New Orleans, 1894
The elegantly dressed young woman alighted from the well-appointed horse-drawn carriage and took stock of her surroundings. Long low buildings that had once been slave quarters stood in rows on one side of the street. A cemetery stood guard on the other, the white sepulchers standing like sentinels guarding the dead who slept there. She was across the river, in Algiers, a section of the city she’d never visited before. That fact was unusual for Countess Katerina Orloff, an ambassador’s wife and devoted denizen of the demimonde of the Crescent City. She had seen its seamy underbelly on many occasions, especially when her husband was away on business or occupied with matters of state. But this area was different. It appeared quite deserted. She was down near the river, the sluggish Mississippi that cradled the city. The quiet was disconcerting, the dark was unnerving, and the smell of brackish river water assailed her nostrils. Perhaps she had wandered too far from the gay nightlife to which she was accustomed. The lights of the French Quarter and Rampart Street were far away. She thought she could hear the faint strains of jazz from the raucous clubs drifting on the wind, but that had to be her imagination. Here there was only silence.
At a corner stood a house. It was an old two-story structure made in the classic style of French architecture so common in the city, with iron balustrades, tall windows, and filigreed cornices. Weathered stonework covered with ivy gave the house a sense of age as if it had stood for centuries. It could have stood that long, thought Katerina. New Orleans was one of the oldest cities in America.
“Madame, are you sure this is correct?”
Katerina turned to her driver, Henri. “I think so, Henri. Monsieur Drake’s instructions were very exact. That is his house. It must be.” Her voice quavered, nervousness setting in.
Now that she had arrived, the reason for her assignation seized her attention. Her heart beat faster, her tongue licked dry lips, her knees trembled. What spell had he cast on her? She was here of her own free will, true, but still she felt drawn here, compelled by some powerful force she did not understand.
Then there was her sex. She was totally and utterly aroused, her pussy slick with her own juices. A devotee of the most exotic of sexual practices, she’d had many encounters with rich and powerful men. Some of them had been to boost her husband’s career, some had been to acquire secrets and the power they possessed, but this—this was pure lust. It would be a new experience for her. Before, she had been in control. Men did what she wanted, catering to her every desire, desperately fawning to please in order that she might bestow her favors upon them. But tonight was different. Tonight she was here to submit. Drake had made that clear.
She approached a door with embedded ironwork and an oddly shaped door-knocker. It looked like a wolf’s head. Cautiously she reached for the heavy brass knocker with the curious shape, but before her hand touched the brass object, the door swung open. A dark-skinned Creole woman in a severe black dress stood in the shadowy foyer.
“I am Nina,” she said. “The master awaits you, Madame Orloff. Please follow me.”
The woman carried a candelabra with three lit candles for light. Otherwise the house was dimly illuminated by candlelight and gas lamps—and silent. Katerina Orloff followed the woman down a large circular staircase to a hallway one level below. At the end of the hallway was a heavy oaken door, reinforced by iron strips. Was it designed to keep someone out, or to keep something in, she wondered?
Nina took a key from a ring and opened the door. As it swung open, Katerina was able to observe the inside of a spacious chamber that was less the dungeon the oaken door implied, and more the luxurious well-appointed bedroom of a rich and powerful man. However, there were some differences. The four-poster bed that dominated the room featured various hooks and eyelets driven into the stout oak posts and crosspieces that framed the overlarge pallet, which was covered with furs and lush pillows. Curious items of furniture caught her eye. A bench with a kneeler and a cradle for one’s torso had buckling straps where ankles and wrists would be. All the better to hold one down? A large plush couch featured a high cylindrical bolster at one end and an ordinary armrest at the other. To bend over and offer one’s derriere? She looked up. Dangling from the ceiling was a beam, held by chains that led to a crank secured to the wall. Her eyes flitted about the room, looking for more evidence of the proclivities of her host. These had been spoken about in whispers among the young hedonists who haunted the dens and secret clubs of the Vieux Carre, forever on the lookout for the next exotic adventure, the next ecstatic pleasure. Yes, she’d been told about Jonathon Drake, reclusive owner of Club Diabolique. Then she met him in person and her adventure began. The man had been everything they’d said. Not only was he charming and gorgeous, but he possessed an animalistic essence, like a vibration projected outward that affected every female in the room. They were drawn to him, like moths to a flame. Katerina had been no exception, but he had singled her out in return, setting upon her like some big cat, a king of his jungle. She had been unable to resist. Tonight she would know why.
