by Troy Conway
“Open your eyes, Agnete. Look around you. See how the others envy what you are enjoying? Ah, yes. You see? We are moving around the contest room, coupled together as Hannie and Kaija watch with jealousy in their eyes. And see Madame Bree on her chair, almost fainting with the need to enjoy what you are enjoying. . . .”
I got to her after a time. Her arms locked about my neck, she managed to grip me between her tanned thighs and fasten her ankles together. I put her spine against a wall in suspended posture of the Orientals, and fed her with my flesh until she spasmed, wailing.
I let her down gently. Her legs buckled under her and she slid to a heap at my feet. I turned and smiled at the audience.
My manhood was still at full strength.
Madame Bree moaned and slid off her chair, walking toward me in a daze. She came up to me, lifting her skirt above her corset. I think she would have asked me to take her at that moment, if Margot Metayer had not run to thrust her out of the way.
“Me!” Margot screeched. “I deserve him. He failed me once. You wait.”
The shock of the interruption woke Sabine Bree to her senses. She drew a deep breath and pushed Margot as that lady was pushing her.
“This is my villa,” she panted. “What I say goes, here! You shall wait, my dear. As a matter of fact, you’ll leave the villa at once. At once, do you understand?”
She was getting hysterical. I reached out and slapped her face. Hard.
“There’s no need for over-emotionalism,” I told her. “We have a whole week before us. Have you forgotten the terms of our bet?”
I thought she might round on me, clawing, but she was meek enough. Her eyes fawned on me as she nodded.
“Yes, a whole week. But not with Margot. I do not want her around. I insist upon it.”
I wanted to teach Margot Metayer a love lesson, but I discovered that Sabine could be very stubborn. In the end, I shrugged my shoulders and spread my hands as Margot stared at me with her dismay clear to read in her eyes.
“I am sorry. You heard her. It cannot be.” Then I added, “Perhaps another time, my dear.”
She nodded, biting her lip. There was agony in her face, and I could guess at the frustration which must be eating in her body. Then a thought came to me. Could she be the HECATE agent who was to kill me if I failed to kill Sabine Bree? If so, her agony might be caused by the knowledge of what would happen to her because of that failure.
I really felt sorry for her.
And yet. I was relieved at the same time. If she was my fellow HECATE helpmate, I would have a free hand, here in the villa, once she left it. I watched her turn and walk away with conflicting emotions in my heart.
CHAPTER EIGHT
My job was to kill Sabine Bree.
It was also my job to satisfy her sex needs, by staying a week in her villa with her. Madame Bree made that plain enough, half an hour after Margot Metayer left the villa.
I was in the room assigned to me as winner in the carnal contest. I was staring out the window at the stars and their reflection in the waters of The Sound. I did not hear the door open, but suddenly I felt a hand on my naked back.
I still wore my black nylon cache-sexe. The covers had been turned down on the bed, and the bed itself looked mighty tempting. I was tired, my muscles ached from the use to which I had put my body. So when I felt the hand, my heart sank.
Sabine Bree was smiling at me. To my surprise, she was still dressed in her black satin evening gown. Her soft palm reached out, ran down my naked back.
“Tired?” she wondered.
“Not too tired. What’ve you got in mind?”
Her hand was on my lean belly, sliding downward toward the manhood she wanted Her fingers were tickling feathers that became sharp red fingernails, scratching and soothing and rousing. I reacted to those female fingers as she hoped I would.
“Ahhh,” she breathed. “You aren’t too tired.”
She was watching her fingers slide inside my black cache-sexe. I gasped to the touch of a soft, pampered hand that measured and fondled and toyed. Her breathless, excited laughter filled the bedroom. I thought sure she was going to suggest I bed her down.
Instead, she murmured, “Your flesh must be made of iron, my dear. But while your flesh is strong, your will is weak, to paraphrase an old saying. I want your will to be just as firm in resolve as your maleness is firm in reaction. So we shall invite you to attend our bedroom-victory feast as an honored guest. A mere spectator.”
