Chapter 116 Leather, Blood, and Iron
The baron had long taken a special pleasure in demonstrating his dominance,
and the subservience of his conquests, in just this way. Nothing excited him
more than the sight of a naked young woman on her knees, her pink tongue
extended from a pretty mouth, paying sexual homage to the stiff black leather of
a Prussian boot.
It was, he had come to believe, a genetic trait. He had been a lad of not
quite fifteen when he had first come across his father disporting himself in his
hunting lodge with a shapely, auburn-haired maidservant named Inge. The pretty
young housemaid had had the ill luck of breaking one of the blue-clad porcelain
Hussars that were part of the magnificent tableau of Waterloo that Heinrich
Gutmayer had arranged on a huge rectangular table in the library of his stately
villa. When the walrus-moustached veteran of the Blucher campaign became aware
of his loss, he had summoned Inge to the hunting lodge at the rear of the
estate.
Freshly returned from a year away at cadet school, young Hans Gutmayer had
been tramping through the grounds of his father's vast estate when he had heard
voices coming from inside the hunting lodge. He was about to tap on the door
when he heard a woman's voice, and elected instead to walk around to the back of
the building, where he had noticed that the draperies of a rear window had been
left slightly parted. Pressing himself against the wall of the building, he had
peered in to see his iron-jawed father standing adjacent to a round table that
dominated the center of the room.
Hans held his breath as a scowling Heinrich Gutmayer ordered an agitated
young woman with flame-red hair to remove her dirndl, the puffy-sleeved maid's
costume that the old baron, who unfailingly Octobered in Bavaria each fall,
required all of his female servants to wear.
The cadet knew that the maid, a girl not more than a year older than he,
had little choice but to obey; for Inge Bruckner's father was the baron's
footman and two of her uncles were tenants on the Gutmayer lands. Even a breath
of refusal, she had to know, would bring ruin to her family.
Inge had been a spindly schoolgirl with a pretty smile when Hans Gutmayer
had last seen her, but she had blossomed into a decidedly attractive young woman
in his absence. Her once-skinny legs had taken on an admirable shapeliness, and
her breasts had filled out miraculously and threatened to burst the confines of
a low-cut bodice that she had clearly outgrown. Hans' mouth was dry and his
heart pounded in his chest as the blushing redhead shyly unbuttoned the blouse
of her snug-fitting dress while his father seated himself in a large,
leather-upholstered chair at the far end of the round table, his clear blue eyes
drinking in the sight of Inge's pink, girlish flesh.
When her last undergarment had joined the dirndl in a pile at her feet,
Inge stood before the old soldier, naked and trembling, one arm crossed
protectively over her plump young breasts, the other defending her auburn-
fringed mons. The stiff-jointed old man grunted as he stood up and opened an
iron-ribbed chest and, to Hans' great surprise, removed a few articles of what
appeared to be clothing. Black leather clothing.
The old warhorse began by slipping a leather collar around Inge's neck, and
then tightened it until she was in noticeable discomfort. He added matching
cuffs around her wrists and ankles before ordering the ripe-breasted maid to
step into a tiny undergarment that consisted of little more than a minuscule
triangle of black leather in the front, and a strip of leather no wider than a
purse-strap that slid neatly into the dark crease between her deliciously
spankable buttocks.
But Inge's pale, lightly-freckled breasts had proved enjoyably troublesome
to Heinrich Gutmayer, since she was considerably fuller-breasted than the
slender, but careless kitchen-maid for whom the matching 'Brandenburg brassiere'
had originally been designed. As with the rest of her costume, the leather bra
was not meant to conceal her charms but to accentuate them. It was not unlike a
normal brassiere, save for the fact that it had been fashioned from tough
leather instead of soft fabric - and that it had no cups. It was a skeleton of
a brassiere, in the shape of a figure eight, whose purpose was to shape and
frame the breasts of its wearer. Two thick laces extended from the sides of the
'brassiere' and were clearly designed to be knotted together behind the wearer's
back. Hans had never forgotten how the veins in his father's neck had stood
out as he had tugged those stiff lace-straps together until the tough strips
that formed the leathery latticework of the brassiere fit snugly around the
bases of Inge's swollen breasts. By the time he had drawn the strap-bra
painfully tight around Inge's lust-melons, the old soldier's face was even more
florid than the rosy globes which bulged so invitingly out of the ebony
breast-straps.
Once the blushing young redhead was fully accoutered in gleaming black
leather, the old warrior eased himself back into a chair whose shape and
dark-timbered wood gave it a strangely forbidding quality. The baron extended a
boot toward the nubile housemaid and pointed at it imperiously, leaving no doubt
that he wanted his nude-breasted servant to attend to it without delay.
