"What didn't you realise?"
"That-that you were professionals." He was going to say prostitutes hut decided to be as courteous as possible, in spite of his disappointment.
The two girls laughed together. "You must be punished a little more for that," said the red-head. "But we can assure you that we're not professionals, as you say."
"But you said something about a price."
"Yes."
He frowned again. "I don't understand. What is the price, then?"
"A dozen strokes with a whip."
His eyes opened wide. "Oh, I see," he said slowly.
"What do you see?" said the blonde, her fingers still playing lightly with his penis and testicles.
"That you're flagellants." He felt a mixture of fear and excitement. He had never been whipped by a woman but he had from time to time thought it might be rather nice.
"I'm not a flagellant," said the blonde. "She is."
"Well?" said the red-head. "What about it? Do you want to pay the price?"
He tried to decide quickly what to do. It might be very exciting. They were both of them extremely lovely girls. To gain time for his thoughts he said: "But what about the noise?"
"Oh dear, you're a bit stupid," said the red-head exasperatedly. "Why do you think I asked you whether these other rooms are empty or not?"
"I'm not stupid," he retorted hotly. "And all right, I'll accept your price. But I'll have to go downstairs for a minute."
"What for?"
"To pretend that I have to go out on an errand or something. I don't want them wondering where I am. How long will you take with your dozen strokes?"
"Oh, not long," said the red-head sweetly. "About a couple of minutes."
He looked back at the blonde. "And then about ten minutes with you. All right. I'll tell them I'll be out for about a quarter of an hour. But I think we'd better wait until the person next door has actually gone, hadn't we?"
"Yes," said the blonde. "You make sure that he or she, whoever it is, is safely out of the way, and then you come back here." She let go of his penis. "You'd better put that away again for the time being."
"In any case," said the red-head, "don't come back straight away. We want our breakfast first."
"Good heavens!" said the blonde, "I'd forgotten breakfast. Yes, give us a quarter of an hour at least."
The young man put away his penis and testicles, buttoned up his trousers, and left the room. He went downstairs with his pulse racing.
The red-head opened her ruck-sack, took out her whip, some cords, and her dildo and put them on the bed. Then she sat down at the breakfast table. "I'll give him the dozen first," she said, "and then I'll do him from behind while he's inside you."
"Greedy pig," said the blonde, pouring herself a cup of coffee. "You get it twice. I get it only once."
"We mustn't forget to ring Margarete when we've finished with him," said the red-head. "And I'm not a greedy pig."
Marlene Reitter, in Paris, was also just beginning her breakfast. She nibbled at a croissant and picked up her bedside telephone. She asked the operator to get her a Kiel number. She went on nibbling the croissant till the call came through.
"This is the Petersen residence," said a voice in German.
"I want to speak to Mr. Petersen," said Marlene.
"I'll see if he's in. Who is speaking, please?"
She gave her name and waited. After a moment Per Petersen came on the line.
"Marlene!"
"Hello, Per. How are you?"
"Very well. And you? Are you coming?"
"Yes."
"When?"
"Today. We're flying at about half-past five. We'll be in Kiel about seven."
"We?"
"I have an assistant with me this time." She chuckled at the idea of the thought that obviously came to his mind. "A very pretty assistant."
"Why are you laughing?"
"You are wondering what she assists me in."
There was a momentary pause. "Yes, what does she assist you in?"
"She's my secretary."
"Oh." His voice sounded disappointed. "Your secretary. I see."
She laughed. "Oh, Per, it's a shame to tease you. She's also my assistant in matters of whipping."
"Is she, indeed? Since when have you needed one?" His voice now showed his eager interest. "I don't really need one, but it's fun to have one." He hesitated, wondering whether to say it or not.
Then it came out of its own accord: "Would it be fun to have two?"
"What do you mean?"
"Would it be fun to have two assistants?"
"Who would be the other one?" Her voice sounded ominous.
"My children's governess. She's also-" And the line went dead.
"Damn!" said Marlene, and held the receiver for a moment in her hand, wondering whether to tell operator to re-connect the call. She decided not to do so. Per Petersen would expect her for dinner. He would expect two guests, in fact, for dinner. There was no need to re-connect the call. She put the receiver back on to its rest. She was frowning. She would have liked to hear what else he was going to say about his children's governess.
5
Per grinned as the line went dead. He wondered whether she would get through to him again. He thought it was unlikely-but it was quite certain that she would have several things to ask, and to say, when she arrived with her assistant in the evening.
He went back to the breakfast room. Margarete was at the sideboard, helping herself to a portion of bacon and eggs. She smiled at him, a warm conspiratorial smile, and said: "Good morning, Mr. Petersen. How are you this morning?"
He smiled back at her. "Very sore."
"Nice. Did you sleep well?"
"Yes. And I had a quite fantastic dream about you."
"Did you? What was it about?"
"Nothing. I'll tell you in a moment. Go on yourself."
"You strung me up naked to some rings in the ceiling and flogged me with a cat-o'-nine-tails made of wire. Then-"
"Oh no! It's unbelievable!" She stared at him with wide- open eyes. "You did, I assure you."
"And I branded you, didn't I?" She put the question incredulously. "With some red-hot branding irons? On your bottom?"
"Yes." It was his turn now to be incredulous. "How do you know?"
"I had the same dream. Only it wasn't really a dream-it was a sort of day-dreaming reverie."
"When?"
"When I woke up this morning."
"Mine was in the middle of the night, long before." She turned with her plate of bacon and eggs, and sat down at the table. "There's something very curious here. Some sort of telepathy."
He helped himself to eggs and followed her to the table. "It seems like it. It's rather weird. What else was there, in your own dream?"
"Nothing else. Just the whipping with a wire cat-o'-ninetails and the branding of your bottom. Oh yes-and keeping you locked up in the torture chamber for a week."
"Indeed? What about my work?" His penis gave an excited jump.
"It was given out that you'd had to go away for a week."
"Was it indeed? You know, you're a rather dangerous person to have around the house, aren't you?"
She laughed. "You're more or less safe, though. There's no torture chamber deep down below this house."
No, there isn't, he thought. And it's a pity that there isn't. My God, to live with the threat of being locked up by her for a week in a torture chamber, of being branded on the bottom by her… Oh God, God! What excitement! Perhaps, though, it isn't a pity, after all. Perhaps it's a good thing. The idea is wonderfuclass="underline" the act might not be. It's enough that she thought of it, telepathy or not. He said: "What are your plans for this morning?"
"I'm going down to the town to buy some nice-flowers."
He glanced up as she hesitated before the word "flowers" and saw that a servant had come noiselessly into the room with fresh coffee. He waited until they were alone again. "That was quick of you. We'll have to be very careful, both of us. But what were you going to say instead of flowers?"