She Wanted The Whip
by Ted van Weston


FOREWORD

The theme is sado-masochism, and the prime instrument of this sexual pleasure comes 
from an exotic Oriental whip that Jimmy Johnson, a rugged war veteran of twenty-eight, 
brings back to New York with him. While in Asia, he'd seen it used to torture prisoners, and 
even en some of Asia's more exotic and erotic sex houses, he'd even watched men writhe in 
pleasure and lustful abandon when the whip treatment was applied, especially by ladies 
wielding the whip.

Jimmy, who obtains one of these special whips through contacts in the underground in 
Asia, returns to New York with a desire to see if American women are still as masochistic as 
;they were before he was shipped overseas. He intends to try out the whip on them; gently at 
first, just to test them, and see if they'll fuck him all that much more passionately with the whip
technique as prime stimulant.

He tries it out on the first few girls he meets, and is gratified by the response. However, 
he's still not quite prepared for the fantastic way it turns on Erica Schmidt, a lusty, lovely, 
long-haired blonde of twenty-four, who takes to the whip so well that she even shows him 
some fancy techniques to use that really turns her on and makes her the best thing he's had in
bed since he left exotic Asia.

One day, Erica introduces Jimmy to Baron von Stein, a sophisticated gentleman of 
forty-nine who has an authentic castle in upstate New York. He invites the two of them to visit 
him there to see all the exotic medieval torture machines he's had reconstructed and 
recreated.

The Baron's purpose, of course, is to take Erica away from Jimmy for himself. He almost 
succeeds until Jimmy, in desperation because he really digs Erica and her whip hang-ups, 
discovers some new uses for his exotic Oriental whip and beats the Baron at his own game.


CHAPTER ONE

"Oh, I love it, it's beautiful. Do it again. I really love it."

Jimmy "Johnson smiled. He hadn't even touched her yet, and the girl was hot and 
passionate already, screaming for sex.

Sex, yes; but the whip first.

Though he hadn't touched her, his whip had. He had been flagellating her gently, just 
below the breasts, as she lay naked on his bed.

She was one of those long-haired, baby-faced blondes one saw in profusion in the dating 
bars of the Upper East Side in New York. He had picked her up in one of them that very 
evening and brought her back to his one-room apartment on the Lower East Side. Not the 
most desirable neighborhood in Manhattan, but, since his army discharge-he hadn't gone 
back to work yet-all he could afford was that.

He looked at the girl again, lying on her back, her legs spread open in a V and her mouth, 
with its thick, pouting lips, opened in an O of ecstasy. He noticed her cunt lips chattering, her 
pubic hair dampening, and her body beginning to perspire.

It was quite a nice body-about five-five, with slender legs and bounteous breasts, her 
nipples as erect as a baby's fingers. Her blue eyes were burning with desire and her round, 
almost childish face was twisted into an expression of expectant passion.

Her eyes were still focused on the whip he held in his right hand. Not his cock, for he too 
was as naked as she, and his prick was long, lean, and nearly erect, its foreskin pulled back 
tightly and its tip as tapered and powerful as a fist-but the whip, as if it was a snake, getting 
ready to strike her again.

He had brought it back with him from Asia, where he had been a prisoner of war for a 
brief period. He had just missed getting the whip treatment himself; he and a few buddies had
managed to escape before that happened to him. He had seen other prisoners receive the 
whip torture, and what had happened to them afterwards was something he had erased from 
his memory banks for good.

The only thing he could not completely stamp out from his mind was the wild-eyed, 
almost psychopathic look on one man's face, when his captors had stopped whipping him. 
The man had almost had a catatonic withdrawal. He had become so accustomed to the sting 
of the whip that he had screamed for them not to stop whipping him! In short, he had grown 
to love being whipped, like a supreme masochist, which Jimmy definitely knew he was not.

Then, after his escape, he chanced to wander into an Asian house of pleasure, and lo and 
behold, there was the whip again, being wielded on male customers by demure Oriental 
ladies. The male customers lapped it up, digging it even more than fucking. However, Jimmy 
had stuck to fucking instead.

The whip, a very special kind of whip, had so intrigued him that he had managed to 
procure one himself, through contacts in the underground. Such an item was hardly sold in 
Hong Kong's Nathan Road tourist shops, for example.

"Roll over," he told the girl, "we'll try a little on your sweet ass."

She did as he commanded, raising her round buttocks high and giving him a quick grin of 
gratitude, even before he brought the whip down on her ass.

The whip was small, by Western standards, with a leather covering for the bamboo handle.
However, the handle itself was shaped like a phallus, and at its tip, where the cords were 
attached, it looked just like the tip of a man's prick in the throes of erection.

From that tip dangled six tough silk cords, in six different colors. Interspersed, embedded 
in the cords were several gleaming-pieces of cut glass with so many colors they looked like 
precious stones. When these pieces of glass were brought against a person's bare skin, well, it 
was the old sado-masochistic scene, pain that brings pleasure and makes the victim scream 
for more.

He brought the whip down on her buttocks. She shuddered and started moaning with lust.
Slowly, carefully, so as not to really hurt her-the glass fragments could slash flesh to ribbons if 
really applied hard-he worked the whip over all of her buttocks area.

He was somewhat of a sadist, but not an extreme one, hardly anything like the Marquis de 
Sade himself. He knew that women often wanted the added stimulus of pain before he gave 
them their pleasure, and he had often found that a little touch of sadism really got them 
going, sexually speaking. The whip, though, was really out of sight.

She was the third girl he'd tried it on. The first had come all over his sheets just a few 
seconds after the whip had touched her genitals. The second had leaped on him and insisted 
that he fuck her at the same time he was whipping her. With both of them, he hadn't fucked 
like that since leaving the Orient.

He began to move the whip along her back, all the way up to her neck. She was squirming 
like a snake now, and he could tell by the rising and falling of her body that she was almost 
jerking herself off with passion.

Not that he needed this weird whip to make out with the girls. No. Jimmy was a 
good-looking guy, looking younger than his twenty-eight years, with straight brown hair worn
down to the nape of his neck and with sideburns just at the bottom of his ears.

He was about six feet, lean but muscular, with broad sloping shoulders and trim legs. His 
face was oval and rugged, giving him a Lincolnesque look, and his dark brown eyes were 
almost hypnotic when he looked over the cunts-especially combined with his deep baritone 
voice, the effect was almost irresistible.

He glanced down at his crotch. ,His prick was nearly all the way up. Whipping this girl was 
stimulating him, as it had before; he thought that, without even touching this cunt, he'd been 
getting it up with no trouble at all. Ah, the whip. What sexual magic it does create.

Should he whip her genitals? No, not this time. But, why not her breasts?

"Turn over again, we're almost there," he told her.

Still moaning, she complied, but taking her time. As soon as she was flat on her back 
again, he began to apply the cords of the whip to her breasts.

He started with the deep cleft between both boobs, and began to work his way around 
the base of her breasts. He was stroking her with the whip as if he was fondling her body with 
his fingers; easy, gentle, but effective strokes. She was almost arching her back, and she was 
spreading her legs so widely he almost jumped right on her.

But, not just yet ... a little more of the whip.

As he whipped her, he checked her clit and cunt with his other hand. Her clit was erect, all 
right, and she really vibrated when he touched it. He got one finger just past her cunt lips, and
was pleased to notice that her vaginal walls were plenty wet.

He moved the whip over the tops of her tits, just barely touching her nipples. That really 
got her going. She began to arch her back like a cat in heat, and her legs spread out even 
more than before.

He thought, maybe I should give her the full treatment. Maybe I should whip her in the 
crotch. Not too hard, but just right. He stopped whipping her breasts.

She had had her eyes closed previously, but now she opened them. Again, she was staring 
at the whip, but this time her eyes would wander from the whip to his prick, which was fully 
erect now. He could feel his balls juicing, his scrotum almost bursting, and he could feel his 
prick standing straight out like a loaded gun.

He must be careful. He didn't want to have a premature ejaculation while whipping her in 
the pussy. It had almost happened before. He'd take it nice and easy this time.

He brought the whip down on her clit first. She almost jumped right out of bed. He could 
see her cunt shuddering, as if she was going to have an orgasm right on the spot. He wanted 
no more sticky sheets, so he moved the whip along the edge of her cunt lips and even got it 
entangled with some of her pubic hairs.

As he worked her over, she squirmed, twisted her body as if she was already fucking him. 
Her autoerotic movements excited him, again making him feel like firing off his load before he
was even inside her.

Wild, he thought. This whip really has power. It's given me the best fucking I've ever had, 
so far.

He stopped whipping her. He was ready to fuck. As he placed the whip away in a drawer in
his dresser, he hesitated for a brief second, wondering whether he should try a touch of the 
whip on himself.

Then he shook his head, his face grimacing as if the idea was quite distasteful to him. 
Indeed, it was. Yet, he could not forget the looks of gratification on some of the men he'd 
seen being whipped by those Oriental cunts.

Well, fuck that shit! If he was anything, it was a sadist, not a masochist. Let the chicks get 
their kicks from being whipped, not him.

She had closed her eyes again, he noticed, and her arms were reaching towards him. She 
wasn't moving as she was when he worked her over, but then her body was still squirming a 
little, reminding him that he should get fucking her, without any further delay.

He climbed into bed with her. He grabbed her by the hair and pulled her head back. She 
opened her eyes, looking at him with submission and desire, an expression of acquiescence all
over her face.

As he started to kiss her, she grabbed his cock and began to work it towards her cunt. His 
lips squashed against hers, and she felt his tongue slipping by her lips, probing into her 
mouth, reaching her tongue and entangling it inside her moist mouth.

Still holding her by the hair, he gave her some violent, hard-lipped kissing with a touch of 
teeth now on her lower lip. She squirmed in pleasure as she felt his teeth, and her tongue got 
loose now and was licking wildly at him. Yes, like most American women, she had her 
masochistic moments, most of the time with men.

She got his cock to her cunt lips. She rubbed it against her lips and they opened as if 
requested. She began to put him inside her and he could feel that lovely wetness of her 
membranes as his prick slid inside her pussy, inch by erectile inch.

Her cunt was tight, but not too tight. He was not uncomfortable getting himself inside at 
all. And when he had finally dug his way into her cave, he felt as if he was wedged in good 
and tight, but with a little space left to maneuver in.

He let go of her hair, and stopped kissing her. He dropped his hands around her neck, 
almost as if he was going to strangle her. He gripped her neck tightly, and he could feel the 
hardness of her nipples and the softness of her breasts against his chest.

She got her hands around his waist, and her fingers dropped to his-buttocks where she 
got a good grip and tried to pull him into her pussy even further than he already was. She 
began to hump as he started to pump, and he could feel her cunt membranes clutching his 
cock, almost in a death grip.

He began to move his cock around inside her cunt, touching every square inch of 
membrane he could find.

She was sweating, and their bodies felt almost as if glued together. The patina of 
perspiration was appearing on his own warm flesh, and he could almost taste salt.

He felt her start to go into orgasm, and her back arched and her pelvis gyrated wildly. He 
felt her juices flowing, lubricating his cock, clutching at it and trying to make it come.

He held back, waiting for the best moment to really sock it to her-good and hard.

She was practically into convulsions now, her cunt churning like a washing machine, and 
the pressure on his prick was tremendous. He was really straining now to hold back his own 
tidal wave, for just a few moments more; the timing had to be just right.

Finally, as she approached the crest of an orgasm, he let loose his big gun. He came.

His sperm spurted into her pussy in a steady, sticky stream, filling her cavity with his hot 
come. His prick buckled like a steel girder under intense pressure, and he could feel his sperm 
still streaming out, her pussy membranes clutching eagerly at his member.

He kept at it until he had no more sperm to give her, even though her cunt was still 
churning. But he couldn't let her have the last word, so to speak. He had to be the one who 
finished last, not her.

There was but one way to make sure of that. He gave her a few more final jabs with his 
cock, feeling her cunt absorb his jolts as if it was made of sponge rubber.

Then, pulling his dripping prick from her pussy, he administered the sexual coup de grace 
to her by whacking her in the face with his prick, as if it was the whip.

CHAPTER TWO

Jimmy was lying naked on his bed, swinging the whip in a short, cutting circle, slashing at 
his pin-ups that were hanging on the wall.

He lived in a walk-up brownstone, a one-bedroom affair whose rooms were little larger 
than clothes closets. But it was the only place he could have gotten on such short notice, just 
getting out of the service. It would do until he could find something better; or, get a job, 
which he would have to get around to doing one of these days.

No hurry about that, though, not as long as he was getting his unemployment 
compensation from New York State. As a veteran, he was entitled to it, so he was taking it. 
He'd take it easy around New York for a while; fuck around, have some fun, look for 
work-later.

He flicked the whip again, getting a big-busted blonde right in the cunt. True, it was only a
color photograph, a reproduction from a man's magazine, like all the rest he had decorated 
the otherwise barren walls of his apartment with. Hardly the real thing, yet.

His apartment was furnished, but the junk was about a generation gap old. Still, there were
no loose springs in the bed or on the chair or sofa, even though the furniture and the 
upholstery had seen better days. Still, he wasn't living in a Bowery bum's flophouse either, and
he kept the place pretty well cleaned up, for he was fastidious about something like that.

This time, he got a good rip in the paper where a redhead's left tit had been. He laughed; 
if that had been real life, she'd be screaming like shit.

He glanced at his cock. It was starting to swing into erection, to rise to the provocation. He
could see the foreskin being pulled back as, like a cobra from its basket, it began to sway 
slightly.

If he was really a masochist, he would whack his prick on the tip with his whip. He laughed 
out loud at the thought of him whipping his own prick, his own instrument of sexual pleasure. 
No chance of that shit. No sir, not with Jimmy Johnson. He'd jerk himself off first.

He needed a smoke. He reached for the table beside his bed, picking up a long brown 
cigar and a jeweled cigarette lighter which he'd brought back from Asia. He lit up his cigar and
relaxed again, exhaling deep puffs of thick cigar smoke.

Nothing like a cigar to make a man feel like a man, he thought. Always impresses the 
broads, too; they think it looks like a cock, ready for their cunts.

He lay back, contented, smoking his cigar. He idly flicked the whip about in the air, aiming 
it at no picture or place in particular. With the weighted strands, it made a sort of sizzling 
noise as he flicked it back and forth.

The phone rang. "Hello?"

"Is this Jimmy? Jimmy Johnson?"

"Nobody else lives here by that name."

There was another pause on the other end of the line. He thought, stupid broad doesn't 
understand English. She should go back to kindergarten.

"Yes, this is Jimmy. Who's this?"

The girl went into a short spiel about how she'd met him at a party or a bar or some place,
and wanted to invite him to a party her girl friend was giving. Was he available? Did he mind 
getting such short notice? The party was just starting right now.

He didn't give a flying fuck, one way or the other. "Give me the address. I'll be around in 
an hour."

She did, thanked him profusely, and hung up. He not only didn't know the dumb cunt, he 
didn't even remember meeting her in the first place.

Well, what the fuck. A party's a party. Might be some horny cunts walking around looking 
for a good stiff cock to be jabbed into them. Or a little whipping around the asshole, maybe. 
He'd soon see.

He put the whip away after he got up and went into the bathroom to take a shower. He 
shaved and dressed, putting on a pair of blue denim pants and matching jacket. The ensemble
was, of course, the height of fashion at the moment-the older the clothes, the younger one 
looked-and it also gave him a certain toughness of appearance that seemed to turn the chicks
on, the type of chicks he was most interested in.

He walked over to 79th Street and caught a cross-town bus to First Avenue. The broad's 
place was in the upper 80's, but he didn't mind the walk. It was a nice night and not too 
fucking cold, either.

The building was one of those steel and glass motherfuckers about forty floors high, with 
an old fart of a uniformed doorman giving him the evil eye as if he was trying to rip off the 
fucking building.

Still, when the doorman finally got around to ringing the apartment and telling them who 
was there, he got a go-ahead from whichever girl answered, so he let Jimmy in, smoking cigar 
and all.

Jimmy rode the elevator to the twenty-eighth floor, got out, followed the sound of the 
crowd, and was soon inside the apartment, which was padded wall-to-wall with people.

Nobody asked him who he was as he pushed his way inside, but a couple of cunts looked 
insulted as he blew cigar smoke in their direction, which he couldn't help. He had to exhale, 
and that was that.

He noticed that most of the people were dressed rather casually, except for a few foppish 
types in suits and one or two in dinner jackets and black ties. Fuck that shit. The more casual 
the clothing, the better he liked it, especially after two years of wearing a motherfucking 
uniform and shining his shoes every fucking day.

He found the bar, and asked for a bourbon and ginger ale. The bartender raised his 
eyebrows as if to signify that was a drink almost beneath him to mix. But Jimmy finally got his 
taste, so he started walking around, as best as he could push his way through the crowd, 
seeing what kind of snatch was available.

There were some very good-looking chicks, he noticed. He didn't see the girl who'd called 
him, or heard her voice among the mumblings of the guests. He probably wouldn't recognize 
her anyway. So what?

He started talking to a redhead with big tits and a wide open pair of soft blue eyes who 
seemed to be hanging on his every word about "how I beat the shit out of the gooks when I 
was an Army captain" until her boyfriend came back from the bar and strongly implied that he
should seek his female companionship elsewhere.

He finished his drink and got the bartender to give him another. His cigar was about half 
smoked, as he wandered from room to room looking for something that might give him a fast
fuck. There were three bedrooms in the place, all packed with people in various positions.

When a blonde at the far end of the living room caught his eyes, he felt relieved. From 
what he could see, she was a tall, very sophisticated looking chick with a sort of autocratic way
she had of holding her head. She was surrounded by a group of guys, all of whom were trying
to cut each other out, it looked to him.

But, there was an aura about her, almost of danger, something unsaid, something 
mysterious. He could almost sense her vibrations from across the room.

"Hi, handsome, what are you doing for the rest of the evening?"

He felt a pair of boobs brushing against his back. He turned around. There was a cute little
cunt, another blonde, this one obviously bleached, who was giving him the eye, and had her 
pouting mouth open so that a touch of her tongue was showing.

Under normal circumstances, he wouldn't have wasted a second, he would have just 
hustled this cunt right out of the apartment and right into his bed. But the other blonde he 
wanted to check her out up close.

"Got to see a girl about a cat. Sorry, I've got to split for now. Maybe I'll catch you later, 
huh?"

As he moved away, he heard her saying, "Fuck you, Jack," under her breath. So what?

He finally managed to push his way closer so that now he was only a few feet from the 
mysterious blonde. Despite the guys crowding around her, he managed to look her over real 
good.

She was tall, all right. He estimated about five feet nine or ten. She was wearing a pants 
suit that seemed to be contour-cut, tailored as tightly as a knit dress, showing off a 
voluptuous figure and a set of tits that must have been at least thirty-seven or thirty-eight, 
probably a "C" cup. Her curves looked like they were all in the right places, too.

Her hair was tawny blonde, almost like a leopard or tiger in its dark coloring. She wore it 
long, loose, and swinging over her shoulders, brushed back from her forehead with no part. 
Her eyes were more green than blue. Cool, yet still sensuous. Her eyebrows were almost as 
subtly slanted as an Oriental. Her face was a balanced oval, her mouth thick-lipped but her 
nose pert.

"No, I've never been to Japan," she was saying, her voice low-pitched, almost husky, and 
very sexy.

She was apparently answering a question from the guy on her right, a short, 
cloddy-looking guy who was going bald at the temples, and who seemed to be panting as he 
talked to her.

He thought, now's the time to light up a cigar. So, he did. As he took a couple of puffs, he 
suddenly realized that, almost as if he'd coordinated the movements himself, his prick was 
starting to come to attention.

He thought, this cunt is really getting my cock hot to trot. Good thing it's so fucking 
crowded. If I do get a hard-on, nobody'll notice it.

He could feel the throbbing in his crotch, and he took a few more puffs of his cigar, almost
thinking his cigar was a sort of surrogate cock in his mouth. Yet, his cigar was power, a strong 
visual element in his relationships with the opposite sex.

"I've been to Japan, but it's not all that great," he suddenly said, loud enough to attract the
crowd's attention, and hers.

Most of the guys sort of glared at him, a few were almost indifferent; they didn't like 
having another guy hustling after the blonde, but the girl gave him a cool, quick appraisal 
with her eyes, and her mouth started to curve into the outline of a smile.

He quickly kept talking, adding, "What I mean is, they think so differently from us, their 
culture is like thousands of years old. It's a big readjustment we have to make, and it's a pain 
in the ass, really. Let them adjust to us until they become more powerful than America."

He paused for effect, blowing smoke rings over the crowd. The girl really had her eyes on 
him now, and he really felt turned on himself.

He concluded his little speech with, "When they've produced more cars and TV sets than 
us, then we can adjust to them, like we'll have to. But for now, if they don't want to learn 
English, well, I'll be screwed before I learn Japanese, that's for sure."

A few mutters of "chauvinist" and "America-firster" were heard. But the girl was now 
openly admiring him. She pushed her way through the other guys and stood right in front of 
him. She was even taller than he'd originally thought. The top of her head came right up to his
eyebrows, looking directly into his eyes.

She said, "That was well said, sir. I'm Erica Schmidt, by the way. I don't believe we've met."

He said quickly, "I'll tell you who I am, Erica, after we retire to a quiet corner." He glanced 
around. "So we can be by ourselves, if you know what I mean."

He could hear the guys muttering. He'd bet they were getting pissed off, having their 
lovely snatched away like that. So what? If they don't like it, fuck 'em!

"I understand," she said.

She let him lead her. He made a path for them by brandishing his cigar as if it was a 
weapon. He moved away from the still-grumbling guys toward the other end of the room. He 
noticed a few trying to follow, so he took hold of her hand, her skin was as soft as a child's. 
She would tell him later that she was only twenty-four.

They tried all the bedrooms, which were still packed with people. Then, an idea hit him.

"Let's go in here," he said, opening a door and quickly looking inside. He noted with 
satisfaction that the room was empty, so he got her inside and locked the door.

It was the bathroom. She didn't seem to mind, or even to be surprised. She just sat down 
on the edge of the bathtub, still holding her drink. It looked like a martini.

"I like a man who smokes cigars," she said, as if delivering a royal proclamation. There was 
a touch of regal upbringing about her, it seemed.

"So do I, starting with myself," he said. She laughed.

"Did you know that I'm descended from a lineage of kings and queens? A long line of 
German nobility?" She paused. "Our family once owned a castle on the Rhine," she sighed as 
she said it.

"What happened to your family castle?"

"You Americans bombed it during World War II."