Inge, mortified by the way her pink-tipped love mounds, which no boy had
ever touched and no man had ever seen, protruded so provocatively from their
black leather bondage, seemed frozen in disbelief. The elderly baron quickly
rose up from his 'schwarzer Stuhl', his 'black chair', and angrily threw Inge
against it, ordering her to bend over and lean on its massive arms, thus
elevating her tempting backside high in the air.
The grim-faced old soldier proceeded to remove a stiff riding crop from a
hook on the wall and made his enticing captive count off the strokes while he
slowly administered a score of stinging crop-cuts to the curves of the tempting
bottom-ovals which the thin leather crotch-strap had so alluringly bisected.
" Aahhh! ... Achtzehn"
" Aiaahhh! ... Neunzehn !
"Ouwwww! ... Zwanzig"
When the groaning, gasping redhead had counted off the last of the twenty
blows she was made to turn around and face the baron, who took a moment to savor
the sight of the luscious, protruding breasts that he had taken such pleasure in
binding with the constricting straps of the Brandenburg brassiere.
Heinrich Gutmayer grunted with satisfaction and blindfolded the shapely
sixteen-year old with a black scarf and ordered Inge to stand with the small of
her bare back pressed against the upper edge of the back of der schwarzer Stuhl.
Two slicing blows of the crop across her pale belly quickly induced her to take
the position he had in mind, bent uncomfortably backward over the chair, with
her arms stretched over her head, thus elongating the pleasing arch of her body.
As Inge tearfully obeyed, young Hans, watching through the part in the
curtains, felt as if his cock was about to bore a hole in his woolen trousers.
Stretched backward as she was, every line of the blindfolded red-head's body was
displayed to perfection. The muscles in Inge's creamy thighs were taut. The
puffy lips of her labia and a few wispy auburn hairs, peeked out around the
narrow and excruciatingly tight crotch-strap. The bare skin of her belly was
pulled tight over her ribs, and her mouthwatering young breasts, shaped and
supported by the snug-fitting leather top, aimed at the timbered roof of the
hunting lodge like a pair of pale, pink-tipped artillery shells.
The old warrior proceeded to administer a thorough cropping to his shapely
servant, stinging her young body from knees to torso. He slapped the crop down
almost randomly - the outside of one thigh, then her belly, the rounded curve
of a flank, the inside of her other thigh, and so on, giving his blindfolded
victim little chance to brace herself for the next blow.
Once again, Inge was compelled to count off twenty blows, while the baron
walked around the evil chair, striking at her legs and torso from every
conceivable angle.
When Inge reached "Zwanzig!" for the second time, Baron Heinrich took up a
stance facing the front of the black chair, so that Inge's backward-extended
fingertips seemed to reach toward him. Divining his father's malicious intent,
Hans brushed his hand over his bulging crotch just as the baron brought the crop
down sharply on Inge's upthrust left breast.
"Aaaiah!"
Hans almost swooned with pleasure as Inge's taut-stretched body shuddered
in pain.
Slap! "Aurghh!" The right breast this time.
Slap! The same breast again, this time stinging a pink nipple.
Slap! The cruel baron struck the same lovely nubbin yet again, leaving
it more rosy than pink.
Concentrating on the pale pink roseates and the slightly darker tips of
Inge's leather-bound breasts, the elder Gutmayer proceeded to deliver ten crisp
cutting strokes to Inge's burning love-mounds. He stopped only when Inge, the
pretty peaks of her rubescent breasts now as red and tender as ripe raspberries,
fell to her knees in abject surrender. "Bitte, Herr Gutmayer ... I will do
whatever you wish."
Moments later her lips and tongue were making love to Baron Heinrich's
boots, while outside young Hans Gutmayer, overcome by lust, drenched the hedge
that lined the rear of his father's secluded lodge with secret spurts of
pleasure.
***
The young baron had learned a lot watching through the window on that
look-ago spring day watching Inge slave over his father's boots. He had
experienced the galvanic thrill of voyeurism for the first time, a secret thrill
which he had never outgrown. He had come to know the meaning of true Prussian
discipline and he had experienced, albeit vicariously, the lust-enhancing thrill
of sexual dominance.
Young Hans Gutmayer returned to the spartan environment of the military
academy not long afterward, but during the next academic year he had relived
every moment of the punishment of Inge Bruckner a hundred times during the
stillness and solitude of sleepless nights far from home.
Who could count the times he had lain awake picturing himself using his
thick cadet's belt on that delicious young redhead's rounded buttocks? How many
nights had he lain in bed sweating, stroking himself feverishly, while the
ripe-breasted redhead posed for him provocatively in his mind's eye? Turning,
twisting, bending. Stroking her pale thigh-flesh. Cupping her lush breasts and
rubbing her thumbs over her pert nipples until they were as hard and red as
rubies. Coming closer ... closer ... closer ... until she was just out of arm's
reach. And then, while one hand caressed her breasts and strummed her swollen
nipples, the other dipped low, and found the secret place between her legs, and
stroked it until her pale fingers were covered with her feminine dew. How that
young Delilah had smiled for him during those lonely nights! How she had
squirmed and wriggled -- just to please him. Teasing him as if she knew his
every wish.
