“Sure. Don’t you want to?”
“Not really. I mean, that sort of thing, now that I’m almost a married lady—it doesn’t seem right.”
“Well, this’ll probably be the last time,” I consoled her.
“Even so, it makes me feel so unfaithful -- to you.”
“I’m not the jealous type. Anyway, you’re doing it for me.”
“All right, then. I’ll see you later.”
“See you later.” I hung up.
I had time to shower and get dressed before the messenger from Putnam arrived. He brought the money at seven o’clock, right on schedule. It was all in small bills, as Von Koerner had requested. I opened the package and riffled the banknotes. Money has a soothing effect on me, and this was more money than I’d ever had in my hands in my life. I sighed, re-tied the package, took it down to the lobby, put it in the hotel safe, and Went out to dinner.
It was about eight-thirty when I picked it up again and left the hotel for the evening. An hour later I was on my way to Von Koerner’s spank-party with Hortense, Barry and Elsa. We were in Barry’s car.
“Only a few more days,” Hortense whispered in my ear, squeezing my hand intimately.
Elsa saved me from having to whisper an answer. “W hat have you got in that package, Steve?” she asked. Her voice was pleasant, polite, friendly; it was as if she’d never come to my hotel room the night before.
“A little present for our host,” I told her.
“Really? I hope it’s something utilitarian. Like a new cat o’ nine tails, or some pincers suitable for red-hotting."
“Oh, it’s utilitarian all right,” I assured her. “It’s about the most utilitarian thing there is.”
“Well, here we are,” Barry interrupted, pulling the car up beside a veranda running alongside a large parking lot.
We got out, and an attendant took the car. A second attendant ushered us from the veranda to the entrance of the large mansion from which it extended. Here a third attendant took over and led us inside.
This third one was something to behold. He was dressed in purple livery and wore a powdered wig. Still, I guess he fit right in with the decor of the place.
It was massive. Oiled walnut and elaborate—if somewhat murky—tapestries predominated. I took a closer look at one of the tapestries. The scene woven into it harked back to the Spanish Inquisition and showed a man being drawn and quartered in detail.
We passed a huge circular staircase leading to the upper portion of the mansion, and then the footman-—if that’s what he was—held aside a curtain so that we might enter the main room. Big? You could have lost the Ringling Bros. circus there and still had enough space left over for the Mets to play the Dodgers. Von Koerner spotted us, detached himself from a small group of people, and came downfield to greet us. We shook hands at about second base.
“I am so glad that you could come.” He included all four of us in his greeting. “Have you brought me a gift, Mr. Victor?” He eyed the package tucked securely under my arm. “How nice.” He held out his hand.
“Later.” I smiled at him. “I want you to have it at just the right moment. I wouldn’t want to spoil things by being premature.”
“And when will the right moment be?”
“When all the special guests I’m sure you’ve asked are present,” I told him.
“What the devil are you two talking about?” Barry asked.
“Just a little secret between Mr. Victor and myself,” Von Koerner told him smoothly. “Don’t trouble yourself about it. Why don’t you all make yourselves comfortable on this divan here? The entertainment will begin in a moment or two. When it’s over,” he added pointedly, speaking directly to me, “We can have a chat about just the proper circumstances for opening my gift.”
Von Koerner moved off, and the four of us sat down as Von Koerner had suggested. A minute later the lights Went out, and a spotlight sprang up from the ceiling to illuminate an area like a center arena. A loud scream focused our attention on the center of the area.
Gretchen was lying there on her back, Wearing a simple black wool dress with buttons down the front. Large as she was, she looked even larger stretched out that way. Under the black wool, her breasts reached for the ceiling like twin outsize missiles ready to be launched. It took a moment before I appreciated the cause of her scream.
Then I saw it. One of her bare feet was locked in a metal “boot,” one of the oldest of torture weapons. The screw of the boot had just been tightened by a shapely brunette wearing a skimpy bikini made of leather and a domino mask.
There were three other brunettes, similarly attired, spaced farther away from Gretchen, as if to mark three of the four corners of a square. Now the brunette dropped the “boot” and fell back to the fourth corner. Gretchen continued to moan.
There were various paraphernalia at each of the corners, beside each of the brunettes. Now, in ritual fashion, each of them picked up a small metal bucket in one hand and a scoop in the other. With perfect timing, they simultaneously scooped burning coals from the bucket and tossed them at Gretchen. The shower of sizzling yellow-red nuggets with their black centers resulted in four geometrically perfect arcs. Gretchen screamed again, then writhed frantically to brush them off herself.
I was beginning to appreciate that Von Koerner was getting his revenge for Gretchen’s attempt to double cross him with me. I also suspected that there was a reason for having me witness her punishment. It was Von Koerner’s none-too-subtle way of telling me I’d better not cross him.
Of course, I had to keep in mind that he really enjoyed this sort of thing. I doubted that Gretchen did. She might have dug a little mild sadism, but I judged that her pain was too intense to leave room for any erotic appreciation of it.
The four brunettes had each struck a large kitchen match now. They advanced on her in the same routinized way, half-covered buttocks bouncing in cadence, breasts swaying to some unheard rhythm. Gretchen’s eyes were very wide as she watched them coming.
The first bent over and unbuttoned one button at the center of Gretchen’s dress, pulling back the material to bare the navel. Then she took the flaming match and stubbed it out there. The other three followed suit. Then all four wheeled and returned to their respective corners, their tongues licking their lips in unison.
Beside me a hand squeezed my thigh. I glanced to the side and saw Elsa’s eyes glittering as she stared at Gretchen. “Isn’t it exciting?” she chirped. “Ooh! I can just imagine how she feels!”
“A little like a shish-ka-bob,” I muttered.
“What?” Elsa’s hand moved higher up my thigh.
“Skip it.” I turned my attention back to the show, and so did she.
The first brunette had advanced from her corner and was removing the “boot” from Gretchen’s foot now. As she returned, the Amazonian blonde sat up and massaged the red and swollen member. But her respite was brief.
All four of the masked torturers advanced on her again. Each of them had a sort of metal reel with a wire loop extending from each one. The loops were placed around Gretchen’s wrists and ankles. ‘They were drawn tight. The two tethering her wrists snagged the material of her dress. All four girls returned to their corners with the reels, letting out the metal wire as they went.
The reels were set down on the tile floor. In each corner, the tile had been removed so that the reels were embedded firmly. In concert, the brunettes began drawing the wires tighter. They stopped for just a moment when Gretchen was completely spread-eagled.
I realized I was watching a modern version of the ancient torture of drawing and quartering. Gretchen tossed her long blonde curls wildly as each of her tormentors tautened the wires another notch. Then another . . . And another . . .