“I am to prepare you, madame.”
It was Nina, the mysterious house mistress. Light from the corridor outlined her form as she stood in the doorway, casting a long shadow into the room. A pretty girl in a maid’s uniform, obviously an underling, also stood waiting to assist.
“Yes, of course,” said Katerina.
“You will please disrobe.”
“You mean, remove my clothing?”
“Yes, madame. The master requires it.”
“I… I don’t know.” Katerina began to question the wisdom of this tryst.
“You may leave at any time, madame, but if you are to stay, you must do as directed.”
A faint scent assailed her nostrils. It was him. He was close, not showing himself, but nearby. Her body reacted to the powerful musk, an earthy scent all sweat and sex mixed with something sweet, but not too—and all male.
“Please assist me,” said Katerina, beginning to fumble with buttons and clasps. Her fingers trembled.
“Lisette, help her,” said the housekeeper.
With the maid’s assistance she divested herself of her outer clothing, leaving her clad in nothing but a chemise and silk drawers with dainty lace at the edges.
As she stood half naked, wondering what could be next, Nina approached with a blindfold.
“What is that for?” she said.
“The master requires it. He will allow you to see if it is his pleasure to do so.”
While Nina slipped the blindfold over her eyes, Lisette turned a crank on the wall. Katerina could not see what was happening but felt her wrists being cuffed. She started to protest, alarmed now. She heard the crank turn again, and her body was stretched as the cuffs that were suspended from thin chains were raised, pulling her arms up.
The voice was low and guttural. It came from a distance as if out of a tunnel. Katerina heard heavy footsteps approaching.
“You may leave us,” said the voice.
“Jonathon?” It sounded like his voice, but it was somehow lower in register, rougher, almost a growl. She had heard the stories, tales of a phantom who was not quite human.
The lighter footsteps of the maids receded as they departed the chamber. Katerina heard a door swing closed with a thunk that plunged the room into an eerie silence.
“Jonathon?” she called out again.
“Are you ready, Katerina? Ready to begin?” Again, she heard that low hoarse whisper signaling his presence nearby. The voice was definitely human, she decided. She put the wild stories out of her mind. This was a man.
Before she could answer, his hands were upon her. The hands were rough in texture but surprisingly gentle. His deft touch sent chills up her spine. He pressed his body against hers and ran his hands all over her backside, from low on her thighs to her upper back, caressing, kneading, feeling every inch of her flesh. His breath was hot on her neck and his lips found her shoulders, her neck, her ears, her cheeks—then finally her lips. He kissed her deeply, and at the same time squeezed her luscious buttocks. She swooned. She could feel his erection pushing against her pelvis as his tongue found hers. Her sex flooded with juices as her arousal intensified. She had never felt so sexually alive. Her arousal was almost painful. She welcomed anything he wanted to do to her.
She felt him move behind her, his hard penis now nested in the cleft of her buttocks as his hands caressed her breasts, tweaking her hardened nipples. Then his hands shifted lower and he inserted fingers into her drawers in front, slipping down to her quim, probing at first, then plunging in, sensuously rubbing and making waves of pure pleasure surge through her core. His other hand was behind her, rubbing her buttocks in circles, then alternately patting and squeezing the resilient flesh.
Abruptly her drawers were ripped down and she found herself bare below the waist. Her movement was limited. She was hobbled by the step-ins that had pooled at her ankles. One hand continued to rub her slit with a reciprocating motion, fingers moving up and down, in and out.
Smack! His other hand struck her ass.
“Ow!” she exclaimed.
Smack! Another spank stung her buttocks and she yelped.
“Pleasure and pain, Katerina. Two sides of the same coin. There will be pleasure, I promise you. But first you must experience the fire.”
More spanks fell in a rapid volley, setting fire to her bottom, and she danced from foot to foot, yelping in surprise at the sharp stinging sensation. Abruptly, he stopped.