********
On each succeeding visit home, young Hans made it a point to try to spy on
his father during the old man's occasional assignations at the lodge. But aside
from Inge, there were only two or three servant girls young and comely enough to
catch the old soldier's wandering eye. Occasionally, however, when Hans'
strait-laced step-mother had trundled off to visit her relatives in Thuringia,
the old man would entertain a fellow officer or aristocratic crony or two at the
hunting lodge with vintage wines and fine Cuban cigars - provided that the guest
brought along an attractive female servant to provide less refined pleasures....
On the following Midsummer Eve, young Hans had watched from his
clandestine vantage point while old Heinrich had welcomed three of the 'Ritter
der Tafelrunde', the Knights of the Round Table, as some of his
fellow-connoisseurs of female flesh had dubbed themselves, to the hunting lodge
for a particularly memorable wine and cigar party. The last to arrive, was
Reinhart von Eilbach, a high-ranking instructor at the Prussian War College, who
had brought along his headstrong young mistress, the beautiful and notorious
Leonie Valois, promising her that the finest wine and beluga caviar to be found
in all of Germany would be served. It would be, the old officer assured her, a
holiday celebration she would long remember.
Leonie Valois was celebrated as one of the leading courtesans of Europe.
Still in her late twenties, she was an intelligent and vivacious young woman
completely unencumbered by conventional morality. The slim blonde adventuress
had warmed the beds of dozens of wealthy and titled men from the Cote d'Azur to
St Petersburg, where it was rumored that she had helped two of the Czar's male
relatives celebrate the centennial of the Winter Palace. Her origins were
shrouded in mystery, but it was rumored that she had first attracted the
attention of the beau monde by posing for the young Edouard Manet -- along with
Victorine Meurent, the famous model for the nude "Olympia" -- in a potpourri of
positions so abandoned, so sinfully depraved, that every painting in the series
was instantly snapped up for the private collections of the connoisseurs of the
oldest art.
La Valois was frequently the subject of whispers in the salons of the great
capitals of Europe, and often appeared in those fashionable haunts on the arm of
an admiral or aristocrat, to exchange barbs and pleasantries with their worldly
habitues. "La Langue Francaise," a cynical rogue had dubbed her a few years
earlier, 'The French Tongue', and the cognoscenti had rejoiced in the wicked
double entendre. But few had dared to question, in public at least, the extent
to which Leonie's undeniable gifts of conversation had earned her such a
suggestive sobriquet
Shortly after coming to Berlin, in the wake of a scandalous love triangle
in Marseilles, Leonie Valois had taken as her lover the aging but immensely
wealthy Reinhard von Eilbach, one of old Heinrich's comrades at Waterloo, and
the heir to vast properties in Silesia. But for once "La Langue's" tongue had
gotten her into trouble, for she had laughingly mocked von Eilbach's virility to
other women of her own age and morals, who in turn had whispered the scandalous
gossip to their lovers. Unbeknownst to Leonie, von Eilbach had gotten wind of
her betrayal, and so it was that the military instructor had escorted her to the
Gutmayer hunting lodge on Midsummer Eve intent on avenging his wounded pride.
Leonie was a bit surprised to find herself the only woman at the soiree,
but after imbibing two glasses of a deliciously crisp Mosel she relaxed in the
company of the four dignified-looking officers - von Eilbach, Heinrich Gutmayer,
Dieter Schuller, and Karl Hildebrandt. All had fought at Waterloo in Marshal
Blucher's battalions, and the bonds of shared wartime experience had kept them
close for the near half-century since. Not a man among them, of course, had the
slightest affection for the French.
As had happened numerous times before, Leonie studiously ignored her
escort, who was nearly fifty years her senior. Von Eilbach could only look on
with increasing resentment as his delectable bit of French pastry flirted
audaciously with the other three, slightly younger men. The pale blue dress
Leonie had chosen for the soiree was almost indecent, cut scandalously low in
both front and back, offering generous glimpses of her tempting cleavage. Even
the aging eyes of the Knights of the Gutmayer Round Table could make out the
tantalizing imprint of Leonie's unfettered nipples stabbing against the flimsy
silk of her gown.
After Heinrich Gutmayer had filled her glass for the fourth time he offered
a humidor filled with expensive cigars to his three former comrades-in-arms. As
the humidor was passed around the circular table, von Eilbach took one and
examined the band approvingly. "A Hermann Upmann! Vielen Dank, my friend. I
tell you," he went on enthusiastically, "that if Upmann doesn't make the world's
finest cigars, I'm the King of Sweden." The war instructor licked sensually at
the tip of the cigar, while Dieter Schuller struck a lucifer and extended the
burning match toward his friend.
