a most unusual man in so many ways. Do you have any plans for today?" "I hope to go riding." Rising from her chair, Frederique said, "I envy you. It's a beautiful day for it. Unfortunately, I have other matters to attend to. Will you excuse me?" "Of course. Will I see you later? At dinner, perhaps?" Frederique shook her head. "Unlikely, I'm afraid. I will probably be down in the village this evening." "The village?" "I'm sorry. I wasn't thinking. Now I've excited your interest in something that you don't need to know about. Please just forget what I said. It really doesn't concern you. Not at the moment, anyway. Have a nice day." Before Katrina could respond, Frederique had turned and was walking toward the French windows and the house. In contrast to the rest of house, the surgery, closeted behind a 'forbidden' door on the ground floor, was brightly lit and fitted out with a whole range of modern equipment, some of which Katrina didn’t even recognize. There was even an operating table. The examination, although painstakingly thorough, was not too much of an ordeal. Doctor Kreisler was an affable, if nondescript, man of about forty. He completed his task efficiently, politely and sympathetically. It was the most detailed medical examination of Katrina's life, and lasted over one and a half hours. *** When it was over, she went straight to the stables, where she found Jacob shoeing a horse in the courtyard. When he saw her, he left off 150

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his task and straightened up to greet her. He glanced quickly around, as if to satisfy himself that there was nobody within earshot, then said, "Good morning, Katrina." "Hello, Jacob. Would you mind getting Sam out for me?" "Surely. But I hope you're as good a rider as you seem to think you are," he murmured as he went to fetch the palomino. That she was became apparent the moment he had finished saddling the horse. Seizing the reins from him, she slipped her foot into the stirrup and swung up onto the horse's back. For a moment or two, the animal seemed unsure how to respond as Katrina patted him and spoke to him like a long-lost friend. He shook his head, trying to wrest free of her control, but she held him firmly. Then he reared a couple of times, but it seemed more like a token gesture than a serious attempt to unseat her. After only a few moments, he settled down as if Katrina had ridden him countless times before. "Well, now," Jacob said, looking up at her in admiration. "That is truly incredible. I've never seen him take to anyone so easily. You must have magic powers or something." Katrina laughed. "I just get on well with horses, that's all. I don't know when I'll be back. Expect me when you see me." "Right you are. Try to keep an eye on your bearings. This may not be a big island, but it's still easy enough to get lost." "Thanks. Come on, Sam." Turning the palomino around, she urged him to a trot and rode out of the courtyard. She made for the perimeter woodland where she picked up one of several tracks. After a couple of wrong turns, she eventually found her way off the estate at the rear, and entered the native forest. There were plenty of tracks criss-crossing the forest floor. It was difficult to judge direction from below the forest canopy, but she followed a serpentine route toward what she judged to be northeast, where she knew the mountains peaked. Apart from the occasional birdcall, it was strangely quiet in the forest. And hot. Dapples of sunlight slid across the horse's back and her own bare arms and legs as they moved beneath the trees. After about fifteen 151

Judith minutes, the forest gave way to a vast expanse of grassland that stretched for a mile or more ahead before the forest took over again. This, she supposed, would be where the sugar cane had been grown centuries ago. Now, though, apart from isolated stands of trees and clumps of shrubs, it was flat and wide open. On the far side, perhaps a further mile beyond the outer edge of the forest, the ground swept steeply upward in great green folds to form the lower slopes of the mountain range and its asymmetrical cluster of towering granite pinnacles. Katrina's spirits soared, and for the first time in days her mind was free of all thoughts of Armand Levequ and what lay in store for her at his hands. With a cry of exhilaration, she drove her heels into the palomino's flanks, at the same time allowing him his head. The animal responded joyfully, accelerating through a brief canter to an unrestrained gallop, his pale mane thrashing wildly in the slipstream as his hooves drummed a muffled tattoo on the ground. Katrina was glad now that she had asked Jacob to lengthen the stirrups. As she had guessed, riding American style was more practical in this terrain. Her hair streamed out behind her as they sped across the grassland, and more than once she cried out in sheer exultation, an emotion clearly shared by the magnificent animal beneath her. *** Both horse and rider were breathless when they at last reached the farther forest fringe. The rush of air over her body as the horse had galloped across the open plain had provided a refreshingly cool respite from the sun's heat. Now, although the trees offered shade, the air within the forest was still and simmering, and she soon began to perspire freely. She found a good, wide track that looked as if it might lead where she wanted to go. After about half an hour, the ground began to slope upwards, and the forest became less dense, admitting increasingly bigger patches of blue sky in the verdant canopy above. Sunlight now streamed through 152

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the trees, emphasizing the diverse colors of tropical flowers and butterflies along the way. Outcrops of rock appeared among the vegetation as the track began to wind a steeper ascent of the lower mountain slopes. As the palomino carried her ever upward, breaks in the trees revealed the dramatic mountain peaks looming overhead in the near distance, and she could hear running water mingling with the sounds of bird song and the buzzing of cicadas. For the last fifteen minutes or so, the track had followed a sort of broad ledge with a steep rocky incline on one side and views across the forested lower slopes to the ocean on the other. Now, as she rounded a corner, she reined in the horse and gasped at the sight that met her. A deep cleft in the mountainside formed a lush, green ravine that rose steeply toward the summit. From somewhere near the top, a waterfall, or rather a series of waterfalls, tumbled over rocky ledges at intervals, creating a kaleidoscope of miniature rainbows down the ravine. At its base, just ahead, the ravine opened up to embrace a sort of wide, flat grassy space where the waters congregated in an aquamarine pool surrounded by trees and giant ferns. On the seaward edge of the pool, the water slipped smoothly over a lip of rock to cascade into the forest below. It was a staggeringly beautiful place. Truly a tropical paradise. Dismounting, Katrina led Sam forward into the clearing. She was hot and sticky, and the pool looked incredibly inviting. Kneeling at its edge, she dipped her fingers in the water. It was deliciously cool. Her thoughts drifted back to the Aphrodite, and Safire's remarks on the sun deck: 'I like being nude in the sun. And swimming in the nude. It's so sensual, don't you think?' Surely, she thought, there could never be a better or more appropriate opportunity to experience that sensuality for the first time. Opportunity turned to compulsion in less than a heartbeat, as she was suddenly overwhelmed by the desire to be naked in the open air. She rose and quickly stripped off her clothes. Once she had shed her clothing, the sun no longer felt oppressive, but 153

Judith rather...yes...sensual. Setting her feet apart, she stretched languorously in its rays, then ran her hands lightly over her naked body as a playful lover might. She had no idea how long she might remain in this wonderful place, but out of consideration for Sam's well-being, she removed his saddle, then led him under the shade of the trees at the edge of the clearing, where she slipped his reins around a low bough. Walking back to the pool, she marveled at the wonderful feeling of liberation that accompanied her nudity. It was also an erotic experience—not in the feverish, scramble-for-orgasm sense, but on a deeper, less urgent level that might take hours, perhaps even a whole day, to fully develop. At various points around the pool were flat outcrops of rock worn smooth by aeons of pounding by tropical storms and the swollen waters of the cataract that would surely follow each. These rose in irregular steps to form broad ledges at different heights above the water. When Katrina stood on these, she was surprised to find that the stone beneath her feet was not hot, merely pleasantly warm. Sitting on the edge of the pool, she eased herself into the cool, crystalline water. Safire was right, but until she had experienced it for herself, Katrina could never have guessed how wonderful it could feel to swim in the nude, especially here where she could also enjoy the illusion of being the Eve of her own private Eden. The pool, roughly oval in shape, was about the area of a tennis court. At the upper end, the waters from the ravine above converged through a gully to cascade into it from a height of about twenty feet. For the sheer thrill of the experience, Katrina repeatedly swam directly under the waterfall, allowing its force to push her, rolling and twisting, beneath the surface of the pool. Each time, she would swim underwater to emerge again in the center of the pool. Eventually, breathless but refreshed, she climbed out of the pool and lay on her back in the sun for a while at its edge. Pleasant though lying naked in sun was, she soon became restless and curious to see more of this wonderful place. Exploring the 154

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clearing around the pool, she found a number of tracks, all but one of which led back into the forest. The exception, which was very steep and narrow, and looked as if it had been made by the wild goats Frederique had spoken of, seemed to lead up the ravine. Originally intending only to ascend the track a few yards, she found herself being led on by successive discoveries of new and interesting views. The serpentine track more or less followed the course of the stream and its waterfalls. In places, it was obliterated by rocks and small boulders, and she was forced to use hands as well as feet to scramble up over them until it reappeared again among encroaching vegetation on the other side. It would have been a hot and uncomfortable climb but for the fact that the cascading waters filled the air with a fine cool mist. So absorbed was she by her curiosity as to what might lie ahead around this next turn or behind that rocky outcrop, that she hadn't realized how much ground she had covered. When she eventually paused to take stock of her surroundings, she was amazed to discover that she had left the pool and the clearing far below. There was a moment of near panic and a terrible sense of vulnerability at the sudden consciousness that she was still quite naked and exposed in her isolation on the mountainside. But she fought it back, remembering Frederique's words: 'Go with the flow.' Besides, she reasoned, she had enjoyed the freedom and sensuality of being naked in the clearing, why should it be any different up here? As if to reinforce the conviction, she tilted back her head to face the sky, stretching her arms wide and extending her fingers in symbolic surrender to the sun. Having made the decision to push on upward, she climbed for a further fifteen minutes or so before the path disappeared completely. Indeed, the ravine itself seemed impassable beyond this point. The sides converged on a sheer rock wall about thirty feet in height, over which the stream poured in a broad, translucent film of water. Confusingly, the track seemed to terminate in the rock itself, just by the edge of the waterfall. It was only when she moved up closer that 155

Judith she discovered the track actually led to a narrow ledge between the waterfall and the rock face behind it. With a sense of child-like excitement, Katrina stepped behind the veil of water and began to move carefully across the slippery rock floor of the ledge. The water flow sucked cool, moist air across her body, making her shiver momentarily. On the far side of the waterfall she found a high vertical fissure in the side of the ravine. Invisible from the side of the stream from which she had just crossed because of the angle at which it opened, the fissure was just wide enough to walk through. She stepped between the high, moss-clad walls and moved along the narrow cleft in the rock until, after about thirty yards, it ended abruptly, opening out to overlook a small grassy clearing in the surrounding forest below. Her first impression was of a secret garden in the wilderness. Flowers abounded, and a narrow gurgling stream, perhaps a tributary of the main watercourse she had just crossed, meandered through the clearing, both feeding and draining a small pool of the same aquamarine color as the one at the foot of the ravine. But she couldn’t see much at first because of a cluster of huge boulders lying just outside this end of the fissure. In the process of squeezing between these to get a better look, she suddenly froze at the sound of voices; a man's and a woman's. Although listening intently, she couldn’t catch the actual words, only the rising and falling inflections of a murmured dialogue broken by long pauses. Eventually emboldened by frustration and curiosity, she eased forward between the boulders until she had a view of the entire clearing…and the source of the voices. On a blanket by the stream, a couple sat among the remains of an alfresco meal. The man, a handsome Negro of about thirty-five, was drinking wine from a silver goblet that sparkled in the sunlight. Another goblet lay on the grass nearby, and two open wine bottles stood upright in the stream, held in place by rocks. Wearing only tightly fitting white britches, the man was otherwise naked. Given his sturdy, muscular physique, even features and square jaw, Katrina 156

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understood the appeal he must hold for his female companion. He held the goblet to the woman's lips. She took a sip, then tried to withdraw, but he was insistent, tilting the goblet to her mouth so that she had no choice but to continue drinking. When it seemed she could swallow no more, she broke free, laughing as the wine spilled down her chin and throat. It was only now, as the sunlight fell on her upturned face, that Katrina recognized Camille. She wore a full skirt in red, and a white peasant blouse with short sleeves and a low, elasticized neckline, the blouse now liberally spattered with spreading patches of white wine. Without the austere maid's uniform, she seemed even more attractive than Katrina had originally thought. "Carl! Look what you've done to my blouse, you clumsy oaf." The laughter in Camille's voice betrayed the insincerity of the scolding, and Katrina guessed she had already drunk more than a little wine. Putting down the goblet, Carl reached for Camille's shoulders. "Hey, no problem, girl. We just take it off, let it dry in the sun." He gripped the blouse and tried to pull it down over her shoulders, but she seized his wrists. "No!" she protested. "Not with Michael here." "Someone call my name?" Katrina hadn't realized there were three people in the clearing. Now, the speaker, a fair-haired white man perhaps five years Carl's junior suddenly appeared, smiling, head and shoulders above the grassy bank of the pool, where he had been bathing. Resting his left forearm on the bank, he took a drink from a wine goblet in his right hand. As he spoke, Carl swiftly scrambled around behind Camille so that they now both faced the other man. Taking hold of her wrists, he pulled her arms behind her back, holding them together with his left hand. She struggled impotently, unable to escape his powerful grip. "What are you doing, Carl? You let me go." There was a hint of alarm in her voice now. Instead of answering her, Carl used his right hand to slip her blouse off each of her shoulders in turn, then pulled it down her arms. She looked down in disbelief at her now naked breasts. 157

Judith "Carl, no! Please. Stop it. Let me go." Carl merely grinned. "What did I tell you, Michael? Are these beautiful tits, or what?" Michael was no longer smiling. The good-natured humor in his eyes had gone also, replaced by the unmistakable light of primitive hunger as he fixed the now half-naked Camille with his gaze. Although she feared for Camille, Katrina could also easily see how the sight of the pretty, helpless mulatto would likely set a fire in the loins of any man. Her breasts, small molded cones of caramel flesh, looked satin-soft, yet, from the way they protruded, resilient. The darker nipples swelled and stiffened even as Katrina watched. Michael must be sorely tempted. "Yes, beautiful." His voice, hushed, barely audible above the gurgling stream, confirmed Katrina's suspicion. Unlike the slight Caribbean lilt discernible in both Carl's and Camille's speech, Michael's accent was distinctly Scandinavian. Not the unmistakable roller-coaster intonation of Swedish, though, Katrina was certain of that. Danish, perhaps? "Well, what are you waiting for?" Carl asked him. "Do you want her or not?" Hearing this, Camille renewed her struggles. "No, Carl," she wailed." Please don't do this. I thought you loved me." "I do, honey," Carl replied in a gentle, soothing tone. "But Michael is my friend. What's mine is his. Besides, I saw the look in your eyes when he stripped off to go in the pool. You were practically drooling." "That isn't true." "And another thing," Carl continued, ignoring her denial. "You told me you've never had a white boy. Now's your chance." Michael, in the meantime, had hauled himself out of the water onto the bank, and was walking toward the couple on the blanket. He was naked. He was also beautiful—the only description Katrina could think of—with the boyish face and pale blue eyes of an angel. Taller, but leaner than Carl, he was built like Michelangelo's David, with 158

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narrow hips and long slim legs. The musculature of his arms, shoulders and thighs was taut, firm, but not excessively developed, and he moved with unusually easy grace for a man. His blond hair contrasted appealingly with his lightly tanned skin, both where it curled down onto his shoulders, and lower, at his groin, where it sprouted like some exotic golden shrub. And in that shrub, it seemed, a nut-brown serpent was stirring, as if from long hibernation. Camille, still struggling, watched, wide-eyed, as his rearing penis doubled, then re-doubled in size. When the process was complete, the rigid organ jutted at an aggressive angle from Michael's loins like some terrible weapon. And yet, Katrina reflected as she looked on in wonder, though undeniably intimidating, it was also, like the young man himself, quite magnificent. Once again, Katrina found herself the voyeur, a role in which she seemed to have been cast repeatedly since the night she first spied on Armand and her stepmother. Once again, it appeared she was about to observe, unseen, while others reveled in wanton excesses of the flesh. And as she watched, she experienced the now familiar pounding of blood in her ears as her heartbeat quickened, and the moist oozing sensation between her thighs. In her struggles, Camille's skirt had ridden up over her thighs to reveal white cotton briefs. Kneeling on the blanket before her, Michael seized her ankles, easily restraining her thrashing legs. "Come on, man," Carl exhorted. "What are you waiting for? Get her pants off." Michael needed no further encouragement. Swiftly transferring his hands from Camille's ankles to her hips, he grasped the top of her briefs. Before she had time to resist, he hauled them down over her thighs, removing them completely in a single movement. Camille stared in astonishment as she saw the garment tossed aside on the grass. Katrina, too, was surprised, not so much at Michael's dexterity, but at the fact that, in total contrast to Safire's dense black pubic forest, Camille's sex was completely devoid of hair. She swallowed 159

Judith hard at the enchanting prospect of the satin-smooth naked mound. But it was the absence of pubic hair, enchanting though the effect might be, that betrayed Camille. The soft protruding petals of her vulva, plainly on view, were glistening wetly in the sunlight, so that no amount of physical resistance or vocal protest on her part could conceal the basic truth: that she was intensely aroused by what was happening, and by what was about to happen to her. Working in unison, Carl and Michael quickly removed Camille's blouse and skirt so that she was entirely naked. For a moment, she ceased struggling and looked at Michael pleadingly. "Please don't do this, Michael. I beg you." "Relax," he replied, softly. "You will enjoy it. I promise." As he spoke, he reached under Camille's buttocks, lifting her lower body from the ground. Then, raising her hips higher, he parted her legs and stooped to slip his shoulders under them so that his face was lodged between her thighs. Seeing his intent, Camille tried to break free, but her efforts were useless against the strength of the two powerful men. Her body had become a human arch, rising from the blanket where Carl had pinned her shoulders to the ground with his knees, to Michael's own shoulders. "Plea… Please, nnh…no!" she stammered breathlessly. But it was clear from the smoldering light in his eyes that nothing would stop Michael now. His face was just inches from Camille's shaven sex…and closing. From her slightly elevated position, Katrina had an unobstructed view of what was happening in the clearing just below her. She looked on in fascination as Michael softly brushed Camille's inner thighs with his tongue, while at the same time lowering his head between them. Camille tensed as his mouth neared her sex, his breath hot on the moist, pouting lips. "Aaaah!" Camille's body suddenly stiffened, her back arching even more steeply as his tongue slipped between the folds of her labia. At first, his ministrations were controlled, deliberate, his tongue probing her sex with surgical precision. "No! Oh, no. Don't. Ooooh! Please…" 160

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As Michael warmed to his task, Camille seemed to surrender to the inevitable, her entreaties for him to desist turning to low moans of pleasure. Now, suddenly abandoning his restrained, tentative exploration of her vulva and clitoris, he attacked her sex like a starving man presented with a luscious ripe mango. Her face distorted in a grimace, Camille gasped like a woman in labor as he twisted his head this way and that between her flooding thighs. Alternately penetrating her depths with his tongue, then sucking her labia into his mouth, he paused periodically, withdrawing a little to lick not only her cleft, but also the shaven flesh that surrounded it. For long minutes, Carl had watched with glazed eyes, fondling and squeezing Camille's breasts in his big hands. Now, the trance seemed to break, and he stirred to life. The huge erection within his britches strained against the thin material, proclaiming the ferocity of his arousal. When he spoke, his voice was ragged and husky, with a note of urgency that bordered on irritability. "Hey, man, do you want to fuck her or eat her?" Smiling, Michael looked up, his face slick with Camille's fluid. "Both. She's delicious. But you're right, it's time she took my cock." The words prompted another albeit less strenuous fit of struggling from Camille. "No! Oh, no. Please don't let him rape me, Carl." Michael easily restrained her movements while, extricating his head from between her thighs, he lowered her down onto the blanket. Holding her knees apart so that her sex lay undefended just inches from his pulsing penis, he fixed her eyes steadily with his own. "You don't understand, do you, Camille? Carl wants this. He wants to see you being fucked by another man. By me." She rolled her eyes up at Carl, who was now holding her down on the blanket with his hands. "Carl, it's not true. You don't want him to…?" But Carl, transfixed by the prospect of Michael's cock, poised at the threshold of her gaping vulva, ignored the unfinished question. "Go on, Michael. Give it to her. Let's see if you're as good as you think you are." 161

Judith Still smiling, Michael eased his hips forward between Camille's thighs. She watched, aghast, as his rigid cock approached the entrance to her womb like an invading battering ram. Stretched taut over the blood-engorged organ, the covering skin shone like tawny satin. Camille drew a deep intake of breath when the great, polished glans nuzzled between the pleats of her sex. Slowly, he began to sink his shaft into her. "Oooh! Oh, my…Gooood!" Her exclamation was one of dismay mingled with unmistakable delight. Michael pushed her thighs back against her body, at the same time forcing them further apart, thereby opening her up wider. She could no longer help herself. Seemingly desperate to be filled by him now, yet frustrated by his slow, deliberate penetration, she kicked him hard in the small of his back with her heels, as she might a horse. Understanding the imperative, he dallied no longer. With savage force, he drove his entire length deep inside her. She bucked against the assault. "Uuh! Ye…es! Yes! Go on, Michael. Do it. Fuck me now. Fuck me!" Michael responded to her plea at once, his hips rising and falling between her parted thighs with increasing speed. Intent on ensuring that he penetrate her fully, Camille spread her thighs wider and thrust up her hips to meet the desperate onslaught. As she watched from behind the rocks, Katrina's cheeks burned fiercely, her head spinning, both from the dramatic transformation in Camille's attitude to her violation, and the deeply arousing spectacle of Michael's awesome penis ravishing the pretty mulatto with such mechanical proficiency. Although tanned, Michael was pale in comparison to Camille's dusky skin, and Katrina found the contrast strangely exciting, especially at the point where his shaft repeatedly sank into her. Instinctively responding to the prickling sensation between her thighs, Katrina reached a hand to her own oozing sex. She shuddered at the electric touch of her fingertips on her clitoris. Catching her breath, she forced herself to remove the hand again in 162

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the certain knowledge that, if she triggered an orgasm, it would not be a silent one. Rising from the blanket now, Carl was hurriedly unfastening his britches. As he pulled them down, his penis sprang free. Although perhaps not as long as Michael's, it was much thicker, and looked almost unreal, like the sculpted antiques Katrina had encountered in the chateau library, but crafted of ebony rather than ivory. Tossing his britches aside, Carl lowered himself onto the blanket again, reclining on one elbow with his thighs alongside Camille's upper arm. Gripping her hair, he turned her head toward him, brushing his gleaming black organ across her cheeks to her lips. Willingly accepting his demand, she opened her mouth wide, taking his immense girth between generous lips. Cupping his testicles in one small hand, she fondled them as she began working her mouth back and forth along his cock. After some initial awkwardness, she managed to pick up Michael's unremitting rhythm, so that he and Carl were penetrating, respectively, her upper and lower lips in perfect harmony. Both men, too, were sharing her breasts, groping and squeezing, twisting the nipples as they ravished her, so that her moans of ecstasy were punctuated with little whimpers of pain. In the course of the next fifteen minutes or so, Camille writhed and cried out in orgasm repeatedly. At length, Michael, too, signaled his own imminent release with a long, low groan. The prospect seemed to excite Carl to a frenzy. "Yes, go on, man. Let her have it. Fill her." Camille hooked her arms behind her knees, spreading her thighs as wide as she was able against Michael's pounding hips. The furious slapping of flesh on flesh accompanied by deep-throated moans and grunts suggested punishment rather than pleasure, but the trio's rapt expressions confirmed the latter beyond doubt. Suddenly, Camille's back arched from the blanket, her legs wrapping around Michael's hips, urging him deeper inside her as she joined his climax with yet another orgasm of her own. 163

Judith As if jointly linked to some hidden source of high-voltage electricity, their bodies convulsed spasmodically for what seemed a long time before the storm lashing their senses was finally spent. When it had passed, Michael eased back to sit on his heels, breathing heavily, his body, like Camille's, slick with perspiration. Camille lay back on the blanket, one arm drawn across her eyes, her breathing labored. She seemed exhausted. But, having withdrawn from her mouth so as not to choke her at the moment of her climax, Carl's obvious lust had yet to be satisfied. To Katrina, his erection seemed even thicker, more rigid, than before. She wondered vaguely if it was actually painful to him in its present swollen, pulsing state. In any event, it soon became evident that he intended no further delay in seeking his own release. "Okay, man," he growled hoarsely. "Out of the way now." Compliantly, Michael withdrew from Camille. No longer fiercely proud, his penis slipped easily from her vulva, glistening wetly. As it did so, a rivulet of his pearl-white fluid coursed from within the crinkled pink flesh at her opening to trickle down into the cleft of her buttocks. As Michael moved from between her legs, Carl eagerly replaced him. Taking hold of Camille by the hips, he flipped her over onto her front then hauled her up onto all fours, kneeling behind her. "What…what are you doing?" she murmured, her voice thickened by wine, exertion and spent passion. "What do think, honey? It's my turn to fuck you now." "Oh, please, Carl. No more. I don't think I can take any more." "Of course you can, baby. Now that Michael has filled you with his come, your cunt is going to be nice and slippery—just the way I like it." As he spoke, he gripped his stump-like cock with one hand and guided it between her upper thighs. She shivered as the swollen head forced open her cleft, spreading aside the tender flesh at the threshold. "Ooooh. Please be…" The sentence remained unfinished, aborted by her reflexive animal grunt as Carl rammed his cock fully 164

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inside her. Then, holding her steady by the hips, he withdrew again, only to slam into her once again. Repeating the action, he gradually picked up speed, his balls slapping against her thighs with each brutal forward thrust. She quickly stirred from her torpor, her eyes alternately widening, then closing in response to each successive penetration and withdrawal by Carl's unrelenting penis. Sitting on the blanket close by, Michael watched, engrossed, as his companion's monstrous black organ glided back and forth in the soft grip of Camille's accommodating vagina. The glistening pink flesh folded in on itself with each forward stroke, and sucked hungrily at his shaft on withdrawal. The process seemed to stretch Camille's vulva to the limit, and Katrina imagined that, without adequate lubrication, Carl's sheer girth would certainly render the experience difficult and painful for her. As it was, though, the young mulatto's sex, thighs and buttocks were awash and slithery with the combination of her own secretions and Michael's copious ejaculation of only a few minutes earlier. Incredibly, Michael was already erect again, a fact that didn;t escape Carl's notice even in the throes of his exertions. "Michael," he gasped, hoarsely, "Why don't you move around in front, put that in her mouth?" Katrina expected Camille to object or try to resist as Michael responded to Carl's suggestion. But no, clearly intensely aroused again—this time by Carl's deep, rhythmic probing of her depths from the rear—she appeared willing, eager, to submit. As Michael knelt upright on the blanket before her, she immediately parted her lips to take his towering erection into her mouth. But he was not quite ready. First, it seemed, he wanted to celebrate her absolute domination, to prolong and ritualize her acceptance of this ultimate act of submission. Placing his hands on either side of her head, he pressed his rampant cock upright against her face, brushing it back and forth across her cheeks, lips and closed eyelids. She offered her tongue, wetly licking the hardened flesh each time it passed across her 165

Judith mouth. Slender strings of clear fluid, partly hers, partly his, linked the tip of his straining organ to her lips. At the very moment Michael condescended to penetrate her mouth, a particularly powerful thrust from Carl pushed Camille forward, forcing Michael's entire penis fully between her lips. Michael immediately began to undulate back and forth from the hips, alternately sinking his cock as far into Camille's willing mouth as it will go, then retracting until just the head was retained between her lips. Picking up speed, his movements against her face mirrored those of Carl between her thighs. Observing breathlessly, Katrina felt a warm trickle of vaginal fluid coursing down her thighs. Her senses were inflamed. She was hot and dizzy, almost to the point of fainting. Her mouth was parched, dry—unlike her sex, which was saturated and tingling unbearably. Transfixed, she was unable to move or even turn her gaze from the compelling spectacle of the lovely mulatto's simultaneous violation by her two magnificent male companions. Abruptly, Carl cried out, as if in agony. But this was simply a vocal precursor to his release. Holding Camille by the hips like a rag doll, he bucked and ground against her buttocks with savage fury. Katrina imagined the thick hot stream surging from the eye of his penis to flood and sear Camille's womb. But her imagination was not necessary where Michael was concerned, for he, too, was again in the grip of orgasm–a fact confirmed by the liberal spillage of his ejaculation from Camille's mouth as she struggled to accommodate the deep and rapid thrusting of his cock between her lips. Suddenly, Katrina realized that, unconsciously squeezing her thighs together as she watched, she had actually brought herself to the very brink of orgasm. Feeling unable to resist any longer, she was about to surrender to the compulsion when she discovered that she, herself, was being watched. She had no idea what attracted Camille's attention, but the woman's gaze was now turned directly upon her. The maid's eyes were wide, no longer just with passion but also in surprise and—it seemed to Katrina—trepidation. But Camille could hardly cry out in alarm, even if that were her intention. The only 166

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possibility of freeing her mouth from Michael's frantically pumping cock before he was entirely spent would have been by pulling backwards away from him, but since she was still being pounded from behind by Carl, this was out of the question. Katrina reacted instinctively, turning at once and fleeing in panic back along the fissure in the rock. Fortunately, running was one of the ways she maintained her fitness level, and she had never been more thankful for the fact than at this moment. Swiftly traversing the ledge under the waterfall, she was soon rapidly descending the track down the ravine. Now, the pounding in her ears and chest had nothing whatever to do with sexuality, but, rather, an equally primitive emotion—fear. When they had slaked their lust with Camille, would she tell Carl and Michael that Katrina spied on them? Would they give chase? And if they came after her, caught her, what would they do to her? In this wild and remote place, they could easily violate her as they did Camille. Far worse, if they had a mind to, they could kill her and dump her body in the vastness of the forest to rot. These thoughts rioted in Katrina's mind as she leapt and stumbled over rocks and clumps of vegetation on her frantic descent. Motivated by fear, and fuelled by adrenaline, she reached the clearing at the bottom of the ravine in a matter of minutes. Panting from her exertions, she made for the shady bower where Sam was hitched. Except that he wasn't. The horse had gone. "Damn!" she cursed aloud, angry with herself for not fastening the reins to the tree more securely. She moved around the perimeter of the pool, peering into the forest on all sides in the hope of catching sight of the palomino. She even called his name, but there was no movement among the trees. Perhaps he had set off back to the chateau alone. Her heart sank at the possibility, but then soared again at a familiar sound from somewhere in the forest on the far side of the clearing. The distinctive high-pitched whinnying was too loud for Sam to be far away. Approaching the forest fringe, she found a break in the trees leading to a good, wide track beyond. Without hesitation, she followed it into 167

Judith the forest. She could barely believe her good fortune when, after no more than a couple of hundred yards, she found the palomino in another small clearing. He had found company. Tethered to trees at the edge of the clearing were three other horses—no doubt the mounts of Camille and her lusty consorts. But why they should be hidden away like this rather than left more conveniently back by the pool puzzled Katrina. There were two geldings and a sleek black mare, the latter of which Katrina thought she recognized as one she saw in the chateau stables the previous day. It was the mare that was now commanding Sam's exclusive attention. The nature of the stallion's interest…and intent…was manifestly apparent, not only from the way he was prancing and rearing behind the mare, but also by his enormous erection, which swung ponderously beneath his belly like an unsteady fifth limb. Knowing better than to try to call the stallion away at this critical moment, Katrina simply stood and watched as he continued his advances toward the smaller mare. The mare, wild-eyed and skittish, at first seemed determined to elude him, but being firmly tethered, she had a very limited field of movement. The outcome was a foregone conclusion. Driven by a force as old as life itself, Sam reared over the mare's hindquarters to cover her with his loins. At first, she struggled and tried to land a couple of kicks on his hind legs, but the stallion's superior strength and considerable weight easily overcame her resistance, and she quickly acquiesced. Amid a duet of snorting and whinnying, the ebullient stallion eventually located the object of his obsession, and impaled the mare with his immense organ. Having been around them most of her life, Katrina had seen horses coupling like this on countless occasions. But this time was different. This time, with the graphic images of Camille's carnal subjugation by Carl and Michael so fresh and clear in her mind, the scene before her now seemed almost like an extension of that event. This time, as she watched the now submissive mare's vigorous penetration by Sam's awesome penis, she was unable to resist the 168

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resurgence of her own arousal. The action was fast and furious, and when Sam had finally finished with the captive mare, he withdrew with a flourish, turned away from her and moved to the middle of the clearing where he stood, pawing the ground and panting noisily. Katrina's breathing, too, was labored. She called his name hoarsely. Looking up, he saw her and began to walk toward her, head lowered. Although now semi-flaccid after sexual release, the animal's organ was still huge, swaying beneath him awkwardly as he approached Katrina. She took the reins and led him to a tree with a low branch, which she used to mount him. He shook his head and reared twice from the ground. For a moment, Katrina thought he might rebel, but then, responding to the reins and the pressure of her heels in his flanks, he settled and moved forward obediently. Katrina's fear of imminent reprisal by Carl and Michael had receded. If they were going to pursue her, she reasoned, they could easily have overtaken her by now, which presumably meant that Camille hadn’t betrayed her. Of course, she had no desire to encounter the trio when they returned for their horses, and she knew she dare not tarry long, but with the prospect of imminent danger gone, her spirits rose and she felt relatively carefree again. Riding bareback along the forest track, with the warmth of the sun dappling her flesh through the canopy, she was once more deliciously aware of her nudity, a state of which she had become strangely unconscious during her terrified descent of the ravine and her subsequent search for Sam. Moreover, she could not ignore the rhythmic movement of the horse between her thighs. She urged him to the trot, and the accelerated jogging motion intensified the sweet fire that had been steadily smoldering at the heart of her sex. Her nipples stiffened in response to the jouncing of her breasts, and an insistent glow began to bloom and spread from deep within the folds of her labia, compressed as they were against the palomino's warm, muscular back. The long-suppressed orgasm exploded at the very moment horse and rider emerged from the 169

Judith forest into the sun-bright clearing. She clutched the stallion's luxuriant mane as her thigh muscles spasmed uncontrollably. Momentarily oblivious to the possibility of being overheard, she cried out, her voice echoing throughout the ravine above the sound of cascading water. In the aftermath, she simply lay, trembling, along Sam's back in the sun, her head against his soft, creamy mane. As if he recognized and understood her post-climactic torpor, the stallion remained motionless until, having at last recovered, she eased herself upright, then slipped languidly from his back. After a final refreshing dip in the pool, Katrina dressed, experiencing a pang of regret at the loss of freedom she had enjoyed in being naked in the open air. Then it was Sam's turn to lose his temporary freedom as she saddled him for the homeward journey. Climbing up into the saddle, she coaxed the horse back toward the track that led them to this idyllic place. Like her, he seemed reluctant to leave. It was only as they were leaving the clearing that Katrina noticed with alarm something she had missed on her arrival; something that would have dissuaded her from proceeding beyond this point had she seen it then. Alongside the track, partially concealed by a tall clump of ferns, a pair of empty black eye sockets seemed to stare at her accusingly from the sun-bleached skull of a goat mounted on a bamboo pole. *** Dinner that evening was again a solitary affair, with no sign of Frederique. Once again, though, the food and wine were excellent, and the service impeccable. A curious thing, though; having lost her way several times, the ride back to the chateau in the hot afternoon sun had taken much longer than the outward journey, and had left Katrina feeling desperately tired earlier in the evening. But now, she felt strangely invigorated, if a little intoxicated, and her perception of 170

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her environment and everything that was happening around her seemed unusually heightened—a phenomenon she ascribed to the luscious velvet claret from Armand Levequ's well-stocked cellars. It was in this pleasant state of euphoria that she made her way back toward her quarters along the softly-lit corridors of the silent chateau. As on the previous evening, the house seemed deserted once she had left the servants behind in the dining room. Having just passed the door to the library, she paused, recalling the explicitly erotic paintings and other objets d'art within. The thought of entering the library with the specific intent of taking a second look at that fascinatingly decadent collection both excited and embarrassed her. Had there been anybody around to see her, she would certainly have been too self-conscious to make a return visit. As it was, though… She glanced up and down the corridor for further reassurance that she was, indeed, unobserved. For a long moment she resisted the impulse, then, perhaps emboldened by the power of the wine, walked back to the ornately-carved oak door and opened it. With a palpable quickening of her heartbeat, she slipped inside, switched on the lights, then went straight to the adjoining room. In the knowledge that she was alone, that there was no one to judge her—perhaps appropriately? —as morally degenerate, she wandered around as if she were in a mundane London art gallery on a wet afternoon, minutely examining the extraordinary paintings and other works of erotica. Or was it pornography? She really wasn’t sure if there was a difference with such items as these, depicting, as they did, all manner of sexual indulgence—both "normal" and deviant— between men and women, and in some cases, animals and women. What intrigued her was their outstanding quality, the fact that their creators had imbued the works with such artistic merit and beauty as one might expect to encounter at a Christie's auction of fine art. The collection was amazing. Presumably, there was a specialized and exclusive market for such things, in which case the contents of this room must be priceless. 171

Judith Moving to the rows of shelves, she began to browse among the books again. One in particular caught her attention. Bound in handtooled leather, it bore a title in illuminated lettering: Amy's Initiation. The author's name was vaguely familiar to Katrina, and when she opened the book she realized why at once. Henry Becket, a photographer of the Edwardian era, had been renowned, not just for his artistic talent, but also because he had enjoyed royal patronage. Katrina's father, a keen photographer himself, had a number of books featuring Becket's work; including photographs of King Edward VII and other members of the then royal family. But the photographs in this book were different—very different—and revealed an aspect of Becket's character of which Katrina had previously known nothing. The first few pages were devoted to a foreword written by Becket himself to describe how the following full-page photographs came to be taken. A printed note, of much later vintage, had been carefully affixed to the last page of the foreword to provide supplementary information about the book itself. Katrina moved to an armchair near the center of the room and sat down to examine the volume in detail. With amazement and fascination, she first read the foreword and its supplement, then went on to look at the photographs, which, considering how long ago they were taken, were of remarkable quality and clarity. Besides being a talented photographer, it seemed that Becket had also been something of a libertine, a fact celebrated entirely without inhibition within these pages. According to the supplement, the work was a very rare and valuable collector's item in the world of erotic art. Although Becket originally took the photographs for his own gratification, an acute shortage of funds eventually prompted him to publish them in the form of this book, which he then sold personally to only trusted and very wealthy friends and associates. The photographs, with a little help from the foreword, told their own story. Two women, fashionably dressed in outdoor clothing of the time, were welcomed into his house by Becket himself, a stocky man with a full beard. As he explained in his foreword, Becket was able to 172

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appear in the pictures himself because he took the photographs using cameras remotely controlled by the ingenious use of concealed fishing line. The women—sisters—were both very beautiful. Bella, the elder sister, had been Becket's photographic model and lover for over a year. She was twenty-eight at the time, and had been persuaded by the charismatic Becket to entice her sixteen-year-old sister, Amy, to his house so that he could photograph and perhaps, seduce her also. Having taken their coats, Becket gave the sisters wine in the parlor. Then, using a large bedroom as a studio, he set up a camera while Bella undressed, watched from an armchair by her obviously embarrassed and discomfited sister. Using the remotely-controlled cameras, Becket photographed himself photographing the naked Bella in various poses about the room, and reclining on the big four poster bed. Although perhaps a little ample by today's standards, Bella's figure was nevertheless enchanting. Her breasts were full and ripe, her pale flesh flawless. Indeed, it seemed to Katrina she would have looked quite at home in a painting by Botticelli, but for the thick swatch of dark hair covering her pubis. As the pages turned, the women were plied with more wine by Becket, and Bella posed in increasingly explicit attitudes, eventually opening her thighs wide and parting the lips of her sex with her fingers for the cameras. An attempt by Amy to flee at this stage was forestalled by Becket, no doubt assuring her that her sister's behavior was both justifiable and acceptable in the name of art. More wine. More explicit posing by Bella, who at last persuaded Amy to join her, albeit fully clothed, on the bed. But the wine and the heady, sensual atmosphere, almost palpable from the photographs, were clearly beginning to overwhelm Amy, who in response to sustained inveigling and cajoling by Becket and her sister eventually allowed Bella to help her remove her own clothing. It was a slow process, covered by several photographs, but eventually Amy, too, was nude. In contrast to her sister, she was slender, like a wood nymph of Greek mythology. Her breasts, each surmounted by a 173

Judith secondary swollen mound of flesh around the nipple, had not yet fully reached maturity. Her hair, dark and glossy, hung almost to her waist. The hair sprouting between her thighs was not so thick as her sister's, so that her cleft was plainly visible. Katrina could understand why Becket was so intent on luring the young girl to his home. She was exquisite. Suddenly, Becket was naked also, approaching the bed with a huge erection preceding him. Amy, a look of abject terror on her face now, was reassured by kisses from her smiling sister. Becket mounted the bed, kneeling upright before the two sisters. Holding Amy's hand, in case she tried to flee again, Bella took Becket's penis in her mouth. As Amy watched her sister's lips and tongue at work on Becket's rigid cock, her expression changed, as curiosity and interest incrementally replaced anxiety. Becket's hands strayed from Bella's breasts to Amy's. Seemingly mesmerized by the prospect of his erection filling her sister's mouth, the younger sister accepted his intimate caress. In the next photograph, the trio had changed position. Bella was on all fours on the bed, her weighty breasts hanging low beneath her, while Becket was poised on his knees behind her, holding his swollen cock like a weapon at the entrance to her sex. In the following picture, the organ was half buried inside her, and in the next, completely. In the series of photographs that followed, Becket fucked his model and lover while Amy looked on, entranced, from different vantage points, her face sometimes only inches from his solid, glistening cock. Even in black and white, it was obvious that Amy's face was intensely flushed. In response to the growing slippery effusion of arousal between her thighs, Katrina shifted position in the armchair. Feeling slightly dizzy, and aware that her breathing had become rapid and shallow, she made a conscious effort to take regular deep breaths. She turned the page. The previously demure and timid Amy was now lying on her back, knees raised off the bed, thighs stretched wide. He head was 174

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supported by a pillow from which she looked down at Becket's face between her thighs, where his tongue was eagerly probing her tender young vagina. The look on her face said it all. She was ecstatic. Was

this really the first time a man had penetrated her with his tongue? Katrina wondered, her fingers trembling as she turned yet another page. Now, it was no longer Becket's tongue that penetrated Amy, but rather, inevitably, his penis. She was still on her back, her widespread thighs pulled back against the sides of her body, with some help from Bella. Becket's thighs, too, were spread, allowing the camera an unimpeded view, but for his pendulant testicles, of his stout cock, stretching apart the outer walls of Amy's vagina as he filled her. There were more photographs, but Katrina could no longer ignore the rapidly spreading warmth and the moist tingling sensation that threatened to tilt her into imminent orgasm—something she didn’t want to happen here in the library. It would be embarrassing beyond words if someone came in and caught her in the throes of a helpless climax. Rising, she closed the book and returned it to the shelf. Desperate now for the release she had voluntarily deferred, she hastened back to her quarters, every step intensifying the electriccurrent-like thrill that centered on her inflamed clitoris. *** Once inside her suite, she made for the bedroom. Casting off her clothes, she fell onto the bed. But even as her fingers sank into the hot, wet petals of her vulva, a knock sounded on the outer door. Her fingers froze. "Who…?" Her voice cracked. She cleared her throat. "Who is it?" she called out huskily. "Camille, Miss. Can I see you, please?" "Just a moment." Rising from the bed, Katrina crossed to the bathroom, hurriedly rinsing her hands. Slipping on a silk robe, she 175

Judith glanced in the bathroom mirror. A moment of panic. Was her arousal evident in her face, or from her intimate aroma, borne on the soft night air? She hoped not, but there was little she could do about it. Moving into the living room, she stood just behind the outer door. "Is it important, Camille? I mean, can't it wait until morning?" Camille's voice was low, hushed to the point that Katrina could barely hear her. "I'd rather see you now, Miss Katrina. If you don't mind." With a sigh of resignation, Katrina reached for the door, opened it. "Come in." Camille stepped inside the room. She wore a chiffon patchwork dress in bias-cut bands of assorted blue and purple hues. Short and hanging from her shoulders by slender straps, the dress left a good deal of her pale brown flesh uncovered. Her hair was tied in a ponytail. Although she wore no make-up, she still looked exceptionally attractive. "I'm sorry for disturbing you so late." "That's all right. What is it?" Camille seemed uncomfortable, unwilling to maintain eye contact with Katrina for more than a few moments at a time. "I…I know you saw me today at Halcyon Falls…with Carl and Michael." Katrina felt herself blush. For some reason, she had assumed that, to avoid embarrassment to them both, neither she nor Camille would refer to the episode, that they would simply pretend Katrina had seen nothing. But here was Camille, already wanting to talk about it. "I'm sorry, Camille. I didn't mean to spy on you. I didn't even know you were there until I almost blundered in on you. But your personal life is none of my business. I suggest we forget it ever happened." "You're very kind, Miss. But it isn't as simple as that." Katrina was puzzled. "It isn't? Why?" "If Madam SIN finds out, I will be in very serious trouble." "For being in a forbidden area?" Camille nodded. "And for what I did with Carl and Michael. Like 176

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most women on the island, I am forbidden by my contract from having…sexual relations with anyone. Unless of course I'm ordered to by someone with Monsieur Levequ's authority." "I see. Well, you don't have to worry about me. I won't tell anyone. I mean, I shouldn't have been there either, although I didn't know it at the time." "But you may have to tell. Perhaps soon." "What do you mean?" Camille's gaze dropped to the floor. "I can't—daren't—say any more. Please don't ask me to. You just…well, you may have to tell, that's all." "All right. I don't pretend to understand, but I won't press you." "Thank you. There's something else. I took time off this afternoon to meet Carl…and Michael. I got one of the other maids to cover for me in case you needed anything, but I should have asked your permission first." "Well, I'm certainly not going to make a fuss about that. Besides, I wasn't even here, remember. But you still haven't explained why you've come to see me." "I've come to be punished." "What?" "I want you to punish me for what I did today." Katrina raised a hand to her brow in bewilderment. "Me? Punish you? Why? Why on earth would I do that? Why would you want me to?" For the first time since she entered the room, Camille forced a faint, nervous smile. "I know it sounds strange. Because I have been assigned to you as your personal maid, you have the right to punish me if I do wrong. If Madam SIN finds out about what happened today, she will either revoke my contract or punish me otherwise. But if I have already been punished by you, that will be taken into consideration and I may be excused from further punishment, or at least be punished less severely. The point is…" Camille took a deep breath. "…punishment by Ming would be far worse than any you are likely to inflict." 177

Judith "Ming?" "You'll meet her soon enough. When Madam SIN wants someone punished, she usually leaves it to Ming, her Dark Angel, as she calls her." Camille shuddered. "I don't want that. Please do as I ask." "But I…" "Please." The entreaty was underscored by the expression in Camille's liquid brown eyes. Disconcerted, Katrina was unsure how to react. "Camille, I don't know what to say. I can't just—" Camille fixed Katrina with her gaze. "Please, you must punish me. Tonight. Now." The pretty mulatto seemed determined. Katrina sighed heavily. "What do you want me to do?" "Thank you." Camille's gratitude was evident, both in her voice and in her eyes. But Katrina thought she detected something else in the latter also, a faint enigmatic gleam she found vaguely disturbing. "Can we use your bedroom?" "I…Yes, I suppose so," Katrina responded, wondering precisely what Camille had in mind. She followed the maid into the bedroom and watched, perplexed, as she moved a low upholstered stool from its place in front of the dressing table, and placed it in an open area at the foot of the bed. Returning to the dressing table, Camille then picked up an ebony hairbrush, walked back to Katrina and offered it to her. "What's this for?" Katrina asked, although suspecting she already knew the answer. "To punish me with. Take it." Katrina made as if to turn away, but Camille checked the movement with a hand on her arm. "You must do this for me. Take it, please." Reluctantly, Katrina took the hairbrush from Camille. It was big and heavy, flat and oval in shape. Katrina felt awkward, selfconscious, and yet a strange thrill of suspense and speculation as to what exactly was about to happen burgeoned inside her also. She 178

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watched, slightly breathless, as Camille crossed her arms and took hold of the hem of her dress. "Camille! What are you doing?" The question was rhetorical. Raising her arms, Camille pulled the dress over her head and discarded it. Apart from a pair of leather high-heeled sandals, she was now totally naked. For a moment, Katrina was utterly powerless to prevent her gaze fixing upon the maid's depilated mound with its frontal slit. It was only when Camille spoke again that she managed, with considerable effort, to raise her eyes to meet the other woman's. "Miss Katrina. You understand, this isn't to be just a token gesture. You must beat me properly, leave the marks on my behind as proof that I really have been punished." Saying this, Camille turned her back on Katrina and walked to the stool. Tentacles of excitement slithered from Katrina's loins up into her belly as Camille bent from the waist to grip the stool on either side with her hands. Her head and shoulders were lower than her waist in this position, so that her ponytail hung toward the floor over her shoulder. She placed her feet apart, exposing the rearmost aspect of her sex between her open thighs—a swelling of plump, satin-smooth flesh, cleft through the middle like a sliced ripe peach. Her firmly rounded buttocks were parted just enough to reveal the darkly puckered orifice at their center. She turned to look over her shoulder at Katrina, who was simply staring, mesmerized by the sight she presented. "I'm ready." "Oh." Katrina wrested free of the momentary trance. "Camille, are you sure you really want me to…?" "I'm sure. But please hurry up and begin, before I lose my nerve." Blood thumping in her temples, her hands trembling slightly at the thought of what she was about to do, Katrina approached Camille from the rear, stopping just behind, on her left. Slowly, she raised her right arm over Camille's body…and stopped, the ebony hairbrush in her hand suspended like some bird of prey before the stoop. Camille watched over her shoulder. 179

Judith "Go on. Do it!" The hairbrush descended, making contact with Camille's bottom with a loud slap. Camille flinched, but said, "Harder." Katrina raised her arm again, this time bringing the brush down with more force. Camille gasped. "Better. But still not hard enough." Gaining confidence from Camille's encouragement, Katrina laid a much harder blow across the maid's buttocks. "Oh! Ouch! Now that hurt." Her arm already poised for the next blow, Katrina checked the movement. "Oh, I'm sorry, Camille." Once again, Camille turned her head to look up at Katrina, the expression in her eyes now provocative, confrontational. "How many times do I have to explain? It's supposed to hurt. What's the matter, doesn't the refined little rich bitch have any guts? Didn't they teach you anything at finishing school? The maid's sudden uncharacteristic insolence momentarily stunned Katrina. In a different situation, at another time, when Katrina's emotions were not in turmoil from an excess of wine and sensual arousal, she might have ignored the taunt. At worst, her response would have been calmly considered, rational. But not in her present impassioned state. The maid's words had touched a nerve, and Katrina's reaction was both immediate and entirely reflexive. "Oh. Refined little rich bitch, is it?" Katrina's face suddenly flushed with anger, her eyes glinting dangerously. "And you think I don't have any guts. Well, let's just see, shall we." This time, she brought down her arm with all the force she could muster. The slap of ebony on flesh resounded about the room. "Oow!" Like the blow on her behind, Camille's cry of anguish was unrestrained. But even before the pain had time to fully spread through the surrounding flesh, Katrina delivered a second, equally violent, blow. Camille squealed even louder, and Katrina's mouth twitched slightly at the corners with just the suggestion of a gratified 180

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smile. But she was still seething from Camille's reckless remark, and now began to rain blow after stinging blow on the maid's defenseless bottom. Although slender in build, she was fit and strong for a woman, and Camille's buttocks quickly darkened in response to the beating, the flesh puffing into broad welts. After several minutes, which, judging by her screams, must have seemed much longer to Camille, the maid's body began to visibly wilt under Katrina's relentless assault. At last, clearly unable or unwilling to take any more, she slumped forward onto the stool, her knees buckling to the floor. "No more," she cried, tearfully. "Oh, please, no more. I'm on fire." "Oh, surely not," Katrina retorted, her breathing heavy from the effort of beating the hapless maid. "How could a refined little rich bitch like me hurt you so much?" Even as she spoke, she was conscious that her demeanor—and her behavior—was dramatically at odds with what she had always considered to be her character. With a growing sense of unease, she began to realize that she actually enjoyed subjecting Camille to humiliation and pain. Camille turned to look up at her from the stool, eyes glistening with tears. "I… I'm sorry," she sobbed. "I didn't mean what I said. Truly I didn't. I just wanted to make you angry so that you would punish me." "It looks like you succeeded," Katrina replied, looking down at the ebony hairbrush in her hand with something like bewilderment, as if she were surprised to see it there. Camille managed a weak, rueful smile. "Only too well," she replied, between sobs. "I wouldn't have thought you had such a temper." "I don't, usually. I don't know what came over me, Camille. I'm sorry." "No," Camille sniffed, rising gingerly from the stool. "Don't apologize. I'm the one in the wrong, and I deserved to be punished. Not just for what happened at the falls, but for what I said to you." 181

Judith She pushed out her behind and looked down over her shoulder, straining to glimpse the visible manifestation of Katrina's efforts, while at the same time cautiously exploring the tender flesh with the fingers of her right hand. "It's just that I… Ouch! I would never have guessed that you had it in you to be so tough, so…merciless." Katrina averted her eyes from Camille's penetrating gaze. "Neither did I." "Thank you." Katrina looked back at Camille again, a query in her eyes. "For my punishment," Camille explained. Katrina could think of nothing to say. "Will you do one more thing for me?" "I don't want to hurt you any more." Camille smiled. "It might at first, a little...but then it will help relieve the pain." She walked into the bathroom, returning a moment later with a small green jar, which Katrina recognized as one from the bathroom cabinet. Unscrewing the lid, Camille handed the jar to Katrina. "This lotion contains witch hazel and herbs to treat bruising and inflammation of the flesh. Would you put some on for me." Katrina took the jar. "Surely." "May I lie on your bed?" "Yes, of course." Camille took two of Katrina's pillows and placed them one on top of the other in the center of the big bed. Then she clambered onto the bed and lay face down, with the pillows under her hips so that her buttocks were thrust upwards. Katrina was about to sit on the bed when Camille said, "You might want to take off your robe so that you don't get the lotion all over it." Was the rationale behind the suggestion genuine, Katrina wondered, or was Camille simply offering her an excuse to be naked like her? By now, though, it didn’t really matter; the wine, Becket's photographs and this intimate rendezvous with her maid had proved to be powerful sensual catalysts. Feeling uncharacteristically uninhibited, Katrina welcomed the opportunity to expose her own 182

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body to Camille. "You're right." Pulling apart the bow in her belt, she shrugged each shoulder in turn, permitting the silk robe to slip to the floor. She enjoyed Camille's look of appreciation. "You have a lovely figure, Miss." Sitting on the bed alongside Camille, Katrina laughed lightly. Aren't we being a little formal under the circumstances? Why don't you call me Katrina?" "All right. If you don't mind. But only when there's no one else around to hear. Otherwise I'd be punished again for being disrespectful, and… Aaaah." The aspirated exclamation was Camille's response to the touch of Katrina's fingers as she applied the lotion to her buttocks. "Sorry, but if this stuff is going to work, I have to rub it in." Katrina felt a stab of guilt as she applied the lotion over the angry welts that covered Camille's buttocks. Tomorrow, she would be bruised—ample evidence of the punishment she intended to use in mitigation if her misdeeds should be discovered by Madam SIN. "I know. It's a strange feeling—like fire and ice at the same time. It hurts, but it's also…mmmhh…nice." Camille wriggled her bottom under Katrina's massaging fingers, parting her thighs a little to offer Katrina another, closer, view of her smooth, hairless vulva. Katrina spread the lotion farther, occasionally 'accidentally' allowing her fingertips to brush lightly against the mound of Camille's sex and to slip just over the edge of the cleft between her buttocks. Each time, Camille gasped, her body tensing. Emboldened by the other woman's reactions, Katrina grew more audacious in her caresses, until Camille was overtly panting and wriggling almost uncontrollably. "Oh, Katrina," she gasped, hoarsely. "Please don't tease me any longer. I want your fingers in my cunt." Katrina needed no further encouragement. "Oooooh!" Camille thrust her bottom higher into the air as Katrina plunged the middle finger of her right hand as deep as it would go 183

Judith between the moist inner lips of her sex. Impaled on Katrina's finger, she squirmed like a hooked fish. Gasping and moaning she pressed back hard onto Katrina's probing finger, as if trying to coax the entire hand inside her. Suddenly, she rolled off the pillows onto her back, raising her knees and spreading her thighs wide. "Katrina, my clit. Rub my clit." Katrina scrambled onto her knees, sitting back on her calves so that she could lean over Camille's lower belly and thighs. Camille groaned as Katrina inserted her index finger into her sex alongside the middle finger. Then using, the fingers of her left hand, she parted the outer labia at the frontal area of Camille's sex to expose the swollen nub of glistening flesh. "Aaaah!" Camille flinched at the touch of Katrina's fingers on her clitoris. With a steady, insistent rhythm, Katrina began to rotate her fingertips over the sensitive little mound, provoking the beginning of a small, pitiful wail from Camille. As her fingers gradually picked up speed, so the unbroken wail intensified, curiously modulating in pitch. Indicative, as it was, that Camille had totally surrendered to the sensual demands of her body, Katrina found the sound very arousing. Very soon it reached a crescendo and Camille's limbs stiffened as her body was wracked by a shattering climax. When, at last, she slumped limply on the surface of the bed, the wail subsided to frail, soft whimpering. Lying beside her and resting her head on a pillow, Katrina took Camille into her arms in a long embrace, gently stroking her hair and face as the maid recovered from her orgasm. In contrast to Camille, whose breathing was now even, relaxed, Katrina was still in a state of intense arousal. Although she did not begrudge the maid her pleasure and fulfillment, she did envy her. The evening's events had fired her senses to increasingly intense levels of desire, and her loins were aflame with unspent passion, a craving that bordered upon pain. She decided that, as soon as Camille fell asleep, which seemed an imminent probability, she would slip into the bathroom and take care 184

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of her own desperate needs. Self-masturbation was not the release she would have chosen, but she hadn’t the heart to disturb Camille in her repose. But it was not to be. After only a few minutes, Camille began to stir, her hand slowly moving up over Katrina's hip, along her stomach to her breasts. Nuzzling her head against Katrina's shoulder, she murmured, "Thank you." Before Katrina could think of a response, Camille began to caress and fondle her breasts. Her nipples tingled and stiffened in immediate response, and the ache in her belly intensified. Camille moved against her, rising on one elbow. Now, her face was above Katrina's, moving closer, her breath sweet and moist. Defensively, Katrina closed her eyes. Camille kissed her, softly at first, then more fiercely, her tongue forcing Katrina's lips apart to explore her mouth. Blood roared like a cataract in Katrina's ears as she responded to the fervent probing of Camille's busy tongue. Her mind whirled, and she began to fear that if it lasted a moment longer she might die from this blissful, soul-searching kiss. But, abruptly, Camille's lips were gone, leaving her breathless and giddy. "Oh, Camille." Those same dark lips had descended upon Katrina's nipples, taking each in turn to suck them into Camille's mouth so that she could gently bite them. Opening her eyes again, Katrina watched the mulatto, dark against her own honey-colored flesh. Sucking and kissing Katrina's swollen nipples, Camille returned her gaze with a mischievous smile. "Wha—what is it, Camille?" Katrina's managed to ask, breathlessly. "Why are you smiling?" Releasing the nipple from between her lips, Camille raised her head slightly. Holding Katrina with her gaze, she placed a hand between the twin mounds of Katrina's breasts. Katrina gasped. Camille was holding the carved ivory penis from the library. "Where did you…?" "Under the pillow. I discovered it this morning when I made your 185

Judith bed. Did you use this on yourself last night?" "I… No, of course not. I just…just…" Camille laughed lightly. "Don't be embarrassed. I understand." But ironically, given their present situation, Katrina was embarrassed. She turned her head aside, avoiding Camille's penetrating gaze. "Would you like me to fuck you with it now?" Katrina snapped back her head to meet Camille's eyes again, to see if she was mocking her. But the smile had gone, and Katrina recognized instead the now familiar animal light in her eyes. "All you have to do is ask me." "Ask you?" "Yes. Ask me." "Do you know how I feel, right now? What's going on inside me?" "I think so." "Then why can't you just…?" "I want to hear you ask." "Beg, you mean. You want to humiliate me. Revenge, because I beat you so hard." "I'm not sure. Perhaps. But a little humiliation won't do you any harm. Later, you'll be Mistress again, and I'll be the maid—yours to treat in any way you like. Surely you can take a moment out to be honest with yourself…and me." As she spoke, Camille maneuvered the tip of the ivory penis over and around Katrina's breasts and nipples, tracing an intricate invisible design on the flesh. Like a snake transfixed by the charmer's flute, Katrina followed its progress with her eyes. "Besides," Camille continued. "You might find it adds to the pleasure. I really do want to give you pleasure, you know, Katrina. I'd just like you to ask me. I want to hear you say the words." "What do you want me to say?" Camille pushed herself up from the bed, moving down along Katrina's body to kneel by her thigh. With surgical deliberation, she laid the ivory cock on Katrina's belly, just above her mound. She met 186

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with no resistance when she inserted her hands between Katrina's legs, coaxing them apart and bending them at the knee. Then, sliding her palms up along Katrina's inner thighs, her fingers slipped into the golden forest of her pubic hair. Katrina started at her touch. Camille's fingers converged on Katrina's sex, gently easing the flesh apart. "Oooh, Camille." "My, you have a beautiful cunt, Katrina. The lips are soft and full and pink. A lovely shade of pink." So saying, Camille slipped a finger between the slick folds of flesh, sliding it gently back and forth along the tender furrow. "You are very wet, Katrina. And you smell…delicious." Picking up the ivory penis with her free hand, Camille flourished it ostentatiously before Katrina's eyes, then placed it against her sex, softly nuzzling the tip between the labia. Katrina arched her back in response. "Oh, Camille. Oh, please." "Yes, Miss? What can I do for you?" Camille teased, clearly enjoying the situation. "You know. Please." Katrina's voice low, husky with desire. "I'm sorry, Miss. I'm only a simple maid. I'm afraid you'll have to give me precise instructions." Katrina's hips writhed involuntarily as Camille slowly rotated the tip of the ivory penis around the slippery brink of her opening. Unable to hold out any longer, Katrina at last capitulated. "All right, all right. I'll say it." Conscious that Camille's eyes were fixed upon her, she steadfastly avoided them as she said, "Fuck me with it. Please." Camille slipped the tip of the penis into Katrina's vulva. "With “it”? What do you mean by “it”? You really will have to be more exact, Miss." Katrina squirmed as Camille moved just the first ivory inch slowly back and forth inside her. "Oh, that…prick. The ivory cock. Fuck me with it, Camille. Please, Camille, you're driving me crazy." "With pleasure." Camille thrust the penis deep into Katrina's eager sex. 187

Judith "Oh, my! Oh, yes, yes!" Replicating the action of a real male organ during sex, Camille began to penetrate Katrina repeatedly, at first with long easy strokes, then gradually increasing the pace. By now Katrina had broken out in a sweat, her muscles tensing visibly in response to Camille's sustained efforts. "Oh, Camille. I'm nearly there. I'm going to come soon. Please don't stop." "I won't stop." As she replied, Camille lowered her head between Katrina's thighs to place her lips, in that most intimate of kisses, upon the moist, pungent flesh of her vulva. Camille's tongue alighted, flickering, on her clitoris, pitching her into long-awaited orgasm. Katrina cried out, squirming, groaning, begging but not wanting her to stop. But Camille did not let up. Maintaining her insistent thrusting with the ivory penis, and lapping at Katrina's clitoris with her tongue, she drove her on to the very last second of her climax, to the point when she collapsed, exhausted and thoroughly spent.

