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.
As the stiff flesh rose under her laboring mouth, she licked up its heated length, then seized the throbbing head in her lips and began to tongue and suck at it in a frenzy.
When he could sense his control slipping from him, he shoved her rudely away, then crawled to his hands and knees and mounted her as if she were a four-legged beast. She was whimpering and panting with her need, and as he slipped his fingers between her widespread thighs, he could feel the slimy flow of her passion trickling down over the creamy flesh.
He poised his cock at her portals, then shoved it hard into her open cunt. She squealed and grunted with the sudden fullness which swelled her passage, then began to work her hips in an effort to swallow the welcome flesh. Her struggles and his lusty thrusts soon had him inside her as far as he could go. His balls were slapping wetly against her belly with each plunge.
She made noisy, extremely vocal panting sounds as she sensed the urgency of a coming orgasm. He interpreted her oral soundtrack with expert awareness, and fucked harder to plunge his cock deep into her sloppy, pulsing cunt.
When the throes of passion seized her, he could feel the clutching grabs of the wrinkled tissues within her passage. They sucked and milked at his stiffness until he knew he was going to lose his grip any second.
He reached under her and grabbed a breast in each hand, massaging and kneading the large-nippled mounds in tempo with the beat of his pounding hips.
As the wail of her completion filled the room, he burst loose the dam of his own restraint and pressed to sink his pulsing cock deeply into the hot wetness of her spasming body.
She gasped with the hugeness of his blood-swollen prick as it filled her depths, then swelled in rhythmic pulses as his seed began to spurt heavily within her. It filled her few remaining crevices and then overflowed around the snug cork of his shaft and ran down her thighs.
His weight fell on her as the sudden loss of so much fluid made him weak and shaky. Then he slipped on her and lay on the floor. His hand reached out and grabbed her by the neck, then pulled her head toward him until she moved to follow his guidance.
She knew what he wanted, and her lips and tongue were soon working to clean him thoroughly. She licked at the hairy skin of his belly and loins, removing the moisture of their combined sweat and the musky juices of her own cunt. She lingered longer at the spots where his sticky white semen had back-flowed and matted the hair.
By the time she had cleansed his inner thighs and the wrinkled luggage of his balls, he had started to stiffen again. She washed the hardening shaft thoroughly, ending at the purplish tip with a series of circular lickings and alternate suckings.
He rumpled the long blonde hair with his fingers, then pulled her head closer as he fed her more of his meaty prick. She let it go in until it pressed at the back of her throat, relaxing expertly to keep from gagging as it filled her brutally.
Then she swallowed, making her epiglottis and soft palate massage the head of his cock. He groaned at the sensation, and she began to move her head up and down in long strokes, her lips and teeth teasing the sides of his thickened shaft. At the end of each upward stroke, she paused to suck deeply, then wiggle the tip of her pink tongue in the tight opening there.
In only a few minutes her efforts were rewarded. He felt the tingling surge as his seed gathered in his lows. He held her head as he fucked up into her mouth cruelly, burying his meat until his balls pressed around her lips.
Then his hot fluid was squirting in her throat. She let the pounding splashes accumulate for a bit, then swallowed some, again making that massaging action on the sensitive head. It seemed to draw out all his reserves, and he spurted until a dull ache spread through his belly and loins.
She let him withdraw from the warm moistness of her mouth, then licked and sucked at the dangling threads of sticky fluid that led from her lips to the softening shaft. She sucked the last pearly drop from the tender opening, making him groan louder than before.
The two of them lay limply on the rug until they gathered their reserves. Then Paul told her to dress, and put his own costume on while she fought her way into the tight suede jumper.
It was comparatively quiet in the large salon when they entered it. Couples and larger groups were clustered in several spots, but the only conversation was in tired, low tones. He led the way up on deck for some fresher, cooling air, and as they emerged just aft of the gangway, he saw a man crouched on his heels, leaning over a pile of something against the rail.
Light spilled out of the windows in the bridge above them, and Paul saw the face of his erstwhile challenger as the man looked up at the sounds of their approach. His face was sheet-white, and his eyes were frightened.
Then the face looked down, and Paul watched as the man reached into the pile before him. Paul could see now that it was a nude woman. From between her spread thighs, her attacker tugged something. It was his "thing" – the whip with the oversize butt. He tossed it over the rail into the sea, then rose to his feet in a crouching position and ran across the deck to disappear in the shadows of the starboard superstructure.
Paul and his slave needed only one look to see that the girl was dead. Her sightless eyes had filled with the reflection of great pain before they ceased to function.
Paul flipped the trigger of his butane lighter, and in the pale glow of its flame they could see the pool of blood on the deck beneath her hips and thighs, and the torn flesh of her crotch where the massive leather phallus had been forced into her cunt. There were still marks where a hand had covered her mouth to silence her screams of agony.
And on one calf and ankle were other marks: sticky white blobs of semen pumped over the struggling victim and deck as the perverted attacker blew his load with the enjoyment of the girl's brutal invasion by the murderous weapon.
Paul knew where to find his host, thanks to a previous party he had attended aboard the houseboat. He made the girl stay with the body while he went to report the tragedy.
An hour later, the police arrived. By then, all the guests were again dressed in proper evening wear, and the investigators found a very normal houseboat-party group reacting quite as might be expected after the brutal death in their midst.
Had the lawmen been able to see some of their marks of punishment which were hidden by clothing and cosmetics, a different sort of investigation would have been conducted. But the briefing of the guests by the cunning and determined host had been quite effective.
Questioning led to no clues whatsoever. The "couples" were all certain that they had never seen the victim before, and the host assured the police that she must have been about to crash the patty when her attacker followed her aboard, or else she was already being pursued along the dock and had not been quick enough to escape him.
Since Paul and his host had done a good job of tearing the clothes they brought from the dead girl's dressing room, and had scattered them around the deck near the body and burned her skimpy leather costume in the incinerator while the other guests were getting into gear for their official visitors, the theory seemed to be valid.
Although everyone was questioned and their identities recorded, the affair ended as another unsolved mystery on the police ledgers.
It wasn't too surprising that when Paul spotted the murderer at one of the hospitals in his territory, they had a lengthy private conversation. It was even less surprising that Dr. Stillwell was interested in joining Paul's foundation staff.
The isolated facility would not only allow him the sane freedom of research in his more legitimate efforts, but he was greedily eager to share the extracurricular activities that Paul promised him would be a regular part of the schedule.
The two girls Paul had kidnapped and transported in the hidden compartment of the slide-in service cabinets of the station wagon had been great for the fun and games shared by the doctor and his young partner. And there was more to come…