"Sorry about that, but I was just in kindergarten at the time."

"That's all right. I'm an American citizen anyway."

"You're a queen, too," he suddenly blurted out, and then, without looking down, realized 
that his prick was straining at the leash, so to speak.

He could really feel it getting stiffer, and it was about ready to break loose from his pants. 
He hoped it didn't look too obvious to her, but he could hardly afford to look down at his 
crotch himself without getting embarrassed.

"Oh, thank you for the compliment," she said, and he noticed that her eyes now lowered 
themselves, so that she was staring straight ahead at his crotch.

"Cigars are so masculine. I love being made love to by a man with a cigar."

He wasn't sure if she was putting him on or not.

"By the way, what's your name?" she asked. "You know my name. It's only fair for me to 
know yours."

She was looking into his eyes again, and her strange orbs looked more mysterious by the 
minute. He told her.

"Oh, that's a very masculine name, I think," she said, admiringly. "Yes, I think I like that. 
Jimmy-" She almost sighed the name. "That denotes a certain cockiness, I would say."

He thought, you're so right, baby. My cock's really going for you in a big fucking way.

He puffed on his cigar. She seemed to almost inhale the smoke from the cigar as he did 
so. She looked at him and said, "May I try it?"

"Try what?"

"Try your cigar, of course?"

He handed it to her. She stuck it into her mouth, and tried to take a few puffs. She 
coughed a few times, but managed to keep it lit, and keep it in her mouth.

From the way she wrapped her lips around it, it looked just like she was sucking cock.

Then, he couldn't help it. He was getting too fucking horny and his hard-on wasn't going 
any further down. Just the way she looked while trying to smoke his cigar made him unzip his 
fly and whip out his cock, and he was surprised to hear himself saying, "Why don't you try 
this? It's a lot better than any cigar you'll ever smoke."

"I beg your pardon?"

She looked at him with loathing. Distaste and disgust were on her face. She started to 
hand his cigar back to him.

When he grabbed it right out of her hand, he stuck it into his mouth, taking several deep, 
almost savage puffs as, simultaneously, he began to smack her in the mouth with his prick.

Yes, he was suddenly cock-whipping her. It was instinctive, almost intuitive, with him. She'd
asked for it, and she was going to get it. Since he didn't have the whip with him, his prick 
would be like a whip, showing her who the fuck was in charge here.

Smack, smack, "smack. She just sat there taking it, not moving a muscle. She wasn't even 
crying, much less attempting to scream, as he released his fury and frustration by smacking 
first her right cheek, then her left, with his cock. Suddenly he stopped. He realized that it didn't
seem to be affecting her in the least. Just that her face was red, almost raw, where he'd been 
whacking her.

Even his own cock was sore from smacking her. He just stood there, almost amazed at her 
tranquility, as he continued to puff his cigar until the bathroom was getting cloudy from the 
cigar smoke.

Finally, she looked up, giving him a sad sort of smile and said softly, "I needed that. I 
wasn't treating you properly and politely. I deserved that."

"I'm sorry," he mumbled, temporarily taken aback by her sudden change of attitude.

"Don't be. I like what you did."

She began to remove the upper part of her pants suit, right before his startled eyes. When 
she took off her bra, too, he could really see the huge tits she had on her.

They were huge. It would take two hands of his to hold one of them. They were firm, 
despite their size, and stuck out like two ice cream cones, their nipples almost as long as his 
little finger, taut and tempting. Her skin was so white, so soft, and her big breasts were so 
smooth that he could hardly help reaching for them.

"No, not that."

He stopped for a second.

"I want you to whip them."

He didn't say anything. He was beginning to wonder what kind of a weird broad he was 
getting involved with.

"If a woman asks a man to do her a favor, doesn't the man usually respond?" she asked, 
pointedly.

He thought, all right, baby, you asked for it. Smack, smack! Right on the tits he smacked 
her with his cock.

Back and forth, on the top of her tits, on the nipples, on the bottom, the cleft between her 
breasts. He kept whacking her until his cock was as sore as if he'd shoved it into an overly 
tight cunt.

When he had finished, her breasts and the surrounding skin areas were just as red and raw
as her cheeks. But, he did notice a difference this time.

Her eyes were getting like a blue-green flame from the burning. She was getting aroused, 
all right, because he could almost smell her pussy juice, and he could see that her crotch was 
beginning to move. She was beginning to squirm in her position seated on the edge of the 
bathtub.

"Stand up," he said, "and let's get the rest of those clothes off."

She slowly stood up, her muscles moving like an animal's, as she stripped off the rest of 
her clothes.

Her legs, were as magnificent as he'd thought, well-tapered and slim. Her waist was trim, 
her stomach flat. Her pubic hairs were the same shade as those on top of her head.

Her cunt was partially open. The lips were parted as if trying to make conversation, and he 
could see the pinkness of her membranes inside.

Her swollen clitoris extended beyond her pussy lips. It was as long as her nipples.

"Just keep standing there," he said, really feeling his cock becoming even more excited 
with every second that passed.

He started whipping her crotch. He got her clit with his cock, as well as hitting her cunt 
lips. He was really working out on her and enjoying every stroke he gave her. She just stood 
there, smiling enigmatically, apparently digging it as much as he was.

Finally, he had to stop. His sperm was backed up in his balls, and his prick was vibrating 
like a tuning fork. He wanted to fuck her too, and he certainly didn't want to shoot off his 
sperm by accident. Not until he got his cock stuffed firmly inside her cunt, he didn't.

He noticed that her face was as flushed with color as the rest of her body. She was really 
savoring the workout he'd given her.

He looked down at his cock. It was just about as raw. It looked like a real hot dog, hanging
out from his pants.

"It's very nice," she said, pointing at his prick. "But why don't you take off your clothes, 
too?" Then she winked conspiratorially at him saying, "Or would you rather do it with your 
clothes on?"

He laughed. "I'd rather do it, period."

"Then let me help you off with those clothes."

She unbuttoned his denim jacket and pulled the crew-neck T-shirt he was wearing 
underneath the jacket over his head.

"I like all that hair on your chest. Let me feel it," she said, curling some of his chest hair on 
her fingers. To her it felt almost like barbed wire, light years removed from the silkiness of her 
pubic hairs, for example, and she said so.

"It feels like steel wool, and that's the way I like it."

Her voice seemed to be getting lower and lower Ur the vocal register. It was smoky and 
sensuous, and he was really feeling like fucking her. She was a real masochist, he thought. A 
prime cut, and he was going to love to really cut her cunt with his cock. He hoped it would be 
like a knife slicing into butter.

"While you're playing with my chest hairs, I'll just take off the rest of my clothes."

"No, let me help you."

She let go of his chest hairs and unbuckled his belt. He dropped his trousers and she got 
down on the floor and untied his shoes.

"Please sit down on the edge of the bathtub," she said, "so that I can get the rest of your 
clothes off."

He did.

As he held out his legs, she got his shoes and socks off, then his pants. This time he got up
again so that she could slip off his shorts, and as she did, she took hold of his prick with her 
fingers, as if cunt. Her vaginal muscles hastily accommodated the new visitor, and he could 
almost exploded on the spot.

"Don't do that," he said.

"I know, but I like it so hard like a whip. I love you when you whip me like that."

"Wait until you see my real whip," he said, almost bragging, thinking of the way her eyes 
would really come alive when she saw it.

"When will I see it?" she said, eagerly, scratching him on the scrotum.

"Right after we fuck."

"Then let's fuck, shall we?"

"Sure. Get in the tub."

She hesitated, as if she'd misunderstood what he'd said. He whacked her on the stomach 
with his cock and repeated, "Get in the bathtub, or shall I fuck you on the floor?"

"All right," she said, almost meekly.

As she climbed into the tub, he marveled at the wondrous curves on her ass, the way the 
cheeks held together just like a child's. Maybe he'd fuck her in the asshole some time, just to 
see how it felt. But for now, it was strictly front door, as he followed her into the tub and came
down on her.

He felt her marvelous breasts pressing needle-hard with their nipples against his chest as 
he lowered his body upon hers. His cock tickled her cunt lips, and they began to open to allow
him entrance.

With one single, all-consuming thrust, he drove his dick right into her, propelling it 
forward like a guided missile, slamming it like a cartridge shell into her cunt.

She gulped, gasping in surprise, as his swollen cock penetrated her cunt. Her vaginal 
muscles hastily accommodated the new visitor, and he could feel that her pussy was a good 
sized one, but not so large that he was loose in her. No, she held him tightly. He was all the 
way in now.

She started to come, her juices flowing freely, and she reached around his waist and got a 
good grip with her fingernails into his buttocks. He could feel the pressure of her nails, so he 
began to pound her pussy with his prick, driving her like a truck, ready to fuck.

As he pounded away, he could feel her really going into orgasm. She was starting to 
sweat, and he got hold of her long hair and began to pull it, to yank at it, to show her where 
the power was.

She whimpered like an animal, then moved her head, as best as she could, around to the 
side of his head so she could lick his ears.

He felt her tongue snake inside his ears like a cock into a cunt, as she started to lick his 
wax right off.

He felt her pussy muscles really clutching his cock, and he drove himself even deeper in 
her until his aching cock, ready to burst, exploded.

He came, slamming her buttocks against the bottom of the bathtub. He blasted off a 
clean, surging spurt of sperm that had her cunt crying for more, as her pussy muscles clutched
at his exploding cock. She felt his clear, sticky liquid penetrate her sexual consciousness, and 
she was crying for more with every passing second.

He fucked her until he was ready to collapse, but still, she kept moaning, "More, more!"

"I'll give you more!" he almost shouted, whipping his cock loose from her cunt. "Try this for
size!"

With his dripping cock, he began to smack her in the chops again, as she kept crying for, 
"More, more."

CHAPTER THREE

It was quite late in the day when Jimmy woke up in his own double bed, its springs still 
squeaking from all the accumulated action of the night before. And he wasn't alone.

Erica Schmidt was right beside him, her buxom body squeezed comfortably next to his, her
soft skin radiating warmth, as she continued to sleep. There was a mischievous, pixish smile on
her sensuous lips, and her hand would reach across Jimmy's back and her fingernails would 
scratch affectionately at his flesh, as if she was reassured in her dream state that his masculine 
body was still reclining next to hers.

But Jimmy didn't exactly dig all that fingernail jazz from Erica. Sometimes it hurt, and when
it did, it hurt her, too.

Smack! He whacked her a good one on her bottom with the back of his hand. She stirred 
uneasily, and began to waken. She mumbled, "Oh, that feels so good."

Then her eyes popped open and she saw Jimmy, who was half-rising, his long, lean frame 
towering over her recumbent form.

Since they were both sleeping naked, she had no problem in turning her head and kissing 
him on the cock.

It was her form of obedience, her way of bowing down to his superior masculine authority.
He had taught her that trick just last night, the way he liked it.

She kissed him right on the tip, her sucking mouth making strange sounds as he felt the 
pressure of her lips against the tip of his prick. Then she released his member and smiled up at
him.

"Good morning," she said. But even those two words were charged with sex. Everything 
she said, every move she made seemed to be sexually based, if not sexually inclined, as well.

He had never met a girl who seemed to sexually involve herself with everything, or, who 
was just the right degree-or, so far, so she seemed-of masochism to his sadism. It was not all 
that severe, just practical, and laced with power drives.

"Hi," he said, laconically. Then, as an afterthought, he added, "I guess you won't make it to 
work today, will you?"

"What work?"

"I thought you said you were an artist, a painter."

"I am." She looked at him coolly, almost pouting. "But what has that to do with work?"

"I don't understand-" he shrugged.

"I'll explain. I am a painter, but I don't work for an art studio or a magazine, or anything 
like that. I'm not a commercial artist," she said. "I paint for my own pleasure, the way an artist 
should."

"Sometimes artists have been known to starve."

"Not this artist," she replied, emphatically. "I have an outside income."

"I'll move right in with you tomorrow," he said, jocularly.

To his surprise she looked at him as if she thought he meant it, and said evenly, "My 
meager income is just enough to take care of myself, thank you anyway. But, if I had more," 
she patted his prick, "I'd love to have you live with me, Jimmy."

He thought, weird, another weird broad, but at least she really fucks and sucks, and she 
loves to have me whip it to her just the way I like.

She told him that, after her parents had died, all that was in the estate was a few stocks 
and bonds that paid her an annuity, a matter of a few thousand each year, and it was hardly 
worth her while to cash them in because if she did and spent the money, what would she do 
then for more money?

He made a mental note to check into her finances. He had friends who could do that sort 
of thing for him. He'd find out just how much bread she was worth, one way or another.

The thought of food soon drove the mention of money from his mind. Patting his 
stomach, he said, "I'm hungry. Get up and cook me breakfast." Then as an afterthought, he 
whispered in her ear, "Pretty please, pretty pussy."

"Whatever you say, oh stern master," she said.

But she didn't say it in a jocular way, as he had. She meant what she said, understood that 
he was her master, indeed.

As he lay back in bed, he flicked on the radio by the bedside, bringing some fine rock 
music into the room. He snapped his fingers a few times to the beat, and it wasn't long before
she came back with a breakfast tray full of goodies he'd asked her to cook up.

Buttered toast, fried bacon, scrambled eggs, black coffee, and a big black cigar.

"Light me up," he said.

He lit his cigar, took a few puffs, and handed it to her to try her luck again. This time she 
looked a bit more natural while trying to handle it than she had previously. She still looked 
like a girl sucking cock as she did so.

He took the cigar back, puffing contentedly, while the rock music kept coming from the 
radio. She crawled back in bed, and they balanced the tray on their stomachs. He reached over
and squeezed her big tits, tweaking her nipples between his thumbs and forefingers. They 
were quite responsive, hardening faster than glue.

She fed him his breakfast, as he told her to. As she fed him, he kept playing with her 
breasts. He was still amazed at their size, and he wished that he was like an octopus, so he'd 
have eight hands to work her over with.

"Not bad," he said, approving of the bacon she'd placed on the toast. "Not too greasy. 
You're not a bad cook, baby, not bad at all."

"Are you talking about my culinary achievements, or my mammary appendages?"

"Huh?" He was momentarily surprised by her display of language.

She laughed and explained that she was saying, "Do you like my cooking or my breasts 
better?"

He chuckled answering, "Your breasts. Anyone can learn to cook, but those big boobs of 
yours are strictly your own."

"I'm glad you approve."

"If I didn't, I'd cut them off."

"Would you now?"

He didn't like the sound of her voice, her tone. He squeezed her nipples at the tip of her 
breasts, very hard, until he saw a few wrinkles of pain crease her face. But she said nothing, so 
he released her tits, and coolly but firmly said, "I mean what I say. Always remember that and 
we'll get along fine."

She nodded in agreement.

He played with her clit for a while, noticing the change of expression of her face, the 
heating up of her body temperature, the increased movements of her body itself.

He even gave her clitoris as good, if not better a squeeze that he'd given her titties, just to 
make sure she had learned her lesson properly. She had. Her moans told him so.

He was really beginning to enjoy this broad. So far, she was the best he'd met since he 
returned to New York. He had never thought much of New York women in the first place, 
considering most of them superficial, spoiled children who, just because they were living in 
New York, thought they had golden cunts.

After a while, he went into the bathroom to brush his teeth. He always did that after each 
meal. He was quite fastidious about his health. He usually did fifty push-ups and other 
exercises in the morning, but for obvious reasons, not this time.

When he returned to the bedroom, Erica was lying on top of the sheets, her buttocks 
pointing toward the ceiling. She was moving them slightly, in time to the music still coming 
from his radio. However, she was in that particular position for only one purpose, and Jimmy 
hardly needed to ask her why.

He got the whip from its secret hiding place, and walked over to the bed. He whirled it in 
the air a few times, letting the cut glass tinkle and the whip crack a few times. Erica didn't even
look up.

He could feel a throbbing in his crotch as he did so. He didn't have to look down to know 
that his prick was starting to come to life. The whip usually stimulated him quite fast, as it also 
did to those lucky girls who had the right proportion of masochism to his sadism.

He stopped whirling the whip, and the cords fell like a weeping willow. He placed the 
cords directly on Erica's well-rounded ass, and slowly drew them along her flesh, the cut glass 
chunks especially.

Her body began to tremble, as if she was jerking herself off. He could especially notice her 
buttocks shivering, as if being exposed to a cold wind.

He kept up what he was doing. Only, with each passing second, he increased the speed 
with which he was dragging the cords across her ass.

She seemed to respond in direct proportion to this because he was really getting her 
going after a few minutes of this.

He smiled. He was pleased. She was coming along just fine, so far.

He moved the whip so that it was going along her back, and he noticed those same 
movements beginning again, only in the different part of her body. , He worked over the nape
of her neck next, and she began to make soft, sobbing moans. She had her head almost 
buried in the pillow so he couldn't see her face at all.

Her legs got a going-over, too; all slowly and softly, but with increasing strength and 
speed.

He watched her anus with interest; it was like the cheeks of her ass were opening up like 
the lips of her cunt. Almost, as if she wanted to be fucked, in the asshole.

He began to think about that. He was tempted to take the handle of the whip and prod 
her right in the asshole. But he didn't really want to jam the whip up her ass; he might get shit 
all over it.

Still, those two round mounds were tempting as hell, the way they moved under the 
stimulus of the whip.

He reached over to turn the radio on. He turned up the volume, almost as loud now as if 
they were in a club or concert hall, listening to the music in person from a front row seat. If 
she got too excited and started screaming, the noise would drown out her voice so that he 
wouldn't get in trouble with his neighbors, or the cops.

Then, he waited for almost half a minute, creating additional tension, additional 
excitement. He knew she was expecting him to really start working out on her. He figured if he
delayed his first strike for a while, she'd really be ecstatic in her expectations when his arm, 
with the whip, finally came down on her soft, pliant flesh.

He took hold of her long blonde hair, which was spilling over her shoulders and onto the 
pillow. He stroked it, cat-like, softly and sensuously. She began to purr like a pussycat. After 
feeling the whip against her flesh, even mildly, this was an unexpected sensation.

"You like that, don't you, Erica?"

She nodded and moaned her approval.

He grabbed hold of her hair at the top of her head, and yanked her head back so that now
her face was revealed. She could feel the pressure, and he noticed that she almost had tears in
her eyes from it.

"You like that too, right?"

"Yes, oh yes. You're so good to me, Jimmy."

Still holding her hair he said, "Well then, let's see how you like this!"

Whack! He brought the whip down on the left cheek of her ass. Hard, almost as hard as if 
he'd punched her with his fist.

She let out a choked scream, which was fairly well covered by the extra volume of the 
radio. Her body shuddered as if she had received an electric shock.

He let go of her hair.

Her head fell back onto the pillow again. He noticed, as he looked at her left cheek, that 
the flesh was raw with a few cuts. There were touches of blood on her fair skin now.

He made a mental note to make sure she didn't bleed on his sheets. Blood spots were 
always hard to clean. He knew that from past experiences.

He brought the whip down on her right buttock. Whack! Again, she shuddered, and he 
was pleased to note that the effect was the same as when he had whacked her left cheek.

With each blow she moaned and trembled like a frightened animal. But from the tones, 
the quality of her voice, he knew she was enjoying each stroke. As was he.

She was screaming, writhing, vibrating with sheer sensual pleasure, with each touch of the 
whip upon her flesh.

Jimmy thought, I've really got a live one. She's fantastic in her responses. She really loves 
it.

"Yeah!" he shouted, over the twanging, freaked-out guitars and the whining vocals of the 
music from the radio. "You really love it, don't you, Erica? You really eat that shit up like caviar 
with a silver spoon, right?"

"Yes, yes. More!"

He could feel his cock growing, as he kept whipping her. He was getting as stimulated as 
she was. His cock was sticking straight out like a cop's club, and he was getting so excited that
he started to whack her with his cock as well as the whip.

"Ow!"

That was his mistake. He had got his cock into the line of fire of the whip, and accidentally 
taken a whack on his cock.

He dropped the whip, and he checked out his cock. There was a welt rising on the foreskin.
Luckily, he hadn't hit himself on the tip of the scrotum. As it was, he could feel enough pain to
cause tears to form in his eyes.

Erica turned her face toward him, suddenly noticing that he wasn't whipping her any more.
She saw him looking at his sore cock and understood what had happened.

"Let me make it well," she mumbled.

He understood.

He moved over so that his cock was next to her face. She stuck out her tongue and began 
to lick his sore dick. Her tongue was soft and smooth, and she made him feel better at once, 
as she licked away the soreness.

Then she started to suck him off, to put his prick into her mouth.

"No!"

He pulled it back saying, "Do you want me to come in your face?" She nodded.

He thought, sure, I'll bet she would, but not this time, baby. Jimmy has other plans.

Whack! He smacked her on the lips with his prick to teach her to get such silly ideas out of
her head.

Then he climbed into bed with her. He had decided to fuck her in the asshole this time, 
and to really let her know who was in charge of the show.

Spreading her cheeks apart, he placed his prick at the entrance to her anus. He began to 
shove it inside, forcing her sphincter muscles to open and allow him passage.

She really began to moan and groan now. But those were sounds of pleasure, and both of 
them knew it.

As he was entering her, he picked up the whip and began to work out on her back.

She was really shuddering now, as if she was already having an orgasm. He could feel his 
prick probing deeper and deeper into her asshole, and she could feel him. gaining entrance, 
forcing her sphincter muscles to accommodate his instrument of pleasure.

He had worked his way up to the nape of her neck, and was making a bruised, bleeding 
path up and down her back with the whip. With each stroke she seemed to move her beautiful
body a bit more exquisitely, with a touch of mounting excitement. He was really pleased. She 
was much better than he'd ever anticipated, even better than some of the strange Oriental 
women he'd fucked in Asia.

Now he was all the way in. He stopped whipping her, and lay the whip down. He reached 
his arms around her, and took hold of her tits, barely able to grasp the big things in his hands.
She felt the touch of his fingers tweaking her nipples, and her responses increased even more 
as he tightened his grip on her boobs.

She started to arch her back, and he began to hump her, using his grip on her tits to 
propel his prick further inside her anus.

She started to scream like a stuck pig, as if his prick was a knife dismembering her bowels 
or something like that. He could feel the throbbing in his balls, his scrotum stuffed full to 
bursting, his prick as stiff as a steel rod.

Up and down, back and forth, he managed his movements, feeling her sweat, feeling her 
go into orgasm and gush out her juice on the bedsheets. He should have put a pad down, he 
suddenly remembered. Too late. She was really coming, and he was pounding and pulling 
away, riding her like a wild mare, ramming and jamming his cock into her asshole like a sword.