"I knew Upmann years ago," Hildebrandt volunteered, as the tall, elegantly
dressed former cavalry officer lit his own cigar, while the four officers and
Leonie rose from the table, von Eilbach assisting her with her chair. "He was
a successful banker here, before sailing off to Cuba. At the beginning he had
the idea of making the cigars just as a scheme to promote his bank, you know.
But within a year or two," he explained as he inhaled the aromatic smoke, "the
cart was pulling the horse. He's made millions in the cigar business. I wish
I'd gotten in on the groun ..."
"I want one." Leonie Valois' mouth had formed itself into a pretty pout.
Hildebrandt stopped in mid-sentence and stared sharply at the upstart young
woman who had had the temerity to interrupt a Prussian officer. Leonie stepped
closer to him, her soft lips pursed in a seductive moue, lightly brushing his
be-medalled chest with the tips of her breasts while Reinhard von Eilbach looked
on, silently fuming.
"Mais oui! I want one too," she cajoled in a voice swathed in satin.
"Les hommes!" she sniffed, wrinkling her perfect nose indignantly. "You men are
always talking among yourselves, n'est-ce pas? C'est toujours la guerre, les
armes, la Bourse, les cigares -- you never show a young lady the least
attention. I might as well be ... a ... a ... " she looked around in frustration
before fixing her sparkling green eyes on the baron's stark wooden chair. "A
seatcushion!" she pouted, gesturing toward the schwarzer Stuhl.
"Reinhart, my friend," Baron Gutmayer responded with a strange glint in his
eye. "Perhaps Mademoiselle Valois is correct. Perhaps it is time that we gave
her the attention she deserves."
"Bien sur," agreed Leonie, rewarding him with an arch smile. "But of
course."
The other three men gave von Eilbach, whose brow was wrinkled in a deep
frown, a questioning look. A moment later he nodded grimly, and the four
Prussian officers, moving as one, seized the protesting young woman. "So you
want attention, do you, ma petite putain Parisienne?" hissed the Military
Instructor. "Well, we'll see that you get it!" he raged, as he tore at the
azure bodice of Leonie's gown, letting her beautifully-shaped breasts spring
free.
"Non! Au secours!" Leonie cried out, as she tried to pull away, but
Hildebrandt and Schuller ignored her cry for help and grasped her securely by
the arms.
From behind her, Heinrich Gutmayer tugged at what remained of Leonie's
slinky dress, until the rest of the gown dress slid down her bare legs. A
frilly undergarment provided little resistance to Schuller's eager hands, and
moments later the four men threw Leonie Weber's nude body into the schwarzer
Stuhl that their blazing-eyed host had just vacated.
Each of the old soldiers manned his post in exemplary fashion, with
Gutmayer holding Leonie's extended wrists behind her while on either side of her
the beer-bellied Schuller and the angular, balding Hildebrandt each seized an
ankle. Then the lecherous Prussian duo pulled Leonie's lower legs so far apart
that her creamy thighs were splayed over the arms of the sinister chair, and her
blonde-tufted sex gaped at her captors with shameless abandon.
Reinhard von Eilbach, stood stock still directly in front of his
mistress for a moment or two, admiring her nakedness, before offering his cigar
to her - but with the understanding that he would dictate the terms of
engagement: he would insert the cigar in her vagina and then place it to her
lips for her to puff. After Leonie had taken the puff she had so rudely
demanded, he would re-insert the cigar in her vagina and so on. But under no
condition, the war instructor snapped through tight lips, was she to cough. If
she did so, she would be punished, just as a soldier would be punished for
disobeying orders. "Do you understand the rules of our friendly 'war games', ma
petite?" von Eilbach concluded with a mocking smile.
Helpless in the grip of the other three gray-haired veterans, and a veteran
of countless amorous escapades not much less bizarre than this one, Leonie
nodded apprehensively, and waited nervously. Surely, she tried to compose
herself, she had nothing much to fear from four men the total of whose ages
approached trois cents ans. Meanwhile her lover inserted the expensive Cuban
cigar into her vagina and, twirled it around, while she wriggled uncomfortably
against the rough wood of the chair. When it was sufficiently moist, he held it
to her lips.
Leonie's pretty French nose twitched as she took a hasty puff at the
smoking cigar, tasting the musk of her own feminine juices, and then turned her
face away. Von Eilbach repeated the process, while Schuller and Hildebrandt,
tired of holding the squirming courtesan in place, ransacked Heinrich Gutmayer's
iron-bound chest, finding an assortment of lengthy leather straps which they
used to bind Leonie's slim wrists and ankles to the back legs of the schwarzer
Stuhl, thus putting a terrible strain on her doubled-under thighs.
But the old baron considered Leonie's bondage to be still inadequate.
Hans watched excitedly as his father pulled out three long strips of buckskin
and wrapped the first around Leonie's hourglass waist, cinching it painfully
tight to the pack of the paneled chair. Two more strips of the same
golden-brown leather followed, with Gutmayer wrapping one tightly around the
Frenchwoman's chest just above the smooth-skinned plums of her breasts, and the
other just below.
