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Dmitri sat with his legs manacled, facing an empty chair through a wall of steel bars. He had been brought in strait-jacket and cuffs from his secure cell by six silent warders who had manoeuvred him expertly from one set of restraints to another and left him alone again without a word of explanation. He stared straight ahead, expressionless, the yellow prison fatigues stretched taut on his broad frame.

Katya had been watching him through the two-way mirror for many minutes before she called for the cell to be opened. His wild hair and beard, broad forehead and deep-set eyes were familiar from the many news stories about Waldenstein’s most prolific serial killer and cannibal, but few women would ever dare come so close to him. The popular press ghoulishly reported that he had some kind of hypnotic power or evil eye. Other commentators were frankly mystified at his evident ability to seduce women into colluding with their own murders. Little was known of his victims, but there was no evidence of abduction and the whole country shivered deliciously at the thought that they had gone willingly to their deaths. Katya’s director had decided that their most important task was to learn more about the victims and that the most promising line of investigation would be to question the cannibal himself. Secretly, Katya had been desperate for the job; there was something about these extremes of masochism which she found utterly compelling.

Dmitri looked up and smiled as an attractive, dark-haired woman of about forty entered the room, sat in the empty chair facing him through the bars and crossed her shapely legs.

"My name is Katya and I would like to ask you some questions” she said, clutching her clipboard to her chest. Her voice was steady and her gaze impassive.

“It will be a pleasure” he said, pleasantly.

"You understand that I cannot bargain with you?" she asked, carefully. "Your cooperation will be noted on your records, of course".

"Of course," he nodded.

“We have found these images” she began to flip through a folder of prints, holding each one up for him to see. There were pictures of headless women on slabs, human thighs and other body parts roasted and dressed for the table, corpses all covered with cuts and drenched with blood. Katya paused, and their eyes met. “These stigmata…” she swallowed, momentarily off balance, “…how did they happen?” She held up the picture. A beautiful, doll-like woman lay spread-eagled on a floor of stone flags. Long black hair tumbled in waves around her cruelly lacerated corpse and she bore jagged, crimson holes in her hands, feet and chest.

“Stigmata?” asked Dmitri, arching an eyebrow. “Those are real nail and spear wounds”. He pretended not to notice as Katya shifted uncomfortably. “The photograph is of a woman named Alexandra, Grigori’s wife. We crucified her last year; I decided that I had drawn all the pleasure I could from prolonging her agony”. He smiled, his words flowing easily and compellingly. “She had reached such a peak of anticipation and arousal that she could be denied no longer. And I wanted her”. He told the tale.

Four of them had left the back door of the old convent that day, Dmitri told her; they cast dark shadows in the bright, summer sunshine. Alexandra was stark naked save for a length of barbed wire wrapped tightly around her head; Dmitri, Grigori and Leon wore simple smocks belted at the waist. Each carried a knotted scourge and Dmitri also held an African assegai – a foot of gleaming steel at the end of a shaft of smooth, dark oak. He gestured with it towards the path and strode off towards the hilltop without a backward glance. Alexandra promptly dropped to her hands and knees and crawled after him, her tight arse rolling invitingly as she struggled to keep pace. Before long, her lithe body was shimmering with sweat and she had to set down her tender knees and palms more gingerly. Dmitri stopped, turned, and put his hands on his hips. Alexandra turned an expectant face up to him.

He spoke without looking around, “Grigori. Give her the first whipping.”

At this, she spread her slender thighs as widely as she could and grasped her ankles. She lifted her hips and gazed wide-eyed over her shoulder at Grigori. His heavy features twisted into an ugly leer as he drew back his arm and lashed viciously into her arse with all of his strength. Her mouth stretched open in a great voiceless scream and she fell face-forward, a series of dull red stripes scored across her firm buttocks.

Grigori spat one word, “Up!”, and she quickly shuffled her knees back into position, whimpering quietly. The scourge slashed down again and bit into the taut, white flesh, this time drawing from her a full-throated howl that rang around the grounds. Crying pitifully, Alexandra forced herself back into position for the next three strokes before uttering a long, deep groan when the sixth, delivered on an upswing, cut cruelly into her crotch. She lay on her belly writhing and gasping, raking her fingers through the grass, until Dmitri spoke.

“Enough” he rumbled. He reached down to lift Alexandra’s chin and murmured into her ear, “It is happening” then he turned away and went on up the hill. Dragging herself back up onto her hands and knees she followed him, sobbing softly, and the party moved on.

”You are quite comfortable?” Dmitri asked, regarding Katya searchingly. She nodded for him to continue. “Alexandra slithered after me. I waited for her beside the bed of nettles that I’d been having her cultivate for months.” He relaxed back in his chair, so far as the restraints allowed, enjoying himself.

Alexandra crawled over the nettles, wincing and chewing at her lip, then lay down slowly and deliberately. She was already gasping desperately with her sweet face twisted into a grimace of sheer agony when Dmitri put one foot to the small of her back and pressed her down hard. Her whole body from shoulder to knee was cruelly stung and she spread her legs wide apart to let the luxuriant growth she had tended so assiduously lick at her inner thighs and stab deep into her cunt.

Dmitri watched her lie there for a moment, taking great gulps of air as she gazed up at him pitifully, then smiled and nodded. With a long, low groan Alexandra languorously rolled onto her back, clasping her knee up to her chest to open the cleft of her arse to the bitter stinging. At a sign from Dmitri, Leon stepped forward and stood over her. He trailed his scourge teasingly over her blistered clit and nipples while she writhed on her back in the nettles, panting, her teeth bared in a fierce rictus of pain.

“Am I to be whipped now?” she asked throatily , her cunt glistening wetly in the bright sunlight. He turned away abruptly and walked back to the path, the whip trailing over the grass behind him. She followed it on her belly, then bent to offer her arse to the scourge, bracing herself on her elbows as he drew his arm back to strike. The blows fell rapidly and relentlessly and she let out a continuous, wordless cry. On the second stroke her skin broke and trails of blood ran down her thighs. At the fourth her bladder emptied, and a pool of piss formed between her legs while she threw her head back to howl, blank-eyed, at the blue sky. The beating continued to the same rhythm until she fell forward onto her face on the tenth stroke. He squatted before her and lifted her head by a fistful of hair.

“Drink it” Leon said quietly, almost tenderly. She gazed into his eyes and licked her parted lips before dipping her head to the stone flag to lap at the puddle she had made. She sucked or licked every drop, looking up as she swallowed to be sure he was watching her debasement. The remaining two strokes of his whip were aimed at her open crotch and landed wetly, provoking an animal wailing and shudders which ran the length of her petite frame. When she could control the sobbing enough to crawl, they moved on again - following the path higher into the sparsely wooded uplands.