She was sweating so much he could barely hold on to her and he could feel her move, 
from one orgasmic moment of climax into the start of another peak. He was just about ready 
to come, wait for the right moment, hit her right on the crest. He came.

She screamed with a mixed feeling of pleasure and pain as his sperm blasted off in her 
anus, and she could feel his hot, sticky juices pouring all over her asshole.

She made her sphincter muscles work like a cunt, and he could really feel her pulling at his
pud, grasping his prick as hard as he was holding onto her breasts.

He kept on firing off his gun and driving deep into her back door, until there was no more 
juice to fill her with. But her sphincter muscles wouldn't let him go, like some insatiable cunt 
They held fast and firm, and his softening cock was beginning to feel pretty fucking sore from 
her tight muscular movements.

He dug his fingernails into her breasts shouting, "Dammit, Erica, let go of my cock!"

She was still wrapped up in her orgasmic bliss, so she didn't seem to really notice him-only
his prick-as she kept on coming.

Finally, he managed to yank himself loose. Carefully, he inspected his cock. Of course. 
Besides the sticky sperm, there was something else there, exactly what he'd thought might 
happen. Well, she would help him clean it off.

He moved around to her head and placed his prick right against her lips. Her eyes opened 
wide at the sight of his instrument, and she began to do what he wanted without him even 
asking her, as he said, "Lick the shit off my prick and do a good fucking job!"

CHAPTER FOUR

"Thank you for taking me here, Jimmy."

"Why thank me yet? The dinner hasn't arrived."

They were sitting in a fairly plush restaurant on the east side, a French restaurant that 
Jimmy occasionally visited when he really wanted some fine food, and had the money to pay 
for it.

It was so different this time, though. Erica was picking up the tab. She had insisted, telling 
him that it was her turn to treat him. He hadn't objected to that; if she had the money and 
didn't mind spending it, that was fine with him.

The restaurant had red carpeting and lots of white linen and silverware on the tables. 
There was soft music in the background, and the waiters all had on dinner jackets, as befitted 
the elegance of the atmosphere.

They were working out on onion soup, with a touch of cheese floating on top. Under the 
table he had one shoe off, and was jabbing her in the crotch, just under her very short 
mini-dress, with his big toe, while she, also with one shoe off, was rubbing her toes up and 
down his leg. He couldn't help but smile.

She was just such a strange chick, so compliant and complacent at times, so reserved and 
secretive at others. Still, she was a fine fuck, and really responded to the stimulation of the 
whip, so what the fuck? Relax and enjoy it, he told himself. You never know how long it's 
going to last.

He had his jacket unbuttoned. He didn't normally wear a suit, but this was a plush place, so
he'd done so. No necktie, though. He always wore a turtleneck shirt, which was high style 
enough to get him in most places without a tie. If they didn't like his turtleneck, fuck them, 
he'd take his business some place else.

The salad arrived. As he sampled the French dressing, he could feel Erica's talented toes 
moving up and down his legs. He could also feel his prick starting to become stimulated. He 
thought, easy, baby, hold it down. Can't get a hard-on here. That would be too fucking far 
out.

He could almost feel her pussy juice coming, as he probed her panty hose with his toe. He 
could even feel her clit beneath the frail substance of the panty hose. It was getting erect, too, 
and she could feel that herself as well.

"The service is excellent so far," she said, smiling again at him, as she ate her salad.

"It should be," he said. "The prices are high enough here."

"Well, it's my treat, Jimmy, so don't worry about that."

"I'm not worried!" he interrupted her, sounding edgy.

He was beginning to wonder if her offer to pick up the tab wasn't some female way to get 
one up on him, a sort of financial power play. It wouldn't be the first time. Not by any means. 
Yet, why should he be so suspicious? They were getting along fine.

He shrugged, and finished his salad. He sipped the cool red wine. He had asked for it 
chilled. Wine was fine with dinner, he thought. Especially French wine with French food.

The steak arrived. It was Chateaubriand, medium well, with just a trace of redness. The way
he liked it. If he wanted raw meat he'd kill the cow himself.

He dug into his steak and she followed suit.

Yes, it was well cooked. This was an excellent meal so far. He could feel a dampening on 
his cock. He wondered if she was really coming all over her panty hose and his big toe as well. 
Enough was enough, especially when he was eating.

He pulled his big toe away and carefully slipped his shoe back on. From the rustling 
sounds beneath their table, he knew that she was doing the same, especially when the 
presence of her leg against his was removed.

The steak was really good, especially with all the French flavoring. He was really getting a 
mouthful.

He happened to look down and there, her tits were practically falling out of her dress, 
almost resting right on the edge of the table. He almost choked on his meat, looking at those 
bounteous breasts, so close, near enough to nuzzle, and yet, in the confines of the restaurant, 
definitely out of bounds.

He almost laughed. She had a subtle sense of humor, all right He quickly glanced around 
and noticed a few reddening faces, especially on some of the older men who were having 
dinner with their wives.

He thought, fuck you, old farts. This fucking cunt belongs to Jimmy Johnson. Buy 
yourselves a piece of tail at the local whorehouse if you're horny.

"Jimmy?"

"What?"

"I don't really feel like dessert. I'm rather full," she said, daintily wiping her mouth with her 
napkin. "But if you want some, go right ahead."

He thought for a few seconds then replied, "No, that's all right. I'm stuffed. We can leave 
when we finish the wine."

Then he pulled out a cigar and lit it up. He puffed away, savoring the masculine fragrance 
of the cigar. A real man's smoke, he thought. Let the ladies smoke the cigarettes, inhale, and 
get cancer of the cunt. Not for me, not for Jimmy, not at all.

The way she was looking at him, he guessed she wanted a puff. He wondered whether he 
should, in this plush place, allow her to indulge herself like that. Well, so what. She was paying.
Let her have some fun if she liked.

He handed the cigar to her. As she placed it in her mouth and took a few exploratory 
puffs, he glanced around again, wanting to see how the old farts were taking this move.

He noticed a couple of them, the balding, white-haired executive types were really going 
out of their nuts watching Erica puff away with her shit-eating grin and her cock-sucking way 
of holding the cigar.

He couldn't help but chuckle out loud and, as she handed the cigar back to him, she 
asked, "Is it a private joke? Would you tell me so that I can laugh with you?"

He told her. She laughed from deep in her throat.

He finished the cigar not long after that, and she slipped him some money under the table
so that, in effect, he could pay for the meal with her money. He guessed that she figured it 
looked better that way.

The sipped the last of the wine and walked out of the restaurant.

"I want to take you some place special," she said. "We can catch the bus. It goes to the 
place."

"What place?"

"Oh, a place I go to sometimes. I think you'll like it. It's a very funny place on the 
waterfront. A lot of interesting people come in there."

Offhand, he didn't know of any hip bars on the west side waterfront, or any sailors' bars, 
either. But what the hell, why not go along and see what kind of place it was. Just for laughs.

"Let's go," he said.

They caught the bus that let them off at the docks. She led him around a couple of street 
corners. He wasn't exactly excited at the seedy, run-down condition of the neighborhood, 
though, until finally they came to a little hole-in-the-wall joint with a dim bulb burning and 
the sign which read, Leather Club.

"Hold it," he said suddenly, taking hold of her hand and pulling her back. "I don't need 
that kind of freak show tonight. Thanks just the same."

"Wait!" she said, urging him with her voice, letting him see the passion in her eyes. "It's 
perfectly safe, and I said you'd find it interesting because," she whispered in his ear, "they have
a whip show."

He almost laughed out loud. What kind of weirdo shit did she think he was into? A whip 
show! Still, as long as he was here, he could look in anyway. If he didn't like it, they'd haul ass 
fast. He'd see to that. What could he lose?

He was glad he didn't have much money in his wallet anyway, in case she, or someone 
else, was trying to set him up for a mugging.

"You're not afraid, are you, Jimmy?"

Fucking bitch, he thought. Calling me on my masculinity. Can't let her get away with that.

"Not on your life, baby," he said, emphasizing "her life" just to let her know where she 
stood.

They walked inside. It was a huge, barn-like room with a bar on the left, a group of tables 
on the right, and a stage dead ahead. There were about sixty people in the place, and, as the 
sign said, most of them were into some sort of leather fetish-jackets, pants, shirts, hats, even 
what looked like leather underwear on a couple of guys and skin-tight leather body stockings 
on a few chicks.

They got stared at for a few seconds as they entered, especially Jimmy. But he hadn't really
paid all that much attention before. Erica had wom a red leather jacket with gold-colored 
studs over her mini-dress. As soon as she opened her jacket in an exposing, flaring motion, as 
if to say, "Relax, we're with you," the stares changed to either indifference or smiles of 
acknowledgment.

"Let's take a table," Jimmy said.

She glanced at the tables and replied, "It looks like all of them are taken."

"Well then, you know this joint, tell your friends in charge to find us one. Tell them to break
into a furniture store if they have to because I want a table. I'm not standing for nobody."

A table was shortly found and they sat down. Jimmy eyed a brunette a few tables away 
while waiting for their drinks. Her hair looked almost leathery itself-it was so heavily lacquered,
almost like glue-and she was wearing a belt that looked a lot like a whip.

He looked around some more. Sure, whips were part of the decor. The walls were loaded 
with them, hanging all over the place, and some of the paintings depicted people in various 
positions getting the lash. He also noticed that most of them seemed to be smiling about the 
whole thing, too.

Then he noticed whips lying on tables, slung over some patron's shoulder, concealed 
inside coats. He began to wish he was carrying a gun because some of the guys looked pretty 
tough and mean. He couldn't back out yet, not when she'd challenged his masculinity so 
directly.

He made a mental note to never go anywhere with her in the future unless he checked out
the place first. No more weird whip shit in some stinking, out-of-the-way neighborhood. He 
didn't exactly like cops, but he wished a few were around in this place just the same.

When the drinks arrived, he felt like switching with her, just in case they'd been doctored. 
But she had ordered Scotch, and he couldn't exchange bourbon with her. He sniffed carefully, 
finally taking a short sip. So far, it tasted all right.

He watched a few guys in the audience fingering their whips. He wondered just how much 
of this shit the place allowed them to get away with.

Then the show came on. The stage was almost bare, except for a bed, a chair, and a post. 
A tough-looking brunette came on wearing nothing bug a g-string and pasties over her tits. 
She was beautifully built, but she showed a bit of wear and tear around the eyes and mouth, 
and looked to be over thirty, for sure.

She was carrying a bullwhip about nine feet long. "Is there audience participation, or does 
she beat up the bartender for an encore?" he asked Erica.

"Just watch and you'll see. I'm sure you'll enjoy it, Jimmy."

In the background some African-type drumming and chanting could be heard. The girl on 
stage began to prance around, going through some tired stripteaser routines that brought 
yawns to the mouths of several in the audience and a few cries of "What the fuck are we 
paying for, a parade? Get with it, sister!"

As if in response, the girl pulled back the whip and let fly at a front row table. Whack! Most
of the tables had lighted candles burning in wine bottles. With a flick of her whip, she just 
extinguished one of those in front.

A small scattering applause came from the audience. The girl began to flex her whip 
muscles.

She smacked the chair so hard she knocked it on its side. In her hands, the bullwhip was 
like a striking snake. She whipped the mattress on the bed hard enough to raise a shower of 
dust.

Jimmy thought, I'd hate to meet this cunt in a dark alley unless I had a tommygun with me.

She whipped the post until splinters flew off the wood and whipped the floor with such 
loud cracks that some thought that she was going to tear up the floor boards.

"Come on!" yelled a heckler. "We know the preliminaries. Get on with the big show, baby."

She did. She started whipping herself. Starting with her toes. She cracked the whip at her 
toes, and began to snake it up her legs, moving slowly, writhing in a mixture of pleasure and 
pain as she did so.

Erica's eyes seemed to focus like a camera on the girl. Her stare became fixated at the girl 
on stage, and she even seemed to move in coordination with the girl to give a sort of spastic 
leap at each crack of the whip.

The girl was really getting red welts on her legs as the whip made its inexorable 
movements up her leg. Jimmy, nursing his drink, watched with fascinated eyes as the 
whipping continued. He thought that this chkk was certainly a glutton for punishment, all 
right. He almost wished he was doing the whipping with his Oriental special. He'd really make 
her move.

Now she started whipping herself about the crotch. This was something else. Jimmy had 
never seen anything like that before, and it almost took his breath away. The girl was certainly 
playing with dynamite, right at her genitals. What a fucking risk!

As the whip cracked away at her crotch, the g-string came off and fell to the floor. She 
looked down as if seeing her own cunt for the first time. She kept on whipping it, and the 
expression on her face was really out of sight, almost indescribable.

Jimmy was really getting freaked out. He couldn't imagine a girl smacking her cunt and clit
that way. She was really hitting herself hard, and yet, she wasn't even crying. Her moans were 
more those of joy than sorrow.

She moved the whip up her body. Behind, red welts, and some trickles of blood were left 
in the wake of the whacking whip.

She was getting to her backside, and then wrapping the whip around her midsection like a
coiled snake. She kept on whipping herself, her body gyrations like an animal in heat.

She came to her breasts. As she was whipping herself on the breasts, a big black buck of a 
man stepped on stage, wearing a skin-tight pair of white pants and nothing else He was 
carrying a set of chains on his shoulder.

The crowd applauded him as he wrenched the whip away from the girl, just as she was 
about to use it right on her face.

Jimmy let out a sigh of relief. He wasn't so much of a sadist he wanted to see the chick 
fuck up her face. He wasn't sure if she would have or not, but he certainly knew that she had 
worked over every other part of her body, so what's to stop her?

The big black buck, of course. He was also bald, or his head was shaved, and the light 
gleamed off it like a reflection of steel. He took the chains and yanked the girl to the post 
where he chained her with her hands behind her.

Then, taking the whip, he lay down on the bed and started working out on himself, as she 
had done to herself.

He began to whip himself, only starting from the top and going down toward the bottom. 
He smacked his own face several times, but, as Jimmy observed, he didn't hit very hard. There 
were no marks on his face that he could see. He was calculating and controlled, whereas the 
girl had been freaked out and fucked up in her approach to self-immolation.

He was whipping his chest now, moving down toward his crotch. But, from the position of 
his legs, the way he raised his knees, Jimmy could see that he wasn't about to whip himself on 
the cock and balls, not at all.

No, Jimmy thought, this guy is playing a game, but the broad was really for real.

The man moved the whip down along his legs, culminating at his toes. The crowd seemed 
to know it was a sort of game, too because the applause wasn't as loud or spontaneous for 
him as it had been for her.

Then he reversed the order and whipped himself from toes to top of his head, but again, 
using great care to make sure he didn't hurt himself.

Then he got up and walked over to the girl, who still had that ecstatic expression on her 
face.

Jimmy was feeling really aroused by now, and his cock was just about as stiff as it could be.
He reached under the table to check on Erica's cunt, and slipped his fingers inside her panty 
hose. Her clit was erect, and her cunt was wet.

As the black buck began whipping the chained girl, Jimmy felt Erica's fingers searching for 
his prick, and unzipped his fly. She started to fondle his cock as he got his forefinger inside her
cunt.

The guy was really giving it to the girl. No hesitation this time. No easy hitting himself. He 
was curling the whip around her like an extra rope of chain, as he smacked her, and she was 
now shouting, her voice passionate with unsatisfied lust, "More, more!"

She was straining at the chains, trying to break loose, probably so she could get loose and 
grab the whip herself. He kept whipping her, himself being in as much of a frenzy as she was.

While at the same time, Erica's fondling fingers were really working over Jimmy's prick and 
his nuts. He was just about ready to come right on the spot, and from what he could feel in 
her pussy, she was practically into orgasmic bliss herself.

While the guy kept on whipping the girl on stage, further encouraged by plenty of 
clapping and shouting from the audience, as they cheered him on.

Jimmy thought, all we need now is audience participation. I wouldn't mind getting up 
there and fucking that cunt myself.

Neither, apparently, would the black man. For he suddenly stopped whipping the girl, took
the handle of the whip, and started shoving it.

Jimmy went off right in Erica's fist. She came all over his finger. As the man shoved the 
whip into the girl's cunt, and she started to come, too, so did some of the audience.

CHAPTER FIVE

They were moving and grooving, Jimmy and Erica, but not in bed-in a discotheque in the 
Village.

It was one of those "in" places where secretaries from Brooklyn, clerk-typists from Queens, 
faggots from the Bronx and suburbanites from Yonkers could all get together and think they 
were being seen by "celebrities" from Manhattan.

Big deal.

But, this time, Jimmy had suggested they go there. That is, he had insisted, and there was a
reason for this.

After the episode at the leather joint, Jimmy had wanted to show Erica just how supercool 
and supertough he was, how he didn't have to be into the leather fetish bag to show her what
a real he-man he was.

So, he'd told her to wear the slinky black pants suit she now had on, with the long chain 
belt around her waist, loose enough to swing around and shake up a few of the other dancers
if they got too close.

As for himself Well, he was wearing a pair of flared bellbottoms, a skin-tight polo shirt, 
matching vest for the pants, and, on top of all that, stuck casually in his belt was the whip.

The handle was tucked into his belt, right at his left side, with the cords and their cut glass 
hanging down along his leg. When he moved, the whip whistled dangerously, and anybody 
coming too close might get a taste of it.

As for Jimmy, he'd sprayed those pants with some special stuff that kept the whip from 
cutting either his pants or himself up. Erica didn't know that, of course; so, she was giving him 
admiring glances all night long, as they danced away, and the whip whirled dangerously near 
Jimmy's privates.

He still liked her, of course.

Because she really lived for, and loved the touch of, the whip. Though, if he had more first 
sip of the drink and was looking into his eyes, with that enigmatic, appraising expression of 
hers. "You're a very good dancer, but I was really impressed with the way you handled the 
whip. I mean, most people would never dare to walk down the streets with something like 
that, much less bring it into a disco like you did-"

"If they don't like it, fuck 'em!" Jimmy said.

"That's just about what you told the doorman, too."

"He asked for it, and he almost got it," Jimmy said, grinning triumphantly.

What he didn't tell her was, at the same time, he'd slipped the doorman a fast five-spot, 
out of sight of Erica's eyes, so that the doorman hadn't given them any more argument about 
letting them inside.

"You're really groovy, Jimmy. You really turn me on." She paused to slip her hand over his 
crotch, and squeeze his cock. "You know that, don't you?"

He nudged her left breast with his elbow. "I know it, sweetheart, and I'm glad you do, too."

He carefully slipped the whip loose from his belt and gently dragged the cords across the 
nape of her neck. She felt the glass needling her skin, and gasped in surprise.

"There's more where that came from," he said, confidently, as he touched the lobes of her 
ears with his whip next.

"Oh, Jimmy-you're too much!"

"Too fucking much, don't you think?"

He ordered a refill of drinks for them.

They stayed around for about another thirty or forty minutes, drinking and feeling each 
other up, oblivious to the other customers. The waitress didn't bother them at all, except to 
glance, wide-eyed, at the whip in Jimmy's hand, her smile seeming to say she'd like a taste of 
it, too.

Jimmy laughed inwardly at that. He thought: that's what all these asshole American cunts 
need-a taste of the whip on their tits-keep them in shape-teach them some manners. Well, 
maybe he'd get a chance to move around in some more of Erica's circles, and take the fucking
whip with him. Maybe he'd work out on some other cunts who might be asking for it. He 
would see.

When they left, they took the subway to Jimmy's place. There was a cop in their car, and 
he gave Jimmy some hard looks, as he spotted the whip. But, Jimmy knew his law, too, and he 
told the cop the whip was part of his outfit, and it wasn't covered by any law against 
switchblades or handguns, so, in so many words, piss off, cop.

The cop, realizing Jimmy was right, just told him to be careful, and walked off.

Erica was all agog at his handling of the officer of the law.

"Oh, Jimmy, you stood right up to him!

You didn't let him give you any trouble at all!"

"Why should I? I know the law, too. Nothing against carrying the whip around with me. 
Like I said," he grinned knowingly, "if it's a part of my outfit."

When they got off at his stop, they had a four-block walk to his building. She held his 
hand as they walked, and could hardly take her eyes off him.

Minutes later, they were sitting on the sofa in his apartment, having a nightcap. He had 
turned on his radio to a classical music station this time, and the sounds were strictly 
symphonic, very high-class stuff in the background.

This time, things were more subtle.

No clit-grabbing, no prick-squeezing.

They just sat there, with the moonlight streaming in through the windows, their legs and 
bodies right next to each other, rubbing against each other like friendly animals.

He was thinking.

Thinking of something new, some quirky new technique he'd like to pull on her this 
evening.

There must be something he hadn't tried yet.

The moonlight gleamed on her chain belt, which she was still wearing around her waist, 
and triggered the idea in his mind.

As he finished his drink, he got an idea. He then told her to take off all of his clothes.

As he stood up, she began to strip him, from top to bottom. Along the way, she fondled 
almost every part of his body she could; he didn't mind at all, and neither did his prick, which 
was beginning to grow again.

When she had finished stripping him, she got down on her knees, placed her hands 
beneath his scrotum, and started to lick his dick.

Her tongue tenderly touched the tip of his prick, then wandered along the foreskin and 
glans all the way back to the base. He could feel the touch of her tongue as she licked away, 
soft and smooth; his prick began to respond in kind.

"Now," he said, as she was placing his prick inside her mouth. "Not too much sucking now,
because I've got something special planned, and I don't want to get too hard right now. You 
understand?"

She nodded, and opened her mouth wide, moving his prick halfway inside.

Her lips clamped down, and she started to suck his cock.

As she sucked, he could feel her tongue still lapping at his male member, which was 
gradually growing, continuing its stretching and stiffness.

After about a minute or two, he said, "Erica, that's enough. You can let go now."

She seemed reluctant to do so; he had no choice but to grab her by the hair and yank her 
head back, to emphasize that he meant exactly what he said.

She let go of his cock.

"You'd better get undressed," he said.

She stood up, lazily, languidly, her muscles flowing and rippling like a panther's. Even 
moving the way she did was almost sufficient to arouse him; she was really a very sexy woman,
no question about that.

She began to undress.

She carefully removed the top to her pants suit, and then, shifting like a stripper, she 
slipped off her bra. Her breasts thrust forward like the bumper guards of a brand-new 
automobile, and she made sure they remained pointed in his direction as she continued to 
take off her clothes.

She kicked off her shoes, and stepped out of the bottom part of her pants suit. Then, she 
carefully peeled off her panty hose, until, her glorious cunt revealed in the moonlight, its pubic
hairs damp with desire, she was now as completely naked as he was.

He pointed toward a small wooden chair with no armrests, in the corner of the room.