Once the rumor-mongering blonde was securely bound, von Eilbach's cronies'
hands were free to stroke her thighs, to fondle and suckle the delicious breasts
whose sweetness had been tasted by royalty and statesmen, and to grope between
her legs for the warm, damp place which had known the caress of a hundred
lovers.
From his vantage point at the open window, young Hans Gutmayer had watched
spellbound at the sight of the haughty demoiselle utterly at the mercy of the
four middle-aged officers. On either side of her, Hildebrandt and Schuller ran
their lined but lecherous hands up and down Leonie's bare thighs. His father
hovered over the delicious blonde from behind, reaching through the vertical
openings in the three-paneled seat-back to tweak and twist her pert, pink
nipples from above. Meanwhile, the war instructor calmly shared his cigar with
the wanton mistress whose tongue, for once, had gone too far.
Reinhard von Eilbach, his lust increasingly aroused by the sight of his
tempting inamorata's beautiful body being manhandled by his fellow-veterans,
began forcing Leonie to take longer and deeper puffs on his long, thick cigar.
Finally, after five minutes, the smoke became too much and she coughed gently.
"Here, ma cherie, let me help you with that," her lover said softly, taking
the cigar from her lips and drawing on it. For a moment Leonie looked at him
gratefully, thankful that he was sharing the cigar, and thus bringing her
unnerving ordeal closer to its end. But when he took it from his mouth, his
eyes were as icy as the tip of the cigar was hot. "I warned you that you would
be punished if you coughed, did I not?" her lover asked softly.
" Qu'est-ce que vous dites, mon cheri?" Leonie stammered nervously.
"What are you saying? It is only a game, we are playing, oui?"
"Leonie, Leonie. So beautiful and yet so foolish. Why would you speak ill
of me to your friends?"
Suddenly sensing the severity of her predicament, Leonie reared forward
against her bonds, but the leather thongs were too tight.
"Non, Reinhard! Jamais de ma vie! Never!" she lied.
"And now," whispered von Eilbach in a granite-laced voice, "You worsen your
betrayal with your lies. Such deceit cannot go unpunished."
"Non ... non!" Leonie exclaimed in horror as her aggrieved lover reached
forward and pressed the tip of the cigar against the soft flesh just below her
collarbone.
"Aaahhhhh! Mon Dieu!"
The blonde courtesan's naked body surged forward against the leather
straps. The cigar had only touched her fair skin for an instant, but it had been
an instant of scalding pain.
Once again, the angry lover inserted the moist end of the cigar between her
legs again, twisting it around inside her, while male hands, some wrinkled, all
insistent, roamed at will over the curves and hollows of her defenseless body.
Then the cigar was at her lips yet again. Leonie tried to turn away after a
hasty puff, but the tight-leafed cylinder followed her lips relentlessly. At
last she took into her mouth, but this time her lover held it in place, despite
her struggles, while Heinrich Gutmayer tugged at the buckskin cords under her
breasts with the strength of a far younger man, forcing the air painfully out of
her lungs. When von Eilbach finally, mercifully pulled the smoking cigar from
Leonie's lips, the arrogant young beauty coughed violently, spasmodically, for
fifteen or twenty seconds.
"I make that as six coughs, gentlemen," von Eilbach murmured in a dry,
remorseless voice. "What say the member of the military tribunal?"
"Non! Ce n'est pas possible!" Leonie exclaimed frantically, as she squirmed
against her bonds, while the four old men appraised her glistening,
sweat-sheened body, before rendering their verdict
"Seven, at least!" offered Heinrich, proud of his work with the leather
cinch.
"Eight, I should have guessed," added Hildebrandt.
"Well, shall we settle on seven, then?" asked the War Instructor with an
evil leer. "The military court has reached its verdict, ma cherie," von Eilbach
hissed through clenched teeth, as he slid around behind the armchair while he
took another puff on the pungently aromatic cigar. He watched the curls of
smoke trail upward absently for a moment and then he bent over the chair and put
his left hand over Leonie's mouth, stifling her cries for help before they could
rise up from her lungs.
There was a faint tremor in von Eilbach's aged right hand as he touched the
glowing tip of his cigar to Leonie's quivering left breast six times in the
space of two minutes, distributing the tiny burns equidistantly around the
circumference of her tempting mound. Six times the cigar touched her soft,
sensitive breast and six times the arrogant demoiselle reacted to the scorching
kiss of the cigar with muffled cries of pain, as her nude upper torso convulsed
in paroxysms of agony that strained her confining bonds to their limit.
When von Eilbach finally relaxed his grip on her mouth and straightened up,
Leonie continued to writhe in pain and whimpered, "Non ... s'il vous plait ...
je regrette ..."