At the top of the hill Alexandra dragged herself painfully into a sun-dappled clearing where two disused bridleways crossed and paused to catch her breath at the sight of her cross lying ready by its post-hole, Andrei and Pierre waiting naked and erect beside it. She twisted around to look back at Dmitri.

“Go on” he ordered, and she squirmed over the last few yards of grass to the cross, where she fell to kissing and caressing the rough timber in a frenzy as though it were the body of a lover. Three iron spikes had been laid out where the two beams crossed. Dmitri’s shadow fell over her as she carefully gathered them up and, kneeling, offered them to him from her open hands. Her face shone with naked adoration when he reached down, smiling.

He stepped back and the other four closed in and knelt around her. Alexandra seated herself on the upright of the cross - her body slick with blood and sweat - and crossed her tiny feet in place to be nailed. Grigori and Leon reached out to hold her firmly by the arms and shoulders while Andrei and Pierre seized her knees and ankles. She rested her cheek against Grigori's shoulder and sighed, utterly helpless in their strong hands. Dmitri knelt at her feet to position a long, black nail in the middle of her foot and drew the hammer back high above his head. She let her head loll back and moaned until the hammer fell and the moan became a piercing shriek, which continued while another two firm blows drove the iron through both feet and into the timber beneath. Alexandra quivered from head to toe but she was held immobile while Dmitri worked. She panted hoarsely for a few moments, tears streaming down her face, until he stood up and spoke.

“Thank them for your death” he said, and her tormentors freed their erections from their shirts to stab them at her face. Alexandra fell on them hungrily, leaning forward to lick Grigori from the crease of his arse to the head of his cock while running her fingers lightly around Andrei’s balls and across his belly to brush his nipples. She sucked greedily, hollow-cheeked, at one cock then another while the blood oozed between her toes and stained the bare wood.

Katya shifted in her seat, suddenly conscious of the weight of her clothes, and raised a hand to her cheek. Dmitri stopped talking and looked into her eyes. Her lips parted but she didn’t speak. His eyes smiled and he continued the story.

“That will suffice” Dmitri said, his voice calm and measured. Alexandra licked her lips and lay back, supine, on the cross. A gentle breeze played through the pines around them and a dark cloud drifted across the sun. The men backed off, grasping their engorged cocks. She reached her left hand out to its place on the crossbar and smiled as Dmitri positioned another nail in the middle of the palm, her skin puckering whitely where the tip was pushed firmly into place. Her eyes never left him as the hammer swept down and smashed the sharp iron through flesh and bone, then she threw her head back and screamed wildly. Weeping, she extended her right hand for the same treatment and again arched her back to scream, rigid with pain, before falling back onto the timbers, gasping. Her small breasts rose and fell as she fought to control her breathing. Dmitri pressed two fingers to her cunt, sniffed them, then wiped the moisture down her inner thighs before sitting down next to her, pulling her head towards him and thrusting himself brutally into her welcoming mouth. His fingers locked around a handful of hair while her mouth worked feverishly on his prick, her tongue swirling around the head while her lips slid up and down the shaft. All four men were frigging themselves over her outspread form and they spurted onto her sweating flesh one after another until finally Dmitri too grunted and ejaculated. She licked his sperm from her lips and swallowed while the others composed themselves and rose to their feet.

“Raise the cross” commanded Dmitri, lifting his whip. Pierre and Andrei exchanged a look, nodded, and hauled on the ropes looped around the ends of the crossbar. Alexandra gave a long moan and spunk ran thickly down her skin as she was hoisted from the ground. The cross juddered into place; with an effort that made the muscles of her arms and legs stand out taut she took the weight of her slim body on her ruined hands and feet. Juices streamed down her thighs and she groaned through clenched teeth. She turned her face up to the sky, heaving great, tortured breaths, and then looked around at her tormentors and mastered her sobbing for long enough to flash them a brave smile. The five men stepped forward, grinning evilly. Methodically, brutally, they laid their scourges into her breasts and stomach, cunt and thighs. Her body twisted and writhed in agony and she tossed her head from side to side, screaming into the silent woodland. She would strain her body away from the cross, rising up on her bleeding feet, and then smash back into the timber as a vicious length of supple leather bit into her nipples or cut a bright line of pain across her cunt. Eventually they settled into a regular rhythm and Alexandra’s tortured wails turned first to moans and then to a throaty panting as the whips came at her from left and right too quickly for her to react. Her knees fell apart and she hung motionless, completely open to them. Deep welts stood out across her white flesh and blood dripped onto the turf below.

They paused and the afternoon fell silent but for the men's rasping breaths and Alexandra's soft keening. Dmitri tucked his whip into his belt and turned back down the path to the convent. The others followed. Pierre produced a flask and handed it around as they went; cigarettes were lit and they began to converse in low voices. Alexandra kept her eyes on them until they passed out of sight and then slumped, wincing at the pain in her limbs, to endure the greater agony - of awaiting their return.

It was almost dark when she slowly lifted her head to see her torturers ranged before her again, naked in the pleasant evening air. Her face was radiant and she favoured them all with a look of glorious triumph as, with an effort that brought fresh tears to her shining eyes, she held her body away from the cross and opened her thighs. The whips swung back then began to crack onto her proffered flesh. Older cuts reopened as fresh wounds were carved into her. Soon, a mist of blood played around her at every blow and when she could scream no more Dmitri let his whip drop and shifted it to his left hand. After a few moments she raised her chin painfully from her chest and saw his assegai poised to penetrate her. A tremor seized her and her hips bucked.

“The Pallid Mask!” she cried out, joyously, as a scourge bit deep into her spurting cunt and Dmitri’s spear drove through her ribs and into her heart.

“Au revoir” murmured Dmitri as Katya rose and walked silently to the door, her heels beating a tattoo on the concrete floor.

 

MARIE-CLAUDE'S SUBMISSION

A young woman knocked and hesitantly put her head around the door of the Criminology Team office. “Excuse me, I’m looking for the chief investigator” she said.

“Come in, please” said Katya, opening the door to a beautiful woman in her early twenties, tall and slim-hipped in jeans and a sweater, carrying a backpack with the crest of the Technical Institute. “You must be Dana” she said, taking her hand. “Please call me Katya”. The girl smiled prettily. “I had them bring lunch” she continued “and my diary is clear for the rest of the afternoon”. They took their seats and both smiled when they laid identical ministry binders on the table between them.