"Sit down in the chair," he said.

Obediently, she walked over to the chair, shaking her ass with rare class, swaying like a 
tropical tree in the face of an approaching hurricane, and sat down.

He reached down to where she had dropped her clothes, and picked up the chain belt. As 
he advanced toward her, she said, mockingly, "Oh, goodie-we're going to play bondage 
games, aren't we?" Smack!

He hit her with the chain, right at the base of her breasts.

She gave a hurt, startled cry, and he could see tears begin forming in the corners of her 
eyes. Her breasts were suddenly red-welted where he'd hit her.

Well-not all that hard "I don't play games, Erica," he corrected her. "I play for keeps. Sex is 
a serious business with me, so let's not get Girl Scoutish about it, you understand?"

"I'm-sorry-"

"All right then, put your hands behind your back."

She did so.

He got around behind the chair, and wrapped the chain belt around her wrists several 
times. It seemed to work out all right, because he was able to adjust the clip so that it held her
wrists securely.

He got back to the front again.

She was giving him her enigmatic, but resigned, look, as if, of course, he was the man in 
charge and whatever he said went.

He reached over to feel her breasts, tweaking her nipples between his fingers.

Her boobs felt soft and large, her nipples nice and taut. He rah his fingers down her torso, 
one hand checking out her pubic hairs-yes, they were damp-and then making a choice in the 
matter, he'd have wished for someone a bit less freaky than she was.

The strokes were flashing, illuminating the dancers like a series of flash bulbs going off. 
The music was recorded, but it was nearly loud enough to cause sensitive eardrums to vibrate 
plenty.

So, Jimmy had had enough of that shit for a while. Dancing took up a lot of energy he'd 
rather reserve for fucking, anyway (and whipping, too).

A lot of guys had been giving Erica the eye tonight, which was cool, he wanted her to 
know that she was plenty sharp; and, at the same time, not to forget that she was going with 
him, and she'd better not fuck around with anybody else while he was around (or, for that 
matter, even when he wasn't around).

When the next record stopped, he put his arm around her shoulders, giving her a fast 
squeeze on the tits, and said, "Let's go in the next room for a drink."

She nodded in agreement, and they moved into a private drinking room, where the sound 
was more muffled and they could lounge on sofas and, in general, just relax.

The room was only about half-full, so Jimmy found them a two-person sofa in a dark 
corner, where they could be as far away from the others as possible.

She ordered a martini, and he stuck with his bourbon and ginger.

"Jimmy," she said, after she had taken her few thumb-snapping motions against her clit, 
which was almost as erect as his cock and which felt like a tuning fork as he tweaked it.

Then, he got his finger inside her cunt.

It was plenty wet inside there, like a sudden shower had just taken place.

"I'm ready, Jimmy, any time that you are."

"Well, I'm ready, right now."

He ran his finger as far inside her cunt as he could get it, noticing her muscles respond and
her legs automatically spread, so that her legs were straddling the bottom of the chair.

Then, he withdrew his finger, removed his hands from her body, and walked back to where
he'd piled his clothes.

He picked up the whip.

As he whirled it in the air a couple of times, he noticed that her eyes were following it, as if
it was a snake she was fascinated with. He kept whirling it in the air as he advanced, the 
moonlight gleaming off the cut glass fragments, giving a sort of sparkler, fireworks effect as 
he whirled it around.

He stood right in front of her now.

He dangled the whip so that she could follow its motions with her eyes; it was right in 
front of her face, and he was making lazy circles with it, like a cowboy twirling a lariat at a 
rodeo.

Then, he remembered; he wanted a smoke.

He walked away from her, found his cigar box, lighted one up and, its lighted end burning 
ominously in the darkened room, he walked back so that he stood in front of her again.

He said, looking directly into her eyes, "How would you like me to whip you in the face this
time, Erica?"

Without blinking or flinching, she said, "I would love it."

That took him aback; he hadn't quite expected her to be that agreeable. He thought: 
doesn't she give a fuck about her face-or is she so turned on by the whip-that she'll take it 
anywhere. Further thinking, he decided not to push it. After all, if he did whip her on the face, 
he might not feel like being seen with her for a while, for reasons all too obvious.

And anyway, he wasn't that mean or vicious.

So, he said, laughing softly, "You know I wouldn't want to really hurt you, baby. I'll give it 
to you on the tits instead, you're much more sexy when you're stimulated in the erogenous 
zones, anyway."

"Whatever you say, Jimmy." He was still not used to her easy, almost casual, acceptance of 
his power over her. It seemed too easy to him, and that tended to make him suspicious. But so
far things were working out just fine-almost too much so-Crack-crack-crack. He began to 
whip her on the breasts. Not too hard, but very easy, with the cords just barely touching her 
tits. He made sure, though, that she got it at least a few times right on the nipples, and he was
pleased to note a changing of expression, a widening of the eyes, as he did so.

He was standing so close to her that some cigar ashes fell off his cigar and splattered on 
Erica's exposed flesh. A few even fell among her pubic hairs, and for a second or so he was 
afraid she was going to catch afire.

"Oh-I like that-burn me to ashes-just like we all came from-remember-ashes to ashes-"

He shook his head.

That was too weird for him; he would have to watch his cigar. She must be into things he'd
only dreamed of; he was beginning to wonder if she wasn't part-Oriental, or else where did 
she pick up those far-out ideas?

Her breasts were turning red now, and a few welts were beginning to show.

He eased off, working out now on her stomach and the rest of her torso. He then went to 
work on her legs, and was pleased to see that she began to squirm and twist in the chair, 
trying to assume a fucking position, her cunt lips struggling to separate themselves, as if he 
was fucking rather than whipping her.

He was beginning to really feel exhilirated, and he could really feel his prick all the way up. 
In fact, as he whipped, his prick, from time to time, would touch her flesh, as if he was 
whipping her with it, too.

He took a breather.

He stopped whipping her, and knocked off the ashes from his cigar into an ashtray. He sat 
down on the floor, facing her, puffing on his cigar, holding and gesturing with his cigar as if it 
was more than a mere phallic symbol, as if it was his cock itself.

"Are you going to fuck me with your cigar, Jimmy?"

Oh, wow-too fucking much-outasite-far out chick, all right "Not this time," he said, not 
much surprised any more at what new weird, kinky trick she might be up to.

"What are you going to fuck me with?"

In reply, he stood up, walked over to her, and whacked her on the mouth with his cock.

She almost started slobbering right over it.

But, lit backed up before she could start to get her mouth on it again. He wanted to fuck, 
not suck.

He finished the cigar, putting the butt out in the ashtray. Then, he picked up the whip 
again, and returned to the girl. He got on the chair, straddling her so that his cock was 
touching her cunt lips.

With the whip still in his hand, he started to stroke her hair. He really liked that long blond 
hair of hers, that soft skin of hers. She took such good care of herself; he appreciated that.

He kissed her on the lips.

It was like kissing a suction cup; she wouldn't let go, she clamped her lips on his and tried 
to get her tongue going, tried to give him a fast French job.

Well-why not He kissed her back, using his own tongue to counter hers, feeling his tongue
pushing hers back into her own mouth. At the same time, he moved his pelvis so that his cock
began to enter her cunt, which was by now so wet that he had no trouble getting all the way 
in, within a matter of seconds.

She went into orgasm almost instantly, as if he'd just turned on the "Start" button on a 
machine. He could feel her vaginal muscles clutching at his cock, practically pulling it off at the
roots.

He began to hump her, moving his cock around so that she could feel him all over her 
cunt. He still had the whip in his hands, so he started to whip her hands, which were still 
bound behind her. Crack-crack-crack. He could feel her body moving; she was really 
squirming like a worm on the hook, and she was perspiring profusely as well. She was coming 
like a waterfall, and his crotch was getting drenched with her juice.

She was moaning and groaning, urging him to get going, to fuck the living shit out of her, 
to whip her until her flesh fell right off her bones.

Crack-crack-crack. She spurred him on, and he spurred her like a horse, locking his legs 
into hers, forcing her cunt lips even further apart, as his cock kept on driving hard, pushing 
forward, his balls full to bursting, his prick stiff as a steel rod until he came.

He exploded with such force he could feel the chair itself rocking; he realized that he'd 
almost knocked the whole fucking thing over, and both of them on the floor.

Nevertheless, he kept on coming, firing round after round of hot, sticky sperm into her 
thirsty, ravenous cunt, which kept on clutching his cock, literally screaming for more. 
Whipping Kissing Fucking. He could ride her all night, all day-that's all she wanted, he 
realized-whipping and fucking Which was just fine with him.

CHAPTER SIX

Jimmy sipped his drink, shaking his head, but not so that Erica could notice the gesture.

He figured that she was bound to have some weird friends, but he hadn't really expected 
such a freak show full of them.

Well, on the other hand, he really should have been prepared.

He was at a party in Erica's place, her studio apartment in the Village. She had much better
furniture than he did-hers was Danish modern, with abstract art on the walls and wood 
carvings scattered around like magazines-and there were no signs in the decorations that she 
was into such an S&M kick.

The place looked pretty much like any other single girl's pad, a single girl with enough 
money to decorate it properly, if not expensively.

Except for the people.

"Pardon me, do you have a match?"

It was an elderly gentleman with silver hair and one arm who was addressing him. He had 
a cigarette jammed into a metallic holder, which in turn was slipped into the corner of his 
mouth. His left sleeve hung empty; it looked like his arm had been amputated just above the 
elbow.

Jimmy fished out his lighter, and lit up the man's cigarette.

"Thank you, young man," he said, puffing deeply. "I'm sorry to trouble you-"

"No trouble at all," Jimmy said, wanting to get away.

But, the man blocked his path temporarily, and the party was so crowded that Jimmy 
couldn't quite push his way around. So, he stood there for a few moments, while the man 
started rambling on about "Yes, my wife is a doctor, I made her amputate my arm when the 
gangrene set in. No anesthesia, of course. Oh, the feeling I got when she sawed it off-let me 
tell you-"

"Some other time, all right?" Jimmy was vgetting a bit uptight; he started looking around 
nervously, seeking a way out of where he was at.

"Yes, I made her promise, if she outlives me, to cut off my other arm as I'm dying. I really 
want to go out in a blaze of blood-"

"Excuse me," Jimmy said, pushing his way past a limp-wristed, sallow-faced fellow who was
wearing a button that read: BEAT ME, DADDY-I LOVE IT.

"Hello there, handsome, how do you like the torture chamber?"

It was a short-haired, big-titted girl who suddenly accosted him. She was so short that her 
breasts, which looked two sizes too large for her small body, were practically nudging him in 
the nuts. Her black hair, the way she wore it, gave her a sort of witchy look.

"You called it correctly," Jimmy said. At least, she wasn't as bad as the other two. He sipped
his drink, resting for a while, while the girl continued her conversation.

"Did you know I used to be a nun?" Without waiting for his comment, she kept on, "The 
other nuns tied me to a cross one day and scourged me with thorns. Then, one of them raped 
me with her big toe, and do you know-I really liked it."

"Oh?" Jimmy finished his drink in a hurry, and got ready to go.

"Yes, I've never liked sex the normal way since. Even when a fellow has obviously got such 
a big thing as you do-"

She nudged him the nuts again, and he realized that he was getting an erection, enough 
of one to have his prick straining against, and out-lined therein, his trouser leg.

"Glad you reminded me," Jimmy said, easing his way around her, thinking at the same time
he'd really like to munch away at her boobs for dessert. "I've got a big thing going for the girl 
who lives in this place so I'd better go talk to her for a while."

The girl thrust her breasts after him as he edged his way away, and called to him, "If she 
turns you down, I'll be around. Hey, by the way-how's your big toe?"

Erica was standing by the window, talking with someone that Jimmy hadn't noticed before.
As he eased up next to her, rubbing his haunches against hers, he said, "Hello again."

She smiled, "Jimmy, I'd like you to meet Baron von Stein." Jimmy shook hands with the 
older man, whom he judged to be about 50 or so, and the Baron muttered, with a thick 
German accent, "How do you do."

The Baron was a short man, a few inches shorter than Erica, very thin to the point of 
looking emaciated. He was wearing a dark suit with matching vest, and his shirt and tie were 
of darker shades too, lending him an almost gloomy facade.

But, his eyes were bright and blue, sparkling like a mischievous child, set deeply behind 
thick white brows. He wore a bristling mustache that matched his eyebrows, long sideburns 
past the earlobes, and the rest of his hair was as thick as a young man's. He only displayed a 
few wrinkles of age around the chin and eyes.

"The Baron was telling me about his castle," Erica said.

"A castle on the Rhine, maybe?" Jimmy said, in a jocular tone.

The Baron gave out with hearty laughter.

"No, my boy, not any more. Once, when I was young, our family did live in such a castle. 
But, now, I live in upstate New York, just a few hours drive away-"

He named a small town Jimmy had never heard of.

"I am a medievalist at heart," the older man continued. "I miss the Middle Ages, when 
chivalry was the code of honor and knights were defending their fair ladies in jousting 
contests. Ah me, this modern world-everything is so mixed up-women are wearing pants-"

Jimmy chuckled, because Erica was wearing another pants suit. But she seemed not to 
have noticed, for she kept glancing from the Baron to Jimmy, her eyes seeming to hold equal 
interest in both of them.

"Yes," the Baron kept holding up the conversation. "I have turned my upstate home into an
actual replica of a castle on the Rhine, as you call it. There, I have even furnished it with 
medieval furniture, and with all the necessary accessories of life during the Middle Ages. Why, 
you might almost say it's like a historical museum-"

"I like museums," Erica said, smiling very full.

"Then you must visit me sometime," the Baron said, looking her right in the eyes. Then, 
realizing Jimmy was still around, he hastily added, "And you too, young man-what did you say
your name was?"

"I didn't." He paused. "But it's Jimmy Johnson."

"Well, Jimmy, you and Erica must visit me sometime, I would be pleased to show you 
around." He paused, and reached for a card, which he handed to Jimmy, winking as he did so. 
"Call me anytime, collect. I would love to show you my collection of whips-"

"Whips?"

Jimmy spoke the word more as a challenge than as a query. He looked, first at Erica-her 
expression remained noncommittal-then at the Baron, who, if anything, had even more of a 
twinkle in his eyes than before.

"Yes, I have a collection that dates back for centuries. I am sure you would enjoy them. 
Some people collect stamps, others collect guns. I just happen to collect whips-and other 
things of a similar nature."

He bowed to each of them, saying, "Excuse me, I must be going. Nice to have met both of 
you, and please come and visit me sometime, I would love to have you."

Then, he was gone, elbowing his way out of the apartment door.

Jimmy stared at his empty glass, and said to Erica, "I need another drink."

"I'll get one for you."

She walked over to the bar against the wall-she had hired a bartender for the Sunday 
afternoon occasion-and got him another bourbon and ginger, picking up a martini for herself.

She rejoined Jimmy, who was pleased to notice that some of the people were leaving. That
was fine with him; he wanted to get her alone with him, for more than one reason, this time.

She handed him his drink, and sipped it. He noticed she'd given him a double shot; he 
smiled, and took another sip.

"You know the Baron long?" he asked.

"I just met him today."

"Oh." He paused. "You seemed to be hitting it off like old friends, that's why I asked."

"I am always quite friendly with people I take a liking to," she said, her eyes mocking his. 
She reached along his leg and squeezed his cock in his crotch, a quick little love squeeze, and, 
in spite of himself, he felt his cock shudder with pleasure.

He knew that she felt that tremor, too.

"I just wondered about the Baron," he said, still trying to sound unconcerned. "It's not all 
that often I get invited to castles to see somebody's whip collection, that's all."

"We get invited," she corrected him.

"I sure wouldn't go there alone. But, tell me, sweetheart-how did he know I was interested 
in whips?"

She leaned over to give him a quick taste of her tongue in his ear, as she whisperd, "I told 
him."

"Why?"

"He asked me."

Jimmy sipped some more of his drink. He didn't like this bit at all.

"Are you sure he asked you-and not the other way around?"

"Of course I am sure. Why should I volunteer the information? Well, that's our secret-isn't 
it?"

"It was."

She sipped her martini, lowering her eyes. Then, she raised them slightly, giving him that "I
want to fuck" look that he now knew so well.

"Are you angry with me, Jimmy?"

"A little."

"Good, I'm gad." Before he could comment, she added, "Because, if you're angry with me, 
that means that you'll whip me all the harder. And, since the Baron and I were discussing that 
very same subject, you might say-that he turned me on-"

"In what way?"

She laughed, with a cynical edge to her voice.

"Oh, Jimmy, you are getting jealous, I do believe. No, not in that way; only you turn me on 
sexually, you should know that by this time, shouldn't you?"

He thought: what the fuck am I getting uptight about-stye's right-that old fart is no 
competition for me-but still-he's just as weird as she is-that's probably why they hit it off so 
well. He reached his hand down to place it just inside her crotch. He could almost feel her clit 
respond. As it was, she closed her legs slightly, so that her thighs held his hand in that 
position for a few seconds.

"I know it, Erica," he said, pulling his hand free. He added, "Just make sure you don't forget
it, that's all."

"How could I forget it when you whip me so beautifully, Jimmy?"

He glanced around, but nobody was too close. He didn't like talking about the whip 
around anybody, even her friends-especially her friends. Well, he thought, only a few of the 
freaks left anyway-soon we'll be all alone-and then Within twenty minutes, the last of her 
guests had left, and Jimmy gave her a hand in straightening up the place. That took the better
part of half an hour, but, after that, they were lying down on her round bed-which was actually
the centerpiece in the room, and, for all appearances, looked almost like a throw rug, the way 
she kept it covered with a furry-type bedcover.

She had a stereo set, and she was playing some African music, all drums and chanting and 
weird, moody stuff that made his skin tingle. They'd taken off their clothes, and they were 
holding each other tight, his erect prick nudging at her quivering cunt lips, when She suddenly
broke loose, as if she had forgotten something, saying, "My whip-I must show you-my whip-"

Well, he hadn't brought his along. In a way, he wished he had. What the fuck now?

When she returned, she showed him her whip.

It was about half the size of his-a ladies' special, he guessed-hand-made, looking very 
Caribbean or African, all sorts of strange colors and figurations on it. It had just three cords, 
but at the end of them were what looked like steel barbs, painted red as blood.

"It's nice," he said.

"Would you like to try it?"

"On who-you, or me?"

She climbed back on the bed, and, kissing him passionately on the lips, she placed the 
whip in his right hand. An obvious sign, and an equally obvious answer to his question.

He felt her bounteous breasts pressing hard against his chest as her lips moved in rhythm 
to the music, her tongue snaking out to meet his. He began to French her hard, driving his 
tongue deep inside her moist mouth membranes, pushing her tongue aside, striving for her 
throat.

She was making strange moans from deep in her throat, as his tongue dug right in. She 
got her toes curled in on his, and he could feel her legs slowly sliding over his, in a sort of 
scissors-grip.

His cock was pressed hard against her clit, which was so erect he felt he was nuzzling some
child's finger.

Time to give her the whip.

They were lying side by side, so he reached around her quivery body and whacked her 
right on the ass with her own whip.

Crack-crack-crack. She could feel the steel barbs bite into her quivering flesh, and she 
screamed in that mixture of pain and pleasure-she wasn't sure any more which was really 
which-as the blood began to pour from the wounds Jimmy had inflicted on her.

Jimmy, of course, from his particular position couldn't quite see how bloody he was 
whipping her. But, he could feel the bite of the barbs going into her flesh, and for a few 
seconds-he wasn't really hitting her all that hard, but quite steadily-he wondered if he should 
stop, or at least take it a little easier.

"Don't stop, Jimmy-I love it-"

Her choking, gasping cry pretty well told him what he'd already assumed, anyway.

So He kept it up.

As also he did his erection, which was now starting to-make its entrance into her great, 
gaping orifice.

Like a hungry mouth, her cunt lips opened wide and, wet as a well, allowed his big prick 
passage. He could feel himself sliding, almost falling, inside her quivering cunt, her 
matriculating muscles, as, inch by inch, he entered her.

She could feel the greatness of his member as it moved slowly along its accustomed route 
until it was jammed in-all the way to the hilt.

"Oh, Jimmy-you've got-the biggest prick-in town-"

He laughed.

"Erica-some people would say-I am-the biggest prick-in town-"

He pressed his chest close, feeling the hard, conical edge of her nipples almost breaking 
the outer layer of his skin. Her breasts were like bullets, almost penetrating his chest. 
Crack-crack-crack. He began whipping her on the back, feeling the lashes move right along 
from her waist to her neck, and then back again. And, in their wake, bloody slashes were left in
her skin. These, he could feel, because some of the blood was running into his hands as he 
whipped her.

He thought: Well, motherfucker, what do you want to do-whip her, or fuck her-which 
counts more with this crazy cunt. Shit-which counts more-with you. He dropped the whip, 
letting it fall to the floor.

Enough was enough. She noticed it.

"Jimmy-why aren't you-whipping me-any more-"

"Because I can't whip you and fuck you at the same time, that's why."

"You have done both before-"

"But not well!" He wished he had a cigar; he felt as if he'd been smoking one, anyway, for 
hours, because his mouth was filled with the taste of ashes, all of a sudden.

She began to slip her tongue into his ear, as she murmured, "I always thought-you did 
them both-to the best-of your ability-"

"Knock it off, will you!"

He was surprised to hear himself shouting so loudly. His voice echoed throughout the 
one-room apartment like he was yelling inside a cave.

For further emphasis, he slammed her cunt a good one with his cock, and he could feel 
her vaginal muscles respond. Then, he got his mouth on hers, and, while frenching her, he 
began to bite her lower lip, a bit more aggressively than the normal love bite.

Almost aggressively enough-so that he could taste-blood. Well, he had got her going, 
sexually speaking, anyway.

Her cunt was churning like a washing machine, and she began to go into a series of 
multiple orgasms. He could feel her muscles clasping round his cock, practically trying to pull 
it out by the roots. He shuddered; he wanted to hold off for that magic moment, but she'd 
got him both so angry and excited he knew he'd be lucky to last into her second orgasm.

She got her hands around his neck, and then she was running them up and down his 
spine, touching every vertebra as if it was a separate entity. It really gave him the shivers; he 
felt as if someone was walking on his grave, as the saying went.

And she was coming. Her pussy juice pouring out. Drenching her crotch--his cock-her bed.
He switched his position, rolled her over on her back-still staying inside of her-and began to 
pound her like hamburger, to really drive her home.

She was really sweating, really coming, and he could no longer count the number of 
orgasms she'd been into-and through. He knew he couldn't hold on for much longer So He 
came.