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Chapter Seven

K

atrina awoke with the sun's first rays streaming onto her naked body through the French windows. She was lying uncovered on the bed in what seemed like exactly the position Camille had left her when she returned to her own quarters just after midnight. The extraordinary events of the previous day had exhausted her and the sleep that followed had temporarily obliterated her entire existence. But now she felt refreshed, revitalized. Pushing herself up into a sitting position, she stretched cat-like in the warmth of the sun. As she swung her legs off the bed to place her feet on the floor, she paused, catching sight of her reflection in the long dressing mirror against the wall. Prior to Armand Levequ's intervention in her destiny, she had never seriously assessed her physical appearance—at least, not in a dispassionate, analytical way. She was aware, of course, that men seemed to find her attractive, but she had certainly not thought of herself as beautiful, perhaps because she had been raised by a stepmother who was as close to physical perfection as any woman she had ever known. Now, though, as she looked in the mirror, she found herself making a conscious self-appraisal in comparison with the women— all indisputably beautiful in their own distinctive ways—who had entered her life since she left Rylands How long ago was that; a week? longer?—she had lost track of the days. During that time she had been told more than once that she, herself, was beautiful, and now for the first time in her life, she began 189

Judith to realize that it was so. The unexpected discovery evoked an odd emotional reaction; something akin, she imagined, to learning that she had inherited a fortune from the death of an unknown distant relative. Although her natural mother had been a very attractive woman, Katrina had not taken after her. Instead, in that paradoxical way that nature sometimes has of plagiarizing itself, she had somehow grown to look more like Marguerite through puberty and beyond, so that people who did not know the truth frequently remarked on the 'family likeness'. The fact that unlike Marguerite, she was blonde was invariably put down incorrectly to cosmetic coloring. Her facial bone structure was classic: high cheekbones, a proportionate, straight nose and a fine, tapering jaw-line. She had what was usually described as a 'generous' mouth, with full lips that were quick to reflect her sense of humor in a ready smile, or, more rarely, express displeasure—both to sometimes devastating effect. But undoubtedly her most remarkable feature was her pale, glacial blue eyes; eyes that left many who encountered her with the uncomfortable impression that she could penetrate their thoughts—an illusion, of course, but she was aware of the phenomenon, and had used it to her advantage on occasion. Slim but shapely, with long slender limbs, she had inherited genes that endowed her with a near perfect body which she maintained in optimum condition, not from vanity, but through her love of sport and pursuit of physical fitness. Beneath the feminine contours, the underlying muscle tone was firm from running, squash and regular workouts in the gym. Her breasts were high, largish, but firm enough to have prompted one former lover to inquire if they contained implants—they did not. The nipples, prominent even in repose, were a substantially darker shade of honey than the rest of her flesh, and tinted with just a blush of pink. Her hips flared from a narrow waist to taut, rounded buttocks—a physical feature that invariably figured among the first noticed by male admirers. It was quite remarkable, she thought as she looked at her 190

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reflection, that she had gone through life without recognizing, until this moment, the fact that she was indeed beautiful. She found the revelation vaguely embarrassing, but intriguing…and…yes, she had to admit it, satisfying. Still sitting on the edge of the bed, she slowly parted her knees, allowing the mirror to reflect the luxuriant thatch of flaxen hair, through which the pink extremities of her outer labia peeped. Spreading her thighs, she reached between them with outstretched fingers to take hold of the tender petals of flesh, gently peeling them apart to open up the flower of her sex. At the heart, clearly visible in the mirror among the inner folds, lay the tiny dark aperture that was the entrance to her womb. Moving her index fingers up into the shallow valley above, she located her clitoris, easing back the hood with her fingertips. The shiny little nub slipped out into the open, like a small, glistening pink snail from its shell. Remembering what both Safire and Camille had told her, she smiled dreamily. "It's true. I really do have a beautiful…cunt." She savored the word, rolling it around in her mouth, tasting it. Her gaze switched slightly to focus upon something lying on the dressing table, just to one side of the mirror. The sight of the ebony hairbrush evoked instant recollection of the previous evening's events: vivid mental imagery of Camille bending naked over the stool, her sex bared between open thighs as she submitted to punishment at Katrina's hands. The thought set free a butterfly thrill between Katrina's own thighs. The flesh under her fingertips was suddenly wet. A warm tingle was growing in her clitoris. She touched it lightly, and shuddered at the electric shock response. Moving her buttocks to the very edge of the bed, she watched the woman in the mirror as if she were a stranger—perhaps she was—while slowly, deliberately, inserting the middle finger of her left hand deep into her vulva. For a moment, she did not move, merely breathed deeply, trying to control the powerful forces at play within her. Then, with the middle and index fingers of her left hand, she began to massage her clitoris, slowly, gently, at first, but then quickly picking up the pace. Soon her 191

Judith breathing became rapid, shallow. She was right on the edge of the bed, her thighs and calves taut, her weight partially supported on the balls of her feet. Biting her lower lip, she stared as the woman in the mirror neared the brink, one finger thrust deep inside her, others strumming wildly at her clitoris. "Aaahh." The orgasm consumed her in seemingly endless waves. Only when her right calf threatened to cramp from the unbearable tension did it begin to recede. She fell back onto the bed, breasts heaving, limbs twitching. Normality gradually returned to her senses, but she drifted back into slumber before the process was complete. Although Katrina had no way of knowing it, nearly twenty minutes passed before she stirred again. She lay still for a while until fully awake, then resumed her earlier position, sitting on the edge of the bed. Looking at herself in the mirror again, she stretched and smiled self-consciously. "Katrina, my girl. You are definitely becoming a nympho." Although her uniquely changed circumstances seemed to have enabled her to make light of the fact on a superficial level, she remained nevertheless conscious that her growing preoccupation with sex, her acceptance of the various deviant sexual practices into which she had been recently initiated, were uncharacteristic—at least compared to the pre-Levequ Katrina Mandell. She had liked sex well enough before, of course, but her attitude to making love had been relatively conventional. In fact, during the periods when there was no man in her life, she had barely missed the sex at all, and had masturbated only infrequently. Now, it appeared all that had changed. It seemed that she was acquiring new and greater appetites daily, that she was evolving with each new, bizarre experience to become...what? That was the question that haunted her when she thought about it consciously. But since she had little control over her immediate future, perhaps it was best not to think about it at all. What was it Frederique had said? —Go with the flow. When she had showered and dressed, she made her way to the dining room. Although sunny, it was not yet hot, and a breakfast table 192

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had been laid on the balcony, where she was pleased to find Frederique. "Katrina, good morning. Please join me." "Good morning, Frederique." Katrina took a seat opposite, noticing as she did so that a sailing ship—not the Aphrodite—was lying alongside the quay in the distance below. "I take it Madam SIN has arrived." "Mm?" Frederique turned to follow Katrina's gaze down toward the bay. "Ah, yes. That is the Bacchus, Aphrodite's sister ship. Madam SIN returned early this morning. You will meet her soon. You have an interview with her later." "An interview? What does that entail?" Frederique averted her eyes from Katrina as she answered, "Oh, it's just...another formality. You will be...assessed, asked some questions. Don't worry about it. Just remember to be respectful, compliant. Try not to appear resentful or reluctant to do whatever is asked of you. You understand?" Suddenly, Katrina felt very nervous. "I... I'm not sure I do. Will you be there?" "Yes, along with some other people, but merely as an observer. Madam SIN will conduct the interview." "Who will the others...?" Raising a finger to her lips, Frederique cut Katrina off. "Shh. I can't tell you any more. Just remember what I've said." One of the black maids approached the table. "What would you like this morning, Miss?" she asked Katrina. Katrina ordered cereal and toast, but the mysterious news about the 'interview' had banished her appetite. Throughout breakfast, she and Frederique somehow managed to make small talk about Chateau Levequ and the island, but the conversation seemed strained, an inconsequential if polite convention, and Katrina was glad when Frederique eventually excused herself and left. Having eaten almost nothing, she returned to her room from where, Frederique had informed her, she would taken to meet Madam SIN at eleven-thirty. 193

Judith Since her impending interview with Madam SIN sounded that it might be a rather formal occasion, she selected from her extensive wardrobe a charcoal gray pin-striped business suit by Armani, which she wore over a white, high-collared blouse. A pair of black Bruno Maggli shoes with small gold buckles completed her outfit, complementing the clothes perfectly. Looking in the mirror, she was gratified to see the image of a woman who might easily have been a company director, ready for the cut and thrust of the boardroom. The illusion gave her some small measure of much-needed selfconfidence. She was ready long before she needed to be, and had been sitting out on the balcony waiting for nearly twenty minutes before a knock sounded on the door of her suite. She rose and walked back indoors, calling, "Come in, it's not locked." The door swung inward to admit Camille. "Your interview with Madam SIN, Miss." The maid's smile struck Katrina as uncharacteristically demure in the context of the previous evening's adventure. She had been dreading the moment she next encountered Camille, knowing for sure what her response would be. As expected, she felt her cheeks flush hotly. "Oh, hello Camille. I...uhm... Yes, I'm ready...I think." She felt awkward, embarrassed in the maid's presence. Camille must have sensed her discomfiture, because she moved up close and touched her arm gently. "It's all right, Katrina. Really. I deserved to be punished. You only did what I asked of you." "Yes, but..." "What we did afterwards...well, that's our secret. There's no need to feel uncomfortable about it." Katrina returned Camille's smile nervously. "No. Of course not. Thank you, Camille. Shall we go, then?" "I'm afraid you'll have to change first?" "Change? Change clothes, you mean?" Camille nodded, handing Katrina what looked like a piece of 194

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folded sacking. Puzzled, Katrina took the material from her and shook it open. It was a very crudely fashioned shift made of coarse sackcloth. "I'm to wear this?" she asked incredulously. "Yes," Camille replied, averting her eyes as if she found the disclosure embarrassing. "But it's awful." "I know. I'm sorry, but my instructions are very precise. You are to wear this. Nothing else." "What, no underwear, you mean?" Camille shook her head. "No underwear, no shoes. Not even make-up." "But why? What's the purpose of this? I don't understand." "I'm sorry, Katrina. I can't tell you any more. Can I help you change?" Katrina sighed. She clearly had no choice in the matter. "No, it's all right, Camille. It will only take me a moment." Dropping the shift onto a chair, Katrina went into the bathroom and washed off the make-up she had so painstaking applied less than half an hour earlier. When she returned, she was already unfastening her blouse. So preoccupied was she with anxiety at what awaited her in Madam SIN's quarters that she didn't even notice the maid's admiring gaze as she stripped off her clothes. When she was done, she slipped the sackcloth shift on over her head and looked in the mirror again, this time with horror. "Oh, my God!" The hem of the makeshift garment hovered around mid-thigh level and gave her the appearance of a destitute, if winsome, medieval peasant girl. "Are you ready?" Katrina sighed heavily. "I suppose so." *** As she accompanied the maid along the now-familiar route to 195

Judith Madam SIN's suite, Katrina was acutely conscious of the inadequacy of the simple shift as an article of clothing. The fact that it provided essential if scant cover for her otherwise naked body seemed to emphasize rather than alleviate the powerful sensations of insecurity and indecency she was experiencing. Moreover, the coarse sackcloth chafed against her nipples as she walked—a sensation she found mildly uncomfortable, yet, despite her anxiety, irritatingly arousing. When they arrived at Madam SIN's door, Camille knocked. "Come in." The indistinct female voice beyond the stout oak door was unfamiliar to Katrina. She followed Camille into the room. "Ah, Katrina Mandell. We meet at last." The speaker was a woman, Eurasian, from her appearance. Katrina thought that she was probably in her mid-to late forties, but it was difficult to be sure, because she was one of those rare and fortunate women who seemed to age without the usual degradation that accompanies the process. There was no sagging flesh, no wrinkles, and her eyes were bright, vibrant and alert. Sitting behind the antique Chinese writing desk, she fixed Katrina with a deeply interested gaze, as if she were assessing a valuable work of art she had ordered unseen. "Madam SIN?" Katrina asked, diffidently. The woman smiled. "Yes, I am Christina SIN." She was quite stunning. Her eyes, although oriental in their almond shape and upward sweep, were the color of amber; not the translucent variety, but the tawny, opaque kind that looks as if it should be warm to the touch. They complemented perfectly the light cinnamon hue of her flawless skin. Her hair, too, was remarkable. Neither quite auburn nor oatmeal, but somewhere between the two, it hung forward, long and straight over one shoulder. With the exception of her eyes, her facial features were otherwise European, and it appeared that, whatever the racial origins of her parents, she had inherited the finest of each. There was a sort of sleekness about the woman, which, together with her distinctive coloring, evoked the image in Katrina's mind of a beautiful tiger. 196

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"Have you settled in, my dear?" Madam SIN asked, rising from her chair. She walked around to the front of the desk, where she sat on its edge, one foot remaining on the floor as she continued to regard Katrina with those penetrating amber eyes. Not quite so tall as Katrina, she was slim, although it was difficult to tell whether heredity and advancing years had been as kind to her figure as they had been otherwise, because she wore a thigh-length beige caftan over matching leggings. Her feet were clad in expensive-looking tan leather sandals. If Katrina had been asked to describe the woman, the words 'elegant' and 'class' would have had to feature somewhere in her response; 'beautiful' alone was simply inadequate. "Thank you, yes," Katrina replied, only now really noticing the others in the room. Frederique was standing by the open French windows, while from one of the armchairs a man in a white suit and a pale blue silk cravat was regarding her even more intently than Madam SIN. With something of a shock, she recognized him at once. Although she had never met him, she had seen his photographs often enough in the press, where he had gained a measure of notoriety previously unequalled in his profession. Until his disappearance without trace some five years earlier, Vladimir Romanoff had been an eminent, if controversial, Hollywood film producer and director. The orphaned descendant of White Russian émigré grandparents who had fled to America to escape the Bolshevik revolution, he claimed to be distantly related to the former Czar himself. Whether or not there was any foundation for that claim, his formative years had been spent in poverty and deprivation in New York's Lower East Side. After leaving the orphanage, he had worked nights at a dry cleaning company to fund his further education and learn the skills of his chosen profession at drama school. Thereafter, he moved to Hollywood, where he served a patchwork apprenticeship in a variety of menial roles in the movie industry, while at the same time writing and trying to sell his own scripts. His break came when he managed to convince a producer whose fortunes were on the wane that, not only was he talented and his scripts original, but that 197

Judith he was also more than capable of directing his own work. His first film had met with immediate acclaim from the critics. More movies followed, and he quickly established a reputation as a brilliant and innovative writer/director, and, later, producer. The secret of Romanoff's success was his ability to simultaneously appeal to both intellectual and popular tastes by making films that were, as one critic put it, 'cerebral, yet sensual'. Although the cognoscenti regarded his work as the film industry's revolutionary equivalent of French impressionist art, the films invariably contained liberal helpings of nudity and sexuality. This fact, together with his own notorious and reportedly voracious sexual appetite, led inevitably to the growing controversy that surrounded the man. Indeed, Katrina recalled, it had been rumored that sex with Romanoff was an absolute prerequisite to actresses being cast in his films. Accounts of his sexual excesses had abounded, prompting one journalist to dub him, 'Vlad the Impaler'—an epithet inspired by the medieval Transylvanian prince who impaled his enemies on wooden stakes, though in Romanoff's case, for a different and obvious reason. Even had Katrina not been in the acting profession herself, it is almost certain that she would have known all this anyway, because at the height of his career, Vladimir Romanoff briefly made world headlines when he seduced the fifteen-year-old daughter of the very producer who had given him his first break. Though a willing and reportedly eager participant, the girl's age rendered him guilty of statutory rape under American law. After being arrested and charged, he made a preliminary appearance at court before being granted bail to await trial. That was when he had disappeared, apparently preferring to abandon everything he had worked for as an alternative to imprisonment, which, it seemed generally accepted, would have been the certain outcome of his conviction. Although still sought by the American authorities, his whereabouts had since remained a mystery. No matter how unlikely and illogical it might seem to Katrina that the man in the white suit who was now regarding her with such 198

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intensity could be the same Vladimir Romanoff, there was no doubt in her mind. Despite the passage of time, he looked little changed since she had last seen his image on the television screen—the same gaunt facial structure, swarthy complexion and dark, brooding eyes…and the distinctive crescent-shaped scar on his left temple. He was by no means handsome, but now that she saw him in the flesh, there was something compulsive, mesmeric about his presence that enabled her at least to partially understand the fascination he had apparently held for numerous beautiful women. "My apologies for being late, Christina. My horse lost a shoe." Katrina's attention was diverted from Romanoff by the speaker, who had just entered the room behind her. She turned and saw a slim woman of about thirty-five, dressed in black riding habit— jacket, culottes and boots. She looked Chinese, but her complexion was remarkably pale, reminding Katrina of the fine antique porcelain that sometimes graced the dinner table at Rylands. The woman's blood-red lipstick struck a dramatic contrast. Blue-black and glossy, her hair was cut to form a straight fringe across her forehead and to frame her face squarely on either side. She looked appraisingly at Katrina. Although predictably she was very attractive, her expression was disdainful, her gaze cold and intimidating. Recalling what Camille had told her, Katrina knew instinctively who this woman was. "That's all right, Ming," Madam SIN replied, providing confirmation. "I haven't begun yet." Ming nodded, almost curtly, then crossed the room to sit in an armchair on Madam SIN's left. Turning her attention back to Katrina, Madam SIN said, "Now we are all here, let me introduce you to everybody. You have already met Frederique, and I note from your reaction that you recognize Vladimir. The lady who has just come in is CHIANG Ming…" She smiled. "…my Dark Angel. CHIANG, like my own name, SIN, is a Chinese surname. In Chinese, the surname comes first, the given name next. I mention this to avoid confusion on your part, since many people are not familiar with this convention. Now, as you may 199

Judith have guessed, everyone in this room works for Armand Levequ, and with the exception of Camille and Sharon over there, we are all invested with his delegated authority." As Madam SIN spoke, Katrina followed the direction of her glance to look at the young woman she had barely had time to notice so far. Sharon, a petite attractive blonde wearing a red and white striped blouse and a fitted dark gray skirt, sat on a straight-backed chair a little way to Romanoff's right. Madam SIN continued. "In the absence of Monsieur Levequ, I have overall authority here. With time you will learn more of everybody's role, including your own. But that will be a gradual process. All you need to know for the moment is this: Chateau Levequ exists for the pleasure and gratification of Monsieur Levequ himself, and for those of his friends and associates whom he chooses to entertain here. We, and everyone else on this island, are here to ensure that the needs of these people are met, their desires fulfilled unquestioningly. While you remain here, this will be the sole purpose of your existence. Do you understand?" "Yes, Madam SIN," Katrina answered softly. "Then so be it. Now I am going to ask you some questions, but before I begin, is there any need for me to remind you of the terms of your contract and the consequences of breaching them?" "No, Madam SIN." "Very well. You will obviously have wondered why you are dressed in that fashion. I will tell you. It is symbolic. Coming before us in this way symbolizes your relinquishing of your past identity and possessions, and your acceptance of your new life in the service of Armand Levequ, albeit temporarily. You come to us with nothing, ready to accept only what is given to you and to submit to whatever is demanded of you. Do you have any questions?" Katrina shook her head. "Very well. Take off the shift now." Ironically, Katrina was taken aback by the instruction. Although she knew, had reluctantly accepted that she was here to be used— 200

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like a whore if that was what was demanded of her—she was not ready for this. She had thought that the 'interview' would be a preliminary step, some sort of preparation for what was to come later. But no, it seemed she was expected to undress before all these strangers, right here and now. Feeling the grip of panic, she briefly considered asking for more time to come to terms with the prospect, but then noticed the growing glint of displeasure at her hesitation in Madam SIN's amber eyes. Realizing she dared not risk further delay, Katrina reached down, crossing her arms to grip the hem of the shift, then slowly raise it. Pulling it over her head, she removed the garment to stand naked before her audience. Inevitably, blood surged, hot, to her cheeks. Camille stepped forward to take the shift from her, then stepped back again out of the observers' line of view. Madam SIN ran her gaze appreciatively up and down Katrina's body several times, then said, "Mmm. Good. Very good. Now turn right around, my dear. Not too quickly. Give everybody the opportunity to get a good look at you." Katrina obeyed, blushing furiously as she exposed each aspect of her naked body in turn to those watching. To make matters worse, she was treated to a full-length reflection of herself among the attentive strangers in the huge mirror that all but covered the wall behind Madam SIN's desk. Heeding Madam SIN's instruction that her three-hundred-and-sixty-degree turn should not be executed hurriedly, Katrina felt she was gyrating in slow motion. Throughout the process, which seemed to last an eternity, she could almost feel the searing intensity of Vladimir Romanoff's gaze particularly, but she also noticed in Ming's dark eyes a gleam she was sure was not there a few moments earlier. It was this latter that caused her to shiver slightly, despite the warmth of the morning air drifting in from the balcony. When Katrina had turned full circle to face her again, Madam SIN said, "Vladimir?" "Yes," Romanoff responded, in a soft, reflective breath, without 201

Judith diverting his gaze from Katrina. "Excellent." Rising from his chair, he approached Katrina, walking slowly around her, appraising her with critical eyes. She flinched as he paused to run a hand down the small of her back and over her buttocks. When he had completed his circuit around her, he stood facing her and raised his right hand to her face. She steeled herself to avoid flinching again as he touched her cheek. He drew the inner surface of his fingers along her jaw line, then down the side of her neck and across her throat in a long, light caress. She held her breath as he brushed her breasts lightly, then fondled each in turn, experimentally sampling their firm resilience. Without warning, he pinched her right nipple hard between his thumb and forefinger. She gasped, startled by the unexpected assault. The crinkled flesh of her nipple responded immediately by swelling and stiffening to greater prominence. "Very lovely," he murmured. Removing his hand from her breasts, he lowered himself to the floor on one knee before her. She resisted the urge to follow his movement with her eyes, forcing herself instead to look straight ahead at Madam SIN. "Open your legs for me, Katrina." Romanoff's instruction was accompanied by the touch of his hand as he inserted it between her closed thighs. Katrina did as he bid, relocating her left foot on the floor about eighteen inches from the right. Although she was not looking at him directly, she could see in her peripheral vision that his face was very close to her sex. In the silence of the room she heard his long, deeply drawn breath as he purposefully inhaled her feminine essence, then felt the air, warm and moist, playing on the exposed extremities of her labia when he exhaled. He raised both hands to her sex. At the touch of his fingers she almost lost control. Moist and slippery, the protruding folds of flesh betrayed her reluctant arousal. Her face burned unbearably, her mind reeling at this unspeakable intimacy under the gaze of the other people in the room. She feared she would collapse from sensual 202

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overload when, very carefully, as if examining the petals of a fragile rose, he took the tender lips between his fingers and carefully peeled them apart, spreading them experimentally with his fingertips. Her belly muscles spasmed reflexively when he slipped his middle finger into her vulva as far as the second knuckle. Then, partially withdrawing it again, he repeatedly moved the finger in a sort of beckoning motion so that it moved back and forth along her slit. "Aah!" She was unable to suppress the little cry and the shudder accompanying it as his finger brushed her clitoris. Seemingly satisfied with his inspection, he withdrew the finger and rose to his feet again. "Exquisite," he concluded, turning to Madam SIN. "If she has the will and aptitude to learn…and the necessary discipline and courage…she will do very well. I have some initial thoughts." His remarks cast Katrina's already confused emotions into even greater chaos. Despite the fact that she had been forced into her present situation against her will, she could not help feeling gratified by Romanoff's praise, even rather proud that she had avoided incurring Madam SIN's censure by submitting to his intimate inspection in the presence of the others. Moreover, the moist, tingling warmth kindled by his finger inside her sex persisted in the aftermath of that inspection. On the other hand, though, and in striking contrast, his mysterious references to her need for discipline and courage had spawned a chill of anxiety in her belly. "Yes?" Madam SIN said, prompting Romanoff to elaborate. "Well, for a start, I would like to see her in high heels and stockings. She has long and exceptionally shapely legs. Heels and stockings would show them to better effect. And I think she should be shaved. She has very attractive labia that protrude charmingly from her sex. This is a feature that should be emphasized, highlighted, not hidden beneath pubic hair. Also, I would like to see her as a brunette. Admittedly, she has beautiful hair, but I am intrigued by the thought of what she would look like if it were dark—black, in fact. Such changes in her appearance—temporary of course—would also have the added benefit, I think, of enabling her to accept more 203

Judith readily her new status." Listening to Romanoff's profoundly personal comments about her physical appearance brought home to Katrina, more so than at any other time up to this moment, the alarming implications of her situation. Her lot seemed little, if at all, different from that of a captive slave in ancient Rome, to be dealt with according to the whim of her owners, no matter how humiliating or degrading. But although this realization filled her with dread, other emotions—contradictory and perverse—had been at work inside her since she entered the bizarre and exotic world of Armand Levequ, manifesting as a twisted skein of excitement, curiosity and disturbing sexual arousal. Having repeatedly tried and failed to suppress these dissolute feelings, she was reluctantly coming to terms with the likelihood that they represented an intrinsic aspect of her personality that had somehow lain dormant until now. "Thank you, Vladimir. As always, I value your views. Does anyone else have any observations?" "I don't disagree with Vladimir," Ming said coolly, in a cut glass English accent. "But shouldn't we proceed with the interview?" Madam SIN smiled, indulgently. "Patience, Ming. You know the adage—everything comes to him who waits." "She is very attractive," the young woman, Sharon, observed. "But I can make her even lovelier." "I'm sure you can, Sharon," Madam SIN replied. "And you shall have the opportunity to put your expertise to work later. For the moment, though, if nobody has any other comments…? Very well, then. Ming, the glove." A brief, mirthless smile flickered across Ming's lips. Rising, she crossed the room to an ornately carved sideboard. Opening one of the cupboards, she took out what looked like a large polished wooden jewelry box inlaid with ivory. She opened the box, removed something from within, then approached Katrina. "Give me your right hand." Katrina held out her hand. She could see now that Ming held a 204

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black velvet evening glove studded with what looked like tiny diamonds. "Help me put this on you." Obediently, Katrina wriggled her fingers as Ming slipped the glove onto her hand. It extended to her upper arm, just above her elbow and although it fit well enough, it felt strange. The inside seemed to be lined with a network of wiring studded with small metal pads that pressed against her flesh. Ming adjusted the glove, until seemingly satisfied that it was properly fitted, she lowered Katrina's arm to her side. Returning to the sideboard, she picked up the wooden box and carried it back to her chair where she sat with it open upon her lap. She placed her right hand in the box, apparently preoccupied with something inside. After a moment, she looked across at Madam SIN who had been watching her. She nodded. "Ready." "Good." Madam SIN turned her attention once more to Katrina. "Then we'll begin." The single black velvet evening glove somehow made Katrina feel more exposed and humiliated than when she'd been entirely naked. She hoped the nervous trembling of her hands was not obvious to the onlookers as she waited for what seemed a long time before Madam SIN spoke again. "I am going to ask you some questions now, Katrina. You are to answer them at once. Any hesitation on your part will earn punishment. Do you understand?" Katrina swallowed nervously. "Yes, Madam SIN." "Have you, at any time since you signed your contract with Monsieur Levequ, broken the terms of that contract?" The question caught Katrina off guard. Not sure how to respond, her mind whirled in a moment of indecision. But then, conscious of the threat that hesitation would incur punishment, she answered, "No." "She's lying." There was a element of smug satisfaction, almost gloating, in Ming's terse statement. "Ah, I forgot," Madam SIN said. "I should have explained. The 205

Judith glove you are wearing is not just for effect. It is part of a polygraph— a lie detector. The wires and pads you feel inside the glove register electrical impulses generated by your nervous system and changes in your pulse rate as you respond to my questions. A tiny electronic transmitter converts the information to a microwave signal, which it sends to the device that Ming has on her lap. The data is then decoded, electronically analyzed, and the result shown on a screen so that the operator can read it. You see, I didn't like the idea of using a conventional polygraph for these interviews—all that obtrusive, ugly equipment—so Ming designed this system for me. She's an amazingly talented woman, as you will discover. Anyway, the point is, I will know if you lie to me. Do you want me to repeat the first question?" Katrina shook her head. "No. I'm sorry I lied." "And the truth?" "I… Yes, I have broken the terms of my contract." "How so?" "I disobeyed instructions I was given. Twice. But the second time was unintentional." "Go on." Katrina recounted how she broke Captain Larsen's curfew aboard the Aphrodite, neglecting to mention her voyeuristic experience in his cabin, then went on to explain how she accidentally trespassed at Halcyon Falls. "I see. Hardly grave transgressions, but you will of course be punished. You must learn the importance of absolute obedience in the service of Armand Levequ." Punished! The word sent a little shiver down Katrina's back, as she recalled her conversation with Camille in her room. Would Ming be responsible for her punishment? she wondered. Madam SIN's voice interrupted the thought. "What about sex?" "I'm sorry?" "Sex. Do you enjoy it?" "I… Why, yes…of course. But it hasn't played a major role in my life." In replying, Katrina could have—almost did, in fact—add the 206

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words 'until now'. It was a measure, she realized, of how much her life had changed in such a short time. "Tell me about your sexual experiences. From the beginning." After a stumbling, self-conscious start, Katrina went on to give her listeners a concise, if reticent, account of her—until recently— relatively modest sexual history. It took only a few minutes and included her encounter with Armand Levequ, though not—for their sakes—those with Anne Molner, Safire and Camille, to the obvious relief of the latter who was watching and listening intently to Katrina's every word. "You are not very experienced, then. Perhaps one of the reasons Monsieur Levequ chose you. It is always best to begin with raw material. You have a lot to learn, but we can take care of that. Do you masturbate?" "No." Katrina's defensive response was reflexive, delivered without consideration—and regretted at once. "Another lie," Ming said, a gratified gleam in her eyes. Katrina bit her lower lip. "I'm sorry. It's…an embarrassing subject. I didn't really think about the answer. It just came out." Madam SIN regarded her steadily. "You have no secrets here, Katrina. You will bare everything as you are bidden; body, mind, soul—everything". "Yes, Madam SIN. I understand. I'm very sorry." "So the answer to my question, then, is yes?" Katrina nodded, lowering her eyes. "Yes. I do, occasionally…masturbate." "When did you last have sex?" Dangerous ground! At least for Anne, Safire and Camille, if not for Katrina herself. She must answer the question carefully. Raising her eyes to meet Madam SIN's again, she said, "I've…masturbated a few times since I arrived at the chateau…and on the journey here." She felt her cheeks burning at the admission. "The last time I had intercourse was with Armand…Monsieur Levequ…in the gazebo at my father's house; the occasion I told you about." 207

Judith Her answer, although strictly the truth, was a lie by omission, but since there was no adverse reaction from Ming, Katrina presumed the lie detector had not identified the technicality. Thankfully, Madam SIN decided to probe no further. "I see. Thank you Katrina. That is all I wish to ask you for the time being. Does anyone else have any questions?" Katrina was very relieved when there was no response from any of the others in the room. The interview had been mercifully brief. "Very well. Thank you, Ming. You may see to Katrina's punishment now. But not too severe, mind. And nothing that might impact on her ability to perform tonight." The mysterious remark set tingling the nerve endings in Katrina's scalp and at the back of her neck, but she was allowed no time to dwell on the matter. "Of course not." Ming was already on her feet, approaching Katrina with the wooden box. Removing the glove from Katrina's hand, she replaced it inside the box, then beckoned Camille over. Handing the box to Camille, she said, "Put this away, then you may go. I'll ring for you when I'm ready." "Yes, Miss." Camille took the box from Ming, darting a grateful glance at Katrina. To Katrina, Ming said, "Follow me." Katrina stooped, making to pick up the sackcloth shift, but Ming checked her. "No. Leave that. You will remain naked. Come." *** Feeling truly like a slave now, Katrina followed Ming as she left the room. Very conscious of her nudity, she trailed the imperious Chinese woman along corridors and down stairways to the ground floor, passing a number of black servants, male and female, along the way. Although they were careful not to gawk, the men's eyes feasted briefly on Katrina's naked body in the passing. From the ground floor, Ming led the way to a broad flight of stone steps that descended 208

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in a spiral to the vast cellar complex beneath the chateau. It was much cooler down here, and Katrina felt her nipples harden in response to the change in temperature as they walked along a maze of narrow stone-floored passageways illuminated by soft, flamecolored lighting concealed in recesses in the walls. When Ming spoke for the first time since they left Madam SIN's suite, her tone was disquietingly conversational. "These cellars are used for a variety of purposes, including storage for Monsieur Levequ's collection of fine wines. I have my own little realm here, as you will see." She halted, necessarily, since the passage along which they had come had terminated in a tall, arched doorway. The big, iron-studded wooden door that barred the way had a huge iron ring for a handle. Ming lifted the ring, turned it and pushed against the door, which swung slowly open with a dry, labored creak. Now very fearful, Katrina did not immediately follow Ming through the doorway, but hesitated at the threshold. This seemed to amuse Ming, who held the door ajar and stood to one side. "Don't stand on ceremony," she said, softly. "Come along in. You have nothing to fear inside here but yourself; that is to say, the responses of your own body and mind to what they will experience within these walls." Diffidently, Katrina stepped inside the lofty circular chamber beyond the door. Arches set on pillars spaced at intervals around the walls supported the vaulted, domed roof The entire structure was of stone, and reminded Katrina of a subterranean Byzantine chapel she once visited in Turkey. Several other doors led off the austere chamber, which was sparsely furnished with wall cupboards, a few ancient-looking carved chairs, a sturdy refectory table and a couple of huge metal-bound wooden chests. There was also a variety of oddly shaped wooden benches and frame-like structures, the purpose of which Katrina could not even begin to guess at. The center of the chamber had been left clear but for a single high-backed carved wooden chair of very fine quality, and a small circular table 209

Judith beside it. A silver goblet stood on the surface of the table. "Give me your hand." As Katrina obeyed, Ming closed the door and led her into the very center of the chamber. There she let the hand fall free and stepped back to watch as Katrina looked about her in trepidation at the manacles and chains fixed to some of the pillars and suspended from the ceiling. Their purpose was unambiguous enough, complemented as they were, in wooden racks on the walls of the chamber, by a diverse collection of whips, switches, paddles and other bewilderingly exotic instruments apparently designed for the purpose of corporal punishment. "Oh, my!" Katrina's voice, little more than a tremulous murmur of dismay, echoed from the stone walls as if to taunt her. Ming seemed gratified by her reaction. "I know this seems hard to believe, but you will come to love this place as I do. I give you my word on that." Overwhelmed by her surroundings and their implications, Katrina barely heard the unlikely prediction. "I think I'm going to faint," she whispered timorously. "If you do, your punishment will be upgraded," Ming warned her in a matter-of-fact tone. Then, picking up the silver goblet from the table, she handed it to Katrina. "This may help. Drink it." "What is it?" Katrina asked, looking at the dark red liquid in the goblet. "Claret. One of Armand Levequ's finest, as a matter of fact. You are a privileged young lady." "But I don't want…" "Don't question me! Drink!" Katrina took a tentative sip. Although she was hardly in the mood for wine, it tasted surprisingly good. "Don't waste time," Ming ordered. "Drink it up quickly. All of it." She moved away to the high-backed chair, where she sat and watched as Katrina obeyed. Unused to drinking wine so hurriedly, Katrina found the task surprisingly difficult. She paused twice, but both times 210

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quickly resumed in response to a frown of disapproval from Ming. By the time the goblet was empty, she was already feeling the intoxicating effects of the wine. "Finished?" Katrina nodded. "Yes." "Good. Come here and stand before me." Recovering her composure somewhat, Katrina approached Ming and stood facing her about three feet from the chair. Ming took the goblet from her and returned it to the table. "Listen to me, Katrina. You heard Madam SIN's complimentary remarks about my talents and academic qualifications. It is true that I possess skills in a variety of fields, including, physics, electronics, pharmacology and anatomy. But these alone are not the reason I am in the service of Armand Levequ. Above all, I am an accomplished dominatrix. Do you know what that is?" "I… I have a vague idea." "Then let me dispel the vagueness. My vocation is the esoteric art of what the uninitiated understand, rather simplistically I'm afraid, by the term sadomasochism. But my interest is confined to the sexual context only. Suffering and humiliation for their own sake, or as a means to secure information or compliance, have no place in my world. That is the province of the psychopath and the war criminal. My discipline—forgive the pun—is subtle, complex and inextricably linked to sensual arousal and gratification. Among those who know about such things, my expertise in that discipline is widely regarded as second to none, which is why I am here." Ming paused for a moment, apparently to assess the effect of her words upon Katrina. Then, smiling, she continued, "You seem perplexed, Katrina. Let me put it more precisely. I am talking about submission, humiliation and suffering of the kind that can lead to indescribable pleasure and fulfillment. Do you understand now?" "I…" Katrina's voice cracked. She swallowed nervously, and with difficulty. Her mouth was suddenly very dry. The chamber seemed to be spinning around her, as if she were standing inside a carousel. 211

Judith "I… No, I don't believe I do. Not really. I mean, I've heard there are people who like…apparently enjoy…that kind of thing, but I know very little…nothing, really…about such matters. I don't understand how…" The sentence trailed off into confused silence. Ming smiled at her discomfiture. "Oh, Katrina, I am so going to enjoy teaching you." "Teaching? I…don't understand. I thought…" "That you were to be punished? So you are. Here, now…and every time you transgress. Or when it simply suits me. But that will be just part of my…task." Ming's smile suggested to Katrina that the word 'pleasure' might have been more appropriate. She continued, "I am also instructed to initiate you into the mysteries and subtleties of my art. Each time you are punished, you will learn something more about the human psyche and the relationship between sexuality, submission, humiliation…and pain. And about yourself. In other words, I am to be your mentor, as well as tormentor." Ming's smile flickered again, evoked by her own play on words, then was gone. "Now," she continued, suddenly stern again. "There are three things you must remember. Firstly, you may call me Ming at all times other than during punishment and training sessions, when you are to refer to me as Mistress. Secondly, failure to obey my instructions absolutely and without hesitation will always result in unpleasant consequences for you. Finally, whenever I subject you to punishment, no matter how severe, you must remember to thank me. I will not warn you about these things again. It is up to you to remember. Do you understand?" "Yes…Mistress." "Very good. You are a quick learner. Now, let's see if we can find a natural starting point. Something from your past. I suppose you were beaten for misbehaving as a child? At school or by your parents?" The question resurrected with remarkable ease a memory that Katrina had managed to repress since her childhood; one that instantly underscored her sense of vulnerability. In an unconscious, 212

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instinctively defensive gesture, she linked her hands together, palms open, across her pubic region. "Don't you dare do that!" Ming snapped. "Put your hands down by your sides, and don't ever try to conceal your cunt from me. What are you never to do?" Startled, Katrina answered, "I'm never to try to conceal my…cunt…from you." "Mistress." "Mistress." "Better. Now answer my question. You were punished—beaten— as a child?" "Only once, Mistress." "Tell me about it." "I was eleven. I got into trouble at school. It was summer, and I'd been out riding every evening with my friend Gina instead of doing my homework. When my father found out, he confined me to my room for the weekend. But when he and my stepmother went into London for the day on the Saturday, I sneaked out through my bedroom window so the servants wouldn't see me, and went riding with Gina again. Unfortunately for me, my father and stepmother had a row and came back from the city early. When I got home, I found my window locked. My father was waiting for me. He was furious. He gave me the worst scolding I'd ever had and sent me up to bed without dinner. I think that might have been the end of the matter if he hadn't been so angry with my stepmother. But just as I was falling asleep, he came to my room and sat on the edge of my bed. He told me he was going to punish me for disobeying him. I had no idea what he had in mind, and since he'd never laid a finger on me previously, it came as a shock when he said he was going to spank me. I pleaded with him not to do it, but he just hauled me out of bed and threw me over his knee. I nearly died when he pulled my knickers down and began spanking my bare behind. And it wasn't just a token gesture. He didn't hold back. Whatever it was my stepmother had done to upset him that day, I paid for it in full." 213

Judith "What was it like?" "I'd rather not talk about it." Without warning, Ming leaned forward and slapped Katrina hard back and forth across her breasts with her palm and the back of her hand. "Ow!" Katrina yelped, dismayed by the sudden assault. "I warned you, Katrina. Don't ever defy me." "I'm sorry, Mistress." Katrina's apology was instantaneous. The double blows had set her nipples stinging, and she was in no hurry for more. "Now tell me, how did you feel when your father beat you." "I cried and struggled while he was spanking me, but it was useless. He was determined, and far too strong for me. It hurt, of course, but the worst part was the embarrassment. I was almost a teenager then. It had been years since he had last seen me undressed, and there I was, suddenly half-naked over his knee. I thought I'd die from shame. And what made it even worse was the dispassionate, clinical way he spanked me—almost as if he were carrying out a public flogging on a stranger. I've never felt so humiliated, before or since." "But the experience excited you, I think. Aroused you sexually? The truth, now." Katrina lowered her eyes, away from Ming's discerning gaze. "Not so much while it was actually happening. But later, when I remembered the feeling of helplessness, of being exposed against my will…and the warm, tingling feeling that spread through my…" Katrina hesitated. "Cunt," Ming prompted, smiling. "You seem to have some difficulty with the word, Katrina. You mustn't. It's really a beautiful word. So…descriptive and perfectly appropriate somehow. Say it." "Yes, Mistress. My…cunt. The warm, tingling feeling that spread through my cunt as he spanked me. The recollection excited me later. Often. But I was ashamed of my reaction to the experience and tried to push the memory from my thoughts. I more or less 214

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succeeded…until now." When Katrina looked up to meet Ming's eyes with her own again, she found her smiling once more. "Well, we seem to have made some progress already." Ming said, rising from her chair. Katrina watched, puzzled, as she took off her jacket, then began to unfasten the buttons of her shirt. "These clothes are inappropriate for the occasion," Ming offered by way of explanation. "Too restricting." Slipping off the shirt, beneath which she was naked, she then unfastened her culottes at the waist and stepped out of them. Certainly Ming was not restricted by her clothing now, because she had removed everything except her riding boots and a minuscule thong made of what looked like soft black leather. She had a lithe, well-toned body and like Katrina, was clearly physically fit. Unlike Katrina's though, her breasts were very small, rather like the budding mounds of a young girl in the flush of puberty. The nipples, however, prominent, rose pink and set within smooth, perfectly round areolae, were unmistakably those of a mature woman. Although she feared Ming and would gladly be elsewhere rather than here with her now, Katrina could not help but admire her smoothly rounded buttocks as she turned and walked a few steps away from her. Almost entirely exposed by the thong, they were firm and muscular, yet unequivocally feminine. Ming draped her clothes carelessly over the back of an empty chair, then returned and took her seat again. "Come here, Katrina." Katrina approached the chair. "Closer." As Katrina took another step forward, Ming reached out and seized her by the left wrist. "Let's see if we can re-kindle the excitement of that childhood experience with your father, shall we?" Before Katrina had time to fully comprehend the meaning of her words, Ming pulled her forward and laid her face down across her lap, a posture replicating exactly that into which her father had forced her on that warm summer evening so many years ago. It was an eerie feeling; deja vu accompanied by apprehension…and a 215

Judith slithery roller-coaster thrill in her loins. Although her circumstances left little doubt in Katrina's mind about what was to happen next, the slap of Ming's hand on her bare buttocks was astonishingly forceful and hurt far more than she could have imagined. Her last minute decision to limit Ming's satisfaction by remaining silent throughout her ordeal was wavering already. Somehow though, biting her lower lip, she managed to stifle the cry that rose in her throat. But maintaining her resolve would not be easy. Even before the echo of the first slap had died in the bare stone chamber, Ming delivered a second, rapidly followed by a third and fourth. Katrina's feet having lost contact with the floor now, she lay suspended on Ming's lap, totally vulnerable to the increasing rain of stinging blows upon the exposed flesh of her naked bottom. She was amazed by the sheer power and stamina of the woman. Although Katrina could not see them, Ming's almond eyes were gleaming, fired by her helpless victim's distress and the prospect of the crimson flush as it spread further afield across her buttocks with each successive slap. Katrina's torment was compounded by a paradox. Given the option, she certainly would not have chosen to submit to this vicious spanking—her buttocks were positively burning and the humiliation was almost unbearable—and yet, at the same time, she was powerless to resist the burgeoning glow of sensual arousal that accompanied the pain and the indignity. Ming had not only succeeded in re-kindling the chaotic sensual emotions associated with her single previous experience of corporal punishment, but had also conjured up vivid mental imagery of her stepmother's spanking at Armand Levequ's hands in his bedroom at Rylands. The moist tingling sensation between Katrina’s thighs was intensifying by the second, and she hoped that Ming would not discover her true condition. That hope, however, very soon proved to be in vain. After what Katrina estimated to be about ten minutes—in fact, it had been a little over three—Ming delivered the final blow. The open palm of her right hand, though, remained on the surface of Katrina's 216

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inflamed flesh, spanning the cleft between her glowing buttocks. With her left hand, she reached for Katrina's head, tilting it up to the side so that she could see her tear-streaked face. "Don't you have something to say to me, Katrina?" For an instant, Katrina was perplexed, then remembered her obligation. "Oh. Yes, Mistress. Thank you." "My pleasure," Ming purred. Katrina stiffened slightly as Ming moved her right hand, placing it between her inner thighs to coax them apart. "You're not trying to resist me, are you, Katrina?" Heeding the warning tone in Ming's voice, Katrina relaxed, allowing her legs to part. "No, Mistress." Ming returned her hand to Katrina's buttocks, tracing the cleft downward with her fingertips as it curved to bisect her open thighs. "Did I hurt you?" Katrina sniffed through her tears. "Yes, Mistress." Ming eased Katrina's thighs even further apart with her hand, at the same time forcing her bottom higher by raising her right knee slightly under Katrina's belly. "Aahh!" Katrina squirmed on Ming's lap as the other woman's fingers reached and penetrated the sodden pleats of her sex. "You were wrong when you said you know nothing of the sexuality of humiliation and pain. You experienced it as a child, and you are experiencing it again now. The basic appreciation is within you. It simply needs to be developed. You did well not to cry out, by the way. Now, tell me…" "Ooh!" Katrina writhed as Ming caressed her clitoris with a fingertip. "Tell me, do you want to come?" Seeing the confusion in Katrina's expression, Ming clarified, "I'm talking about orgasm. Do you want to come?" "Oh. Please," Katrina moaned as Ming's finger continued its manipulation of the swollen little knob. "Please, Mistress. Yes." But instead of responding to Katrina's desperate plea, Ming at 217

Judith once removed her hand from her sex. "Perhaps later," she said, suddenly brusque and cold again. "We'll see. Stand up now." Crestfallen at the unexpected rebuff, Katrina extricated herself with difficulty from Ming's lap, then stood unsteadily before her tormentor again. Careful not to risk Ming's displeasure by appearing resentful, she was nevertheless unable to disguise her shame and frustration at having admitted her arousal and then been denied the release she thought she was being offered. Although she was not aware of the fact, the deep scarlet flush in her cheeks matched almost exactly that on her painfully throbbing buttocks. Rising from her chair, Ming walked across the chamber. "Come this way." Katrina followed her across the cool stone floor to one of the doors set in its continuous circular wall; not the door by which they had entered the chamber, but another, smaller one. Ming paused at the doorway, turning to look Katrina directly in the eyes. "I am going to introduce you to something very special now. Your instruction has already begun with your punishment at the lower end of the scale. A good hand spanking can be painful and humiliating. It is a time-honored and very effective form of punishment—especially when administered by someone who knows what she is doing. But there is a very personal, almost comforting element in any discipline that involves the contact of flesh upon flesh. On an ascending scale there are many and varied means of producing more profound and intense experiences. Awaiting you in the chamber beyond this door is one such experience that exists toward the upper end of the scale." Instilled with alarm by Ming's words, Katrina began to shiver uncontrollably. Nevertheless, she followed when Ming opened the door and led the way into what looked like a smaller version of the main chamber, although it was not possible to be sure because the walls and the ceiling were obscured in darkness. There was light— bright light—but it was localized by narrow beams from halogen spot lamps set both in the black void overhead and in the surface of a slightly raised circular dais in the center of the chamber. The spot 218

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lamps were focused on a single point above the dais, somehow creating a sort of sphere of light without illuminating the periphery of the chamber. At the center of the light sphere a number of silver ringshaped objects of various diameters seemed to float in the air above the dais, together with what looked like a small, rectangular frame of some kind. Taking Katrina by the arm, Ming led her onto the dais and stood her among the 'floating' rings. Only at this close proximity was it possible to see that they were in fact suspended from above by very slender silver cables. The frame-like object turned out to be a slim, leather-lined metal harness, which Ming placed against Katrina's back. When satisfied that it was correctly in position, she locked the harness onto each of Katrina's shoulders with narrow, hinged, snapon clamps, and snugly around her waist by an adjustable rigid belt. Two more slender clamps fixed the harness to her thighs at the joint with her hips. It was only as Ming snapped these shut that she seemed to notice that Katrina was trembling with terror. "Don't panic," she cooed softly. "This isn't an instrument of torture; merely a means of positioning your body to optimum advantage. Mine, that is." The explanation was hardly reassuring, and did little to ease Katrina's anxiety as Ming finalized the task of fitting the contraption to her body. The lower and upper parts of the harness were connected by two narrow sections that ran down along her ribs, one on each side. When fully secured, it held her upper body rigid by three narrow, molded cross sections across her shoulders, the small of her back and lower pelvic region. Far from doing anything to mitigate her exposure and vulnerability, though, the harness seemed to Katrina to actually emphasize her nudity. Having fastened it securely in place, Ming began to fit the hinged silver rings, according to their size, around Katrina's ankles and wrists, and to her legs and arms, just above her knees and elbows. To ensure they fit snugly and did not chafe, the inner surface of the rings was lined with soft, padded leather. When she had snapped the last ring in place, Ming stepped 219

Judith back to look Katrina up and down. "I call this device the Spider," she informed her, with obvious pride. "I designed it myself. It is a very sophisticated piece of equipment, and incorporates some very advanced technology. Since it represents a departure from the period atmosphere of the chateau, I had to persuade Armand to allow me to install it, but when he and Christina saw it in use, they had to agree that the benefits more than merited the concession." She smiled, thinly. "And, of course, hidden away down here, only those who are to experience it themselves— and their observers, of course—ever see it…." Withdrawing momentarily into the gloom, Ming returned with a broad leather belt, which she strapped around her waist while she was speaking. "The whole thing is computerized and remotelycontrolled from a transmitter on this belt. Like this." Her hand moved to what looked like a small console on the belt. As her fingers moved deftly over the tiny dials and buttons, the muted whirr of machinery started up somewhere overhead, and Katrina felt the slack taken up in the silver cables to which she was attached. The rings at her wrists and elbows tugged insistently, drawing her arms apart and up above her head until they were quite straight and extended at an angle away from her shoulders. The posture lifted her breasts, accentuating their firmness and the prominence of the nipples—a phenomenon that did not escape Ming's attention. "Mm. Lovely tits, Katrina. A very tempting target." The words generated a prickle of apprehension down along Katrina's spine. Now, the harness itself began to ease upward, lifting her bodily onto the balls of her feet. In this attitude she was almost, not quite, suspended above the dais. "Don't worry about the cables. Although they look very thin, they are made of extremely strong material. With their aid I can suspend your body in virtually any position, just as a gigantic spider might, in its web; hence the name, you see. You will also notice that, no matter what position I place you in, the cables do not prevent my having complete access to your body. They run on a very complex system of 220

