Jon Reskind - The unholy Master

"I thought that's what you said," Paul snapped in rage. "What the hell kind of remark is that?" he shot at the German.

Once more, Friestag shrugged. "No offense, old man," he said half apologetically in English. "Just wondering. You see, once again, that's what brought all of us here at one time or another… finding sexual compatibility with our spouses," the German grinned. "I thought you knew… but I guess you didn't."

"I wasn't that interested," said Paul sharply, his anger somewhat under control now. "Doctor Leduc is treating my wife. That's why we've come."

Hans Friestag nodded, the faintest trace of a smile playing around his thin-lipped mouth. "Naturally," he said. "A lovely girl, Mrs. Arden. And you can feel confident that Leduc will help her. He is an amazing physician."

Paul gulped at his drink. There was something intoned in every word the German uttered that rankled him, yet there was nothing basic that he could put his finger on… and then a servant entered to announce that a buffet supper was being served in the dining room, and Friestag stood to find his wife.

"Well, see you later in the apartment, Arden." He nodded, offering a half-hearted salute. "Pleasant pickings," he added and walked off.

Paul stood, draining his own glass and staring after the German. What the hell did he mean… pleasant pickings… and being here for the kicks… or the Palais de Plaisir? He looked around him at the warm laughing faces of the attractive men and women… at his own Janet who was smiling radiantly at the slender, dark young importer, Charl Rondeau. Everyone seemed so light-hearted and happy… then, someone had his arm. It was Danielle Leduc, absent her mastiffs.

"So, ma chere, you are ready to sup?" she questioned, moving close until he could feel her firm, yet soft pointed breast pressing its button-hard nipple into his arm.

"I… ah… was just going for my wife," Paul said, looking deep into her sparkling, taunting eyes.

"But that is not necessary, you see?" She nodded with her pretty head to where Janet had fastened onto the arm of Charl Rondeau.

Paul forced a smile as he watched the way Janet drew the Frenchman's arm against her own full breast and proceeded to accompany him toward the dining room without so much as a look in his direction. He knew damned well that he didn't like what he saw, but on the other hand, the liquor had stimulated him to the reckless point where he liked very much the provocative creature beside him and the way she was letting him know that her charms were his for the taking… and God knows, he needed them bad enough. His smile twisted into a wry grin as he thought to himself how goddamned disappointed that Frenchie would be if Janet took one look at his prick. He even chuckled aloud at the thought.

"Something is funny, my Paul?" the raven-haired beauty questioned.

Paul caught himself and let his laugh wind up in a licentious little smile which he confidently extended her as he squeezed her hand warmly. "Just thinking, honey… remembering that promise you made a little while ago."

They were alone now, the others having filed on out toward the dining room. Danielle looked up into his eyes, desire immediately coming alive in her own.

"You liked my suggestion?" she whispered to him.

"I loved it."

"Mmmmmmmmm." She shuddered, lifting her lips to his to be kissed.

Paul did, tenderly, and as their lips met he felt her hand gently commence to massage his already rigid cock as it throbbed against his trouser leg.

Doctor Leduc arrived in the midst of the eating. Quickly, he circled the room greeting each of his guests individually and with a certain warmth as he apologized for his being delayed, simultaneously gulping away a double martini. When he reached Janet her heart skipped a beat as he took both of her hands into his and said, "My dear, how are you feeling?"

"F-Fine, Doctor," she heard herself reply, sensing the pressure of his hands upon hers.

"Ahhh good, good. Once we've had a bite to eat we shall go off somewhere by ourselves, ma chere."

Janet shuddered with unwanted delight. She could not help herself, and she doubted that she wanted to. She guessed fully the meaning of his words, and suddenly what appetite she had, left her. God! Why doesn't he take me now. Now!

From a few yards away, Paul watched the performance and was baffled by what he would term as a libidinous gleam in his wife's eyes, but before he could move toward her, Gretchen Friestag had come up to take his arm.

"You are Paul," she said matter-of-factly in the same accented English her husband spoke.

"Yes," he replied, looking into the deep gray eyes of this voluptuous blonde whose large round, full breasts seemed as if they might burst beyond the flimsy material encasing them.

"I've been watching you ever since you arrived," she said openly. "I think… maybe, I love you a little bit. Will you fuck me later at the party?"

Paul's mouth fell open. He had stuffed some chicken salad in there along with a half stalk of celery, and now the partially masticated food threatened to dribble out unless he raised his lower jaw.

Gretchen Friestag did it for him with a crooked first finger. She smiled beautifully. "Will you, darling?" she pleaded in exotically accented English. "I have never been fucked by an American, would you believe it…?"

There, the one-sided conversation ended, for Danielle Leduc returned from seeing to her guests.

"Gretchen, ma chere, you are preying upon my lover," she said coldly, but with a smile that was undeniably an order.

"Oh… Madame, I am so sorry. I didn't know. Please forgive me," the enchanting girl pleaded. Then, to Paul, "So, so sorry, darling. Perhaps, next time, eh?"

Paul hadn't spoken… had hardly thought as he gaped from one to the other of the two delectable women. Finally, when she was gone, he said, "Look… what the hell is this anyway? Danielle… Jesus Christ! I'm in a fog…!"

The exquisite woman tittered lightly. "You won't be in a little while," she cooed up at him.

And so he wasn't… entirely. When the eating was past and Leduc had led Janet off to somewhere of which Paul had no idea, all males and females were taken to the second floor and separate dressing rooms where toga-like gowns were handed to them. Paul stared about him as the men unquestionably commenced to shed their clothing and don the single shoulder-clasped togas. He particularly noticed that they wore absolutely nothing beneath them.

He shook his head vigorously and sat down on a stool to gape around at the others. Hans Friestag saw him and walked over, his blue toga doing little for his athletic physique.

"So… what is wrong, Arden?" he asked in English.

"Wh-what the hell is this anyway?" Paul stammered. "I mean… I don't get it…"

Friestag chuckled. "You will, old boy. Just slip into that oversized handkerchief. All of the delights are through that door… into the apartment. Take my word for it… it's worth your time."

With that, the German walked off and Paul reluctantly stood… taking his word for it, he felt even though he didn't trust him as far as he could throw a camel. Slowly, he undressed, hesitating when he got to his shorts, but finally even kicking them off, then mastering the drape of the toga. Jesus! He felt like a Kansas farmer in his nightgown. Nevertheless, he screwed up his courage and was the last one to walk through the doorway to the apartment.

At first, the clever indirect lighting was such that he could actually make out nothing but what appeared to be a long room of couches and pillows, with draped figures moving about. And then, as his eyes grew accustomed, he realized that was exactly what he saw… plus what might be a bar at the far end with Danielle behind it. He moved in that direction, his bare feet sinking an inch into the white ermine-like carpet, the exotic string-music coming from somewhere and filling his head. Suddenly, just before he reached the bar, he saw Gretchen Friestag lying with her head in the lap of Charl Rondeau, the Frenchman's prick, long and thick, in her small hand. He came up short to stop and stare. Charl looked up at him and when he did, Gretchen twisted about to smile upward in recognition.