He came with the impact of a sledge hammer slamming her in the cunt. His sperm spurted
out like a fire hose, slamming her buttocks hard against the bed, meeting her in mid-orgasm. 
She clasped her legs around him, tried to rock him like a seesaw; he kept on coming, driving 
ever harder, his cock a battering ram of sheer, orgiastic energy, his sperm splashing out until 
there was nothing more to come with.

She had really exhausted him this time. She was a fuck-and-one-half. No-a double fuck.

He could hear her moaning, both with satiation and yet not fully satisfied; she still wanted 
more, but he knew it would take even a stud like himself at least several minutes to get it up 
again.

As he pulled his limp dick loose from her still-palpitating pussy and began to separate 
their two bodies, he wondered whether he could sock it to her in any other manner. Of 
course!

With a mixture of her come and his sperm still soaking his prick, he started to smack her 
right in the mouth.

Smack-smack-smack

CHAPTER SEVEN

Jimmy and Erica were going to see a movie this evening.

But-not an ordinary, movie theater kind of film.

Not when it was being privately shown-and only advertised by word-of-mouth-in the 
apartment of one of her friends.

Jimmy, who remembered the time she'd taken him to the leather club, wondered if the 
flick would be one of those kind of S&M things. But, he didn't ask; he just, as they say, went 
along for the ride.

A long ride.

Out to Brooklyn.

Not Brooklyn Heights, which was right next door, tip-to-tip, to Manhattan. No, all the way 
to the end of the fucking subway line, right by the Atlantic Ocean, near Coney Island, in one of
the new high-rise apartment buildings that -lined the area like stiff, upturned fingers.

On the long subway trip, Jimmy, his hand already in Erica's snatch-to pass the time of the 
long, boring trip-had said, "I hope this fucking film is worth all the trouble we're taking to get 
there, sweetheart."

To which she had replied, while caressing his cock beneath his coat, "I am sure it will be, 
Jimmy, or I would not have suggested that you come."

She shouldn't have put it quite that way.

Because, at that moment, the train had lurched more than usual when coming into a 
particular subway stop, and he'd come right in her hand-and his pants.

He was still trying to dry himself off when they finally got off at the subway stop she'd told
him about, and walked about four blocks to one of the high-rise apartment buildings. They 
were announced in the lobby by the doorman-just like the East Side of Manhattan, there was 
always a doorman on duty-and when they got into the elevator, they rode all the way to the 
19th floor before they got off.

Erica led him to the right apartment, and when the door opened, a suave, though 
somewhat effeminate-looking, man wearing a tuxedo and dark glasses opened the door.

Erica said, "Hello, Henry, it's Erica Schmidt. I've brought a friend." To Jimmy, she said, 
"Jimmy Johnson, shake hands with Henry Harrison."

Jimmy did.

It was like touching a corpse; he'd never felt human skin so cold, so lacking in feeling, in 
his life.

Yet he noticed, at the same time, an unusual sensitivity of touch in the man called Henry 
Harrison. Almost as if he was learning more about Jimmy by just touching him than talking to 
him.

Then-he looked at the dark glasses again-and took in the whole man with a head-to-toe 
searching glance And blurted out almost apologetically, "Erica, why didn't you tell me-this 
guy-was blind?"

"I wanted you to find that out for yourself, Jimmy. To test your powers of observation, so 
to speak."

At that moment, Henry interjected, not unkindly, with, "Of course, I have been blind since 
birth. Nothing new about that; it happens to a lot of people."

Jimmy, who was by now feeling a bit confused, if not edgy, said, 'Then-how are you 
going-to watch this film-"

"If I'm blind?" Henry laughed, a superior, almost snotty, kind of laugh. "My dear fellow, 
there are many ways to watch a movie. Don't worry about me, I can take care of myself."

And, picking up a cane which was resting against the doorway, he walked off, tap-tapping 
his way across the crowded room.

Jimmy thought: another of Erica's freaky friends-she's got the screwiest taste in friends-of 
any cunt I ever knew-I'd drop her right on her ass in a second-if she didn't like the whip-so 
fucking much As they entered the apartment, Jimmy noticed that a lot of people looked like 
the same, or similar, ones he'd met at Erica's place. The physically grotesque, the intellectually 
confused; in short, anything but what he'd call normal.

He was already beginning to feel like part of a permanent freak show.

All they needed now was for the Baron von Stein to pop up and display his whip 
collection.

But, the Baron wasn't there; Jimmy looked around quite carefully, and didn't see a sign of 
him.

Jimmy found drinks for the two of them, and they looked for a place to sit down. As they 
were doing so, a tall girl-even taller than Jimmy by a few inches-with long straight bleached 
blond hair and thick glasses stopped directly in front of him and started a conversation.

Jimmy wasn't paying particular attention to what she was saying, but, at his particular eye 
level, he couldn't help but notice that she was quite a well-developed young lady, except in 
one particular department.

The breast department.

That is, she was as flat-chested, as straight up-and-down in front, as a wall.

When she noticed him staring at her absent titties, she explained, in a deep, masculinized 
voice, "Oh, those. Don't worry about those. I had them amputated months ago."

Jimmy couldn't help but blurt out, "What the fuck for?"

"Why, because I'm having a sex change, of course," she replied, switching into a contralto 
vocal range. "Then, when I become completely a man, I can immediately start doing the things
I've always wanted to do but couldn't because I was a girl."

And, as she suddenly squeezed his prick, grabbing him briefly by the crotch, she dropped 
her voice a few octaves again and said, "And, one of them is seducing men."

Erica interjected with, "As a girl, you could always do that."

Letting go of Jimmy's cock, she exclaimed, triumphantly, "Ah, but as a man-I can seduce 
another man-as a homosexual!"

And, so saying, she turned on her high heels and walked away.

Jimmy, thus inspired, grabbed a vacant comer and sat down before anyone else could 
steal the space. He pulled Erica down on his lap, placing his free arm around her in such a way
that he could stroke her on the titties from time to time. She didn't object; her free hand had 
already unzipped his fly again, and she was slipping her hand inside his shorts and fondling 
his prick.

As they took a sip of their drinks, the lights suddenly were turned out.

And, against a white canvas screen that had been set up against the opposite wall The film
began.

At first, Jimmy thought it was, or would be, a silent film. At least five minutes passed 
without any sound whatsoever, as he watched what seemed to be an ordinary stag film 
unreeling in front of his eyes. That is, bare-assed guys and girls into all sorts of positions, 
mostly in relationship to fucking.

He could hear some of the other guests making amusing patter, or what they thought was
amusing patter, about the film. But, as for him, he wasn't too impressed.

Until The girl with the boxing gloves came on screen.

A naked, big-titted broad, long red hair and a nice well-rounded ass. He could see that her
snatch was almost wide open, and her pubic hairs looked, even on the less-than-perfect film, 
as if she'd just finished fucking, or at least having some masturbatory fun of her own, at any 
rate.

She had a shit-eating smile on her face, and she made some exploratory sallies toward the 
camera, which seemed to zoom in for some close-ups of her gloves as she tried a few feints at
the camera. In spite of himself, Jimmy chuckled into his drink, and squeezed Erica's tits right 
on the nipples, as she began to pull back the foreskin of his prick.

The chick was a comedienne, he thought; she was one very funny broad.

Then, a guy joined her.

He, too, had on boxing gloves, and nothing else. He was about Jimmy's height, a bronzed, 
blond beach boy who looked sort of faggy around the mouth, and smiled a little to easily and 
coy for Jimmy's taste. No sir, Jimmy didn't dig this cat at all.

He went through the same motions the chick had done, the boxing at the camera with 
close-ups and zooms bullshit. But, his movements seemed less natural, more fake; in short, if 
he thought he was putting everybody on, he was really putting them off.

Jimmy noticed that the guy's prick was pretty long, even in its limp dick position. But, there
was a stretched-out look about it, as if he'd hung weights on the tip of his prick to add a few 
inches to its length. Jimmy thought: stupid shit, it's how much you get inside, not how much 
you got hanging outside, that counts.

Now the camera was showing the two of them. They were playing around with each other,
playfully jabbing at each other with the gloves. Just like a couple of kids playing games. Then 
The guy hit the girl in her snatch.

It was no love tap; it was a swift right jab right into her crotch, and it was hard and strong 
enough to knock her half off the floor and slam her into the wall. From her expression, she 
either wasn't expecting anything light years like that, or else she was a pretty fucking good 
actress, trying for the Academy Award right there.

Even the crowd of freaks in the apartment didn't exactly dig that dirty deed. Jimmy could 
hear some of the conversation swirling like smoke around him-which also made him eager for
a cigar, so he set down his drink and lighted one up-and even the guys weren't getting any 
particular thrill out of seeing the chick get it like that.

"That shit's going too far," he told Erica. "That guy's way out of line. I hope she kicks him 
right in the balls."

"We shall see," Erica said, noncommittally.

She didn't seem to care, one way or the other.

The girl was beginning to recover now. She managed to stagger away from the wall, 
rubbing her sore snatch with her gloves. Jimmy noticed a vicious look creep into her eyes.

The guy was off-camera as she swung her glove in a very tight close-up And, on the sound
track-which had previously picked up the girl's gutsy cry when she got it from the guy, and 
which was now playing romantic, string-accented music-a definite male voice roared out with 
anger and indignation, not to mention a touch of pain.

The camera pulled back to reveal the guy, dropped to his knees, tears streaming down his 
cheeks. His gloved hands were clutching at His crotch.

So, she'd socked him in the balls, after all.

She moved in closer, laughing out of the corners of her eyes, mocking him, teasing him, 
her gloves flicking in and out like teasing mosquitoes.

Then His right leg shot out, catching her in the groin.

She went down on the floor, flat on her back, moaning in pain. The music changed again, 
to mournful brass phrases. Jimmy noticed that, whenever either of them got in a good one, 
the music changed right along. Otherwise, he still didn't think much of the movie.

He puffed on his cigar, blowing clouds of smoke. He could hear Erica cough slightly; as she
did so, he felt her fingernail dig into his foreskin. Was that her subtle hint to put out his cigar?

Fuck it-he'd smoke as often and as much as he liked.

He tweaked her nipple between his forefinger and thumb. He squeezed it hard enough so 
that he heard her give a slight yelp of pain. Good, he thought; she's not completely insensitive
yet, anyway.

He feltk her ease the pressure on his prick, too.

On screen, the guy was getting up. He walked slowly, still rubbing his injured balls, toward 
the girl, who was quietly writhing on the floor. He raised his right foot-right over her 
face-ready to otomp the shit right out of her When she gave him a left jab on his left kneecap.

Good show, good blow; she really got him off balance, so much so that his left leg 
crumpled beneath him and he fell in a sprawling heap on the floor.

There was much laughter in the audience this time.

Jimmy eagerly puffed on his cigar, and sipped his drink. He'd be glad to applaud, if his 
hands weren't so full with other matters.

Normally, he'd have cheered for the guy, feeling the way about most females that he did. 
But, there was such a thing as being fair, too. Too many odds, too much of a setup, in favor of 
the guy. And, besides, he seemed like such a fruity, faggoty, fairy sort of guy.

So-screw him.

"Sock it to him, sweetheart!" Jimmy said, waving his cigar like a symphony conductor 
leading his orchestra.

"Are you going to sock it to me too, Jimmy?" Erica said, her voice so dreamy that she 
sounded abstract.

"Sure-with my cigar," Jimmy laughed, and turned his attention once more to the film.

However, from the feeling his crotch was giving him-Erica had done her job well, he had a 
full-fl-edged erection-he couldn't exactly give the movie complete attention after all. Not with
that stiff prick between his legs-not the way it was twitching and itching to go. Or come.

He got his hand inside Erica's cunt. It was wet as a water glass, and just as full. He-could 
feel her juices draining out of her, and her pussy muscles were palpitating in that special way 
that meant she was really getting herself involved.

What he really wanted to do was to get the fuck out of there and fuck.

He whispered in her ear, "Erica, let go of me and let's go."

She replied, "No, I want to see the rest of the film." She paused, giving him a taste of 
tongue in his ear, then added, "I can always fuck, but I can't always watch this film, if you 
understand what I mean."

Jimmy thought: you silly-ass cunt-fuck you-I'm not coming in my jeans for you or any 
other cunt. He started to get up, to leave, but she gripped his cock even more firmly, her 
thumbnail digging into his foreskin. He jabbed her a good one in the cunt with his 
forefinger-he could hear her gasp in surprise, he could feel her almost fall over on her ass 
from the force of his blow-when somebody said, "Hey, sit down, I'm trying to watch this 
fucking film, if you don't mind."

Jimmy glanced at the screen again.

The girl was sitting on top of the guy, squatting on his backbone and beating his ass. That 
is, she was really boxing the guy right on his buttocks. He was looking pretty fucking 
frustrated, pounding the floor with his glove-enclosed fists and throwing a tantrum in general.

Jimmy glanced around.

Shit, stuck back in the corner where they were, he'd practically need a pro football team to
break through the other guests before he got to the door. The way his prick felt, one tiny jolt 
was all he needed to fire off his rounds. He was fucked if he did, and fucked if he didn't; he 
was on the spot, and he figured he may as well stick around, hoping against hope that this 
fucking film would be over in a few minutes and he and Erica could get the fuck out.

He thought: last time I ever go-to visit any of your freaky friends, baby-too fucking far-in 
for me Wearily, he slowly sat down.

It seemed that the guy had the upper hand now.

He had apparently got the girl off his back, and was bouncing her against the wall. He was 
bopping her on the boobs, and they were bobbing and weaving like her boxing gloves. He 
was smacking her with a steady backhanded motion, like a top tennis player making a series 
of serves.

He had hold of her hair in one hand, sort of holding her up, almost a few inches off the 
ground, and he was really socking it to her.

In fact, it looked as if he was beating the living shit right out of her.

Jimmy, by now, was ready to cheer each, or both of them, equally. He jabbed his finger 
further into Erica's cunt, and was rewarded with the start of an orgasm. He could feel her 
vaginal muscles clutching at his finger, and then they went into action. Her juice began to 
pour out of her like a waterfall.

On screen, the girl had gathered up enough strength to swing by her hair, to lift her legs, 
and kick the guy right in the balls.

Naturally, he let go of her, and she fell on her ass, as he also fell in a heap, his gloved 
hands covering his crotch, and an expression of sheer agony on his face.

Jimmy felt Erica's cunt churning, and as he swung his eyes around to look at her, he was 
not too surprised to notice that the rest of her was sitting perfectly still. To the casual observer,
nothing special at all was happening. Erica was fucking like a mink, but only Jimmy's finger 
knew that now.

On screen, the two bodies had sort of crawled into each other, and they were lying 
together, the girl on top of the guy, in a sort of sixty-nine position.

Jimmy, still finger-fucking Erica, could feel her fingers tightly closed about his cock. His 
balls were aching as if they were ready to explode, and his cock was as stiff as a steel rod. He 
didn't dare to move, for fear he would come right in his drawers.

What a fucking position he'd got himself into!

Now, on screen, the guy and girl were eating each other. She was sucking his cock and he 
was licking her cunt. The big fight scene seemed to be over; they were busily making up-and 
making out-with each other now.

And, with their still-gloved hands, they were caressing each other, rubbing those gloved 
hands up and down each other's legs, feeling each other up.

The film was slowly fading out.

The music was very much hearts-and-flowers now, strictly romantic violins schmaltz.

The film went off.

The sound went off.

And, it was suddenly very quiet in the apartment.

But-not for long.

For, after a silence of several seconds, Jimmy could hear certain sounds taking the place of 
the movie sound track.

The sounds of sex.

Sucking, licking, rubbing, touching, kissing, slurping-and other such sounds he knew too 
well.

Yet-the lights-still stayed off-Jimmy thought: what a freaked-out bunch-they've all been 
doing-the same thing Erica and I have been doing-fucking around-all during the film-Erica's 
cunt was almost twisting his finger off.

Her cunt was really going into convulsions; the pressure from her vaginal muscles was so 
strong that his entire hand was almost sucked inside (or so it felt to him).

He jabbed her a good one, and she almost screamed.

But He shouldn't have really done that.

Not at this time.

For Had he forgotten?

Her hand was still clutching his cock. And She suddenly clutched it a little too hard, a little 
too stimulating-the right touch-that meant so much So The next thing Jimmy knew Erica got a
fistful of sperm And Jimmy came All over his fucking shorts U h h h-uhhh-uhhh-too fucking 
much-strictly a hand job-made by hand-hands off-Hands on. Fuck it.

I had had enough of all those assholes and their shit.

Fuck it again, I thought and then I fell asleep.

CHAPTER EIGHT

They were in bed, Jimmy and Erica. Jimmy's double bed, in Jimmy's pad.

Erica was stretched out flat on her back, looking like the letter "X"-each of her four limbs, 
wrists and ankles, bound securely with rope to the four corners of the bed. The stereo had 
some Latin music going, and Jimmy was climbing off the bed to prance around, shaking his 
ass in an amusing manner, and cracking the whips with authority.

Yes-whips-He had his in his right hand, hers in his left.

It was quite late in the morning, but who was to know, with the bedroom shades still 
drawn. Among other things, Jimmy didn't want nosey neighbors watching their little 
psychodrama, while he danced around in time to the Latin rhythms and cracked the whips 
dangerously close to Erica's eyes, so that she could see he wasn't just fucking around, he 
meant business.

"Jimmy, you have me all excited, do you know that?" she said, her eyes following both the 
whips and the movements of his prick, which was stiff as a sausage in a steel casing.

"That was my plan, sweetheart. To get you all hot and bothered, and then walk out on you.
Well, if you'll excuse me, I've got to get some groceries-"

"Jim-my!" she wailed, looking distressed. "Do not play games with me. I am so excited, I 
don't know what to do-"

"Jerk yourself off," he suggested, slyly.

"How can I, in this position?"

"You're a smart girl, Erica. I'm sure you'll find a way."

She started to wail like a banshee, almost crying.

He continued to parade his prick-and the whips-around the bed. For a short while.

And then, really feeling that his prick was much too stiff to let it hang around in that 
situation much longer, he climbed back in bed.

And started walking all over her.

He walked along her legs, cracking the whips, one of her own barbs briefly catching her in 
the pubic hair. Then, he was walking all over the rest of her, being careful not to put too much
weight on her, or really hit her with the whip. Not yet, anyway.

From the sounds she was making in her throat, he figured that she was enjoying the 
spectacle. She ate that kind of shit right up.

He sat down on the edge of the bed, so that, by a short movement of his arms, he could 
get hold of, or whip her on, the breasts if he wished to.

Carefully, he moved his arms, holding the whips, one over each breast. He noticed that her
nipples were nice and erectile, her breasts heaving like volcanic mountains about to erupt.

He began to drag the whips along her boobs, letting the lashes just barely touch her skin. 
From the shuddering of her body and the moaning in her throat, he knew that she was 
enjoying it.

He drew odd figurations on her skin with the whips, being careful that the barbs-both 
steel and glass-on the whips did not cut her skin. He just wanted to get her sexually 
stimulated, to get her all worked up, so he could really fuck the living shit right out of her.

He touched her skin with the back of his hand.

It was warm, smooth, and moist. Almost hot, in fact.

He climbed on top of her, still letting the whips move along her body.

He moved the whips along her arms, and touched his chest to her breasts, feeling the 
tautness of the nipples against his skin. He began to french her, clamping his lips upon hers 
and letting his tongue do all the talking.

He kissed her hard, his lips prying hers open, his tongue slipping inside and pushing hers 
out of the way. He got his tongue right into the corners of her mouth, licking at her moist 
mouth membranes, then shoved it as deep into her throat as he could get.

Her tongue was fighting back, tangling with his, but he was still in charge.

His prick was resting against her clit, and he could feel that her clit was as stiff as a child's 
finger. His prick nuzzled her clit, and her pelvis began to gyrate, as best as it could while she 
was tied down to the bed.

He could feel her midsection moving, and her pubic hair was as damp as a hedge in a 
rainstorm. His balls began to ache, his prick began to tremble, and he knew that he'd better 
put it inside pretty soon, or he'd come all over her chest.

He raised himself on his haunches-he had to stop moving the whip so that he could brace 
his hands on the bed-and, dropping downward, he hit her cunt on the first try, his cock 
slipping inside like a greased screw into its proper hole.

He thrust deep inside her, feeling her liquid pussy muscles part to allow him passage. She 
was plenty wet, and he got himself all the way in with that one long, strong thrust.

He stopped kissing her, withdrawing his tongue, releasing her mouth. Instead, he moved 
his head so that he could suck at her breasts, and then began to whip her on the sides of her 
head-gently, of course, but in time with the Latin rhythms on the stereo.

She was really crying, moaning now, her voice a mixture of primitive wailing and sexual 
desire. His cock began to jab and stab inside her cunt, and her vaginal muscles were 
responding very well to the stimulation. He could feel them expanding and contracting like an
accordion being played.

He kept up the movements of the whip.

He knew she liked that.

As also did he.

His cock twisted and turned, covering her cunt's interior completely, every fucking square 
inch of it. He didn't miss a spot, and her cries told him so, too.

She was heaving on her own haunches now, arching her back like an alleycat, pushing her 
pelvis right at his prick. She was coming, too, going more and more into orgasm with every 
passing second, and he could feel her juices pouring out of her pussy and drenching both of 
their pubic hairs.

Good thing he had the bedpad on; this looked like a real volcanic eruption.

He kept on driving deep, keeping the control, the whips playing their musical pattern on 
the sides of her head. He was careful, quite careful; not wounds, no blood, no problems. Just 
the barest touch of the whips was all she needed to set things off.

And, his cock in her cunt, of course, was really what was going to do the job right.

She was heaving like she was giving birth to a child. Her body was covered with sweat, and
he was having a hard time keeping his position on top of her. A couple of times, she almost 
knocked him off.

She was going into a sexual frenzy, bucking at him from beneath him like a wild horse. She
almost knocked his cock out of her cunt, and had to fight to shove it right back inside.

He couldn't hold off much longer His balls were filled to burstingHe was getting so 
aroused that he stopped whipping her on the head, and switched the whips to her exposed 
arms. He went to work with a fury, and the blood soon started flowing, as the steel and glass 
barbs slashed deep into her soft arm flesh.

While he came.

Right at the end, just before the beginning of her orgasm.

He came like a cannon, and his cock exploded and blasted its sticky, steaming load of 
sperm into her cunt. Her thirsty pussy gulped his hot come down, and cried for more, its 
muscles gorging themselves on his sperm. He kept on coming, like a fire hose turned on full 
blast, his prick pumping, his body humping, until he'd poured all he could into her palpitating 
pussy.