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rails and sliding pulleys in the roof. Ingenious, if I say it myself." Standing on the periphery of the mystifyingly self-contained sphere of light, her slender, almost naked body glowing palely, Ming now seemed to Katrina like some beautiful, ghostly nymph. Oddly, perhaps, the fact that she feared Ming did nothing to detract from this exotic notion. Even in her anxiety and the sure knowledge that she was about to suffer further unknown indignity and pain at this woman's merciless whim, she suddenly found herself irresistibly fascinated by the surreality of her situation. Entirely naked and stretched thus, as if upon an invisible crucifix, arousal began to seep once more through her loins. She took a deep breath; then released it in a long sigh. "Ah, yes, beautiful." Although Katrina could not see her face clearly, the smile of anticipation in Ming's voice was clear enough. "It is a rare pleasure to be able to work with one who is not only so lovely, but also relatively innocent and unspoiled. Time for a closer inspection, I think." Even as she spoke, the pale nymph's elegant fingers were at play again on the console at her waist. The cables attached to the rings around Katrina's ankles and lower thighs began to pull, gently but firmly plucking her legs from under her. The harness too was moving, tilting her backward so that her body was inclined at an angle while her knees were drawn steadily up and apart. She was powerless to resist as the thread-like silver cables pulled at her thighs and buttocks, spreading them wide. When the soft mechanical whirring above eventually stopped, Katrina found herself suspended in space in the posture of a woman about to give birth. The tingling in her vulva intensified now as, in the manner of a freshly opened oyster, the tender moist tissue within was exposed to the direct warmth of the spotlamps. Her body swayed almost imperceptibly in the silver web as she awaited her Mistress's pleasure. Again, Ming melted away into the shadows. When she reappeared, she was holding something long and slender in her hand. She moved forward into the sphere of light, between Katrina's widespread thighs. 221

Judith "Look what I have for you, Katrina." "Aaah" Katrina shuddered as Ming riffled the fingers of her left hand through the parted folds of her sex. But at the same time her eyes widened with dread at the prospect of what Ming was holding in her right hand, just a few inches from her face. "Do you know what this is, Katrina?" Katrina nodded fearfully, perspiration breaking out on her brow. Once again, her emotions were thrown into a riot of confusion as she stared at the familiar object. About four feet long, very slender and supple, it tapered to an even finer tip from which a six-inch length of plaited cord hung. "What is it, Katrina? Tell me." "A…whip," Katrina gasped. "It's a…dressage whip." Ming smiled. "Exactly. A dressage whip. Capable of rendering even the most stubborn of horses compliant. With this, if I choose, I can reduce the hardest of men to a cringing child. Think what it might do to your tender, delicate flesh, my dear." Terror rose in Katrina's throat. "Oh please, Mistress, no. Please don't. I'll do anything. Anything." "Calm down, Katrina. And don't worry so. You heard what Madam SIN said; I'm not to be too severe with you. And anyway, you don't deserve to be subjected to a proper thrashing for what you did. But you do have to be punished, and I want you to have a taste—just a taste—of what this beautiful instrument can do." "Oh, please, no!" "Now don't be such a baby. I'm going to limit myself to six moderate strokes, and I want you concentrate on this experience, think about it consciously. But I have another position in mind for your punishment." Backing off a couple of paces, Ming adjusted the console controls. Katrina felt herself moving again as the Spider's cables exerted Ming's will over her body. In what felt like a slow-motion Olympic high dive, she rotated backward, while her legs, still held wide apart, were drawn up straight above her. When the whirring 222

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stopped this time, Katrina's body was upside-down in the shape of a letter "Y", her hair hanging loose to brush the surface of the dais. In this position, the tow of gravity inverted the customary inclination of her breasts, making them feel strangely pendulous and heavy. Ming stepped forward again until her leather riding boots were just inches from Katrina's face. Katrina shivered as Ming ran a cool hand down her inner thigh in a long exploratory caress, then squirmed when the hand was slowly withdrawn through the fork of the 'Y', enabling inquisitive fingers to plough the furrow of her sex. "Isn't that interesting, Katrina. I know you are very frightened, and yet even now you are aroused. Your cunt is very wet." As she spoke, Ming moved around the dais to stand behind Katrina. "Ah, yes. This is the perfect position for your punishment." Katrina's body snapped suddenly rigid at the touch of the dressage whip on her flesh. In a pleasurable but threatening taunt, Ming brushed the whip lightly up and down each of Katrina's inner thighs, then drew its length slowly between the lips of her vulva. Katrina quivered and moaned involuntarily. "Very well. It is time." With the withdrawal of the whip from Katrina's sex, Ming's voice took on a new tone, severe, business-like. "Are you ready, Katrina?" Silence. "I asked you a question! Is six strokes not enough for you?" "Yes, Mistress," Katrina answered hurriedly. "Please, I'm sorry. I…Yes, I'm…ready." "That's better." Katrina flinched at the sound of the whip swishing through air. But it didn’t strike, and she realized that this was only a practice sweep. Two more followed, then, after a short pause, Ming said, "Oh, by the way, Katrina, you have my permission to scream." Katrina took a deep breath and braced herself. This time, the ominous sound of the whip was the precursor to its biting cut across her buttocks. The blow was unbelievably painful, as if a red-hot wire had been placed upon her flesh. She screamed—loudly. The flood of 223

Judith tears to her eyes instantly distorted her already limited view of her surroundings. During the next few minutes, her perception of time became vastly exaggerated, expanded beyond reality—even taking into account the lengthy pauses that Ming interjected between each stroke of the whip in order to increase her anguish. With unerring accuracy, Ming laid the strokes in parallel lines across Katrina's naked bottom, each raising a long scarlet welt on the honey-hued flesh in testimony of her tormentor's strength and expertise. Throughout her agonizing ordeal, Katrina screamed at each savage slash of the whip, then, wailing pitifully, begged for mercy in the pauses between. Only once in her life had she experienced pain approaching this severity—a searing sting from the trailing tentacles of a Portuguese Man-of-War jellyfish when she was swimming in the Mediterranean as a child. At last, Ming delivered the sixth and final stroke, leaving Katrina limp and sobbing. The whole of her body was glowing with perspiration from the ordeal. She winced as Ming reached out to touched her buttocks, running her fingers over the welts as if to confirm their reality. The action served also to prompt Katrina to her obligation. "Th… Thank you… Mistress." "Ah, you remembered. Well done." When Ming withdrew her hand, Katrina felt herself moving again, the Spider rotating her body again, returning it to her original 'childbirth' attitude. When the movement stopped, Ming was standing by her head, looking down at her. "A productive morning, my dear. You have gained some little understanding of pain and humiliation at both ends of the scale. I had intended to finish at this point for today, but since you've done so well, I think I will introduce you to another experience somewhere between the two." More suffering? Katrina's heart sank. "Oh, please Mistress. No more, I beg you. I'm sure I can't endure any more today." "Nonsense," Ming replied, turning away. "This will be a very 224

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special experience, I promise you." Katrina allowed her head to tilt backward so that she could watch Ming's inverted image as she disappeared again into the darkness. When she returned a moment later, she was no longer holding the dressage whip, but that was of little consolation to Katrina. Instead, she held in her hand a shorter black scourge, reminiscent of the cato'-nine tails Greg Larsen and Tiffany used on Safire aboard the Aphrodite. But the thongs of this instrument, of which there were many more than nine, were broader and looked like patent leather. The handle, long and thick, seemed to be fashioned from ebony. Ming resumed her position standing behind Katrina's head. "Now here is a wonderful instrument, one which, in practiced hands, can deliver pain and pleasure at the same time." As she spoke, Ming flicked her wrist so that the long thongs of the scourge snaked out to lie along Katrina's body, the farthest ends curling between her widespread thighs. Katrina gasped and squirmed as Ming slowly retrieved the thongs, allowing them to trace a deliciously random route over her belly and breasts. She did this several times, smiling at Katrina's resurging arousal. Then her wrist took on a different action, flicking the scourge so that the tips of the thongs snapped against Katrina's body between her thighs, across her belly and on her breasts. "Ouch! Aah. Ooh." Katrina cried out each time the thongs crackled against her flesh. Now she understood what Ming meant about pain and pleasure at the same time. To be sure, the patent leather thongs stung on contact, but they also caressed in a very sensual way. The words 'fire' and 'silk' surfaced synonymously in her mind. Moreover, she realized instinctively that, without the pain, the pleasure would be far less intense. When Ming increased the force of the strokes, Katrina both physically and mentally opened herself up to them, allowing her nerve endings to embrace the stinging bite of the leather thongs, and shivering with delight as they licked at her inner thighs and the tender flesh of her sex. Even the pain from the weals on her buttocks, which 225

Judith had seemed unbearable only moments ago, had now evolved into a warm, tingling glow of pleasure. The first tremors of a massive orgasmic earthquake rumbled deep inside her. "Oh, Mistress. Yes! Please. Please." Ming seemed to sense the tremors…and promptly stopped Katrina's 'punishment'. "Ooh," All pride discarded now, Katrina made no attempt to conceal her misery and frustration at being denied release for the second time this morning. But she had not forgotten that not all pain was pleasurable, and was careful not to displease Ming. "Thank you, Mistress," she sighed, disconsolately. Looking down to meet Katrina's gaze with her own, Ming said, "Would you like to thank me in a more positive way, Katrina?" Noting the now familiar gleam in Ming's eyes, Katrina believed she had at least some idea of what the other woman had in mind. "Yes, Mistress," she answered without hesitation. "Anything." Tucking the scourge into her belt, Ming stepped forward toward Katrina's upturned face, which was about level with her thighs. Pausing for a moment, she took hold of her thong at the front, then pulled it aside to uncover her sex—pale and smoothly-shaven. Only inches away, Katrina stared at the offering in fascination. Ming too, it seemed, was seriously aroused. The hairless lips of her vulva were glistening with her secretion, the powerful musky aroma of which overwhelmed Katrina's senses. But she was not permitted to savor the view long. Without further deliberation Ming eased forward until her captive's head was between her parted thighs, then, holding one of the cables with her free hand for support, lowered herself onto Katrina's face. As Ming herself had already observed, Katrina was a fast learner, and although her sexual experiences with other women had been few, she knew what was expected of her. She parted her lips to meet Ming's descending vulva with a moist kiss. Then, when Ming began to slowly gyrate her hips, she inserted her tongue into the hot, slippery interior of her slit, insinuating and exploring its soft, mysterious 226

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recesses. Soon she was hard at work on Ming's clitoris, massaging and probing it with her eager tongue. As Ming approached orgasm, her movements became more urgent, frantic, and Katrina had trouble maintaining contact between her tongue and the other woman's clitoris. Eventually the task became impossible, because Ming's hips were bucking back and forth, her flooding sex brushing desperately over Katrina's parted lips and extended tongue. Suddenly, Ming tightened her thighs against Katrina's head as, shuddering and groaning loudly, she came with the force of an explosion. The orgasm lasted a long time, and Katrina began to fear that she might suffocate—or, more accurately perhaps, drown—in the process. But then it was over, and Ming released her from the vice-like grip of her thighs. "Aah…yes." Ming gasped, breathlessly. "You performed your task very well, Katrina." Her small breasts were heaving, her cheeks faintly flushed as she moved around Katrina's suspended form to stand between her parted thighs again. "Are you still close to coming also?" Raising her head to look at the other woman, Katrina replied, "Yes, Mistress. Very close" "Very well, then. You shall have your own release now." Again, Ming's fingers moved to the console on her belt. Katrina felt the tension at her right hand and elbow slacken. "There. You have full freedom of movement of your right arm and hand again now. Go ahead." Katrina was puzzled. "Go ahead, Mistress? I… I don't understand." "You are free to masturbate now. You may bring yourself to orgasm." "But… I thought…" Ming raised her eyebrows imperiously. "That I would serve you? Surely not? You forget, I am your Mistress. It is your place to please me, not the other way round. And I insist that you experience an orgasm now. Do it." Illogically, Katrina felt herself blush, and was angry at her 227

Judith reaction. How stupid I am, she thought. How stupid and naive that I should feel embarrassed so easily after everything that has happened here this morning. And how easily this woman was able to humiliate me. "It's all right, thank you, Mistress," she mumbled. "I don't really need…" "Haven't you learned anything? When I tell you to do something, it is effectively an order. Now get on with it. I want to watch you masturbate." For a moment—only a very brief moment—Katrina considered begging Ming to be excused this ultimate humiliation. Then she remembered the dressage whip. "Yes, Mistress." After all, she reasoned, it shouldn't take long; she had been close to orgasm several times this morning, and would have come already had Ming allowed her to. Why should it bother her to masturbate while Ming looked on? The fact was, though, that for some inexplicable reason, it did bother her—a good deal. But, of course, there was no alternative. "Perhaps you need some encouragement," Ming suggested, removing the scourge from her belt. The mere sight of the instrument in Ming's hands generated a crawling sensation in Katrina's loins. She reached her hand down across her stomach and between her thighs. The middle finger slipped easily into her sex, where it remained, deeply embedded but temporarily motionless. Her breasts rose and fell rapidly as her breathing quickened. For a moment, absolutely nothing happened. It was as if each woman were waiting for the other to make the first move. Suddenly, Ming's arm swung out from her body, her wrist flicking the scourge into action. "Ow!" The blow was expertly aimed and delivered, and the patent leather thongs snapped hard against Katrina's breasts. Her nipples reddened instantly, and her fingers at once begin working feverishly within her cleft. Ming did not lay off, but instead, continued whipping Katrina's breasts and belly, occasionally scattering the thongs over 228

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and around her sex itself. Surrendering herself to the sensual flogging, Katrina no longer felt constrained by embarrassment. Indeed, she allowed her fingers free rein now, masturbating with total abandon, and at last delighting in Ming's attentive gaze. Abruptly, the orgasm was upon her. "Oh, Gooooood!" Like the protest of a prisoner tortured beyond endurance, Katrina's unrestrained cry of release reverberated around the stone chamber. Even at the height of the moment, she was astonished at the intensity of the experience. Never in her entire life had she suspected that her own hand could produce such nerverending rapture. Ming, on the other hand, standing over her charge and watching with an enigmatic smile, understood. She knew that this was merely a beginning.

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Chapter Eight

A

s soon as Camille opened the door to the Spider chamber, she saw Katrina lying naked and prostrate on the dais. Uttering a little cry of alarm, she hurried across the floor and onto the dais, where the first thing that caught her attention was the pattern of angry welts which Ming had laid across Katrina's buttocks. Kneeling on the dais beside her, Camille gently brushed Katrina's hair from her face. But Katrina's eyes remained closed, and she did not respond to the maid's soft touch. "Are you all right, Miss?" Looking round, as if to ensure that she was alone with Katrina, Camille then bent lower to place her mouth close to Katrina's ear. "Katrina," she whispered, now stroking the nape of Katrina's neck. "Katrina, it's me, Camille. I've come to take you back to your room." Katrina's eyelids flickered and opened. Turning her head to look at the maid, she murmured, "Camille? Is it you?" "Yes. Are you all right?" Katrina nodded slowly. "I'm all right. But I'm exhausted. When Ming had finished with me, she just left me lying here. I must have fallen asleep." "Did she hurt you very much?" Katrina managed a faint, rueful smile. "Enough." Taking her by the arm, Camille said, "I'll help you up." Katrina winced as Camille helped her to her feet. "Sore?" 230

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Katrina nodded. "Oh, yes. It could be…worse, I suppose. But I don't think I'll be riding for a few days." "It won't be so bad when I've put some lotion on for you. Let's get back to your room." "Did you bring some clothes for me?" Camille looked suddenly uncomfortable, seemed reluctant to answer. "Camille?" "I'm sorry, Katrina." Suddenly concerned, Katrina asked, "I don't have to walk back through the house naked again? Not after what Ming has already put me through?" "I'm…afraid so," Camille answered, hesitantly. "Ming has given me strict instructions." On hearing this, tears glistened in Katrina's eyes. "But why? I thought my punishment was over." "Not until you reach your room. It's Ming's idea, of course. Because you are naked, you will be very conscious of the marks she has left on you, and of the fact that any servants we encounter on the way will be able to see how you have been punished. It's meant to be the final humiliation." "Is there some way we can get back to my room without coming across any of the servants?" "My orders are to make sure that they do see you. I'm very sorry, Katrina, especially after what you did for me during your interview this morning. You were very brave to risk not telling Madam SIN about Halcyon Falls. About seeing me with Carl and Michael, I mean. We all three owe you a debt, and I wish I could help you now, but I can't. Ming will check to make sure I followed her orders. If I don't…" Camille shrugged. She didn't have to finish the sentence. Katrina had a good idea now what the consequences of disobedience would be for her. The spanking with the hairbrush she had received at Katrina's own hands the previous evening was nothing compared with 231

Judith the kind of punishment Ming might inflict. Resigned to the 'final humiliation', Katrina sighed. "It's all right, Camille. I understand. Let's get it over with, shall we?" "Thank you for understanding…and for not hating me. You don't hate me, do you?" Katrina managed a fragile smile. "Of course not. You're only doing what you have to do." The journey back to her quarters evoked in Katrina a combination of surprise and irritation. Surprise that she was still capable of succumbing so easily to shame and embarrassment; irritation—with herself—that despite the various profoundly degrading experiences she had undergone since selling her soul to Armand Levequ, she was still so susceptible. Would she never become inured to humiliation? As Camille led the way up stairways and along landings and passageways, they passed several male and female servants, invariably attracting surreptitious glances and whispered comments. Camille even took a totally unnecessary—it seemed to Katrina—detour through the dining room where no less than five servants were cleaning silver and setting the dining table for dinner. One of them, a tall, handsome Negro, stared at Katrina in her nudity quite brazenly. As she passed him by, she distinctly heard him murmur to the others something that included the words, 'stripes on her ass'. Feeling her already blushing face burn with even greater intensity, she silently cursed the phenomenon for betraying her wretchedness to the watching servants. *** But at last, the ordeal was over and she reached the relative safety and security of her quarters. It was already mid-afternoon, and although the sun had moved around to the front of the house and the French windows were open to admit the breeze, it was still warm inside her rooms. As soon as Camille had closed the door, Katrina turned to look at her. 232

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"Oh, Camille, that was so humiliating, passing all the servants like that. I could actually feel them staring." "I know. But I thought you handled it well—with dignity." "Dignity? I've never felt less dignified in my life." "Why don't you take a shower?" Camille responded, then added with a mischievous smile, "When you're done, I'll take care of those...stripes on your ass." In spite of all Katrina had been through, Camille's roguish reference to the black servant's comment in the dining room made her laugh. "That's better," Camille said, laughing with her. "Who is that fellow, anyway?" Katrina asked as she walked through the bedroom into the bathroom. Camille followed. "Name's Calvin. Quite a hunk, isn't he?" "I didn't notice," Katrina lied. "He's certainly offensive, though. He meant for me to hear that remark, I'm sure of it." "Why don't you punish him, then?" In the act of stepping into the shower, Katrina paused and turned to look at Camille. "Punish him? I have that power?" "Of course. He's just a servant. Like me. Unless Madam SIN changes your status, you have authority over all the servants." "Really?" Katrina mused, turning on the shower. "That's interesting." She ran the water cool, which was soothing to her injured buttocks. But when she soaped the welts with her hand, she was barely able to resist crying out at the renewed stinging in her flesh. Greater care still was required when she dried off later, because even the gentlest patting of her rump with the towel was agonizing. Nevertheless, she felt much better for having showered—physically fresh and, to some extent at least, psychologically cleansed of guilt and shame. She returned to the bedroom to find the bedclothes drawn back on the bed and a large towel spread on the under sheet. Camille was standing by the window, the jar of witch hazel lotion in her hand. 233

Judith "Nice shower?" Katrina nodded. "Mmm. I needed it." "Good. Come over here, nearer to the light, so I can see what damage Ming has done." Katrina joined Camille by the window, remaining stationary as the maid moved slowly around her, minutely examining the marks on her naked body. For once, Katrina felt no embarrassment. When the maid had completed her circular tour of inspection, she said, "The welts on your bottom are quite bad. You'll have bruises for a while, but the lotion will take away the pain soon enough. Let me deal with these smaller abrasions first." With a pad of cotton wool, Camille applied lotion to the swollen pink ridges on Katrina's breasts, belly and inner thighs—those raised by the many-thonged scourge. Although Katrina flinched at each touch, the smarting was bearable. When Camille had finished tending to these lesser injuries, she said, "Now lie face down on the bed." When Katrina was in position, Camille began to gently swab the swollen flesh on her buttocks with lotion. At first, Katrina gasped and groaned at every touch, but then the lotion began to do its job. Soon she was conscious only of a cool soothing sensation as Camille worked her magic on the temporarily mutilated flesh. Indeed, so relaxed had she become after five minutes or so of this treatment that she was on the point of dozing off when Camille spoke again. "Katrina, can I ask you something?" With an effort, Katrina raised her eyelids. "Mm?" "About when we walked back from the cellars?" Katrina's interest quickened. Abruptly, she was fully alert. "What is it, Camille? What do you want to ask me?" "How did you feel? Without clothes, I mean; the servants looking at you?" Katrina considered the question for a moment. At the recollection of the short but degrading journey, something stirred deep in her belly; something not entirely unpleasant. "Ashamed," She answered at last. 234

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"Of what?" Camille had put aside the cotton pad now, and was massaging the lotion into Katrina's flesh with her fingers. "Of what? Of being undressed in front of the servants, of course." "And of the whip marks on your bottom?" "Yes. Especially that." "But what did it feel like? I mean, what was going through your mind as we walked back?" "I felt disgraced. Like a schoolgirl who'd been whipped by the headmistress for misbehaving, then paraded naked through the school as a lesson to others." It seemed a fanciful notion now that she thought about it consciously, and yet it was exactly how she had felt at the time. Listening to her own words as she described her feelings to Camille, she had the eerie sensation that they were being spoken by someone else. "Did you hate it?" "Yes." The stirring in her belly, an amoeba of excitement, began to swell as she relived the experience in her memory. "And yet, in a way, it was…" "What?" Camille seemed very intrigued now. "I don't know. It's hard to explain...unpleasant and degrading, but sort of...exciting, also." A little shiver ran through Katrina's body, as the recollection generated a delicious oozing of moisture, as if from a hidden spring, just inside her sex. A little rivulet began to course onto the inner surface of her thighs, announcing its emergence with the heady aroma of musk. Meanwhile, Camille's fingers crept gradually closer to the source. "So you enjoyed it?" "No!" Katrina protested, suddenly conscious that she was on the verge of baring her soul to Camille, of admitting something she could barely believe herself. But then her anxiety faded as Camille's fingers slipped between her thighs, just below her buttocks. Instinctively, she parted her legs. Now the maid's fingertips slid along the portal of her sex, brushing the soft, buttery lips. "Oooh, Camille." 235

Judith "You can tell me, Katrina. You liked it, didn't you?" "No! Aaah. Ooh. Yes. Oh, please, Camille. I...don't know. I'm so confused." Katrina drew up her knees a little, pushing her bottom up off the bed and opening her thighs wider to allow Camille full access. "Oh, please Camille. Please do it. I'm so...aroused. My...cunt is on fire." But then she gasped in dismay as Camille abruptly pulled away her hand and sat upright on the edge of the bed. "Oh, Katrina, I'm sorry. I mustn't. I forgot." Once again frustrated on the brink of orgasm, Katrina uttered a little whimper of disappointment. She was mystified at Camille's inexplicable behavior. Was it the maid's intention simply to taunt her as Ming had done? She turned to look at her reproachfully. "What do you mean, Camille? Why mustn't you? I don't understand. What did you forget?" "That you are to perform tonight." Katrina's arousal evaporated instantaneously as Camille's words echoed those spoken by Madam SIN at the conclusion of her interview. Surprisingly, she too had forgotten the mysterious remark that had filled her with such consternation at the time. Now that Camille had reminded her, every other thought was driven from her mind. After all, "tonight" was just a few hours away. Turning over, she sat upright on the bed so that she was facing Camille, her knees drawn up in front of her. "I'm sorry, Katrina. I didn't mean to lead you on. Really." Katrina looked at her intently. "What does it mean, Camille—that I am to…perform? "Katrina, you know I can't..." Katrina's cheeks flushed at the reply, this time with rising anger. "That bullshit won't do any more, Camille. I know we met only recently, but in the short time we've known each we've..." She paused. "Well, we've...shared intimate moments, made love...and I thought we'd become friends." "We are friends, Katrina. It's just that..." "I stuck my neck out to save yours," Katrina interrupted. "But you 236

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won't help me. What kind of a friend does that make you?" For a long moment there was complete silence in the room while the two women looked at each other. At last, Camille said softly, "You're right. I'm selfish. I guess I'm just not as brave as you. I'll tell you everything I know, but you have to remember that I'm just a servant here. I haven't been entrusted with any secrets. What I know, I've picked up just by keeping my eyes and ears open." "Just tell me," Katrina urged, impatient to learn more of her circumstances. "Please." "All right. But first, put on your gown. The sight of you without clothes is very distracting." When Katrina realized Camille was serious, she went to bathroom and put on the silk dressing gown. Returning then to the bedroom, she sat next to her on the bed again. "Where do I begin?" Camille wondered aloud. "With tonight's performance," Katrina answered without hesitation. "No. I'll come to that, I promise. But first let me tell you what I know about this place, which isn't much, I'm afraid. You heard what Madam SIN said; this island and Chateau Levequ exist for the pleasure and gratification of Armand Levequ and his privileged friends and associates. Guests who visit here usually stay for at least a few days, sometimes longer. While they are here, they are indulged in every way possible. The island is beautiful, the chateau magnificent. The accommodation, the food and wine are as good as you could find anywhere in the world. But what makes this place the ultimate destination for Armand Levequ's guests, is that their sexual appetites and desires—no matter how bizarre or extravagant—can be fulfilled here." "Fantasy Island," Katrina said, remembering re-runs she had seen of the old American television series. "Exactly, except that the fantasies conjured up here by Madam SIN and her cohorts make the world of Rourke and Tattoo look like a kindergarten." 237

Judith Listening to Camille, Katrina was becoming increasingly puzzled. Something about the pretty mulatto didn't seem quite right. "Forgive me, Camille," she said. "I don't mean to be rude, but the more I talk to you, the more difficult I find it to think of you as..." Camille smiled, interjecting, "A maid?" "Yes." "I wasn't until I came here last year. I was at university in Paris studying medicine. But my father died and I couldn't afford to carry on, so I went back home to Martinique and got a job as a tour guide. The money wasn't great, but my family is very poor so every little bit helped. My luck changed when I won a local beauty contest heat back home. Miss Caribbean. I made it to the finals in Jamaica. Second runner-up. That earned me two thousand dollars. I was overjoyed. But the real break came after the contest. That night, one of Armand's people—a scout of sorts, I suppose you'd call him—came to my room in the hotel where the contestants were staying. He'd seen me in the final and offered me a contract here. As a maid. I told him I wasn't interested in domestic work, but when he told me how much I could earn, I soon changed my mind. It didn't take me long to work out that in just two years I would have enough to leave my family reasonably well provided for and return to my studies in France. Not bad for a maid. Of course, there was a catch." "The terms of the contract." "Exactly," Camille confirmed with a sardonic smile. "Secrecy, absolute obedience and, well, you know the rest. Everyone who works here is subject to the same basic conditions. I'm not naive; I realized the possible implications, but the money I was being offered was just too much to say no to. When I got here, I discovered that, like the others, I could be called on any time to take part in...how should I put it?...extra-curricular activities." "Sex." Camille nodded. "In every conceivable manifestation. That's why being attractive is a prerequisite for recruitment, of course. Even for domestic workers." 238

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"Has it been awful for you?" "Hell, no. Though, at times…well, some of the more exotic aspects can be quite an ordeal. But as far as the sex is concerned, I happen to think that if God made anything better, he kept it to himself." Katrina laughed. "Of course, my job is primarily that of a maid, but my body has been in fairly constant demand also. In fact, I've had the most exciting experiences of my life here. But you have to take the rough with the smooth, and sometimes that means pain and humiliation. There have been times when I had to do things that I would have died to avoid before I came here. But as the Americans say, that's the deal. We are here to serve; to please and gratify our masters and mistresses in whatever manner they choose. Any personal pleasure we happen to experience in the process is a bonus." "This place is unbelievable," Katrina said. "I don't think I've ever heard of anything so decadent." Camille shrugged, philosophically. "At least you'll never be bored." "What about Safire and Tiffany? What's their role here?" "Ah, the two women you arrived with. Well as it happens, the term role is a very appropriate one in their case. They were recruited specifically as performers." "Performers? What, as dancers you mean?" "That may be what they did in the outside world, but here they will perform whatever role is required of them. You see, with Vladimir Romanoff's help, Madam SIN brings the sexual fantasies of Armand Levequ's guests to life for them, or in some cases creates originals of her own devising for their pleasure and entertainment. The performers play the roles in these fantasies, like members of a film cast. The difference here is that audience participation is often involved and the plot can take on a life of its own." "And the performers are recruited from the entertainment industry, I suppose?" 239

Judith "Not all, but mostly, I think. Dancers like Tiffany and Safire, actors…" "Is that why I've been brought here? To be become a performer?" "No. That is, not specifically. I'm sure you will be required to do your share of performing, but no, you are not to become one of the performers. They all live in the village." "Yes, I meant to ask you about that." "The village is a purpose-built complex concealed in the forest just outside the estate. Only a few people are accommodated in the chateau; Madam SIN herself, naturally, Armand Levequ's guests, essential servants. Vladimir Romanoff, Frederique and Ming have rooms both here and in the village, and divide their time between the two according to their commitments. Everyone else lives in the village." "Why not me?" "Ah, a good question. But one I'm afraid I can't answer. You don't seem to fit into any of the usual categories. I'm not sure what Madam SIN has in mind for you, but your status is entirely new to me. And strange. In some respects you enjoy the privileges of a guest, but in others it seems as if you are to be treated like the rest of us. Perhaps worse." "Worse?" Katrina looked at Camille aghast. "Oh, I'm sorry, that was stupid of me. I shouldn't have let that slip." "What do you mean, worse?" "Forget I said that. It's nothing." "Camille! Tell me." "I really shouldn't have mentioned it. It's very difficult to explain." "Try." "Well, I've heard Madam SIN talking about you with the others— you know, Ming, Romanoff and Frederique. But just snatches of conversations here and there." "And?" "Well, you're definitely not like the rest of us. They seem to be 240

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planning some kind of program for you. They talk about grooming you, monitoring your progress, assessing your potential. It's as if they intend to prepare you for something very special, something unique. But when I think of some of the bizarre things I've seen and taken part in here…things that are regarded as normal at Chateau Levequ…I can't begin to imagine what they have in mind for you." "It sounds like I'm going to be a human sacrifice," Katrina said, with dark humor. "Oh, heavens, no," Camille answered hurriedly. "This may be a decadent place, but there's nothing like that here." "How do you know?" "I've had plenty of time to observe and listen to Madam SIN and the others, and I just don't believe that they would do anything as sinister as...murdering anyone. That's not what they are about here. Sure, Armand Levequ and his associates have exotic sexual tastes, and deriving pleasure from inflicting suffering and humiliation on their…subjects…is certainly one manifestation of those tastes. But pleasure is their ultimate goal. I'm sure of that. And not just for themselves. I truly believe that whatever diabolical ordeal they might subject us to, there has to be an element of pleasure for us too. More than anything else, they seem to enjoy the ambivalence of suffering combined with sexual arousal and pleasure. In fact, I have to admit that my worst experiences—even at Ming's hands—have been pleasurable and exciting despite the humiliation or pain. And besides, we all have a choice. If we choose not to submit to what is being asked of us, the option to renounce our contracts is always available, though I've not known anybody to exercise that option during my time here." "Well, I hope you're right," Katrina sighed. "But even if you are, it doesn't help a lot. I still have no idea what's in store for me." "Not ultimately, perhaps, but I can tell you something about what will happen tonight." "My...performance?" Camille nodded. "I heard them talking about it after the interview 241

Judith this morning. But it isn't just to be a performance. It will be a test also, to see if you have what Madam SIN called 'the basic animal fire'." "Oh, my God. What does that mean?" "I'll tell you. And I think I can help you to pass the test, too. But you will have to be strong." Katrina listened in wide-eyed dismay as Camille described the challenge that awaited her that evening and her proposal for overcoming it. "Oh, my God, Camille," she said when the maid had finished. "I don't know if I can handle that. Especially with them all watching." Camille took her by the shoulders and looked into her eyes. "Katrina, I don't know why you indentured yourself to Armand Levequ. We all have our reasons, but in your case, I know instinctively that it isn't the money. If seeing out your contract is as important to you as I think it is, you have no choice. You must do as I have suggested. It's your only hope." "Thank you for being so frank with me, Camille. I swear I won't let anyone know what you've told me." Rising from the bed, Camille said, "I'd better go now, let you get some sleep before Sharon comes to prepare you. Oh, there's one more thing you should know. The wine. Often, though not always, drugs will be slipped into your glass. "Drugs? What kind of drugs?" "It depends on what they have in mind for you. A sedative, if they think you're too tense or anxious. Perhaps an aphrodisiac to fire you up a little, or a combination. Whatever they think is necessary to induce the desired effect. Ming produces a whole range of…what do they call them?…mind-altering substances. That's one of her many skills." When Camille had left, Katrina lay on her bed thinking about the drugged wine. It explained a lot, but not everything. It probably explained why she had been so easily sexually aroused since she had been at Chateau Levequ, and why at times her behavior had been so 242

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uncharacteristically uninhibited. But, on a deeper level, she could hardly blame the wine, drugged or otherwise, for everything. Certainly not for the incremental erosion of her former moral values that had been taking place recently. Perhaps not even for the increasing ease with which she seemed able to overcome her inhibitions in order to submit to, even embrace, new and previously unthinkable sexual experiences. Each time, when the effects of the wine wore off, she knew—but had been reluctant to admit—that she had undergone another stage in an evolution of her inner self that had begun one brightly moonlit night in the gazebo at Rylands. She was now beginning to acknowledge that evolution as inevitable—her destiny—and the wine as simply a catalyst in the process. And, in truth, she could not claim that she was being forced to change, to become something she was not. It seemed, rather, that like an onion being peeled, layers of her external personality were being stripped away to reveal the reality within. And so, she realized, if she were to blame Armand for anything at all, it should not be for corrupting her, but for liberating her true sensuality from the constraints of a protective moral upbringing. This conviction grew stronger by the minute, yet did little to ease her consternation about what lay ahead of her at Chateau Levequ. It was with these thoughts shifting randomly in her mind that Katrina eventually fell asleep. She awoke some hours later to find that the sun had set, and the azure sky beyond her bedroom window had conceded to the deep purple of night, shot with the glitter of countless stars. She lay for a while, admiring and wondering at the sheer beauty of the night sky, until the doorbell interrupted her reverie. She switched on the lights as she passed from bedroom to lounge. "Who's there?" "Katrina? It's Sharon." Katrina opened the door to reveal the petite blonde, now wearing a plain white cotton shift that gave her the appearance of a nurse. She held a tan leather valise in one hand. Just behind her stood the Negro 243

Judith servant who had remarked about the whip marks on her behind as she passed through the dining room earlier. Calvin, Camille had called him. He was holding a silver tray, on which a bottle of wine, a glass and several dishes rested. Katrina instinctively pulled her robe closer against her body, tightening the belt. Sharon was smiling amiably. "May I come in?" Katrina stepped back, opening the door wider. "Please." Once inside the living room, Calvin set the tray down on the small dining table. Now, Katrina saw that the dishes contained a selection of hors d'oeuvres. "I know you haven't had dinner, because I checked, so I brought these along in case you felt like something." It was the first time Sharon had said enough to confirm Katrina's guess, based purely on her appearance, that she was American. There was an unmistakable L.A. chic about her. Katrina shook her head. "Thanks. I'm really not hungry." "All right. But at least have a glass of burgundy. It will help you relax. Calvin..." As the servant began to pour wine into the glass, Katrina recalled what Camille had told her; the surreptitious use of sedatives and aphrodisiacs. "Why would I need to relax? And why are you here?" "Perhaps you didn't catch what Madam SIN said this morning. You have a performance tonight. My job is to prepare you for it." "Performance?" Katrina said, feigning forgetfulness and puzzlement. "Oh. Yes. I vaguely remember now. But I don't understand. What kind of performance? What exactly is expected of me?" "I'm sorry. I can't tell you that. You'll find out soon enough. It won't be long now. Drink your wine, it'll help you relax." I'm sure, Katrina thought, as she took the glass from the tray. There was nothing in the taste to betray any alien ingredient in the burgundy, which was in every respect outstanding. In the light of what she now knew about the wine, she had considered trying to avoid 244

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drinking it, but then she realized that, if she was to go through with what she and Camille had planned earlier, she would need more than just courage and determination. The burgundy, with its beguiling, mind-bending additive, might make all the difference. Sharon watched patiently as Katrina drank the wine. "All right," she said briskly when Katrina had drained the glass. "Let's get started. Take off your robe." "Do I have to?" Why she asked the rhetorical question, Katrina had no idea—unless it was to put off the inevitable for a moment longer. "Perhaps I should explain," Sharon replied. "By profession, I'm a beautician and fashion designer. Here at Chateau Levequ, I'm responsible for make-up and wardrobe. In other words, for ensuring that personal appearances are exactly as required. You are about to undergo a major make-over, honey, so…off with the robe." "But what about him?" "He stays. He'll be helping me." Resigned, Katrina unfastened the belt of her robe, shrugged the garment from her shoulders and let it slide from her body to the floor. Calvin's eyes widened noticeably. There was something that disturbed her about the man. Unlike the other servants, he never appeared subservient in her presence. On the contrary, there was a pride approaching arrogance in his expression and demeanor. Predictably, she felt herself blush as his gaze ran the length of her naked body. Would she never be free of this damned juvenile affliction? Removing two small bottles from her valise, Sharon led Katrina into the bathroom where she shampooed her hair, then worked in a liquid coloring agent, the effects of which, she explained, would be instantly reversed simply by washing again. Next they returned to the bedroom where Sharon's valise lay open on the dressing table. It contained an assortment of items, including a hair drier, brushes, combs, bottles and other containers. She had Katrina sit on a chair, then dried and styled her hair. When this had been done to her 245

Judith satisfaction, she stood back and looked at her appraisingly. "I must say, I'm surprised. I didn't think you'd look this good with black hair. Of course, your pussy doesn't match, but then that won't matter in a moment or so." Katrina's stomach lurched as she realized the significance of the remark. Romanoff had spoken of having her shaved so that her labia could be seen more clearly. Was that going to happen now, with the audacious Calvin looking on? The answer became apparent as Sharon removed a woman's safety razor from the valise, along with a man's shaving brush, a stick of shaving soap and a small mug. Calvin took the mug and went to the bathroom. When he returned, he brought a towel which he laid on the bed. Then, with the shaving soap and brush, he began mixing lather in the mug. Sharon said, "Lie on the bed, please, Katrina; on your back with your bottom on the edge." Once Katrina had lain in position on the bed as instructed, Sharon stooped to take hold of her ankles, lifting and separating them until her legs, bent at the knees, were spread wide. Calvin, still lathering the shaving brush, now fixed his gaze between Katrina's parted thighs, where her sex and the darkly puckered opening of her anus were exposed. In her shame, the crimson flush spread from her cheeks to her neck and throat. Yet, something—the wine or her own perverse sexuality, perhaps a combination of both—was already transmitting conflicting signals to her body. The familiar tingling warmth crept along the channel of her vulva. Calvin smiled, knowingly, as the soft pink flesh of her furrow began to glisten with her exuding secretion. And it wasn’t just Calvin who noticed her arousal. "Ah, I see you enjoy showing off your pussy," Sharon remarked, archly. "Well, I can't say I blame you. It is a very lovely pussy. Don't you agree, Calvin?" Calvin's only response was a lascivious grin. In her chagrin, Katrina turned her head to one side so that she wouldn’t have to see either of their faces. "Don't be coy, Katrina. I understand perfectly. Besides, I need you 246

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to hold your legs apart so that my hands are free. Here, take hold of your thighs just behind your knees, like this." Sharon placed Katrina's hands in the required position. "Good. But pull your thighs further apart so I can get at you properly." As Katrina complied, Sharon placed a pillow on the floor, then knelt on it between her parted thighs. "Calvin…" Calvin stepped forward and handed her the mug and shaving brush. "Sometimes, the old fashioned methods are the best, you know," Sharon said as she flourished the brush inside the mug. "This is a traditional English shaving brush, just like the one my dad used to use. It's made of badger hair, soft, but very effective for working up a good lather, which is important if you want a smooth, comfortable shave." As she spoke, Sharon removed the brush from the mug and transferred it purposefully to Katrina's silken mound. Katrina recoiled at the first touch of the brush, then trembled with delight when Sharon began to lather her pubic region with insistent circular strokes. She struggled to keep from moaning in response to the exquisitely pleasurable sensation the shaving brush imparted as Sharon spread the foaming lather over and around her sex, but she was unable to repress a little shudder each time the badger hair brushed the sensitive, fleshy labia. "There, now. We can begin," Sharon said at length, handing the brush back to Calvin and exchanging it for the razor. "Have you ever had your pussy shaved before, Katrina?" Katrina shook her head in reply, then gasped as the cool steel blade made contact with her skin. "I think you'll like the feeling when it's done. Having a smooth, bare sex is very…sensual." As Sharon passed the razor over Katrina's mound, scything a swathe through the flaxen hair, Calvin watched, seemingly transfixed, his pupils dilated to better absorb the visual image. But it was the thick bulge at his groin, beneath the straining cotton of his britches 247

Judith that attracted Katrina's attention. She felt light-headed, euphoric. The sensation was stronger than she had experienced previously. Perhaps the wine had been more heavily laced this time. In any event, the effect was overpowering. Like some mystical key, it had already unlocked the repository of her innermost self, releasing secret desires, and the dark, intimate yearning of her soul. As a result, her attitude to Calvin's presence had undergone a distinct transformation during the past few minutes. At first, she would have given anything to avoid him witnessing her shame as she underwent this humiliating process. But now, she was actually reveling in his hungry stare, was willing him to devour her with his eyes. She spread her thighs even wider to present herself the better to his gaze as the razor reaped its golden harvest, baring more of the flesh beneath with each stroke. When Katrina's thatch had been completely removed, Sharon escorted her to the bathroom where she bathed the newly exposed flesh as Katrina squatted over the bidet. Throughout this process, Katrina moaned and writhed in unashamed pleasure as the other woman's fingers, slick with soap, repeatedly caressed the lips of her sex, and her clitoris. "Stop it, Katrina," Sharon chided. "Madam SIN will have my hide if you have an orgasm now, before the performance." "I'm sorry, but it feels so…mmm." "So will the next stage, but you must control yourself. Stand up." When Sharon had toweled Katrina dry, she led her back to the bedroom where she had her lie on the bed again. "You are to keep your pussy like this until further notice. It's not difficult, but you'll need to apply this special depilatory lotion regularly, perhaps even daily. It depends on how fast your hair grows." As she was speaking, Sharon took a bottle from her valise and removed the top. Pouring some of the lotion onto her fingertips, she applied it to Katrina's shaven mound and began to massage it into the flesh. "This will keep your skin as smooth as silk." 248

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As Sharon applied the lotion, her fingers brushed repeatedly against Katrina's protruding labia. Each time this happened, Katrina thrust up her hips against them with a moan—until, that is, Sharon eventually delivered a hard slap to her mons. Katrina cried out, her flesh stinging from the blow. "I'm sorry, Katrina, but I couldn't risk having you come. It would be more than my life's worth." Temporarily subdued—even a little sullen—Katrina remained quite still while Sharon finished applying the lotion. Next, the beautician produced from her valise a diamond solitaire set in a black velvet choker, a pair of black self-supporting stockings and black, patent leather shoes with very high stiletto heels. "Here, put these on." Katrina moved to sit on the edge of the bed. Conscious that Calvin was still watching her intently, she slowly rolled on each of the stockings in turn until they were held firmly upon her upper thighs. "Now the shoes." She stood and slipped her feet into the shoes, increasing her height by perhaps five inches. "Here, let me put this on for you." Sharon fitted the choker around Katrina's neck, then fastened it in place. "Now your face. Come and sit on this chair near the light." For the next twenty minutes, Sharon used an assortment of brushes and make-up from her valise to complete Katrina's transformation. Lip-gloss, eye-shadow, mascara, blusher—all were applied with meticulous attention to detail until at last Sharon seemed satisfied with her work. Stepping back to look at Katrina, she smiled. "You're a different woman. Just as beautiful, but very different. Look in the mirror." Katrina rose and moved across the room to the dressing mirror where she confronted her reflection and gasped. "Oh, my!" The exclamation came nowhere near to fully expressing her astonishment. The woman in the mirror was certainly not Katrina Mandell. The fresh-faced, wholesome young blonde had ceased to 249

Judith exist. In her place stood a sultry, raven-haired temptress—sensuous, provocative and bristling with overt sexuality. Her hair, normally the color of ripe wheat and naturally wavy, was now quite straight and jet black, emphasizing her slender shoulders, over which the last few inches were draped. Her lips were glossed deep red, while mauve eye shadow rendered the pale, glacial blue of her eyes even more remarkable than usual. Facially, the exotic reflection in the mirror personified that of the beautiful and ordinarily aloof fashion model— turned harlot! And the prospect of her body was no less stunning to Katrina. The diamond choker, sheer black stockings and high-heeled shoes highlighted her nudity dramatically, particularly that freshly shaved delta of flesh which, only moments ago, had been protected by a luxuriant pelt of flaxen hair. Now, as Vladimir Romanoff had desired it so, the outer lips of her sex, protruding as they did from the peach-like divide of her sex, were plainly visible. Completely exposed in this manner for the first time, they reminded Katrina of crushed velvet. Entranced by the sight, she reache across her belly to brush her fingertips over the dusky pink pleats of flesh, shuddering a little at her own caress. Sharon looked at her watch. "We're leaving now, Katrina," she announced, interrupting Katrina's preoccupation with her own image. "You must follow in fifteen minutes. Alone, and exactly as you are now. Is that clear?" "Mm? Oh, yes. Clear. Where am I to go?" As she listened to Sharon's directions, Katrina's eyes remained fixed on the mirror. Only when she was alone again did the spell break, for now, she suddenly realized, the next step was up to her. There would be no one to instruct her or escort her to her destination, or from whom to draw moral support if she encountered anyone along the way. To walk through the house alone, looking like this, was a daunting prospect. The careless abandon of only moments ago had ebbed, and for a moment she was paralyzed in the grip of panic. Then the wine bottle caught her eye. For some reason, Calvin did not take it away with him when he and Camille left. Quickly, her 250

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hands trembling, she poured herself another glass. *** By the time Katrina stepped from her room, the wine and its mysterious additive had not only dispelled her apprehension, but also rekindled her arousal. Now, as she walked in solitude through the chateau, along ancient lamp-lit passages and descending stairways, there was an almost flamboyant air about the way she carried herself. Erect and proud, she moved with fluid grace, as if she were a dancer entering onto the stage, which in a way was how she felt. But there was more than that to what was going on inside her. The recollection of her image in the mirror, of how she now looked after her metamorphosis, was a source of excitement. So much so, that she was actually hoping for an opportunity to flaunt herself to the servants en route to her appointment. There was also a perverse masochistic thrill in the knowledge that every step brought her closer to an experience that would require her to relinquish the last remaining vestiges of her modesty and virtue. To her disappointment, she met no one on the short journey, but nevertheless took sensual pleasure from parading openly through the chateau like some brazen courtesan, shaven and naked but for the velvet choker, high-heeled shoes and black stockings. When she arrived at the first floor door to which Sharon had directed her, she knocked without hesitation. The door was opened by a black male servant, who motioned her across the threshold. The bedroom, which was big even by the chateau's generous standards, was nonetheless dominated by a vast four-poster bed on which the white silk sheets had been turned down. The only light in the room was from three theatrical-type spotlights on tall stands which were trained on the surface of the bed from different vantage points, as were the two mounted video cameras operated by men in designer jeans and open-necked shirts. The focus of both lights and cameras alike was a naked couple who were copulating on the bed with unrestrained 251

Judith passion. Katrina moved further into the room until the servant signaled her to stop. From here she had an unobstructed view of the couple, and was intrigued to discover that the woman was none other than Tiffany. The man, as she had expected from Camille's briefing, was the Scandinavian, Michael, who, together with the black servant, Carl, had ravished Camille so devastatingly at Halcyon Falls. He was on top, with Tiffany's legs wrapped around him, her heels in the small of his back as he thrust repeatedly down on her. His own legs were apart, bent at the knees to support his body a little above the mattress. From her position at the foot of the bed, Katrina could clearly see his penis, thick and solid, shuttling smoothly back and forth in Tiffany's accommodating sex. He penetrated her to the hilt, so that with each thrust, his testicles, round and snug within their satin-like purse, were compressed hard against the lower extremities of her distended slit. It was a deeply stirring sight, and Katrina felt a moist prickling deep within the lips of her own vulva as her arousal intensified. It was clear that she had arrived on the scene in its closing moments. Michael's animal grunts and Tiffany's panting cries of delight signified beyond doubt that they were both very close to orgasm. "Remember, Michael, don't come inside her. We want to actually see it, so there can be no doubt." The voice, unmistakably that of Madam SIN, came from the shadows somewhere on Katrina's left and close to the bed. Reluctantly dragging her gaze from the electrifying spectacle provided by Tiffany and Michael, Katrina now saw that there were three wingbacked armchairs facing the side of the bed in a loose semicircle. Although the chairs were just outside the pool of light thrown by the spotlights, she was able to recognize the faces of the occupants in the soft reflected radiance. Madam SIN, like Ming and Vladimir Romanoff who flanked her on either side, were observing the unbridled coupling on the bed with rapt interest. Katrina's eyes remained on the trio for only a second before a long, low squeal of ecstasy from Tiffany recalled her full attention. 252

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Transported by climax, the redhead clutched wildly at the sheet while Michael's cock continued to ream her with savage fury. In the final moments, his clenched buttocks rose and fell as if driven by a machine. Suddenly, he withdrew from her and clambered up along her body so that he was kneeling over her. Tiffany immediately transferred her right hand to her sex, replacing Michael's cock with groping fingers in order to sustain her orgasm. With her free hand, she seized his straining penis, rapidly working its rigid length back and forth until, with a strangled growl, he too achieved release. Great globs of semen spurted from the eye of his cock, spattering Tiffany's face, throat and breasts. Still in the throes of her climax, she eagerly licked the libation from her lips, as each of Michael’s own successive orgasmic spasms spilled yet more of the viscous fluid over her. At last he was finally spent. Perspiring and breathing heavily like an athlete after his event, Michael rolled over to lie alongside Tiffany. For a little while there was no movement in the room, no sound, save that of the panting and soft murmuring of the couple on the bed as they recovered from their exertions. At length, Madam SIN's voice broke the silence. "That was very good. A fine performance, both of you." For the first time since Katrina had entered the room, Madam SIN turned to look at her, her amber eyes gleaming, cat-like. "Time now for Katrina's debut." Far from being terrified, as she had thought she would be, Katrina was now so aroused that she could barely wait to meet the challenge she knew she faced. Her sex and the immediately surrounding flesh were moist with the secretion that had been steadily oozing from within. The haze of euphoria that enveloped her consciousness reminded her a little of the effects of the joint she smoked with Safire aboard the Aphrodite, except that it was more intense and seemed also to permeate the very fiber of her being. Her eyes still fixed on Katrina, Madam SIN said, "Thank you, Tiffany. You may go now." With a deep sigh, Tiffany stirred and climbed off the bed. The black servant draped a robe over her shoulders, then escorted her 253

Judith toward the bedroom door. As she passed Katrina, she smiled, briefly closed her eyes and mouthed the words "Oh boy!" When Tiffany had left the room, Madam SIN said, "Come, Katrina. Stand there in the light where we can see you." Katrina walked over to the armchairs and stood facing them in the glare and sensual warmth of the spotlights. She stood erect, proud— for the moment, at least—of her wanton appearance. Romanoff seemed particularly impressed. "There," he murmured, softly. "What did I tell you? Doesn't she look fantastic? Look how the shoes and stockings enhance the shape and appearance of her legs. And the choker is a nice touch, also." Raising his right hand, he leaned forward from his armchair. Anticipating him, Katrina set her feet a little wider apart on the floor and eased forward from the hip. This change in posture opened her thighs to admit his exploring fingers. Their contact with her moist, protruding labia evoked a shudder of pleasure from her. The swollen lips slithered between his fingertips as he softly pulled on them. Smiling, he repeated the action several times, sending ripples of delight through Katrina's body. "You see," he remarked. "Not only do her labia look more attractive like this, being shaved also makes her more sensitive." Madam SIN reflected Romanoff's smile. "Yes, Vladimir. As usual in these matters, you are right." Raising her gaze from Katrina's sex to her eyes, Madam SIN addressed her again. "Turn around slowly, my dear." As Katrina obediently executed a slow three hundred and sixty degree turn, Madam SIN reached out to touch her buttocks, exploring the contours of the now faded pink weals Ming had inflicted earlier. The fingertips were cool upon Katrina's sensitive, injured flesh, but the feeling was sensual, not painful. "You've marked her with the whip, Ming," Madam SIN said reproachfully. "You didn't say I shouldn't mark her, Christina. You said that I should not be too excessive, not do anything that might impair her 254

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performance. You know my skill in these matters. I took her exactly as far as I intended. As you can see, she is not in any real pain now. She'll be all right. Besides, I think her stripes look very becoming. Look how they contrast with the color of her flesh." "I agree," Romanoff concurred. "Quite charming." Madam SIN laughed lightly. "Really, Vladimir. How can I keep Ming in her place when you encourage her like that? You know how incorrigible she can be." "But it's true, Christina. How can you say otherwise?" "I know, I know. You are right again, of course," Madam SIN conceded to Romanoff. Then to Ming, "But beware, Ming. Remember to temper your arrogance when you are addressing me; otherwise…" There was a strange light in Ming's eyes as she looked back at Madam SIN. "If I offend, then I must pay the price. No one knows that better than I. And I am always ready…Mistress." Having turned full circle, Katrina observed the odd exchange between the two women as she waited for further instruction. Eventually breaking her gaze with Ming, Madam SIN redirected her attention to Katrina. "Now, Katrina, the time has come to prove yourself. The success of the principal purpose for which you were brought to Chateau Levequ depends upon a number of factors. One of them is your ability to understand the complexity of male sexuality, to be able to identify the things that arouse a man, and exploit them to full advantage. Your challenge this evening is Michael. Only a few moments ago, as we all witnessed, he experienced an orgasm. After such an event, most men require time to recover before they are able to penetrate a woman again. How much time depends partly upon the man, of course…but also largely on the woman who would have him penetrate her. Your task is to enable Michael to do just that. You will be timed as a measure of your expertise, and I should warn you that your future hangs in the balance. If you fail to meet what we consider to be an acceptable standard, your contract will be revoked. The cameras will 255

Judith record everything and I shall keep the tape—insurance, you see, against the possibility that you might otherwise be tempted to tell what you know of this place at some future date." "I see," Katrina replied evenly. An expression of surprise, perhaps even suspicion, momentarily clouded the gleam in Madam SIN's eyes. "You don't seem unduly concerned about all this. Has someone been talking to you? Forewarned you of what to expect?" Katrina shook her head. Trying to sound matter-of-fact, she said, "Of course not, Madam SIN. It's simply that I know my fate is in your hands, and that I have no option. I can only do my best." Seemingly reassured, Madam SIN smiled again. "That is a very sensible attitude, Katrina. I'm encouraged. Go ahead, then, do your best." In response to Madam SIN's gesture toward the bed, Katrina turned to find Michael reclining on one elbow in the middle of the mattress, regarding her with an enigmatic smile. Now in repose, his penis lay draped over his lower thigh like a golden serpent basking in the sun. Far from seeming to sympathize with Katrina, he seemed faintly amused by the situation. Indeed, his entire demeanor seemed to say, "Here I am. Let's see what you can do." But if Madam SIN and her associates thought they could intimidate Katrina like this, they were very wrong. A month, perhaps even a week ago, she would have been paralyzed in these circumstances. Not now. If they wanted her to 'perform', then she was prepared—eager, in fact—to oblige. The wine and her latelyliberated libido had seen to that. She moved to the edge of the bed, bending to remove her shoes, when Romanoff checked her. "No! Keep them on." Without quite knowing why, the order caused her to smile inwardly. Perhaps it was the realization that the notorious movie director was clearly aroused by her appearance, and that the stockings and these long, spiked heels enhanced her erotic attraction for him. The thought further stimulated her own arousal, and she 256

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decided in that moment that she would give her audience a performance to remember. Fully confident now of her own sexuality, she knelt on the bed, then crawled toward Michael. The stiletto heels made movement on the mattress a little awkward, and she was also conscious of the heavy pull of her breasts as they swung beneath her, yet both of these phenomena somehow add to her excitement. She took Michael by the shoulder, urging him backward and down, toward mattress. He did not resist. When he lay flat on his back, she stooped to kiss him full on the mouth, allowing her breasts to brush against his arm and chest. Placing her left hand under the back of his neck she held him firmly while she shamelessly inserted her tongue between his lips. Her head spun as his tongue met hers in a gloriously sensuous oral pas-de-deux. His mouth was mint fresh, his breath warm and sweet. She ran her free hand down across his chest and over the hard musculature of his belly to insinuate her fingers into the dense golden fleece at his groin. She paused. He made a faint low sound of encouragement deep in his throat. Her heart and the pulses at her temples throbbed as her fingers crept, spider-like, onto the soft satin bulk of his cock. It stirred under her touch. She curled her fingers around it, squeezing gently. The warm flesh expanded, thickening, firming. She felt the languorous beast begin to grow in her hand, but despite her insistent caressing and massaging, it remained pliant, still unready for the task to which she sought to press it. Mindful that she dare not delay, she withdrew her lips from his. She looked down on the beautiful angel face. He was smiling, but there was mockery…and challenge…in his pale blue eyes as he spoke. "I'd love to give you the fucking you deserve, Katrina, but you'll have to do better than that." With an effort, Katrina managed to subdue her rising ire at the taunt. Returning his smile with exaggerated sweetness, she whispered, "All right. Why don't we see what I have to offer?" She moved sensually down along his body until her face was immediately above the flaxen forest at his groin, where his tumescent 257