His hands left her and she stood waiting. Her bottom burned where the spanks had landed. He eased the straps of her chemise from her shoulders, baring her breasts. Something pinched her nipples, and she realized a pair of clamps had been placed there, one on each nipple. He tweaked them, sending shockwaves of sensation through her body.
She felt something tapping her bottom. Something like leather. The tapping, gentle at first, became more insistent. What was it? The end of a riding whip? Yes, she decided, it was the leather popper at the end of a crop.
Whap! The whip bit. Then again. Then again. An acute sting erupted across her backside.
The flogging took on a rhythm. She’d hear a whooshing sound then feel it—a line of flame, making her pitch forward. Three, four strokes, then a dozen. It set her bare bottom alight all over again. She twisted and humped, trying to evade the whip but failing. It always found her. She imagined it comical in a way, being thrashed on her behind like some recalcitrant schoolgirl.
His other hand cupped her pelvis once again and now he fingered her sex as he whipped her bobbing fanny, spanking the wriggling globes with deft flicks of his wrist. Left side, right side, repeat.
“Ow! Oh! Nghhh!” It was an animalistic moan, half pleasure, half pain.
But her entreaties did not stop either the whipping or the frigging of her sex. The twin sensations of pain and pleasure vied for prominence.
Then it stopped. She turned her head. In the kinetic action of the whipping, her blindfold had slipped, just a little. But it was enough. In the gloom of the faintly lit chamber she saw him. He was tall, taller than she had remembered. The shoulders were broad, the torso a bare muscular chest with long sinewy arms. He wore tight black trousers and she caught a glimpse of an erection that threatened to tear right through them.
She sucked in her breath. His apparent desire for her inflamed her senses and her pussy became slick with her own juices.
She heard a shuffling and understood he had shed his leggings. Sneaking one more peek, she saw the rigid appendage of his penis, larger than any she’d seen before, bobbing as he strode toward her.
“Bend forward,” he commanded.
She arched her back and thrust her buttocks out, understanding that this was how she was to receive him.
The head of his cock nuzzled the lips of her pussy then slid in. She gasped. She’d never been filled like this before. It stretched the walls of her vagina and found her pleasure spot. Her legs shook as he moved in and out of her. Slowly at first, then he built momentum. Surges of pleasure wracked her body. His hips smacked her buttocks, freshly sore and reddened by the crop. She didn’t care. The ecstasy she felt from this fucking, the most intense she’d ever experienced, obliterated any lingering pain. In fact, she’d later reflect, the hot glow from the whipping had only intensified the pleasure.
The sensations grew more insistent until she came, bucking and squirming, skewered on his massive prick and shaking like a rag doll. She felt his climax, an explosion of frenetic motion and churning, threatening to shake her apart.
When her gyrations had ceased, he unfastened the cuffs. He removed her blindfold and took off the nipple clamps. She feared to look, but when he turned her to face him, he was not the beast she had glimpsed before, but the Jonathon Drake she knew.
The rest of the evening was a repeat of that first ecstatic coupling. He took her in every imaginable way, making her climax over and over. When dawn broke, he left her to Nina and Lisette, who helped her dress. Henri, her coachman, had dutifully waited through the night hours, and as his mistress was escorted from the residence by the two women, he could not help but notice the languid stumbling gait with which she walked or the look of satisfaction on her face.
When he asked if she felt all right, she smiled and said, “I have never felt better, Henri, but please, take me home now.”
As they drew away, Katerina cast a long lingering look back. This tryst had been totally different from any other, even in the hedonistic world of the New Orleans underground, but it had thrilled and excited her like nothing else in her experience. It also left her wondering more than ever as to the true nature of the mysterious Jonathon Drake.
Drake parted the curtain in the window of his study and watched her go, then he turned and slumped into a chair. He was weary, but for now the beast was satisfied. Would she return? Perhaps, but if she chose not to do so, there were many who would gladly take her place. After all, he always outgrew them, so no relationship lasted very long. In a few more years he would have to disappear again, and resurface only when they had all but forgotten him. It was a lonely existence, but there were people who depended upon him, and he could not shy away from his destiny.