“It’s so kind of you to make time for me” Dana said.

“Not at all” Katya told her. “I read your work with particular interest. I think your approach is very like my own” she smiled into Dana’s eyes “and there is no doubt in my mind that this is the right internship for you”. Caught off-guard, the girl began to blurt out her thanks until Katya put a hand on her arm to stop her, and she grinned winningly as she regained her composure.

“Then this isn’t an interview. Am I starting work already?” Dana asked, surprised.

“Not quite” said Katya and took a folder from her binder. “I made these notes as a final-year student, nearly twenty years ago. I sat in when the professor interviewed Grigori K at the beginning of his sentence. He - my teacher - took ill shortly afterwards and did not recover, so the notes were never reviewed and published”. Dana leant in closer, her face aglow with excitement.

“This is wonderful” she exclaimed. “I thought I’d read everything about the Marie-Claude murder”. She blushed a little. Katya moved her chair beside Dana’s and opened the folder on the table in front of them.

“Nobody has seen this” she said. “I read your thesis on compliant victims before it was withdrawn by the university senate. I thought it was very perceptive”. She held up her hand when Dana started to thank her. “I know that we can work together,” she continued, “because I know that we have the same perspective”. She began to read and soon they were both transported to the disturbing atmosphere of the old regime’s demi monde.

“My name is Grigori and I was the owner of the Carcosa private club on Brechova Street in Mirenburg. This is my account of the events of the sixteenth of February, when the woman I knew as Marie-Claude came to my establishment”.

It was past midnight on a Tuesday in February, and the two brick-lined vaults which constituted the Carcosa Club were quiet. The few regular customers had amused themselves earlier in the evening by abusing Alexandra and were now relaxing together in front of an imported Japanese video, smoking and finishing their brandies. Alexandra was softly moaning where they had finished with her, chained by her wrists to the ceiling and locked into a steel chastity belt. Her traditional waitress's black dress and white apron were pooled at her feet and chemise and stockings hung from her in tatters; her slender body was striped front and back where many whips had bitten her. All were surprised to hear a knock at the door.

“It’s probably someone looking for directions” said Grigori, rising from his seat amongst the guests and climbing the stairs to answer it. He returned with an elegant woman wearing a long leather coat. All eyes turned from the tormented Asian woman on the screen.

“Tell them what you told me at the door” he ordered. She looked boldly from face to face, pouting, and unbelted her coat to reveal an athletic physique clad only in yellow stiletto shoes and gold jewellery.

“I was told that in this place women are broken” she said, speaking with a heavy French accent. She looked solemnly to Grigori “I will be broken”.

There was a brief silence, and then a scraping of chairs as the customers stood as though in greeting. The men moved their drinks aside and cleared the table of bottles and ashtrays. The Captain – no-one used names in the Carcosa – and his wife went to the array of equipment along the back wall, returning to pass around a selection of riding-crops and rattan canes. The hugely fat, hook-nosed man known as “The Greek” accepted an ebony-handled length of whalebone and brought it down onto the edge of the table with a crack that resounded around the cellar. The Frenchwoman licked her lips and ran her fingers down her nude flanks and thighs. He glared at her.

“You won’t enjoy this, bitch” he spat.

“My name is Marie-Claude” she said, staring him down. The Greek‘s eyes flashed and he drew himself up to his full height, throwing his shoulders back. Marie-Claude strode towards him, swinging her hips arrogantly, and bent over the table. Her long arms snaked across the stained oak and she arched her back, raising and rolling her hips. His nostrils flared and he thrashed her upturned arse in an explosion of fury. She bucked and squirmed under the barrage of blows; her long legs kicked out wildly and she pounded her fists on the table top. The crop sliced cruelly into the tops of her thighs and she twisted aside, falling to the floor with a piercing scream.

“Now she is ready to be punished” said the Greek, smirking and satisfied.

“What are you doing, bitch?” asked Pierre. He was a young, well-built man, blond-haired and blue eyed, and his biceps tensed as he flexed a long cane. Marie-Claude had crawled over to one of the benches and, as he spoke, she turned to hold out the set of shackles she found there.

“L'esprit est prompt, mais la chair est faible” she said softly as they gathered around her. Hands reached from all sides to fasten her wrists and ankles to the table, spreading her burning arse for more punishment. “I shall scream” she warned. There were mirthless laughs from the clientele.

“Nobody will hear you down in these cellars” the Captain told her and he cut a fierce, red line across the flesh of her back with a rattan cane so thin that it bit like steel wire. She went rigid in her chains and drew a great breath. The Captain’s Wife span around and swung her whip with great force onto Marie-Claude's arse, raising an ugly, red welt. The Greek made another cut over his last and blood started where the lines crossed. Marie-Claude cried out pitifully for mercy and the blows fell all the harder. Cane and leather beat her freckled skin from calf to shoulder while she screamed and howled. After one particularly resounding smack of Vadim’s single-tailed whip her eyes rolled back in her head and she slumped forward on the table. They paused for a while. Grigori released Alexandra from her cuffs and, after she had rubbed the numbness from her wrists, ordered her to bring ice and serve bottles of mineral water. She hurried to and fro, déshabillé and debauched. Marie-Claude lifted her head from the table when Grigori forced an ice cube into her arsehole.

“Merci” she breathed, trembling. He unfastened the leather cuffs that held her thighs chained to the table-legs and made her kneel on the top with her head almost between her legs and her breasts squashed into her knees. Again, many eager hands worked quickly to strap her into position, her arse and cunt lewdly exposed. The Captain reached down to Marie-Claude’s mouth and put two fingers between her parted lips. She sucked on them obediently and once he was satisfied that they were properly wet he rammed them into the bud of her arse and began to frig her slowly. He twisted his hand around as it pumped to and fro, adding a third and then a fourth finger until his hand was driving in to the knuckles and out again to the fingertips. She gasped and panted at this treatment, pushing back into his thrusts as far as her bonds would allow. When he judged from her throaty cries that she was approaching crisis The Captain pulled his fingers out and stood back.

“Bring me tabasco from the bar” he ordered. While his victim’s desperate sobs filled the air, Alexandra brought a small bottle and carefully poured the scarlet sauce into his cupped hand. He dug his wet fingers back into Marie-Claude’s open arse and churned them around until she howled like a wounded animal, long and loud. Then he stepped back, wiping his hand on a napkin, and the crops and canes began to fall again, cutting into her cunt lips and inner thighs as often as her scarred and welted buttocks. Marie-Claude convulsed and shook in her chains and shrieked until she had no voice left.