"Je le regrette aussi, mademoiselle," von Eilbach replied in a stern voice.
"Mais je demande la justice."
"But that was only six, Herr Instructor," Schiller pointed out to the
Prussian professor with judicial meticulousness. "The sentence is not yet
complete."
The silver-haired War Instructor once again lifted the fragrant cigar to
his mouth and inhaled pleasurably, as if he were tasting the sweet flesh the
other end of the cigar had just kissed.
"Indeed?" von Eilbach asked absently as he leaned forward again. "How
careless of me," he added dreamily, as he once again cupped his hand over
Leonie's pretty mouth. The luscious young courtesan could only wriggle in
horror as the tip of the slow-burning cigar moved inexorably toward her
puckering nipple, like metal shavings drawn to a magnet. When the red-glowing
end finally touched her pink bud, every muscle and nerve in her trim young body
bucked violently. The war instructor gave the tip of the hot cigar a slow,
measured quarter-turn before pulling it away, ending the longest second of
Leonie's young life.
Fifty minutes, one extraordinarily fine Cuban cigar, and four and twenty
half-stifled coughs later, die Ritter der Tafelrunde unstrapped the tortured
courtesan. Leonie's pale body was bathed in sweat, and her thighs, belly and
breasts sported an odd assortment of tiny, ashy-looking red marks.
Hans Gutmayer, the young watcher at the window, had continued to look on
excitedly while Hildebrandt, Schuller and his father proceeded to take turns in
the sinister schwarzer Stuhl. La Langue Francaise, her youthful hauteur and
rebellious esprit quashed by the fiery tip of von Eilbach's cigar, crouched on
her hands and knees at the foot of the unholy chair, demonstrating her fabled
oral talents on her tormentors' black leather boots and their raging red
erections.
While Reinhart von Eilbach, his proud male weapon restored to youth and
vigor by the evening's debauchery, knelt behind her and drove his Prussian
howitzer into Leonie's Mosel-moistened rosette with the gusto of a man half his
age. He had first prepared her delicious derriere by administering a thorough
strapping to Alsace and Lorraine, as he had mockingly dubbed Leonie's twin
bottom-ovals while he flogged them. It was only when her splendid behind was
warm and rosy that the red-faced aristocrat tried to partition those
much-desired provinces by stabbing his throbbing Deutschenschwanz into the most
vulnerable point in Leonie's defences.
********
Hans Gutmayer's occasional forays into voyeurism had gone unnoticed until
one afternoon during the summer of his seventeenth year. As he was hiking
through a wooded area adjacent to the lodge, he saw an ancient nag pulling an
even more ancient wagon down the uneven cartpath that ran past the entrance to
the secluded hunting lodge. A disreputable looking man of forty or thereabouts,
one with a local reputation as a drunkard and thief, held the reins. Alongside
him sat a pretty, dark-haired girl of perhaps fifteen. Hans concealed himself
behind a bosky hedge and peeked out at the unlikely couple.
When the cart came to a stop in front of the lodge, the man barked at the
girl, as if he were giving her an order, but she shook her head defiantly,
'No'. Angrily, the unkempt-looking man cursed and struck at the girl, but she
just managed to escape his blows by sliding toward the far edge of the wagon's
bench. Undeterred by his errant blows, the swarthy wild-haired man turned
toward the girl and planted a filthy boot against her hip and shove-kicked the
barefoot girl out of the cart so that she fell heavily to the ground.
Grimacing in pain, the slender, ebony-haired girl pulled up her
brightly-colored skirt and rubbed at the skinned knee of a slim leg, before
picking herself up and starting to run back in the direction whence they had
come. The man called out angrily, reached down and grabbed a switch from the
floorboards of the wagon, and started after her, cursing. But the girl had only
run a short distance, her firm young breasts bouncing deliciously under her
white peasant blouse, when she turned an ankle on the uneven dirt road and fell
to the ground again. She climbed valiantly to her feet and tried to run on her
tender ankle, but the man soon caught up to her, cursed her and used his switch
to lash at her legs through the thin but colorful knee-length skirt that she
wore.
The dark-haired girl cried out in pain, but her merciless tormentor drove
her back toward the door of the hunting lodge, striking her time and again
across her back and buttocks.
The girl was in tears by the time her assailant pounded at the door of the
hunting lodge, at which a formidable-looking Heinrich Gutmayer soon appeared.
But at the sight of the dark-haired beauty on his doorstep the old baron's
manner warmed, and he rubbed his hands together in anticipation. The unkempt
man pushed the tearful maiden into the lodge and turned toward his cart as Hans
heard the door of the lock close shut behind his father and the slender,
dark-eyed girl.
As the cartman rode off, Hans, anxious to see the denouement of this
strange rendezvous, quickly made his way toward his usual hiding place, but as
he approached the window he tripped and fell heavily against the building. A
moment later, his father stormed out of the door, bellowing, "Kovacs, you swine,
I thought I told you to get off my ... oh, it's you, my boy," he exclaimed,
seeing his son.
