Chapter 7

Laurine relaxed on the old-style couch in the room. This was the first time she'd seen this particular arrangement in here. It was decorated in a style like a European villa circa 1940.

The dress she wore seemed to reinforce her idea that the next customer was on a fantasy trip involving this era. She was dressed up like a French noblewoman. The satin dress clung to her full figure and accentuated her every curve.

The way her tits pressed against the fabric told anyone looking that she wasn't wearing a bra. The nipples poked eagerly against the cloth and created little mountains of material washing away to all sides.

The deep plunging neckline of the dress revealed acres of her smooth flesh. Every move threatened to reveal just a little more of a bare tit. Hanging around her neck was an elegant emerald necklace. Laurine didn't know but suspected that the gems were real. The director of Love, Inc. did things first class.

Working for Love, Inc. certainly had its advantages. She was getting better money here than she ever could working as a secretary. Laughing to herself, she had to admit she was making better money than the heads of some companies, much less their secretaries.

She was in a quandary over what to tell Bill when she saw him next. The director still hadn't told her where Love, Inc. was located but she had lots of information about the organization sure to please Bill. But she was beginning to feel like a traitor. If she squealed to Bill and the cops busted the place, she'd be out of a job. A very high paying job.

Even worse to her way of thinking, all the exciting sex she was getting would be cut off.

Still, this was illegal. She couldn't allow an illegal operation to continue. Could she?

Her mental argument with herself was cut off by a timid knock on the door. Before she could reach the door and open it, a more forceful knock sounded, as if the man was gaining courage.

She opened it and gasped. Standing there was a man dressed like a Nazi colonel. He had the jet black uniform with silver chasing and high black leather knee boots. In one hand he carried a riding crop. And in the other was a pair of black leather gloves.

"Fraulein," he said, clicking his heels together in the best Prussian manner.

"I... uh, won't you come in?" She didn't know what to say. Of all the things Laurine had expected, seeing a Nazi Gestapo officer standing on the threshold was about the last.

"You are surprised to see me, eh?" he said in a silky smooth voice that hinted at hidden evil. "I wanted to personally interview you after you made a fool out of the captain."

She bit back the question, "What captain?" She had to play the man's game. That was what he was paying for, that was what she was being paid to do.

"He was an easy one to fool. You don't look like such a pushover, though," she told him.

"I am not." He prodded her with his riding crop. The way he ran it up and down the side of her dress was almost obscene in its familiarity. When he began pushing the tip into her left nipple, she took an involuntary step backward.

"You do not like me. That is fine. I do not like the French. Even more to the point, I do not like the French aristocracy, which you represent in all your decadent splendor. Look at that disgusting dress. I hate it!"

His boot heels clicked harshly on the wood floor as he took two swift steps toward her. His hand lashed out and he gripped the neckline in his hand. A quick jerk and he had ripped the fabric and left it dangling about her waist.

She was naked from the waist up now. Only the jewel necklace remained.

"What are you doing? My lovely dress is ruined!" The outburst on her part was entirely spontaneous. She was mad at him for ruining her clothing in such a brutal fashion.

A quick slash of the riding crop across her bare tits silenced her.

"You will speak only when I order you to do so. Now," he said, prodding her a little more with his riding crop, "do you still think you can make the fool of me that you did of my captain?"

"You? Hardly," she laughed. But it was a forced laugh. She was beginning to feel frightened of this man. His attitude told her he thought nothing of inflicting pain. The red welt across her tits pulsed with a dull ache. And she knew he would want to give her even more pain if the occasion arose.

"You haughty French bitches think you are too good for the likes of me. I was born a peasant. But I am no longer one. You are a sultry one. What do you think of making love to me?"

"No!" she blurted. The girl realized this was what the man wanted to hear. In spite of the pain he might give her, she had to give him what he was searching for. It was his fantasy trip, after all.

"No? I think I can persuade you." His fingers stroked over the remnants of the evening gown. She quivered in anticipation of him ripping the rest of the dress off her. She was taken by surprise when he used the gloves to slap her across the face.

She staggered back and fell to her knees. The pain throbbed fiercely in her bruised cheek. Each finger of the glove had left its own mark. She glared at him, hatred flaring in her eyes. She didn't have to act. The girl actually felt it.

"So the French bitch hates me, now. Good. I think I prefer it that way."

He discarded his gloves and began undoing his belt. The elaborate harness crossed his chest and was fastened front and back. He managed to get out of it in record time.

He advanced on her, the leather straps dangling from his fingers in a most menacing fashion.

"You fear me. I can tell. And it is smart of you to because I will give you excruciating pain. Such pain as you've never felt. And when you beg me to fuck you, then it will stop. But I must hear your shining voice begging me to stop."

She tried to get away from him but the tatters of her dress got in her way. Stumbling, she fell into a chair. He was on top of her in an instant.

Her heart raced as she looked up at the towering giant of a man. The black leather straps he swung back and forth in front of her eyes took on demonic proportions. What was he actually going to do to her?

Millions of horrible, degrading tortures flashed through her mind. Did he have a German shepherd dog outside, waiting for her? She shuddered at the thought of being forced to allow a dog to fuck her. Having that slimy dog's cock running over her sex lips and then thrusting up into her cunt while the dog panted in lust made her light-headed.

Or would he do something even worse? Would he actually torture her? He must know all the Nazi tricks. Having electric wires touched to her nipples and clitoris would be terrible. Her body would jerk and twitch as if in sheer lust for the man.

"Wh-what are you going to do?"

"You'll see, my sexy little French tart."

He slapped her with the palm of his hand. As the pain jabbed down into her neck from the twice-bruised cheek, the man quickly used the leather straps to bind her hands behind her back. Pulling her out of the chair, he threw her to the wood floor. She was on her knees.

He looked down and smiled. Such a sight! She was naked to the waist. Her firm, high tits bounced with barely suppressed fear. But the emotion was having the desired effect. Blood was hammering into her tits, expanding them in size and causing her nipples to turn a fiery red. The little mounds of erectile tissue were already hard as rocks.

She was becoming aroused. And all because of him!

The man licked his lips as he studied her. Each minute he stood silent, towering ominously over her, created even more tension between them. And he could stand there all night just drinking in her beauty. The light from the fireplace highlighted her features to perfection.

Her snowy white tits were firm and lush as newly picked apples. And the smooth plain of her belly with its deeply shadowed depression of navel beckoned to him. Most of all, seeing her with her hands bound behind her back, totally at his mercy, made his cock stiffen.

He walked around her, studying her from every angle. He picked up his discarded riding crop and stroked it along the girl's naked sides. Once, he jabbed it into the tip of her tit and watched her flinch. It might have been dipped in acid, so swift was her reaction.

"Would you care to suck on a man's prick?" he asked her in a calm conversational tone.

She spit at him. The tiny gobbet of spit hit him just below the knee and clung to his highly polished boot.

In the same calm tone, he ordered, "Lick it off. And while you're at it, lick the entire boot."

"Go to hell!"

She was rewarded with a quick blow from the riding crop. The red mark appeared instantly across her smooth back, marring its perfection.

"Don't make me do this again," he said, laying another blow across her back. "I don't want to hurt you!"

The girl glared at him, then awkwardly worked her way forward. When she was within proper distance, she bent forward at the waist and placed her cheek against the smooth black leather. Her tongue flicked out and snared the spit.