When she passed out again, they quickly released her from her upturned position on knees and shoulders and laid her on her back across the table to recover safely. Her eyelids fluttered and her lips moved silently. Moisture trickled from her cunt and her arse clenched spasmodically. The Greek swigged at a bottle of water and wiped his mouth on his sleeve.

“What is your name”?

“I am only a bitch” Marie-Claude sighed, closing her eyes. The Captain’s Wife opened her mouth to speak, hesitated, and looked to her man uncertainly. He narrowed his eyes and returned her look as though angered, but he nodded his unspoken agreement all the same.

“Fuck her, all of you” the Captain said, turning to his fellow members, and his wife began to unbutton her blouse. She was a handsome woman in middle age, and she uncovered a heavy-bosomed, broad-hipped figure, generously curved and bearing the white marks of a recent and severe beating. She clambered over Marie-Claude’s trembling body and brushed soft curls away from her forehead to kiss it tenderly. The nipples stood out long and hard from her ample breasts, and she fed one into the girl’s soft mouth.

"Yes” she breathed through clenched teeth as she felt Pierre’s hands spread her cheeks open and the head of his prick searching for her wet cunt. He pounded into her like a man possessed, grunting in time to the rapid slapping of their flesh. Earlier, he had been the quickest to spend when they had taken turns ravishing Alexandra’s rosebud mouth and now he was determined to shaft the Captain’s Wife until she begged for mercy. The brutal fucking continued for long minutes, until she began to shout out incoherently, her head tossing violently from side to side. Marie-Claude sucked even harder at her nipple and the others laughed and clapped when she fell forward gasping and Pierre’s spunk spurted over the Frenchwoman’s open thighs. There was no respite. The Greek pulled his fat cock from his trousers and The Captain lifted his wife’s head by hauling on the peasant braids she wore to please him. Her cheeks hollowed as she sucked hard on their old friend’s prick; The Greek came more quickly but, like Pierre, he was careful to pull free and spend over Marie-Claude’s face and neck.

The Captain’s Wife shifted position so that her cunt was over Marie-Claude’s mouth. She howled obscenities while The Highlander seized her fleshy hips and buggered her roughly – and while Marie-Claude sucked and nibbled at her clit. Her husband stopped her cries with his prick and fucked her mouth until The Highlander, Damir and Vadim had each used his wife’s cunt and arse and stood around her, stroking their rock-hard cocks. She climbed off the table and sank exhausted into a chair, frigging luxuriously, and watched intently as the four men moved in. They jerked their pricks and, one after another, shot spunk across the French stranger’s outstretched body. Marie-Claude licked up all the drops her tongue could reach and then relaxed back onto the table, content and at peace.

 

MARIE-CLAUDE'S SACRIFICE

Pierre was the first to rise to his feet and signal to Alexandra to bring his coat. “I must use the water closet before I face the night air” he said.

“Why not use this one?” asked Grigori, on cue. Marie-Claude turned her head and regarded him through her thick lashes, gyrating her hips and parting her lips in anticipation as he opened his trousers.

“Why not indeed?” he replied and played a great stream of piss over her body, splashing onto her flanks and stomach and over her heaving breasts to finish on her bared throat and open mouth. Marie-Claude turned her mouth to drink enthusiastically. What she could not catch in her mouth streamed over her face and drenched her hair. Grigori helped Pierre on with his coat and wished him goodnight. The other members began to say their goodbyes; Alexandra hurried to and fro with coats and hats and each of them in turn stood over Marie-Claude to wash the spunk from her pale flesh with torrents of piss. Finally, The Captain and his still-naked wife approached her together. The Captain’s Wife straddled her head and gushed over her while The Captain aimed at her open crotch. His jet drummed on her clit making her squirm and writhe. Both then embraced Grigori as friends and he escorted them up the stairs to the door onto the street.

Alexandra had cleared everything away and mopped the floor; she stood naked with her hands at her sides, eyes downcast, waiting for orders.

“I’ll deal with the visitor and lock up” Grigori told her. “I suppose you want to be paid”? She raised her eyes shyly and, at his nod, dropped quickly to her knees and freed his erection from his trousers. He took her ebony curls in both his hands and guided her head up and down until at last she began to choke and frantically gathered up his spunk in her fingers to be sure of drinking it all. Grigori released his grip and ruffled her hair like an uncle.

“On your way” he told her, “before your grandparents miss you”. Her face was aglow as she pulled on her clothes and rushed off to catch the late tram. Grigori was alone with the drenched and bruised Frenchwoman. He poured himself his first drink of the night and sat down beside her. “And now?” he asked. “Do you want to become a house slave, like our college girl”? Marie-Claude lifted herself onto her elbows and replied.

“I have found the Yellow Sign”. Grigori’s jaw clenched.

“Do not mock me” he warned her. Sitting up, she took his hand in both of hers.

“Kill me” she said urgently. “I know you are the one who will do it. This is why I came to here”.

Grigori leant back and took a sip of wine, eyeing her shrewdly.

“Where have you come from?” he asked “And who are you? I don’t understand”. She rolled off the table, went to where her coat still lay discarded on the floor and handed Grigori an envelope from the pocket. He unfolded the newspaper cutting inside and began to read, then looked at Marie-Claude searchingly. “I have seen this story in our Waldenstein newspapers.” he said, thoughtfully. “All of France is hunting for the actress Marie-Claude in the Alpes-Maritimes. And you tell me that you are she”? She reached into her coat again and produced a passport and other documents.

“Only you know I am here in this country. I am quite at your mercy” she said as he looked through them.

“Are you mad”?

“When I came here to be hurt until I scream and swoon, and for your people to make use of me how they will, you do not ask me if I am mad” Marie-Claude replied. She flicked wet hair out of her face and returned his stare. “There is much money in that envelope; the notes are used. I pay you…”. Suddenly overcome with emotion, she caught her breath; her eyes closed and she pinched at her hard nipples, letting her head roll back. “I pay you to butcher me” she moaned. Kneeling at his feet she ran long fingers over her bleeding flesh, offering her body blatantly and wantonly, lost in a submissive reverie. “You can have all of me” she begged “more than those others - more than you ever had a woman”. Her tongue lapped slavishly at the toe of his shoe. “I am less than a bitch,” she murmured, squirming on her belly and rubbing her striped thighs together, “I am meat”. Abruptly Grigori rose to his feet, his mind made up.