The crafty old baron looked at his son's position near the window and sized
up the situation correctly.
"Care for a closer look, boy?" Heinrich asked his son. "It's time we made
a man of you, anyway!"
As young Hans stepped nervously through the doorway of the lodge he saw the
dark-haired girl cowering in a corner near the fireplace, on the far side of the
round table. The swarthy man's savage blows had caused her peasant blouse to
slip off of one cafe-au-lait shoulder, revealing just a hint of the top of a
nicely-rounded breast. Nearer to him, two sturdy leather straps hung down from
the central rafter of the lodge; his father had clearly taken the time to make
special preparations for Gabriella's visit.
Gabriella Kovacs, his father went on to explain, while Hans eyed the slim,
dark-eyed beauty girl hungrily, was the daughter of a man who had recently been
caught poaching on the baron's lands for the fourth time.
Faced with a stiff sentence owing to numerous past offenses, the swarthy,
shifty-eyed reprobate had sullenly accepted the baron's suggestion that he would
pardon the man's crimes - but only in exchange for an afternoon of pleasure with
his shapely young daughter.
***
The father and son had made the flashing-eyed fifteen-year-old temptress
pay dearly for her father's sins. Armed with riding crops, they had forced her
to dance for them, in the abandoned style of the Gypsies she resembled, her
flowing skirts swinging high and wild around her bare legs as she spun around
the round table that dominated the center of the lodge. Goaded on by stinging
flicks of the whip, Gabriella danced for them until she was out of breath. She
leaned against the circular table, breathing heavily, her tawny skin bright with
the gleam of perspiration, and her gauzy blouse clinging lasciviously to her
damp, precociously ripe breasts.
"So, what do you think of think of our lovely Gabriella, Hans," his father
asked as the two approached the exhausted girl. "An angelic name to match an
angelic face, is it not?"
Indeed it was hard to believe that this girl with the beautiful features,
the flashing eyes, the lovely dark complexion and the breasts that so
delightfully disturbed her pale blouse with every panting breath was the
daughter of the swarthy ruffian who had so rudely deposited her on the baron's
doorstep.
The two men, or rather the man and the boy, pressed Gabriella backward
against the table, and the father gouged an aggressive hand inside the top of
her peasant blouse, intent on fondling a young breast, while the son bent down
and pulled her skirt up over her bare legs so that his hands could explore the
silky flesh of her thighs.
When the sultry young beauty tried to fend them off by clawing at them like
a wildcat, the iron-willed baron cursed and dragged the squirming girl toward
the center of the room. "Let's give our angel a pair of wings, lad!" The
bristling-mustached nobleman quickly cuffed Gabriella's wrists to the pair of
leather straps that Hans had noticed upon entering the lodge. Within moments
the rebellious angel was safely secured in a wing-like bondage, lifted onto the
toes of her bare feet, her slender arms and lithe thighs stretched into an
alluring X.
The amorous young heir to the estate, hardly believing his good fortune,
strode forward and attacked the bodice of Gabriella's thin blouse, ripping it
open with a single violent tug, liberating a pair of small but perfectly-formed
breasts, capped with perky, acorn-brown nipples.
When his father elbowed him aside, the younger man stepped behind the
squirming girl and cupped her yielding breasts in his greedy fingers, while he
pressed the largest erection of his young life against her warm, rounded
buttocks and probed a pretty ear with his moist tongue.
The old baron, meanwhile, had undone the clasp of Gabriella's skirt. He
tore her brightly patterned skirt away with a sudden motion, revealing a brief
ragged undergarment that soon joined the skirt in a puddle of fabric beneath the
round table.
His father had taken the dark-skinned girl first, gripping her bare thighs
with a strength that belied his years and fitting his battle-hardened phallus
against her sparsely-fringed love slit. He entered her roughly and began
pumping into her furiously, while his son contented himself with grinding his
trousered manhood against the moaning girl's nicely-curved bottom. As he moved
his hips in time with his father's thrusts, he mauled Gabriella's sweet young
breasts, first fondling them gently, but then squeezing the tender globes with a
force corresponding to the intensity of his father's increasingly violent
lunges.
Old Heinrich had climaxed with a manly shudder shortly thereafter, only
then giving his only son leave to satisfy his overpowering lust.
The young baron undid the fly of his officer's uniform as he stepped around
to face the dark-eyed beauty who eyed him with loathing, glaring at him as if he
were the son of a peasant rather than a Prussian aristocrat.
"Feigling!" she hissed fearlessly. "Coward!"
Furious at her insult, Hans slapped her sharply across the left breast,
enjoying the thrill of male mastery. Sensing that his father was watching to
see his reaction, he began unbuttoning his belt. "Such insolence must be
punished, father. Don't you agree?"
When his father nodded his gray head approvingly, Hans Gutmayer set about
bringing his darkest dreams to fruition.
