Jon Reskind - The unholy Master

His thoughts were interrupted by Madame Leduc's entrance, her two superb mastiffs on either side of her. Of course, she had met them upon their arrival, but Paul had not seen her since and they had been there some few hours now. She was a stunning woman, he thought, tall… almost regal, even in the short skirt she wore, but he was looking more at her slender, yet, perfectly tapered legs, the swell of her hips and the thrust of her firm, pointed breasts. Her clear white skin caused him to swallow tightly while her dazzling smile sent his blood racing, and the sensual gleam in her ravishing dark eyes brought crimson to his face. He felt a little foolish, but couldn't help himself.

"Ah, M'sieu' Arden, you sit by yourself," she said, coming directly to him. "No, no, don't get up. We have no formality on these little week-end get-togethers." She dropped into the chair across from him, crossing her legs with a minimum of decorum and showing him much white thigh… even a fleeting glimpse of white nylon panties where they clung snugly to that enticing juncture he found himself visualizing in his mind. Once more, he swallowed tightly. "I do hope you are not bored," she continued in French as the beautiful animals immediately lay down at her feet.

"No, no, not at all, Madame," Paul managed, clearing his throat. "I… I was just sitting here relaxing and thinking how much Madame Arden seems to be enjoying herself."

"Ah… oui, poor child," Madame Leduc sympathized with pursed lips. "The Doctor has spoken of her quite often. He does seem upset over whatever it is that has plagued her." She looked toward Janet. "Such a beautiful girl, M'sieu'… but then, I'm sure Alex will be able to help her."

"I hope you're right, Madame," said Paul, worriedly.

"There now," she soothed, reaching over to pat his knee gently. "You must have faith… and this week end you must enjoy yourself." She smiled warmly. "Look around you, M'sieu'. All of these couples, either the wife or husband, were suffering from illnesses similar to your lovely wife's at one time or another, and now they are all well and happy. You see? That's why they come here… they have such great affection for my husband."

"I see," said Paul, impressed as well as encouraged. God, how he hoped Leduc would be able to do as well by Janet. "By the way, where is the Doctor, Madame? I haven't seen him since he got here."

"Oh, he had to go to the village. Some little girl was taken with abdominal pains and whenever we are here the local physician calls upon Alex for consultation. But now, ma chere, I insist we end this formality. You must call me Danielle and I will call you Paul."

"Very well… Danielle," Paul said, smiling.

Danielle Leduc then overwhelmed him with a bewitching, sultry smile of her own as she leaned forward to place her hand upon his knee once more. The scintillating lights in her eyes danced sensually. She spoke softly, "My Alex tells me that your sweet Janet is afflicted with some abysmal revulsion of your body, ma chere, and that she cannot tolerate you making love to her." She shook her head slowly and made little noises with her tongue against the roof of her mouth.

Paul flushed a brilliant red. He wasn't aware that doctors blabbered the case histories of their patients to their wives quite so indiscreetly and he was about ready to say something to that effect, but the breathtaking creature before him anticipated his anger.

"You mustn't be upset at my knowing, cheri," she whispered consolingly. "You see, I can understand how difficult it must be for a virile young man like yourself… and… and perhaps, I can bring you some… some pleasurable relief, shall we say… a little later…?"

Paul wondered if he had heard her correctly. He stared at her; he couldn't speak but he felt the warm pressure of her hand increasing meaningfully against his leg, and for a third time in the space of a few minutes his throat seemed to go dry and he swallowed tightly. Then, she was standing, her dogs immediately rising to their feet.

She smiled down at him promisingly, then looked toward the animals. "Are not they magnificent animals, Paul? Have you ever seen their equal?"

"Y-yes… I mean yes, they are and no, I haven't," he stammered, reaching out to pet the head of Vailante.

The brute growled deep in its throat and Paul withdrew his hand.

"I fear he is not the friendliest of beasts," she apologized, then scolded the massive dog. "They are a super breed. They were bred especially for Adolph Hitler to be used as guards in his concentration camps during the tail end of the war when the German manpower became so critical. They can snap the bone of a man's arm with one bite of their powerful jaws…" she went on, smiling down at her pet and stroking his great head. "I was most fortunate in locating this pair… there has been so much cross breeding and tainting of the blood-strain. It seems that people no longer want large dogs for pets, but I love them, don't you?"

"Y-Yes," Paul managed, hardly hearing her words, his brain still reacting to the meaning of her promise. Then, she was saying, "… are extremely affectionate animals to their masters." She bent down and kissed Vailante on the crown of his huge head. The dog whimpered and wagged its tail. She straightened. "For me, a dog cannot be too big," she said. "I love them… the bigger the better."

"Yes," Paul babbled. "Yes, of course."

He watched her exquisite form move gracefully across the large room, her pets on either side of her. He followed her movements with still stunned eyes as she paused to speak and smile at her guests individually, finally turning to throw him one last, long engaging smile before leaving the room at the far end. Christ, his prick had leaped into semi-hardness at just the thought of her words. What the hell had she meant… some pleasurable relief? There could be only one thing…

"Well, Arden, are you drunk yet?" A tall, broad shouldered, blond chap with a jagged scar on his right cheek slumped into the chair Danielle Leduc had just occupied. He spoke in French with a decided German accent and his discerning, keen blue eyes probed Paul's with a cold, calculating gleam. He held a glass in his hand and as he sat he emptied it.

"No… no, I don't believe so," Paul said, trying to recall his name. He had been introduced to everyone but he was not the greatest of name-rememberers… besides, Danielle Leduc was still heavy in his mind.

"I am Hans… Hans Friestag, in case you have forgotten," the German said, smiling. "What do you drink? I will get us a couple."

"Scotch… scotch and soda's fine," said Paul, surprised when the German had switched to English which he also spoke fluently. He watched him motion to a servant and order for them.

"So…" Hans Friestag sighed, slumping deeply into the luxurious chair and folding his hands across his lap. "I assume either you or your wife are ill and you've come for treatment?"

Paul studied him. "Why should you assume that?"

Hans Friestag shrugged. "What else? That is what brought us all here… the first time."

"Oh… and now?"

"The kicks… what else?" said the German. "And I know of no other place where you can get such kicks… except for the Palais de Plaisir itself."

Paul continued to stare at him, feeling rather stupid in his failure to grasp the other's meaning. He shook his head just as the servant returned, extending the tray to each of them in turn.

"Really?" Hans Friestag questioned Paul's head-shake, raising his glass to his lips, his eyes never wavering from the tall, dark American. Finally, he said, "Tell me, Arden, is your wife any good in bed?"

Paul came upright in his chair, not quite certain he had heard correctly. "Wh-what did you say?"

"Your wife…? Is she really as good as she looks…?"