“Follow me” he commanded and strode off to the back of the room where there was a closed and seemingly defunct door, painted over in the same shade as the brick walls. He moved a table aside, unlocked the door, and stepped inside. Marie-Claude rose to her feet and drifted after him, a faraway look in her eyes and a strange smile playing on her lips. The hidden room was a jumble of chains, ropes and an array of torture implements – implements from the interrogation rooms of Waldenstein’s evil past, not from the sex shops of the present day. As Marie-Claude looked around in wonder Grigori grabbed her shoulders and pushed her back against the wall. He took her wrists and she held her arms above her head while he locked them into cuffs bolted to the brickwork. She shuffled her feet apart obediently so that he could secure her ankles. Spread-eagled, she chewed on her lower lip and flared her nostrils. Her eyes were deep, black pools as she watched Grigori strip the clothes from his trim, muscular body, fold each garment carefully, and place them outside of the room. He returned her gaze for a time in silence then went over to a basket containing a variety of weapons and tools. He turned back to Marie-Claude with a short, broad sword in his fist.

“This is called a braquemard,” he said, “and there is a curious story about its origins”. She pressed herself towards him.

“Le masque livide” she sighed and Grigori looked deep into her eyes, gently stroking the hair from her cheek while stabbing the blade into her groin and slicing upwards, his muscles straining with the effort, until she was laid open from crotch to chest. Her intestines slid, wetly steaming, down their legs to the floor and she let out a long, liquid groan. Still watching her face closely, he tilted her chin up, put the edge of the sword to her throat, and slashed through her jugular at the moment he judged she was losing consciousness. Blood gushed over his naked body and with a great shout he seized Marie-Claude’s arse and drove his raging cock into her sopping cunt, riding her hips in frenzy until his legs buckled and he slid to the dusty floor fainting at the intensity of his passion.

“Then I lost my senses and left the door unanswered for so long that they broke through a roof-light and found me with her remains” the testimony ended. Katya set the papers down as she finished reading, and both women sat in silence.

“Her death - it was like something from a nightmare” said Dana, distractedly “or from a dream”. She sat back and ran a hand to and fro through her short, blonde hair. “So, I mean, I would base the victimology on an analysis of the subject’s pathological algolagnia...” she began. Katya interrupted her.

“I know” she said, leaning in and resting her chin on her hand. “It was intense. The monomania - her disorder - it was intense”.

 

THE VIRGIN

Once again, Dmitri was chained to his chair in the interview room, behind bars, to answer Katya’s questions.

“We have had our people audit Alexandra” she told him after the briefest of formalities. He cocked his head at her, amused. “It suited everyone to assume that the beautiful girl who married an imprisoned sex-murderer had been ‘disappeared’ by the old regime” she continued. “But she simply vanished, After the ceremony there is no trace of her in the archives - they lost track of her”. Shifting in the steel fetters, Dmitri leant forward to rest his forearms on his knees.

“She took pains to find me” he began. Behind the two-way mirror, Dana teased the end of a new ballpoint with her teeth, spellbound.

I know your part in the mutiny of the twenty-first battalion. I know from Gregori; so, you will understand that I know other things about you, too. The Security Division would be very interested in what I have to tell them.

Meet me by the conveniences in the public park of the Armenian Quarter at midnight.

Putting the handwritten note back into his pocket, Dmitri squared his shoulders and stepped out of the shadows into the pool of sodium lamp-light next to the decrepit, brick outbuilding. He had been watching from cover for most of the evening and had seen no-one come or go except for the stunning pocket Venus who sat patiently on the bench by the path, dressed as though for a smart dinner party.

Alexandra looked up expectantly at the huge, bearded, wild-haired man striding straight towards her.

“You are bold” Dmitri told her “or mad”.

“I am well prepared for this meeting” she replied, levelly. “I have made sure of what will happen if I do not return safely”. He sat down next to her.

“A document deposited with an advocate, to be opened in the event that you do not collect it tomorrow morning - that kind of thing”?

“Something like that” she replied, evasively.

“And so” Dmitri asked, “what do you want of me”?

“Escort me to your apartment” She licked her lips and leant back, opening her thighs to let him see the gleam of the brass padlock and the silver chain that laced through her labial rings to imprison her cunt and arse. “We can discuss it as we walk”. They rose and she took his arm.

“If the secret police are waiting for me” Dmitri shrugged “then I cannot escape - whatever I do. I am not a wealthy man; it is simply not worth your while to try to extort payment from me. So, I have to assume that you wish me to perform some service for you”? She turned her face up to him.

“My photograph has not been in the newspapers” she said “but you have read about the deranged girl so besotted with Grigori the sex murderer that she married him in prison? Everyone says that you are a dedicated sexual sadist and that the women who submit to you endure the most intense torments. You should understand what I want of you”.

Together they slipped through one of the many gaps in the park fence and into the cobbled streets of the St Nerses district; soon they were in the busy, well-lit centre of Mirenburg and passed unremarked amongst the beautiful people strolling from café to bar to club – although a few heads turned to watch the raven-haired beauty walk by with her giant beau, deep in conversation.

“This must convince you” Alexandra ventured as they passed the opera house. She took a travel receipt from her snakeskin clutch and passed it to him. “You see? Anyone searching for me will find that I arrived at Budapest Keleti yesterday evening, and took the tram to my uncle’s house. There is nothing to stop you”. She squeezed his arm tighter. “Put me to the trial”.

In his studio, Dmitri turned on the light, shut and bolted the door, and then ripped the little dress from Alexandra’s slim body. She stood trembling under his fierce gaze, parting her lips obediently when he made her suck his fingers. In the centre of the room two steel bracelets hung by chains from the old gaslight fitting in the middle of the ceiling. Dmitri led her to them with a gentle hand on her shoulder; he fastened her proffered wrists into the cuffs and her ankles to a matching pair secured to a low table. Laying his whip down on the table he produced a leather ball-gag from his pocket.

"This is your last chance to scream for help" he said, slowly and emphatically, as he held the device to her face. Alexandra opened her mouth wide to accept it. He swept her hair aside to fasten the buckle at the back of her neck then, abruptly, turned away and left the room. After a while, she found the courage to lift her head and look around. The studio was furnished in a spare, masculine style, as she had expected, with bookcases and a worn leather couch dating from the imperial era. Seeing the tiled kitchen area, she shivered; startlingly green bunches of fresh nettles stood in a profusion of vases around the stove and sink.