Judith penis rested in her hand. Even in this unready state, she thought, it was a beautiful thing. As she drew closer, her nostrils flared instinctively to inhale a heady concoction of aromas—the musk of Tiffany's intimate secretions mixed with the powerful masculine tang of Michael's own recent ejaculation. With a sigh, she guided his cock into her mouth, enfolding it with her lips and tongue. His sibilant response was unequivocal. "Yes!" Encouraged, she set to work, passing her mouth wetly up and down along his shaft, which although still not erect, was already far too big for her to accommodate entirely. Without interrupting her ministrations, she wriggled around to snake a thigh across his chest, then poising her hips, eased back toward his face. He grasped her hips, pulling her down onto his mouth. She shuddered and moaned as his lips pressed against her labia in a long moist kiss, then grunted as his tongue suddenly penetrated her. Thus, for several minutes, they lay, pleasuring each other, until Katrina recalled the urgency of her task. Yet even now, despite its considerable size, Michael's cock was still neither fully erect nor firm enough to enable her to complete that task. Time, she judged, for the ultimate strategy. Releasing him from the moist embrace of her mouth, Katrina changed position again to sit astride his hips, facing him. He looked at her quizzically as she leaned forward to take hold of his shoulders. Bending toward him, she held her face just inches from his, fixing him with a steady, purposeful gaze. "What is it, Michael?" she murmured, slyly. "Virgins don't interest you?" A spark of light smoldered briefly in his eyes. Then he grinned, skeptically. "You're no virgin." "You don't understand, Michael," she answered. "I mean…" She paused, deciding that he would probably be more familiar with the American term than the English. "I'm talking about my ass." The grin disappeared as his interest quickened. "You mean you've never been…" 258

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"Never," she lied, lowering her face to his. She kissed him again, this time experiencing the familiar musk scent—and the less familiar taste—of her own sex on his lips. As she rose again, she felt the insistent pressure of his cock, perpendicular now and sandwiched between her buttocks. She moved forward onto his waist, the lips of her sex slip-sliding, snail-like, over his flesh. Swiveling around from the hip, she reached for his organ. The transformation was complete. Now, as if by magic, the magnificent thing was suddenly fiercely erect and adamantine hard. She smiled, smugly. Her success thus far was due almost entirely to Camille who, from her own intimate association with Michael, was familiar with his sexual preferences, his two overwhelming obsessions. Nothing, she had told Katrina, gave him quite so much pleasure and satisfaction as anal sex and the act of deflowering a virgin—and not necessarily in that order of priority. Now, in a sense, Katrina was offering him both. "So, how do you want me?" she asked, provocatively. His answer was to take hold of her by the waist and remove her bodily from her position astride his hips, onto the bed beside him. Taken aback a little at his impetuous response, she simply lay and watched in wonder as he scrambled to his knees. Now unequivocally rampant, his cock projected majestically from his groin. To Katrina, in the knowledge of its imminent destination, it is seemed at once both dazzling and fearsome. "On your hands and knees…so I can take you from behind." Her arousal heightened by a sense of impending triumph, Katrina was quick to obey. Scrambling onto all fours, her thighs slightly apart, she presented her buttocks to him like a submissive she-wolf in heat—the analogy that occurred to her as she assumed the posture. As she awaited the violation she had invited, she pictured in her mind how she must look to Madam SIN and the others in the room. Perhaps one day she would view the videotape herself, so that she could see how her mental imagery compared with the reality: she, nude but for the choker, sheer black stockings and stilettoheeled shoes; her back swaying low between raised shoulders and 259

Judith buttocks; her breasts pendulous beneath her, the nipples stiff, painful with desire; Michael, kneeling behind her, his great rigid penis poised to breach the tight, puckered portal of her anus. As she visualized the scene, a warm trickle of moisture seeped from between the lips of her sex onto her inner thighs. Now that the moment was imminent, her insides ached with her desire for Michael to penetrate her. She would not have to wait long. Placing his left hand on her hip, he used the other to guide his cock to her sex, nuzzling the tip among the silky, moist labia. Reflexively, her sphincter muscles relaxed in response. She had braced herself for a more barbarous invasion of the smaller, forbidden passage that lay just a pinch away, but he clearly intended to take her in the conventional fashion first. This seemed to her an agreeable prelude to the act of gross debauchery to which she had voluntarily committed herself. Lowering herself onto her elbows, she leaned back into him. Despite its solid, swollen girth, his cock penetrated her with ease, its entire length soon lying buried deep inside her. "Ooooooh." Her long low moan of pleasure escaped through pursed, scarlet-painted lips. With her penetration came the startling conscious realization that this was the first time she had been impaled upon a real penis since her encounter in the gazebo with Armand Levequ…and that she desperately needed it. She wriggled her bottom against Michael's pubis, luxuriating in the sensation of his shaft stirring around inside her, probing at her womb. Then, for a moment, they both remained quite still, save for the rhythmic pulsing of his cock, lodged tightly within her. The moment did not last long. He was eager, impatient to take the prize she had offered. But he would prepare her for that moment of absolute submission by driving her senses to the limits of desire first. Holding her by both hips now, he took up a flowing back and forth motion with his own hips, repeatedly burying his organ in her sex with each powerful thrust. Lost in sensual pleasure, she hung her 260

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head as he increased the pace, until he was pumping her furiously. Soon she became conscious only of the warm glow of pleasure generated by his cock as it relentlessly cleaved her sensitive flesh. From its source, the feeling permeated the surrounding tissue, spreading through her loins and belly, intensifying toward the very limits of her endurance. But then, just as an orgasmic tidal wave seemed about to engulf her senses, he abruptly withdrew from her. She cried out in protest. The sudden sense of deprivation was profound. She felt bereft, as if her link with life has been severed— except that this could not be so because every nerve in her body was screaming for fulfillment. Although, perhaps, she should have been prepared for what happened next, she wasn’t. She had expected that, when the time came, the act of sodomy would be gradual, measured, that it would begin with a long slow penetration to enable her to adjust to the unnatural intrusion before Michael allowed himself full reign. That expectation was now about to be violently shattered. In almost a single movement, he parted her buttocks wide with his fingers, presented the head of his cock to the tiny, crinkled opening, then plunged the bone-hard organ deep inside her. "Aaaaaahh!" A dispassionate observer—of which there could surely be none present—might well have been inclined to liken Katrina's plight, underscored as it was by her pitiful, anguished cry, to that of some beautiful wild creature pierced by the huntsman's lance. It would have been, in many ways, a fitting analogy, but one of which she herself was totally unaware. The sheer force and shock of the violation had tilted her into sensual chaos. In the moments that followed, her capacity for rational thought was temporarily disabled, her physical and emotional perception hopelessly ambivalent. Her sphincter muscles stretched and yielded begrudgingly to the savage intruder, which seemed to swell ever greater within her, as if it would occupy her entire being. And now, the brute was moving again, withdrawing in a long pull 261

Judith that made her gasp for air. She thanked the Gods that she had prepared herself for this moment with the lubricating gel provided by Camille; without it the experience would surely have proved an unbearable ordeal. As it was, there was some pain and discomfort, but these feelings were blurred, inextricably linked with mounting pleasure as Michael's shaft began to move hugely back and forth in the tightly clinging anal sheath. Unfamiliar and unnatural though this act might be, she embraced it unconditionally. Eyes closed, she surrendered herself entirely to the sensation of being entirely possessed, subjugated, of existing for no other purpose than to satisfy Michael's lascivious obsession. The warm glow in her loins blossomed again now, each thrust of Michael's cock firing it to greater intensity. And in the sensual confusion, it became no longer possible to distinguish between the parallel channels of her sex and her anus as the source of her rapture. An all-pervading, exquisite ache was welling up inside her, forcing from her low guttural cries of passion as Michael repeatedly rammed his cock home. Suddenly, the organ swelled to mammoth enormity. This, the precursor to his orgasm, triggered her own release, and by the time his semen spilled, hot and copious, deep within her, she was already in the throes of a monumental climax. At its height, she was oblivious even to her own ecstatic screams. For a while, Madam SIN allowed Katrina and Michael to lie on the bed recovering, while she engaged in murmured discussion with Romanoff and Ming. After a few minutes, she turned her attention to the bed again. "Thank you, Michael. You may go now." With what seemed like something of an effort, Michael pushed himself up from the bed. Looking down at Katrina, he grinned—a little sheepishly, she thought—then rolled his eyes upward, pursed his lips and blew, in a gesture of exhaustion. She managed a flickering smile of acknowledgement in return, gratified that he appeared equally devastated. When Michael had left the room, Madam SIN said, "Come and 262

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stand before us again, Katrina." Her legs wobbly from exertion, and impeded by her stiletto heels, Katrina scrambled awkwardly off the bed and positioned herself in front of Madam SIN and the others. "You did well, Katrina. Very well, indeed. We are impressed." "But she should be punished." Madam SIN turned to look quizzically at Ming. "Why so?" "She lied. That's an infringement of her contract." "Lied?" "About anal sex. She led Michael to believe that he would be the first. That was a lie. What about Armand?" Madam SIN smiled. "Ah, yes. A clever ploy. It certainly got him all fired up, didn't it?" "But it was a lie." "Well, yes, but she lied to a performer, not to us. In fact, the only reason you knew it was a lie was because Katrina herself told us at her interview that Armand had had the pleasure of taking her in that fashion." "It was still a lie," Ming insisted, glaring at Katrina. "She should be punished." Madam SIN laughed lightly. "Ah, Ming. You can be obstinate sometimes. Still, I suppose you are right, technically, and discipline is your department after all. I will leave the matter to you to deal with as you see fit." Her eyes glinting like steel in the gloom, Ming permitted the shadow of a smile to tug briefly at the corners of her mouth. A small shiver ran through Katrina's body. Did Ming intend, she wondered, to seize on every excuse to subject her to punishment, no matter how spurious or technical her alleged transgression? If so, it seemed some painful experiences awaited her during the coming months. "I thought it a very…stirring performance," Romanoff observed, ignoring the dialogue between Ming and Madam SIN. Glancing down at his lap, Madam SIN laughed. "That is very obvious, Vladimir." 263

Judith Following her glance with his own eyes, he smiled. At his groin, the material of his trousers bulged under the upward pressure of an erection. "Yes. I admit to a certain state of…em…agitation." Turning his eyes on Madam SIN, he reached out to touch her lightly on the arm. "Do you mind if…?" Although the question remained unfinished, Madam SIN seemed to understand at once. "Why not? It will give us another opportunity to observe her." As Romanoff rose from his chair, Madam SIN gestured with a hand to the floor. "Kneel down in front of Vladimir, Katrina." If Katrina had any doubt as to what was expected of her next, it disappeared rapidly now. Romanoff's fingers deftly unfastened his belt and unzipped his fly. His trousers crumpled to the floor. "Come, Katrina," he urged. "Another chance to show us how skillful you can be with your mouth." Although the effects of the wine were no longer quite so intense, Katrina had no qualms about what she was being asked to do. Despite a soul-wrenching orgasm, she was still in a state of arousal. The experience of total abandon, of being used solely for the sexual gratification of others, of being minutely observed in that role—all of this had evoked in her a bitter-sweet ache of pleasure she had never known before. Now, as she knelt before Romanoff, it was with a sense of sweet self-sacrifice that she willingly submitted. Reaching for the waistband of his shorts, she pulled them down over his thighs. As she did so, his rigid penis sprang free to slap against her cheek. Brownish in color, it was very thick with a huge, helmet-shaped glans. She cupped his testicles in her left hand, fondling them in turn as she inclined her head toward him. His cock flinched when her lips brushed against it. With the tip of her tongue, she licked the glistening bead of clear fluid—the product of his arousal—from the opening, then parted her lips to take the smooth, rounded head into her mouth. "Mmmm. Yes!" Romanoff's hips moved instinctively against her face, urging the upper part of his shaft into her mouth also. 264

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Incrementally working her lips down along the organ, she discovered with some satisfaction that, although its thickness contorted her face and forced her jaws wider than was comfortable, she was nevertheless able to take nearly the whole thing in her mouth. His taste was salty and slightly tannic; strange, exotic, but not unpleasant. She rolled her tongue around the pillar of flesh, exploring the contours of the blood-engorged veins that lay just beneath the surface of the satin skin. Reaching around his hips, she gripped his buttocks, digging her fingers into the folds at their base and kneading the firm, resilient flesh. Now she embarked upon a technique that involved the rhythmic to and fro movement of her entire head against him, her lips and tongue playing along the length of his cock as it alternately disappeared into, then reappeared from her mouth. Although her jaw soon began to ache with this demanding activity, the low growling in his throat encouraged her to even greater effort. Soon, his thighs began to tremble, and she sensed that he was close to eruption. At this moment, she quickly transferred her right hand to her sex, anointing her fingers with her own slippery secretion. A moment later, her now lubricated fingertips were probing at the orifice between his buttocks. "Yes, Katrina," he gasped. "Go on. Do it." As she slowly inserted her index finger deep into his anus, his body stiffened…and the floodgates burst asunder. Although she was prepared for his ejaculation, she simply could not swallow fast enough to cope with the seemingly endless rhythmic pumping of salty, viscous fluid. What she was unable to consume spilled from her lips onto her throat and breasts. "Aah, God! Yes!" His voice thick and hoarse, Romanoff stared down at Katrina, savoring the prospect of her defilement. When at last he withdrew his spent and flaccid penis from her mouth, the servant who had admitted her into the room appeared at his side. Romanoff accepted the hand towel offered to him by the man and cursorily wiped his genitals before restoring his shorts and 265

Judith trousers. Madam SIN watched the process with faint amusement, while Ming continued to hold Katrina with her iron gaze. "I trust that was to your satisfaction, Vladimir?" Madam SIN said rhetorically when he resumed his seat. Taking a deep breath, then releasing it again expansively, Romanoff smiled. "Entirely. Thank you, Christina." Madam SIN addressed Katrina. "Stand up, my dear." Katrina rose to her feet. "I am pleased with your performance this evening. Armand certainly has an eye for potential talent. You may return to your quarters now." Katrina wondered briefly if, like Romanoff, she was to be afforded the opportunity to clean up before she left. But when Madam SIN turned away to speak in undertones with Ming and Romanoff, and the servant motioned her to follow him to the door, she realized that this was not to be the case. Clearly, she was to return to her quarters as she came – all but naked, and with the additional humiliation of carrying the visual evidence of her despoilment. But she was undaunted. On the contrary, the thought provoked a perverse thrill of excitement in her belly that was even more profound than that she experienced on the way to her 'performance'. Raising her head proudly, she walked past the servant toward the door. "You will be punished for the lie, Katrina." Ming's words were the last Katrina heard in the room before she crossed the threshold and the door closed behind her. On the return journey to her quarters, Katrina encountered a cluster of servants en-route to the dining room with dishes of food for the evening meal. There was not even a token attempt by any of them—male or female—to spare her embarrassment. Knowing how she must look, she was hardly surprised at their overt, and in some cases frankly lecherous, stares. Now, in addition to her provocative attire and make-up, her face and breasts were bedecked with the liquid pearls of Vladimir Romanoff's orgasm while leaking rivulets of Michael's earlier eruption crept, lava-like, down between her 266

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buttocks to saturate her thighs. In short, it occurred to Katrina that she must look every inch the part she had played in tonight's performance—the beautiful but profligate whore who had been used, abused and thoroughly despoiled. But what was worse—and the fact that she was conscious of this did nothing to evoke in her the slightest sense of guilt for once—was that she was simply reveling in the role.

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Chapter Nine

K

atrina was surprised to find the sun already some way above the mountain horizon when she awoke the next morning. Through half-opened eyes, she peered at the clock on the bedside cabinet. Nearly nine-thirty. She had slept soundly for well over twelve hours, which she found mildly puzzling until she recalled the events of the previous evening. Her 'performance' had been a demanding experience, both emotionally and physically, and the wine had no doubt taken its toll also. Whatever the drug Ming had used to spike the burgundy, it was powerful stuff; powerful enough to strip away all of her inhibitions and enable her to take part in a pornographic movie without the slightest reservation—not exactly what she had had in mind when she embarked on an acting career! Now, in the bright morning sunlight that filled her bedroom, it was tempting to ascribe the blame for her abandoned behavior before both live audience and cameras entirely to the drug-laced wine. In fact, it would almost be possible for her to convince herself that her performance was no more than an erotic hallucination. After all, the long, hot shower she had taken on returning to her quarters, and the night's sleep that followed, had purged her body of the physical evidence of the experience—even to the extent of restoring her hair to its natural golden color, just as Sharon had promised. All that remained now was lurid mental imagery, which with just a little effort, she ought to be able to bury somewhere in the dark recesses of her mind. 268

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But the actuality of her carnal adventure the previous evening was not to be dismissed so lightly. As she got out of bed, a memento she could not ignore confronted her. There, draped over the arm of a chair by the window, were the black stockings and diamond choker. The black patent leather shoes with their long, slender heels lay where they had fallen when she had kicked them off, one on its side near the chair, the other about eight feet away, drunkenly propped against the wall. As she rose to her feet, her sphincter muscles protested against such careless movement. Having been stretched inordinately during her anal penetration by Michael, they now contracted in little spasms—an even more tangible reminder of the previous night's excesses. Finally, a glance in the dressing mirror confirmed that, unlike the color of her hair, only time and neglect would restore the lush golden forest that until yesterday had covered the now bare slopes of her pubic mound. Katrina's response to her recollection of the events of the previous evening was what she had come to regard as typical—initially, a sudden, all-consuming sense of shame and embarrassment. Even here, in the privacy of her own quarters, she felt herself flush scarlet as she made her way to the bathroom. But then, as she rotated her body in the shower, the hot torrent massaged her flesh, displacing her discomfiture with a stirring in her loins as she mentally re-visited the moment of her depraved coupling with Michael. This moral dichotomy, in which her emotions and convictions were thrown into agonizing conflict, had become a recurrent feature of her life recently. What concerned her about the phenomenon—when she chose to think about it—was that, in the struggle between the Jeckyll and Hyde elements of her psyche, the latter seemed to be increasingly dominant. But now, deciding she did not want to think about it, she consciously wrenched her mind free of these thoughts. A new day had dawned and she did not want to dwell on the past—compelling though it might be. It was time to look to the future, to discover what awaited her today. In a gesture of self-rebuke and determination, she 269

Judith turned off the hot tap, gasping as the water turned suddenly chilly. After her shower, she ordered breakfast in her rooms, which Camille promptly produced. Although it was apparent that the maid was eager to learn how she had fared the previous evening, she appeared to sense that Katrina was not in the mood to discuss the matter. And so, after exchanging a few banal pleasantries, and pausing only to tell her that Frederique wished to see her, Camille discreetly withdrew. Since Camille had indicated that her appointment with Frederique was to be informal, Katrina dressed in shorts and a light cotton tank top. Following Camille's directions, she made her way to a room on the first floor at the front of the chateau. Her knock on the door was answered at once from within. "Come in." *** Opening the door, Katrina stepped into a bright, wood-paneled office that although entirely functional, also contrived to be elegant and distinctly feminine in character. The furnishing and decor were, like Frederique herself, refined and elegant. Colorful French impressionist paintings of pastoral scenes softened the otherwise somber hue of the mahogany wall panels. The French windows were open and the scent of jasmine permeated the air. Frederique smiled at Katrina from behind the handsome antique walnut desk at which she had been writing. "Good morning, Katrina. How are you today? Fully recovered, I hope?" Katrina returned the smile from behind the inevitable blush. "Good morning, Frederique. Thank you. Yes. I'm...okay. I think." Frederique rose from her chair and walked from behind the desk. She wore a cinnamon, figure-hugging jumpsuit with a mock turtleneck. The keyhole neckline hinted at a modest cleavage, while the cutaway sleeves emphasized her slender shoulders. The color of 270

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the garment complemented her dark chocolate skin perfectly. "Come. Let's sit outside. I've just had some fresh lemonade prepared." Katrina followed Frederique through the French windows onto the balcony, where they sat at a small table on which was a ceramic jug and two glasses. Ice tinkled in the jug as Frederique filled each of the glasses. "Try that," Frederique said, handing her one of the glasses. "The lemons were still on the tree half an hour ago." Katrina tasted the chilled lemonade. "Mmm. This is really good." "Isn't it?" Frederique drank from her own glass, then set it down on the table. "You made a big impression last night, Katrina." Frederique was looking at her intently. Katrina felt her cheeks flush hot. "I...hardly know what to say." Frederique smiled again. "You're embarrassed." "I...can't help it. I know it's ridiculous under the circumstances, but ...." "No, don't apologize. It's one of the things about you that has found favor—particularly with Madam SIN and Vladimir. To be able to give yourself up unconditionally to extremes of sexual abandon, yet blushing like a schoolgirl at the mere mention of such things, is a rare quality. Many men—women as well for that matter—find the phenomenon charming...even exciting." Frowning puzzlement, Katrina said, "Really? Why?" "It's difficult to explain, but take it from me, the prospect of a woman taking pleasure from a sexual experience which also evokes shame and embarrassment in her can be a very powerful aphrodisiac." "I see," Katrina replied, not at all sure that she really did. "What's going to happen to me now?" "Nothing. For the next day or so, anyway. Madam SIN has other matters that require her attention, so you'll be free to do as you please for a while. Well, that's not quite true—which is the main reason I wanted to speak to you. Your sexuality is to be monitored at 271

Judith all times while you are here, and to that end it is considered that some restriction on your freedom is necessary." Seeming to note the consternation in Katrina's expression at this revelation, Frederique quickly added, "Don't fret, cherie, it's nothing to worry about. Let me explain. With the exception of those of us in authority, everyone on this island is forbidden from any sexual activity that hasn't been specifically sanctioned. This being the case, it was originally thought unnecessary to apply the same condition to you. After all, what could you do without a partner? However, after seeing you perform last night, Madam SIN has changed her mind. She feels that there are some here who might be prepared to risk the consequences for a chance to...what? Sample your charms, shall we say? To avoid that eventuality, she has now decided to also apply the prohibition to you. From now on, if you are found to have engaged in any unauthorized sexual activity, both you and the other person involved will be punished. Do you understand this, Katrina?" Thoughts of Camille uppermost in her mind, Katrina nodded. "I understand." "Good," Frederique replied, her expression softening again after the formal gravity of the warning. "Then when you've finished your lemonade, you may go. Why don't you go riding, make the most of this wonderful weather?" "Yes. I believe I will." *** Within twenty minutes of leaving Frederique's office, Katrina had made her way to the stables, got Jacob to saddle up Sam for her, and was riding along one of the sun-dappled tracks that led out of the estate through the surrounding forest. This time she rode in the opposite direction to Halcyon Falls, along the western foothills of the mountains. The fact that she suffered little or no discomfort in the saddle testified to the efficacy of the witch hazel lotion Camille had applied to her buttocks. There were plenty of tracks through the 272

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forest, and where they crossed or divided, she took the wider, apparently more often-used ones in the belief that she was less likely to get lost that way. After about forty minutes of ascending steadily with no view other than the trees and shrubs that flanked her route on either side, the forest began to thin out, yielding first to grassland then to dry scrub as the track rose toward the entrance to a valley in the mountainside. She had no clearly-defined objective in mind, just a vague notion that this route might take her to the other side of the island with the chance of good views along the way. Passing between the sloping shoulders of the valley, the track at once began to climb steeply along one side. For a little while, below and far behind, the ocean was visible, blue and hazy in the mounting heat of the day, then was gone again as the valley turned on itself in a series of convoluted folds. Undeterred by the rugged way ahead, Sam soon settled into a steady rhythm as they climbed the rock-strewn track. The air was quite still, and here on the exposed mountain slopes the sun's heat was an oppressive, tangible thing. Katrina was beginning to regret declining Jacob's offer to lend her a wide-brimmed hat, when the sun abruptly disappeared…along with everything else beyond a distance of about fifteen feet. They had entered one of the wraiths of low cloud that occasionally clung around the mountain peaks like gigantic feather boas. The left-hand side of the track, where the ground fell away precipitously to the valley floor below, now became a fathomless, swirling white abyss. For what seemed a long time, the track snaked ever steeper upward, until at last it leveled out in a short, narrow pass, then began to descend again, equally steeply. Although the shroud of ethereal white vapor was bright with diffused light, the sun's warmth was unable to penetrate it. In fact, it had become quite chilly, and Katrina shivered as she glanced at her watch. Just over an hour and a half had passed since she had left the chateau. The descent was now proving even steeper than the climb, and it was only after the sure-footed Sam had nearly stumbled a couple of times on loose scree and earth that Katrina noticed they no 273

Judith longer seemed to be following the track. A gloomy thought occurred to her. This island was clearly volcanic in origin. What if, rather than crossing the mountains as she had intended, they had ventured into the crater of an extinct volcano? In that case, if Sam lost his footing entirely, there was every chance they would both plummet headlong into its unknown depths with very little likelihood of survival. She didn't have to dwell on the dismal prospect long, however, because the dense, pearly fog suddenly began to roll in great whorls, then dissipated as horse and rider emerged once again into dazzling sunshine. Any doubt about her location was dispelled at once, as if wafted aside on the same deliciously warm breeze that had sprung up to shred the chilling mantle of cloud. The scene that now lay before her was stunningly beautiful. The mountains on this side of the island dropped away almost sheer, like a gargantuan petrified waterfall, into a lush, emerald rainforest that crowded the littoral below. Stunted trees, ferns and flowering shrubs seemed to sprout or trail from every crevice in the mountainside to create an enormous hanging garden effect. A mile or so to the north, a narrow break in the coastline connected the ocean to a lagoon that lay at the foot of this looming, living wall of rock, almost entirely surrounded by forest. Fringed by a white-sand shore and shimmering in the sunlight, the aquamarine waters of the lagoon gave it the appearance of an exquisite gemstone set in the very fabric of the island. Katrina's first impression, accompanied by an acute pang of disappointment, was that further progress was out of the question. She desperately wanted to get to the lagoon, to explore this paradise, but it seemed impossible. The gradient of the slope ahead grew progressively steeper until it eventually disappeared entirely in what she imagined must be a vertical drop-off. But then, rising in the saddle to look about her, she spotted the track from which Sam had inadvertently strayed. About thirty yards back up the slope behind her, it veered abruptly off to the north along a ledge that had been cut into the vertical rock face of the mountain. Turning the stallion around with care, she urged him back up the slope toward the track 274

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and the rock ledge. About six feet wide, the ledge followed a potentially perilous descending route across the cliff face, disappearing into depressions in the rock at intervals to appear again further along. It was just about negotiable on horseback, providing it did not become much narrower further along, and that there was room at the other end to turn the horse around to make the return journey; if not… Katrina decided not to dwell on that possibility. She somehow knew that if she did not make this journey, she would regret it for the rest of her life. Taking a deep breath, she coaxed Sam forward with a gentle prod of her heels. The stallion possessed courage to match his spirit. Although clearly ill at ease on the narrow ledge, he moved with steady determination, his head held high, and with just the occasional wildeyed downward glance into the great void below. The descent to the foot of the towering cliffs was a tortuous, nerve-rending experience. Twice, the palomino almost missed his footing on loose rock, each time triggering a tidal wave of adrenaline in Katrina's bloodstream. But at last, they emerged from the rocky ledge onto an expanse of lush green turf in a clearing at the base of the cliffs. The precarious trek to sea level seemed to have sharpened Sam's appetite, because he at once set to cropping the turf as if he hadn't been fed for a week. She decided to leave him to it. He had earned the break, and it suited her anyway to go from here on foot. Tethering him to the stump of a dead tree so that he could continue to feast on the succulent grass, she was about to set off when an urge—no, a compulsion—suddenly overcame her. She was in Eden again, and like Eve, she wanted to be naked, as she had been at Halcyon Falls. The idea was both entirely natural and logical, but also thrilling, sensuous. But dare she risk leaving her clothes here to venture off nude in search of the lagoon? It seemed unlikely that she would encounter anyone in this isolated place. After all, the track by which she had got here herself showed no sign of frequent or recent use. Of course, she couldn't rule out the possibility entirely, but, strangely, this element of risk, however slight, only fuelled the compulsion further, added to the excitement of doing 275

Judith something so at odds with the principles of her strait-laced upbringing. After no more than a moment's consideration, her clothes lay draped over a low branch of a frangipani tree. She stretched in the sunlight, luxuriating in the sensual freedom of her nudity, then set off into the trees in search of her lagoon. It was uncomfortably hot in the enclosed shade of the trees where the breeze could not penetrate, and within minutes her flesh was glossed with perspiration. But she didn't mind this; it was like being in a natural sauna, and felt somehow deeply cleansing. Butterflies of myriad colors tumbled on the still air while birds sang, unseen, in the verdant depths of the forest. The sun's light, filtered by the broadleafed canopy overhead, cast an eerie green light over the forest floor where great primitive ferns and flowering shrubs vied with trees for dominion. It was a place of serene enchantment, and Katrina truly felt part of it. Moving naked through the forest like this was a surreal experience, like drifting through a primeval dream. She had been walking for what she judged to be about fifteen minutes—she had discarded her watch with her clothing—when a lazy, rhythmic shushing sound and the tang of salt air announced that her goal was close at hand. After another fifty yards or so she stepped from the relative gloom of the forest into a world of dazzling light, where the sun not only beat down directly, but also bounced its light from a virgin-white sand beach and the lagoon's trembling, glassy waters beyond. The powdery sand was soft, but surprisingly not unbearably hot under her bare feet. As she walked down the narrow beach, a trio of pelicans, disturbed by her approach, took off from the lagoon, their images distorted by the heat haze. She paused at the water's edge to take stock of her surroundings, and thought that there could not be anywhere on earth more beautiful than this. The flashing lagoon, crystalline blue and framed by the emerald brilliance of the forest, lay like a beautiful mirror, carelessly set aside by some capricious Olympian goddess. On the landward side of the lagoon the great ragged cliffs, adorned with vegetation of every hue, soared skyward against their own magnificent reflection. 276

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Despite the breeze that now tossed Katrina's hair and snaked wantonly about her body, it was still very hot. She waded into the lagoon, plunging forward to swim when the water covered her thighs. The water was deliciously cool and crystal-clear, so that she could easily see the rainbow shoals of tropical fish that immediately surrounded her, curious to inspect the newcomer. The sheer rapture of being able to swim naked in this paradise on earth was almost painful. She swam out to the middle of the lagoon, pausing at intervals to dive below the surface and frolic among the fish. Then she struck out for the gap in the shoreline that connected the lagoon with the ocean. Without a thought for any danger that might lie beyond, she swam out into the open sea. Here, outside the protection of the lagoon, the water was a little choppy, but she had always been a strong swimmer, and she simply settled into a steady rhythm, pulling arm over arm into each successive wave. In this way she swam for perhaps a quarter of a mile offshore before turning to head back to the island. By the time she regained the sheltered waters of the lagoon, she was pleasantly tired, but felt good. It had been some time since she'd pushed her body so hard, and the experience was satisfying. Leaving the water, she walked up the beach and lay on the soft sand in the shade of a spreading casuarina tree. She closed her eyes, intending merely to rest for a few minutes, but the warm, seductive breeze and the sound of waves lapping on the shore conspired to lull her to sleep before those minutes had passed. She had no way of knowing how long she had slept, but when she awoke again the sun was obscured by a great bank of dark, rolling cloud that stretched across the sky from the horizon, leaving only small patches of blue visible here and there. This did not surprise her unduly; one thing she had learned about the local climate in the short time she had been on the island was how abruptly the weather could change. As she rose from the sand, and raised her arms above her head to stretch expansively, the first few drops of rain, cool and fresh, splashed upon her bare shoulders. But neither the disappearance of 277

Judith the sun, nor the onset of what had the makings of a deluge could dampen her spirits. She still felt wonderful, freer than at any other time in her life, and although the irony of that fact occurred to her, she quickly dismissed it as irrelevant. She was beginning to believe that there was more to freedom than the conventional definition allowed. Being in servitude to Armand Levequ and Madam SIN, with all the surrender of her preexisting moral inhibitions that that entailed had allowed her for the first time in her life to admit to and experience the darker, sensual longings of her subconscious, longings that she had not even known existed within her. As she made her way back into the forest, reflecting on this paradox, the rain increased both in volume and intensity, great globs of water drumming a noisy tattoo on the foliage around her. It penetrated the canopy with ease, thoroughly drenching her as she moved through the trees. It plastered her hair to her face and shoulders, and coursed down along the contours of her body, heightening her awareness of her nudity. Like swimming naked, she found this new experience very sensuous and exhilarating. After a while, the forest floor ahead began a gentle upward slope, and the carpet of ferns was increasingly scattered with pale, smooth rocks and boulders, around which growing rivulets of rainwater were now flowing freely. In the absence of sunlight it was much darker under the forest canopy, and as she picked her way among the rocks, she became suddenly conscious of two things. Firstly, this was not the same route by which she had reached the lagoon earlier; she had lost her way. And secondly, something—or somebody—was following in her footsteps; watching her. She halted, immobilized by the conviction that she was being stalked, hunted. It was no more than a feeling, her sixth sense at work, but she was certain of it nevertheless. She turned to look over her shoulder, then cried out in alarm at the manifestation of that certainty. About twenty yards behind her a spectral figure faced her through the green gloom. The reassurance provided by his nearnaked and distinctly human form that the apparition was a man and 278

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not, as her initial impression had suggested, some supernatural being, offered her little comfort. He was a predator and she his quarry, of this she had no doubt whatever. Tall and powerfully built, he was very dark-skinned, probably black, although it was difficult to tell for sure in this weird, otherworldly light. Apart from a loincloth, he wore only a hideous mask depicting the head of a horned goat, from behind which, through its black-hole eyes, he fixed her with a gaze so intense it penetrated the fabric of her being, even at this distance. For a moment she remained motionless, transfixed by sheer dread. Then, with a desperate effort, she wrenched her gaze from his and turned to flee. Only once dared she risk a backward glance as she scrambled up the slope, and confirmed to her terror that he was after her. She tried to move faster, but the rain-slick ground was treacherous, and tangles of sodden fern, spreading giant palm fronds and rocky outcrops, impeded her progress. It was the classic nightmare, in which she was running but getting almost nowhere. Her pursuer, on the other hand, moved with the sure swiftness of the mountain goat whose head he wore. Within seconds, he had overtaken her. She screamed as he seized her by the arm, struggled fiercely as he pulled her to him. But she was powerless against his superior masculine strength. She felt the sculpted hardness of his muscular frame as their bodies slid wetly one against the other, felt herself lifted off the ground, his arms around hers, pinning them to her body. She kicked her heels frantically back against his shins, but this seemed not to bother him, and he carried her easily further up the slope. As he moved along, carrying her in his embrace, she became suddenly conscious of another hardness, not muscular this time, but equally, if not more compelling. Separated from direct contact with her skin only by the thin covering of his loincloth, his maleness, thick and solid, was sandwiched between her buttocks and his belly. He carried her to a smooth, flat, oval-shaped slab of rock that protruded some feet above the ground, then laid her down along it 279

Judith on her back. Sensing an opportunity to escape, she renewed her struggles, tried to kick him in an attempt to break free. Then she froze at the sight of the enormous hunting knife that had appeared, as if by magic, in his hand. It was the most frightening weapon of its kind she had ever seen. The broad, silver-bright blade, with its paperthin cutting edge, glinted with a life of its own in the forest dusk. Holding her down on the cool rock with just one hand on her shoulder, he brought the knife close to her face so that she could see her own wide-eyed expression of fear in its reflection. "Please," she begged. "Please don't kill me." "I am going to fuck you," he announced, with the solemnity of a judge passing sentence. His voice was husky, dark, the color of his flesh, which she was now able to confirm as Negro black. "As long as you do not resist me, I will not hurt you." So she was to be raped—but then, did she not know that instinctively the moment she first saw the dark hunter? The question was, would he keep his promise not to hurt her? It would be a simple matter for him to escape retribution for what he was about to do to her by simply killing her afterwards. But then, she reasoned, he had no need to commit murder. Since the goat's head mask prevented her from seeing his face, she could hardly identify him as her raptor. Taking some comfort from this fact, she made a conscious decision. "I won't resist," she told him, minutely shaking her head. "Lie flat on the rock." Consciously releasing the tension in her muscles, she obeyed. He removed his hand from her shoulder and for an instant, despite her decision, she had to fight back the impulse to make a bid for freedom. But she knew, of course, that even if she managed to slip away now, he would very quickly run her down again. She shuddered as he drew the flat of the knife's blade slowly over each of her breasts in turn, caressing them softly with the cold, shiny steel. It was at once a menacing and erotic gesture, which made her nipples perk in response. He laid down the knife in the valley between her breasts, the blade 280

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just touching her throat. Moving around to stand by her feet, he took hold of her calves just below the knees, then drew her bodily toward him along the rock until her buttocks rested on the edge. When he released her legs, they hung over the edge of the rock so that the balls of her feet just touched the ground, partially supporting her weight. In this awkward position, her back arched on the fulcrum of her buttocks, her pubis and shaven sex were offered up both to her captor's burning gaze and the sensual pummeling of the rain—a combination that, despite her perilous situation, spawned the familiar moist prickling in her vulva. Moving back to her side, he gripped her right wrist. She turned her head to watch as he bound it with a slender rope that, like the knife, he seemed to have conjured up from nowhere. She offered no resistance when he straightened her arm out to the side, then pulled the rope taut and tied it to a nearby tree. Moving around the rock, he repeated the process on her other side, securing her arm to a sturdy sapling in the same outstretched position. Now, like a sacrificial offering, she lay spread-eagled and helpless upon this natural altar. All at once, with the heightening of her arousal, the goat's head mask no longer intimidated her. Indeed, it seemed strangely appropriate to what was about to happen to her. In her mind, she pictured herself, naked and totally vulnerable, the subject of a carnal pagan ritual. Only now that she was totally resigned to her fate at his hands did she realize just how incredibly beautiful her raptor's body was, the finely sculpted black musculature sleek and gleaming in the rain. The moist warmth and electric tingling between her thighs spread as she watched him prepare to take his pleasure of her. With his right hand, he reached for the knotted strip of leather at his left hip. Freeing the knot, he ripped the loincloth from his body and tossed it aside. Katrina was stunned by the prospect of his manhood. Like the rest of his body, it was both beautiful and impressive. Long and thick, it stood proudly erect from his groin, a magnificently designed instrument designed to penetrate and possess. Black as night, glistening in the rain, it reminded her of a huge chess piece—the 281

Judith aggressive bishop. But that his penis was a living, vibrant thing was evident from its visible pulsing as blood surged rhythmically through the dilated arteries within. Its covering of black satin skin was stretched taut over the swollen mass, giving the huge rounded glans at its tip the appearance of highly-polished ebony—in startling contrast to Katrina's recollection of the ivory facsimile she 'borrowed' from the chateau's library. From its base, suggestive to Katrina's burgeoning erotic fancy of giant black pearls, the twin spheres of his testicles hung within the delicate purse of his scrotum. The last few minutes had wrought a remarkable transformation in Katrina. Even without Ming's aphrodisiac wine, she had become agonizingly aroused, her senses perversely fired by fear, excitement and raw, naked lust. Her emotions were in turmoil. Among them, ironically, was a vague sense of guilt at the knowledge that she was, at this very moment, betraying a life-long moral objection to racial discrimination. But it was an inverted form of discrimination, in that her arousal was fueled in no small measure by the fact that the man who was about to rape her was a Negro; that for the first time in her life, she was about to be…fucked…by a black cock—the very words that materialized in her mind. Moreover, in an emotional vicious circle, this irony was compounded by the fact that her guilt itself added a measure of masochistic pleasure to her arousal. She was grateful for the rain. In its absence, the steadily oozing secretion from her vulva would have already betrayed her as an eager accomplice to her own fate. He moved around in front of her again, stooping to raise her legs from the ground. Gripping the backs of her thighs just above the knee, he pushed them back against her body, simultaneously spreading them wide. She shuddered as the cool rain thrummed against the membranous lining of her now parted sex. He advanced between her thighs to lay his rigid organ atop her shaven mound, as if to present to it her view before he penetrated her. She raised her head from the rock to see, and was struck by the dramatic contrast of his black flesh against her own honey-pale skin. 282

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"Please don't do this to me," she implored him, tremulously. But it was not a genuine plea. In truth, Katrina would not have had her captor stop now for anything. Her senses hopelessly inflamed, she was burning with desire for the consummation of the act that was about to take place. She had simply, almost subconsciously, adopted the role of terrified rape victim, with the intention both of further goading his lustful determination, and heightening her own sensual gratification in the experience. Ignoring her plea as she had confidently expected he would he drew back his hips, and the ebony monster between her thighs disappeared from her view. She was unable to withhold a whimper of pleasure as the great smooth head parted and ploughed between the folds of her labia on its downward route, then paused, blocking the entrance to her womb. She tensed, holding her breath as she prepared for the inevitable. Would it be a slow and gradual penetration, or a sudden, violent impalement? A rhetorical question, of course. Rape was a primitive, savage thing, a thing about which women fantasize, but dread in reality. Katrina, though, conditioned by her recent experiences, was not merely willing, but impatient to embrace her ravishment. An age seemed to pass as she looked up at the pale goat's head mask and the glistening black muscular body, surrounded by an ethereal green aura of light from the forest canopy overhead. The muscles of her vulva seemed to have acquired a life of their own, already rippling deep within her in anticipation of accommodating the huge black cock that nuzzled tantalizingly at her threshold. Suddenly and violently, he breached her. Despite her readiness, she cried out as he plunged into her, sinking his shaft deep inside her until his pubis pressed painfully against her own. For a long moment, he remained quite still but for the huge throbbing of his cock. Like an antelope run to ground by a leopard, Katrina was stunned by the assault, almost unable to breathe as his sheer enormity filled her. Then, as he withdrew from her, the air was sucked from her lungs in a long gasp. The removal of his cock from her depths, difficult to 283

Judith bear inside her though it was, left an awful sense of emptiness in its place. But she didn’t have to bear the loss for long. Almost at once, the passage to her womb was stretched and filled again as he rammed his organ home a second time…then a third, and a fourth. Steadily, he increased the tempo, gliding easily along her grasping sex on the flood of her arousal. Soon, she was lost in a sea of undiluted pleasure as he fucked her with a deep and steady rhythm. As the irresistible warm glow mounted within her, the conviction once more rose dizzily in her mind that this was what she was created for. A mental picture flared on the screen of her imagination; a picture of herself, naked and helpless, bound by outstretched arms to the altar rock while being violated by this magnificent black savage. Did her present situation in some way epitomize her destiny, she wondered? The remainder of Katrina's 'ordeal' unfolded like a surreal, erotic dream. The forest was a sacred, mystical place where time did not exist and the rain was infused with a dark green luminescence. She was now little more than a sheath for her captor's remorseless, pillaging manhood, but as such she shared with him the sensual delights of primeval obsession. In her delirium, the goat-headed source of this exquisite pleasure had assumed the guise of an ancient pagan deity, a god of the flesh to whom she had sacrificed body and soul. Indeed, were it not for the ropes which bound her so deliciously, she would have strained up from the cool stone to kiss the hideous bestial mask in homage even while its wearer ravaged her so mercilessly. Never before had she experienced such divine anguish. Like the strings of a violin being inexorably tightened while being played, all of her senses felt that they must snap at any moment. That moment came with the sudden thickening of the penis inside her. The onset of his orgasm released her own. She screamed into the dark, damp forest, bucking against the goat-god as his scalding flood surged into her womb. For a brief moment, raptor and victim were strung together in essence, their senses melding in mutual climax. Like the ocean's tide upon the shore, the waves of pleasure that 284

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momentarily threatened to drown Katrina in her own ecstasy began to ebb, gradually receding until at last she was left with only their memory. But even then, when the now pliant penis was withdrawn from her, she whimpered in protest. She averted her gaze from the goat's head. Lying flat on the rock, she looked upward at the green roof of the forest, her breasts heaving from her exertion. The rain had turned to a soft drizzle, gently grazing her body. The sky beyond the canopy was brightening, as if in acknowledgement that the primitive ritual was over. She was emotionally drained, but profoundly satisfied. She shivered when he ran his hand up her belly to her breasts. He took the knife from between them, looking at her through the goat's black hole eyes. She raised her head to look at him. Was he now really going to sacrifice her? Strangely, she was not afraid. If that was to be, then so it would be. She had learned much about destiny recently. But no, that was not his intention. He moved to her side, sliced through the rope that bound her. Then the other side. A fleeting sense of loss accompanied her release from bondage. Another surprise discovery; far from being unpleasant, the vulnerability of being naked and forcibly restrained, at the mercy of another, could be an intensely exciting and arousing experience. Still trembling from the aftereffects of her orgasm, she pushed herself up from the rock. He pointed with the knife to a gap in the trees. "That way. Go now." Dismounting the rock, she walked unsteadily toward the trees. As she drew closer to the gap, she saw that it led to a rough track. On the threshold, she glanced back over her shoulder, but the mysterious black predator had disappeared, swallowed up by the forest that created him.

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Chapter Ten

T

he following day Katrina remained on the estate. Her experience by the lagoon had proved to be spiritually overwhelming. Moreover, the journey back to the chateau through the rain and failing light of late afternoon had been long and tiring. She had lost her way several times and began at one stage to fear that she might not make it back at all that day. Indeed, the last few miles to the chateau were lighted only by the watery radiance of a cloud-veiled moon. She had slept soundly through the night and late into the following morning. Then, after a light breakfast on the dining room terrace, she had returned to her quarters with a book from the library to read on her balcony. In the afternoon she had swum in the pool for a while, then wandered around the chateau and its beautiful gardens and grounds on a leisurely tour of discovery. But the lurid images of the previous day's events, never far below the surface of her thoughts, were a constant distraction. She had tried repeatedly to file them away in the cabinet of dark secrets in her mind, but to no avail. Time and again her consciousness drifted, and she found herself once again lying naked and bound to the altar rock, her entire being internally possessed by that monstrously beautiful black cock. There was, she decided at last, only one way to exorcise the ghost of that experience. She would have to share it with someone. Thus it was that, having ordered dinner in her room, she now sat on her balcony watching the great orb of the setting sun bleed into 286

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the distant horizon like a dying warrior. The book she had been trying to read lay on the small table beside her. She wore a steel-blue silk dressing gown, and had taken the trouble to paint her nails and apply lip-gloss and eye shadow. An earlier glance in the mirror had confirmed that she looked good. For whom? The question had surfaced briefly in her mind, and when she tried to dismiss it, was replaced with a second. For Camille? Irrationally irritated with herself, she had plunged back into the book and settled down to wait. Although expected, the knock on the front door of her suite nevertheless startled her. Making her way through the living room, she felt suddenly nervous. She had seen little of Camille in the last twenty-four hours, had barely spoken to her. As she opened the door, her anxiety melted away. Camille, looking very attractive, was smiling warmly. "Your dinner, Miss." "Hello, Camille. Come in." Katrina opened the door wide so that the maid could enter the room with the dinner tray she was carrying. "Where would you like to eat, Miss?" "On the balcony, please. It's pleasant out there now. There's a nice breeze." "Very good, Miss." Katrina followed her onto the balcony. "Katrina," she prompted, as Camille began placing the dishes and cutlery on the small table. "We're alone now, you must call me Katrina." Rising from the table to face her, Camille smiled again. "Yes. Katrina." Katrina sat on one of a pair of chairs that flanked the table. "Sit down. Can you stay a while?" Camille sat in the other chair. "I'm your personal maid. I can stay as long as you want me to." "Good. Have you eaten?" "Just a sandwich earlier." "Then we can share. It's what I had in mind when I ordered the food." 287

Judith "I'd like that." As she spoke, Camille removed the silver-domed covers from the various dishes. There was cold lobster cut into bitesized pieces, shelled prawns, oysters and caviar. A bottle of white burgundy misty with condensation stood in a silver ice bucket. "I took the liberty of bringing two glasses, just in case you offered." Katrina laughed. "Either you're psychic, or you’re getting to know me very well indeed" The maid shrugged lightly. "I thought you might want to talk about...you know, the other night. It's none of my business of course..." Reaching out to touch Camille gently on the arm, Katrina said, "No, you're right. I am ready to talk about it now, but there's something else I want to tell you about also. How about the wine? Has it been...? "Nothing added," Camille interrupted, anticipating the question. "I opened it myself. Not necessary where you and I are concerned, I think." Katrina felt herself blush under the maid's meaningful gaze; predictable, but silly, she told herself. "No. I agree. Why don't you fill our glasses, then?" "Mm." As the two women sipped their wine, Katrina recounted the details of both of her 'performance' with Michael, and of her ritual rape by the lagoon. The food was soon forgotten as she spoke, and Camille listened with rapt attention, not saying a word. When Katrina had finished her account, she asked Camille, "Do you have any idea who he might have been, Camille?" Camille seemed distracted, as if her thoughts were still entwined with Katrina's experiences. "Oh, I'm sorry. The man in the mask, you mean? Um, no. None at all. This island is a strange place. Nothing that happened here would surprise me. How did it feel—being raped like that, I mean?" "That's what's so odd, Camille. I was scared. Every fiber of my body told me to try to escape at all costs. But I couldn't. Deep inside 288

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me I wanted it to happen. And, Camille, it was so…exciting. I feel ashamed of how it made me feel, but it was the most wonderful experience—to be so helpless and be taken like that." "I think I can imagine how it felt, Katrina. Some women like to be forced sometimes." Katrina was conscious that for some little while now Camille had been constantly shifting position slightly in her chair, almost squirming, as if she were uncomfortable. "Are you all right, Camille." "Yes. Well, no, not really." "What's the matter?" "Shall I speak plainly?" "Yes, by all means. You can always speak plainly to me." "I'm…wet. Very wet." "Wet? Katrina echoed. Then, suddenly understanding, "Oh, you mean…?" Camille seemed uncharacteristically embarrassed. She smiled self-consciously. "Listening to you has made me very excited. My pants are wet." Only now, Katrina realized that, in describing her experiences to Camille, she too had become aroused. Was this what she had been subconsciously planning? "I think I'd better take them off." "Mm?" "My pants. I think I'd better take them off. They're all…slithery." Katrina held Camille with her eyes. "I think you should take all your clothes off. Me too." "Yes." By the time Camille had undressed, Katrina had already shed her silk gown. The two women, both naked now, faced each other on the balcony, the warm evening breeze capriciously caressing their bodies. Katrina raised her arms to the maid. "Let me hold you, Camille." "Oh, yes." 289

Judith Katrina enfolded Camille in her arms. As their bodies meet, she felt the other woman's nipples, like hard buttons, pressing into her flesh. She shivered at the delicious sensation of having the mulatto's silken naked body against her own. Camille's hands crept down Katrina's back and onto her buttocks, urging her closer from the hip. "Aaahh." Katrina's soft cry signaled the compression of one smoothlyshaven mound upon the other. Flooded with their combined secretions, flesh sighed against naked flesh. Camille brushed her belly across Katrina's so that the protruding lips of her sex rubbed wetly against Katrina's. Katrina responded. Their movements were marginal, a slow, subtle, intimate dance performed to the music of small, softly uttered cries and gasps. The warm tingling deep inside Katrina was mounting fast, stimulated by the moist friction of Camille's insistent sex against her own. "Oh, Camille, darling. I can't stand much more of this. It's too, too wonderful. I feel as if I will die from…" Camille silenced her by sealing her lips with a moist, sweetsmelling kiss. Her tongue invaded Katrina's mouth, probing, exploring. It was a long kiss, from which Katrina reluctantly broke free for air. "Oh, my, Camille." The words were aspirated, strung on a long intake of breath. "I want to taste you, Katrina. My tongue in your cunt." "Yes, Camille. Oh yes." "The bedroom." Slipping out of Katrina's embrace, Camille led her urgently to the bedroom. Urging Katrina onto her back on the bed, she then climbed on herself. Inverting her body against Katrina's, she lay on top of her. Lowering her mouth onto Katrina's vulva, she inserted her tongue expertly among the slippery hot pleats. Katrina cried out as if in pain, but her cry was stifled almost at once as, having spread her thighs astride Katrina's face, Camille covered her mouth with her own pungently flowing sex. The heady aroma of Camille's feminine musk 290

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enveloped Katrina. Opening her mouth, she allowed the other woman's fleshy, wet labia to enter her mouth, then sucked and rolled them around with her lips and tongue. Camille responded by grinding her sex down harder onto Katrina's mouth. Like a wild creature, she grunted when Katrina inserted her tongue as far as she was able into her secret recesses, licking, probing. Entwined and writhing together like mating serpents, each spurring on the other to ever greater arousal and soul-singing pleasure, neither woman was aware that they were being watched. Faces buried between each other's straining thighs, they had failed to notice that CHIANG Ming had entered the room like a dark spirit. Dressed in the same black riding habit she wore when Katrina first saw her, she was standing by the bed, watching the unsuspecting lovers through burning, steel-bright eyes. The frenzied coupling among the rumpled satin bed sheets was approaching its climax; the moaning, the squirming, the shrill little cries of passion increasing in fervor. But neither woman was destined to fulfill her desire on this occasion. "Aaaaahhh!" Camille's agonized scream might well have sounded much the same had she been allowed the orgasm toward which Katrina's tongue had been driving her, but that was not its cause. The riding crop in Ming's right hand had cut a darkening weal across the maid's buttocks. The lovers broke apart, Camille's face contorted in pain, Katrina's in confusion and panic. Ming smiled with cruel satisfaction at their chagrin. "Thought you were safe in here, did you? Well, as you see, I don't always knock, and no door is locked to me at Chateau Levequ." "Oh, please, Ming, it's my fault," Katrina blurted, breathlessly. "Please don't punish Camille. Punish me. I made her do it. Ordered her. She didn't want to." Kneeling up on the bed now, Camille rubbed her bottom with both hands, her eyes and cheeks already glistening with tears. "It's no good, Katrina," she sobbed. "Don't try to take the blame. 291

Judith She won't listen." "Quite right, Camille," Ming confirmed. "This is a flagrant breach of discipline by both of you. You will, of course, both be punished." "What…what are you going to do to us?" Katrina asked anxiously. "Camille, get to your quarters at once," Ming snapped, ignoring the question. "Don't bother dressing, or even taking your clothes. You won't be wearing any for some time. Go now." With a look of terror on her face, Camille scrambled off the bed and made for the door. As she passed Ming, the riding crop snapped across her buttocks again. With another squeal of pain, Camille fled from Katrina's suite. Ming now turned to look menacingly at Katrina. "And now, my girl. What am I going to do with you?" Unable to bear the intensity of Ming's glare, Katrina cast her eyes toward the bed. The silence in the room was heavy, almost tangible. After what seemed a very long time, Ming spoke again. Although her voice was hushed now, the menace was still unmistakable. "Come with me." Katrina was trembling. "Can I…put something on? Please?" Ming smiled, her eyes glinting malevolently. "Yes, you may put something on. I'll help you—do it for you, in fact. Get off the bed." Katrina clambered off the bed and made for the wardrobe. "No. Come here." Mystified, Katrina cautiously approached Ming. "I came here to punish you for lying during your performance the other night. I didn't expect to find you in the very act of a more serious transgression. I need time to consider an appropriate punishment for what happened here tonight. I'll sleep on that one. For the moment, we'll deal with the lesser offense." As she was speaking, Ming reached into her jacket pocket with one blackleather-gloved hand. "Ah, here we are." Katrina couldn’t see clearly what Ming had taken from her pocket, but she was about to find out. Ming stepped closer to her. "You must keep very still while I do this." 292

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Fearfully, Katrina looked down at Ming's gloved hands as she raised them toward her left breast. As Ming proceeded, her intent soon became clear. She was holding a small, ornately fashioned gold clamp with a small screw to adjust the gap between its jaws. "Have you ever seen anything like this before, Katrina?" Katrina shook her head. "It is a nipple clamp. Ideal for teaching naughty girls how to behave." Katrina flinched as the cold metal touched her nipple. The nipple stiffened at once, and Ming began to turn the screw, tightening the jaws upon the swelling flesh. "Ow! Ooh, it hurts." "Don't be a baby, Katrina. I've barely put any pressure on yet." Ming tightened the screw a few more turns, so that the jaws pinched the nipple painfully. "Oh, please, Ming. No!" Ming glared at Katrina angrily. "Ming?" Too late, Katrina realized her offense. Ming executed another vicious turn of the screw. "Aaah. I'm sorry. I mean…Mistress. Mistress." Katrina bit her lower lip to suppress a further cry of protest at the stinging grip of the clamp. Tears began to trickle down her cheeks as Ming turned her attention to her right breast now, attaching an identical clamp to that nipple also. Katrina whimpered softly as Ming tightened the screw. Both nipples were throbbing now, but Katrina's tormentor had not finished. From another pocket she removed a pair of slim golden bracelets linked together like handcuffs. "Turn around, Katrina." When Katrina had obeyed, Ming drew her hands behind her back, snapped the bracelets around her wrists, so that they were manacled together. Turning Katrina around to face her again, she then produced a long, narrow golden chain in the shape of a letter 'Y'. Each of the three ends of the chain terminated in a small clip. Katrina watched through a veil of tears as Ming clipped the two shorter ends 293