She was still twitching when he stopped fucking her, his prick going limp. Her pussy kept 
right on twitching, trying to get his prick back into action again.

He dropped the whips, and grabbed hold of her big boobs. He got her nipples between 
his thumbs and forefingers, tweaking them good and hard. Her breasts responded 
immediately, thrusting toward him like the bumper guards of a brand-new automobile.

He squeezed her breasts, feeling the squishy flesh between his fingers. But, his cock was 
still soft; yet, as her pussy twitched into life, he could feel her vaginal muscles squeezing his 
prick again, squeezing a bit of life back into his fucking instrument again.

Yes-it was getting just a bit-harder-He leaned over to give her a love bite on the tip of her 
nose-When the door buzzer sounded. What the fuck!

He wasn't expecting anybody, was he? Hell, no!

He glanced at his watch. A few minutes past eleven. The mailman usually came around 
about this time. Of course, that must be it. Probably had a package, or something like that.

Shit, he hated to pull out. But it might be important. He'd better answer the fucking door, 
at that.

Slowly, carefully, almost regretfully, he pulled his cock loose from her cunt. He shambled 
out of the bedroom and into the hall, where he pressed the buzzer and asked who it was. As 
he'd thought, it was the mailman-with a certified letter he had to sign for.

He wrapped a bathrobe around himself, put some slippers on his feet, and walked down 
to the front door. He signed for the letter, and walked back to the apartment. The other mail 
was only circulars and bills, nothing special at all.

Back inside his pad, he glanced at the return address.

It was in medieval script, and the first thing that caught his attention was the name. Baron 
von Stein.

He laughed. What the fuck was the Baron sending him a certified letter for? Unless he'd 
died, and left him that fucking castle he talked about in his will?

He slit open the letter.

He read what was inside; not a letter, but an invitation, all in that same medieval script 
writing.

He laughed.

He kept on laughing, saying, "Too fucking much-invites me to his fucking castle-will send 
his fucking chauffeur to pick me up-"

Erica, who could hear his laughter from the bedroom, called out, "Jimmy, what are you 
laughing at? What is the matter with you? What is so terribly funny?"

He walked into the bedroom, and read her the contents of the invitation.

She said, "That's not funny, that's serious. I think it's wonderful that he invited us-"

"Us? It's addressed to me, not you."

Silence for a few seconds.

"Well, how do you know that my mailman is not delivering the same invitation to my place
at this very moment?"

Jimmy shrugged.

"Look, sweetheart, don't sweat it. I'm sure as shit not going to visit that nut alone, so you 
can bet your beautiful ass I'm taking you along, too."

She was silent, smiling like a child.

Then, Jimmy said, "Only one thing here. He's got some funny initials here, at the bottom of
the card. Of course, I know what RSVP means-but what the fuck does BYOW stand for?"

Erica thought for a few seconds, then said, "It probably means-Bring Your Own Whip."

Jimmy laughed. It sounded so weird that it must be right.

"Yeah, sure, thanks for clueing me in. I'll bring more than that, I'll bring a fucking cannon 
or two, just in case the Baron tries to freak out too much."

Erica was silent again.

Jimmy continued, "Yeah, I remember him as one strange cat, all right Still, I'd like to see his
whip collection, whatever the fuck that is. Yeah-I would like-to see-that shit-"

"Well, I would like you to make love with me again," Erica said.

Jimmy looked down at his dick.

Even in the dark, he could see that the exchange with Erica-not to mention getting the 
Baron's invitation-had perked up his prick. It was starting to rise; not too much, but just a little,
indicating that, with a bit of effort, he could soon be back in the saddle again.

"I would like you to whip me again, Jimmy darling."

He walked over to her, bent over, and kissed her hard on the mouth, biting her lower lip.

Then, withdrawing, he said, "You know I love nothing better than making you happy, Erica. 
Except for making you, of course."

Then An idea filtered its way into his sadistic brain.

Of course!

Another good whip-and-fuck before lunch, to work himself up an appetite-that would be 
very cool indeed.

He sat down on the edge of the bed, and slipped his thumb into her cunt. It was still wet, 
and he could feel that her pussy muscles were starting to respond all over again. Oh yes, she 
was all ready again for a good fucking-or a good whipping. Or both.

He teased her cunt with his thumb for a while, then, withdrawing, he leaned his face over 
and bit her on the clit. He felt her body shudder, go straight as a steel rod, for several seconds.
He'd really hit her close to home that time.

He chewed her clit for a few more minutes, listening to her moans of joy, then stopped, 
took his head away, and walked out of the bedroom.

He went into the kitchen, and checked out the contents of the refrigerator. Though he 
rarely used the stuff-he generally drank his! coffee black-he did keep some on hand, for 
emergencies, so to speak. And, there was a i half-filled bottle of the stuff in the fridge.

He took it with him, back to the bedroom.

He sat on the edge of the bed, opened the bottle, and poured some of the stuff into 
Erica's cunt.

Erica shivered.

"Jimmy-that makes me feel-so cold-"

"On the contrary, it's going to help warm you up."

"How do you mean?"

"Just listen to your main man, and watch what he does with it and how he does it."

So saying, he climbed back in bed again.

He picked up both whips-again, his in the right hand, hers in the left hand-and cracked 
them in the air, just by Erica's ears. She smiled as she heard the sound, felt the barbs just 
touch her on the hair, that lovely long blond hair that spilled out all over the pillow. "Jimmy?"

"What?"

"What did you put inside me?"

"I'll tell you later. What does it feel like?"

"It feels like blood."

He laughed.

She continued, "It's so thick and wet, that is exactly what it feels like."

"It's not blood, baby," he laughed again. "I'll tell you later, if you can't guess by then."

He climbed on top of her, placing his prick between her breasts, easing it into the natural 
cleft that made a valley between her twin boobies. He began to whip her about the head; 
gently, not too hard, not bloody, but enough to let her know who was in charge of the 
whipping business around Jimmy's place.

She started that strange moaning again, and her boobs began to vibrate, almost as if they 
were trying to clutch his cock between them.

He could feel his prick begin to get hard. Good. It wouldn't be long now.

He began to move his prick around, sort of slapping her on the titties with it, as he was 
whipping her in the hair. He could feel her body buckling beneath him, her pelvic motions 
making her do a bump and grind right in his bed.

She didn't seem to mind being bound to the bed. In fact, she seemed to enjoy her tied-up 
position. There was a half-smile on her face, visible even in the darkness of the room, that 
seemed to say, "I like whatever you are doing to me, as long as you do it well."

His cock was getting stiffer by the second, so he pulled it away from her breasts and 
dragged it, like a dead body, along her stomach and down to her clit. He rubbed his cock 
against her clit, and he could feel her clit get erect faster than his cock.

He switched his whipping to her open-palmed wrists.

He got her right on the tips of her fingers, a most sensitive area. She was almost whining 
now, she was in ecstasy-those sounds he knew full well-and he kept giving it to her there 
while he began to rub his cock against her cunt lips.

He could feel the stuff he'd poured into her pussy seeping out. He dropped one whip so 
that he could pour a refill into her snatch, then picked up tho whip again and continued what 
he was doing.

He raised himself on his haunches, his stiff cock hanging down, poised above her, like the 
blade of a sword.

He slammed it home.

He hit her hard, he heard some of the breath go out of her, as he socked his cock to her 
cunt. He could feel the sticky stuff he'd poured into her oozing out, as his cock displaced part 
of it. She was so wet his dick felt as if it was drowning; he drove deeper and harder, and it 
wasn't too long before his dong was deep inside her slit, rammed all the way in.

He started to whip her on the breasts, paying particular attention to catching her on the 
tips of her nipples. Her body was really gyrating beneath his now, and her pussy muscles were 
back into action, clutching at his cock and squeezing the juice, or trying to, out of it.

He began to ride her, hard, ever harder, moving with in-and-out, up-and-down, strokes 
that got her responding but good. She started to come, her pussy juice leaking out of her like 
a sieve.

She was practically screaming with pleasure, not unmixed with a bit of pain as well, as he 
kept socking it to her. His cock was getting harder, his balls ready to explode; he was really 
going to make this a fuck she would never forget. One she could tell the Baron about, if she 
felt like it; he didn't give a good fuck, one way or the other.

He was whipping her all over the place now, not just on the breasts only, in his increasing 
excitement. His cock was feeling her cunt coming like a waterfall, and she was screaming, 
"Jimmy-what did you put-inside me-what is it-it feels so good-oh, Jimmy-don't wait any 
longer-fuck me, Jimmy-fuck me now-"

Jimmy, however, waited.

He wanted to get her good, right on the crest of what he would consider her most 
ambitious orgasm to date. He wanted her cunt to be churning like a washing machine, his 
cock to really fire off like a submarine releasing the number one torpedo, ready to sink that 
ship but good.

He waited-he timed it-he hit it-at just the right moment-He came.

He got her where he wanted her, and his sperm exploded into her with the force of a 
battering ram. He pumped her as she humped him, and her arching back, her pelvic gyrations,
her soprano screams-all told him that he had indeed timed his fucking just right.

He poured it on, poured it in, let his stinging sperm do the talking, while she cried out, 
"Jimmy-I still don't know-what you put inside me-what was it, Jimmy-"

He said, simply, "Cream."

She said, amazed, "What-cream-dairy cream-"

"No, you stupid cunt-whipping cream."

CHAPTER NINE

There they were, Jimmy and Erica, at the castle of Baron von Stein.

His chauffeur had indeed driven them there, and they were just now entering the grounds,
which were spacious and green, with a small lake and a woods nearby. The castle itself was 
perched on top of a small hill, as was the tradition with most castles. There was a moat of 
water surrounding it.

The chauffeur stopped the car by an electronic box of some sort, inserted a key into the 
gadget, and the drawbridge came down.

Jimmy glanced at the murky waters of the moat. He thought he saw some fish snapping, 
some big-mouthed, big-teethed fish, but it was dark and he couldn't be sure.

They drove across the drawbridge, getting inside the outer walls of the castle proper. 
There was a modem innovation, a garage with sliding, electronically-controlled doors, where 
the chauffeur parked the car.

Then he led them to an elevator, and they ascended to the main floor of the castle. The 
Baron was waiting for them.

Dressed, not in a dinner jacket or a tuxedo, as one might expect, but in a medieval suit of 
armor with sword, visored helmet, the works.

Jimmy almost burst out laughing. The Baron looked so comical, so ridiculous, but from the
cool, controlled gaze in his eyes, Jimmy could see that he was totally serious about what he 
was wearing, if not also what he was doing.

After the usual pleasantries had been exchanged, the Baron brought them into a lounging 
room where they sat down in medieval chairs and drank the foaming red wine he ordered 
brought for them.

They glanced around the room. The ceiling was as high as a hall, and the acoustics were as
booming as a concert auditorium. The furnishings, including the draperies and curtains, were 
all medieval, looking so old that it would not be hard to imagine that they had been slipped 
aboard a time machine and transported five hundred years into the past. Even the paintings 
looked like the type Henry VIII might have kept around his own castle.

"It's really beautiful," Erica said, almost gasping with admiration. "It's quite fantastic the 
way you have accurately reproduced the Middle Ages, Baron, right here in your own castle."

The Baron smiled. "Not quite so fantastic, my dear, when you realize that I have brought 
every stone, every piece of wood, of an authentic German castle all the way to America and 
had everything reassembled here exactly as it was there."

"Got any knights in shining armor hiding around here?" Jimmy asked, winking at Erica.

The Baron took the jest in the proper spirit, leaning back his head and laughing. Then he 
closed his helmet visor, whipped out his sword, and made a few fake passes at Jimmy, his 
muffled voice saying, "On guard. I am a direct descendant of the original Silver Knight of the 
Middle Ages. I have come to rescue a fair damsel in distress from your clutches, oh Black 
Knight."

Just because Jimmy was dressed in black slacks didn't exactly make him a black knight.

He shrugged and said, "Well, Hi Ho Silver to you, too."

"Why did they call him the Silver Knight?" Erica asked.

The Baron threw back his visor and replaced his sword, then replied, "Because his suit of 
armor was made out of silver plating, and it gleamed and glistened in the sunlight like a 
million diamonds. That is why he usually won most of his battles. The light reflecting from his 
armor temporarily blinded his opponents, so he could move in quickly for the kill."

Jimmy sipped his wine, thoughtfully. It was a full-bodied almost heavy drink.

"What kind of wine is this?" he asked.

"It is an authentic medieval wine made from, among other things, honey," the Baron 
informed him.

"It's very good. I like it," Erica said.

She was wearing a low-cut blouse, and as she bent forward to sort of toast the Baron with 
her wine glass, her boobs stuck out of the blouse for a few inches. The Baron's gaze was 
immediately directed downward, and from the way he stared at her breasts, it looked like his 
interest was far more than fatherly.

"Lovely, my dear," the Baron murmured. "They, I mean, you are lovely."

"Thank you."

Jimmy yawned deliberately and said, "Say Baron, if you don't mind, it's been a long trip 
and I think we'd like to sack out for the night. Can you get your butler to direct us to our 
bedroom?"

The Baron sighed. "Well, I had wanted to show you some of the original torture 
instruments I had brought over from Germany."

"It's torturing me to stay awake right now," Jimmy yawned again, scratching his crotch. He 
looked at Erica and added, "How about you?"

"Whatever you say, Jimmy."

The Baron was still trying, though. He protested. "If I may just show you one thing that will 
be of great interest to you, then you may go to bed."

Jimmy shrugged. "All right, let's see it. But make it fast, okay? The lady's tired. You 
understand."

"Of course."

The Baron motioned for them to follow him into an adjoining room. It was dark, so he 
slipped on a spotlight that illuminated one particular section of the room. What the spotlight 
illuminated looked like a casket placed on its edge, as if the corpse wanted to be buried 
standing up.

It was made of ancient heavy iron, with all sorts of strange symbolic carving on the outer 
surface, and it also looked as if there was an opening, like a door, that could be pulled straight
out.

"Oh, that really looks medieval," Erica said. "What is that?"

"Yeah. It looks like an iron coffin," Jimmy chimed in.

"Close, but not quite," the Baron said. He walked over to the device and took hold of a 
clasp on one end. 'This," he said, as if he were announcing the end of the world, "is the 
fabulous torture machine of the Middle Ages, the one and only...." Long, dramatic pause. "... 
Iron Maiden."

So saying, he pulled open the device, which opened just like a coffin standing on its edge. 
Inside, nothing but empty space, about the size of a human body.

On the door part now revealed in the glare of the spotlight, were a series of sharp iron 
stakes of various thickness and length. It was obvious to anyone looking that, when there was 
a body inside and the door was closed, those stakes would go right through like a knife 
through soft butter.

Erica's mouth dropped open and her eyes widened in admiration. She gasped and Jimmy 
caught her almost hypnotized look at the Iron Maiden. Then he glanced at the Baron and 
noticed his confident, almost supercilious smile-more like a shit-eating grin-and knew that the
Baron had set up this little scene just to impress Erica with his occult knowledge or his S & M 
medieval shit or something like that.

"It's absolutely beautiful...."

The way Erica's words tumbled breathlessly out of her mouth, Jimmy was beginning to 
wonder if she wasn't suicidal as well as masochistic. One experience inside the Iron Maiden 
would be her last.

"Yeah, sure, very nice, if you've got a friend you want to get rid of," Jimmy said.

He took hold of Erica's hand-shit, was it cold and clammy all of a sudden, like holding dn 
to a corpse!-and said to the Baron, "Hey, Baron, thanks a lot, but we don't need any 
nightmares this evening. So, if it's okay with you, we'd like to rack out for the night."

The Baron chuckled. "Did you say, rack out?"

Jimmy thought, I knew he'd take it that way. Then he said, "In bed, not in that thing," as he
pointed at the Iron Maiden, then gestured toward the door.

"In that case, come with me and I will show you to your chambers personally."

He led them to the elevator and they all got on. He pressed a button and the elevator shot
up for two floors, then he led them off into a long, high-ceilinged hallway.

"I didn't know they had elevators in the Middle Ages," Jimmy commented.

"Of course they did not," the Baron said. "But after all, one must expect to have a few 
modern conveniences in one's home, must one not?"

"Well, it beats climbing six flights of stairs."

The Baron showed them to a mammoth bedroom, the piece de resistance of which was a 
huge, four-postered canopied bed, large enough to sleep a family of four.

"Now, my friends, is there anything else you would like before you go to bed?" the Baron 
said, solicitously.

"Only some privacy. We don't like fucking in public," Jimmy said, nonchalantly.

Erica giggled, but the Baron's smile was spoiled by a jealous glint in his eyes. Jimmy caught
that too, and laughed to himself thinking, whether you like it or not, Baron, I'm fucking her, 
not you.

"I do not blame you. Some things should always remain private property," the Baron said, 
enigmatically.

Then he gave them a low bow, backed out the door, closed it, and departed.

They were alone.

Since their luggage had already been brought up by some other minion of the Baron's, 
they unpacked and hung up their clothes. Of course, they weren't going to wear anything to 
bed.

Jimmy had, naturally, brought his whip with him, as also had Erica. However, Jimmy only 
wanted a little of this pleasure this evening; he was tired, and he wanted to get to sleep as 
soon as possible.

He took Erica's whip and said, "How about some exercise?"

"How do you mean?"

"Well, why don't you run around the bed and I'll chase you and whip your ass? How does 
that sound for fun, sweetheart?"

"Anything with you is always fun, Jimmy."

She shook her bounteous buttocks almost in his face, and, taking ballet-like steps, she 
began to dance her way around the bed while he gave pursuit with her whip.

Not too hard. Easy does it. He brought the whip down on her buttocks in a softly falling 
motion, drawing only a few bloody scratches, but stimulating her into speeding up her bodily 
motions so that the more he caught her on the ass with the whip, the faster she moved.

It was like a strange midnight dance, something almost macabre about their movements, 
as if they had been choreographed by ghouls. The castle was straight out of a medieval 
murder mystery, a Gothic romance and its cold stone floors, on which they were dancing and 
prancing, were enough to send up chills along their skins.

Jimmy's arm felt tired. He didn't really feel in the mood for whipping her tonight. He'd 
rather just have a fast fuck, then roll over and go to sleep.

He wasn't looking where he was going and his elbow ran into the poster of the bed, one 
of the four, by mistake. It caused him to get off balance. He slipped and fell on his face, his 
semi-erect prick hitting the floor first.

"Ooh, ouch! Damn near bent my prick into a right angle. Oh!"

She rushed over to him, took his head in her hands. "Jimmy, did you hurt yourself? Are you
all right?"

His face felt bruised, and he could feel the chilliness of the cold stone floor creeping all 
over his skin. He let her help him to his feet, then said, "Let's get to bed right now. Let's just 
fuck and fall asleep."

"No more whipping?" she pouted.

Feeling a bit angry he said, loudly, "That's right, no more whipping! Would you rather get 
fucked or whipped?"

She hesitated, her eyes indecisive.

He slapped her on the mouth; not too hard, but hard enough to rock her.

"Erica, now cut out that shit, will you! You know I'm tired and so are you. Let's just fuck and
forget it. Well start all over tomorrow. Now get your ass into that bed, you understand?"

"That's what I like about you, Jimmy," she murmured, admiringly. "You are always decisive."

"In the bed, Erica. Let's fuck, not talk."

Obediently, she climbed in, feeling the softness of the silk sheets against her fair skin. She 
reached over and grabbed hole? of his prick, helping to pull him in bed by his instrument of 
manliness. He couldn't help but smile at the way she took hold of it, so delicately, yet so firmly
as well.

As soon as they were both in bed, he grabbed her by the breasts, getting her nipples 
between his thumbs and forefingers. They were erect, all right, and her breasts were full and 
round, soft and squishy, in his hands. He squeezed her nipples.

He felt her body move, shudder, stretch out on the full length of the bed.

She still had her hand on his prick, and was peeling the foreskin back as if she was opening
a package wrapped in plastic.

He smiled again.

Then, slipping his feet underneath hers, and using a sort of judo trick he'd picked up in the
army, he flipped, rolled her over so that she was lying on top of him, and so that he was lying 
flat on his back.

She gasped in surprise while he got hold of her whip again.

He said, "I'm tired. You can do most of the work this time."

She said, "Whatever you say, Jimmy."

He began to whip her on the back, running the fine, sharp barbs of her whip up and down 
her vertebrae. He could feel the whip bite into her soft flesh and each time it did he could feel 
her body shudder with ecstasy.

He was thinking of the Baron's so-called whip collection, wondering when that was going 
to be unveiled. That, he supposed, was one of the reasons they were here, so that the Baron 
would have an appreciative audience.

Well, as far as he was concerned, he had his appreciative audience of one at the moment, 
and that was all he, Jimmy Johnson, needed and wanted.

He felt the hard circles of her nipples biting into his chest, and her clit was rubbing against 
his crotch. She was even starting to sweat, and her breathing was changing rhythms already, 
too.

She was getting so sticky with sweat, she almost slid off him a couple of times.

He moved the motions of the whip to her legs, moving down from her buttocks to the 
heels of her feet. She really moved when he whipped her on the heels. It must be one of her 
more vulnerable spots, he thought, a sort of erogenous zone for the whip.

He was getting tired of whipping her, though. It was too much work, and his arm was 
starting to relax its grip. The whip was sliding along her skin than doing anything else.

Fuck it, he thought. Let's get fucked, not whipped. He gave her a few farewell taps on the 
ass, then let the whip fall to the floor.

He reached his hand around her neck, grabbed her lovely long blonde hair by the roots, 
and pulled her head back so that her eyes were looking into his from an offbeat angle.

He said, "I think you've had enough whipping for now. Let's just fuck."

She hesitated. "Well, I could use a little more, if you don't mind."

"I do mind," he said harshly, as he yanked her back with such force that tears came into 
her eyes. "Just fuck me, Erica, and that'll be fine for the evening. Don't you realize how fucking
beat I am? I really need my sleep. Don't you understand that?"

"I'm sorry, Jimmy," she said, dreamily.

He let go of her hair. He felt so fucking tired he'd just as soon fall asleep right then and 
there. His cock was throbbing with sexual energy, though-her bodily movements had certainly
helped the closeness of her cunt and all that-and she too could feel the thrills of sexual 
ecstasy coursing throughout her nerve endings.

"Poor Jimmy," she said, rubbing her breasts against his chest. "You are so tired. I will take 
good care of you. Let Erica fuck you good, Jimmy. Let Erica make you happy."

"Just make me," he mumbled, feeling more sleepy by the second.