This was fine with me, except for one thing. I am quite used to being a spectator at my League for Sexual Dynamics classes. I can control my reactions, if I so choose. I did not count on Madame Bree, who knelt to pull off my black nylon covering.
She wanted me stark naked. And while I was stark naked, the pert little blonde maid who had ushered Agnete and me into see Madame Bree yesterday afternoon was called upon to administer to my flesh, while Sabine watched the ritual.
The girl carried a sack of red powder, the same kind that the girls had patted on my flesh in the HECATE maze. The maid patted it on me, where it counts. I thought I might be able to get away with pretending indifference, but when the maid dimpled and held up a cup of liquid to me, I knew I was in for it.
The cup was filled with wine spiced by datura stramonium, one of the Solanaceae drugs. It is a poison, if given in large enough quantities. It is also a very powerful aphrodisiac. This thorn apple has been known to drive a man mad with unsatisfiable lust. It can also cause a man to maintain an erection for more than twenty-four hours.
As I sipped, tasting the thorn apple, I put the cup down and gave Madame Bree a hard glance. “I don’t need stimulants, my body is able enough to please you.”
“It isn’t your body I’m concerned about, but your will,” she smiled. “I want you to want, Professor! You’re going to beg me to be good to you before the night is out.”
She said, “Enough, Noelle.”
The maid rose from her knees, her tongue sliding around her beestung lips. She was slimly curved, very pretty, with long golden hair falling about her shoulders and down her back. In a black maid uniform, equipped with white cuffs and a micro-skirt that showed off her shapely nyloned legs, she was really a bedable biddy.
Her somewhat slanted eyes flirted with me as she walked toward the door. Madame Bree knew what was going on, she stared from me to Noelle, and back again. Her wise eyes told me that if I wanted Noelle, I was going to have to get her over Sabine’s prone body.
“You’re ready for the victory party,” she smiled.
“I am? Like this?” I gulped, indicating my arousal.
“Of course, like that! You are Priapus. For a little while, you shall be worshipped as women worshipped the male principle in bygone days.”
She turned and walked ahead of me, still clad in her black satin cocktail gown. She went on talking as she strode along. “You must be familiar with Knight’s Worship of Priapus? And with Wright’s Discourse on the Worship of the Generative Powers? Ah, I was certain you must.”
“The cult of the god of the bedchamber,” I murmured.
Her laughter was lewd. “Exactly. The rigid figure on which virgins sacrificed their virginity, on which matrons satisfied their lusts. In Egypt, the god Osiris was quite often shown with his membrum erect. His worship is tied in with that of the bull-god, Apis.”
“Even the T cross represents the aroused male organ,” I said.
She flashed a grin. “You are to be our Osiris. Or if you prefer, Priapus. Or the Roman Pan. You will be seated on a throne raised above the rest of the table. We women shall feast our eyes on your virility as we dine.”
I have had women tell me that they worshipped me because of my unusual attributes. This would be the first time I would be enthroned as a deity, however. I found myself looking forward to the experience.
I was not forgetting my job as a Coxeman to dethrone HECATE. Before I could do that, I had to save Sabine Bree’s life—and my own. I must discover the wom
an who was my fellow HECATE agent—and dispose of her in one way or another.
These thoughts were in my mind as Sabine Bree stepped aside, bowing to me, gesturing me to pass through a heavy curtain that hung in an archway before me. I put out a hand and thrust aside the brocade drapery.
I stared into a big chamber lighted only by the tinted flames of blue candles. The candles, no doubt chemically treated, gave off blue light. In that light, I saw men and women sitting at a dining table as naked maids moved here and there, serving them. The men wore the variously colored cashe-sexes, the women the tiny transparent shifts in which they had performed.
Seven women, six men. No, make that eight women, not counting Sabine Bree. I could see Madame Germaine Audibert in her cocktail gown, seated just below a large golden chair which stood empty on a dais at the far end of the table. The table appeared to float in the air, the shadows about it were very black and the bluish radiance was like something out of a horror movie.