Judith of the chain to each of the clamps on her nipples. Then, bending on one knee, she drew the longer part of the chain straight down to Katrina's sex. A shudder rippled through Katrina's body as Ming slipped the chain into the groove of her vulva, threading it between her thighs and then pulling it up tightly between her buttocks, to secure it to her wrists behind her back. Chained in this position, Katrina was party to her own discomfiture. To ease the pressure and pain, she must push her hands downward and keep her back arched. When she relaxed from this posture, the golden chain tugged at the clamps on her nipples, while at the same time sinking deeply into the furrow of her sex, and between her buttocks. The arrangement was painful, uncomfortable and humiliating—yet irresistibly arousing. Ming looked at her, clearly pleased with her handiwork. "Yes, perfect. How does it feel, Katrina?" "It hurts, Mistress." "Good, it's supposed to. And don't think that because the chain is gold you can stretch or break it. It's much stronger than it seems. I must say, it suits you very well. You look very attractive trussed like that. So much so that I think I'll show you off. Come, follow me." *** It was not without a little pain and considerable awkwardness that Katrina followed Ming as she strode out along the corridors of the chateau. Eventually, they stopped at a door on the first floor. Ming pushed it open and waved Katrina inside. "Welcome to my quarters, Katrina." The living room was distinctly Oriental in character. Furnished with fine Chinese antiques, and rich silk tapestries hanging on the walls, it reflected impeccable if extravagant taste. There was a severe, almost grudging femininity about the room. Black silk cushions embroidered with silver graced a trio of black leather armchairs and a matching sofa. "I have to shower and change for dinner. Come and wait for me in 294

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the bedroom." Obediently, Katrina followed Ming into an adjoining bedroom with an en-suite bathroom. The king-sized bed was covered by a glossy black fur. In a style reminiscent of both Dali and Picasso, colorful surrealist paintings on the black walls depicted languid men and women in various attitudes of nakedness. Like the woman herself, Ming's quarters were intimidating. "Stand there in the middle of the room while I shower." Arching her back to ease the pressure of the chain on her nipples and vulva, Katrina watched as Ming stripped off her clothes then disappeared into the bathroom. When she returned a few minutes later, she sat, still naked, on a fur-covered stool in front of the dressing table mirror. "What do you think of my body, Katrina?" she asked, looking pensively at her own reflection. "It is… You are very beautiful, Mistress." It was not a lie. Ming was indeed beautiful in her own severe and uniquely imperious way—a terrible warrior princess from the annals of ancient mythology. Ming smiled. "Yes. I'm glad I was blessed with small breasts. I like them." As she spoke, she traced an intricate pattern across the pale translucent flesh of each of her breasts in turn, rolling the rosehued nipples between her finger and thumb. She sighed. "Come here, Katrina. I have need of you." Katrina crossed the room to stand beside her. "Mistress?" Ming opened an ebony make-up case inlaid with silver. Without looking at Katrina, she took out eye shadow and lipstick, laid them down on the dressing table. "Kneel between my thighs, Katrina. Pleasure me with your mouth while I put on my make-up. I need an orgasm before I go down to dinner." "Yes, Mistress." Katrina dropped to her knees and shuffled awkwardly toward the stool. Ming moved to the edge of the stool, parting her knees to allow 295

Judith her admittance. Katrina bowed her head between Ming's pale thighs. Ming flinched slightly as Katrina's lips kissed the moist extremities of her protruding labia. "Aaaah, good," she sighed. "Now give me your tongue, child." Giddy from the deliciously enveloping aroma of Ming's sex, Katrina inserted her tongue into its silken folds. Naked and chained in this most demeaning and uncomfortable manner, experiencing simultaneous pain and arousal as a consequence, Katrina was overcome once again by the conviction that this was yet another aspect of her destiny; that there could be no greater sense of fulfillment than absolute submission for the gratification of a stronger, superior being. For this was how she had come to think of Ming and the others in authority on this island. Now, as she used her tongue to impart to Ming the pleasure she demanded, Katrina consciously acknowledged to herself yet again that as long as she remained here, she would be little more than a slave. Perhaps it was the fact that she had no choice in the matter that enabled her to embrace that bittersweet truth without reservation. Ming was making small appreciative noises deep in her throat as Katrina worked unceasingly with her tongue in the dark confines of her sex. But she did not allow the process to interfere with the task of putting on her make-up. Although her eyes seemed glazed in the mirror, the hand holding the eye shadow barely trembled. When the crimson lipstick had been applied to her satisfaction, she rolled her lips together, then pouted to the mirror. Only now did she allow her self-discipline to relax. Dropping the lipstick onto the dressing table, she suddenly gripped the sides of the stool, digging her fingers into the deep black fur and thrusting her pelvis forward to drive her sex hard against Katrina's face. "Now, Katrina. Lick me hard! Fuck me with your tongue." Her face glistening with Ming's copious secretion, Katrina bobbed her head frantically as she obeyed the other woman's command. On one of the forward thrusts, when her tongue was rooted deeply inside Ming's grasping vulva, she felt the surrounding flesh shudder like a 296

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minor earthquake. A single low guttural groan signaled Ming's orgasm, then the tension in her thighs slackened in confirmation. After a few moments, Ming placed her hands on either side of Katrina's head and tilted up her face. She was smiling. "You did that very well, Katrina. As a reward, I will show you how an orgasm can be exquisitely enhanced by pain." Seeing Katrina's look of fear, she laughed lightly. "But not today. Now, it's time for dinner." After a second brief visit to the bathroom, Ming dressed in a strapless black satin evening dress, then led Katrina from the room. *** On Ming's orders, Katrina, still naked and bound in the golden chains and clamps, followed three paces behind her as she made her way along the corridors to the dining room. Opening the dining room door, Ming stepped inside leaving Katrina standing in the passageway outside. "Good evening, everyone. Christina, I have Katrina with me. I'm in the process of punishing her for the lie she told during her performance the other evening. I thought I'd bring her with me for dinner…if nobody minds, that is." Katrina couldn’t see the dining table from her position in the passageway, but she heard Madam SIN's voice clearly enough. "Hartley? Mahmood? Its up to you, but I think you might find Katrina charming. Especially if, as I imagine, Ming has her…adorned…in her customary fashion. Have you, Ming?" Ming nodded. "She's clamped and chained." "By all means, Christina. Have her brought in." The voice was deep, resonant, the accent cultured, suggestive of an English public school education. A second male voice echoed assent. "I have no objection." Definitely not English, this one. Heavily accented. This must be Mahmood, Katrina decided. 297

Judith "Bring her in, Ming." Ming turned, beckoned to Katrina. As she stepped into the room, panic immediately constricted her throat, making breathing difficult. From the dining table, all eyes were on her. Madam SIN sat at one end of the table. At the other, facing her and wearing a dinner jacket and bow tie, was a handsome, distinguished-looking man of about fifty, with silver hair and a moustache. On his right sat an attractive woman with dark hair, perhaps a few years his junior. Vladimir Romanoff, also in formal dinner attire, was seated on her right, while on the opposite side of the table, in starkly contrasting appearance, was a big man with swarthy skin and a hawk-like nose. He wore traditional Arab garb—a headdress and robe of what looked like very expensive quality. The woman sitting on his right was also clearly Middle Eastern. Although the lower part of her face was hidden by a veil, Katrina was at once struck by the liquid beauty of the woman's dark, almond-shaped eyes. Sitting on the Arab's left, Frederique looked stunning in an emerald green satin evening dress. Madam SIN gestured with a hand. "Katrina can stand here, Ming, on my right." Ming patted Katrina on the buttocks with a cool hand. "You heard, Katrina. Stand over there on Madam SIN's right. One pace behind the chair, if you please." The burning flush of shame and embarrassment that flared in Katrina's face the moment she entered the room spread now to her throat and the upper swell of her breasts. As she moved to take up her place beside and behind Madam SIN, she felt the gaze of everyone in the room, including the servants, burn into her flesh. "Oh, yes, Christina. She is very beautiful." The white-haired man was clearly pleased with what he saw. "Indeed, Hartley," added the woman on his right. "And aren't the nipple clamps and chains fetching. Tell me, my dear, do they hurt?" Unsure how to respond, Katrina looked to Madam SIN. "Answer, Katrina. These people are honored guests. You must afford them every respect." 298

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"Yes, Ma'am, they hurt…a good deal." The woman smiled amiably, but a smoldering glow in her eyes betrayed a deeper interest than her facial expression suggested. "Mm. I thought they must. But, where the chain divides your sex, is that not a pleasant sensation? Arousing, I should think?" Katrina glanced at Madam SIN again, who nodded assent. "And remember to be truthful, Katrina." Katrina cast her eyes down at the floor. "I… Yes. It is…uncomfortable but…most arousing." The woman laughed, a pleasant musical tinkling sound that inexplicably evoked a small shiver in Katrina. "She really is most charming, Christina. It will be difficult for Hartley to concentrate on dinner with her standing there like that. For me too, as a matter of fact." Everyone laughed, and Katrina felt her cheeks burn ferociously. The silver-haired man—Hartley—lightly patted his moustache with his napkin. "True, Frances. Very true, but most agreeable all the same." Ming took the vacant seat between Sharon, who sat on Madam SIN's left, and Romanoff, offering him her left cheek. He kissed it lightly, his glance switching quickly from her eyes to Katrina then back again. Ming tilted her head marginally, acknowledging his smile of approval. Dinner proved to be an interminably lengthy and trying affair for Katrina. In pain and a constant state of arousal, she was forced to stand immobile while Madam SIN and her guests conversed over each successive course. The topics of conversation covered a wide range, including politics, food and wine, literature and art, with each of the guests periodically turning his or her eyes on Katrina in her naked wretchedness. The servants tonight were all female, and included a number of very attractive Caucasian girls Katrina had not seen before. Instead of the formal maid's uniforms normally worn, they wore Caribbean style clothing—full skirts and colorful linen blouses with short, puffed sleeves and low necklines. Ultra-slim 299

Judith waistlines and large breasts seemed to be the prerequisites for the serving staff this evening. By the time the port was served, Katrina's legs were trembling from both physical and emotional strain. But at the moment nobody was paying her any attention. Indeed, the man Hartley had had his eyes on a beautiful red-haired servant for the last twenty minutes or so. Now, as she filled his glass from a decanter, he took hold of her wrist. "What's your name, my dear?" "Please be careful, sir, you'll make me spill it. My name is Bernadette, sir." "Ah, I recognize that accent. You're Irish." The girl smiled. "From Kerry, sir." "And beautiful emerald eyes, too. How appropriate." The girl blushed. "Thank you, sir." "But it's true. Don't you agree, Frances?" "Beautiful indeed, Hartley. Do you want her?" "Yes, my dear. I believe I do." "Then why don't you take her? Right here and now." Still holding Bernadette by the wrist, Hartley glanced around the table. "Does anybody mind? Christina? I feel suddenly in desperate need." He laughed. "With your permission…" Madam SIN smiled indulgently. "You don't need my permission, Hartley. You know that. Feel free. Take her." An exchange of knowing smiles among those around the table seemed to signify that, far from anybody objecting to what he had in mind, the imminent diversion would be welcome. Rising from his chair, he hurriedly cleared an area of the table in front of him of crockery and cutlery. "Come, Bernadette." So saying, he turned the young redhead to face the table. Then, moving behind her, he reached for the top of her blouse and began to draw the garment down her arms and body. "Oh, sir. Please don't…" The startled girl's gasped plea died on her lips as her breasts 300

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sprang free. Pale and firm, each large globe was surmounted by a prominent blushing pink nipple. The blouse now rumpled around her waist, Bernadette found herself suddenly half naked. "Oh, please, sir. Please. No!" She took hold of Hartley's wrists when he reached around from behind her to fondle and squeeze her breasts. "Please, sir. Not in front of everybody." "Silence, girl!" Ming snapped. "Don't be so impertinent to Sir Hartley—unless you want a sound whipping." Sir Hartley? Katrina could barely believe her ears. This man was a knight of the realm? Although clearly discomfited by her situation, Bernadette ceased to protest in the face of Ming's threat. Placing her hands on the table, she steadied herself as Sir Hartley raised her skirt up around her waist and tucked it into her belt. Then, deftly stooping, he slipped her white lace panties down her legs to the floor, exposing a glossy thatch of bright copper pubic hair in the process. When he rose again, he tossed the panties into the center of the table. The familiar moist prickling sensation stirred between Katrina's thighs at the sight of the hapless servant. Her skirt and blouse, crumpled around her midriff, served only to accentuate her nudity now. "Bend over the table, my dear." As he spoke, Sir Hartley took Bernadette by the shoulders and guided her forward and down onto her forearms, until her upper body was parallel with the table. In this position, her ample breasts hung beneath her, the now erect nipples just grazing the linen tablecloth. She was facing Katrina and Madam SIN along the dining table, her body masking the lower half of Sir Hartley's body. Thus, Katrina could only speculate what the man was doing when he reached with his right hand down in the direction of his groin. His left hand placed firmly on Bernadette's naked buttocks, he moved up close to her, where he paused for a moment, then thrust his hips hard against her. "Aaaahh!" Bernadette's breasts jiggled, her eyes widening in astonishment. Clearly Sir Hartley had penetrated her. "Oh, please sir," 301

Judith she gasped. "You're so…big. Please be careful." "Silence, you insolent bitch." Like an angry cobra, Ming half rose from the table. Reaching out across the table, she slapped Bernadette's left breast several times, then pinched the nipple hard between her thumb and forefinger. "Oooww!" The wretched servant squirmed, but was unable to break free of Ming's relentless grip. Tears spilled from her eyes. "Fuck the poor girl, Hartley," Frances urged him. "Help her forget the pain." "Exactly what I had in mind, my dear." Gripping Bernadette firmly, Sir Hartley began to move his hips back and forth in long, extravagant strokes. The girl's eyes bulged now, her face flushed crimson. She gasped as Ming at last relented and released the swollen nipple. As Sir Hartley picked up speed, Bernadette's breasts jounced wildly with each violent forward thrust. At first, she seemed in pain and discomfort, but soon her little whimpers of protest began to evolve, to take on a softer, yearning quality. After a little while, it was no longer a case of Sir Hartley exerting his will over a reluctant victim. The servant had given herself over entirely to the experience, working with him and eagerly pushing her rump up and back against him to meet each of his powerful thrusts. Her eyes was half closed, as if in a trance, her mouth open to facilitate her labored breathing. Her tongue periodically slipped between her lips to moisten them as she was repeatedly and vigorously penetrated from behind. "Turn her over, Hartley, so we can see better." In response to Romanoff's request, Sir Hartley paused. He, too, is panting from his exertions over the past fifteen minutes or so. Bernadette's expression as he withdrew from her was one of loss. But she wasn’t to be deprived, merely repositioned. With help from Romanoff, who leaned across the table to grip her by the upper arms, Sir Hartley turned Bernadette onto her back so that her buttocks rested on the very edge of the table-end. Now, for the first time, Katrina saw his penis. Wet and glistening with the serving girl's intimate juices, the voracious organ pulsed visibly in time with Sir 302

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Hartley's rapidly beating heart. "Pull back your thighs with your hands, my dear," Frances instructed Bernadette in a hushed voice; then, as her instruction was obeyed, added, "Good. Now spread them wider. Ah, yes, now we all have a much better view. Carry on, Hartley" Only too willing to comply, Sir Hartley guided his erection with his hand, easing the glans into the yielding folds of Bernadette's sex again. She moaned as he first drove it deep inside her, then withdrew again. Moving fluidly from the hips, he began to increase the tempo, while Bernadette's plaintive moans confirmed her arousal…as did the frenzied manner in which she tossed her head from side, her bright copper mane thrashing about her naked shoulders and breasts. Amazingly, Sir Hartley managed to maintain control for close on half an hour, periodically repositioning the girl in a variety of postures, sometimes at the suggestion of his fellow diners, sometimes at his own whim. During this time, it was unequivocally apparent from her periodic impassioned cries and simultaneous physical convulsions that the lovely Bernadette had experienced multiple orgasms. Katrina had begun counting them, but lost track when she was suddenly transported by a shattering climax of her own, provoked by the erotic spectacle and the steady friction of the gold chain rubbing against her clitoris. Fortunately for her, no one seemed to notice. Perspiration had broken out on Sir Hartley's brow now, and the muscles in his jaw and neck were flexing strenuously. At last, it seemed, he was ready to conclude the performance, a fact that Frances—Lady Hartley?—seemed to recognize instinctively. Reaching out her right hand to Bernadette's lower belly, she looked up at him, at the same time insinuating manicured fingers into the flaming bush that clad the girl's pubic hillock. Her eyes were aglow. "You are ready, my dear." It was a statement, not a question. An economical nod and grunt from somewhere deep in Sir Hartley's throat confirmed the statement. 303

Judith "Not inside her, Hartley. I want to see you come over her. Will you do that for me, darling?" His response was to pull suddenly back, withdrawing from Bernadette's sex with a violent groan, as if he were in pain. His straining cock jerked upward, spitting a great glob of pearly semen in an arc above Bernadette's recumbent form. It was followed by a second, and a third in time with the spasms of his orgasm. Bernadette writhed in the throes of yet another orgasm of her own as the glutinous barrage rained down on her, spattering her belly, breasts and throat, and even reaching her face and hair. Rising from her seat, Frances ran her hands over Bernadette’s body, massaging the viscous fluid into her flesh as if were some kind of proprietary beauty treatment. As her fingers kneaded the slippery mass of the other woman's breasts, teasing the swollen nipples, she bent forward to deliver her a long lingering kiss. For some reason she could not begin to understand, this act triggered a violent muscular spasm in Katrina's belly and thighs. The golden chain bit deeper into her furrow, and her body was wracked by a second raging orgasm, at the height of which she was suddenly conscious of a penetrating gaze upon her, fixing her with uncompromising intensity. Although the woman's face was concealed by the silken veil, Katrina was instinctively certain that those lovely almond eyes which held her now with such dark intensity, were but one facet of a mysterious and exquisite eastern beauty.

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Chapter Eleven

T

he only wine Katrina had drunk the previous evening had been provided by Camille, and was unadulterated. Thus, there could be little, if any, mitigation for the manner in which she had responded, both physically and sensually, to what had befallen her. Neither the perverse pleasure she had derived from her suffering and humiliation in front of Madam SIN's guests and the servants, nor the ease with which she had repeatedly succumbed to orgasm could be even partially attributed to drugs. It was for this reason that, after her initial recollection of these things upon waking this morning, Katrina resolved to banish them from conscious thought. This resolution, however, proved disturbingly short-lived. Indeed, it lasted only until she took her morning shower. Working the shower gel into a rich lather, she carelessly permitted her hands to fondle her breasts…and cried out as fire suddenly flared in her nipples. The golden clamps, she discovered, had left a temporary legacy in her flesh…and perhaps a permanent one in her mind. Similarly, when her fingers slipped routinely between the lips of her vulva, she flinched and gasped as the tender flesh protested. The final humiliation of the previous evening had come when, by then totally ignoring Katrina, Madam SIN and her guests had left the dining room for 'the theatre'—whatever and wherever that was. It was then that, apparently as an afterthought, Ming returned to the dining room where Katrina had been left standing by Madam SIN's empty chair, and told her to make her own way back to her quarters. 305

Judith That had proved a more demanding task than she could have imagined. The servants, presumably on Ming's orders, refused to either speak to or help her. This meant that to open the door of the dining room she had to turn her back to it and strain to reach and turn the handle with her manacled hands. It took at least five minutes of struggling under the fascinated gaze of the serving girls before she succeeded. During this time, the golden chain and clamps continued to impart their exquisite cocktail of pain and arousal to her senses, twice transforming her cries of anguish to moans of pleasure as she was overcome by orgasm yet again. In the eyes of the watching girls, she recognized a whole range of emotions: sympathy, curiosity, excitement—even, she fancied, envy—but none said or did anything to help her or interfere in any way. Indeed, the girl Bernadette, only recently the object of so much attention herself, had seemed to actually enjoy Katrina's plight. A similarly pitiable ritual was necessary to gain entry to her suite at the end of the wretchedly difficult and painful return journey along the corridors and stairways of the chateau. Once inside her quarters, she found that the only way she could achieve any degree of comfort—or, more accurately, relief—from the relentless chain and clamps, was by standing with her arms straight down in line with her spine and her back arched. After about an hour in this position, she began to fear that she would have to remain so all night. But then, following a reticent knock on her door, a maid she had not seen before had arrived with the key to the golden bracelets and set her blissfully free. The new maid, a tall, lissome German girl named Ingrid, explained that she was Camille's replacement, and that, like Camille, she was entirely at Katrina's service. But she could not, or would not, tell Katrina what had happened to Camille. This morning, unwilling to risk a chance meeting in the dining room with anyone who had witnessed her ordeal the night before, Katrina had ordered breakfast in her room. It was brought by Ingrid, who could still give her no news of Camille. Now, having dressed in a 306

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linen shirt and twill slacks, she planned to take Sam for a ride— provided the tenderness between her thighs did not prove unbearable. In order to keep the newly shaven flesh around her sex smooth, she had daily applied the depilatory cream Sharon had given her. Before this morning's application of the cream, she had massaged some of the soothing witch hazel lotion into the membranous tissue within the actual folds of her sex. It seemed to have worked, because she now felt much less tender than earlier. Indeed, the process of applying the lotion had almost evolved from massage to masturbation, a temptation she had barely managed to resist. Now that she was ready to leave, she looked with interest at her reflection in the full-length dressing mirror. She was pleasantly surprised to see a wholesome-looking, fresh-faced cover girl looking back at her, rather than the reflection of the debauched profligate she had half-expected. It now seemed a fanciful notion that prompted a near smile to twitch briefly at the corners of her mouth before she turned from the mirror and walked to the front door. *** Purely on a whim, she headed south, but then, instead of climbing into the east as she had done to reach the lagoon on the other side of the island, she guided Sam westerly along a descending, partially overgrown track through the forest. It was a pleasant ride, if a little hot in the still air under the trees. As on her previous forays into the island's wilderness, sunlight, filtered by the canopy, cast a pale green opalescence upon everything it touched. Multi-hued butterflies tumbled like lighter-than-air fragments of stained glass across her route along the winding, rocky track. Invisible birds called conspiratorially from the surrounding green density. The track became increasingly steeper as it descended until it eventually reached, and leveled out alongside, a bubbling stream. Eighty yards further on, about an hour and a half after setting 307

Judith forth from Chateau Levequ, she emerged from the trees onto a broad strand of white sand beach. Here, the sun's heat was tempered by a spirited wind that tossed Katrina's hair, and rattled her shirt against her body. The ocean, a living, shifting expanse of translucent aquamarine, alternately swamped and foamed upon the sandy shoreline, then sucked away again; crash and sigh…crash and sigh. Something wild, primitive, stirred in her soul. Turning Sam's head up the beach, she drove her heels into his flanks. The stallion needed no further encouragement; the mood had infected his spirit also. Rising momentarily on his hind legs, he then sprang forward into the wind. It was a wild ride of maybe a mile and a half, an exhilarating celebration of total freedom within the otherwise restricted confines of Katrina's enslavement. She eventually reined the stallion to a snorting standstill at a point on the beach where a shallow river bisected the sand to empty into the ocean. After a moment's pause to get back her breath, she turned, guiding Sam alongside the river to follow its serpentine course inland. After about ten minutes she rounded a bend and came to a lovely spot where the river widened in the shape of a crescent, and a broad sandy cove had been carved out of the bank. Flanked by the huddled emerald fringes of the jungle, the cove was sheltered from the force of the boisterous wind that thrashed the seashore. In its place, a soft, fitful breeze filtered along the convoluted river, and spilled down over the treetops to insinuate itself capriciously under Katrina's shirt at the open neck, and between the buttons. It was a delicious feeling that made her nipples stiffen, and invoked in her once again the sudden and overwhelming desire to be naked. Without a second thought, she slipped from Sam's back and stripped off her clothes, allowing the breeze the access to her body it seemed to crave. Now she felt truly free again. Carrying her clothing in one hand, she led Sam to the trees at the jungle's edge, where she tethered him to a low branch in the shade. Then, after dropping her clothes in a careless pile, she turned and walked down across the soft warm sand to the water's edge. 308

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Wading into the water, she discovered that the river was unlike any other she had seen. The bed was of smooth, flat rock, with deep hollows at intervals. If she avoided the hollows, she found that she could walk right across the river with the water reaching no higher than her calves. But if she chose, she could slip into the deeper water of the hollows, where it was possible to swim. For more than an hour she remained in the gently swirling waters, luxuriating in the sensual pleasures of the surrounding elements, alternately basking under the warm sun in the shallows, then immersing herself in the cooler depths of the hollows. It was hunger that prompted her to eventually return to the shore. As she walked across the sand toward Sam, she experienced again the strange sensation that she was being watched. And yet, for some reason, this neither alarmed nor intimidated her. On the contrary, in her now conscious acceptance that she possessed a beautiful body, she was aroused at the thought that some hidden observer—male or female—might be admiring her, watching her hungrily. Perhaps the man who had tied her to the rock and 'raped' her by the lagoon had followed her here today also. At this thought, a slithering thrill of something like fear blossomed fleetingly in her belly, conflicting—or perhaps mingling—with her arousal. She stood still, setting her feet apart in the sand and placing her hands loosely on her hips. She tossed her head, ostensibly to clear the strands of wet hair that clung to her face, but knowing also that the gesture made her breasts jiggle, and would appear provocative to anyone who saw it. Was she actually throwing out a challenge, she wondered, fearful, yet perversely daring the watcher to come for her? Hoping, even? In any event, no one answered the challenge, if that was what it had been, and she made her way back to the trees where Sam stood, listlessly swishing his tail in the mounting heat. From the saddlebags on either side of the palomino's flanks she removed a travel rug and the various packages that Ingrid had prepared for her. There was French country bread, salmon, pate and truffles, together with a half bottle of pale golden sauvignon blanc 309

Judith encased in an ice pack. Inside the small wicker picnic basket, she found a white linen tablecloth, china crockery, silver cutlery and a crystal wineglass. She placed the tablecloth on top of the rug on the sand, then sat down to eat. The food was excellent, the wine cool, crisp and laden with mellow fruitfulness. It was only as the latter began to work its magic on her senses that it occurred to her how wonderfully decadent it felt to be naked in the wilderness, enjoying these luxurious trappings of civilization. Had the wine been 'treated', she wondered, swirling the luscious liquid around her mouth with her tongue. She shrugged; what did it matter when she was already intoxicated by the sensuality of her surroundings and her own body? As she ate and drank, that sensuality intensified—until, with a little shock, she discovered that her right hand had unconsciously stolen to her sex where her middle finger was slowly, dreamily working within the soft moist folds. Only now did she consciously acknowledge the arousal that had been steadily growing within her. Her need suddenly urgent, she let the wineglass slip from her fingers onto the white linen tablecloth where it lay sparkling brightly in the glare of the sun. Lying back on the rug, she spread her thighs, allowing the hand between them unrestricted access now. Her left hand moved to her breasts, fondling, caressing. Heart suddenly pounding, breathing shallow, she raised her knees slightly from the rug. Arching her back, she delved the probing finger deep into her cleft, then withdrew it to stroke the slippery swollen bud at the brink of the opening. Repeating the process, she began to moan softly, deep in her throat. Although she hadn't realized it, this moment was pre-ordained, had been drawing closer from the moment she rode furiously along the deserted beach on the back of the spirited stallion. The eruption was sudden, unexpected and fierce, prompting from her a little cry of wonder that evolved into a long, low moan as she was overwhelmed by orgasm. When the tremors had subsided, she lay staring, trance-like, at the azure sky through the overhanging fronds of the trees above her, her 310

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breathing low and regular now. Although the tropic afternoon heat was blessedly mitigated by the breeze, she was unable to resist the torpor that stole over her. The transition from post-climactic inertia to tranquil slumber was seamless… *** It was almost sunset when Katrina finally arrived back at Chateau Levequ. Cast in the last rays of the sun, the magnificent edifice looked as if it were made of old gold—a beautiful fairy tale castle. And yet, as she drew nearer, the prospect of her return to the embrace of its ancient walls, and all that that entailed, served only to dampen her spirits. It had been a carefree, pleasant day and she had begun the journey back feeling at peace with the world, but now, the reality and uncertainty of her situation began to loom foremost in her mind again. Chief among her concerns was her father, whose entire future depended upon her ability to fulfill the terms of her contract to the satisfaction of Armand Levequ and Madam SIN. In the context of her sexuality, she had already compromised—no, surrendered—her previous moral values in pursuit of that goal, and still she did not know the extent of what would yet be required of her. Admittedly, there were times when her present lifestyle felt so natural that it seemed as if she had been born for such an existence. But this temporary acceptance of her condition alternated with feelings of guilt and shame that she should even be capable of considering some of the acts to which she had submitted. Indeed, in some cases she had not merely submitted, but had embraced, even reveled in the acts of debauchery to which she had been introduced, and this constant internal conflict inevitably led to occasional moments of emotional turmoil, such as now. As Katrina guided Sam through an arched rear gateway onto the Levequ estate, the familiar sense of unease loomed once more, like a storm cloud hovering over her. Angry with herself, she hissed a 311

Judith profanity under her breath, and wished for the hundredth time that she were impervious to guilt. That way, she could at least commit to her obligation without fear that she might yet be asked to perform some task or act that she simply could not countenance. Tossing her head as if the gesture might make the wish reality, she urged Sam on toward the stables. On returning to her quarters, Katrina was intrigued to see that a long evening dress in cream silk had been laid out on her bed. Next to it was a beautiful pearl necklace, a matching pair of earrings and an explanatory note from Ming. She was to attend dinner as a guest this time. Eight o'clock, prompt, on the lakeside terrace behind the chateau. She was to wear the dress and the pearls, which Ming herself had selected, but no underwear. She looked at her watch. Nearly two and a half hours to go—more than enough time for the long, luxurious bath she had been thinking about on the long ride back through the sultry, airless forest. *** At ten minutes to eight, Katrina stood in front of the dressing mirror to assess her appearance. Since Ming had taken the trouble to select the dress and the jewelry she was to wear, she assumed that dinner was to be an important event, and had consequently taken great care in preparation. Nevertheless, the sight of her reflection in the mirror took her breath away. The dress, a spectacular creation by Emanuel Ungaro, was a perfect fit and looked sensational on her. Long and sleek, it clung snugly to her upper body, leaving her arms and shoulders bare to emphasize the contrast between the cream silk, the nacre opalescence of the pearls and her honey-tanned flesh. From the hip, the dress flared slightly toward the hem, with mid-thigh side splits. Katrina's smile of satisfaction was instinctive, irrepressible even by the uncertainty of what might lie ahead of her this evening. The lakeside terrace was an expansive, asymmetrical paved area adjacent to the ornamental lake at the rear of the chateau. 312

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Surrounded by stands of trees and beds of ferns and flowering shrubs, it was a very pleasant venue for an alfresco cocktail reception or dinner. Tonight, in addition to concealed lighting among the foliage of the trees, flaming torches atop tall wrought iron stands illuminated the terrace. Covered in gleaming white linen, a number of dining tables had been set together in the shape of a large horseshoe facing the lake. In the arena-like space within, as if it were to be the focal point of the occasion, stood something that Katrina imagined to be a tall ornamental statue, over which a red velvet cloth had been draped to obscure it entirely from view. As she approached, formally attired servants of both sexes were busy putting the finishing touches to the table settings with fine china, silver cutlery and crystal glasses, while to one side, at the water's edge, a string quartet was unobtrusively playing Vivaldi. Close by, talking in two seemingly random groups, stood Madam SIN and her other guests—the same people who had been at dinner the previous evening to witness Katrina's wretched humiliation. With the exception of Mahmood and his female companion, who again both wore traditional Middle Eastern attire, the guests were dressed in formal eveningwear. Waiters hovered on the periphery to refresh drinks when required. As Katrina approached the small gathering, the drone of predinner conversation and chinking of ice in glasses reminded her briefly of Rylands. Indeed the occasion itself was reminiscent of the annual reception that had indirectly led her here. Catching sight of Katrina as she drew nearer, Madam SIN waved an arm in her direction. "Ah, Katrina my dear. Come here and let me introduce you." Summoning an uneasy smile, Katrina made her way across the terrace to where Madam SIN, Ming and Vladimir Romanoff were standing with Sir Hartley. Smiling, Sir Hartley switched his glass to his left hand, reaching out to Katrina with the right. "No need for introductions, Christina. I feel that Katrina and I know each other intimately after last night." Accepting his hand, Katrina felt herself blush furiously and did the 313

Judith only thing she could think of to ease her situation—hammed it up. Assuming what she hoped would pass for a demure smile, she executed a mock curtsey and said, "Oh, sir, spare my modesty. See how you make a poor girl blush." He liked that. Following a roar of laughter, he said, "Oh, Christina, you've got a real gem here." "Indeed. A real gem." The speaker was the woman Frances, whom Katrina supposed to be Sir Hartley's wife. Drawn by his laughter, she had joined the group now and was looking directly at Katrina. Katrina now saw that she was older than she had first thought—probably, like her husband, around fifty—but she bore her maturity well, and would undoubtedly still turn men's heads, especially the way she was dressed this evening. Pristine white, the ottoman-ribbed evening dress had a mock turtleneck halter and was cut away on each side, just above the waist, to lay bare the exquisite curvature of her lower back. She wore silvergray high-heeled sandals, but no jewelry. She didn't need any. She wore her hair up, accentuating a slender, graceful neck that betrayed no hint of her age. She was, in short, the epitome of feminine elegance. But there was something about her smile that Katrina could not quite define, an element of amusement, perhaps, rendered ambiguous by the penetrating gaze of her eyes. Katrina took the slender hand she offered, and experienced what felt more like a caress than a handshake. "Yes, Katrina has certain pleasing qualities," Madam SIN responded. "Some potential, to be sure. But she has a lot to learn." Turning then to Katrina, she said, "Katrina, last night, because you were being punished, you were merely a conversation piece at dinner. Tonight, you are a guest. Let me formally introduce you to Sir Hartley and Lady Frances Jeaffreson." Jeaffreson. Although she did not know him by sight, Katrina knew well enough now who this man was. Former Conservative Party Member of Parliament and sometime cabinet minister, Sir Hartley Jeaffreson was now the Chief Executive of a major television 314

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corporation, and a director of countless other British companies. She had heard her father talk of him and was almost certain that the two had done business together at some time. The thought gave her a heavy, nauseous feeling, and she prayed he did not know who she was. "We have a different conversation piece this evening," Ming observed, flashing an enigmatic glance at Katrina. "A little more entertaining also, I think. Time for the unveiling, Christina?" "I think dinner is about to be served, Ming. Why don't you wait until everyone is seated?" Ming smiled thinly. "Of course." "Besides, I haven't finished the introductions." Madam SIN raised her voice. "Mahmood?" Like some legendary character from the Thousand and One Nights, the dark-skinned Arab stepped into the group. He was tall and well built, Katrina now noticed, and despite his aquiline nose, quite handsome in a fearsome sort of way. "Katrina, meet His Highness, Sultan Mahmood Al Haq." Smiling, the Sultan took Katrina's hand and kissed it lightly. "A pleasure, my dear. You are a very beautiful woman." Katrina inclined her head. "Thank you, your Highness." "And Yasmeen, his…" For a moment, uncharacteristically, Madam SIN faltered. "Concubine," Mahmood said, completing the introduction. "It's quite all right, Christina. In my culture, the word doesn't carry the stigma it has in the West. A man may have as many wives as his wealth will support…" "Which explains why you have what is reputed to be the biggest harem in the Middle East," Lady Frances interrupted, smiling. Mahmood shrugged. "My Sultanate contains vast reserves of petroleum oil. It is the will of Allah. As I was saying, in my country a man may have as many wives as his wealth will support, but the Sultan may only marry women of high birth. Since Yasmeen is of humble origins, it is not possible for me to take her as a wife, and so 315

Judith she has become my concubine instead. Nevertheless…." He paused, casting a fleeting glance at the woman standing to his right and slightly behind him. "Nevertheless, Yasmeen is the most beautiful woman I have ever encountered, and she is a constant source of delight to me." Yasmeen's dark, liquid eyes seemed to glow momentarily above the veil that covered the lower half of her face, then were concealed by her eyelids as she modestly lowered her gaze to the ground. "Damned selfish of you keeping her veiled like that if you ask me, Mahmood." Katrina thought she detected just a suggestion of genuine resentment in Sir Hartley's otherwise jocular reproach. With a mischievous smile, Mahmood shrugged again. "Not selfish, Hartley my friend. It is simply the custom in my country." "Well, time for dinner, I think," Madam SIN said, then, raising her voice, added above the murmur of conversation, "Would everyone like to take their places now, please?" Name cards identified each guest's place on the outer curve of the dining table. Madam SIN sat at the center, flanked on either side by Sir Hartley and Mahmood, who in turn sat, respectively, next to Lady Frances and Yasmeen. Katrina found herself next to Yasmeen, who acknowledged her presence with a subtle bow of her head as she adjusted the veil covering the lower part of her face. As the Arab woman accomplished this task, Katrina noticed the beautiful ruby ring on the middle finger of her right hand. The huge stone glowed with inner fire, as if it possessed a life of its own. According to the name card, the place setting on Katrina's right was assigned to Ming, while along the opposite 'arm' of the table, on Lady Frances' left, Vladimir Romanoff, Frederique and Sharon sat in turn. Only Ming had not yet taken her seat, remaining instead by the draped 'statue' in the space between the two sides of the dining table horseshoe. Now, as the wine was served with the first course, Madam SIN addressed her. "Very well, Ming. I think you can now unveil our little…diversion." 316

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Smiling with obvious relish, Ming tugged at a cord attached to the red velvet drape, which fell away at once. Katrina's gasp of dismay contrasted markedly with the reactions of the others guests, which were, without exception, expressions of approval. "Ah, the pony!" Lady Frances seemed delighted. "It's been years since I last saw one in use. What a good idea, Christina. How very novel…and entertaining." Madam SIN smiled. "I thought you might approve." "Yes indeed, Christina," added Sir Hartley, his eyes gleaming in the flickering torchlight. "Fascinating." Oblivious to these comments, Katrina simply stared in disbelief at what the removal of the velvet drape revealed. Not a statue, but a wooden contraption rather like a small gallows mounted on a low platform. The vertical post rose from the center of the platform to a height of about ten feet where a spar, several feet in length, extended from it at a right angle. But unlike a gallows, a horizontal wooden beam, with one rounded edge uppermost also protruded from the vertical post in line with the upper spar, but at a height of three to four feet above the platform. The structure itself, which was roughly the shape of a letter 'F', would probably not have evinced a second glance from Katrina had she not known its purpose. But there could be no doubt as to that purpose under present circumstances, since it was being demonstrated upon her former maid and lover. Camille was quite naked. Bound together by broad, metal-studded leather cuffs, her wrists were attached by a crimson rope to a metal hook in the upper beam. Arms forcibly held high above her head by the rope, her whole body was stretched taut so that only the balls of her feet touched the platform. Her ankles, encircled by studded leather cuffs like those on her wrists, were secured to the platform by chains. Her mouth was covered by a crimson silk gag, but her furrowed brow and the pitiful expression in her eyes spoke eloquently enough of her anguish, the chief cause of which was undoubtedly the round-edged lower beam—astride which she was firmly positioned. The beam was set at such a height that, unless she 317

Judith remained on her toes, legs stretched to give her additional height, her sex was forced down upon the rounded upper edge by her own body weight. Gravity and fatigue ensured that relief from her torment could be achieved for only short periods at a time. Katrina watched in horrified fascination as Camille alternately stretched upward to relieve the pressure, then, when her muscles tired, sank back onto the beam with a muffled whimper. The maid's body was gleaming with perspiration in the torchlight, little rivulets trickling down her naked flesh as she writhed and squirmed on the terrible contraption. Katrina was aghast. "What… What is that…thing?" Ming ran a hand down over Camille's hip and belly to the beam wedged firmly between the maid's thighs. Stroking it, as she might a pet, she answered, "This, my dear Katrina, is the pony, a centuriesold method of stretching a woman to the limits of her endurance. No need for me to explain how it works, I think. Your friend Camille is providing an excellent demonstration. But note particularly how the beam insinuates itself between the lips of her sex to press against the tender membranous tissue of her cleft." To illustrate her point, Ming ran her forefinger against the parted flesh of Camille's smoothlyshaven vulva, causing the woman to shudder and moan. "Exquisite, isn't it?" Lady Frances seemed to enjoy Camille's response. "Oh, Christina, darling, this is wonderful. Can we have the gag off? I'd like to be able to hear the girl." "Of course. I had her gagged simply so that her cries wouldn't spoil the surprise before the unveiling. Ming." Reaching behind Camille's head, Ming unfastened the silk gag. "Aaaahh." Camille's aspirated cry seemed to provide her some relief, as if the ability to vent her feelings eased her anguish in some small way. Noticing Katrina's expression of consternation, Ming remarked with heavy irony, "Oh, yes, poor thing. But still, Katrina, don't pity her too much. The pony isn't exclusively about pain. You see, stretched in 318

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this way, the rider's constant writhing against the beam stimulates her clitoris. Orgasm after orgasm punctuates her ordeal, even when the pain is at its most exquisite. The experience is one of the most intense a woman can undergo." As if to confirm the veracity of Ming's statement, Camille's body suddenly stiffened, her muscles tensing visibly. "Oh, no. Oh. Aaaaahhh." Eyelids half closed, her entire body quivered and twisted as if she were in the throes of a small seizure, which, in a way, she was. When the orgasm receded, she slumped back down upon the lower beam again, her low moans of obvious pleasure regressing once more to ones of pain and discomfort. "There, you see?" Ming observed. "Right on cue." Although horrified by what was happening to Camille, Katrina was also nevertheless pierced by a sliver of guilt at the realization that the maid's plight had also aroused her considerably—another example of the eternal paradox that had plagued her since she entered the service of Armand Levequ. And if the sight and sounds of Camille's ordeal were not stimulation enough for her senses, a soft female hand now slinked sensuously over her silk-clad thigh. She turned to look at Yasmeen and was just in time to catch a smoldering sideways glance before the Arab woman averted her dark eyes again, returning her gaze to the prospect of Camille's naked and bound form writhing upon the pony. As if what was taking place in the arena-like space before them was routinely natural, most of the guests had already begun their first course. Laying down her soupspoon momentarily, Lady Frances raised her voice above the conversational murmur of the other guests. "What is the girl's name, Christina?" "Camille," Madam SIN replied. "She's a servant. "A very attractive servant," Sir Hartley observed, absently swirling the claret in his glass. "Aren't they all, at Chateau Levequ?" Mahmood added, smiling. "But I agree with you, Hartley, this one is fine indeed. What was her offense, Christina?" 319

Judith "The usual one—disobedience. Ming caught her making love with…." Madam SIN's meaningful glance at Katrina dispensed with the need for any question the unfinished sentence might have otherwise begged. Sir Hartley set down his glass on the table with a flourish. "Ah ha! Now there's something I'd like to have seen for myself." Madam SIN smiled indulgently. "You know you only have to ask, Hartley. But at the time, they were merely pleasuring each other—in flagrant disregard of my instructions." From the other guests' perspective there was nothing in Yasmeen's movements or demeanor to betray the intimate quest upon which her hand had embarked beneath the surface of the table. Inch by inch, her nimble fingers eased the silk of Katrina's dress up her legs until at last her thighs were completely bared. Although her nerve endings prickled with pleasure under Yasmeen's fingertips, Katrina remained quite still, her eyes fixed on Camille. Lady Frances, too, seemed preoccupied with the unfortunate mulatto. "Tell me, Camille, what does it feel like?" Raising her eyes from the ground to face Lady Frances's scrutiny, Camille licked away the tiny beads of perspiration from her upper lip. "It's… very…ngh…uncomfortable, Ma'am. And painful." Her voice was low, tremulous, punctuated by labored breathing. "My whole body…aches." "And your cunt, my dear, how does that feel? The truth, mind." "I… Oh!" Another small shudder ran through Camille's body. "Ma'am, it's very tender." "Sensitive." Camille nodded carefully, as if even the movement of her head might cause her more discomfort. "Yes…and sore." "But there is pleasure also, yes?" Another nod. Reluctant. "Yes, Ma'am." "Difficult to differentiate between the pain and the pleasure?" Camille's eyes widened in surprise. "You…know?" Lady Frances smiles. "Indeed I do, child. And the orgasm we just 320

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witnessed, was it intense?" "Very…intense. Together with the pain…I thought I was going to pass out." "That won't happen, my dear. The pony won't allow you to lose consciousness—no matter how much you might wish it. How long has she been up there, Ming?" "Not long. No more than forty minutes." "Her first time, I suspect?" "Yes." "Always interesting to witness the first time." Beneath the table, Yasmeen's fingers insinuated between Katrina's thighs, long, manicured fingernails tracing a delicate, delicious filigree on her flesh. Katrina allowed her legs to part. Although the evening was warm, the air felt cool on the moist, exposed lips of her sex. She shivered lightly, and gripped the sides of her seat tightly with both hands as Yasmeen's probing fingers brushed against her labia. So this was why Ming instructed her not to put on underwear. It appeared that she had been seated here, dressed thus, at Yasmeen's request. Parting her thighs wider, she allowed the inquisitive fingers to probe deeper. She gasped, feeling the big ruby gently scuff against the slippery, membranous tissue of her vulva as Yasmeen's ring finger slid inside her. Now the nimble fingers were exploring wider areas, roving in and around the crinkled folds of her sex. Very wet now, Katrina was suddenly conscious of the risk that her copious secretion would soak her dress. To prevent this from happening she shifted position slightly, at the same time surreptitiously lifting her dress even higher. Easing her weight from the chair, and sliding the silken material from beneath her, she managed to bunch it behind her, so that her now bare buttocks were in direct contact with the leather seat of the chair. A subtle scent of musk, pungent and spicy, drifted on the balmy evening breeze. Could it be her own intimate aroma? she wondered. The thought was stifled at the sudden realization that Ming was walking toward the table. Katrina's heart, already beating abnormally 321

Judith fast, now began to pound frantically. Taking her seat, Ming leaned toward Katrina and whispered. "The bitch is in heat, I perceive." Katrina's eyes revealed her puzzlement as she turned to look at Ming, in whose smile she recognized the now familiar element of mockery. "I can smell your arousal, Katrina," Ming explained. "You are excited by your little brown friend's ordeal." Blushing furiously, Katrina averted her face from Ming's penetrating gaze. Ming laughed softly. "You're such a child in some ways, Katrina. But I like that." Katrina flinched involuntarily as Ming's hand, smooth and cool, made contact with her naked right thigh. Her fingers exploring the texture of Katrina's flesh, Ming ran her hand slowly up the inner slope of her thigh, then on, toward her sex. Katrina held her breath as the inevitable approached. Abruptly, the atmosphere was charged with electric tension when Ming's fingers brushed against Yasmeen's at the portal of Katrina's vulva. The moment lasted for only a fleeting fragment of time. Instinctively, both women's heads turned inward, their eyes momentarily meeting across Katrina's trembling form. Something very like anger flared briefly in the depths of Ming's dark eyes, then was gone in an instant. Seeming to suddenly remember Yasmeen's status as a guest of Madam SIN, she smiled and deferred to the other woman with a conciliatory, but barely discernible tilt of her head. But as Ming hurriedly withdrew her hand from between Katrina's thighs, so too did Yasmeen. Whether the Arab woman was embarrassed or fearful at being discovered, Katrina had no way of knowing, but she was somehow certain that there would be no more erotic overtures beneath the table this evening, a conviction that invoked in her both disappointment and resentment. Each for their own reasons, none of the three women spoke for a long while, seeming content instead to concentrate on dinner while listening to the conversation generated by Madam SIN and the other 322

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guests. But Katrina's senses remained highly-charged, the muscles in her stomach, thighs and calves tense as her excitement receded at an agonizingly leisurely rate—a process not aided by the wine and the unavoidable sight of the naked Camille, incessantly moaning and squirming on the pony. During the course of the meal, she was obliged more than once to make secretive use of her table napkin for a more intimate purpose than that for which it was designed—that of wiping dry the evidence of her arousal from her sex and thighs. As on the previous evening, the conversation during dinner embraced a diverse range of topics, but always returning from time to time, usually at the instigation of Lady Frances, to the mulatto maid who seemed to be gradually succumbing to exhaustion from her unremitting trial. To add to her wretched condition, Camille was called upon repeatedly by various guests to describe and discuss in detail how she was feeling. By the time dinner was over, she was barely able to respond to the questions put to her, and Katrina was immensely relieved when her distress was finally brought to a conclusion. Ironically, Camille's deliverance was due to Lady Frances, who seemed to have derived the most pleasure from witnessing her encounter with the pony. "Christina, isn't it about time you took the girl down now? You don't want to damage her permanently, I suppose." "Yes, Frances. You're right. Ming." Ming's expression betrayed her obvious dissent. "I don't think it's necessary yet, Christina. She's strong. She can take more…." "Ming!" Madam SIN's tone, quiet but menacing, cut Ming off at once. It intrigued—and pleased—Katrina to see the fiercely proud and dominant Chinese woman silenced by a single word. "At once, Christina," Ming replied, her head bowed in uncharacteristic subservience. "I apologize." Katrina wished she had the power to subjugate Ming thus. The thought released a writhing serpent of excitement in her belly. This unlikely concept—the prospect of switching roles with the arrogant 323

Judith CHIANG Ming, and the feeling it evoked within her—was something entirely new to Katrina; confusing, a little frightening, but also incredibly arousing. As Ming released Camille from the pony with the help of a couple of male servants, Madam SIN rose from her seat. "Gentlemen, ladies, shall we make our way to the theatre?" *** Situated on the first floor of the chateau, the theatre was an architectural gem. Although in miniature, it was, in terms of design and artistic merit, the equal of many of the grand theatres Katrina had seen in the capital cities of Europe and America. Framed by Doric columns set against the walls, and within borders of ornately gilded plaster relief work on the vaulted ceiling, exquisite hand-painted renaissance-style murals decorated the entire surface of the room. The stage was unconventional in that it bellied out at the center to form a semicircular arena—presently screened by a dark red velvet curtain. And seating accommodation for the audience was by no means traditional theatre style either. Instead of the usual rows of seats, an elevated, thickly carpeted terrace that enfolded the stage was furnished with about a dozen large, comfortable-looking leather armchairs, each with a small drinks table at its side. Subtly illuminated by concealed lighting in pastel tones, this was a private theatre fit for royalty. The strains of a baroque flute concerto filtered softly from unseen speakers as Madam SIN led the way into the room. She looked magnificent in an ankle-length dress of powder blue crepe, scattered with tiny crystal beads. The V-neck plunged almost to her waist, revealing a fascinating expanse of tawny satin flesh. "Please, make yourselves comfortable." The invitation was accompanied by an expansive sweep of her arm that placed the entire theatre unequivocally at the disposal of her guests. The gesture momentarily widened the broad, deep 'V' of her dress across the swell of her breasts. 324

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Uncertain at first of what she should do, Katrina held back near the door as the others each selected an armchair. Then, when Frederique smiled and beckoned to her, she took a seat nearby her, feeling somehow comforted by the close proximity of the beautiful Thai. Following Frederique's example, she accepted a glass of claret from one of the servants who were moving unobtrusively between the seated guests to serve drinks. "I've been looking forward to this all day, Christina," Sir Hartley said, as he settled into his armchair. "Last night's… What do you call these performances again?" Sitting on his right, Madam SIN smiled. "Playlets." "Yes, playlet. Last night's playlet was very entertaining. Decadence in ancient Rome. An intriguing theme." "And very erotic," added Lady Frances, whose chair flanked her husband's on the other side. "You certainly have a flair for this sort of thing, Christina." Even in the subdued lighting of the theatre, Katrina noticed the darkly smoldering light in Lady Frances's eyes as she spoke. Madam SIN smiled. "Thank you, Frances. We try to make these events both authentic and entertaining, but I can't take all the credit. They are something of a joint venture. Vladimir, Ming and Frederique all play a role in conceiving and developing the various themes with me. And of course I am fortunate to have the benefit of Vladimir's professional experience in casting and directing the performers. We hope that what we eventually present to our guests here on this stage is of the highest professional and artistic standard." "Well, it certainly was last night," Sir Hartley responded. "And, as Frances says, very erotic." Madam SIN smiled. "That, Hartley, I take as a prerequisite. Eroticism is, after all, the very raison d'etre of the playlets. Our guests invariably have exotic tastes in entertainment." "And you never disappoint in that respect, Christina." Mahmood's own smile cleaved his rugged features, revealing remarkably even white teeth. "Tell us, what delights do you have for us tonight?" 325

Judith "Something a little more contemporary…and appropriate to our location. As you know, in the nineteenth century there used to be a sugar plantation where the chateau is now. It was worked by slaves, of course. In this evening's playlet we will encounter the plantation's French owner, Paul Vermare, and his beautiful young wife, Madeleine. They have forsaken their old life in favor of this venture, which they hope will make their fortune. But here, on this remote Caribbean island, they miss the many diversions and pleasures of French society, and so they must create their own. This, as we shall see, presents no great difficulty for a man who is literally lord of all he surveys." As she finished the sentence, Madam SIN looked toward the stage where, presumably in response to some discreet cue from her, the velvet curtains slowly began to part. The house lights dimmed, surrendering to the burgeoning radiance of footlights at the front of the stage. All eyes in the room turned upon the stage. The scene, an opulently furnished period bedroom, certainly looked authentic. The bedroom was dominated by a huge carved wooden bed, which was bathed in a pool of light from a chandelier hanging overhead. Sitting at a dressing table, a beautiful, flaxen-haired young woman was brushing her hair in the mirror. The only performer on stage at the moment, she was singing softly to herself in French as she ran the brush through her hair. The flowing nightgown she wore had slipped off one shoulder to bare one milk-white breast, tipped by a prominent pink nipple. Someone in the audience voiced an in indistinct murmur of admiration. Probably Sir Hartley, Katrina thought. The woman was not alone long. The bedroom door opened and a handsome dark-haired man dressed in a white lace shirt, britches and riding boots entered the bedroom. With him, her right wrist gripped firmly in his left hand, was a young black woman. Tall and statuesque, she was very attractive, with high cheekbones, full lips and eyes that betrayed some measure of oriental influence in her ancestry. The uneven hem of her plain white cotton dress barely 326

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covered her thighs, and was rent here and there to reveal tantalizing glimpses of contrasting black-silk flesh. The story unfolded as the performers played their roles according to the scenario and Romanoff's direction. They were good at what they did; so good, in fact, that Katrina easily forgot that what was happening was fantasy rather than reality. The black woman, it appeared, was a slave, ostensibly brought to the house from the slave quarters by her owner to be punished for some spurious offence. The real reason for her presence was soon to become apparent. She was made to stand motionless and fearful in the center of the room while Madeleine, her left breast and shoulder still bared, walked slowly around her in critical appraisal. "She is a handsome woman, Paul. What was her misdeed?" "She stole a chicken from the pen." "I didn't, Mistress. I swear I—" "What! You call Monsieur a liar? Why, that would be an outrageous accusation by anyone, but by a mere slave… I care little about the chicken, but I cannot forgive that offense." "I'm sorry, Mistress. I didn't mean to—" "I shall punish her personally, Paul." A grim smile creased Paul's features. "Very well, my dear." "What is your name, girl?" "Eva, Mistress. But please don't punish me. I'm very sorry. I didn't mean to—" "Silence. We must make an example of you. You will be birched." Madeleine crossed the room to a wardrobe, opened the door and removed from inside a switch made of long, slender birch saplings bound together at one end by narrow strips of leather. As she walked back toward Eva, she sliced the air with the switch experimentally. The trembling black slave flinched at the swishing sound it made. "Take off your clothes, Eva." "Oh, no. Please, Mistress, no." The plaintive appeal fell on deaf ears. "Now!" 327

Judith "But Monsieur will see." "I've had enough of this disobedience. Hold her, Paul. This girl needs a lesson in discipline." Before Eva had time to react, Paul moved swiftly behind her. Seizing her wrists, he pulled her hands behind her back. Madeleine tossed the switch onto the bed and strode back to the wardrobe. Opening the door again, she reached inside. When she returned, she was holding a piece of leather cord and a knife. She handed the cord to her husband. "Fasten her wrists, Paul." Alarm furrowed Eva's brow as Paul tied her wrists together behind her back, and Madeleine stepped up close to her, slowly raising the knife toward her throat. The slave's eyes widened in fear. But the knife was not intended to harm her. Grasping her dress at the neckline, Madeleine applied the blade to the cotton fabric and sliced downward. The thin material parted easily to the hem, then fell open to reveal the ebony flesh beneath. Next, slicing apart the sleeves, Madeleine tugged what remained of the dress free of Eva's body, leaving her naked but for a pair of crude cotton drawers. The performer playing Eva clearly spent much of her leisure time in vigorous exercise. Her muscles were clearly defined, sculpted by regular workout, but the result enhanced rather than detracted from her femininity. Her limbs were long, willowy. Her upper body narrowed dramatically to a seemingly impossibly slender waist, below which the narrow flare of her hips gave way to firm, rounded buttocks. But it was her breasts that aroused Katrina's interest the most. Like some ripe exotic fruit, they seemed curiously taut, as if their veneer of satin-black skin were stretched to the limit by their mass. The effect, despite their ample proportions, was to make them jut proudly so that the nipples, thick stubs of unpolished jet, tilted intriguingly at an upward angle. Instinctively imagining what it would be like to explore the latter with her lips and tongue, Katrina found herself salivating. She swallowed, conscious of the fact that here in the theatre she would not be able to deal so easily with the insistent 328