She raised herself from his chest, and moved her body so that she could lean her head 
over his crotch. Her tongue snaked out and caught his cock right on the tip.

He began to moan with pleasure as she started to lick his prick. He could feel the 
throbbing in his prick, as her licking tongue began to make it rise to its full length.

She licked it from tip to base, and back again, stopping now and then to slobber all over 
his balls and to sniff at his pubic hairs.

As he became more sleepy, his prick, on the other hand, became more wide awake.

Soon she started sucking. She bent her head over his head again and placed her lovely lips
over the tip of his prick. Slowly, carefully, she began to draw his prick inside her mouth.

He could feel her tongue on the bottom of his prick, drawing it further and further into her
mouth. Her lips closed over his prick, and she began to suck slowly and surely, her sucking 
rhythms causing his prick to throb with intensity, as if it was plugged into an electric outlet.

She kept on sucking. He was too tired to even reach for her. He just lay back and let her 
suck him off.

Soon his prick was stiff enough. She released it from her mouth. She climbed back on top 
of him, arching her back as she swung her crotch over his. She dropped down slowly, bringing
her cunt down to make contact with his cock.

He could feel her cunt lips open and her cunt was soon gorging itself on his cock, drawing 
it inside, as she kept on coming down on him. He could feel his cock sticking straight up into 
her, and she was plenty wet, so he felt no discomfort at all.

Soon she had him all the way inside, and she had her cunt all the way down to his balls. 
The fit couldn't have been better.

She began to ride him, her body moving up and down like a seesaw, her vaginal muscles 
greedily grasping his prick and squeezing it like an accordian.

He could feel his sperm backing up in his balls, fighting gravity to climb all the way along 
his cock and explode inside her cunt.

The hard nipples of her breasts hit his chest like needle points. He reached around her 
waist, grabbing her by the ass, getting his fingernails in good and deep. If he was too tired for 
the whip, he'd use his fingernails instead.

She began to come, and he could feel her sticky juice pouring all over his crotch. She was 
humping and pumping him like a windmill grinding grain, and he could feel his prick 
struggling to let loose its awful load of sperm.

She was well into orgasm now, really pouring on the passion. He tried to brace his back, to
thrust deeper inside her. No use, he couldn't quite make it. He had to lie back and let her work
him over.

She was coming all over him, like a leaky bathtub, and he was struggling to shoot off his 
wad when he came.

Not a great come, hardly a good come, but better than no come at all. He fired once, let 
his sperm spurt into her cunt, shoot off all there was to shoot, and then, while she was still 
riding high, fucking low, he fell asleep.

CHAPTER TEN

It was so late when Jimmy and Erica woke up the next morning, almost noon, that they 
were too late for breakfast and had to have nothing else but lunch.

Erica changed into a micro-mini with a see-thru blouse, which Jimmy objected to as an 
unnecessary display of tits around the Baron. But she insisted saying, "I'm just going to let him
look not touch."

Jimmy slipped into a pair of bellbottoms with a wild, psychedelic pattern, and put on a 
body shirt that he wore open, leaving his chest hair showing.

He said, "If you're going to let him look at your tits, then I'll let him look at my chest, too."

She laughed saying, "I think you're jealous."

"Jealous of what? I'll bet he couldn't get it up with a crane."

She reached over and rubbed his balls with her fingers saying, '(Well, darling, I certainly 
know you have no trouble. Perhaps the Baron needs to be mounted on a horse with a lance in
his hands, to rush right out and slay a dragon for a fair damsel."

"You sound like a history school book," he said.

When they got down to the main entrance hall, the Baron was waiting for them. He had on
his suit of silver armor, and this time they noticed that he was indeed carrying a lance, and 
also had a sword buckled around his waist.

"Well, Baron, you look pretty well armed today," Jimmy said. "Are you expecting burglars 
or something?"

The Baron laughed. Jimmy noticed a lingering touch of evil in his voice as he said, "One 
cannot be too careful with all the priceless heirlooms and medieval tapestries in my castle. I 
am sure you understand."

"Well, I haven't seen any crooks pull up a moving van and start carting off the furniture," 
Jimmy said, laconically as he lit up a cigar and took a deep puff.

"I'm hungry," Erica said.

"Of course, my dear, please forgive me. I had forgotten that neither of you had breakfast."

Jimmy felt like saying, I did, I ate her pussy. But he said nothing and they went into the 
dining room where, at that same long wooden table-at the opposite end of which was 
mounted a throne, where the Baron always parked his ass-with an authentic medieval meal, 
plenty of roast beef and chicken and pie and gravy and soup and vegetables, was waiting for 
them. Plus great wooden goblets of meat.

Jimmy sat down and took a sip. He said, "This is sure strong wine. A guy could get drunk 
on this stuff easily enough."

"So could a girl," Erica said, taking a dainty taste of her drink.

"After lunch I shall take you on a tour of the grounds and the castle," the Baron said.

He sat down in his throne and clapped his hands. A couple of young girls, dressed as 
serving wenches in medieval costumes-but with plenty of plunging necklines and plenty of 
bare tits showing beneath them-came running and began serving the food.

Jimmy wondered which ones were fucking the Baron, if any of them were. They looked 
about eighteen or nineteen; all minors, of course. He made a mental note of that. It might be 
worth remembering, in case he ever wanted to gather evidence to bring a morals charge 
against the Baron.

The lunch was good, and Jimmy ate a bit more than he'd planned. He seemed to have put 
away a bit more meat than he'd planned, because he lit another cigar and puffed very deeply 
to try and clear his head.

He made another mental note, to go easy on the meat. Too fucking strong. Unless the 
Baron was trying to get him drunk by being subtle about it.

After they had finished their lunch, the Baron took them on a walking tour of the grounds. 
They were landscaped nicely, and there were gardens for both food and flowers. He showed 
them the woods, which had a few fresh water springs there, too.

As they walked by the moat-the water was a cold green color, but too murky to see more 
than a few inches below the surface-Jimmy, who had saved a couple of chunks of meat, 
flipped one, almost casually, into the water.

Snap! A great fish with jaws the size of a Great Dane chomped down those jaws on the 
piece of meat and quickly disappeared beneath the surface again.

"Please!" the Baron protested. "Do not feed my fish. They have already been fed. I have 
them on a strict diet."

"If they've already been fed, why did this one grab at my meat so quickly then?" Jimmy 
countered.

The Baron started to sputter and Jimmy said, "I didn't know sharks could live in this kind of
climate, Baron. Why don't you stock the moat with catfish instead? Then we can go fishing 
peacefully."

"Please Jimmy, I'm sure the Baron knows what he is doing," Erica said, taking Jimmy's arm 
and trying to lead him away from the moat.

"All right, I won't feed your fucking fish again, Baron, if that will make you happy. I , just 
don't like the idea of having man-eating monsters like that around me, that's all."

"They will not disturb you if you leave them alone," the Baron said, glaring at him.

"Well, I'm sure not going swimming in your moat, that's for sure," Jimmy said.

He could feel a chill developing in their relationship already. He wished he hadn't come. 
He was ready to leave right here and now.

He let Erica lead him away from the moat and let the Baron explain some rare plants to 
them. But he wasn't paying any attention to the Baron's bullshit. He was more concerned 
about getting the fuck out of this freaky place.

He thought, one more night. Show me your fucking whip collection, then Erica and I are 
getting the fuck out of here.

Erica ... If it wasn't for her and her weird masochistic, whip-crazed ideas, he wouldn't be 
here in the first place. He really should leave her here and get the fuck out himself and forget 
all about both of them.

Well see, he thought. We shall see.

The Baron soon took them back inside the castle. They sat down in the living room for a 
drink. This time the Baron had them served with some liquer, some authentic stuff made in a 
medieval monastery from a six-hundred-year-old formula. It was damn good, especially on 
ice.

Then, after a brief rest, he said, "And now, I should like to show you the rest of the castle 
by daylight."

Jimmy looked at his watch. It was a few minutes past four. Maybe a two-hour tour, then a 
few drinks, then dinner, and then, who knows.

"Sure," he smiled. "Why not?"

Erica smiled, sort of enigmatically. She then beamed like a full moon at the Baron, which 
Jimmy had never seen her do before.

Of course, the Baron's eyes were firmly fixed on her cleavage, her big tits, showing beneath
the see-through blouse. The Baron slowly licked his lips.

"I thought dinner was at eight," Jimmy said.

The Baron coughed, almost reddening with embarrassment. Then he cleared his throat, 
stood up, and said, "Please follow me."

The Baron clinked when he walked, due to the weight of his armor. Jimmy kept thinking 
how the Baron reminded him of a character in a children's movie called the Tin Woodsman, 
who kept rusting away. He wondered how the Baron could fuck in that outfit. Why, he 
couldn't even jerk himself off without a welder to cut him out of his armor.

They went to the top floor and covered the castle, floor by floor. They walked from one 
room, from one floor, to the other. The first several rooms and the first few floors were mostly 
ancient history, family crests and all that kind of shit.

The Baron really liked to bullshit about his fucking family and how many centuries they 
went back. Erica seemed fascinated by this lesson in ancient history, but it was all Jimmy could
do to keep from yawning.

There were many paintings and tapestries in each room, which made the castle seem even 
more like a museum than before. Erica gave them a lot of oohs and aahs, and the Baron ate it 
all up.

Jimmy noticed the Baron "accidentally" brushing against Erica's boobs whenever he could, 
or would sometimes take hold of her hand to point out something special, or would on 
occasion rub his kneecap into her crotch in a very suspicious manner.

Jimmy thought, Fuck you, Baron. You're not fucking Erica when I'm around. Over my dead 
body you are, Baron von Stein. Fuck you!

He wondered if the Baron was getting his rocks off. In that silver suit of armor, he could 
have a two-foot erection and nobody else would know it but him.

Finally, they ended up in the basement where the Baron said, "Do you remember the Iron 
Maiden I showed you when you first arrived?"

"Oh yes," Erica giggled, as if she'd like nothing better than to be shut up in one.

Jimmy nodded, with no outward display of enthusiasm.

"Well, I have some other things along that line I would like to show you," the Baron said. 
He pointed toward a huge oaken door.

"Is that the wine cellar?" Jimmy asked, sardonically.

The Baron laughed. "No, my dear fellow, I will show you that some other time. This is the 
Torture Chamber."

Jimmy almost started to shudder when he heard those words. He was half-suspicious the 
Baron was going to try and pull a fast one on both Erica and himself. He didn't trust the Baron
as far as he could throw him, with or without armor, but the Baron, noticing Jimmy's 
suspicious looks, said, "Please, do not be alarmed. You are here as observers, not as 
participants."

Then, his eyes narrowing, he smiled softly and added, "Unless, of course, you might 
wish...."

"We might not wish anything like that!" Jimmy said defiantly.

Erica looked from one to the other, her eyes amused, her expression purposely vague. 
Whatever she really thought, she was keeping to herself.

The Baron placed a key in the lock and opened the door. Then he flicked on a light switch 
and beckoned them to join him, inside the Torture Chamber.

They entered. Erica squealed with delight. Jimmy gasped. Not even in the Orient had he 
ever seen a collection of murderous devices like this, certainly not packed into one 
warehouse-sized room. The stuff he was staring at could take care of an army battalion.

There were more Iron Maidens, of course, and giant crucifixes built into whipping posts. 
Sacrificial altars of stone slabs, Chinese water torture equipment, face masks like the Iron 
Maiden that would really chop up a person's puss to hamburger. The list was almost endless.

Jimmy felt his skin crawl, as if cockroaches were dancing up and down. His stomach began 
to rumble. He was almost ready to throw up.

Erica, however, was the opposite. Like a little girl with a Christmas tree full of toys, she was 
skipping around the room, inspecting each and every instrument of torture and humming to 
herself like a bird with its beak full of honey.

The Baron had a shit-eating grin pasted on his face, as he watched her prancing and 
dancing, noticing the fine contours of her legs and the juicy shape of her ass.

Jimmy was almost positive the Baron had planned everything this way. Sure he had. That 
way, he'd get Erica so fucking masochistic that she'd be easy prey for him. She'd fall into his 
hands like a ripe fruit.

What chance did Jimmy. have against a whole fucking castle full of equipment like this? All
Jimmy had was his cock. Through his rising anger, he could feel his cock coming through in 
the pinch. He was getting a giant-sized erection and it was straining against his pants leg right
now, really causing its outline to show up.

Erica was standing by one of the crucifixes, her arms outstretched as if she wanted to be 
chained to it.

"It fits you perfectly, my dear," the Baron said, chuckling to himself.

"May I try it on?" Erica asked, almost innocently.

Jimmy thought, got to really play this cool. If I object too much, she'll get pissed off and 
probably do something freaky with the Baron anyway, but if I let her get away with something 
once, she probably would try it again and again.

He just had to think of something.

Decisions, always decisions. His mind wrestled with the problem for several seconds. 
Finally, he decided to just watch for the moment and let Erica do whatever the fuck she 
wanted, just to see how far she'd go.

The Baron turned toward Jimmy, a questioning look in his eyes as he said, "Do you mind?"

Jimmy shrugged replying, "It's her life."

The Baron took some silk cords-how delicate of him-and bound Erica to the crucifix so 
that her body was in the shape of a T.

Jimmy noticed that the Baron's nimble fingers were feeling up the girl every place he 
touched, and what's more, she didn't seem to mind. It almost looked as if she really liked it.

Then the Baron seemed to get his hand in her crotch and seemed to hold it there for the 
longest time.

Anger burned like acid in Jimmy. He was just about ready to step in-maybe even slug the 
Baron-when one of the servants came creeping in and said, "Excuse me, Baron, but the chef 
would like to see you. There is a problem about the evening meal."

"Always problems," the Baron said, irritated. He turned to leave and said to Jimmy, "Don't 
let her get away. I shall be right back." Then he and the servant departed.

Jimmy walked over to her, looked her right in the eyes and said, "Are you comfortable? 
Can I get you anything?"

She smiled, licking her lips. "You are jealous of the Baron, aren't you, Jimmy?"

"Jealous? Of what?"

"I can tell. You think he wants to take me away from you, don't you?"

In reply he rubbed his growing cock against her crotch. She began to murmur in a sexy 
manner and he said, "The Baron doesn't come equipped with a cock like that, does he, 
sweetheart?"

He could feel that her clit was responding. It felt erect to the touch, and her body seemed 
to tense, then vibrate as he rubbed against her.

He stepped back and picked up a length of? barbed wire, being careful not to cut his 
hand., "Well Erica," he said, beginning to whack; away at her with the barbed wire, "let's see if I
the Baron can take care of your needs half as well as I can, shall we?"

He began to whip her about the breasts, and was pleased to see the barbed wire rip her 
see-through blouse into tattered pieces of cloth. She began to bleed, but not too much; 
however, enough so that she was soon crying out.

"More, more, Jimmy. You really know how to make me happy."

"You mean I really know how to make you, don't you, Erica?"

Crack, crack! Like a whip,, the barbed wire came down on her bare, bloody flesh. When he 
was finished with her above the waist, he began to work out on her below the waist.

Soon her micro-mini was in shreds and shreds, the same as her blouse, while he whipped 
away at her thighs and legs.

"Oh Jimmy, it feels so good. Keep it up."

"I'll have to. I can't keep it down anymore."

That was true. His erection was threatening to split the seams of his pants. He whipped her
for a little while longer.

Until he caught a few of the barbs on his fingers, and started to bleed a bit himself. That 
was enough. Time to put the barbed wire away, and work out on something else.

He dropped the barbed wire, and took his clothes off. His prick was straight as a statue 
now, fully erect. His balls felt as if they were made of lead, and he was ready to fuck on a 
second's notice.

He stepped up to her and placed his thumb and forefinger by her clit. He began to snap 
his fingers and to snap her clit along with them. He could feel it bounce back into shape like a 
tuning fork.

Next, he stuck his thumb inside her cunt, somewhat roughly shoving her cunt lips open. 
She was plenty wet inside, as wet inside as she was bloody and sweaty on the outside.

While his thumb was still inside her cunt, he bent over and licked at her nipples. They were
taut and he tasted a mixture of blood, sweat, and tears. He had to admit it was a different, if 
not necessarily delightful taste sensation.

Her body shuddered, vibrating wildly beneath his touch, straining at the bonds that held 
her securely to the crucifix.

She started to try and lick him on the forehead while he was licking her nipples, but his 
head was out of range of her tongue.

He felt her tongue in his hair and so he stopped licking her tits and started frenching her, 
his lips clamping against hers and his tongue driving all the way home as, at the same time, he
shoved his cock right inside her cunt.

He began to fuck her as if he was stabbing her crotch with a knife, with straight ahead 
movements that jabbed right to the heart of the matter.

She could feel him digging deeply into her pussy and her juice began to flow freely. He felt
her vaginal muscles clutching his cock, and he kept up his simultaneous fucking, his tongue in 
her mouth and his cock in her cunt.

She tried to bite him on the tongue, and, at the same time, he thought she might have 
even had teeth in her pussy because it sure felt the same way there, too.

In response, he just jabbed harder and deeper with both tongue and cock.

She was really coming now, her orgasms increasing in intensity with every move that he 
made. He was holding back, wanting to really slam it to her in the middle of one of her wildest
orgasmic explosions. He waited. He worked.

Then, just at the right moment when he was sure his balls couldn't hold out much longer, 
he came. He came with a fine, forward thrusting motion that let his sperm spray directly into 
her pussy. It was like both barrels of a shotgun going off simultaneously, and she felt the hot, 
sticky blast of his sperm as it slammed her body hard against the wooden crucifix.

He kept on coming, her breasts pressed tightly against his chest, his tongue still jammed 
inside her mouth as his cock was jammed inside her cunt, licking and sucking and coming and
fucking. It was a wild, weird experience for him. She really liked it, too, judging by the passions
generated by her sexual responses.

And, as he was fucking her, he couldn't forget the strangeness of the situation, the entire 
idea of sadism and masochism, the whole torture and cruelty thing, how closely interrelated 
pleasure was with pain. At least as far as Erica was concerned.

Poor, sick Erica, he thought.

It was, after all, the Baron's place where these instruments of evil had been collected and 
assembled. They had apparently turned Erica on, more than usual.

The Baron knew what he was doing. Although neither Erica nor Jimmy noticed, the Baron 
had already returned from his errand, and he was standing right in the doorway watching 
both of them fucking.

He had a diabolical expression on his face, and his eyes were narrow slits, his face a frigid 
mask. As for his thoughts, only the Baron, scratching at his crotch, knew those.

CHAPTER ELEVEN

"What's wrong with it?" Erica said, a querulous, almost mocking tone in her voice.

"What do you mean, what's wrong? You sure as shit ought to know by now, baby," Jimmy 
replied, his voice indicating that he was getting slightly pissed off about the whole thing.

They were in the bedroom, prancing around naked. Erica had his whip in her hand and she
was trying to whack him on the butt.

"Jimmy, you just don't know what a wonderful feeling it is until you try it."

"Look, just because you eat it up doesn't mean that I have to, does it?"

"If you would only try-"

"You seem to be confused, sweetheart. I'm the sadist, remember? You're the masochist, 
understand?"

"That's not the point."

"This," he said, grabbing hold of the cock, which was about half-erect, and swinging it like 
a gun in her direction, "is the only point I want to make."

Erica laughed with her eyes. Crack! The whip snapped out, missing his cock by inches.

"Hey!" he shouted, getting angry. "Don't ever do that again, you crazy cunt! You could 
have castrated me!"

This time she only missed his cock by no more than an inch, and one of the cut glass 
pieces on the coils caught him on the big toe of his foot as it descended from its downward 
arc.

"Ouch!" he yelled, spotting a few drops of blood on his toe. Erica just stared.

"Now look what you've done!" Jimmy complained.

He pointed to his toe, giving her angry, vicious glances. Her joy began to evaporate. She 
began to look morose, sad, as she slowly let the whip drop until it was touching the floor.

"Jimmy, I'm sorry," she said, her voice low-keyed.

"Give me the whip," he said, advancing toward her.

He was not, however, holding out his hand. For all he knew, she might whack his hand 
with the whip. He was getting to the point where he couldn't trust her about that thing 
anymore, especially in the Baron's castle, too.

She lowered her eyes, as he kept on walking toward her. When he was close enough to 
reach out and take the whip away, crack!

"Dammit, girl, are you out of your mind?" he yelled.

She had swung the whip around, and caught him right on the left cheek of his ass. He 
could feel blood dripping out, though not seriously, and he could feel the sting where the 
glass had chopped open his skin.

"Admit it, Jimmy. You liked that," she said, getting ready to strike at him again.

He moved fast. As she was drawing her hand back, he leaped forward and caught her by 
the wrists. He gripped hard, his thumbs pressing at her nerves causing her to drop the whip to
the floor.

"Crazy cunt," he muttered, still holding her.

He dragged her along the floor to the bed where he flopped her on the sheets, then 
climbed in bed himself.

"Aren't you going to whip me first?" she said, her voice sounding disappointed.

"What I ought to do is beat the shit out of you," he said nastily.

"I wouldn't like that as much as being whipped."

"Well, you're going to get fucked, not whipped."

"Fucking's no fun without whipping."

"Well, tough shit We're going to try it that way and see what happens."

She gave him a mocking glance. "Suppose I don't want to?"

"Then I'll throw you out the fucking window, without whipping you at all."

"I wouldn't like that."

"I didn't think you would."

He bit her on the lower Up, hard enough to draw blood, then backed off a bit and licked at
the blood so that she got a chance to taste it, too.

She licked the remainder of the blood, and swallowed it. The way she did so made him 
think of late night vampire movies on TV. It almost gave him a bad case of the shivers.

He took hold of her by the shoulders and braced her back against the headboard. With his
knees, he spread her legs apart. He was going to fuck her Buddha-style, for a change; he 
didn't know how much serenity he'd get from it, but it would be a change from the usual 
scene.

He rubbed his cock against her clit. It responded in its usual swift manner, and he could 
feel her body trembling again, as she felt those electric thrills coursing throughout her 
nervous system.

As he was doing this, he gave her a gentle bite on her upper hp, and her tantalizing 
tongue slipped out and tried to french him while he was doing it.

So, he closed his lips on hers, only this time he let her tongue him, let her do the heavy 
tongue work, feeling her hot, panting tongue slurping away at his moist mouth membranes, 
while his cock worked out on her vibrating clit.

She was soon moaning and groaning with lust, so he dropped his cock and let it rub 
against her sweaty cunt lips. It didn't take much to get them open-it was almost like an 
electronic eye for opening a garage door-and within seconds his cock was easing its way into 
her juicy, wet cunt, just sliding into home plate like a baseball star who'd hit an 
inside-the-park home run.