As I stepped into the room, the diners rose and cheered. I was the victor, I was the god Priapus. I could hear the high heels which Sabine Bree wore as they followed the prints of my naked feet.
I stepped upward, seated myself in the golden chair. Instantly the diners reached for golden cocktail glasses. They lifted them and toasted me, the winner. There was no cocktail glass for me I was merely the symbol of the feast, the victor. I was a flesh and blood Priapus seated above the diners on whom they could feast their eyes and senses. An idol. The Mutunus Tutunus of the Roman bride.
They ate, a little below me, in the azure light. I could have been starving for all the good it did me. Madame Audibert sat below me to my left, Madame Bree to my right. I could stare down into their bodices at their large white breasts, if I cared to do so. Their bodices were wide and loose, affording my eyes a pair of double treats.
The young men and women who had been the performers in our fun fest were recovering from their exertions. I could see male and female hands wandering here and there on the all but naked bodies next to them. After a little while I gathered that Sabine Bree meant to tease me sexually until I was going out of my skull with lust. Then she would take me into bed with her and enjoy the end result.
Suddenly I decided that I would take a hand in the proceedings. I was still a Coxeman, I had a job to do—and maybe playing at Priapus would help me carry out my assignment.
I clapped my hands for attention.
Evidently this was just not done. No other winner in the sex sweepstakes had ever indicated anything but complete cooperation with Sabine Bree. She turned a startled face up at me, she opened her mouth to speak. I beat her to it.
“The god will bless his followers,” I announced.
She blinked her long-lashed eyes at me. She was curious, her stare was filled with interest. I do not believe she had the slightest idea of what was in my mind. Only one person would know that, if she thought about it at all.
“Come then, girls, all you who worship my sacred member,” I called softly. “You, Hannie! Come here to the end of the table!”
The Danish girl giggled, got up on the tabletop and ran between the dishes and the glasses. My pointing finger bade her kneel before my boldly distended flesh.
“First, the kiss of worship,” I smiled.
Eagerly she fell to her knees, leaned forward. I put both my hands on her smooth brown hair, letting my fingers slide over her skull even as her red lips opened and then closed about me. Her soft wet mouth was very skilled in this act of oral adoration. It almost made me change my mind about my plan.
I was too far committed to back out now, however. My fingers searched her head, found nothing. I sighed and leaning forward, put my hands under her armpits, drew her upward onto my lap.
My hands let her sink down on my straining flesh. Hannie rode me with delight glistening in her big brown eyes. Her hips pumped back and forth. When she cried out, I caught her suddenly boneless body and held her until she recovered.
“Kaija,” I smiled, and held out my hands.
The blonde girl kissed my rigidity and was taken upon my lap. As I had done with Hannie, so I did with her. She erupted through her orgasm with eyes squeezed shut, her lower lip sunk deep between her teeth.
Her head formation was smooth, perfect. There was nary a bump on it to indicate a radio-control stimulator had been embedded there by HECATE. Scratch Kaija, as already I had scratched Agnete and Hannie.
To one side, Sabine Bree was glaring. She did not relish my abrupt dominance of the situation. Yet she said nothing. Perhaps she hoped that my acceptance of these girls would affect what she called my spiritual need for sex.
After Kaija, there was Joy, a petite temptress with purple eyes and hair such a pale platinum color, it was almost white. Her skin was as white as her hair, with a pearly translucence that made her seem unreal. She was anything but unreal, there was an imp of deviltry in her gaze as her teeth fastened onto my flesh and my fingers roved her skull.
She clambered onto my lap, but turned in the kechef el astine posture, so that I could watch the flesh-jiggle of her buttocks as she launched herself back and forth, up and down on the manhood that was my pride and her joy.
Daniella came leaping toward me as Joy slid away. I had watched her jumping up and down with eagerness, on one foot and then the other, while she watched the girls contort themselves upon me. She practically dove at me, murmuring to herself.