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ooze between her thighs. Shifting a little in her seat to ease the familiar moist prickling, she took her glass from the adjacent table, raised it to her lips and drank. The fine claret was velvet-soft, with just a hint of spice and plums. Swallowing a generous measure, she believed she could already detect its mysterious added ingredient permeating her senses. Meanwhile, on stage, Madeleine appraised the near-naked slave with justifiable admiration. "My goodness, Paul, doesn't she have magnificent breasts?" "Indeed she does my dear," her husband answered, one hand snaking under his captive's upper arm to cup a single dark globe in his hand. Eva gasped as Paul squeezed the protuberant black nipple between finger and thumb, while Madeleine reached out her left hand to grip the top of Eva's drawers just below her navel. The slave flinched at the touch of cold steel as her Mistress drew the flat of the knife blade down across her belly. Then, in two long, deliberate strokes, Madeleine cut the cotton drawers from hip to thigh on both sides. "Aaahh!" The wretched Eva squirmed as Madeleine very slowly, deliberately, withdrew the rent garment between her clenched thighs until it came free in her hand. Madeleine smiled. "Ah, sensitive down there, are we? Let me see." From behind, Paul watched intently over Eva's shoulder as Madeleine bent on one knee so that her face was on a level with the black woman's sex, which was clad in a luxuriant forest of glossy black hair. As she leaned forward to comb her fingers through the hair, her naked breast brushed Eva's thigh. "Mm. Open your legs, Eva," she purred softly. "I want to examine you properly." But instead of obeying, Eva clenched her thighs even tighter. "Please, Madam Vermare, no! This is not right." Madeleine's face flushed with anger. How did she do that? Katrina wondered with professional interest. Rising from the floor, Madeleine 329

Judith took up the switch from the bed. "Move away from her, Paul. I'm going to whip the insolent girl." "Oh, please Mistress, no! I'm sorry. I'll do whatever you ask. Please don't… Aaah!" The sentence disintegrated as Madeleine struck Eva across her breasts with the switch. Hunching her shoulders forward, the luckless slave tried to minimize the target she presented as Madeleine drew back her arm again. The gesture was futile. Eva yelped as the switch whistled through the air again, and the pliant birch saplings struck her tender flesh, raising fine ebony welts on her breasts and belly. "You will stand erect, Eva," Madeleine told her without emotion. "And you will remain quite still during your punishment, because if you move, I will whip you harder. Do you understand?" Eva's lips pursed momentarily as if she would plead for clemency, but seeing that Madeleine is resolute, she lowered her eyes in resignation. With an obvious effort, she drew back her shoulders and stood upright, her breasts irrepressibly proud and prominent now. Madeleine smiled, and somehow Katrina knew instinctively that neither woman was entirely acting. The slave's yelps of pain were pitiful as Madeleine walked slowly around her victim, repeatedly laying the switch on her naked body with unremitting ardor. The Mistress's face was flushed, her eyes aglow with a passionate gleam as she laid the switch across Eva's belly, thighs and buttocks. Somehow, Eva managed to remain erect throughout her ordeal, although when it at last concluded, she was sobbing uncontrollably, a cataract of crystalline tears spilling onto her heaving breasts. Madeleine, breathing heavily from her exertions, stood back a little to survey the results of her efforts with obvious satisfaction. Her features and her still-exposed breast were glossed with perspiration. She glanced briefly toward the audience, where her eyes met Ming's. The two women shared a momentary fleeting smile that seemed to hint at a prior understanding. From the nature of the 'playlet', Katrina suspected that the Chinese dominatrix had a hand in its conception. 330

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The effect upon Paul Vermare of the pitiable slave's punishment at his wife's hands was apparent by the prominent bulge in his britches. Madeleine smiled at him. "In the end, I think she behaved rather well, Paul. Don't you?" "Remarkably, my dear. The whipping was well given…and received." Moving behind the slave, Madeleine untied her wrists. "Yes, I believe she has learned her lesson. Have you, Eva?" Sobbing, Eva raised a hand to wipe tears from her face. "Ye… Yes, Mistress." "And you are now ready to obey without question?" Eva nodded slowly, eyeing the switch in Madeleine's hand. "Mistress, yes. I'm sorry I angered you." "No matter, you can make amends now. As you see, your master is considerably aroused. Go and help him undress." Eva took a deep breath, as if she might question the command, but then hurriedly lowered her eyes in acquiescence. "Yes, Mistress." Moving close to Paul, she began unfastening his shirt. He raised his arms, allowing her to remove the garment over his head. Now, with trembling fingers, she unbuckled his belt before unfastening his britches. Clearly realizing that she was now to suffer a different kind of ordeal, she bit her lower lip as she knelt on the floor before her master. As she pulled the britches down over his muscular thighs, his penis leapt free to stand, thick and hard, in her face. She flinched but he seized her by the hair to hold her head still, steady. She stared in awe at the dark pulsing obelisk of swollen flesh, its veneer of gossamer skin stretched taut over thickly protruding veins. But, alarmed though she might be by the fearsome prospect, Eva had learned very quickly that resistance brought swift retribution. She knew only too well what was expected of her, and parted her lips compliantly as Paul guided the shiny, rounded head of his organ to her mouth. Madeleine placed a carver chair alongside the kneeling slave. 331

Judith Sitting in the chair, she leaned forward, knees apart, to rest her forearms upon her thighs. Her face now mere inches from the other woman's, she observed closely, eagerly, as Paul eased his hips forward. Eva's eyes flickered briefly toward her Mistress as the head of Paul's cock slid between her lips, then were hidden beneath closed lids as the stout shaft slowly penetrated her mouth. Taking hold of Eva's right hand, Madeleine placed it at the base of her husband's penis. In response to her Mistress's precise verbal instruction, Eva wrapped her fingers around the shaft, to Paul's guttural approval. Next, she allowed Madeleine to guide her other hand to his testicles, which she cupped and began to fondle, again in response to Madeleine's directions. Feet placed apart, legs bent slightly at the knee, Paul looked down at the spectacle of his erect penis distorting Eva's lips as it entered her mouth. When roughly half of the shaft lay buried, Eva faltered momentarily. But Madeleine, placing a hand behind her head, urged her forward again. "Come, my dear, you must take as much as you can. Only when the head presses against the back of your throat may you begin to withdraw. And open your eyes. I don't want you to miss the glorious sight of your master's cock as your mouth slides back and forth along its length." Blinking acknowledgement, Eva resumed her task, inching slowly forward again. When two thirds of the rampant penis was lodged firmly in her mouth, a muffled sound in her throat signified that she could admit no more. Now, under Madeleine's continued guidance, she began to withdraw, watching with seemingly incredulous eyes as her mouth disgorged her master's awesome, glistening organ. But just as the great head seemed about to slip from her lips, Madeleine urged her forward again from behind. Once more Eva was forced to devour the pillar of flesh until it lodged in her throat again. Once more she was allowed to withdraw. Then the process must be repeated. And repeated, again and again, until she had attained a rhythm and speed that seemed to suit her master's needs. 332

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Like Madeleine, Katrina stared at the naked couple on stage, transfixed, not just by the spectacle itself, but also by an intriguing and unexpected paradox. In performing so base and primitive an act for her master's pleasure, the exquisite black beauty had somehow contrived to grace the ritual with unexpected artistry. The sensual sway of her body and breasts, the rhythmic movements of her head and hands, were imbued with a quality of poise and elegance that reminded Katrina of the erotic stone carvings she had seen on the walls of temples in India. As if she had convinced herself that she was created for this task alone, Eva now focused her entire attention on Paul Vermare's penis, her head and mouth working up and down its length with graceful fluidity as she brought him inexorably closer to orgasm. Observing the spectacle intently, Katrina shivered lightly as the increasing flow of slippery warm fluid from between her clenched thighs spread further. As Paul's climax approached, Madeleine encouraged Eva in her task by caressing and fondling her undulating body, gently squeezing the resilient flesh of her breasts and nipples with dexterous fingers. Abruptly, the moment arrived. Paul uttered a deep growl, his muscles tensing visibly. Conscientiously, Eva speeded up her ministrations, gripping the hips of her charge to pull him deeper into her mouth. As orgasm overwhelmed him, Madeleine whispered something to Eva, at the same time seizing her by the hair to pull back her head. As Paul's distended penis slipped from her mouth, Eva continued to pump his organ with her hand as he ejaculated, the first copious spurts of fluid, viscous and opalescent, liberally spattering her face. With each successive spasm of his orgasm, his semen spilled over her throat and breasts. But in the final moments of her husband's climax, Madeleine thrust Eva's head forward once again. The slave yielded without resistance. Parting her lips, she readily accepted her master's cock again, sucking and swallowing frantically as the pulsing eruption continued unabated in its final stages. When finally spent, Paul stepped back, allowing his now flaccid penis to slip from the slave's mouth. Rising from her chair, 333

Judith Madeleine reached for the hem of her nightgown and hauled it up over her head. Now quite naked, she let the garment drop to the floor. Looking down at Eva, she smiled. "You did that very well, my dear." She cast her gaze momentarily toward her still-recovering spouse, then back at Eva. "You have made your master very happy. Would you like to please me also, now?" Eva was no fool. The fine tracery of dark welts was still fresh upon her body. "Mistress, I will do anything to please you." "I felt sure of it." Taking Eva by the wrist, she helped her rise to her feet and stood facing her. Catching a glimpse in a wall mirror as she rose, Eva gasped at her reflection, at the glistening evidence of Paul's orgasm still clinging in pendulous globules to her face, throat and breasts. "Oh, Mistress. I'm such a mess. May I go to the bathroom to clean myself?" Madeleine's response to this request was to reach out a hand and run her fingers lightly along the other woman's jaw, from just below her ear to the tip of her chin. She smiled. "Why, don't be foolish, Eva. Your master has bedecked you with beautiful pearls, and you look lovely. But if you wish, you may share them with me." Her fingertips still touching Eva's chin, Madeleine moved closer to kiss the other woman full on the mouth, the process transferring some of her husband's recently-spilled fluid to her own lips. A similar exchange occurred when Madeleine embraced Eva so that their breasts and nipples slid easily against each other's. Eva gasped, then moaned softly as the exploring fingers of her Mistress's free hand located and penetrated the divide of her sex. In response to Madeleine's persistent probing, Eva began to slowly rotate her hips and buttocks against the intruding hand, as if performing some ancient ritual dance. For several minutes the only sounds in the theatre were those of Eva's soft moaning and deep gasps each time Madeleine momentarily released her lips from her own. Then, as Paul watched with a feral eye, his wife led the slave to the bed, where the counterpane had been drawn aside to expose a vast expanse of crisp, white linen sheets. In a fluid movement, Madeleine 334

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sank upon the surface of the bed, drawing Eva down with her. Kissing and caressing the slave with breathless urgency, she cleaved pythonlike to her, seemingly intent on leaving no inch of her body unexplored. Entwined in the serpentine embrace of her Mistress, Eva displayed no reluctance to Madeleine's increasingly intimate attentions. On the contrary, now apparently oblivious to Paul's presence—and, indeed, to that of the audience—she responded with what seemed like genuine and unequivocal passion. Mouths crushed together, thighs interlaced; the two women writhed on the surface of the bed with mounting fervor. Suddenly seizing Eva by her hair and one shoulder, Madeleine urged her lower. Recognizing her Mistress's intent, Eva wriggled down along Madeleine's body, pausing momentarily en route to lick and suckle at the other woman's swollen nipples. The brief pilgrimage concluded with Eva kneeling on all fours between Madeleine's widespread thighs, her face close to her Mistress's glistening sex. For a moment there was absolute silence in the theatre, broken at last by a hoarse whisper from Madeleine. "Yes!" For the first time, Eva actually smiled, then lowered her face toward her Mistress's flaxen thatch. Curling her forearms under and around Madeleine's thighs, she ran her tongue over her lips, moistening them. Madeleine, craning her neck to observe, bit her lower lip as Eva very slowly, deliberately, introduced the tip of her tongue into the lower extremity of her cleft. Eva raised her eyes, locking onto her Mistress's gaze as she eased the pouting labia apart with her tongue to delve the slippery divide. "Aah! Ah, me!" Madeleine stiffened at the slave's intimate invasion, then squirmed as Eva began to probe deeper. "Oh, yes. Please. Yes, Eva. Please don't stop." Far from stopping, Eva seemed to have committed her entire being to the task in hand, alternately deeply impaling Madeleine with her tongue, then withdrawing to localize her attention immediately above the portal of her sex, where she flicked her Mistress's clitoris 335

Judith with quick, darting strokes. Under this sustained assault on her senses, Madeleine at last lost all control. Increasingly vocal, she thrashed her head from side to side like a woman possessed. In the meantime, Paul's interest had quickened again—a fact to which his fiercely erect penis testified. Striding across the room, he clambered onto the bed to position himself, kneeling, behind Eva. He placed his hands on her buttocks, and eased apart her ebony flanks to lay bare the moist pink flesh of her sex. Guiding his penis to the opening, he presented the head to it, nuzzling the tender flesh. Then, placing his hands on Eva’s hips, he penetrated her with a single steady thrust. His hips began at once to undulate. In moments, he picked up a steady rhythm, driving easily back and forth in the clinging, silken embrace of Eva's vulva. And with each forward thrust, her tongue and face were in turn driven into the sodden folds of Madeleine's sex. Paul gradually increased both pace and force, pounding the slave's buttocks repeatedly to the resounding slap of flesh upon wet flesh. Watching intently, Katrina sensed that she was witnessing the closing moments of the erotic drama. Indeed, judging by the trio's contorted expressions and the cacophony of bestial groans, all three performers were manifestly nearing orgasm. In the event, it was Madeleine who found release first…and bore witness to the fact with an uninhibited scream. In this moment, Katrina, too, lost control. So absorbed had she been in the spectacle, the prospect of these two beautiful, naked women, black on white, locked in their writhing embrace while Paul ravished the former from behind, that she hadn't consciously realized that her own arousal was mounting to dangerous heights. Now, as the chain reaction on stage reached its climax, she was unexpectedly tilted over the edge herself. "Aaah!" The little cry of ecstasy escaped her lips before she could entirely check it. Soft and partially subdued though it was, the sound immediately attracted a sideways glance from Frederique who, it was obvious from her smile, realized at once that it was not only the performers on stage who were in the throes of orgasm. Sensing that 336

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Frederique was watching her, Katrina turned to briefly meet her gaze. But the fire raging inside her was irresistible, too strong to permit the existence of any inhibition. She turned away again to watch the trio on stage, squeezing her thighs tightly together and sharing their passion in the culmination of their performance. By the time Katrina's orgasm had fully run its course, the playlet, too, had concluded. As the house lights went up and the curtain closed on the spent performers, Sir Hartley was the first to applaud, the others immediately following his example. "Bravo! Bravo! Wonderful performance, Christina. Excellent. You and your performers are to be congratulated." "Thank you, Hartley. I must confess, I was actually somewhat aroused myself." "Who wouldn't be?" Mahmood added. "Well, we can certainly see that you are, Mahmood." Lady Frances laughed. All eyes turned on Mahmood, whose state of arousal, as Lady Frances had observed, was evident from the tent-like protuberance of his robe above his groin. Looking down, he grinned sheepishly. "Yes, indeed." He shrugged. "What can I say? I am a man." "That you are, Mahmood," Madam SIN replied with a mischievous smile. "I myself can testify to that." Only now that her heartbeat and breathing were returning slowly to normal did it occur to Katrina that she was again in danger of being embarrassed. For the second time that evening, she rose a little off her chair to slide the silk dress surreptitiously from under her buttocks, hoping that it was not already entirely soaked from her secretion. The leather, cool against her bare flesh, triggered a little shudder. Sir Hartley raised his glass to his lips, taking a deep draught of vintage port. "So, is that the end of the entertainment for this evening, Christina?" "Why, no, Hartley, by no means. That was the first of two acts." "Ah, good. More to come." 337

Judith "Yes. You might call act two, 'The Slave's Revenge'." "Ha! Sounds promising." "I don't think you will be disappointed, Hartley." "You definitely won't be disappointed, Hartley," Lady Frances added with a knowing smile. "There's to be a surprise guest appearance in act two. Isn't that so, Christina?" "Yes, indeed. The idea came to me when Frances told me after dinner yesterday how delightful you both found Katrina." Katrina started at the mention of her name. "I too," Mahmood interjected, flashing a broad smile in Katrina's direction. "She is an extremely beautiful young woman. Indeed, if she were available—on the market, so to speak…" He paused to glance at Madam SIN, who lowered her eyelids for marginally longer than would constitute a mere blink, at the same time almost imperceptibly inclining her head to one side. It was an eloquent gesture that unequivocally conveyed the message—without openly rebuffing Mahmood—that Katrina was not 'on the market'. Returning his gaze to Katrina, he continued, "As I say, had she been available, I might have made her a generous proposal. A man would be fortunate indeed to have both Yasmeen and Katrina as his concubines." Katrina's heart was thumping in her breast, her mind reeling. This, she knew, was partly due to the wine that the servants had replenished each time she drank from her glass, and partly to the breathtakingly erotic performance she had just witnessed, but the main reason was the fact that she had suddenly become the focus of attention. To hear herself spoken of as if she were a slave, with no say at all in whatever might be in store for her, was very intimidating. But then she could hardly object that this was inappropriate, for a slave was effectively what she had become. She listened intently as Madam SIN elaborated on her 'idea'. "You see, Katrina is an actress by profession, and it occurred to me that you might like to see her perform, so…" She turned to look meaningfully at Katrina. "…in act two, Katrina will play the part of Madeleine. You can manage a French accent, I suppose, my dear?" 338

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Although initially stunned, Katrina was nevertheless conscious of the importance of not letting Madam SIN lose face in front of her guests. Whatever was expected of her must be done to the best of her ability. This was the doctrine she had willingly embraced in the certain knowledge that her father's future depended upon how she conducted herself here at Chateau Levequ. She tried to summon composure as she responded to Madam SIN's question. "I…will do my best, Madam SIN." "I'm sure you will, Katrina. I know you wouldn't want to disappoint our guests." "No, Madam SIN." "No. Ah, here's Nina, now." Nina, who turned out to be the performer who had played Madeleine in act one of the playlet, entered the auditorium from a small door at the side of the stage. Now wearing a pastel green cocktail dress, she looked very different, but still very beautiful. As she climbed the steps onto the raised terrace, Madam SIN said, "Well done, Nina. All of you, in fact. A very entertaining performance." "Hear, hear," Sir Hartley echoed, applauding lightly again. "That goes for all of us. Stirring stuff, my dear." Nina smiled. "Thank you, Sir Hartley. I'll pass on your remarks to the others." Madam SIN said, "Nina, take Katrina backstage will you. Explain what is required of her." "Certainly, Madam SIN." As Katrina stood, she actually felt Lady Frances' gaze upon her. A glance in the older woman's direction confirmed what she instinctively already knew—that the other woman's eyes were smoldering again with that strangely intense light. "Oh, and Sharon…" Madam SIN said, turning her attention to the petite blonde. "You go along also, please. I'd like you to attend personally to Katrina's wardrobe and make-up for the performance." Sharon rose from her chair. "Of course, Christina. Come along, Katrina." 339

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*** Katrina accompanied the other two women to a small dressing room backstage, where Nina handed her a sheaf of printed papers fastened to a clipboard. "Here's the scenario, Katrina. You have about fifteen minutes to familiarize yourself with it and get into character. Then you're on stage." Taking the papers, Katrina began to scan them perfunctorily and found that they contained the general story line for the sequel to act one of the erotic drama she had just seen played out upon the stage. As she read, her gaze froze at intervals to focus on a series of lurid stage directions that called for the character of Madeleine Vermare— her character—to take part in acts of the most lascivious kind. She swallowed hard. "There's no…script?" she asked, trying to sound as professionally objective as she was able. Nina smiled. "No script, Katrina. We are expected to extemporize, to become the characters assigned to us and behave as they would. As you see, there is some general direction in the scenario as to how you are to play your role, but much reliance is placed on our ability to improvise. Of course, it will be more challenging for you than the rest of us, since we have the benefit of Vladimir's personal direction during rehearsals. But don't worry, just convince yourself that you are Madeleine. Behave as you believe she would, and you won't go far wrong. And the very best advice I can give you…" Nina paused, a mischievous smile flickering at the corners of her mouth. "Yes?" "Relax and enjoy it. You'll give a far more convincing performance if you can do that. I'm sorry, I have to go now. Good luck, Katrina." When Nina had left the room, Sharon said, "Well, at least dressing you won't take up much of our time. You'll wear this—for a while, at 340

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least." As Sharon held it up for her to see, Katrina recognized at once the nightgown Nina had worn on stage earlier "Take off your clothes, Katrina." Accepting the inevitability of what was to happen, Katrina began to undress. Although conscious that Sharon was watching her with appraising eyes, she felt strangely at ease. In fact, rather than being embarrassed or intimidated, she found that she actually enjoyed undressing under the other woman's gaze; the wine at work again, no doubt. When she had removed the last of her clothing, Sharon handed her the nightgown. "Here, put it on." As Katrina slipped the garment on over her head, she was briefly shrouded by an exotic fragrance, a subtle blend of expensive French perfume and…what? Something more earthy, primitive. Yes, of course—Nina's own feminine essence, the product of her earlier arousal. As the sensual aroma enveloped Katrina, she felt her own sexuality stir in response. It was like a mild current of electricity, tingling as it permeated her body. She sat at the small dressing table looking at her reflection in the brightly-lit mirror as Sharon applied her make-up. When she had finished, Sharon glanced at her watch. "Well, that's it, Katrina. You're all ready. Time you were on stage. No first night nerves, I hope." Katrina stood up. "I always suffer from first night nerves," she replied, smiling. "But they say that's a good thing. It's supposed to stop you getting over-confident." Returning her smile, Sharon said, "Just do your best. I'm sure you'll have them—us—eating out of your hand." When Sharon had gone, Katrina made her way backstage. There were a dozen or so people milling about. Some, in costume and make-up, were clearly performers. These were all black. The others appeared to be technicians and stagehands. No one seemed inclined to tell Katrina what to do or where to go, and so she stepped out onto the stage behind the closed curtains, where she read the scenario on 341

Judith the clipboard again with trembling hands. Was her growing nervousness due to anxiety or excitement, she wondered briefly, then concluded that it was probably a little of both. Although concise, the scenario made perfectly clear what was expected of her. The scene, as was obvious both from the scenario and the unchanged stage set, was the same as in act one—Madeleine and Paul Vermare's bedroom. Suddenly, the stage was flooded with brilliant light and Katrina realized that she was alone. The performance was about to begin. Reasonably confident that she was familiar with the role she was to play, she placed the clipboard in the wings and took her place sitting at the dressing table. Looking at her reflection in the mirror, she slowly eased the nightgown off one shoulder to bare her breast, as called for by the scenario. Then, just as Nina had done a short time earlier, she picked up the hairbrush and began to brush her hair. There was a faint whirring as the curtains parted. The familiar warmth and radiance of the stage lighting had already triggered a thrill of excitement in Katrina. Her nerves were taut, her senses extraordinarily keen. And yet, incongruously farcical, the opening bars of a song flitted momentarily across her mind as the curtains opened: There's no business like show business… Despite the tension and anxiety that lurked beyond the euphoric 'high' produced by the wine, she had to struggle for a moment to suppress a schoolgirl giggle that threatened to disrupt the performance before it even began. She consciously turned her thoughts to the audience and to the possible consequences of failure. Although she couldn’t see their faces, she sensed their collective gaze. The dangerous moment passed and she reverted to character with the self-confidence of her chosen profession. She had already committed the simple scenario to heart, knew how she would play her part. She was Madeleine, wife of Paul Vermare, and mistress of the plantation. Alone in the bedroom, she softly hummed a traditional French air from childhood memory as she brushed her hair. The wine, the warmth of the stage lights and 342

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the starkly erotic image of her own naked breast reflected in the mirror conspired to excite a stirring in her loins. Almost mesmerized by the moment, she was genuinely startled when the bedroom door was suddenly thrown violently open and six Negro slaves clad only in cotton britches burst into the room. They were led by Eva who, in contrast to her previous visit to this bedroom, had cast off her subservient demeanor. On the contrary, her expression was at once both triumphant and scornful. The reason for this became clear to the audience as she informed Katrina that, during Paul Vermare's temporary absence from the island on matters of trade, the slaves had revolted and taken over the estate. It was only now that the rhythmic beat of tribal drums filtered into Katrina's consciousness. Seemingly distant at first, the insistent, primitive sound grew steadily in volume, as in celebration of the overthrow of the estate by the African slaves. Suddenly stricken with terror, Katrina/Madeleine turned and attempted to flee through the French windows, but two of the Negroes gave chase and seized her before she could escape. Of the remaining four men, one was remarkable because of his singular appearance. As Katrina was hauled roughly back across the room, he simply stood looking at her, arms folded across his chest in a posture of arrogance. But it was not just his demeanor that distinguished him from his comrades and caused her heart to pound painfully in her chest, it was more the fact that his features were hidden by a horned, goat's head mask. In theory, of course, it was possible that neither this man nor the mask he wore were those she encountered in the forest on the far side of the island. Possible…and yet the bright gleam in the dark eyeholes of the mask was remarkably like that in the eyes of the man who raped her at knifepoint. The two men holding her gripped her arms even more firmly as Eva approached from across the room. With unconcealed relish, Eva informed Katrina that, following the sudden reversal of the social order on the island, she was now the mistress, and Katrina the slave, to be used or abused by Eva and her companions as they saw fit. 343

Judith Ignoring Katrina's desperate pleas for compassion, Eva stepped forward, removed a gleaming knife from the folds of her skirt and gripped the front of Katrina's nightgown. A couple of expertly executed slashes rent the material asunder, enabling Eva to pull it free of Katrina's body so that she now stood naked and trembling in the grip of her captors. On Eva's instructions, the men hauled Katrina over to the great bed and threw her on her back upon it. Then, one on each side, they spread-eagled her and fastened her wrists to the sides of the bed with leather thongs. Next, more leather thongs were fastened around her thighs, immediately above her knees. Her legs were then forced apart, hauled back against her hips and secured to the same anchor points as those used for her wrists. In this position, legs bent at the knees, and thighs spread wide, her smoothly shaven sex was laid open, totally exposed to the audience, and vulnerable to her captors. Her cries for mercy as called for from Madeleine in the scenario had by no means fallen on deaf ears, but seemed to have inflamed the six male slaves rather than inspiring any degree of compassion in them. This much was evident from their bulging britches. It seemed that Goat-head—for this was how Katrina had come to think of him—was to be the first to claim his prize. In just seconds he stripped naked, but for the mask, and clambered onto the bed between Katrina's widespread thighs. She gasped at the prospect. As he knelt upright there could be no doubt now that this was the same man who took at her knifepoint in the forest. Remarkably, it was his penis, erect and arrogant like the man himself that she recognized: the sculptured contours of the oversized, satin-skinned refugee from the chessboard—the black bishop. Gripping the shaft of the rigid organ at its base, he moved forward on his knees, guiding the head between her open thighs. She opened her mouth to protest, but heard no sound. Now she was truly mesmerized, overpowered by the wine's mysterious and powerful intoxicants, and by the emotional intensity of the moment. As she stared at this beautiful black male body and 344

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the gruesome, yet perversely fascinating horned mask, her mind and body at once recalled and replicated the turmoil that ravaged her senses during their previous encounter. For a moment, she almost believed she was deep in the forest again, bound not to a bed, but to the unyielding sacrificial rock. The events that followed seemed unreal to her, a kaleidoscope of powerful, erotic hallucinations in which the warmth of the stage lights and vivid images in vibrant colors crowded in on her senses. She gasped, then moaned as Goat-head penetrated her, incrementally filling her, stretching her. The others gathered in close around her, many hands variously groping, squeezing, caressing her breasts, lower belly and inner thighs. Drawn irresistibly into a quickening vortex of carnal desire, she moaned, abandoning herself to the experience. To the extent that her bound state would allow, she writhed on the bed, as if possessed by some unseen demon, while the now glistening black cock began to shuttle easily back and forth in the sleeve of her sex. Her moans grew increasingly plaintive and urgent as the pace and force of her violation drove her senses ever closer to the limits of endurance. Suddenly, her air supply was cut off in mid breath when, without warning, Eva's mouth crushed hers in a passionate kiss, her tongue slithering between Katrina's lips, delving, probing. A thread snapped somewhere deep inside Katrina. Overwhelmed by the simultaneous invasion of her mouth and vulva, she was driven abruptly headlong into exquisite orgasm. Its intensity and her inability to breathe triggered a blinding starburst before her eyes, and for a moment she believed she would lose consciousness, perhaps die. But at last Eva released her from the intimate kiss, and she gulped deeply, filling her lungs. The air, though, was retained only briefly before fuelling her ecstatic cry of release. Now, the other performers had stripped off their clothing, and Katrina was surrounded by a wall of naked and gleaming black bodies. Her nipples were simultaneously enclosed by moist flesh, drawn into eager mouths to be sucked, gently bitten and massaged by 345

Judith busy tongues. The intimate exploration of her body by foraging fingers became yet more urgent as Goat-head increased his pace, spiraling her into another climax. Among the confusion of writhing limbs, Eva's firm, rounded buttocks suddenly materialized before Katrina's eyes as the rebellious former slave straddled her head to adopt a kneeling position facing Goat-head. The black woman's sex, a dark, mysterious fissure set in a tangled thicket of coarse black hair, now hovered, glistening, just inches above Katrina's face. The spicy aroma of musk was potent, dizzying. Rising as she might in the saddle, Eva turned from the hip to look down over her buttocks into Katrina's upturned face below. Smiling tauntingly, she slowly eased back on her haunches again, lowering her sex toward Katrina's mouth. The swollen labia, hot and moist, grazed Katrina's lips with an electric tingle. Slowly, Eva began to move her hips back and forth, brushing the soft labia lightly across Katrina's mouth and face. Opening her mouth, Katrina extended her tongue, experimentally probing the slippery folds. In response, Eva moaned, and pressed down, wriggling and spreading the pendulous flaps of her vulva wetly over Katrina's mouth. In recognition of the other woman's desire, Katrina dutifully thrust her tongue as deeply into the heart of her sex as she was able, and was gratified to hear Eva's moans of pleasure intensify. There was a sudden sense of loss when Goat-head inexplicably withdrew from Katrina, slipping from the sheath of her sex without ejaculating. But then she felt hands busy at her groin, fingers parting her fleshy divide, and the smooth round head of another rampant cock pressing into her opening. Lubricated by her own secretion, the second penis slipped deep inside her with ease, despite its considerable bulk. Its owner, no doubt inflamed by watching the spectacle of Katrina's ordeal thus far, wasted no time. In seconds, his hips picked up a steady tempo, and Katrina's nerve endings were soon thrilling again in response to this second intimate invasion of her body. Meanwhile, Eva gyrated her hips to an easy rhythm so that her 346

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clitoris rotated over the tip of Katrina's extended tongue. In the chaotic confusion of her senses, Katrina couldn’t tell whether the hands squeezing her breasts and pinching her nipples were Eva's or those of the man upon whose ravaging penis she was so firmly impaled. But it was irrelevant. Although somewhat painful, the exquisite sensation served only to heighten the rapturous swell of arousal building deep within her. The pace of her raptor's bucking hips had become frantic now, each forward thrust forcing her violently against the leather thongs that bound her to the bed. The sound of his loins slapping against her thighs and buttocks marked the tempo of her violation, while Eva's desperate moaning provided the perfect counterpoint to his grunts of carnal fury. Suddenly, his cock expanded, thickening and stretching the walls of Katrina's vulva as it began to erupt. The tension deep in her womb sprang free, catapulting her into orgasm yet again, but her scream was subdued by the press of Eva's sex upon her mouth. She shuddered in response to the violent spasms of the cock buried deep inside her, each triggering a surge in the pulsing hot stream that flooded her womb. And at the very height of her rapture she felt the muscles in Eva's thighs grow taut against her cheeks. Groaning hoarsely, Eva bore down hard on her mouth, grinding the flower of her sex against her prisoner's lips. Recognizing the moment, Katrina plunged her tongue deeply into the other woman, so that she, too, was overwhelmed by orgasm. When Eva's climax had run its convulsive and clamorous course, she dismounted from Katrina's face, leaving her breathless and dizzy. The tribal drums had reached fever pitch now. Standing to one side, Eva watched with seemingly detached interest as the next rampant male slave clambered eagerly between Katrina's thighs to take his pleasure of her. When he was done with her, another took his place. Like Eva, Goat-head stood by to observe Katrina's repeated defilement by all five of his fellow male slaves in turn. Having slaked their lust, each left the stage in turn, until at length 347

Judith only Eva, Goat-head and Katrina herself remained. For Katrina, the experience had been a timeless, dream-like odyssey of inextricablyentwined anguish, abandon and masochistic sensual pleasure. She was dazed, disoriented by her ordeal, her senses wracked by innumerable orgasms. Surprisingly, though, she didn’t feel the soreness or discomfort she had always imagined would result from multiple 'rape', a fact she vaguely attributed to the liberal contribution made by each man to her continued lubrication in readiness for his successor. But she was exhausted, and when Eva cut her free and she tried to stand, her legs would barely support her. But as Katrina knew from her reading of the scenario, the playlet was not over yet. She had one more task to perform before the curtain fell, a task that, judging from the purposeful glint in Eva's eyes, was imminent. Seizing her by the hair, Eva led her to Goat-head and forced her onto her knees in front of him so that her face was just inches from his proudly erect organ. An earthy aroma emanated from the swollen ebony phallus, a potent blend of his and her own secretions. Eva ordered Katrina to take him in her mouth. As demanded by the scenario, Katrina protested weakly, begged to be spared this final humiliation. In response, Eva grasped her roughly by the hair again and pulled her head back to look down into her eyes. Smiling, she lowered her face to Katrina's and kissed her full on the mouth. It was a long, incongruously tender kiss, but when she at last withdrew her lips from Katrina's, she repeated the order, this time, softly, but no less insistently. With trembling fingers Katrina reached for Goat-head's genitals. Cupping his testicles in her left palm, she encircled the heavy black cock with her right. It flinched at her touch, seeming to swell to even greater dimensions. Leaning forward, she parted her lips as she bowed her head toward the tip of the organ, where a glistening bead of fluid had formed at its opening. Raising her eyes to look into those behind the mask, she extended her tongue to lick up the drop of viscous fluid. His stomach muscles flexed taut in response. She swallowed, moistening her lips with her tongue, then took the 348

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smoothly rounded head of his penis between them, lowering her mouth upon him. A low, barely audible growl in his throat signified his approval as she slowly rolled her tongue around his glans. Then she began to take the shaft deeper, its girth forcing her mouth wide, distending her lips. Her fingers were busy at the base of the shaft, squeezing, caressing, as she enfolded him with her lips. But she could not accommodate his entire cock in her mouth; it was simply too long. And when the head pressed against the back of her throat, threatening to gag her with its mass, she slowly began to withdraw again, her tongue ever rolling around the adamant pillar of flesh. He took her head in his hands, palms against her cheeks, thumbs on her temples, and began to move his hips. Now, he was controlling the movement of his cock in her mouth. In the meantime, Eva had lowered herself onto her knees alongside Katrina. Her eyes had taken on a look of glazed fascination. She drew her face close to Katrina's, watching avidly as the gleaming black penis slipped back and forth between her lips. Moving even closer, so that her breasts brushed against Katrina's arm, she embraced her, then began to caress her body. And Katrina was by no means impervious to Eva's ministrations. Indeed her breathing grew progressively rapid as the other woman leaned into her, kneading her breasts and nipples with one hand, while slipping the other between her buttocks from behind. Eva's practiced fingers worked easily into the saturated furrow of Katrina's parted sex, and she began to strum the lips and clitoris as if playing a stringed instrument. Goat-head was moving from the hips with fluid urgency now, his penis repeatedly penetrating Katrina's mouth as it had her sex just a short while earlier. Having denied himself the gratification of orgasm then, his arousal was quickly fired to a new and desperate intensity. He quickened the pace even further, and as his thick black shaft worked back and forth between Katrina's lips, over her tongue, a concept crystallized in her mind, the words seeming almost audible in their clarity: 'He's fucking my mouth.' The thought, coinciding as it did with a sudden concentration of Eva's fingertips upon her clitoris, 349

Judith dispatched her abruptly into orgasm again. As the climax consumed her, Goat-head achieved his own explosive release. With it, each successive spasm of his frantically pumping organ disgorged the liquid product of his climax, hot and viscous, into her mouth. Mindful of the directions in the scenario, Katrina swallowed repeatedly, desperately trying to accommodate the entire copious flood. From what seemed like a great distance away, the sound of applause seeped vaguely into Katrina's consciousness, but the sheer violence of her orgasm rendered her momentarily incapable of all rational thought. Even after the curtains had closed, Goat-head did not move at first, but remained firmly lodged in Katrina's mouth as his lust gradually waned. Only when it had fully run its course did he deign to withdraw the instrument of her humiliation from her mouth. At last, Katrina's bittersweet ordeal was over. Suddenly overwhelmed by the physical and emotional stresses to which she had been subjected during the past half-hour or so, she succumbed now. In response to sensual overload, a bionic fuse blew somewhere inside her, and she slumped to the floor in a faint. Later—she had no idea how much later—she felt strong hands lifting her bodily from the stage. Now partially conscious, she peered through half-closed eyelids. Her last impression as she was carried from the stage was of a small group of individuals who appeared to be watching her departure. But her eyes focused on only one figure in the group, and as he removed the goat's head mask, she had just time to identify her mysterious raptor before slipping into oblivion again.

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Chapter Twelve

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hen Katrina regained consciousness, she found herself back in her quarters. Still naked, she was lying on her bed. She had no idea how long she had slept, nor was she sure whether it had been solely the sheer demands of her performance in the theatre that had caused her collapse, or if the wine had contributed also. In any event, her mind was surprisingly alert now, her thoughts clear and rational. Physically, though, it was a different story. When she moved, she discovered that her body had by no means escaped her on-stage experience entirely unscathed. Her limbs and joints ached, which was hardly surprising considering the manner in which she had been trussed and repeatedly 'raped'. As she recalled events in the theatre, her eyes fixed, unfocussed, on the ceiling. Despite the rigors of what she had been subjected to, the recollection triggered that familiar moist tingling between her thighs again. Reaching down to that place, she touched it, expecting to flinch as her fingers slipped into the fleshy pleats. But, amazingly, she was only slightly tender there. Indeed, the touch of her fingertips was pleasantly sensual. But enough was enough. Her body had been stretched to its limits already tonight. Removing her hand, she eased herself up to sit on the edge of the bed. It was only then that she discovered that her hair was damp. At first, this puzzled her, but then she realized that someone had bathed her while she had been asleep, cleansing her body of all evidence of her carnal encounter. She smelled fresh, fragrant. 351

Judith Whoever had tended to her had been thorough, and for that she was grateful. Rising from the bed, she checked her wardrobe and dressing table drawers, confirming that, as she had suspected, her clothing and possessions had been brought back from the theatre and replaced in her room. She looked at her watch: nearly eleven-thirty. Stepping out onto the balcony, she stood at the rail, looking up at the stars and the big, round, phosphorescent moon. The breeze, soft and balmy, snaked sensuously around her naked body. It was then that the image of the goat's head mask suddenly materialized in her mind's eye, and she remembered. Calvin! The handsome black servant who had watched with such obvious relish as Sharon had shaved her sex, and who had somehow both angered and aroused her by his demeanor. Calvin was Goat-head. He must have followed her across the island from the chateau on the afternoon of her encounter in the forest. And what he had done to her was almost certainly without Madam SIN's approval. Hence, she supposed, the mask, to conceal his identity. At this realization, a small, pensive smile transformed Katrina's expression as she recalled what Camille had told her—that she had the authority to punish Calvin, if she chose. This recollection, together with the uncharacteristically dissolute thoughts and possibilities it evoked, began at once to crystallize in her mind. It was a phenomenon that, had she but realized it, confirmed that Katrina Mandell had not only evolved to become a different person since she had last seen Rylands, but that she would never be the same again. The sound of her doorbell recalled her from her reflections. She was surprised to find when she opened the door to her suite that there was nobody there. But then she saw the envelope, which had apparently been slipped under the door and now lay on the carpet. She picked it up and read her name written on the front. Inside was a sheet of matching notepaper with a very short, unsigned message: Katrina, You are to go to the stables at midnight. You will wear the things 352

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that have been set out for you beside your bed; those and nothing more. Do not be late. Desperately tired from her experiences in the theatre, Katrina was at first dispirited by the contents of the mysterious note. She had thought that a long, undisturbed sleep was imminent, but it seemed that her 'services' were to be called upon yet again before the night was over. The prospect was perturbing, and yet, perversely, as she scanned the written message again, the words began to have a strange effect on her. Despite her fatigue, adrenaline was already beginning to charge her senses again. Her pulse quickened, her breathing becoming shallower at the implication of her instructions. Who was the note from? What awaited her in the stables in the dead of night? There was little time for speculation if she was to keep her appointment. It was only now that she saw the dress lying carefully folded on the chair next to her bedside cabinet. On top of the dress lay a bottle of pink lip-gloss, while on the floor in front of the chair were a pair of black patent leather sandals with stiletto heels. She moved to the chair to examine each of the items in turn, noting the absence of any kind of underwear. The shoes were Gucci. The Galliano dress, made of gossamer thin raw silk, was black, overprinted with big pink and lavender orchids. It was quite exquisite. With trembling hands, she put the dress on, buttoning it down the front from the V-neckline to mid-thigh, where it split to the hem just above the ankle. Fitted above the hip and loosely flared below, the dress was very comfortable, the soft silk cool, sensual against her skin. She slipped on the sandals and applied the lip-gloss, then looked at her reflection in the mirror with a certain narcissistic satisfaction she was unable to resist. She glanced at her watch as she removed it to place it on the dressing table, and was surprised to see that it had already turned eleven forty. She had to hurry. *** 353

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Her route through the grounds was lit by the moon, but she could hear the sounds of night creatures as they rustled among the shadows on either side of the path. Once, as she passed under the spreading boughs of a giant flame-of-the-forest tree, she was startled by the tremulous call of an owl that seemed to be just above her head. In spite of the uncertainty of what awaited her there, she was almost relieved to see the light in the stable windows as she approached her destination… The stable door eased inward with a soft creek. "You barely made it in time, Katrina. Come in." The voice was unmistakably that of Lady Frances Jeaffreson. Katrina pushed the door wider and moved forward cautiously. The first thing she noticed was the warm, comforting smell of horses and hay and old leather against a harsher background aroma from the adjacent smithy, of newly forged steel and charcoal and perspiration. "Come on in, girl. Don't hover on the threshold." As she stepped inside the building, Katrina's gaze was drawn directly to Lady Frances. Still dressed in the dazzling white evening dress she had worn earlier at dinner and in the theatre, she couldn't have looked more incongruous than she now appeared against this rustic environment; the fashionable titled socialite surrounded by the trappings of a working stable and smithy. But she seemed totally oblivious of the paradox, and very much at ease. Sitting on a tall wooden stool with a leather seat, she had one elegantly-sandaled foot on the rung and the other on the floor, next to an open bottle of champagne. In each hand, she held a glass of the sparkling wine. Offering one to Katrina, she smiled. "Join me. Armand Levequ's finest Dom Perignon." Katrina cast her eyes around, taking stock of her surroundings. At the moment the stables were illuminated only at this, the smithy end, of the building by what looked like oil-fuelled lanterns hanging from the ceiling. There was an amiable disorder about the place in the apparently haphazard way that tools and equestrian equipment had 354

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been stowed in dark-shadowed corners and on hooks on the walls. Bales of hay were stacked unevenly to the right side of the door through which Katrina had entered. A first-time visitor might have concluded that the individual charged with running the stables was either lazy or disorganized. Katrina, though, had seen Jacob at work and was sure that neither was the case. She knew instinctively that, as far as he was concerned, everything was in its proper place, just where he wanted it. She moved through the shadows toward Lady Frances and took the proffered glass. "Thank you." She sipped the chilled wine. "Good, isn't it?" "Very good. May I ask…?" "Why I summoned you here? Katrina nodded. "For my pleasure. And possibly yours also, although that is only of secondary importance. Whether or not you actually enjoy what I have planned for you will hardly affect my own gratification. Either way will be agreeable for me, I think." "I don't understand." Lady Frances laughed lightly. "Of course you don't, child. How could you. Let me explain." She paused, took a deep draught from her glass. "Mm, this really is good. Oh, I'm sorry, I should get on with this, put you out of your suspense. I had the idea earlier, after watching your performance on stage, which, incidentally, I enjoyed immensely. You are a very beautiful woman and it gave me considerable pleasure to see your body put to such good use by those superb black performers. Extremely arousing." She paused again, then, lowering her voice to a whisper and smiling conspiratorially, continued, "I'll let you into a secret. My hand was very busy under my dress during your performance. I came three times." Katrina felt heat sear her cheeks. "Oh dear, I've embarrassed you." The glint of mockery in Lady Frances' eyes gave the lie to her purported concern. Katrina took a gulp of champagne, furious with herself for the hot 355

Judith flush she knew had turned her face scarlet, and provided Lady Frances with such amusement. "Don't worry my dear, the ability to blush so easily is a charming trait. I like it. Anyway, as I said, very arousing. But thrice was simply not enough. When the playlet was over, I was left wanting more. So I decided to…make my own arrangements, as it were." At that moment, the stable door opened again, this time to admit Jacob. He wore a white, open-necked shirt, black britches and riding boots. His gaze swung from Lady Frances to Katrina, then back again. He seemed puzzled. "Lady Frances. I'm sorry if I'm late. I was in the village, enjoying a few well-earned drinks on my day off. I got here as quickly as I could." "It's all right, Jacob, your arrival could hardly have been more timely." "What can I do for you?" "Tell me something." "Lady Frances?" Lady Frances smiled, archly. "Are the stories I've heard about you true." "Stories?" "About your…anatomy, shall we say." "It depends what you've heard, Lady Frances." "Come now, Jacob. Don't be coy. You must know that you are famous here." There was a long silence as Jacob and Lady Frances held each other with their eyes, as if each were either unable or unwilling to take the matter further. At last, Jacob averted his gaze from Lady Frances. "I'm sorry, I don't know what you mean." She smiled. "Your modesty becomes you, Jacob, but I haven't the time or inclination to waste sparring with words. Take off your clothes." Jacob appeared taken aback. "But Lady Frances, surely you don't 356

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mean…" Lady Frances cut across his protest. "Do it. At once. Or face the consequences." For a moment, Jacob looked at Lady Frances with something approaching defiance in his eyes. But then his will seemed to crumble, and with a light shrug, he began to undress. The mellow light of the oil lamps gleamed on the sculpted musculature of his torso as he stripped off his shirt and tossed it aside. Next he unfastened his belt and bent from the hip to remove his boots, then his britches. It was only when he stood upright again, naked now, that Katrina fully understood the import of Lady Frances's earlier reference to Jacob's anatomy. She gasped in disbelief. His penis was bigger than any other she had ever seen; enormous, in fact. Hanging well beyond the midway point of his thigh, it was also proportionately substantial in girth. Lady Frances's eyes, wide and positively gleaming now, were also fixed upon the huge, quiescent organ. "My God!" she whispered, almost reverently. "It's true. I must say, I was somewhat dubious, but…" She paused to swallow, then continued, "Well, the stable is certainly the right place for you, Jacob. I've heard the expression 'hung like a horse' many times, but this is the first time I've seen a man who truly merits the description." "Ah, you're talking about my cock, then, Lady Frances?" Jacob asked, rhetorically, with exaggerated innocence. Lady Frances ran her tongue wetly over her lips. "Yes, Jacob. Your cock. I was informed that it was of freak proportions, but I never expected this. Tell me, how old are you?" Jacob drew himself up to stand tall and proud before Lady Frances. "I'm sixty-four." "Really? Then you are in amazing condition." In fact, he had the lean, hard body of a man a third his age, and a very fit one, at that. Although well built, he carried no excess weight. His muscles were firmly toned, his belly flat. "For a freak?" The barely concealed hostility in his response did 357

Judith not go unnoticed by Lady Frances. "Oh, come now, Jacob. Don't be so sensitive. Of course you are a freak, that happens to be a fact. But you're a marvelous one! You should be proud of your…endowment." "I'm not ashamed. But there's more to me than…this." As if to accentuate the statement, he cuffed the 'endowment' carelessly, almost contemptuously, with his hand. In response to the blow, the mammoth organ swung ponderously back and forth across his thighs, a living pendulum. "Oh, I don't doubt it, Jacob," Lady Frances replied absently, her eyes following the moving penis through its arc. "But I'm sure you understand I didn't summon you here tonight for the pleasure of your intellect—or your undoubtedly stimulating conversational skills, for that matter." Katrina was not sure if Lady Frances even noticed, but the careless sarcasm in her tone seemed to kindle a feral gleam in the black depths of Jacob's eyes. "You just wanted to see if the stories about the freak were true." Lady Frances smiled, but ignored the comment, turning her attention to Katrina instead. "What do you think, Katrina? Katrina's throat was dry, which rendered her reply somewhat hoarse. "I… I'm sorry?" "What do you think about Jacob's amazing cock?" Katrina hardly knew how to respond to the question, but Lady Frances was looking directly into her eyes now—waiting. Clearing her throat, Katrina mumbled, "It's very…big." "Ha!" Lady Frances seemed amused. "What a wonderful understatement, Katrina. It's big! Yes, it's certainly that. But look at it again now. Go on, look." Katrina slowly turned her gaze upon Jacob again. "Don't you think it's magnificent?" "I… Yes." "Then say it, Katrina. Tell me what you think. Say the words" Katrina's response was little more than a murmur. "I think…that 358

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Jacob's…" "What? Speak up, girl. I can't hear you." Katrina cleared her throat nervously, felt the blood flush her cheeks hotly again as she replied, "His…cock is…magnificent." "That's better. And I'm so glad you agree, because as a very special treat, I'm going to have him fuck you. Now, right here in the stables." "No!" Katrina cried in alarm. Lady Frances glared at Katrina angrily. Her voice low, dangerous, she snapped, "Defy me, Katrina, and you will be astride the pony tomorrow at dinner. Just like your little mulatto friend. And that will be just the beginning." Katrina had no doubt that the threat was real. "I… I'm sorry, Lady Frances. I…" "Never mind." Lady Frances turned her attention back to Jacob, the frown evaporating from her brow as a sly smile formed on her lips. "But then, I should have checked with you first, Jacob. Tell me, at sixty-four, are you still fully…functional? I mean…" "I know what you mean. Yes, fully functional." "Ah, you hear that, Katrina? What a delight! Take off your clothes now, my dear. I want to witness the effect your lovely body has on that sleeping giant." Katrina knew better than to argue. Taking a deep breath, she began to unfasten the buttons of her dress, while both Jacob and Lady Frances looked on. "As you are about to discover, Jacob, like you, Katrina has a magnificent body. This will be a rare pleasure for you…and for me, I think." Katrina did not unfasten all of the buttons; there was no need. Once the dress had parted to a point just below her navel, she raised a hand to ease it off one shoulder. The silk slid down her upper arm, falling away to bare her left breast, the nipple firm, prominent. Her pulse began to thump in her ears at the affect this had on Jacob. His organ began to swell and stiffen, rising like some huge mythical beast 359

Judith that had been rudely awakened. Lady Frances clapped her hands together in delight. "Yes. Oh yes. Look, Katrina, see how it grows. Just for you." Steeling herself, Katrina shrugged her other shoulder free, exposing her right breast alongside its twin in the process. The dress fell to her hips where it clung for a moment, then sloughed to the floor, leaving her naked but for her high-heeled sandals. Fully erect now, and almost as thick as Katrina's wrist, Jacob's penis stood like a flagstaff from his loins. Both women stared in wonder as it rose and fell fractionally in time with his heartbeat. Awesome though Calvin's dimensions had previously appeared to Katrina, they now seemed modest by comparison. Indeed, so striking was the difference in size that, had she been shown a photograph of Jacob in his present state of arousal, she would have dismissed it instantly as a fake. But here, literally in the flesh, the evidence was undeniable. And, experienced in such matters though Katrina suspected her to be, there could be no doubt that Lady Frances was no less astonished by the sheer enormity of Jacob's manhood. "Incredible!" The older woman's exclamation was one of hushed awe. "I've never seen anything like it. Never." Rising from the stool, she put down her glass of champagne and moved across the stone floor to where two wooden trestles of the kind used by carpenters stood parallel with a space of about two feet separating them. "Katrina, come over here." Acutely conscious of her nudity and of the manifest effect it had produced in Jacob, Katrina stepped out of the crumpled dress lying around her ankles and walked over to Lady Frances. "Now, move up close to this trestle and place your feet apart…against those straps." Katrina saw now that there were two leather straps with brass buckles attached to the front legs of the nearest trestle to her, and another two, close together, on the upper cross section of the further trestle. Realizing that the intention was that she be fastened in some way to the trestles, Katrina turned to look at the other woman 360

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imploringly. "Oh Please, Lady Frances, don't do this to me. I'm…" She cast a hurried glance aside at Jacob and his massive erection, then turned her eyes back on Lady Frances. "I'm frightened." Lady Frances smiled. "Why, of course you are, my dear. And I wouldn't have it any other way. You don't understand, do you? The fact that you are frightened…and unwilling…will make what is about to happen all the more enjoyable for me." She laughed lightly. "Depraved, aren't I? Now, unless you want me to wake up Ming and get her to deal with you, move forward and place your legs into the straps." The thought of being delivered for punishment to Ming, angered by having her sleep disturbed, was more than sufficient to secure Katrina's obedience. Stepping forward, she placed her legs against the trestle, her feet set wide apart so that her ankles nestled into the open leather straps. Lady Frances bent on one knee, deftly fastening the buckles so that Katrina's ankles were fastened tightly to the wooden uprights of the trestle. Then she rose again and walked around the further trestle to face Katrina across the gap between the two. "Now," she said, placing a hand on the wooden cross section of the second trestle. "Lean forward and place your forearms on here, your wrists in the straps." Katrina obeyed, and Lady Frances secured her wrists in the same fashion as her ankles. Lady Frances stood back then and surveyed the results with satisfaction. Totally helpless, Katrina lay shackled and stretched across the trestles, bent from the hip over the nearer, and supported by her forearms upon the further. Her sex was laid bare behind by her parted thighs and buttocks, while her breasts hung beneath her between the two trestles. Her heart and pulse were pounding furiously. Lady Frances walked around behind her, stroking, then gently kneading her buttocks. "Mm, nice." "Aaah!" Katrina flinched, her muscles tensing involuntarily as Lady Frances laid her hand directly on her sex, splaying her fingers to ease 361

Judith it open. After a moment or so, a single finger slipped easily inside, causing Katrina to gasp and shiver. Smiling again now, Lady Frances said, "Well, Jacob, I think she's ready for you. She may be frightened, but she's also aroused…and very wet." It was true. Although she desperately feared the prospect of being impaled on Jacob's enormous organ, that inexplicably perverse aspect of her psyche had also identified, and now celebrated, a source of sexual stimulation in her present predicament. It was staggering to think that she had known so little about her own sexuality before she entered the carnal world of Armand Levequ. "Come, Jacob. Time to mount the bitch, I think. I want to see that great black cock buried deep inside her." Lady Frances's words triggered a cliff-edge lurching thrill in Katrina's belly. She felt suddenly giddy, as if she might faint. Jacob began to move purposefully across the stable floor toward Katrina and Lady Frances. "Yes, I think it is time to mount the bitch. But I see only one bitch here, and it isn't Miss Katrina." "What's that?" Lady Frances's tone wavered somewhere between sudden anger and uncertainty. "What did you say?" Jacob stopped just a couple of feet in front of Lady Frances, looking her directly in the eye. Almost forgetting, for a moment, her discomfiture at being naked and bound to the trestles in so graceless a manner, Katrina looked on, puzzled and intrigued as to what was happening. She found the contrast in appearance between Lady Frances and Jacob both dramatic and immensely erotic: the sophisticated and fashionable titled lady, stunningly elegant in her stylish white evening dress; the muscular black servant, rugged, naked and hugely rampant. Katrina squeezed her buttocks together tightly, desperately trying to relieve the sensations in her sex. Holding Lady Frances's gaze defiantly, Jacob answered her. "Just because you have a grand title—Lady Frances—doesn't make you any less a bitch." 362

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There was no longer uncertainty in Lady Frances's voice when she responded. "How dare you!" she snapped, angrily. "I'll have you whipped for this insolence." "Maybe. But whatever might happen later is in the future. You really should be more concerned with what is going to happen right now." He seized her by the right wrist. She struggled, tried to slap him across the face with her free hand, but he caught that wrist also before she could deliver the blow. Then, in a lightning movement, he pulled both of her arms behind her back, holding them together at the wrists with one hand. He moved close alongside her, the immense ebony penis contrasting starkly with her pristine white dress as it lay stiffly against her thigh and hip. She screamed. He slapped her hard across the face, then clamped his hand over her mouth, stifling the scream instantly. She seemed stunned by this sudden violence. He placed his mouth close to her ear. His voice was low, his tone menacing as he delivered a warning. "If you scream again, I'll gag you. Then I'll whip your ass so hard you won't be able to sit down for a week. You got that?" She began to struggle again, but then seemed to realize the futility of trying to resist his vastly superior strength. Eyes wide with apprehension, she nodded fearfully. He withdrew his hand from her mouth, then lowered it to grip her dress at the neckline. In a single violent movement, he wrenched the garment downward, ripping it apart and pulling it free of her body. She gasped, her expression one of pure astonishment. Naked now but for her high-heeled sandals, a minuscule pair of white silk panties and white self-supporting stockings, her body was much firmer and shapely than any woman of her age had a right to hope for. Since she was not wearing a brassiere, her breasts, small, but like everything else about the woman, elegant and perfectly proportioned, were on full view. The nipples, small and delicate pink cones, seemed to Katrina more like those of a pubescent girl than a middle-aged woman, which, even in her wretched predicament, struck Katrina as a fascinating anomaly. 363