Dmitri returned from his bedroom naked save for leather gauntlets and boots; he was tall, broad-chested and muscular, his torso and limbs covered with coarse, black hairs. Scarcely glancing at Alexandra, he went straight to the galley and took up one of the bundles of nettles. She turned her head to watch, helplessly, as he returned to stand behind her. Smiling, he brushed them gently over the soft, white skin of her arse, first one cheek and then, after a pause, the other. She gasped around the gag and twisted her hips away from him. With exquisite slowness, he traced the nettles up and down her quivering body in ever longer strokes, stinging her thighs and the small of her back. She began to swing from side to side, grasping the chains at her wrists to pull herself up from the floor, and her panting became faster. Then he whipped her with the bundle, carefully blistering every inch of skin. Alexandra danced in her chains, throwing her head to and fro. When the stems started to break and leaves scattered with every blow, he pressed them into the skin of her arse with both gloved hands, working the tips well into the crease, around the sensitive puckering of her anus and under the fine, silver chain which held a glass plug inside her. By the time the bunch had disintegrated on her tortured flesh, she was slumped forward and had stopped struggling. Dmitri rubbed her arse with his gauntlets and licked and nibbled at the reddened skin until she lifted her head and sighed. Then he straightened, taking the whip from the table. Pressing his hard body close against her, he whispered in her ear.

"You will feel this whipping like no other". Alexandra trembled deliciously. She waited for an eternity while he busied himself with something at the other end of the room, then chamber music began playing and he left the stereo to stand behind her again. All the air left her lungs at the first bite of the whip and she struggled to find enough breath even to groan during the next few minutes, with the supple leather slashing into her tender arse and thighs remorselessly. He did not pause until she stopped kicking her legs vainly at her chains, stopped twisting and turning and stopped thrashing her head wildly from side to side. Fierce crimson stripes stood out against the dull red of her burning flesh and she hung limply by the wrists, utterly broken. Through eyes brimming with tears she watched Dmitri go to the kitchen to pour himself a drink, drink a silent toast to her - of course, he knew that she was watching - and then return with more nettles. This time he stood facing her. He swept her long hair back over her shoulders and ran his gloved hand over the unmarked skin of her breasts and stomach, flicking gently at her erect nipples, until his fingers found the jewellery-box padlock securing her labial rings. He lifted and twisted it, just a little, and Alexandra sighed deeply. Dmitri smiled. She quivered in anticipation as the nettles slowly approached, then stretched her head back with a hissing intake of breath when the cruel leaves stroked her nipples and swept to and fro across her high, pert breasts. Again, her body jerked away from the punishment but he put an arm around her slim waist and pulled her towards him so that she had only the freedom to stamp her feet uselessly. Fresh tears streamed down her cheeks. When her whole chest was red and blistered, he began to whip her with the nettles, letting her sway and writhe again. Her nipples were now impossibly hard and long. In time, the second bundle also broke apart and he ground the remaining handfuls of leaves into her burning bosom. She lifted herself clear of the floor with a muffled cry and threw her head back in pure agony. Without pausing, he took up the next bunch and used it to stroke her flat stomach and shaven pubic mound. She thrust her chained cunt towards him, parting her thighs to welcome the vicious assault, gasping and panting as the stingers jabbed into her clit and lips. When he slapped her open crotch, she let her thighs snap closed despite herself, but his strong hand held her legs open and he drew the nettles slowly back and forth between them. Alexandra's lovely face contorted, wincing, and he smiled to see the leaves come away speckled with drops of moisture.

The stereo stopped playing. Dmitri lay down his bundle and, almost as an afterthought, picked up a fallen leaf from the floor. With gloved fingers he pressed it firmly first onto one nipple then the other and left her hanging in torment while he chose more music. Alexandra closed her eyes and writhed sensuously. He sat before her watching, his cock twitching at the eroticism of her involuntary performance, until the louder passage he had been waiting for filled the apartment. She sensed his movement and opened her eyes to see the single-tail whip swinging towards her tortured nipples. Strangled cries came from her gagged mouth as he striped the front of her body with swishing forehand and backhand strokes, mercilessly breaking her blistered skin while she jerked and convulsed, only stopping when her eyes rolled back, her legs gave way, and she hung senseless from the ceiling.

Dmitri un-cuffed Alexandra’s wrists caught her effortlessly in his powerful arms and lowered her carefully to the floor. Her eyes opened as he unbuckled and removed the gag and she tried to return his smile with her aching jaw. Tenderly, he brushed the hair from her sweating forehead and traced the line of her chin and the fine muscles of her throat with a gloved finger. She closed her eyes again and sighed as the finger moved on, down her tender flesh, to hook the silver chain at her cunt.

“This is important to you” he stated in a deep, quiet voice.

“Yes” she breathed. “Grigori kept me as a virgin, and I swore to him that I will always remain imprisoned in chastity”.

“I could kill you here” Dmitri said, and she nodded. “I can easily cut this chain from you and fuck your arse”.

“That would be rape” Alexandra told him. “You can kill me, or you can rape me and kill me, but you cannot fuck me and kill me”. Dmitri smiled.

“I may be your murderer,” he said, “why might I not be your rapist”? Alexandra smiled back, and shyly put out a hand to stroke his thick hair.

“Because you are not” she said. Watching his face, she took his huge, gloved hand in her slim fingers and guided it to her lips, then took his index finger into her mouth to suck on it hungrily.

“So be it.” Dmitri said “I will respect your oath. And now I must cut you out of this”. He took his hand away from her mouth and she nodded her acquiescence, lying back and spreading her thighs, careless of the scattering of nettle leaves on the floor beneath her. Dmitri took a pair of wire-cutters and sheared through the silver chain with one snip. He patiently drew it through the rings decorating her labia, letting her cunt gape open, soft and wet. Wrapping the links around his hand, he pulled slowly but firmly on the steel hoop in the thick, coloured glass plug filling her arse and she sighed softly as it left her body. Squatting beside her, he gathered up a handful of leaves and Alexandra chewed at her lower lip, readying herself. Delicately, he pressed them into her cunt, lifting the lips apart by their silver rings so as to work the stinging leaves deep into her most tender places. Her mouth fell open in a silent scream, baring her perfect white teeth, and she panted faster and harder until he pulled her cheeks apart with one hand and pressed a fistful firmly into the puckered ring of her arsehole with the other. At this, she thrust her body violently upward and stopped breathing altogether for a long minute. He waited patiently for her to fall back to the floor, emptying her lungs in a long, low sigh, then gathered up great masses of nettles in both hands and spread them all over her open thighs and abdomen until she was blanketed from chin to knee. Alexandra’s eyes were glassy and vacant and her mouth hung open. Rising to his feet, Dmitri put a booted foot to her groin, pressing the nettles down while she moaned and whimpered in a transport of submission and abasement. Again, the music ended and he left her sobbing on the floor while he selected another piece. This time, he also turned off most of the lights and brought a bottle and glass from the galley before moving to the couch. Alexandra saw him sitting there - slumped forward, open-legged - and she rolled over to crawl to him. He smiled to see her rub her hands through her hair to remove any possible shreds of nettle leaf, then she began to worship his open crotch with lips, tongue and fingers. She lapped like a kitten at the acrid bitterness of his arse and around his full balls, her fingers playing delicately along the hardness of his throbbing cock until he could stand it no longer and growled low in his throat. At once, Alexandra took the head of his prick into her mouth and swallowed urgently and expertly. He groaned. She gazed up at him with a raw longing.

