Chapter 4

The party had been on a houseboat in the bay.

When Paul arrived, and had been passed through the security guards on deck, he spent little time in boozing. He had one quick drink with the host and hostess-- president and recording secretary, respectively, of the secret Lucifer's Leather League -- - then headed into the main cabin, where things were starting to get exciting.

After watching the half-dozen couples in the salon for a few minutes, Paul went to the cabin his hostess had told him to use, and opened the compact overnight case he had brought.

In twenty minutes, he had stripped and then donned the skintight leather costume which had cost him close to two-hundred dollars. Coiled whip in hand, he left the small cabin and circulated in the salon. When he saw the tall, ripe blonde in the coarse suede peasant costume, he knew she was what he wanted. That large-boned frame was well-padded enough to sustain a lot of disciplinary punishment without much marking or other after- effects.

He headed toward her, and as he neared the spot where she stood, looking like a lost, frightened child in spite of her height, he spotted a muscular character in russet-brown leather briefs and jacket and matching shin-high boots -- apparently headed for the same quarry.

Paul got there first. He grabbed one of her limply dangling wrists and pulled it to him. Her blue eyes admitted his presence, and he could see the pent-up passion behind the icy wall in them, just waiting for the application of controlled punishment to release the Siberian tigress inside her.

"Have you been taken, slave?" he asked. Her eyes dropped, and he could barely hear her reply in the hum of the conversation and the tinkle of iced glasses. But her enunciation was sharp and clear in spite of the low volume.

"No, my lord!" she said. "I have just arrived."

"I take you for my own!" he thundered, in accordance with the club rules. He led her only one step before he found his path completely blocked by the massive man in russet-brown.

"Challenge of choice, by seniority!" rumbled the man. Paul eyed the sizable bulk, noticed the salt-and-pepper hair and matching mustache, the large hands with slender, spatulate fingers.

"Your code?" Paul asked, determined not to lose this particularly choice specimen he had collared unless it was unavoidable.

"M-thirty-one-C-ten-one-oh-eight," intoned the challenger.

"You may be my senior in years lived, but not as a League member," replied Paul. He grinned his triumph at the older man, and thanked his lucky stars he had joined when he did. "M-thirty- one-C-ten-oh-ninety-seven," he countered.

The gray-haired challenger frowned, then made a last attempt to get the slave of his choice.

"But I need her!" he explained. "My thing is too big for all of the others that haven't been taken." His expression indicated that he thought he had justified his challenge in another way, but Paul wasn't buying it.

"I don't care how damned big your thing is -- and, incidentally, how do you know mine isn't bigger, you braggart? -- this wench is officially mine, and I'm about to take her where I can put her through her paces."

"No! no! no!" protested the other. "You don't understand. My slave has to be able to take this inside her before the night is over." The hand he had kept at his side now brought up the coils of a whip. Its butt was an expertly sewed leather cylinder that appeared to be about two-and-one-quarter inches in diameter and at least eight inches in length.

The girl, still held by Paul's steely finger around her wrist, moaned as she eyed it, and pulled away from it as though it were a snake. Paul kept his grasp on the taut wrist while coolly addressing his erstwhile challenger.

"I'm afraid you'll have to satisfy yourself with using the other end of your thing tonight, friend, unless you're lucky enough to find another strapping specimen like this juicy wench, here."

He turned away from the dismayed challenger, feeling a little sorry for the man. He knew what it was like to anticipate a particular experience, then watch it go down the drain. He had been challenged once before, at an affair in the suburbs of Fresno. That time, he had lost a ripe slave that he had been drooling over for an hour. These days, he didn't waste time socializing after he had picked his victim for the evening.

He took the girl in tow, then moved her in front of him, making her clear the way across the floor. When he had her back in the smaller cabin where he had changed clothes, he flung her onto the rug and stood looking down at her.

The lash descended a split-second after he flipped it up into the air. It was the beginning of a long and fulfilling session for both of them.

When he had worked up a sweat with the effort of whipping her, she was a mass of jumping, quivering, wincing flesh, crying out to him for a brief respite from the biting lash. But the giving and taking of punishment had worked them both up to a fever pitch.

"Peel off your garment, wench!" he commanded, and stood with hands on hips as she hastened to remove the suede jumper. Then she was on hands and knees before him, awaiting his desires.

He looked at the animal beauty of her perspiration-damp body and let his gaze rove over her sleek flanks, the long arch of her back and the bowed neck. Her head was down, the long blonde hair sweeping the floor. He squatted to study the slight convexity of her belly and the hanging but firmly rounded breasts that now sported swollen nipples from the fierce reaction of her sexuality to the expertly administered punishment.

"Milk yourself, least!" he ordered. "If you can get any juice out of those heifer's teats, I'll spare you a little of the pain I intend to inflict later."

Her hands went to her nipples, and she stroked at them with her thumbs and forefingers, knowing the uselessness of her attempts, but automatically striving to comply with the commands of her master for the evening.

He let her work at the futile task for several minutes, interrupting her occasionally to make her use more force as she kneaded the tender sponges which were swelling more and more with the brutal treatment.

Then he lay down on the rug, whip coiled in one hand, and without turning his head to look at her, he issued another order.

"Give me suckle, wench. Perhaps I can draw that stubborn mink from your useless body."

She moved to place herself over him, and he caught a fleeting glimpse of the raw redness of one springy nipple as it passed over his eyes. Then the hot, throbbing sponge of flesh was touching his lips. He sucked it into his mouth and vacuumed at the swollen tidbit until his slave-girl moaned with the painful ecstasy of his efforts.

When he finally gave up the pretense of trying to draw fluid from the firm fullness of her udders, he began to bite the nipples, and she cried out with pain as he outraged the tender tissues. He relented and let the mouthful of protesting flesh slip from his lips.

She was gasping her agony, still on hands and knees, and when she could breathe freely enough to speak, he heard her plea.

"Please, my lord! Fuck me! The juice I could not give you at my miserable breasts is flowing like a river down my legs."

"Then turn around," he commanded. "Hang your juicy cunt over me so I can see if it pleases me." She whirled around, and as her thighs moved over him, she lowered her loins to place the wet slit of her crotch above his face.

He could smell the faint body musk of her perspiration mingled with the more exciting female scent of her dripping vulva. It gave him renewed interest in his slave. He reached up and pulled at her buttocks, forcing the parted slit of her cunt down to his lips.

He licked and tongued her, tasting the heated wetness of her passion, and decided that its bitchy odor and flavor was exciting. He sucked at the flowing slipperiness of her canyon until she gave great moans of pleasure, then he bit the tenderness of her engorged cuntlips, making her cry out for relief from the ecstatic pain.

Then he felt her mouth on his thigh, and he could feel the wet tonguing and nibbling as she worked her way around to his balls. When she sucked at the wrinkled skin of his sac, he groaned with the swelling engorgement of his rising cock.