Judith Jacob, no less intrigued, it seemed, moved his free hand to grasp the right breast. "Oh, yes," he murmured appreciatively. "Nice." Lady Frances recoiled, struggling again. "Damn you, no!" she exclaimed. Jacob's response was to take the nipple between his finger and thumb and squeeze hard. "Aaah!" Lady Frances curled her shoulders forward. "Please, no!" she begged, tears welling in her eyes. "Then shut up." Her breasts heaving, Lady Frances closed her eyes as Jacob continued to explore each of her breasts in turn, caressing and kneading, relishing the texture of her naked flesh. He moved around behind her so that his upright cock lay vertically along the divide between her buttocks, the head resting against the small of her back. Slipping his hands under her arms he held both breasts at once, squeezing and fondling them in unison. In what appeared to be a conscious effort to suppress the arrogance and anger that had been so evident in her manner only moments earlier, Lady Frances now tried a more conciliatory approach. "Jacob, stop this now," she pleaded. "Before it's too late. Please don't…rape me." He smiled. "It's already too late, Lady Frances. You wanted to see this great black cock buried deep, and so you shall—deep inside you." “No!" She tried to struggle again, but he laid his left arm across her chest, holding her firmly by the shoulder. As she wriggled impotently, he gripped her tiny white panties at the hip with his free hand. At once twisting and pulling, he ripped the flimsy material apart with ease. She emitted a cry of alarm as he pulled the torn silken shreds from between her thighs to expose the dark thatch of her sex. Flailing at him with her fists and trying to kick back at his legs, she tried desperately to wriggle free of his grip. Although hopelessly outstripped by both his size and strength, she nevertheless managed 364

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to keep him fully occupied by her unceasing struggling. At length, he lifted her bodily from the floor and carried her across to the rear of the stable where a wooden rack on the wall supported a miscellany of blacksmith's tools and riding equipment. "I can see that I'm going to have difficulty with you unless I clip your wings a little, lady. You remind me of a newly-broken filly that's still just a tad too spirited and skittish. But we can fix that easily enough. Just need the right tack, that's all." Reaching up to the rack, he removed something from it. Despite the vast difference in their build and strength, Lady Frances continued to struggle furiously, causing some difficulty for Jacob as he strove to fit her with the equipment he had removed from the rack. "What are you doing? Stop it. Let me go!" But he was not to be dissuaded. Katrina watched, fascinated, as, step by step, he patiently achieved his purpose. He began by placing a sort of leather collar around Lady Frances's slender neck, fastening it in place at the back with small silver buckles. Then, on each of her wrists he fastened a leather strap with a short silver chain attached. When these were in place, he clipped them to two silver rings on the collar, one at each side. When he had done, he stepped back to look at her with satisfaction. Her wings had indeed been clipped. In her present posture, arms raised and bent at the elbow, wrists held close to her neck, she could no longer use her arms or hands to strike Jacob, or resist his advances. For some reason she couldn’t rationalize, Katrina thought that Lady Frances looked very appealing like this. Panting and flushed from her struggles, Lady Frances now simply stood, looking at Jacob, her breasts rising and falling to the rhythm of her labored breathing. But although she seemed to acknowledge defeat, there was still stubborn pride in her voice when she spoke. "If you think I'm going to grovel and plead with you, you're wrong. But before you go any further, just think what will happen to you if you carry on with this outrage. You'll be beaten mercilessly and then thrown out, penniless." 365

Judith Jacob's face was expressionless as he replied, "Then I'd better make the most of this opportunity, hadn't I?" Stepping forward, he seized Lady Frances, lifted her in his arms again and carried her to where the hay lay stacked at the gable end of the stable. She cried out when he threw her roughly down onto a bale of hay. He positioned her on her back so that her buttocks rested on the front edge of the bale while her head hung down toward the stable floor over the rear edge. Then, kneeling in front of the bale, he gripped her thighs just above the knees and forced them apart and back against her hips. As her thighs parted, the thicket of dark hair between cleaved to reveal the glistening pink furrow of her sex. From her position on the trestles, Katrina watched, entranced, as Jacob took Lady Frances’s labia between his fingers and thumbs and stretched them apart. With difficulty, Lady Frances lifted her head to look down along her body. "No! NO!" But when Jacob lowered his face onto her vulva, and his tongue snaked into her cleft, her protests diffused to a low guttural moan, and she allowed her head to fall back again. "Oh, Jacob. Please stop this. Please. Pleeeease…oooh!" But Jacob's busy tongue was lapping, cat-like, at Lady Frances's sex now. In response, she shook her head from side to side as far as her shackled wrists would allow. "Oh, no. Oh, oh, ooohh." As she watched, breathlessly, Katrina felt the product of her arousal oozing from her own sex to trickle down her thighs. It soon became clear from the rising pitch of Lady Frances's moans that, for all her protests, she was close to orgasm. But at this point, Jacob removed his head from between her thighs and stood up. Looking down at Lady Frances's writhing body, he wiped his mouth with the back of his hand and grinned. "Well, your ladyship, I think you're as ready as you'll ever be." Lady Frances looked up at him with unequivocal trepidation in her eyes. The reason was clear; in the intensity of his growing arousal, his fearsome organ had swollen to even greater dimensions. He bent down, lifted her effortlessly from the bale, and carried her to 366

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the gable end wall, where a leather harness hung from a beam in the roof. There, he lifted her and slipped the harness under her armpits and around her back so that she dangled, suspended against the wall. "Jacob," she gasped, breathlessly, "Wha…what are going to…do?" Ignoring the question, he adjusted the length of the harness until apparently satisfied that she was at the right height for his purpose. Now it became clear what he had in mind. Slipping his arms under her knees, he lifted and parted her thighs, laying open her vulva once more. Then, he moved slowly forward, the great head of his enormous penis inching up between her thighs. Looking down, openmouthed, Lady Frances seemed alarmed, yet mesmerized, like some small creature about to be devoured by a serpent. It was not until the rounded tip of Jacob's glans actually touched the flesh of her sex that the spell was broken. "No!" she cried, at last. "Please, Jacob! Please, no! It's too big. I can't…take it." Ignoring her pleas, Jacob eased his hips forward between her thighs, at the same time pulling her toward him. Katrina could see clearly from her position on the trestles as the smoothly rounded head of his cock slowly penetrated Lady Frances's vulva, spreading the labia apart. Wider and wider the gleaming pink flesh was stretched by the smooth black dome, until it suddenly disappeared inside her. "Aaah, my God!" Lady Frances shrieked. "Oh dear! Oh…dear me!" Without pause, Jacob began to force the gigantic pillar of black flesh deeper into her. As he did so, her breathing became more rapid and shallow, like that of a woman in labor. Tossing her head frantically, she moaned and sobbed. A shiny veneer of perspiration had broken out over her body. "Oh, please stop, Jacob. You're too big." "Relax," he said, sliding another inch into her. "Relax, and it will be easier. You can take it." 367

Judith "Oh no. My poor cunt. You're killing me…going to…split me in two." "No," he replied, without emotion. "Just stretch you—to the limit." For the first time since this remarkable scene began to unfold, Katrina was actually fearful for Lady Frances's safety. Was it possible that Jacob he might really hurt her? Certainly his cock, half buried in her now, was a monstrous thing, and her sex seemed to be impossibly distended by its bulk. Lady Frances was weeping now, the tears rolling from her eyes, tumbling onto her heaving breasts. Was she in terrible pain? Katrina wondered. But then a strange thing happened. Jacob suspended his relentless penetration, paused for a moment, then slowly withdrew a little. That part of his cock which had been inside Lady Frances was sleek, shiny, with her moisture. As he eased back, the lips of her sex sucked at his shaft. The action evoked a deep moan from Lady Frances, not of pain this time, but rather of unmistakable pleasure. Jacob began to move his hips marginally back and forth, rhythmically, incrementally pushing further into her with each forward thrust. Her eyes were half closed, her mouth open. Panting, she began to move her hips against him. Gasping and moaning, occasionally whimpering, she seemed suspended between anguish and ecstasy. Watching her hung upon the wall like this while Jacob repeatedly impaled her, Katrina couldn’t resist the concept that manifested itself in her mind—that of an erotic crucifixion. She watched in disbelief as Jacob's monstrous member sank deeper and deeper into Lady Frances's body. "Aaagh. Jacob, no. Don't make me take the whole…ngh…thing. You're killing me. You're… Aah! Oh. Oh, n…no…ngh. Ngh. Oh, dear God!" Jacob's hips were moving quickly now, the gargantuan penis sliding back and forth in the sleeve of Lady Frances's vulva like a gleaming black piston. She squirmed, writhed in the harness, her face flushed and contorted almost beyond recognition as if she were 368

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possessed by some demonic being. Jacob's labored breathing was audible, rhythmically entwined with Lady Frances's groans as he penetrated her womb marginally deeper with each determined lunge. Katrina watched, spellbound, for what seemed a very long time until at last, incredibly, Jacob's monstrous organ disappeared entirely inside Lady Frances. As his pubis ground against hers, Lady Frances cried out loud, her whole body convulsing in an orgasm that seemed to wrack her entire being. At this very moment, Katrina flinched, startled by the touch of a hand on her right buttock. Then an uncontrollable shiver ran through her body as the fingers of a second hand brushed over the inner surface of her left thigh to her sex, where they lightly caressed the protruding lips. Gasping, she turned her head as far her bound wrists would allow, to look back over her shoulder, but her attempt to identify the owner of the audacious fingers was to no avail. Obscured from the feeble light of the oil lamps by the side partition of the nearest stable stall, the area immediately to her rear was cast into relative darkness. Although she could just discern from the darker solidity of the human silhouette in the shadows behind her that it was a man, and that he was naked, his features remained invisible in the gloom. His eyes, though, seemed to absorb what little light permeated the shadows, and fixed her intently with an eerie luminosity. Calvin? Had he followed her here, his lust for her body still not yet slaked? Yes, of course it was Calvin. The lecherous, arrogant servant had clearly been observing Jacob's relentless debauchery of Lady Frances from the shadows. She shuddered now, as his penis, hard and hot, brushed against her buttocks and the hypersensitive lips of her moist vulva. His palms spread over her hips, holding them firmly as the head of his cock nuzzled her cleft. His intentions were unequivocal. Although it was less than two hours since he ravished her so consummately in the theatre, he was already hungry for her again. She took a deep breath, steeling herself for the invasion she knew was imminent. Her senses whirled as his glans forced the lips of her sex apart. As he began to penetrate her, she once again 369

Judith experienced that strange ambivalence of sentiment toward him. On the one hand, she loathed his arrogance and the way he treated her as the mere object of his lust, while on the other, she yearned for him to take her…no, to fuck her…to fill her with his magnificent cock. "Aahh." She threw back her head, arched her back, as he drove deeply into her. It was fortunate that she was wet and very slippery, or else the sudden intrusion would surely have inflicted pain rather than imparting the exquisite pleasure she now experienced. Easing her buttocks wider apart with his fingers, he began to undulate against her from the hips. At first, the movement was slow, but extravagant and insistent, enabling the entire length of his rigid shaft to travel easily back and forth in the clinging channel of her sex. The provocative spectacle of the proud Lady Frances being so utterly ravished by Jacob's extraordinary penis had fired Katrina's arousal intensely, so that after only a few deep thrusts from Calvin she orgasmed—long and violently. And when the climax at last began begin to ebb, she felt the embryo of another orgasm already forming deep inside her. She surrendered to sheer pleasure as the cock, penetrating her to the core, settled into a steady, rhythmic motion. Meanwhile, Jacob released Lady Frances from the harness and carried her back to where the bales of hay were stacked. There, he threw her, face down, over one of the bales. With her wrists chained to her leather collar, she was helpless and seemed pitifully vulnerable. Anything but elegant now, she hung over the edge of the bale like some beautiful but carelessly tossed aside string puppet. His eyes bright, expression intense, Jacob seemed inflamed by her vulnerability as he knelt behind her to lay his huge erection along the divide between her buttocks. Then, easing her thighs apart with his big, blacksmith's hands, he exposed the gleaming flower of her sex again, spreading the lips wide with his fingers. "Oh, please, no." Lady Frances begged, tremulously. "Please Jacob, not again. You'll kill me, I swear you will." Ignoring her protest, he guided the tip of his penis between her labia, and with a single brutal thrust, plunged fully into her. Lady 370

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Frances cried out, sobbing and begging him to spare her this humiliation and anguish, but still he paid her pleas no heed. When he slowly withdrew from her, she sighed heavily, but then cried out again as he drove into her once more. Repeating this process, he began to increase the tempo, the movement of his hips acquiring an almost graceful rhythm and fluidity. Thrust after uncompromising thrust, he fucked Lady Frances with passionate and unfettered determination. Katrina stared in wonder at the compelling sight of his gigantic black organ as it repeatedly impaled her writhing body, stretching the delicate pink flesh of her vulva alarmingly. She recalled Lady Frances's earlier comment, likening Jacob to a horse, and had to acknowledge that the comparison was an appropriate one; indeed, as she watched, her imagination momentarily transformed him into a sleek black stallion ravishing a helpless and beautiful white mare. But Katrina was undergoing her own forcible—and glorious— violation, and now a strange phenomenon occurred. By some coincidence—unless it was intentional on the part of Jacob or Calvin—the carnal rhythm taken up by the two men somehow became synchronized, so that, as Katrina watched, each and every penetration of Lady Frances by Jacob was matched by Calvin's cock driving deeply into her own sex. Similarly, the sounds of unrestrained passion interwove to form an ageless symphony; the slapping of flesh upon wet flesh, the feral grunts of the men in contrast with the counterpoint of small feminine cries and sobs and moans. The atmosphere inside the stable was suddenly highly charged, as if lightning had just struck…or was about to. Each beautiful in its own way, the perspiring naked bodies writhed and bucked, gleaming in the lamplight. The air was dense with a heady combination of intimate aromas, in which the powerful feminine scent of musk was dominant. As if her senses were in some way directly linked to those of Lady Frances, the familiar and irresistible seismic force seemed to mount within Katrina in corresponding proportion to the older woman's increasingly tormented cries and contortions. Perhaps the reason for Katrina's acute arousal by the scene being 371

Judith played out before her was that, for all her agonized moans and entreaties, Lady Frances could not conceal the simple and obvious truth—that Jacob was driving her inexorably toward orgasm again. Watching and listening to the other woman in the throes of her impassioned ordeal, Katrina could almost believe that it was possible to die from sensual overload, and that, if so, she might witness the realization of that possibility here in these stables tonight. Indeed, Lady Frances might not be the sole victim; Katrina herself no longer had control of her faculties. Her entire nervous system now seemed centered upon the physical presence that was driving repeatedly between her thighs into her core. She was helpless, a slave to the will of another, and to her own treacherous senses, as the rapturous glow burgeoned deep inside her sex. At this moment, nothing else mattered…or even existed. Suddenly, as if deliberately and perfectly orchestrated, the two women experienced blessed release in unison. Lady Frances's body stiffened, taut and gleaming in the lamplight. What began as a scream degenerated into a long, guttural moan, rendered staccato by each additional violent thrust of Jacob's hips. Katrina shuddered violently, and cried out as the agonizing thrill of her own orgasm temporarily blinded her in its intensity. A hot explosion in her womb signaled Calvin's raging ejaculation, and the climactic pulsing of his organ seemed to radiate from her vulva throughout her entire body. And now, the sensual overload about which she had speculated only moments ago became reality, not bringing death, but the temporary oblivion of unconsciousness. When she came to, it was as if from a deep sleep, except that she felt exhausted rather than rested. Her bound limbs were aching, and for a moment she was disoriented, had no idea where she was. It was the familiar moist, warm rivulets slowly coursing down her inner thighs that provided the first clue. Then, as she opened her eyes fully…total recall. Jacob was standing over Lady Frances, who, unmoving but for the irregular rise and fall of her shoulders in time with her breathing, still lay draped over the bale of hay. Moaning and 372

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sobbing very softly, the strangely eloquent tone of her voice told of the anguish and the pleasure—both somehow mysteriously and inextricably entwined—that she had experienced here tonight. Although she couldn’t see behind her properly, Katrina sensed that Calvin had either left the stables or withdrawn again into the shadows. Jacob turned now, walked toward her, the now-dormant monster of his loins swinging hugely between his thighs. He knelt beside her to unfasten the straps that bound her to the trestles. With a strong hand on her arm, he helped her rise stiffly to her feet. "Thank you," she murmured, not knowing what to expect next. His lips flickered in a kindly near-smile. "Go now, Katrina. It's late."

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Chapter Thirteen

I

t was nearly two o'clock in the afternoon when Katrina awoke the next day; she had slept soundly for over twelve hours. She grimaced as she clambered gingerly out of bed. The rigors of the previous night's debauchery, first in the theatre, then later in the stables had left her aching all over. She ran the shower as hot as she could bear it, and emerged after fifteen minutes feeling much better, if still somewhat stiff in her muscles and joints. The day—what remained of it—was uneventful. Indeed, Katrina saw nothing of Madam SIN, her staff or her guests; only servants. After a light lunch on the dining room balcony, she took a leisurely stroll through the grounds, trying to gather her thoughts and analyze her emotions. But it was impossible. She was no longer in a real world. Or if she was, if this place was now her 'real' world, then it was one in which the rules and standards that had applied in her previous life were no longer relevant. Here, she was Alice in a wonderland of sexual extremes and diversity—domination, submission and a whole range of other carnal excesses that were constrained only by the imagination and desires of those in authority. And her only option was to obey, to do what was demanded of her without question. But what continued to disturb her was the fact that, for all the humiliation, anguish and pain to which she had been subjected under the terms of her contract with Armand Levequ, she had nevertheless derived considerable and increasing pleasure and…yes, even fulfillment…from certain aspects of the experience. 374

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At length, she sighed and shook her head in a gesture of frustration at her inability to rationalize her thoughts and emotions, not to mention the ambiguities of her own sexuality. She returned to her quarters where she brought her journal up to date, a task she had neglected for several days. But fatigue soon overwhelmed her again, and she found herself dozing off. Not even bothering with dinner, she retired early and slipped into oblivion again. *** The following day was to mark the beginning of the most demanding period of Katrina's stay at Chateau Levequ thus far. She awoke around seven, feeling revitalized, and breakfasted alone in the warmth of the early morning sun on the dining room balcony. After breakfast, as she was finishing her coffee, she was handed a sealed envelope by one of the servants. Inside was a note written in an extravagantly flourishing hand that was reminiscent of art nouveau in style. Even before she read the signature at the bottom of the page, Katrina knew instinctively that the boldly decadent script was the work of the Chinese dominatrix, CHIANG Ming. From Ming's note, Katrina learned that Madam SIN and her guests had embarked upon a cruise of 'the islands', and would not be back for at least two weeks. In their absence, Katrina was to undergo a period of intensive 'training', beginning in the cellars beneath the chateau, where she was to present herself, naked, to Ming in just thirty-five minutes' time. A queasy cocktail of fear and excitement spilled in her stomach as she read her instructions, then folded the note with trembling fingers and slid it into her pocket. Thus, Katrina's training—for what, she was still as ignorant as ever—began in earnest. For the next seven days, she spent nearly all of her waking hours in the charge of either Ming or Vladimir Romanoff. She was required to eat dinner alone in her quarters, and was allowed no leisure time, which was immaterial anyway, since by eight o'clock each evening, when she retired to bed, she was both 375

Judith physically and emotionally drained from the demands made of her during the day. As a result, although bedtime during this period was mandatory, she embraced the imposition willingly, and invariably slept soundly. Her mornings were spent under Ming's direction. Each day around dawn she was awoken by her maid, Ingrid, and escorted, quite naked in the half-light, along convoluted corridors and descending stairways to the cellar. Here, in the gothic labyrinth that was her domain, deep beneath Chateau Levequ, the beautiful but pitiless Chinese dominatrix subjected her to a range of torments that were as imaginative and varied as they were fiendish. For hours at a time, Ming skillfully evoked in Katrina's senses an eclectic fusion of pain and degradation, sexual arousal and shame. Much of the time Katrina was bound by chains or ropes to metal rings fixed to the stone walls or hanging from the vaulted roof, or to one of the many ingenious devices Ming had at her disposal, the Spider being just one of these. She was variously spanked, whipped, caned and paddled. The fire that seared her flesh as a result of this treatment was invariably reflected by a latticework of angry red welts over whichever part of her body Ming had focused on, or by a hot glowing flush on her otherwise honey-toned buttocks. Yet, Mistress of her discipline that she was, Ming somehow contrived never to break Katrina's skin or mark her irrevocably. In fact, by the day following the 'awarding' of her 'stripes', as Ming sometimes liked to put it, they had usually faded considerably, and after several days were barely visible at all. In addition to being beaten, Katrina was also subjected to a miscellany of other indignities at Ming's hands, some of which, like the clamps and weights that were sometimes attached to her nipples or her labia, were painful. Others, involving extensive use of a bizarre collection of artificial penises and dildos, were employed by Ming to sexually stimulate her while, at the same time, humiliating her beyond the realms of her imagination. Throughout this time, Katrina's subjugation was total, absolute. As 376

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Ming put her through each successive ordeal, inflicting pain, pleasure or a combination of both spiced with humiliation, she explained and rationalized its purpose and consequence. For her part, Katrina was required to describe in detail her physical and emotional responses to these experiences. This exchange took the form of a running dialogue, of question and answer, as if Katrina were a privileged student receiving personal instruction from a tutor. After just a few days under Ming's expert and meticulous mastery of her senses, the distinction between pain and arousal, anguish and pleasure, began to blur in Katrina's perception. At least once, and usually several times, during each session, Katrina was required to pleasure her Chinese Mistress with her hands, mouth and tongue, and if Ming judged the resulting orgasm less than satisfactory, Katrina was immediately chastised and whipped. Often, she was commanded to masturbate, sometimes using upon herself one of the dildos from Ming's vast and exotic collection of these instruments. As a result, she frequently teetered on the edge of orgasm. At such times, tantalizingly led to believe by Ming that she might, if she begged sufficiently respectfully, be allowed release, she pleaded for permission to bring herself to climax. Without exception, each time this happened, Ming would effect to give Katrina's pitiful entreaties serious consideration for a moment—and then deny them with obvious satisfaction. Thus, by the time Katrina was transferred each day into Vladimir Romanoff's charge around one in the afternoon, every nerve, every fiber in her body screamed for sexual release. Before being turned over to Romanoff, though, she was taken by Ingrid to a large dressing room on the first floor, which contained several dressing tables and numerous wardrobes full of clothing. Here, according to Romanoff's prior instructions to Ingrid, she dressed in whatever clothes had been laid out for her that day. Often this was simple everyday clothing, sometimes more fashionable and sophisticated day or eveningwear; but with the occasional exception of stockings and suspenders, she was never permitted underwear. Sometimes, she was required to 377

Judith wear very revealing or otherwise overtly sexually provocative costumes, the like of which she had never seen before. These bizarre, obviously bespoke, garments were made variously of leather—both natural and patent—lace, satin, silk or latex, and were of very high quality. Lunch with Romanoff on the expansive balcony of his suite was invariably the precursor to each afternoon's activities. Here, he provided her with food that was light but delicious even by Chateau Levequ standards, explaining that the dishes had been prepared according to his precise instructions. The wine, too, he selected with careful consideration, and as she drank, he described to her the various Chateaux or Domaines that had produced it, speaking knowledgeably of the characteristics that made each so special. But wine was merely a casual and intermittent topic that occasionally emerged during their lunchtime discussions. The dominant theme was sexuality, and as with her experiences under Ming's direction in the cellars, these midday sessions proved to be master classes on the subject. Romanoff explained many things to her about the human sexual condition; about desire and arousal. He explained how ultimate pleasure and fulfillment might be achieved, not only in ways with which she was familiar and had previously regarded as 'conventional', but also through a myriad other practices, many of which were so exotic or bizarre or extreme that she almost doubted he was serious. Almost. Anywhere else, under different circumstances, she would certainly have questioned the veracity of some of the things he told her. But this was Chateau Levequ, and her own experiences here had taught her that she knew so little, even about her own sexuality. Here, she suspected, anything was possible. As Romanoff spoke to her over lunch, he would periodically touch her intimately, sometimes slipping the top of her dress down to expose one or both breasts. He liked to brush her neck and her throat with his hand, to caress her breasts then pinch her nipples lightly to make them stiffen, and to imbue them with a pinkish glow. 378

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Sometimes, he would have her lift her dress up over her parted thighs, and place one foot on the chair seat, the heel against her buttock so that her sex was laid open and naked to his gaze throughout the entire meal. Sometimes, as they ate and talked, he would touch her there also, making her squirm and moan softly as he explored with his fingertips the crinkled folds of slippery pink flesh that protruded from her slit. Given her already advanced state of arousal after Ming had finished with her in the mornings, lunch with Vladimir Romanoff—the wine—and its additives?—his frankly intimate talk and the sensuous way he treated her—never failed to fire Katrina's libido to unbearable intensity. By the time their midday meal was over, she was invariably dizzy with lust, and ready to give herself to anyone, male or female, who might satisfy the terrible yearning in her womb. Which was, of course, exactly as Ming and Romanoff intended. Katrina's afternoons in Romanoff's company were spent in a kaleidoscope of carnal celebration, erotic exploration and sexual adventure, some manifestations of which were at first so alien to her past experience and comprehension that she found them both astonishing and daunting. Sometimes her 'training' would take place in Romanoff's suite, sometimes in the room with the big bed where she had 'performed' before the video cameras shortly after her arrival at the chateau. A skilful and tireless lover himself, Romanoff personally engaged her in every form of sexual activity with which she was already familiar—through experience or hearsay—and many more. Moreover, he taught her how to provide her partner with optimum pleasure in ways she had never previously dreamed of. But he did not keep her to himself; far from it. The long orgiastic afternoons saw her embroiled in diverse sexual encounters with at least a dozen different men and women of different races and colors, either singly or in a variety of combinations. As Katrina might have expected, the women were beautiful, the men either frankly handsome or otherwise attractive in interesting or 'animal' ways. Sometimes Romanoff would participate himself; while on other 379

Judith occasions he would simply direct the theme and extent of the debauchery—the term Katrina herself mentally ascribed to these events, for no other seemed even remotely appropriate. The rigorous schedule of her daily training sessions exacted a heavy toll on Katrina at first. Indeed, upon returning to her quarters each evening, she was so overwhelmed by physical and sensual fatigue that she frequently retired to bed without even bothering with dinner. She was also acutely ashamed of each new form of depravity to which she had been introduced and subjected. In this respect, though, she was enormously grateful for one thing; by the time she laid her head to rest on her pillow each night, the fire in her flesh had, mercifully, been extinguished—for that day, at least. Vladimir Romanoff made sure of that. Time slipped by Katrina in a sort of blur, each successive day seeming an extension of the previous one rather than an entity in its own right, so that by the time this phase of her training concluded, she had not the remotest idea how long it had taken. The 'term break', as she later came to think of it in a rare moment of ironic humor was announced, quite unexpectedly, in a note from Frederique that appeared on her breakfast tray one morning. Her immediate reaction, once the maid had left her suite, was to burst into tears. Overcome by a maelstrom of diverse and, in some respects, conflicting emotions, she lay on her bed for over an hour, attempting to identify and analyze them. The predominant sensation, of course, was one of relief that she had come through the experience, had 'survived'. And there was pride in that accomplishment. There was also burning shame when she recalled the acts of debauchery in which she had taken part—although she could not deny that, to a large extent, she had come to embrace with increasing willingness, if not eagerness, the regime that imposed them. Thus, her relief was counterbalanced both by chagrin and a profound sense of loss, the latter of which would have troubled her deeply, but for her conscious decision not to dwell on the fact. There was, after all, nothing to be 380

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gained by punishing herself. Besides, she reminded herself with a rueful smile, there were others who were only too willing to do that for her!

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Chapter Fourteen

S

am moved easily up the sloping terrain, his hooves clipping exposed rock with irregular musicality where it pushed through the rich, red earth. It was a pleasant sound that conspired with the sun's warmth and a pleasant breeze to almost mesmerize Katrina as she guided the stallion along the narrow track between luxuriant palms and ferns. She was bound for Halcyon Falls, this time with permission from Frederique, who was deputizing for Madam SIN in her absence. During their brief meeting in Madam SIN's quarters, Frederique had taken the opportunity to inquire of Katrina, with what seemed like genuine concern, how she had fared during her intensive training period. Katrina replied honestly that the experience, although harsh, had also been rewarding in some respects, and that she had learned much from it. This, it appeared, was an appropriate response, because Frederique seemed very pleased and readily granted her consent for Katrina's trip. Thrilled to be allowed to visit the falls again, Katrina had then immediately hurried to the stables, where she was amazed to find Jacob shoeing a mare. It had turned out to be a surprising and enlightening encounter, as she now recalled... "Good day to you, Miss Katrina," he had said, grinning as he looked up at her from his task. "Jacob," she gasped. "You're still here. I thought…" "That I'd have been kicked out?" Releasing the horse's hoof from between his knees, he straightened up and placed the hammer he 382

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was holding on a nearby anvil. "Well, yes. Or worse." Having expected never to see Jacob again, Katrina felt suddenly uncomfortable in his presence, self-consciously recalling her last lurid meeting with him and Lady Frances in these very stables. Apparently unaware of her discomfiture, he laughed. "No. I'm still here. That really does surprise you? You don't understand?" Confused, she shook her head. "No. I don't. Didn't Lady Jeaffreson report what happened? I mean, surely she must have complained to Sir Hartley that you…you know…what you did to her?" Jacob looked at her thoughtfully as he answered. "Mm. I suppose there's no reason why you should understand. You see, Katrina, there was no need for Lady Jeaffreson to tell Sir Hartley anything. He saw everything." "Saw…? I still don't understand. How could he…" "From where he was standing, in the shadows. Behind you." "Oh!" Katrina felt her face flush, and at once averted her eyes from Jacob's. "You mean it was Sir Hartley who…?" Jacob nodded. She was stunned. Ever since that night in the stables she had believed that it had been Calvin who had taken her from the rear while she was helplessly spread and bound to the wooden trestles. She was astonished to discover the truth: that it had been Sir Hartley's manhood, not Calvin's, that she had felt being driven deep inside her. But what really shocked her was the apparent fact that, while Sir Hartley had been so vigorously ravishing her from behind, his lust had been partially fired by observing the spectacle of his own wife, the sophisticated Lady Frances, as she achieved the seemingly impossible task of accommodating Jacob's gigantic black organ. Any doubt she might have harbored about this was dispelled by what Jacob said next. "It was all contrived, you see. It seems the proceedings in the theatre that night got Lady Frances very hot under the collar," Jacob 383

Judith smiled, mischievously. "Or somewhere. I don't know what you did during your performance, but it sure fired her up. Afterwards, apparently, she approached Sir Hartley with a few ideas for continuing the entertainment here in the stables." "You mean she wanted you to…" Jacob shrugged. "She had some…what?…reservations at first; especially when she and Sir Hartley…" He paused, looked almost coy for a moment. "…inspected me." Katrina was still confused. "Reservations? Inspected?" "You know, my…size." "Oh!" Katrina felt her cheeks burn again. How stupid of her. Of course Lady Frances had reservations. Katrina recalled the very words she had spoken that night as Jacob stood naked before them both: …hung like a young horse. The fact that she had, in the event, managed not only to accommodate his massive bulk within the confines of her sex, but to survive the thorough and furious fucking to which he had subjected her, had remained a source of wonder to Katrina ever since. Jacob continued. "But that woman has an amazing sexual appetite, and she had the guts to take the risk. The rape scenario was her idea also, but the whole thing had Sir Hartley's approval. In fact, he was delighted by it. If ever a couple complemented each other in their sexual preferences, those two surely do. And, of course, I was more than happy to oblige—especially since it was Lady Frances. I think basically she's an okay lady, but she can certainly turn on that upper-class arrogant bitch attitude. You can't imagine how much pleasure it gave me to bring her down to…below…my level; to…what's the word?" "Violate?" Katrina suggested, surprising herself that she knew exactly the concept he was trying to describe. "Yes," he replied, his eyes taking on a far away expression as if he were reliving the experience. "That's it exactly, to violate her." He seemed to roll the word around in his mouth, savoring it. Then, focusing his eyes on Katrina again, he added, "But it's a rare pleasure 384

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for me to have a woman anyway; always has been." "That's not unusual in a man, I think," Katrina ventured. "No, you don't understand, Katrina. I mean it literally. Rare, as in seldom. Most run for cover when they see what sex with me entails. It's been like that all my life. The price of being a freak." "Oh. Yes, I see." Katrina said, feeling suddenly and inexplicably sympathetic. "I'm sorry, that doesn't sound right. What I mean is…well, I don't think of you as a freak, but I have to admit I was frightened at first. I thought…that I…that you were going to…" He shook his head. "No, that was never on the cards. Lady Frances wanted it for herself. And Sir Hartley wanted to see her get it. She especially wanted you to be an observer also. The trestles were a little refinement, so that Sir Hartley could take his pleasure of you while he watched me with his wife. Quite a kinky duo, aren't they?" Suddenly curious, Katrina asked, "Jacob, suppose Lady Frances had told you to…" Again, she averted her eyes momentarily. "I mean…if she had wanted to see me…and you…" "You want an honest answer?" "Yes. Honest." He smiled. "Katrina, you're a beautiful young woman, and I'm a horny, over-endowed old man. If you offered yourself to me, I'd accept like a shot. Would I take you against your will? Here? At Chateau Levequ?" He paused. "Yes, if I was ordered to, I would." Katrina swallowed hard, a little thrill of trepidation slithering in her stomach. Then he qualified the statement. "But you know what that actually means; technically, it wouldn't really be against your will. Like everyone here, you always have the option to say no, to walk away at any time—provided you are prepared to break your contract." Ben tossed his head and whinnied, snapping Katrina's thoughts back to the present. They were passing goat skulls mounted on bamboo poles on either side of the path, the ones she had somehow failed to notice on her previous visit here—until it was too late. They were a macabre warning that to proceed further without permission 385

Judith could have dire consequences, but this time the bleached, eyeless skulls held no threat for her. Now, ironically, they evoked reluctant arousal, the recollection of penetrating eyes behind a goat's head mask, and a beautiful masculine body, sculpted in gleaming ebony; memories of lying bound and naked deep in the forest, and of being penetrated by more than just those eyes. As she urged the palomino around the familiar wall of towering rock into the hidden ravine of Halcyon Falls, the sound of tumbling water grew louder. As on her previous visit, she was overwhelmed by the tropical beauty of the place. The luxuriant press of trees and giant ferns that flanked the precipitous watercourse and almost entirely encircled the broad aquamarine pool at its base seemed to emanate a deep emerald glow. Against this backdrop, clouds of tiny droplets of moisture hanging in the air refracted the sun's pure light into kaleidoscopic patches of primary colors, so that miniature rainbows drifted randomly across the ravine. As Sam ambled toward the water's edge, a movement high on Katrina's right caught her eye. She turned to look, and saw something that took her breath away—a beautiful naked nymph poised on the very edge of a smooth rocky shelf that overhung the pool. Her caramel flesh gleamed in the sunlight as she balanced on her toes; calves and thighs taut, breasts straining. The moment seemed locked in time, a freeze-framed moment in which Katrina's heart stood still as she watched, entranced. Then, very slowly, Camille's slender form arched forward over the edge of the shelf, describing a graceful arc through the air before plunging into the water below with barely a ripple. It was a perfect dive, and a moment of heart-stopping, sensual beauty that would remain etched in Katrina's soul for the rest of her life. When Camille surfaced, scattering water with a toss of her short, dark mane, Katrina called out her name. In response, Camille squealed in delight, then began to swim toward the edge of the pool. "No, Camille," Katrina called, hurriedly dismounting from Sam. Wait. I'm coming in." Camille laughed as Katrina hurriedly stripped off her shirt, shorts 386

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and underwear, tossing them carelessly aside. Diving into the pool, she swam toward Camille, who was now standing, waist high, in the shallows, her body glistening wetly in the sunlight. When Katrina reached her, her feet found the smooth rock bottom of the pool, and she rose from the water to wrap her arms around the other woman. Camille responded unconditionally, embracing Katrina and kissing her passionately with moist, cool lips. As their breasts melded into each other's, so their hips locked together, and Katrina gasped at the warm pressure of Camille's smooth bare mound against her own. "Oh, Camille. How I've missed you." "I know, Katrina, I know," Camille answered breathlessly, placing little kisses on Katrina's face, neck and shoulders. For a while, the two women played in the shallows like young girls who had just discovered the miracle of their sexuality. No words, as such, were spoken, and even their sighs of joy and little cries of arousal were drowned by the sound of cascading water around them. They remained thus engaged for several long minutes, kissing and touching and caressing each other until neither could bear the mounting tension any longer. Then, by unspoken mutual consent, they waded, hand in hand, to the bank and scrambled out onto the soft green turf. There, lying in the sensual warmth of the sun, they continued the intimate exploration of each other's naked bodies, Katrina delighting once again in the loveliness of Camille's breasts; firmly contoured mounds of resilient caramel flesh tipped by protuberant, mahogany-dark nipples. Camille moaned softly as Katrina kissed and licked and gently sucked the near-black nubs of flesh, encouraging them to swell and stiffen. In response, the mulatto insinuated a knee between Katrina's, urging her legs apart. Meeting no resistance, she slowly moved her leg up between Katrina's parted limbs, wriggling purposefully until her sex spread wetly on Katrina's thigh, and Katrina's on hers. Katrina arched her back, moaning as the sunheated flesh of Camille's thigh pressed against her clitoris. Gripping Camille's thigh, and pulling it up between her own, Katrina began to 387

Judith writhe against it with a slow, insistent rhythm. Incrementally turning her body at the hip after each forward thrust of Katrina's thighs along her own, Camille slowly changed position until the lips of her sex made direct contact with Katrina's. Both women pulled hard now, writhing and moaning as their vulvas converged like warm, ripe peaches, one against the other—wet, hot, slippery. The still air that enshrouded them was humid, dense with the powerful feminine aroma of musk that was the mingled product of their arousal. The undulating rhythm of the women's hips took up a more desperate pace, quickly evolving into frenzied bucking as the moment of orgasm approached. When it came, both women were overcome almost simultaneously. Now, their impassioned cries of release rang out, clearly audible above the tumbling waters of the falls, prompting a small flock of emerald and ruby parakeets to take flight in a frantic flurry from the treetops at the jungle fringe. Following the explosive climax of their lovemaking, Katrina and Camille lay in each other's arms for a long time, each drowsily luxuriating in the other's intimate presence, and in the sun's delicious warmth. In this dream-like state, it vaguely occurred to Katrina that she had not stopped to consider that what she and Camille had just done was forbidden, and that their actions could earn them severe punishment. Nor had this danger seemed to occur to Camille either, or if it did, she had apparently considered the risk worthwhile. Was this, Katrina wondered, because punishment—pain and humiliation—were an integral part of their lives at Chateau Levequ, and had become inextricably linked with sensual gratification? But such reflections had no place here, not now, in this Eden, and so she allowed the thought to drift and disperse like a passing cloud. When at last their senses returned to normality, the two women moved to the edge of the pool. There, they sat, feet dangling in the cool water as each recounted to the other what had happened to her since they last saw each other on the evening of Camille's ordeal upon the wooden pony. Camille had little to tell. She had been 388

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punished soundly and regularly. Besides being assigned the most laborious and demeaning tasks about the chateau, she had, until just the previous day, been summoned to the cellar for at least an hour every afternoon, there to be subjected to Ming's boundless predilection for inflicting humiliation and torment. When she learned that Katrina had been spending her entire mornings at Ming's pleasure, however, she had to acknowledge that she had been dealt with by far the more leniently for their joint misdemeanor. It was at this point that Camille turned to make direct eye contact with Katrina, holding her gaze firmly as she spoke. "How are you doing, Katrina?" She asked, her tone suddenly serious. "Your contract with Armand Levequ, I mean. Are you going to be able to go the distance, do you think?" Katrina raked her hair back off her face with her fingers as she considered the question. "Oh, I'm coping, Camille," she answered at length. "It's strange. Sometimes I can barely remember what my life was like before I came here. In a sense, I think I'm a different person now than I was then." "I know what you mean. I think this place affects everyone that way. But the things they do to you. Make you do. Can you bear it?" "There are times when I think that I can't. The pain and the cruelty, the shame and the humiliation of being treated like a slave and a whore seem intolerable sometimes. But then, if I'm honest…" Katrina paused, casting her eyes toward the ground. Camille raised a hand, touched her lightly on the shoulder. "Be honest, Katrina. You can with me. You know that, don't you?" Katrina raised her eyes to meet Camille's again, and smiled. "Yes, I think I do." "Tell me then." "Well, I'm ashamed to admit this, but…" "Yes?" "Camille, it's been difficult for me here. Very difficult. I've been made to do things I would have thought of as unspeakable only a very 389

Judith short time ago. And yet…" "Yes?" "Well, I've learned that there's a part of me that is not only prepared to submit to those things, but to willingly embrace them. On a conscious level, I feel ashamed, horrified by the treatment I've been subjected to here at the chateau. But on another level, I actually enjoy my role here, and the fact that I have no alternative but to submit to all that is demanded of me. I find it very exciting…even fulfilling. And it isn't just the wine or Ming's drugs, I'm sure about that. The fact is—and I think I've come to accept this now—I have a dark side. It was like discovering that I have an identical twin I never knew existed. But she's the opposite of what I thought I was, a woman who thrives on sexual abuse, torment and humiliation. And it scares me." "Scares you?" "Yes, because I find myself increasingly deriving pleasure from my experiences here. Even the worst ones. It's strangely thrilling to be so vulnerable, to have to submit to whatever sexual demands are made of me without having to make moral judgments or decisions. Of course I fear the punishment, the 'training'—hate it when it’s actually happening—and yet even that excites me." Katrina switched her gaze away from Camille, turning to look across the pool toward the dense green tropical forest beyond. "Camille, I'm so confused. And I feel so…guilty" Slipping an arm around Katrina's shoulders, Camille spoke softly. "Don't, Katrina. You shouldn't. What you are experiencing isn't unique. Many of us here feel exactly the same way as you. And I include myself in that. Remember how I made you spank me with the hairbrush?" Katrina smiled and blushed at the reminder, but Camille, in a surprising transition of role from maid to mentor, simply continued, "People like you and I…well, it's simply in our nature. Like a good many people who don't even know it, the darker side of our sexuality is suppressed by our upbringing and the protocols of conventional society. It takes someone like Madam SIN or CHIANG Ming, who understand these things, to strip away the protective 390

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layers. Of course, I didn't know that until I came to Chateau Levequ." Katrina felt strangely relieved, as if a burden had been lifted from her conscience. "Camille, I'm amazed. You understand exactly. I didn't realize that you…" She allowed the sentence to trail off, uncertain of where it may take her. But Camille had already picked up its import. "That I have a brain?" "Oh, Camille, no. I'm sorry. I didn't mean…" Camille laughed. "It's all right, Katrina. I'm not offended. How could you know that I'm more than just a pretty face and a body? In fact, I studied psychology at university for a while. It comes in useful now and then, helps me understand a little about the way people's minds work—including my own." "It's true, Camille. I underestimated you." "That's all right. I just hope I've been able to help." "You have. Thank you." "Good. I'm glad to hear it. But tell me, Katrina, have you come close to giving in at all? You know, considered breaking your contract rather than submit to something they demanded of you?" Katrina shook her head. "No. Not really." Thinking momentarily of her father, she added, "I have a very strong reason for not breaking my contract with Armand Levequ." Camille smiled, slyly. "Mm. Well, I won't ask what that reason is, but I am intrigued. How strong is it, I wonder? Is there nothing they could threaten you with that might make you change your mind?" Katrina laughed. "Camille, you're incorrigible. What is this, truth or dare?" "If you like," Camille answered, her eyes gleaming mischievously. But the dare can wait. I want the truth first." "All right. Well, there is perhaps one thing." "What? Tell me." "Well, remember what I told you about Jacob and Lady Frances, in the stables?" "Yes." 391

Judith "Well, I don't think I described it quite as vividly as I might have…or rather him." "Jacob?" "Yes." "Ah, I see. His cock, you mean?" "You've…seen it?" Camille shook her head. "No, but it's legendary here on the island. They say it's huge." "Huge? Camille, I've never seen anything like it. It's enormous. Terrifying." "Terrifying? Surely you're exaggerating, Katrina? I mean, I've been with some very big men in my time and…" "No, Camille. I mean it. I don't know how Lady Frances was able to stand it. It was almost like watching someone being tortured to death. She was screaming and moaning as he pushed the monstrous thing deeper and deeper inside her, stretching her until I thought he would split her apart." "But it was what she wanted. You told me that." "Yes. Apparently so." "And she climaxed?" "Oh, yes, repeatedly…and powerfully. But I just don't understand how she was able to take it. I'm sure I couldn't." "You might be surprised, Katrina. Women have babies, don't forget. We're very flexible…down there." Camille paused, smiled knowingly, then added, "Besides, one way and another, I suspect Lady Frances has had more than a little experience over the years of being…stretched." "Well, to me it was awesome, and I'm not sure I could summon the courage to endure such an experience." "So you were repulsed by what you saw?" Katrina thought for a moment. "No, not repulsed. In fact—again if I'm to be honest—it was fascinating…and, yes, very arousing to watch. But just the thought of it happening to me makes my head swim and my legs weak. It scares me to death." 392

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"Poor Jacob. I wonder if he knows he has that effect on you." "Oh, I know. It's not very nice of me is it? Especially since he seems such a nice man—apart from…" "Yes, well, he can hardly help the way nature endowed him, can he? And, besides, like us all here, he was only doing what was demanded of him." "I know that. But I can't help the way I feel. And I think he does know that I'm very uncomfortable in his presence now. I sort of gave it away, I think, when I saw him today." Camille said, "Well, I don't think he's the kind that would hold it against you." Then, realizing the alternative implication of her words, she laughed. "Which is just as well, since that's exactly what you're frightened of." "Camille, that's not funny," Katrina chided, but erupted into laughter also at the quip. When their amusement had run its course, Camille reached out to Katrina placing a hand on the back of her neck. Her expression serious now, she held Katrina with smoldering charcoal eyes. "Let's make love again."

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Chapter Fifteen

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he day following Katrina's second visit to Halcyon Falls saw the resumption of her strict training regimen, although the welcome break and the afternoon of pleasure with Camille seemed to have imbued her with an inner strength and resilience that made the renewal of the ordeal somehow easier to bear. And, anyway, this phase lasted only three days. On the morning of the fourth, Ingrid informed her that both Ming and Vladimir Romanoff had commitments that did not involve her, and that she was therefore free to spend the day at leisure. She did not ride that day, but decided instead to simply relax about the chateau. During the morning, she read, wrote up her journal and took a long, refreshing swim in the luxurious Romanesque pool that overlooked the grounds at the rear of the house. Then she took lunch on the dining room terrace, where Frederique had just finished eating. "Ah, Katrina. Bonjour. Come join me." The Thai looked as if she had stepped from the pages of Vogue magazine. She wore tan boots over white jodhpur-style pants, and a café-au-lait silk blouse. A single strand of pearls hugged her throat in fascinating contrast with her dark chocolate flesh. Her lips glistened under pale pink gloss. "Hello, Frederique. Thank you." As Katrina took a seat opposite Frederique, she felt a small but irresistible swell of desire in her belly—a reflexive reaction to the other woman's beauty that her 394

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subconscious will would not have permitted in her 'former life'. My, how I've changed! she thought. "I'm glad I've seen you," Frederique said. "Madam SIN and her guests will return later today, and there's to be a special dinner tonight. You are invited. Eight o'clock." She tilted her head quizzically to one side a little, as if suddenly noticing the intensity of Katrina's gaze. "Is something wrong?" "Mm? I'm sorry?" Frederique smiled. "You were staring at me." Katrina blushed at once. "Oh, Frederique, I'm sorry. I didn't mean to be rude. I just…" "Do you find me attractive? Is that it?" Taken aback at the other woman's perceptiveness, Katrina answered, "No! I…" Frederique arched her eyebrows, pouted just a little. "Oh, that is a disappointment." Thrown into further confusion, Katrina said, "Oh, I didn't mean… I mean, of course I find you attractive. I just didn't want to…" Now Katrina saw that Frederique was not really offended. The corners of her mouth were upturned in a smile. "It's alright, Katrina, I'm teasing. I didn't really need to ask the question anyway. I can see it in your eyes; your desire to touch me, be touched by me." She rose from the table, moving around to where Katrina sat. "But I'm afraid I have to leave you now, cherie," she said, gently cupping the underside of Katrina's chin with a curled forefinger to turn her face upward. "I have to supervise preparations for this evening." What happened next took Katrina quite by surprise. Frederique leaned forward to place her lips upon Katrina's in a soft, lingering kiss that whirled Katrina's mind into a sensual vortex. When at last Frederique withdrew, Katrina's heart was pounding furiously, her breathing irregular and rapid. From the other woman's knowing smile, Katrina was certain the beautiful Thai was very aware of the devastation her actions had wreaked on her senses. 395

Judith "Mm. That was interesting," Frederique said, in little more than a whisper. "Be patient, cherie. Our time will come. Do not be late tonight." With that, she strode elegantly from the room, leaving Katrina and her emotions in tumult. *** It came as no surprise to Katrina that her clothes for the 'special' dinner had once again been selected for her. On instructions from Madam SIN, Ingrid had laid them out for her while she showered. Now, as she descended a wide, sweeping staircase, she saw her reflection in a gigantic, gilt-framed mirror that almost covered one wall on a mid-floor landing. The dress, an extravagant Versace creation in metallic gold silk, slashed with fiery shades of red and orange, and hung with tiny gold chains, clung to her hips like a second skin. The scooped back and low neckline suspended by slender straps left bare an eye-catching expanse of flesh, tanned now to a deeper tone of honey than usual by her recent exposure to the sun. The dress selected for her was probably not one she would have chosen herself, but she had to admit that it looked sensational. She liked what she saw in the mirror, and tossed her head with almost coquettish satisfaction—a gesture that caused her hair to swirl about her shoulders, catching golden highlights from the crystal chandelier above. As she continued down the stairway, she was very conscious of the absence of any underwear beneath the dress, but this customary omission had now come to evoke arousal in her rather than embarrassment, as it had done originally. Despite the tropical evening warmth, as she approached the door to the dining room a prickle of anticipation and uncertainty briefly turned the exposed skin of her neck and shoulders to gooseflesh. What novel and unimaginable debauchery awaited her tonight? she wondered. Although the dinner table had been laid indoors, Madam SIN and her guests were enjoying pre-dinner drinks on the terrace, from where the animated murmur of conversation interspersed with 396

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occasional laughter suggested that they were in very good spirits. As Katrina herself stepped onto the terrace, her heart almost stopped, and a floodtide of emotions instantly swamped her consciousness. There, facing her, just a few yards away, stood Armand Levequ, whom she had not seen since the night he had so thoroughly violated her in the gazebo at Rylands. A glass of claret in hand, he was talking to Sir Hartley and Lady Jeaffreson. "Ah, Katrina. Here at last." The voice was Madam SIN's. Katrina turned to face her, almost panicking. "Oh, I'm not late, am I?" Katrina asked, glancing nervously at her watch. Madam SIN smiled, for once looking almost kindly. "No, child. Not late, but you cut it finely." "Katrina!" Armand's voice, deep, clear, rose above the conversational drone. Excusing himself, he moved through the small press of people toward her, taking another glass of wine from a tray carried by one of the servants en route. He held out the glass to Katrina. She accepted it, hoping he didn't notice the tremor in her hand. "How are you?" Katrina's legs felt weak as she looked into the dark intensity of his eyes, felt the embrace of his smile. It was a beguiling yet enigmatic smile, warm but comprising many elements, each momentarily dominating the whole, seemingly at random: interest, admiration, mockery and a hint of…what…smugness? Or simply satisfaction? And there was something else too, both in the smile and in his eyes; something unmistakable—proprietary pride. It was in the recognition of this last element that Katrina realized, was forced to acknowledge again, a simple fact: this man owned her. At last, she found her voice. "I don't know what to call you." He laughed carelessly. "Why, Armand, of course, as before. Nothing's changed." She held his gaze steadily. "Everything has changed." 397

Judith Suddenly, his smile had gone. He nodded, slowly. "Of course. You are right. Everything has changed. And it pleases me that you accept this." "I have no choice." "You always have a choice, Katrina. You are free to say “no” to anything asked of you. And to leave Chateau Levequ at any time." "It is not a choice I can make." "Ah, but there's the paradox, you make a choice in deciding that you have no choice. Intriguing, isn't it?" The growing intensity of the moment between them was diffused by Madam SIN's raised voice as she addressed the assembled company. "Are we ready for dinner?" Turning abruptly away from Katrina, Armand replied, "Well, I don't know about anyone else, but I'm ravenous." "Yes, let's eat," Sir Hartley agreed. "And afterwards, courtesy of my skill at backgammon…" He laughed. "…and Mahmood's bad luck… I've arranged some rather special entertainment for us all." As with so many things in her new life—for this was how she had come to think of her stay at Chateau Levequ—Katrina's feelings concerning Armand had become strangely ambivalent. But she didn't actually realize this until she learned, with a small pang of disappointment, that she was not to sit next to him at dinner. That privilege was reserved for Lady Frances and Sir Hartley, who flanked him on either side. Her pulse quickened, however, when she found that, once again, she had been seated next to Yasmeen, whose place was on her left. But the instant flush of guilty pleasure at this discovery was dampened somewhat by the subsequent discovery that, as on the last occasion, Ming was to sit on her right. Once again, dinner was a formal, though relaxed affair. With the exception of Mahmood and Yasmeen, who were resplendent in Arabstyle attire, both hosts and guests wore dinner jackets or evening gowns. In a corner of the dining room, the string quartet whose members—three men and a young woman—had performed by the ornamental lake on the evening of Camille's humiliation on the pony, 398

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and had seemed totally oblivious to that event, now played Mozart's Salzburg Symphonies with the same professional impassiveness. Conversation over dinner was as varied and normal as might have been the case in what Katrina now thought of as the outside world—a fact that she found strangely unsettling. Her experience with these people had invariably been carnal in nature, so that she had come to regard each and all of them as synonymous with her own sexual subjugation. Nor had Sir Hartley's remark about 'special' entertainment been lost on her; instinctively, she felt sure that whatever he had planned would involve debauchery of some sort, and suspected that there was a more than even chance that she, herself, would have a role to play in it. How, she wondered, could Armand Levequ and his hedonistic associates behave so conventionally at one moment, then descend into such unbridled carnality the next—a transition that seemed so perfectly natural to them? But if even the conversation over the dinner table was mundane, what happened beneath its surface became considerably more exotic as the meal progressed—at least where Katrina was sitting. She had almost finished her main course when a now familiar feminine hand found her thigh, the fingers lightly caressing it through the fabric of her dress. Suddenly her appetite had gone. She put down her knife and fork, and feigned interest in an earnest discussion on cinematography between Mahmood, on Yasmeen's left, and Romanoff, who was sitting opposite. Incrementally, Yasmeen's fingers began easing Katrina's dress higher, a tantalizingly slow and sensual process that electrified the nerve endings at the back of her neck. When the questing hand reached the confluence of her thighs, she compliantly parted them, stifling a gasp as the fingers insinuated deftly into the moist folds of her sex. Throughout the rest of the meal, Yasmeen's right hand rarely strayed more than an inch from Katrina's vulva, the fingers alternating between massaging the swollen bud of her clitoris, and—as far as was possible, given their respective positions at the table— penetrating her opening. Yet while her right hand was at work under 399

Judith the table, the dark-eyed Arab woman maintained an air of apparent normality by eating solely with the left, which was no mean feat considering that she had to slip each forkful of food underneath the veil that masked the lower half of her face. Despite this complication, and the fact that she never once looked at Katrina, her fingers remained very busy, bringing Katrina repeatedly to the brink of orgasm. But it was clearly not Yasmeen's intention that Katrina should come, for every time orgasm threatened, she withdrew her fingers from her sex, to place them close by on her thigh, gently caressing until the 'crisis' subsided. Once, a hair's breadth away from climax, Katrina loosed a little cry, quickly trying to disguise it as a cough. Nobody seemed to notice. Nobody but Ming, that is, who asked with studied concern if she was all right. When Katrina turned to answer her, it was clear from the taunting expression in those penetrating oriental eyes that Ming was well aware of what was happening beneath the table. By the time dinner was over, Katrina was almost an emotional wreck. Time and again she had thrust against Yasmeen's teasing fingers, tried to trap the hand between her thighs long enough to achieve orgasm. But Yasmeen was very skilled in the art of sensual torment, and seemed to take pleasure in firing Katrina's burning desire to ever-greater intensity, without any apparent intention of allowing her the release she craved. Katrina was more than relieved when Madam SIN raised her voice above conversational level to make an announcement. "If everyone has finished, may I suggest we move to another venue?" She paused, and when nobody dissented, continued, "With Mahmood's and Yasmeen's assistance, I've had a room specially prepared for the evening's entertainment." Madam SIN led the way to a big drawing room just a little way down the corridor. Although Katrina had been in this room before, it no longer seemed familiar. Just inside the doorway, their way appeared barred by heavy silk drapes. In response to a command 400

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from Madam SIN, these were drawn aside by unseen hands. Following her through the curtains, the assembled company stepped from the eighteenth century elegance of the French chateau into a different world—the exotic and entrancing realm of Sheherezade and the one thousand and one nights. The room was no longer recognizable as such. From a central point overhead, white, canvas-like cloth had been suspended and shaped to replicate the interior of the palatial desert tent of some Arabian prince. Lengths of fine silks in a range of colors adorned the sides of the tent, while the floor was covered by a plush and richly decorated hand-woven Asian carpet. Big, comfortable-looking silken cushions and pillows lay scattered in heaps in a rough semicircle around the center of the 'tent'. Alongside each cushion stood a small wooden table, bearing a carafe of wine, a silver goblet and silver trays containing an assortment of oriental sweetmeats. The entire scene was illuminated by soft, multi-colored concealed lighting, while traditional Arab music from unseen speakers completed the illusion of the mystical Middle East. "Ah, splendid, Christina", Sir Hartley observed, with obvious satisfaction. "This is exactly right." He glanced at Mahmood, adding, as an afterthought, "But then it was bound to be, I suppose, considering who your advisors were." Mahmood smiled, acknowledging the compliment with a slight inclination of his head. With a sweeping hand, Madam SIN gestured toward the cushions on the floor. "The seating arrangements are unusual, I know, but I think you'll find them very comfortable. Please…" As they each selected a place in the semicircle, descending onto the big cushions, and surrounding themselves with pillows for support, Katrina noticed that Yasmeen had not joined them. "Come along now, Hartley," Lady Frances urged her husband, as she settled back into a mound of pillows. "You've kept us in suspense long enough. What is this special entertainment?" Sir Hartley laughed. "You always were impatient, Frances. And I'm 401