“Help me find the Yellow Sign” she begged from between his knees.

“When it suits me, I shall kill you myself” he assured her and she fell back panting and sobbing in a paroxysm of catharsis, her body curved up from the floor like a bow.

“And that was the first step towards her Calvary”. Dmitri finished his tale and Katya sat mesmerised.

“She died a virgin” she said wonderingly, after a long pause.

In the hidden alcove behind the two-way mirror Dana’s knuckles were white and her brow furrowed; she groaned in frustration.

 

IMPALEMENT

“Good morning”. Dmitri was amused to see a younger woman briskly enter the interrogation room and plant herself in the seat opposite him and was also struck by her beauty; her ash-blonde hair was cropped like a boy’s and her lithe, small-breasted form modestly sheathed in a charcoal grey trouser suit and high-necked blouse.

Dana had insisted that she was ready for the challenge and Katya could find no reason to deny her. Nonetheless, she was studying them through the two-way mirror and was ready to intervene if her protégé showed any sign of losing her composure. Crossing her long legs, Dana began by asking a series of routine questions – going by the book – which Dmitri answered compliantly enough but without the intense engagement he had brought to his sessions with Katya. As she watched, Katya’s mind wandered to the vision which had disturbed her thoughts since their first encounter, the unbidden image of herself kneeling naked in front of Dmitri alone in the cell. With a start, she realised that she was now picturing Dana’s young, willowy body offered in the same pose of abject surrender. She took a deep breath and brushed a stray lock of hair away from her forehead, focusing afresh on the interview.

“And then there were the designs discovered in the possession of your co-accused, Pierre” Dana was saying. “We will find him, and he will tell us how this machine was used, but it would be interesting to hear from you, now, what role it had in your activities.” She was being unduly harsh, Katya thought, deliberately maintaining a distance between herself and her subject. She wondered why.

“We all enjoyed impalements” Dmitri replied “but it was Pierre’s particular favourite, of our various methods of slaughtering victims. It demands complete submission and great courage from the meat”. His deep, musical voice wove its spell again. “Many faced the challenge; one particularly eager victim stands out in my memory, although I probably never knew her name. She was the second of four we were to kill that afternoon, and she caught my eye more than once while Pierre disposed of the woman ahead of her in line. She wanted it so badly”.

In the derelict coach-house Pierre had built what looked like a stage for theatrical or musical performances. A row of four brass plates ran across the polished wooden floor, each with a five centimetre hole at its centre. In four pits beneath the planking, eight-foot stainless steel rods were aimed at sockets in the ceiling above and would be driven relentlessly upwards by low-geared electric motors.

“We had just watched the first killing” said Dmitri “The meat was completely impaled. A rod ran into her cunt, through her body, out of her mouth and into the ceiling above. She was transfixed beautifully on tiptoe, her arms hanging loosely at her sides, fingers outspread, a thin trail of blood dripping from her mouth”.

All eyes were on the last flutter of the dying woman’s eyelashes, except for Dmitri’s. He drew on his cigar and watched the next victim in line, a full figured blonde woman of about thirty who had come dressed in a white corset and stockings and gold court shoes. Round breasts heaved and her sharp, white teeth worried at the tip of her little finger, coquettishly. Her other hand was buried in her head of sandy curls; her eyes smouldered with a hellish fire from beneath heavy lashes. Dmitri watched intently as a single drop of moisture fell from her cunt onto the stone floor.

Pierre turned and beckoned for the next victim. The blonde sighed and took one step forward, a second step and then collapsed, trembling, against the platform. She put a hand out to steady herself and fought to control her breathing but lust overcame her. Sliding to the floor she spread her legs apart to reach for her crotch, driving her fingertips onto her clit and letting out a low, bestial wail. Pierre flashed his teeth in a wicked grin as he bore down on her.

“Come, I will help you to keep your feet“ he said, taking her in his strong arms and guiding her up the steps to her place above the second brass plate while she clung to him, whispering her thanks. He moved away to the lever which would start the motors and she sank to her knees, slack-jawed and empty-eyed. Her nipples were as hard as bullets and her pupils black as caverns.

Pierre pulled the lever and the motor began to hum. The woman stared in fascination at the floor between her knees, her knuckles white as she dug her fingers into the flesh of her thighs to keep her hands from trembling, amber locks tumbling over her face. Dmitri put his cigar aside and sat forward, enrapt, to watch the stake emerge slowly from its socket. At the sight, the blonde turned her eyes briefly to the spitted corpse beside her then dropped to grovel on her belly, licking and sucking at the cold metal as though she were teasing a lover. In time, the rod stood a few inches proud of the floor and she squatted over it to rub her clit against the dull steel point, thrusting her pelvis to and fro with wild abandon. Her heavy breasts swayed and the muscles of her thighs and stomach were sharply defined beneath their shimmer of sweat. The pole continued its inexorable ascent until there was sufficient length for her to splay her thighs and grind her cunt up against it, sighing blissfully while watching Pierre through hooded lids. As it reached higher she knelt astride and positioned her rounded hips so that her open cunt bore down on the stake. Crying out like a banshee she began bucking up and down violently, pinching and tugging at her nipples. Then she knelt before it, sliding her soaking cunt up and down on the cold steel until it reached high enough for her to stand, spread her thighs wide, and with her hands braced on her knees again take the rising tip inside her. A sigh went around the room as she bent and straightened her knees a little higher on every stroke, panting and groaning quite shamelessly while her juices ran slickly down the merciless steel shaft and her bosom quivered and jerked.

