“As a matter of fact, that’s exactly what I did think at first.”
“But you did become just a mite suspicious when she tied you up and began torturing you, I suppose,” Lagula said sarcastically.
“Well, naturally—”
“Naturally.”
“Look,” I said desperately, “I just stopped at what I thought was a farmhouse to see how they milked the goats. I had no idea there was any connection between this place and S.M.U.T. And just now I was damn glad to see you because I thought you were rescuing me. I certainly never figured on this attitude. If you aren’t here to help me, then just why are you here, anyway?”
“Your pretense of innocence wouldn’t convince a two- year-old child, comrade. I’m here, as you very well know, because this is the brothel to which I’ve traced the recent outbreak of Malta Fever. I had no idea you were here until I chanced upon this open window and heard you making your confession to the lady.”
“I wasn’t confessing! I was improvising to keep from being tortured any more! ”
“I don’t believe you,” Lagula said flatly. “But it isn’t important at the moment. What is important is that I find out what I can while I have the chance. There is much of interest that this young lady might reveal.”
“I’ll buy that.”
“Good.” Lagula hopped down from the windowsill, strode over to the bed, and hefted the gun. “Then you will cooperate under my direction, and we shall see what the lady has to say.” He waved the gun at me. “Tie her to the bed.”
“What are you going to do?”
“Sauce for the goose . . .”
Under Lagula’s instructions, I tied Domino’s hands and feet to the bedposts so that she was spread-eagled on the bed. With clinical coldness, he ordered me to pull her half-slip up over her waist. Then he made me pick up the goose feather and told me what to do with it.
I’d never tortured anybody before, and I didn’t particularly like the idea of starting now. Still, with Lagula holding that gun on me, I had no choice but to do as he ordered. And there was a sort of justice in reversing the situation this way.
Lagula had me begin by stroking the tip of her right breast with the feather. Very quickly the bright maroon tip became enlarged and quivered in the air. The pale pink roseate encircling it seemed to widen and take on color under the stroking feather.
“Who is the S.M.U.T. contact in Malta?” Lagula asked.
Domino didn’t respond. He had me switch to the other breast. She was breathing very fast, but her lips were sealed. She didn’t even laugh, as I had before. She wasn’t ticklish, I guess.
“Who do you take your orders from? ” When there was no response, Lagula sighed and indicated that I should apply the feather to her navel.
Domino’s svelte belly rippled slightly under this new caress. Her eyes were shut tightly now. The muscles of her thighs were flexing a bit. But the only sound she made was her increasingly heavy breathing.
“What is the purpose behind the deliberate spreading of Malta Fever?”
It was as if Domino didn’t hear the questions. It was as if she felt no need to make a sound in response to the delicate torture she was undergoing. Lagula grimaced and indicated the thickly curl-covered target he wanted me to attack next.
Domino’s buttocks flexed under her as the feather investigated the curls. Her body arched as if to deliberately make the target more accessible. Her thighs strained against the bonds holding her in an effort to part more widely .
“Tell me what you know about this latest S.M.U.T. plot!” Lagula demanded. But she remained obstinate, and he ordered me to dip the feather to the center of what he supposed was a more vulnerable target.
Finally Domino moaned under this most intimate torture.
“She’ll talk now,” Lagula said positively. “Keep it up.”
Having just undergone a similar torment, I was sure he was right. I didn’t see how Domino could hold out against the exquisitely agonizing sensation she must be undergoing. Surely she couldn’t stand it for long; surely she would break; surely she would talk. As her body began to writhe wildly, Lagula and I became absolutely sure that she was about to succumb. Surely it was more than human flesh could bear.
But we were wrong. We hadn’t stopped to recognize that there is human flesh and there is human flesh. We never expected what happened.
“Now! Now! Now!” Domino screamed suddenly. Her body thrust upward so hard that her bonds cut furrows in her flesh. “Ah! Ah! Ah!” she yelled. “Yes! Yes! Yes!” She strained that way for a long moment. Then—“Again! Do it again! Again! Again! Again! ”
I extracted the feather and stood back to look at it. Some torture gimmick! It hadn’t tortured Domino at all. It had only spurred her on to a realization of ultimate pleasure.
Which all goes to prove that one man’s torture may be one woman’s joy!
chapter three
“HA-ha-ha-ha-ha-ha-ha-ha-ha-ha-ha-ha-ha-ha-ha-ha-ha! ”
Now she laughed! Not because she was tickled, but because she was malicious! There was nothing uncontrollable about her laughter. It was deliberate, and it was aimed at us. She was laughing in our faces.
“You’d better read up on your de Sade,” I told Lagula. “I don’t think you’re going to make her talk this way.”
“It doesn’t seem to be having the desired effect,” Lagula admitted.
“It’s having an effect,” I assured him. “But definitely not the desired one.”
“I wonder why . . .” he mused.
“She just doesn’t have the right kind of sense of humor. What tickles some people just doesn’t tickle others.”
“And what tortures some people just doesn’t torture others,” he agreed. “I’m afraid you’re right. We’ll just have to try something else. But this isn’t the time and place to do it. Untie her. I’ll have to take her somewhere where she can be interrogated at my leisure.”
“Are you really going to torture her?”
“And why not? Surely that shouldn’t shock a Russian like you. You’re not noted for your gentleness in handling espionage cases.”
“But I’m not a Russian. I’m Steve--”
“Enough now!” Lagula barked. “Finish untying her, and let’s get out of here.” He waved the gun at me.
“No more?” Domino sounded genuinely regretful.
“Out the window!” Lagula ignored her.
“Aren’t you going to give us a chance to put on our clothes?” I objected.
“Here.” He tossed me my pants and shirt. “Hurry up
While I put them on, Domino pulled on her black dress. Then the two of us preceded Lagula out the window. He prodded us toward my rented Porsche. I drove with Domino beside me. Lagula stood up on the jumpseat behind, holding the gun he’d taken from Domino trained on us. I backed onto the road, and that’s when the fun started.
A sleek Mercedes coupe shot silently out onto the road from the front of the farmhouse and started after us. There was a dull ping from the left side of the Porsche’s rear deck, and I realized that somebody in the Mercedes was shooting at us. I didn’t need Lagula’s urging to go faster. I slammed down the clutch, threw the shift lever from second into overdrive, and hit the floorboard with the gas pedal. The Porsche went flat-out like a bullet down the straightaway road.
The Mercedes didn’t have the immediate pickup to stay with our roadster. Momentarily, it dropped back. But they didn’t stop shooting while they tried to catch up. With the convertible top down, the sound of the bullets was lost in the wind roaring past our ears.
“This is just going to take the curl right out of my hair,” Domino complained.
Just like a woman! A hundred miles an hour with a curve rushing toward us in the distance and bullets nipping at the night air, and she was worried about her hair. From the corner of my eye I saw that it was streaming out and up wildly—an excellent target for the marksman in the Mercedes. “Get down on the floor,” I told her.