Judith not going to tell you. You'll find out soon enough. "But why so mysterious, Hartley?" Armand asked. "And what was that about backgammon, and Mahmood's bad luck?" Smiling, Sir Hartley replied, "I'm sure you remember that Mahmood and I played backgammon every night onboard the Aphrodite. Well, he lost—heavily. And tonight's entertainment represents the repayment of his gambling debt to me—in lieu of cash." "How much cash, darling?" Lady Frances asked. "Half a million." "Dollars?" "Sterling." "My! The entertainment should be spectacular, then." Mahmood stirred on his cushion, turning to face Lady Frances as he said, "Not only spectacular, Frances, exclusive." On either side of the entrance to the tent stood two powerfully built black servants. Naked above the waist, they were otherwise attired in keeping with the Arabian nights theme, in turbans, baggy silk pants and tasseled slippers. Now, as the tempo of the music changed, taking on a sensual, seductive quality, they pulled aside the entrance drapes again. All heads turned to focus on the rift in the drapes as a female figure entered, moving rhythmically in time with the music. Katrina gasped. The lower part of Yasmeen's face was still masked by the veil, but she had shed the long robes that, until now, had made it impossible to guess whether or not her body matched the beauty of her eyes. Now, there was no need to guess, for she was wearing very little at all. All eyes were on her now as she moved across the floor, dancing to the rhythm of the music with practiced fluidity. Although her breasts and genital area were hidden by wisps of silk attached to slender silver chains, the remainder of her body was naked, and was as close to perfection as anything Katrina has ever seen. Her flesh was the color of age-mellowed ivory, her limbs long, willowy. Her waist, improbably narrow, flared into generous but shapely hips, and gave 402

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way in the fore to the gentle swell of her belly. Instead of lying in dark, mysterious shadow, the delightful circular depression of her navel flashed with fiery light, a phenomenon Katrina understood when Yasmeen passed close by in front of her. Only then was she able to discern the silver ring that had been threaded through her pierced flesh, and the exquisite diamond solitaire that adorned it. Now dancing in the center of the semicircle, Yasmeen moved briefly before each member of her audience in turn, her eyes fixing them intently as her hips gyrated to the increasingly feverish tempo of the music. Little silver bells attached to her wrists and ankles chimed in time with the music as her body undulated with hypnotic sensuality. All watching seemed entranced, captivated by the sheer feline grace of her movements. In what appeared an almost accidental gesture, Yasmeen's hand seemed to brush against the silk veils at her breasts. When it moved away again, it carried with it one of the veils, which she allowed to slip from her fingers and float slowly to the floor. "The dance of the seven veils!" The voice, barely a whisper, was that of Vladimir Romanoff. "Exactly," Mahmood answered softly. "The dance that reputedly cost John the Baptist his head. And you will never see it performed to such perfection, or by such perfection again." As the spectacle progressed, a second veil floated to the floor, plucked free by Yasmeen's unerring fingers. Then a third, and a fourth, the removal of which revealed her breasts in their magnificent entirety. The ivory globes seemed heavy, like ripe fruit, but were firm, trembling only in response to her more energetic movements. And like her navel, each dark, thick nipple was pierced by a silver ring. Though these were bigger, and lacked the diamond, they complemented the beauty of her breasts in a way that made Katrina almost hurt somewhere deep inside. Now, as the music became more insistent and voluptuous, so Yasmeen's movements assumed a more intimate and provocative quality. The shimmying thrusts of her hips toward the faces of the watchers seemed to suggest both invitation 403

Judith and challenge. The dark eyes above the veil that covered her face gleamed, afire with something that seemed to have overtaken her entire being. Without even realizing it, Katrina had been drinking glass after glass of wine as she watched, enthralled. The music now sounded much louder in her head, its rhythm pervading her senses and coursing through her arteries. Her mind swam, her sex blossomed moist, and tingled deliciously. A fifth veil drifted to the floor, leaving Yasmeen's sex covered by only a single scrap of silk. For what seemed an age, she made no move to discard this veil, but moved with sly, slow gyrations of her hips before each seated individual, so that tiny glimpses of the dark shadow beneath were possible, but for the briefest moment only. The atmosphere was brittle with tension as Yasmeen's fingers at last eased free the remaining veil that had hidden her most intimate possession. She let it fall. A collective gasp was just audible above the music. Yasmeen's pubic hair had been neatly trimmed, allowing a clear view of the brownish-pink lips that protruded provocatively from her sex. But she had not yet finished. Moving very close to each spectator in turn, she thrust her loins very close to their faces, pausing for a second to allow them a perfect close-up view of her treasure. The last to receive this privilege was Katrina. She swallowed hard at the dazzling prospect of Yasmeen's naked sex just inches from her face. The powerful feminine aroma of musk enveloped her, and as if this were not provocation enough for her senses, Yasmeen then reached for the veil that covered her face, and removed it also. "My God, Mahmood," Sir Hartley exclaimed hoarsely. "No wonder you were so reluctant to share her. She's an exquisite creature. Katrina agreed. Yasmeen's full, sensual lips, drawn back now in a beguiling smile over perfectly even white teeth, served to emphasize the dark liquidity of her Arab eyes. Both bodily and facially, she was simply the most beautiful woman Katrina had ever seen. And now, stunning in her nudity, she stood over Katrina, smiling down at her. Katrina was suddenly self-conscious, aware that all eyes in the room 404

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were now not just on Yasmeen, but on her also. Something was about to happen, of that she was certain; something that would surely involve her. Confirming that presentiment, Yasmeen stooped toward her, holding out her hand. Katrina felt panic rising. She turned to look across at Madam SIN, who simply inclined her head in confirmation that she may—must—accede. She took Yasmeen's hand, allowing the other woman to help her to her feet. The music began to soften, both in tempo and volume, so that Katrina could hear the sound of her own anxious, shallow breathing. The lighting dimmed a little, softening bright colors into pastel hues. Now, standing face to face with the beautiful naked Yasmeen in the middle of the semicircle, Katrina felt very awkward, had no idea what was expected of her. But she needn't have worried, because it was Yasmeen who took the initiative. Swaying sensuously to the music, the Arabian beauty moved closer to Katrina. Reaching out to her with both hands, she slipped her fingers under the straps of Katrina's evening dress, easing it down over her shoulders. Then, ever so slowly, she allowed the slinky metallic fabric to slide down Katrina's upper body. Katrina's head was spinning. She gulped a deep breath, which, ironically, enhanced the swell of her breasts as they were laid bare, the nipples swollen and stiffened by her arousal. Descending to her knees, Yasmeen guided the dress down over Katrina's hips and thighs, then let it to fall to the floor. From the corner of her eye, Katrina detected movement among some of those watching. Without needing to turn her eyes toward them, she knew instinctively that they were shifting position slightly to get a better view of the smoothly-shaven expanse of her sex. She also knew, could see in her mind's eye, what they would see; that the cleft in the pale, peach-like mound and the protruding lips would be glistening with the dew of her arousal. To Katrina's surprise, Yasmeen did not rise to her feet again, but instead moved even closer to her on her knees. Her intent then became clear. Leaning forward, she placed her mouth to Katrina's sex. Katrina flinched, stiffened, as those lovely, full lips brushed 405

Judith moistly against her labia. Yasmeen encircled Katrina's thighs with her arms, easing them apart as she pressed her face into the opening. "Aaahh." Katrina's soft cry, high-pitched, aspirated, was an irresistible response to the intrusion of Yasmeen's tongue into her vulva. She reached out, placing her palms on either side of the other woman's face. Suddenly, she was lost, as Yasmeen began working her tongue in and around her sex. She responded by parting her thighs even wider, and thrusting her hips forward so that her sex spread wetly against Yasmeen's face. Over the thunderous rushing in her ears, she could just hear Lady Frances's voice. "Hartley my dear, I'll be honest. I thought at first that you'd been a little extravagant over that backgammon debt. But I was wrong. This is enchanting. Just enchanting. A once in a lifetime experience. Such lovely, lovely girls." "Yes, I had a feeling about it, darling," Sir Hartley replied, his voice unequivocally thick with lust. "I somehow knew we wouldn't be disappointed." "Indeed," Mahmood agreed. "I must say, I thought I would resent sharing my desert flower with you all, but I find it actually pleases me. Especially to see her with Katrina like this. They are so…compatible, are they not?" "They are indeed, Mahmood," Lady Frances replied. Like her husband's, her tone was redolent with desire, but also with wonder and admiration. "You have impeccable perception and a wonderful eye, Christina. Finding Katrina was a remarkable coup." "Ah, for that, you must thank Armand, Frances. It was he who found her." "Not exactly found," Armand commented, thoughtfully. "She's the daughter of a…of someone who was once a close friend. I've watched her grow from schoolgirl to woman. I wonder what her father would say if he could see her now." Armand's words pierced Katrina like an arrow, as she felt certain he'd intended. In these circumstances, at this precise moment, and in this almost throwaway statement, he exacted on her a revenge more 406

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devastating than he could imagine. And yet, even now, seared by guilt and shame though she was at his remarks, and at what she was doing, there was no escaping the emotional ambivalence that had become her inheritance. In her short time in the service of this man who had used her, who taunted her so cruelly now, she had evolved beyond redemption. She had, she knew, lost her relative innocence and virtue forever, embracing instead not only the singular pleasures of the flesh to which she had been introduced at Chateau Levequ, but also the submission, pain and humiliation that were inextricably a part of them. Thus, even now in her wretchedness, her arousal was perversely fired to a new intensity by Armand's words. While the spectators were exchanging views and comments, Yasmeen had drawn Katrina down onto the floor, where she now lay on her back, her buttocks and hips elevated upon a cushion. Holding her thighs wide apart and back against her body, Yasmeen knelt between them, her head moving rhythmically up and down as she emulated with her tongue in Katrina's sex a foraging penis. Moaning, whimpering, Katrina tossed her head as the force of rising pleasure expanded inside her, pushing the bounds of her emotional endurance. But still, as at the dinner table, Yasmeen would not allow her release, each time forsaking her when she threatened to erupt. In this way, Yasmeen prolonged Katrina's sensual torment to the delight of those watching—especially when Katrina pleaded for release, then sobbed pitifully each time Yasmeen denied it her. By now, a tangible shroud of sexual tension had enveloped everyone in the entire assembled company, arousal obvious in every expression, and in the smoldering eyes that observed the carnal spectacle before them. In a strange way, Katrina felt that, despite what was happening to her and the intensity of her feelings, she was not actually a part of it all; that, rather, she was watching from outside her body in a kind of sexual delirium. Thus, it was only through a kind of haze that she was conscious of the voices and activities of the observers. "Christina, it seems a long time since I had the pleasure of your 407

Judith body." The speaker was Mahmood, the huge bulge at the front of his robe eloquently proclaiming his need. Madam SIN smiled. "Not so very long, I think, Mahmood. And, anyway, it is no longer a young body. It cannot compare, for example, with either Yasmeen's or Katrina's." "No false modesty, Christina. You know you have a beautiful body. Will you share it with me? Now?" Still smiling, Madam SIN rose from her cushion. "You know you have only have to ask, Mahmood." The flowing silk tiger-print dress she wore hung from a single strap on her right shoulder, where it was held in place by an ivory pin. Raising her hand to the pin, she pulled it free, allowing the silk to fall away from her body and leaving her totally nude. It was the body of a mature woman, to be sure, but was nonetheless dazzling for that. Her flesh was firm and smooth, her breasts full but taut. The tawny nipples betrayed by their obvious swelling that even the Mistress of Chateau Levequ was not immune to desire. Moving across to Mahmood, she lifted his robe to expose a thick, mahogany erection sprouting from a tangled black forest of hair. With a far away look in her eyes, she straddled his hips and slowly lowered herself onto him with an appreciative sigh. "Aaahh, yes, Christina. Yesss." Taking hold of her breasts, Mahmood squeezed them, then pinched the nipples before taking them each in turn into his mouth. Pushing him back down onto the cushion, Madam SIN leaned forward, placed her hands on his chest, and began undulating against him from the hip. "Ah, yes, Mahmood. So good to feel your lovely thick cock deep inside me again." Nearby, although still intently observing Katrina and Yasmeen, Sir Hartley had relieved Sharon of her clothing. In turn, the petite pocket Venus now unfastened his trousers to free his erect, pulsing penis. He sighed as she lowered her face to his lap, taking him in her mouth. Meanwhile, Lady Frances had conveyed her own desire to 408

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Romanoff—that she would like Vlad the Impaler to demonstrate the appropriateness of his epithet to her personally. As ever, the lustful Russian needed little encouragement. Within seconds, both he and Lady Frances were naked, she on all fours close to Katrina and Yasmeen so that she could continue to observe their love-making, Romanoff behind her on his knees. Lady Frances watched the two women through half-closed eyes, responding with low guttural sounds deep in her throat as Romanoff steadily penetrated her with his organ, then, holding her firmly by the hips, began to pump her with long, unhurried strokes. Still lavishing attention on Katrina's sex with her lips and tongue, Yasmeen changed position, moving her body through a hundred and eighty degrees into the soixante-neuf position. Straddling Katrina's head on bended knees, she lowered her own sex toward Katrina's face. The last thing Katrina noticed before the room was partially obscured by the prospect of Yasmeen's looming mound was that Frederique was now reclining against Armand's side, his left arm around her. Her dress lay down around her waist, rendering her dark-chocolate pear-shaped breasts bare, a situation of which Armand was taking full advantage by fondling and caressing them, albeit somewhat absently. From the dark intensity of his gaze, it was clear that his conscious attention was focused upon Katrina herself. Yasmeen's heady intimate aroma enfolded Katrina as the lush moist forest of her sex descended upon her mouth. The fleshy lips protruding from silk-soft hair were slick with Yasmeen's secretion. Katrina parted her own lips, inserting her tongue into the slippery cleft and running it back and forth, to Yasmeen's obvious enjoyment. Soon, both women were lost in a ritual of mutual pleasure, each giving while simultaneously receiving. Yet even now, Yasmeen, infinitely skillful in her technique, managed to frustrate Katrina by pausing and withholding her tongue each time she neared orgasm. "Time I called in the balance of your debt, I think, Mahmood." Sir Hartley announced. Then, turning his attention briefly to Sharon, he placed a hand on her cheek. "Forgive me, my dear. You do that very 409

Judith well indeed, and I am enjoying it immensely, but I have to…em…attend to Yasmeen now." Sharon raised her head, smiling as she released his glistening erection from her lips. "That's all right, Sir Hartley. I'll still be here afterwards if you want me." He returned her smile. "Thank you, Sharon, I believe I may well take you up on that." Rising from his cushion, he began casually removing his clothes, tossing them aside onto the floor. Once naked, he walked around behind Yasmeen and knelt on the floor behind her, his straining cock poised to breach her. "Aah…yes, Hartley…yes," Lady Frances gasped, her breasts jiggling frantically as Romanoff's hips slammed against her buttocks with increasing vigor. "Do her…darling. I…aah!…I want to see. Fuck her. Oh! Ngh! Oh, ye…ess." From her position between Yasmeen's thighs, Katrina now had an inverted view of Sir Hartley's naked form above her. His penis, distended and inflexible, projected from his groin just above her face. It seemed immense at this distance, and was so close that the bloodengorged veins looked like serpents imprisoned beneath the taut dark skin. Grasping the shaft in his hand, he guided the rounded head between Yasmeen's yielding labia and sank the entire length into her sex. She uttered a cry of astonishment spiced with pleasure, as the swollen cock stretched and filled her. For a few moments, Sir Hartley remained motionless, apparently savoring the moment of penetration. Then he stirred to action, slowly withdrawing the great gleaming phallus, as if unsheathing a sword. Just as it seemed he would quit the embrace of Yasmeen's vulva, he thrust his hips forward again, impaling her once more. After a brief pause, he repeated this process. Then again…and again, gradually increasing the pace. His eyes glazed over as he gazed down at the prospect of his erection moving easily back and forth within the snug confines of Yasmeen's slippery pink furrow. The consequence for Katrina in Sir Hartley's ravishing Yasmeen in 410

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this position was that his organ, now slick and scented by her copious flood, also slid repeatedly against her lips and tongue, whereas his testicles brushed and tumbled over her face. Her response, while seeming both logical and natural to her under the circumstances, also mildly surprised her. Her present role in life, which she had come to embrace unconditionally, was clear: to cater to the needs and desires of Armand's and Madam SIN's guests, among whom Sir Hartley appeared to be paramount. Accordingly, Katrina endeavorerd to enhance his pleasure by sucking and licking at his cock, and letting her teeth rake softly along its length as it slipped between her lips and Yasmeen's labia. Her efforts didn’t go in vain. Sir Hartley reacted at once with a deep groan, and by squeezing her shoulder with his hand in acknowledgement. For perhaps fifteen minutes, although Katrina had no way of gauging the passing time, Sir Hartley continued to indulge his lust in this manner. Then at last he paused, his breathing labored from his efforts, and looked meaningfully across at Mahmood. "I'm ready, Mahmood. Are you sure you don't want to change your mind?" The Arab's face was contorted with pleasure, his eyes fiercely aglow as Madam SIN, still firmly impaled upon him, rose and fell as if she were in the saddle, riding at a brisk trot. Periodically, she broke this rhythm to gyrate and swivel her hips expansively, causing him to groan loudly. Her body glistened with sweat, her expression betraying the fact that it was not only Mahmood who was taking pleasure from her endeavors. "No, Hartley," Mahmood replied with difficulty, his voice low, gruff. "A wager is…a wager, my…friend. I…ngh!…aah!…I gave my word and…aah, yes, Christina, yes! It's matter of…argh!…yess!…a matter of honor now. Take what you will, Hartley—and enjoy" "Very well, Mahmood. So be it." Sir Hartley rammed his cock forcefully home one last time, causing Yasmeen to grunt in response. Then, withdrawing from her sex entirely, he took hold of the shaft at the base again and guided the 411

Judith head between her buttocks. As the glans nuzzled against the tightly puckered opening of her anus, Yasmeen flinched and tried to pull away, but Sir Hartley held her firmly by the hips. And if this were not enough, Ming now moved in on her knees, seizing Yasmeen by the hair to ensure she could not escape the rapacious penis that was poised to violate her. Yasmeen cried out in Arabic. "Mahmood. Please, my love. Don't let him do this." Although Mahmood was the only person present who understood her plea, Yasmeen was to receive no comfort from him. He answered her in her own tongue. "Do not resist, Yasmeen. I wish it. This is a matter of honor between two gentlemen. You don't want me to lose face, do you, my flower?" Still struggling impotently, Yasmeen wailed, "No, Mahmood. Of course not. But not this, I beg you." "Hush, now, little one. Relax and take pleasure from the experience." "Oh, but… Aaaaahhh!" Argument and resistance were now not only futile, but too late. Already, Sir Hartley's cock had breached the sphincter muscles at the entrance to Yasmeen's forbidden orifice, and was forging deeper. Fortunately for her, the solid shaft of flesh was well lubricated from her own liberal secretion, and thus its progress into her core was made easier than it might otherwise have been. As Sir Hartley thrust steadily into her, her eyes widened and she emitted a long tremulous cry. When his penis disappeared from view entirely, lying buried deep inside her, she began to murmur soft, plaintive words in Arabic, as if praying for deliverance. But there was to be no deliverance until Sir Hartley had consummated his lust. She took a long, deep inward breath, biting her lower lip and wriggling her hips to ease the passage of his cock as he started to withdraw from her. But seconds later, she cried out once more when he drove it fully home again. Then, again. And again—increasing the pace until, before long, his hips were moving 412

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back and forth in an even rhythm. Yasmeen, shaking her head as much as Ming would allow, panted and moaned like a woman in childbirth. And yet, even in her anguish, she could not disguise the underlying arousal in her voice. Understandably preoccupied by her ordeal, Yasmeen had abandoned her attention to Katrina. But, if anything, this served only to stir the conflagration in Katrina's loins to greater intensity. Sir Hartley's change of position now rendered Yasmeen's sex entirely accessible to Katrina's mouth and tongue again. Still very conscious of the role expected of her, she took full advantage of this fact, licking and probing the plump, fleshy furrow in time with the rhythm of Sir Hartley's pumping organ. An amalgam of intimate aromas filled her nostrils, threatening by itself to cause her to swoon, while the insistent warm tingling in her sex drove her to distraction. Suddenly, through this sensual maelstrom, she heard a familiar sound; a deep, animal growl which she had come to recognize through experience as evidence that Vladimir Romanoff had reached orgasm. Just minutes later, she felt a woman's hand grip her arm, pulling. Ming's voice in her ear: "Enough, Katrina. Come away now." Reluctantly responding, Katrina wriggled out from underneath Yasmeen's writhing body. As she clambered to her knees, Lady Frances forsook the big Russian, leaving him to slump back onto his cushion, spent yet still erect. Moving toward Yasmeen, she reclined on a cushion, supporting herself on her elbows. Wriggling closer, she spread her thighs at the Arab woman's face, presenting her sex just inches from the parted lips. The profusion of dark, moist hair through which her glistening labia pouted was liberally spattered with Romanoff's emission. Yasmeen stared at the swollen vulva in awe, but for an instant only. Placing her hands on either side of Yasmeen's face, Lady Frances thrust her hips up and forward, so that her sex pressed firmly against the other woman's mouth. More aroused now than she could ever remember having been in her life, Katrina was dismayed, bitterly disappointed when Ming, helping to her feet, said quietly into her ear, "You may go now, 413

Judith Katrina. Put on your dress and return to your quarters." "But…" Katrina stifled the embryo of protest when Ming's eyes flashed dangerously. As she dressed, Katrina's attention fastened on the prospect of the lovely Yasmeen, who, despite her earlier protestations, now seemed to be thoroughly enjoying her defilement at Sir Hartley's hands. Indeed, she actually backed on to each of his thrusts, thereby ensuring her penetration to optimum depth. Moreover, she was also applying herself assiduously to the task of pleasuring Lady Frances with her mouth and tongue. The evening's 'entertainment' had degenerated into a full-blown orgy, and Katrina's senses were in turmoil. Mesmerized, but unwilling to risk Ming's ire, she quickly finished dressing and left, her mind spinning out of control. Katrina's senses were aflame with sheer wanton desire as she moved along corridors and up stairways in a daze. Time and again she was tempted to simply stop, raise her dress and masturbate shamelessly to orgasm against the wall. Somehow, though, she resisted the compulsion, planning immediate relief when she reached the relative safety of her quarters. As she entered the room, someone stepped out from behind the open door to take hold of her upper arms from behind. It was a firm grip, and she gasped as she was drawn back against an unmistakably masculine body. A slither of excitement burgeoned in her stomach…and lower. She felt his breath, warm and moist, on her neck. She knew instinctively that he was naked—a fact confirmed anyway by his discarded clothes, which were lying on a chair. He made no attempt to disguise from her the fact that he was aroused; on the contrary, he pressed his hips against her so that she could feel his hardness against her buttocks through the thin material of her dress. "At last, you come to me." His voice was low, hoarse; the accent French, but not pronounced. Deja vu; had she done this before, been here with him like this, under these almost exact circumstances? But, no, of course not. Even 414

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had she been under the influence of Ming's drug-laced wine at the time, she would recall that. Why, then, this weird sensation? Pulsing blood pounded through her temples, roared in her ears, the moist tingling between her thighs simply unendurable now. "I…" She was suddenly short of breath in the intimacy of his embrace. When she was at last able to answer him, her voice was little more than a whisper. "I followed as soon as I could." The sentence surfaced, unbidden, in her mind, as if it had been etched there indelibly. Perhaps it had. Armand's hands caressed her bare arms lightly. "I thought you would have come to me before tonight. I've been here two days already." Of course! Now, she understood, his words the key to her subconscious memory. She was reliving the night she spied on Armand and her stepmother at Rylands—the event that had drawn her inexorably to this moment. The difference, though, was that now she had taken the place of the late Marguerite Mandell. This was what he had planned, presumably confident that Katrina would remember. In her emotional confusion, she had not even noticed that he had left the proceedings on the first floor before her. Now she understood why, and the certainty of what was to follow triggered an injection of adrenaline into her bloodstream. She gasped as he moved his hands to cup her breasts, taking their weight. She tilted her head back against his shoulder. "I didn't know you were here." "Should I excuse you for that?" "Well, if I didn't know you were here, how could I…Aaah!" She broke off mid-sentence, the exclamation her response to the pressure of his fingers and thumbs as they pinched her nipples, hard, through the silk. Moving his hands up to her shoulders, he slipped off the narrow straps and eased the dress down. The material slid easily over her skin, falling away to bare her breasts. He took them in his hands again, caressing, then squeezing the yielding flesh, delighting in the hardness of her nipples now that they had swollen and stiffened 415

Judith with her arousal. Only her hips prevented the dress sliding to the floor. Above the waist, she was naked but for her jewelry. Her mind reached back to that night at Rylands, searching for the exact words. "Are you going to…punish me for keeping you waiting?" Her voice was low, her breathing shallow. "Should I not? Tell me I shouldn't, and I won't." She shook her head marginally, the movement reminiscent of a small unconscious shudder. "I can't. It isn't for me to say. Whatever you decide." "Yes." "Yes?" Was he agreeing with the statement or answering her question, she wondered. "Yes, I think that I shall punish you." Her cheeks and the pale flesh at her throat flushed pink. "Now?" she asked, tremulously. "Very soon. But there is something you must do first."

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Chapter Sixteen

K

atrina awoke next morning to find that Armand had left both her bed and her quarters. But the evidence of his recent presence abounded. The damp, disheveled bed sheets; the potent aroma of their lovemaking, if that was what it could be termed—she was by no means sure; the tenderness in her flesh; the viscous fluid product of his passion that oozed, even now, between her thighs and buttocks, into which he had so thoroughly and repeatedly delved during the course of the night—all these things bore witness to the fact that, as on previous occasions, her vivid recollections were not the stuff of some wild, drug-induced dream. He had taken her in every way imaginable, over and again. His energy and stamina had seemed boundless, his treatment of her strangely ambivalent. One moment, he had been the tender, sensitive lover, concerned with nothing but her pleasure and the objective of bringing her to orgasm, which he achieved with astonishing frequency; the next, he was dominant and demanding, cruel even, taking his pleasure of her in brutal and variously humiliating ways. And yet she had submitted willingly, eagerly, to all of this, determined to prove to him that she could be all that he desired her to be. And in the small hours, when he had at last finished with her and she lay close to him in the dark, she spoke to him softly. "Armand, may I ask you a question?" "If it is about your status and future here, no. That we will address tomorrow." 417

Judith "It isn't. It's about…Marguerite…and my father." "Yes?" "You remember that day on the drive at Rylands. The day after I saw you and… The day after the reception." Katrina sensed she could feel him smile in the dark, amused at her embarrassment. "I remember. You gave me good cause to. That was a powerful slap across the face you gave me." "You've made me pay for it a thousand times since." "Mm. Anyway, what about it?" "Just before I slapped you, you said you wanted to explain…about my father; and about you and Marguerite, I think." "Ah, yes." "Will you tell me now? Please." For a moment, Armand was silent, as if considering her request. Then he said, "Yes. I think it is right that you should know. Your father and Marguerite had virtually no sex life together, basically because he is one of those, I presume, rare, individuals who has little or no interest in sex. It's not as uncommon as you might think, though more often found in women, I think. Your own birth, I understand, was the result of only a handful of sexual encounters between your parents. Your father's indifference to sex was apparently much to do with their separation and divorce. Later, your father met and married Marguerite. She married him knowing that, although he loved her, he did not desire her physically. For his part, he accepted that she was a beautiful woman with strong sexual needs. Their relationship was based on the understanding that she was free to gratify those needs outside the marriage—provided she did nothing to cause him public embarrassment." Katrina was stunned. Yet, strangely, though she found this revelation disturbing on one level, it was also somehow comforting to know that neither Marguerite nor Armand had betrayed her father in the real sense. But still she was unsure. "Is this really true?" she whispered. 418

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"Yes, it is true, Katrina. I will never lie to you. Never." Nothing more had been said between them after that. A little while later, she knew from his regular, rhythmic breathing that he was sleeping, and it was with a profound feeling of fulfillment that she had molded her body against his and slept also. Now, the morning sun filled her bedroom with a joyous golden light. It was eight-thirty, and she calculated that she could have slept for no more than three hours. But despite her lack of sleep, and the rigors of her night with Armand, she felt, not tired, but vibrant and alive. Forsaking her bed, she took a hot shower. As the steaming water thrashed her body, she felt a curious tinge of regret that, in cleansing and refreshing her, it was also washing away the intimate masculine essence with which he had anointed her so liberally. After showering, she began to plan her day as she dressed. If she could get permission, she intended to take Sam up to Halcyon Falls again. From her balcony, she had noted that it was a perfect day for riding. The breeze that stirred the surrounding treetops would alleviate the inevitable heat of the sun, making for very pleasant weather. But first, breakfast on the dining room terrace, where there was a possibility that she might encounter Armand again, a prospect that, paradoxically, evoked in her both a feeling of profound elation and a sense of wonder that she was capable of harboring such an emotion for the man. How could it be, she wondered, that her feelings for him had changed so much? Just a short time ago, she had come to hate Armand Levequ with a vengeance, and now, after everything he had subjected her to since, albeit largely vicariously, there was every reason for that hatred to have evolved into total abhorrence. Because of him, she had suffered pain and anguish, had been sexually humiliated and abused for the pleasure of his friends. Before he took control of her destiny, she had enjoyed a fulfilling, well-ordered lifestyle with which she had been perfectly happy. Because of him, she had been forced to relinquish her former status as a respected and relatively successful actress to become his slave and personal whore. Logically, her hatred of the man should have 419

Judith intensified a thousand-fold. But it hadn't; quite the reverse, in fact. This realization had dawned on her last night, while he was taking his pleasure of her in so many diverse ways. Because of some incomprehensible transformation she had undergone here at Chateau Levequ—a process, she supposed, that had its genesis in the gazebo at Rylands—she was now possessed by an overwhelming desire to please him, to be used by him, or for that matter by others, if that also pleased him. With this realization had at last come acceptance. No longer would she fret about the paradox, or mourn her lost morality. For the moment, her destiny lay in Armand Levequ's hands, and although she had 'sold' him only six months of her life, she felt that, in some respects at least, she would never be free again. It was a powerful, but inexplicable conviction, and she had chosen not to question it…for the time being, at least. She had just finished dressing when the doorbell rang. It was Ingrid. The maid was holding a small box, about the size of a shoebox, veneered in black satin. "Good morning, Miss Katrina. May I come in?" Katrina opened the door to admit her. "Of course, Ingrid. What is it? I was just about to go down for breakfast on the terrace." "I'm afraid that won't be possible, Miss." "I'm sorry?" "I'm to pass on instructions. From Mistress Ming." "Oh?" Katrina's heart dropped, her plans for the day dissolving before her eyes. Did Ming intend to resume her 'training', then? "At eleven o'clock…precisely…you are to attend an interview in Madam SIN's quarters. Until then, you are to remain here." An interview! Katrina's stomach churned as the words evoked the recollection of her original encounter with Madam SIN. The image of the diamond-studded black velvet evening glove surfaced in her mind, along with that of Ming, controlling the polygraph and waiting to ensnare her with her own lies. "Would you like me to bring you some breakfast in your quarters, Miss?" 420

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"Mm? Oh, no. Thank you, Ingrid, that won't be necessary." Not necessary because Katrina's appetite had evaporated before the specter of her forthcoming interview. What could its purpose be this time? she wondered with trepidation. "Very well, Miss." Holding out the small, satin box to Katrina, she added, "You are to wear these." Taking the box, Katrina placed it on the coffee table and stooped to open it. Inside were a pair of black self-supporting stockings, a pair of black, patent leather shoes with five-inch heels, and a lipstick. "And nothing else, I suppose?" Ingrid nodded. "That is correct, Miss." Katrina was hardly surprised. "Who will come to escort me?" "No one, Miss. You are to make your own way." "I see." "Will that be all, Miss?" "Yes, Ingrid. Thank you." When the maid had gone, Katrina looked at her watch. It was only nine thirty-five. Despite her earlier resignation concerning her fate at the pleasure of Armand Levequ, the next hour and a half proved an awful trial for Katrina. If she had been informed of the interview just a few minutes before it was due, it would not have been so bad. Instead, she had been presented with what seemed an eternity to speculate about what was to happen to her. And so it was with a considerable sense of foreboding that, as the hands of the antique French clock on the mantle piece at last converged toward eleven, she shed her dressing gown and began to put on the stockings. They were of very fine quality, and fit snugly around her upper thighs. Despite her misgivings, there was something sensual and comforting about their silken embrace. The shoes added considerably to her height and, she noticed in the full-length mirror, molded her calves to perfection, which was no doubt the intention. Moving in close to the mirror, she swiveled the lipstick up from its golden casing and was startled to see that it was deep scarlet, a shade she would never have chosen to 421

Judith accompany her coloring. But when she had applied it to her lips, she understood why it had been selected. Stepping back from the mirror again, she surveyed her reflection. The woman in the glass looked like a harlot—a beautiful one, but a harlot nonetheless. The effect might not have been so stark had she been allowed the comfort of pubic hair, but as it was, there was no reassuring fleece to cover her smoothly shaven mound, to hide the dark divide that bisected it, and the resplendent pink lips that protruded so audaciously. The intention, once again, was presumably to humiliate and embarrass her—but was that simply to put her compliance further to the test…or because it gave pleasure to her custodians? A combination of both, she suspected. *** Closing the door to her quarters behind her, Katrina set forth on her route along the chateau's ancient corridors and winding stairways. Most, if not all of the servants at Chateau Levequ had seen her naked on more than one occasion, and in circumstances infinitely more shameful than her present situation. This fact, though, did nothing to inure her to the stares and knowing, barely-concealed smirks of those she encountered along the way as they attended to their various daily household chores. But if they enjoyed her discomfiture, there were other sentiments they could not conceal as they gazed on her in her nudity; these were betrayed by the wistful admiration in the women's expressions, the sudden appearance of prominent bulges in the britches of the men. Paradoxically, Katrina drew strength from these reactions and, incredibly, managed to maintain some pretence of dignity as she passed. As she stepped up to the door of Madam SIN's quarters her heart hammered in her breast. She reached for the bell pull, her hand shaking. She grasped the rope. Tugged. "Come in, Katrina." Madam SIN's voice, although recognizable, sounded distant beyond the great oak door. 422

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Turning the handle, Katrina pushed the door inward with a stuttering creak. The room was suffused with the same golden light and warmth she had left behind in her own quarters, their source, the morning sun, streaming in through the open French windows. She entered the lofty room, her eyes and mind registering, absorbing the scene. Madam SIN sat behind the great antique desk. To her left, in an ornately crafted carver chair, sat Armand Levequ, immaculate in white slacks, a crisp white shirt and a burgundy blazer. A silk cravat nestled in the open neck of his shirt. Also in the room were four other people, including Ming, Frederique and Vladimir Romanoff. That Sharon was absent did not occur to Katrina as particularly significant. Nor, although she had not expected it, did the fact that Camille was present. What did puzzle her, though, was that, rather than her customary maid's uniform, Camille now wore a dazzling two-piece crepe suit in pale lime, a color that complemented perfectly the caramel tone of her skin. Seated, like the others, in the vague semicircle that flanked Madam SIN and Armand on either side, she appeared more like one of them than the errant domestic servant who, until very recently, had been subjected to a miscellany of degrading punishments for her misdemeanors. As Katrina made eye contact with her, Camille immediately averted her gaze, as if embarrassed by the exchange—a reaction Katrina found even more mystifying. "Come closer, Katrina, so that we can see you properly." In obedience to Madam SIN's instruction, Katrina moved closer toward the semicircle of observers, feeling rather as if she had been summoned before a court martial. Madam SIN glanced to her left. "Armand?" For a long moment, Armand simply fixed Katrina with the dark intensity of his gaze. There was no acknowledgement in his expression of their shared intimacy and passion of just a few hours earlier; rather, he seemed to be considering a stranger, as if this were the first time he had seen her. When at last he spoke, his tone was 423

Judith impassive. "Katrina, I know you must be wondering why you have been summoned here in this manner, and you will learn the reason soon enough. But first, I have a question for you. A very important one which I would like you to answer truthfully—in accordance with the terms of your contract with me." Unsure of exactly how to respond, Katrina hesitantly bowed her head a fraction to signify that she understood. Armand continued, "Today, you have reached the half-way stage. It is just three months to the day since we signed our contract. Madam SIN has reported on you favorably. I understand that you have done well at Chateau Levequ—very well—and that pleases me. But answer me this question: If I were to offer to release you from your contract now, with no adverse implications for your father, what would be your response?" A sun-warmed breeze filtered into the room through the open French windows, snaking sensually around Katrina's naked body like an invisible stole as she considered the question. Was he offering to release her, or was the question hypothetical, merely some test of submission, compliance? She couldn’t be sure, and because she couldn’t be sure she determined to answer the question truthfully. But what was the truth? Time seemed to stand still as she searched her soul for the answer. When she finally spoke, the words came almost as a surprise to her, as if they were being spoken by someone else on her behalf; someone who had not consulted her fully on their implication. "I…" She hesitated. "The glove, Armand?" Madam SIN suggested. Without looking at her, Armand replied, "No, Christina. I want Katrina's answer from the heart, not from fear of retribution.” He leaned forward in his chair, his eyes holding Katrina's as if he might see through them into her mind. "Yes, Katrina. Continue." "I…would ask you…what you want me to do." "And if I were to say that I wanted you to stay here until your 424

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contract expires, to serve and be further trained?" Katrina swallowed, took a deep breath. "Then I would ask to…stay…to be allowed to complete my contract." There were elements both of satisfaction and triumph in Armand's smile. "Ah, Katrina, you cannot imagine how much that pleases me. And you shall stay, of course." Too late, Katrina reconsidered the implications of her decision. A moment of panic. Did she really speak those words? Had she gone quite mad? Although she made the choice freely, the knowledge that she was to remain in servitude when she might have had freedom now descended on her darkly. It was as if the huge oaken door at the entrance to Chateau Levequ had closed upon her soul. Should she recant, ask to be allowed to change her mind? But the opportunity passed, overtaken by events as Armand addressed Madam SIN. "Continue ,please, Christina." "May I use the glove now, Armand?" Madam SIN responded. "Of course, Christina. I have my answer. The proceedings from here on are in your hands, naturally." "Ming, the glove." Ming regarded Katrina through eyes bright with the light of eager expectation. Unable to suppress her natural reaction to this telltale warning sign, Katrina shivered in spite of the sun's warmth. It was only now that she noticed and recognized the ornate, ivory-inlaid box on Ming's lap. In response to Madam SIN's instruction, Ming rose from her chair and approached Katrina. She wore a Chinese cheongsam in black satin. Her shoes, though, were western style, also black, but with high stiletto heels. Her lipstick, an even darker shade of red than Katrina's, accentuated the callous anticipation in her smile. "Your hand." Katrina raised a trembling right hand to allow Ming to slip on the diamond-studded black glove. Satisfied that it was snugly in place on Katrina's hand and arm, Ming resumed her place, the polygraph in readiness on her lap. 425

Judith Now, Madam SIN looked at Katrina as a trial judge might. "Before we come to the main purpose of this morning's proceedings, you must answer some questions. Failure to answer truthfully will, I am sure you realize, result in punishment." The questioning, as far as Katrina could tell, lasted about twenty minutes, and turned out to be a greater ordeal than she could have imagined. All except Camille took part, interrogating her thoroughly on her most intimate thoughts and feelings concerning her experiences at Chateau Levequ. When it was over she felt emotionally drained, and had the strange sensation that she was now more naked than at any previous time in her life. This morning, it was not just her body, but her soul also that had been stripped bare before these men and women. It had taken considerable resolve on her part to avoid lying, but she had succeeded. This, at least, gave her some comfort— not just for its own sake, but because, she reasoned, she would now be spared punishment. But when, after announcing that the questioning was over, Madam SIN went on to address her further, Katrina's heart dropped. "Congratulations, Katrina. I think I speak for us all when I say that your responses to our questions were most gratifying, and demonstrated that you have learned much during your time here. And so we move on to the next stage of the proceedings, which will combine a further test of your progress with the meting out of outstanding punishment for your various misdeeds." "Misdeeds? But I haven't done…" Frowning, Madam SIN cut Katrina's protest short. "Katrina, I hope you are not about to contradict me…or question my authority." Katrina sensed the danger of the moment. "No, Madam SIN. No, of course not. I'm sorry." "You accept, then, that my judgment of your conduct, and the need for any remedial action is unquestionable?" Katrina bowed her head. "I do." Madam SIN allowed herself a thin smile. "Better. Ming, you may proceed." 426

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Placing the polygraph on the floor, Ming rose from her chair and approached Katrina again to remove the glove. Then, taking her by the arms, she turned her bodily and guided her toward a big, open display cabinet standing against the wall that faced the French windows. Whether the cabinet was there on her previous visit to Madam SIN's quarters, Katrina couldn’t be sure, but this was certainly the first time she had noticed it. Now that she saw its contents, she gasped involuntarily. Carefully displayed, like artifacts in a museum, was a diverse selection of whips, canes, switches and paddles— instruments with which she had become all too familiar through her training sessions with Ming. "Choose one," Ming said. Seeing the puzzled look on Katrina's face, Madam SIN said, "On the whole, Katrina, you have done very well here. So well, in fact, that I have decided to afford you the privilege of choosing the instrument of your own punishment. It is something of an honor, so choose wisely." Regarding the awesome collection, Katrina felt her knees weakening. An honor? Choose wisely? What could Madam SIN mean? "Choose." Ming's voice was low, dangerous now, impatience in her tone. Suddenly Katrina understood. Her choice was, in itself, a part of the test to which she was to be put. Raising a hand, she reached into the cabinet. It was an act of will, because she knew that very soon she would regret this moment. Her fingers closed around the hard, leather-bound handle of a very special whip—one which she knew was a favorite of Ming. It had a dozen slender leather tails, each filled with narrow slivers of lead, and inlaid with dozens of tiny freshwater pearls. Although a work of art, beautifully and ingeniously wrought, it was also fearsomely practical. At Ming's hands, Katrina had experienced all of the instruments in the cabinet at one time or another, but the whip she now held was the one she dreaded most— which, ironically, was why she chose it. The fact that she had made the right decision was confirmed now, as Ming took the instrument 427

Judith from her with a smile of satisfaction. "The Pearl Cat," Ming announced to the others over her shoulder. "Aah, an excellent choice," Madam SIN observed. "You have indeed learned well, Katrina." Then, turning aside to Armand, she added, "You can be proud of her, Armand. In the full knowledge of its potential, she has chosen – for your pleasure, I suspect—a fiendishly-crafted scourge of Ming's own design. Lead filaments sewn inside the tails give them just the right weight, while the soft, shiny pearls are capable of inflicting searing pain and raising painful welts without actually breaking the skin." Armand nodded slowly, without taking his eyes off Katrina. "I am impressed, Christina. You seem to have done a remarkable job." Madam SIN smiled. "We aim to meet your high standards, Armand—as you well know." Taking Katrina by the arm, Ming turned her around again and led her toward the French windows, where a low, circular wooden dais stood on the floor. Above the dais, suspended about eight feet above it by chains from a hook in the ceiling, hung a horizontal wooden spar. From each end of the spar, leather cuffs with silver buckles dangled from more chains. Since neither the dais nor the contraption above it were here on either of Katrina's previous visits to Madam SIN's quarters, she presumed they had been erected especially for this occasion. "Up onto the dais, Katrina," Ming instructed. Obediently, Katrina stepped up onto the wooden platform, her knees weakened by anxiety. On its surface, by her feet, lay a wooden rod about three feet in length, to each end of which were attached leather cuffs with silver buckles like the ones hanging from the wooden spar above. By now, her mind was reeling in a vortex of fear and speculation at the possible uses to which this strange equipment was be put. She had not to wait long for her answer. Picking up a black leather bag from the floor, Ming stepped onto the dais alongside Katrina. Placing the bag down beside her, Ming then took each of Katrina's arms in turn, extending and stretching 428

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them both sideways and up above her head to fasten her wrists to the leather cuffs on the spar. Spread-eagled thus, Katrina was very vulnerable, with only her feet capable of limited movement. But this, too, was to change. Lowering herself on one knee, Ming moved Katrina's feet so that they were about three feet apart—just the right distance to enable them to be secured in this position by the leather cuffs and buckles at either end of the wooden rod. This task completed, Ming rose and stepped back to the edge of the dais to regard Katrina with a professional eye. Her naked body now stretched in the shape of a letter 'X', Katrina was entirely exposed and totally vulnerable. She felt the familiar hot flush of shame burn her cheeks, then spread down her throat to her breasts, which had been thrust into taut prominence by the upward and outward stretching of her arms. "Ah, see, Armand," Madam SIN observed. "That delightful blush again. Don't you find it utterly charming?" "Indeed, Christina." Now, Ming was down on one knee again, removing things from the leather bag. When she rose again, Katrina recognized the shiny metallic objects in her hand. She sucked in a deep breath, bit her lower lip as Ming fixed one of the clamps to her left nipple, and began to screw it tight. She moaned softly as the metal bit into the soft, sensitive flesh of her nipple, knowing from experience that, although the pain would be bearable at first, it would grow worse the longer the clamp remained in place. When the first clamp was attached to Ming's satisfaction, she fixed a second to the other nipple, before kneeling on the dais again. Katrina flinched as Ming touched her sex, shuddered as the other woman's fingers slipped into her cleft, moving around experimentally, as if she were trying to make some sort of decision. Despite Katrina's distress and overwhelming sense of shame, Ming's probing fingers quickly stirred her arousal, prompting the seepage of moist, slippery fluid from her depths. Ming looked up at her and smiled slyly. 429

Judith "Ah, yes, that's better, Katrina. Much better." Reaching into the bag again, Ming withdrew a strange contraption Katrina had not seen before. Its general purpose, though, was not difficult to guess, since it included two artificial erect penises. Black and uncannily real in appearance, these were connected together by narrow leather straps to form a kind of G-string. Straining as best she could to look down at the other woman, Katrina flinched as Ming presented the head of one of the dildos to her vulva and began to insert it. "She's very wet," Ming announced loudly, to Katrina's further acute embarrassment, "which is good, because it means I can use her own secretion to lubricate the second one." Saying this, Ming thrust the dildo fully inside Katrina's sex, so that the curved molding at its base pressed firmly against her clitoris. "Aaah!" Katrina's belly and thigh muscles tautened instinctively at the sudden invasion. By now, Katrina's inner thighs were saturated, glistening with the copious outflow of fluid from her sex—a fact Ming exploited by liberally anointing her fingers and the second dildo with it. This done, she moved around behind Katrina, separating her buttocks with moist fingers. Katrina drew a sharp breath as Ming slowly inserted an index finger into the tiny, tightly clenched aperture that lay between them. She squirmed as the intruding finger slid back and forth several times, before eventually being withdrawn again. But now, Katrina braced herself, biting hard on her lower lip in anticipation as Ming placed the head of the second dildo firmly against her anus. "Ooh, please no!" Her plea was futile, of course, as was the reflexive clenching of her buttocks. As Ming had prophesied, the dildo was amply lubricated by the product of Katrina's own arousal. All of Katrina's muscles tightened, and a low, guttural groan escaped her lips as the instrument slid inexorably up inside her. Now satisfied that both artificial penises were fully embedded in her victim, Ming fastened the leather straps of the harness, so that one encircled Katrina's 430

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waist, while the other, to which the dildos were attached, ran down her belly and through her thighs, then up again tightly between her buttocks. Now very aroused, but terrified also, Katrina experienced another panic attack. "Oh, Armand, please…" "Yes, Katrina?" "I don't think I have the courage for this. Can I change my mind?" "Katrina!" Madam SIN snapped, her displeasure evident in her expression. "You disappoint me." Armand, though, seemed unperturbed. "About resolving our contract, you mean?" Katrina nodded, hesitantly. "Ye… Yes." "I'm afraid that option no longer exists, Katrina," Armand responded, stroking his jaw thoughtfully. "You chose to remain here. To continue with your training. That decision reinforced our contract. Of course, as before, you may still decide to leave here at any time, but… Well, you know the consequences." Disconsolate, Katrina sighed, allowing her head to fall forward. "It's your choice, Katrina. Do we proceed?" With an effort, Katrina raised her head again to look Armand in the eye. "I…" She paused, fantasizing desperately that he would relent, have her released, then take her to his bed to quench the shameful fire raging in her loins. There was, of course, no such response from Armand, and at length she closed her eyes, nodded slowly. "Yes," she whispered hoarsely. "May we begin, then?" Madam SIN asked. "Yes, Christina," Armand confirmed. "Carry on. Katrina has made her decision." "Please…" "Enough, Katrina," Madam SIN snapped impatiently. "You have chosen. Prepare yourself." But Katrina persisted, tears welling in her eyes, now. "No. Please, I'm…ready. Really I am. I just want to…to ask something first. 431

Judith Please." Armand stayed Madam SIN's imminent response with a hand gesture. "It's all right, Christina. What is it, Katrina? Ask." "May I know what you intend… I mean, what is to become of me. Is there really some purpose to all this other than just revenge for what I and my father did to you?" Armand sighed. "Katrina, have you forgotten? I told you at the outset that punishment and revenge were neither the sole nor main purpose of your contract with me. Of course, those things are a part of it, but the real objective is far more meaningful." "May I know what that…objective…is?" Armand smiled indulgently, as he might at a child who had asked a question, the answer to which clearly fell beyond its capacity to comprehend. "Not yet, Katrina. The time is not right. Indeed, it may never be. Much depends on how you fare today…and beyond, in the next stage of your contract." "Oh." Katrina lowered her head again in resignation. Ming stepped down from the dais. Stooping to pick up the leather bag, she walked to Armand, where she reached inside and produced a small, shiny black box with a switch on one side and two dials on the front. Smiling, she handed it to him. "I think you will appreciate this device, Armand." Taking it from her, he inspected it, his expression quizzical. "What is it?" "It's Ming's latest…invention," Madam SIN explained, with a conspiratorial smile at Ming. "Or rather, part of it. Like the truth glove, the harness in which Katrina is fastened is operated by remote control. What you have in your hands is the console." "But what does it actually do?" "Why don't you try it? You activate it by the switch on the side, then simply adjust the two dials to produce the desired effect." Katrina had hung on every word of this exchange. Although she had no idea what was the precise function of the device in Armand's hands, she had no doubt of one thing: that it was intended to 432

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contribute to her torment. Until now, the pain inflicted on her during her various punishment and training sessions, although severe at times, had at least been confined to her outward flesh. Now, it seemed, through Ming's diabolical ingenuity, she was to be tortured internally also. Worse, the focus of that torture was to be the most intimate and sensitive parts of her anatomy. Now, as Armand flicked the switch and moved his fingers to one of the dials, she bit her lower lip hard to force back a desperate compulsion to break her contract. Bracing herself for the electric shock she suspected was imminent, she willed him to do it quickly, now, before her resolve crumbled. Armand fixed her with his gaze as his fingers operated the dial. "Aaaaahhh." She was powerless to withhold the scream against the sheer intensity of the sensation deep within her sex; a shock, indeed, and one produced by electricity as she had anticipated, but surprisingly, the feeling it produced was not one of pain, but rather indescribable pleasure. The artificial penis inside her vulva had begun to vibrate and pulse and sort of…undulate, expanding and contracting inside her. It was, in fact, a mechanical fucking device that, in the sheer diversity and enormity of the sensations it imparted, was even more arousing and pleasurable than the real thing. "Ooh. Aah. Oh my! Please…n…no! Aaaah." Katrina writhed and wriggled like a woman possessed as Armand turned the dial further, thus increasing the speed and intensity of the sensations that spread from her clitoris to her womb. When he turned the second dial, the dildo inside her anus began to vibrate and undulate also. Seconds later, her entire consciousness imploded in soul-searing orgasm. Momentarily swept up in the ecstatic maelstrom of her senses, she was not aware that Ming had moved to stand close by the dais again, or that the Pearl Cat now dangled from her closed right hand. The dominatrix regarded her with darkly-gleaming eyes as she slowly raised her arm. A flat staccato crackle echoed from the paneled walls of the room 433

Judith as Ming laid the pearl-festooned tails of the whip upon Katrina's naked flesh. The stroke was delivered with the expertise of the practiced fly fisherman, effortlessly, but to optimum effectiveness. As the leather tendrils and the shiny nacre beads bit, Katrina's eyes widened in shock and pain. Her body stiffened, taut against her bonds, and her lips parted in a soundless scream. Wrapping around her back to lick viciously at her breasts, their sudden cruel embrace took her breath away so that, in the trauma of the moment, she could not even give voice to her anguish. It was as if she had stumbled naked into a web of white-hot wires. Ming laid on the second stroke even before the effects of the first had fully penetrated Katrina's consciousness. This time, the twelve tails struck almost simultaneously across her buttocks and waist, curling around her body to sting her thighs and belly. Now, she found her voice, her scream drowning the crackle of leather upon flesh as Ming delivered the third stroke. But before it could reach full pitch, her scream faltered, ebbing to become a tremulous wail as Armand delivered another surge of power from the console in his hands. The cunningly crafted electronic dildos lodged deep within her throbbed and pulsated again with renewed vigor. Pleasure merged with pain in a tidal wave of sensual ambiguity that engulfed Katrina’s entire nervous system. "Aaaahh! Oh, God! No. Please…I'm going to die." Straining desperately against the leather cuffs that held her captive, Katrina was perspiring heavily now, so that her body glistened in the sunlight streaming through the French windows. Variously screaming and wailing, moaning and sobbing, under the repeated onslaught upon her senses, she tossed her head frantically in her anguish, her hair flailing her shoulders and breasts in emulation of the Pearl Cat itself. Orgasm followed orgasm, even as leather and pearls, stinging like nettles of fire, raised into prominence over her body a fine latticework of delicate pink welts. Each of these phenomena, and more, were noticed and remarked upon admiringly by one or other of the onlookers, although Katrina 434

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was barely conscious of the fact. As her ordeal inexorably progressed, her screams lessened and eventually faded altogether. The twitching and jerking of her body in response to each successive stroke of the whip became increasingly analogous with the quivering and shuddering induced by repeated orgasm. At length, pain and pleasure, agony and ecstasy, became indistinguishable to her; her mind and body now entirely one with those phenomena, her existence crystallized within them. There was no conscious thought now, only feelings and sensations, and they melded into an indescribable hybrid. She had surrendered all will, was prepared to die like this, if that was what Armand wished. It would be a wonderful way to die; this was her last thought as she slipped into oblivion on the crest of yet another wave of anguished rapture. *** When she regained her senses, Katrina was lying on the carpeted floor of Madam SIN's quarters. With remarkable strength, Ming lifted her bodily to her feet, where she stood unsteadily, attempting to focus her thoughts. "Are you all right, my dear?" In her confusion, it was a moment before Katrina realized that Madam SIN was addressing her. "Ye… Yes, I think…so. Did I…?" "Mm?" "The…test," Katrina murmured, thickly. "Did I …pass?" Madam SIN smiled. "You did very well, Katrina. And you gave us all much pleasure." Katrina shifted her gaze from Madam SIN to Armand. Meeting her eyes, he nodded, slowly. "A good deal of pleasure, Katrina. I think you are ready to progress to the next phase of your contract." Emotionally strained almost beyond endurance from her experience, Katrina began to sob with joy. But her relief was to be 435

Judith short-lived. "Not quite, Armand,” Madam SIN said. “Have you forgotten? There is yet one more task Katrina must accomplish this morning." "Ah, yes, of course, Christina. You are right, I had forgotten." On hearing these words, Katrina's heart sank. One more task? What more could there be? And where would she find the resolve and fortitude to face it? "Ming. Are we ready?" "Quite ready, Christina," Ming replied, a half smile twitching at the corners of her cruel mouth. "Then let us proceed." Releasing Katrina's arm, Ming picked up a small brass hand bell from a nearby occasional table, and rang it. In response, a door off the balustraded gallery above creaked open. All in the room lifted their heads to look up at the gallery as a naked male figure stepped out through the open doorway and walked to the top of the wooden spiral stairway where he paused, resembling the proud, erotic figurehead of some ancient sailing ship. Panic and dread rose in Katrina's throat, threatening her consciousness again. She turned her gaze momentarily upon Camille, whose guilt-ridden expression confirmed her betrayal of her former mistress, then back on the figure at the top of the stairway. Her stomach churned and she began to tremble as Jacob started to descend the stairway, his eyes fixed firmly upon her. Although his face was expressionless, the monstrous erection protruding from his loins was quite unequivocal… End of Book One

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Author's note to her readers.

I

f you enjoyed this book, watch for the sequel, in which Katrina continues her indenture to Armand Levequ and eventually learns what her destiny is to be…if she has the commitment and fortitude to accept it. Before that, though, she comes to know both Madam SIN and Frederique much more intimately…and learns a startling but fascinating secret about the latter. To her delight, she is also presented with the opportunity to exact her 'revenge' on Carl and, even more rewarding, on Ming herself. In this, the second half of her indenture to Armand, Katrina's role at Chateau Levequ steadily evolves toward its ultimate crystallization, as does her relationship with visiting guests, whose various expectations and desires seem to know no bounds.