She threw her head back, tossing her hair from side to side and scrabbling wildly at her clit with one hand, squeezing a fistful of breast-flesh with the other, while the rod rose remorselessly between her legs. Her knees began to straighten and her feet shuffled closer together. The tension in the room was palpable now; this was the point at which she must either move her body away from the shaft or else settle herself irrevocably atop of it for the final time - the decision would be hers alone. Nobody moved or breathed. Looking boldly around her the nameless blonde licked her lips and smoothed her hands around her ribs and flanks to clutch her buttocks. Panting, she thrust her hips forwards, dragged her cheeks apart, and pressed her arse down onto the head of the stake until it was firmly embedded. Her inner thighs glistened with cunt juice and her fingers went fluttering frantically back to her clit. As the rod rose higher she stood on tiptoes, clawing cruelly at her breasts, kneading the flesh and pinching the nipples. Her head tossed from side to side, her mane of golden hair swirling around her like a martyr’s halo.

Pierre was flushed and sweating as he stepped up before her and unfastened his trousers. Bending slightly at the knees he lifted her bodily and rammed his cock into her greasy cunt easily, with one thrust of his hips. Weakly, she wrapped her soft arms around his neck and her legs around his waist, pulling him into her as he rode her to death, slamming his groin into hers while the hard steel forced its way up inside her bowels, then pushed her vital organs aside as it rose agonisingly through her torso. A dark blue voice from deep within her sang out.

“The Pallid Mask,” she wailed and her whole body stiffened. She howled and shook her head, the hair cascading in blonde torrents. A long keening came from her for the next few minutes, hands clenching and stretching spasmodically behind Pierre’s back. Her thighs quivered after the rest of her had fallen limp during the final ecstasy.

“He finished with her and I moved closer to the platform to watch her face” said Dmitri “When her head was forced back and the point of the stake emerged from between her lips, I saw her dying eyes follow the next victim - whose cunt was already glistening wetly as she stepped up to the third place.” Dana snapped her notebook closed.

“Thank you” she said evenly “that will do for today“. She nodded to Dmitri before rising to her feet and turning to the door.

“Have you found the Yellow Sign?” Dmitri called after her.

She paused mid-stride and her shoulders stiffened, then she continued on her way more briskly than before. She was ashamed of her instinct to bow her head on leaving his presence - and secretly moist at the thought of making such a gesture of submission.

 

THE CARCOSA CLUB

Dana put her dossier down on the desk between them, sat back, and looked at Katya searchingly.

“So, what shall we do?” she challenged.

“The department is aware of these Suicide Clubs” Katya replied. “Our policy is that they are against the spirit of the law on assisted dying and so their existence is a problem for the legislature, not for us. You’re young, Dana, you were only a child when the old regime was persecuting “decadence” but today we’re much more aware of harassment”.

“But this wouldn’t be harassment” she persisted. “This would be investigation, intelligence gathering. The group I have discovered has chosen to call their club Carcosa. That detail of the Marie-Claude murder was suppressed and we two must be the only people in Waldenstein who know the significance of the name - apart from Dmitri’s accomplices. It has to be important”.

“So? What shall we do?” Katya turned the question back to her and Dana’s face lit up with enthusiasm.

“The Carcosa Club meets this weekend” she said eagerly, the words tumbling from her lips “and they will select a willing victim by lot. You and I should go and take part. I have already established contact but I think you should adopt my alias and I will present as your b…your sl…” she stuttered “as your submissive. Even if we find no connection to the case, we will have the opportunity to observe and document the phenomenon”. Her eyes shone.

The following Saturday, they approached a remote dacha on the old road from Mirenberg to the border. A well-built, straight-featured man came out to meet them at the gate and took Katya’s hand.

“Madame Fomitch?” he ventured, raising an eyebrow. “Enchanted. My name is Andrei, please ask for me if you require anything at all. And this morsel must be your slave. She will be Number Nine”. He handed Dana a canvas holdall tagged with her number. “Because you may need your clothes again” he explained, with a vulpine grin.

“I’m not ashamed of my body” Dana had insisted when explaining to Katya this part of the club’s activities. “Let the men look - and the women”. And so, she stood on the path and commenced to slip off her blouse.

“Is her cunt already ringed?” Andrei asked casually, inspecting the fastening of a tin dog-tag stamped with the numeral IX. Katya’s eyes darted to Dana, who nodded imperceptibly.

“Ah, yes” she replied quickly, just as Dana wriggled her skirt over slim hips to reveal two gold hoops on her left labium. Keeping only her shoes, stockings and leather corset-belt she dropped her clothes into the bag and stood passive and still while Andrei clipped the number to her cunt. Giving no sign of having seen their shared moment of panic he stepped aside and swept his arm towards the open door.

“Please, come and join the others” he invited and they went ahead of him, hand in hand. Katya squeezed Dana’s fingers and she returned the gesture, moving imperceptibly closer. Inside, the dacha was lit by flickering candles and a thick cloud of smoke and incense hung from the ceiling. Around thirty men and women, mainly older, were dressed for the evening and they sat in pairs and threesomes with their naked victims, sipping at glasses of wine and smoking. Dana brushed against Katya’s hip and silently indicated a low stool in a quiet corner with her eyes. Katya drew her over to it and they settled down to observe the scene. There was a palpable tension in the room; the clothed guests were all watching with a malevolent hunger as the nudes trembled and panted, some toying with their hair or lips, one gnawing at her knuckles with sharp, white teeth and another stretching her limbs languidly. A few rolled their hips and pressed their thighs together, sighing quietly.

“Look only at me” Dana whispered and, after a moment, Katya turned her head slowly. They had not set out their roles, but it seemed natural to follow Dana’s lead. “They are writhing in anticipation” she breathed, tousling her bobbed hair. “I can see some men starting to touch themselves. Everyone is ready to”. Katya stared into her eyes as she spoke, and she brushed a stray lock from her forehead. Then all faces turned to the door as a tall, willowy nude paced into the room, her heels tapping on the wooden floor and a dark-suited, white-haired man on either arm. A metal disk marked X swung from her steel nipple-ring with every step. Andrei followed close behind them.

“We are quorate” he announced with a crooked smile as the trio moved over to a faded imperial settee where the girl sat with her slim thighs spread open across her two masters’ knees. There were muffled groans from various parts of the room, heavy breathing and a general shuffling and scraping of furniture. Dana’s eyes flickered from side to side, and she put a hand to her own cheek, brushing the fingers down her throat and over a lightly muscled shoulder.

“They are beginning to masturbate openly now” she murmured, tracing an index finger along her inner thigh to her knee and back again. From the corners of her eyes Katya glimpsed exposed cocks and a sharp odour of stale sweat and urine assailed her nostrils, together with the earthier scent of women’s passion. Across the room from them she noticed a young slave rubbing her cunt to and fro over the toe of a much older man’s boot, her face turned up to the ceiling as her shoulders and hips writhed in a paroxysm of lust.

“Dominant-su