He could feel his foreskin being pulled back by the pressure, and his prick was now as hard
as it was ever going to get. He rammed it in, deeper and deeper, until he had her back firmly 
pressed against the headboard of the bed, and his cock firmly enclosed inside the full length 
of her cunt.

He stopped kissing her. He gave her some strong love bites on both ears.

She started to tongue him in the ears, her tongue doing to his eardrums what his cock was
doing to her cunt.

He braced his legs and feet on the mattress, and started to hunch himself forward, 
bringing pressure to bear on her pelvis. He had her ass and back now flattened against the 
headboard, and his cock began to make its rhythmic thrusts, its sexual motions, inside her 
cunt.

She started to come. Her pussy juice began to flow, dampening his crotch, to say nothing 
of the bed.

She shoved her titties against him, her nipples hard as needles against his chest.

Her orgasmic movements became wilder, move upheaving, as her body shook the bed 
itself.

His back was straining as much as his balls, from the position he was in.

She was coming, her cunt churning like a geyser, her pussy palpitating wet and sticky and 
practically crushing his cock in its embrace.

He thought, crazy, wild fucking cunt. I could fuck you day and night. You're really out of 
sight.

Then....

He came.

He exploded, slamming her against the headboard with a hard, driving thrust, as his sperm
spilled out of his prick like water from a turned on faucet. He blasted her pussy full of come 
juice, feeling her muscles responding, her body responding to his.

He grabbed her by the hair and yanked her head toward his, snuggling close against her 
shoulders, as his prick pumped gallons of sperm into her palpitating pussy. She gulped it 
down, her eager cunt demanding ever more, as usual.

He was still upright, and she hadn't fallen down either while they continued their fucking, 
until his dick turned limp as liverwurst.

Then he pulled her down on the bed, lying on top of her quivering body, letting her finish 
out the throes of her orgasms.

There was a discreet knock at the door.

"Get the fuck out of here!", Jimmy shouted.

Silence for a few seconds. Then a key was inserted in the lock. That pissed Jimmy, for he'd 
locked the door from the inside. It must be somebody's master key, he thought.

The door slowly swung open and the Baron peeked his head around the comer and said, 
mockingly, "Do you always talk that way to your host, young man?"

Jimmy felt like saying, fuck you, Baron, but he managed to restrain himself and only 
muttered, "Do I break in on you when you're in bed, Baron?"

"You couldn't, for I never sleep," he replied with aplomb. Then he added, "I would not have
bothered you, except that the table is set for lunch and you are nearly an hour late. Of course, 
if you would rather eat later-"

"We shall be ready in five minutes, Baron," Erica said, giving him a welcome wagon kind of 
smile.

"Thank you," the Baron said, withdrawing as he closed the door.

"Can you shower, shave, and shit in five minutes, sweetheart?" Jimmy asked her, 
sarcastically.

"The first, yes, the others, not necessarily now," she replied sweetly.

They showered together hastily-no sex under the shower, though-and got dressed. He put
on the same outfit he'd worn previously; she, however, slipped into a slinky pants suit, but one
whose top part was V-cut in such a way mat plenty of clevage was showing, especially when 
she might bend over for any reason.

"Why don't you sell your tits to the Baron, then you won't have to be teasing him with just 
a few inches showing. He can have them all the time," Jimmy said.-Erica scowled. "I believe 
you are getting jealous, Jimmy. How many times must I tell you that there is nothing between 
the Baron and myself?"

"That's not his fault. If he'd get his ass out of that silver suit, he'd try to fuck you right on 
the floor."

"Really-" She sniffed at him, pointing her nose in the air. 'That is not only jealousy, but 
juvenile."

He thought, got to get out of here. Nothing but hassles and hang-ups, antagonism and 
arguments. Get my cunt away from this castle and get things back to where they were.

The lunch, of course, was cold by the time they got to it. Jimmy didn't care. Food was 
good and filling, and he didn't give a fuck about its temperature at the moment.

The Baron didn't seem to want to let them linger after lunch, either. He said, impatiently, 
"Come, come, children. I have been dying to show you the whip collection ever since you 
came here. Come, come, you must see it You must appreciate it. It has taken me many years to
assemble and catalogue it properly."

Erica expressed delight. Jimmy just wanted to get it over with.

He led them to the basement to a room near the Torture Chamber where it took three 
keys to unlock the huge oaken door. Then the light he switched on glinting on his suit of silver
armor, he waddled into the room, threw out his hands, and said gleefully, "Welcome, my 
children. Welcome to the world's greatest whip collection."

Jimmy and Erica glanced around.

It looked like some sort of S & M museum, with walls, tables, cases, brackets all over the 
room literally draped with whips. Literally hundreds of whips, made from all kinds of materials,
all kinds of shapes and sizes. Long, lean Texas-type bullwhips. Too many to list.

Apparently, the most complete collection of its kind, as far as Jimmy knew, that he'd ever 
seen or heard about in the world.

He whistled. He had to hand it to the Baron. It was a pretty impressive collection, no doubt
about it

"How long did it take you to put all this stuff together, Baron?" Jimmy asked. "All my life."

"Did you start collection as a child, Baron?" Erica asked, her eyes wide open in 
wonderment.

"I was given my first whip for my fifth birthday, and my first dog at the same time, so-"

"So you whipped the shit out of your dog," Jimmy interrupted.

"No, you have it all wrong. My mother whipped me for some minor infraction of the family
rules, and then my dog was allowed to lick the blood off my wounds."

"I'll bet he was a nice, friendly dog," Erica said.

"I didn't get to know him all that well. The following day, my father poisoned him because 
he bit him."

"Why would your father bite your dog?" Jimmy said, in a needling manner.

The Baron's face was getting red, as if he'd been running around the moat a few times, as 
he choked out a reply.

"You have it all wrong, of course. My father did not bite my dog-"

"Too bad you didn't get a donkey for your birthday instead," Jimmy said.

"Why is that?"

"Then you could have told your parents to bite your ass."

Erica laughed, in spite of herself. The Baron gulped a few times.

"As I was saying," he then said, "it has taken me all of my life to assemble this outstanding 
collection of whips you see before you. Now, I have several favorites, but among them I would
be inclined to prefer this one, I believe, over all the others."

He reached toward one of the whips, which was lying on a plush pillow inside a glass case. 
He opened the case and withdrew the whip, holding it in his hand as if it was a surrogate prick
and he wanted to jerk it off.

It looked something like an iron mace, which was a kind of medieval club used by knights 
in close combat for bashing in skulls. It was about two feet long, heavy and metallic, but 
encrusted with sparkling, fine jewels, rubies and diamonds and turquoises, and from the end 
just one cord, about six feet long, protruded as the coil of the whip. It was braised wire, 
studded with what looked like a series of miniature knives with serrated edges. It looked 
dangerous, but unwieldy.

"Did you by any chance bring your whip?"

The Baron seemed to be speaking to both of them. Erica opened her purse and drew hers 
out.

"And you, sir?"

"If I had, you'd be looking at it," Jimmy said.

The Baron went to the door and rang some kind of a bell. A servant appeared. He spoke to
him, then came back into the room.

"I have sent one of my servants to fetch your whip," the Baron said. "You shall have it very 
shortly."

"That's awfully nice of you, Baron, but suppose I don't want it? I mean, there are plenty of 
other whips here. I just want to look around and learn, if you know what I mean."

"I think you will soon see the reason I asked my man to fetch your whip," the Baron 
replied, his eyes narrowing dangerously. "You may find it quite useful before you leave, I 
assure you."

Just then, the servant came running in with Jimmy's whip. The Baron took it and dismissed 
him. As soon as he was gone, Baron locked the door and placed the key inside his suit of 
armor.

Jimmy noticed that movement, but didn't say anything. The Baron walked over to Jimmy, 
his suit of armor clanking like a tank, and handed him his whip.

Jimmy took it and gave the Baron's armor a quick flick of the whip, right on the part of the
metal that covered his buttocks. There was a flaky, metallic sound as the glass barbs scraped 
against the silver armor.

The Baron glared at him. "If you have scratched my expensive silver armor suit, young 
man-"

"Silver doesn't scratch, it only tarnishes," Jimmy commented drily. Then he added, 
"Besides, you wanted me to have the whip, I didn't. So don't blame me for any problems.

Blame yourself, Baron, old man."

The Baron chuckled. There was almost a twinkle in his eyes.

"Yes, of course, you are right. Come, let me show you around."

They spent the better part of the next hour following the Baron around the room, while he
went into a long, sometimes boring spiel about his fucking whips, where they came from, how
much they cost, and how they were to be used.

Erica seemed totally fascinated by the Baron's bullshit. She was even, at times, waving her 
own whip in the air, as he demonstrated some new accessory or some unusual use to which 
his whips could be put. It was almost as if either the Baron or his whip collection was 
hypnotizing Erica, making her really feel like whipping something or somebody.

Jimmy just wandered around with them, keeping his whip at the ready, just in case. He was
becoming more suspicious by the second. The whole thing smelled more and more like some 
kind of a set-up, though he wasn't sure what.

He had the vague feeling he was to be the patsy in some fancy game the Baron was trying 
to play.

The entire castle was giving Jimmy the creeps. He really wished he'd never come, invitation
or no invitation, Erica or no Erica. In fact, he was half-inclined to split the scene, and let the 
Baron keep his fucking whips and Erica, too. She was really getting too freaked out for even 
his tastes any more. What to do?

His temper was rising, he was starting to sweat. He was becoming more uncomfortable by 
the second. He felt like a trapped rat, a bird locked in a cage. He wanted out, right now, not 
later but now!

"Now, my dear, this particular whip comes from North Africa, where the Moors used to 
whip the slave girls in their harems-"

On and on the Baron's voice droned like a monotone, never varying in pitch or inflection. 
Nothing but whips, whips, and more whips. And Erica, that dumb cunt, she just couldn't get 
enough of that shit. She was just hanging on to his every word.

Now Jimmy noticed that she was hanging on to his arm, too, as if she'd already decided to
make a switch of boyfriends, to ditch Jimmy and latch on to the Baron.

Too much. Too fucking much.

Crash!

Hearing the noise, both the Baron and Erica quickly turned around. For, Jimmy had taken 
the butt end of his whip-the part carved like a phallus-and smashed the glass on one of the 
cases. In the case was a long, monstrous bullwhip, and they watched as Jimmy reached inside 
and pulled it out.

"Jimmy," Erica said, admonishing him with her eyes. "Why did you do a thing like that?"

"Yes, young man, why did you break my glass case? That is willful destruction of my 
property, and that I will not allow. I must ask you-"

"Shut the fuck up!" Jimmy yelled.

They both stared at him as he cracked the bullwhip at the Baron, nearly flicking the tip 
right on his nose.

"Open the fucking door and call your fucking chauffeur," Jimmy said angrily. "I'm getting 
the fuck out of this fucking castle right now." He pointed at Erica as if she was a piece of 
goods in a department store. "Keep her if you like, but I'm leaving and that's that!"

"I knew you were jealous!" Erica screamed, almost in tears.

The Baron slammed down his helmet visor over his face, so that his entire body was now 
protected by the gleaming silver armor. His voice sounded like an echo as he said, beneath 
the visor, "Young man, you will pay for that. I shall whip your young lady-" he paused. " ... 
After I have her whip you until your skin has flayed off, that is."

CHAPTER TWELVE

Silence. For several long seconds.

Jimmy and the Baron glared at each other, while Erica, still standing next to the Baron, 
glanced first at Jimmy, then back to the Baron, as if undecided what to do next, or whom to 
stick by.

Finally, the Baron spoke. "Erica, my dear, please take your whip and flay the flesh right off 
your former friend."

Erica tried to protest. "But Baron, that's not the way I want it. I'd rather have him do it to 
me."

"Do as I say!" the Baron commanded, gruffly.

Erica still held her little whip and looked helplessly at the Baron, then apologetically at 
Jimmy.

With a none-too-gentle shove from the Baron, she started toward Jimmy.

Crack! The big bullwhip flared out, caught Erica's little whip, and snapped it right out of 
her hand. Crack! The bullwhip curled around the Baron's neck, but wifh his visor closed, the 
Baron was as fully protected as food inside a sealed can.

"You shall pay dearly for this, young man!" he muttered from beneath his visor.

Crack! This time Jimmy's bullwhip smacked Erica on the ass, good and hard. She jumped 
and fell into the Baron's encircling arms. He fondled her, his glove-covered fingers attempting 
to take off her blouse, but without success.

"Let go of my fucking cunt, you fucking tin can!" Jimmy shouted, working the Baron's silver
armor over with the bullwhip.

"If you scratch my silver suit, I'll kill you!" the Baron muttered, still trying to undress Erica.

No use. The whip was no good against the Baron's protective metal covering. Jimmy, 
however, was so fucking mad, he had to take out his anger on something, or somebody.

He started whipping Erica, with both the bullwhip and his own Oriental specialty.

The Baron, like a gentleman, tried to separate them, to get between them. However, 
Jimmy, unencumbered by armor, was far better equipped to maneuver than the Baron, so he 
was able to get in his licks on Erica most of the time.

Soon his swirling whips had reduced Erica's clothings to tatters. Only a few strips of fabric 
were still clinging to her body, which was becoming quite bruised and bloody under the 
lashings of the whips.

Erica was smiling now, rubbing her fingers into her wounds and licking up her own blood. 
She was chanting, "More, more. I like it, I love it. I want both of you to whip me some more!"

The Baron, who was getting pretty well pissed off himself by this time, like Jimmy began to
vent his wrath on whatever was closest at hand. Which, of course, happened to be Erica.

Wham! He smacked her a good one right on the temples, just above the bridge of her 
nose with the handle of his whip. That heavy metal monster made a beautiful bruise on her 
forehead, nice and bloody, and nearly knocked her out.

As it was, she fell, stunned, against some of the whips hanging on the walls, and knocked a
few of them down. Then, staggering away, she fell into a couple of glass cases, smashing them
and further cutting herself with fragments of glass.

The Baron was almost beside himself with rage. This stupid girl was inadvertently messing 
up his great collection, causing havoc and destruction wherever she went.

He started whipping her with the coil of his whip, containing the many pieces of serrated 
knives, and Erica's body became bathed in blood. She was like a bloody chesspiece. The Baron
would whip her, she'd crash into something, then Jimmy would whip her back, and she'd crash
into something else.

She was a sort of female wrecking ball, smashing everything her body touched.

The Baron was getting so inflamed with anger that he almost wanted to kill the poor girl 
on the spot, and Jimmy was so incensed at her acquiescence of all this shit the Baron was 
putting out that he was beginning to get an erection. He felt like fucking poor bloody Erica 
right in front of the Baron and would have, except that the Baron was still hell-bent on 
whipping him.

Finally, Erica, whipped into exhaustion, could no longer stand up, and collapsed in a 
bloody heap on the floor, writhing as if in her death throes, moaning and groaning such 
gibberish and dreck that neither the Baron nor Jimmy could understand a word of what she 
was saying, thus leaving the Baron and Jimmy facing each other with whips in their hands.

Crack! Jimmy gave the Baron some lashes with his Oriental whip right on the kneecaps. No
good. Nothing could penetrate that silver suit of the Baron's.

Crack! Tears came to Jimmy's eyes. The . Baron had got him good, right on the toe of his 
left foot. It had damn near cut right through the shoe leather and Jimmy had to do some 
fancy hopping to get his ass out of range of that whip.

Now, what was the Baron doing? Freaking right out. Yes, the Baron himself was grabbing 
whips off the walls, breaking glass cases to get at their contents. He was arming himself with a
veritable armful of whips. He really wanted to make war on Jimmy, all right.

Jimmy knocked over a table, trying to trip up the Baron. No good. The Baron backed away 
just in time.

The Baron began to chase Jimmy around the table, his whips cracking hard. Jimmy got a 
few licks on his back, which only spurred him to run faster. How the fuck was he going to get 
out of this? What could he do? That damn Baron was invincible inside that silver suit.

Now Jimmy himself was bleeding from several open wounds inflicted by the Baron. He 
managed a few backward glances at the Baron. He couldn't even see the Baron's eyes behind 
the slits in the visor. If only he could get one fucking barb on his whip inside those visor slits. If
only he could blind the Baron. If only he could put out the Baron's eyes.

An idea hit him with the force of the Baron's whip. There were fragments of glass from the 
broken cases scattered all over the floor. If he could only grab a good-sized hunk of glass, 
smash it over the Baron's visor, hoping against hope that some fragments might get into the 
Baron's eyes.

Ducking the Baron's blows as best he could, he managed to get hold of a good-sized 
chunk of glass, cutting his fingers in the bargain. Still moving, still watching the Baron, he 
threw it into the Baron's visor.

"Aggh!"

From beneath the visor, the Baron let out a long moan of pain, and practically stopped in 
his tracks. His hands went to his head and he started to remove the visor, almost 
automatically.

Crack! Jimmy, using the Oriental whip close up, gave the Baron a good whack right in the 
neck.

The Baron screamed in pain and dropped the visor. Jimmy cursed his own stupidity. He 
should have waited for a few more seconds when the Baron would probably have removed 
the entire visor, thus leaving his entire head a tempting target. Now he was practically back 
right where he started.

Wait a minute. Maybe he could get the Baron off balance, knock him on his ass. Then the 
weight of the armor would hold him down.

But the Baron still had the whips in his hand and, injured eyes or not, was again advancing 
toward Jimmy, cracking those whips in a most menacing manner. What to do?

Jimmy remembered an old western that he'd seen once, about a cowboy who used a whip 
like a lariat. The bullwhip still in his hand, he'd get the Baron around the neck.

Crack! He did. The bullwhip snaked around the Baron's neck like a lasso. Jimmy yanked 
hard and the Baron lost his balance.

The Baron fell to the floor not far from where Erica was lying. The Baron was like a bug on 
his back. He tried to get up, to regain his balance, but Jimmy's idea had been proved correct. 
In that heavy silver armor suit, the Baron was helpless, and could not get up unless somebody 
else provided the power to raise him off the floor.

Somebody else, but certainly not Jimmy Johnson.

Jimmy couldn't help but laugh at the Baron's predicament. He thought, fuck you, Baron. 
You got just what you asked for. You and your fucking whip collection. I ought to get each one
of those fucking whips out, and whip your ass with them.

The Baron was trying, though, rocking like a seesaw, trying to right himself. Jimmy had to 
put a stop to that.

Crash! Jimmy tipped the table over, right on top of the Baron. Then, just to make sure....

Jimmy got on top of the table and started to jump up and down, with joy, of course.

Beneath, the Baron was moaning and groaning. However, the armor was strong and the 
table and Jimmy's weight didn't seem to be breaking any chinks in the armor. He couldn't 
hear any of the Baron's bones breaking either, but one thing was sure-the Baron must be 
pretty fucking uncomfortable in that position, and in that position he was going to remain for 
one hell of a long time, just to rub it in.

Jimmy pulled down a few glass cases, smashing them on top of the Baron, too.

Soon the floor was covered with broken wood and glass, and whips were ass-deep 
scattered about.

Jimmy was feeling pretty tired by now. He managed to clear a place next to Erica and sat 
down beside her. He was amazed.

She was recovering. So much so that she had grabbed hold of her own little whip and was 
trying to flagellate herself by whipping her own breasts, with what little strength she had.

The sight of her doing that made Jimmy's cock give itself a jolt, as if it was becoming even 
more erect by watching Erica work out on herself.

Jimmy thought, crazy cunt, crazy masochistic cunt If I don't watch her, she'll beat herself to
death.

Carefully, gently he took the whip from her hands and took her hands in his.

She stared up at him, her eyes opaque, her expression blank. She was close to a catatonic 
state, if not developing into an acute schizophrenia.

What do you do with a crazy cunt? The same thing you do with any other cunt. That is, 
you fuck her.

"Jimmy, will you whip me, at least a little?"

Jimmy, in reply, unzipped his fly and let his prick pop out. He placed it in her hands.

He said, "With this, I'll whip you any time you want, sweetheart. Just say the word."

She began to fondle his prick between her fingers. Then, she tried to place it in the cleft 
between her breasts, as if she wanted him to whip her boobs with his prick.

"Wait a minute," he said. "Let's do this right, for a change."

He took his prick back and started to undress. He got all his clothes off and then he 
carefully removed what was left of her tattered, bloody clothing from her body, trying not to 
notice the bloody mess that she was.

He thought, am I really going to fuck this bloody bitch? It'll be like fucking a corpse with 
rigor mortis.

"Whip me, Jimmy. Give me the whip."

He thought, she'll never change. She'll always want the whip. She's like a drug addict. She's
hooked for the rest of her life. Well, so what? Wasn't that what he wanted? He, Jimmy 
Johnson, sadist supreme? Wasn't that what had turned him on to Erica in the first place?

So, what was he complaining about? Didn't he like whipping her, too? Didn't he enjoy it, 
get his own rocks off that way? Of course.

Give the poor girl a good hot bath and a few days rest, and she'd be as good as new 
anyway. And, with a stiff prick, what else could he do-jerk off in her face or something? Of 
course not!

He looked at his prick. It was so stiff he could see the veins standing out all over it, the 
foreskin pulled back, the head as huge as a baby's fist.

Erica's eyes began to glimmer as she gazed at it. He noticed that, too. He knelt beside her, 
so that his prick was directly over her eyes. He wanted her to watch its every movement, at 
least for the moment, thus turning her on for the maximum thrill.

Slowly, carefully he began to whip her on her cheeks with his prick. As he did so, he 
noticed that her eyes began to light up, her expression became animated, and she seemed to 
be coming back to life again. She started to stick out her tongue, as if she wanted to lick his 
prick.

So, he began to smack her on the lips with his prick, and as he did so, her tongue caught 
his prick as it went by, licking away happily.

Then, she reached her hands out, got hold of his prick, and began to put it inside her 
mouth. He relaxed, letting her do what she wished.

She placed her lips right over the tip, and let her tongue tickle the tip for a few seconds. 
Then she started to suck it inside, her mouth opening wide and her tongue sort of rolling it 
along, inside her moist mouth membranes.

He could feel his prick entering her mouth, going inside and all the way back to her throat.
She coughed a few times, as if she wasn't quite in top form. Then her mouth membranes went
into action and soon it was the same old Erica, happily sucking away.

And then he felt something strange in his right hand. He looked. He needn't have 
bothered, as Erica said it, loud and clear, reminding him that she was still the same sweet, but 
masochistic, Erica, and she wanted what she had always wanted, and would always want from 
him, now and forever.

"Jimmy, please give me the whip."


THE END