He flogged Gabriella's tawny legs first, striking her nicely-curved thighs
in front and in back with two rather awkward experimental swings of his belt as
he sought the best way to put power behind each lash. Even his first tentative
attempts, though, drew squeals of pain from the miscreant's daughter, as she
desperately tried to escape the sting of the belt.
But then, intent on winning his father's approval, the younger Gutmayer
decided to be more eclectic in his choice of targets.
Hans Gutmayer had circled the dark-eyed beauty relentlessly, lashing out at
her deep-cleft buttocks with a force that caused her body to shiver deliciously.
He followed that stroke with a withering blow across her back that caused her to
scream for the first time. The next blow stung her slender calves and the one
after that left a reddish-brown streak across her mid-section, halfway between
her dark-tipped breasts and her enticing navel.
The thief's daughter, driven frantic by pain, didn't know which way to turn
in her leather bonds. If she turned her back on her tormentor, she gave herself
no chance to brace herself for the next lash. But if she turned to face him,
she took the risk of ...
SMACCCKK!!! More than two decades later Gutmayer could still remember the
thrill of exhilaration he had felt when he had whipped his cadet belt across
Gabriella's yielding breasts for the first time. He had timed the blow
perfectly, sweeping the belt forward just as she had spun around quickly in what
proved to be the agonizingly wrong direction.
For a split-second Gabriella froze, and then the pain, a deep, burning
pain, surged through her tempting breasts like a wildfire and her legs gave out
and she hung limply from the chains in shock.
Hans' crusty old father had lifted a fist in triumph as if his son had won
a decoration for valor.
Anxious to prove his mettle to his audience of one, the young baron had
waited until the convict's daughter had recovered her strength and agility.
When her moans of agony had quieted, he began lashing at her lovely body once
again, this time aiming for, and finding, the resilient bottomcheeks that had
teased his virile erection so seductively while his father had raped her.
On and on the erotic pas de deux continued, with the elder baron
occasionally offering a word of advice or lashing out at Gabriella's bottom
himself with a riding whip.
Finally the younger Gutmayer could contain his excitement no longer. He
dropped his weapon and stepped forward and lifted Gabriella's belt-warmed
thighs, as he had seen his father do, and pressed the tip of his throbbing
cock-shaft against her moist entrance. He had aimed the belt at the juncture of
her thighs twice, but his wayward blows had nipped at her tender upper thighs
instead. As he slipped the knob of his penis inside her, he was almost overcome
with pleasure, and had to pause, lest he explode too soon.
But the near-orgasm passed quickly, and he soon settled into a masculine
rhythm that was as old as man and woman, cradling Gabriella's smooth,
belt-warmed buttocks in his strong hands while he pumped his manhood into her
body relentlessly.
In his inexperience, he did not last long, but the power of his orgasm when
it came, was like a raging, rushing river compared to the streamlets of sexual
pleasure that his lonely nocturnal pleasures had provided.
By the time the long afternoon was done, the young baron was no longer a
boy who dreamed of illicit encounters. He was a man whose boots had been licked
by a brown-eyed beauty whose will he had crushed. He was a man who had felt the
hot breath of Gabriella's mouth on his genitals, while his father had flogged
her rounded buttocks bottom with stern Prussian precision. He was a man who had
experienced the delicious pleasure of being the first to stretch a young girl's
rectum with his thrusting manhood. He was a man who knew, once and for all,
that the gentlemanly paths of sexual conduct were not for him, any more than
courtly diplomacy was the path chosen by Otto von Bismarck.
Not long before, the Iron Chancellor had made "Blut und Eisen" his slogan.
'Blood and Iron' the young cadet had vowed to himself, from that day forward,
would be his way with women as well....
***
Baron Hans Gutmayer's heavy testicles surged with pleasurable lust as Erika
Weiss' s nude body bent forward over his boots. The last twenty-odd years of
his life had been punctuated with countless thrilling scenes of sexual
discipline and subjugation.
But the one that awaited promised to rank with any of them...
Author's Note:
I have been remiss in not extending my appreciation to my friend, Polybios, for
his valued contributions to the "German" chapters of the Jade Pavilion. Most of
the chapters from #100 onward have benefited from his assistance, which has
prevented me from making any number of mistakes as regards German forms of
expression. (I have made some anyway, but those are my fault not his; either I
neglected to submit them for his review, or I neglected or misconstrued the
corrections he suggested.)
By the way, I would encourage my loyal readers - yes, both of you! - to check
out Polybios' exciting tale, "Morituri". The forthcoming installment (Chapters
XVII-XVIII, which should appear in early June 2004) features a flogging scene
that I'm sure most lovers of the Jade Pavilion will greatly enjoy. The entire
story, in fact, is marvelous, if you're looking for something more in erotica
than the bare bones of pornography.
Bon apetit!
Boccaccio