It is surprising how different women react to the sex act. There is the screamer, who shrieks and shouts in the intensity of her orgasmic frenzy; there is the silent weeper, who cries real tears as her body convulses in its spasm. Some women go acrobatic, bouncing this way and that so it is hard to keep contact with them. Others moan and groan and grunt, teeth set in their lips, while another category whispers or shouts all the obscene things she can think of. Some women just sit or lie there, inert and flabby, not giving anything of themselves at all.
Daniella was part acrobat, part moaner.
She mouthed me hungrily, her haunches wriggled ecstatically from side to side, she moaned deep in her throat. I think she derived as much enjoyment from being the donor of this philemaxenosistic caress as I did, myself, as its donee. She was sobbing softly when I drew her up on top of me. She threw her bare arms about my neck, she bounced like a pogo stick when she held me firmly planted inside her. She swung and looped and jounced as if she were on some sort of sexual trampoline.
Neither Joy nor Daniella were HECATE agents.
Elva was the last of the girls to come forward. She actually had to help me drag Daniella away. I think Daniella would have been content to ride me as her Hectorean horse all the night long.
By this time Sabine Bree had had it. Just as my hands were tangling in the curly blonde hair of the only girl whose skull I had not checked—Elva Zahler—Madame Bree marched forward. Her hands .went put and caught those golden locks and tugged.
Elva was in the act of fastening her lips to my flesh when the older woman yanked. My fingers had to work fast, I could not put Madame Bree off any longer. I held onto Elva as the mistress of the villa pulled; between us we had a tiny tug-of-war; my fingers crawled like snakes over the girl’s head, trying to find the telltale bump of a radio-control stimulator.
Sabine snarled, “Let her go!”
“Of course, dear lady,” I replied, moving my fingertips this way and that under the golden hair. No bump so far. “I thought you wanted me roused spiritually. I’m only trying to get to that plateau the better to please you.”
“I’ll be the one to say whether you’re aroused enough,” the Frenchwoman snapped. “Now let go of her!”
“Mais oui, mais oui,” I agreed.
My hands came loose just as madame le general gave a fierce yank. She went backwards, screeching, in tune to the yell that was ripped from the throat of Elva Zahler. I caught a glimpse of shapely nyloned legs, a garterclasp and a pallid thigh as her skirt split up its seam.
Sabine hit the floor on her
behind and bounced.
To forestall an attack of hysteria, I leaped from my throne and lifted her to her feet. My arms went about her middle, banding her belly to mine. Her mouth opened to my kiss, and then her arms went about my neck. I was forgiven, especially when her thighs discovered I was just as priapic as I had been when I first walked into her victory feast.
“Quel homme!” she breathed, when she could.
Well, I had not found the girl whose duty it was to kill me if I failed to kill Madame Bree. In the back of my mind, I remembered the four maidservants who had waited on table as well as the blonde dish who had smeared the red powder on my manhood and given me the cup of thorn apple to drink.
I would have to examine their skulls as well.
Right now, I had other things to do, to placate Sabine Bree and her friend Germaine Audibert. Germaine was standing, watching jealously as I kissed Sabine.
Into Sabine’s ear I breathed, “Why not get rid of the others? Just you and Germaine and me. We’ll have a ball.”
She smiled lazily, patting my bare shoulder. “You’re a naughty boy. You’ve spoiled all the things I meant to do here in this hall with you.”
“We have plenty of time.”
Her hands pushed at me. She was no longer angry, but she was determined to have her plans acted out. She explained I was here at her suffarence, that I must not make a mockery of what was, to her, a very serious rite.
My shoulders lifted in a shrug. If this was how she got her kicks—staging orgies at which a living man must pretend to be Priapus—then I would play along with her. Besides, I had not yet run my hands over her, or over Germaine Audibert. And it was necessary to my plan to get my hands on both these women.
I did not feel silly, sitting there. It may have been the blue light and the Stygian blackness of the rest of the room, the tall azure candles, the soft flesh of the girls and their handsome escorts, but the staging of the dinner was superb. I actually felt like a god, with all those eyes on me.