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steady herself. In the mirror she saw the nipples of her breasts jutting suddenly forward, almost forcing their way through the filmy lace.
    She shook her head violently to clear it. What was wrong with her? It wasn’t as if he was the first man for her. She closed her eyes for a moment. The knowledge came to her. The monster phallus danced before her closed lids. The ultimate symbol of man’s power. The man himself was nothing. It was Priapus with all the worship he inspired. She felt the wetness flooding into her loins.
    She waited until she felt she could control the trembling of her legs, then turned off the bathroom light and opened the door to the bedroom. It took a moment for her eyes to adjust to the dim light.
    He was standing, naked, next to the bed, his back toward her. Without moving from the bed, he turned slowly toward her. At first all she saw was his hard glittering eyes and the lips drawn back tightly across his small white teeth; then her eyes fell, drawn inexorably to his phallus. She felt the trembling begin again in her legs, her mouth suddenly dry with the breath catching in her throat.
    Without speaking, he gestured with one hand for her to come to him, the other hand concealed behind his back.
    Silently she moved toward him, feeling as if she might fall with every step she took. At last she was before him, her eyes still cast down. She felt as if she were hypnotized by his manhood.
    Suddenly he moved and with one hand tore the black gown down the front of her body until it lay on the floor around her feet and she was naked in front of him. Still he didn’t speak.
    She felt her wetness running down the inside of her thighs. But there was no way she could move. It was as if his phallus had taken over all the strength in her body. She did not see his other hand come from behind his back. It took a moment for the shock wave of pain to travel from her body to her brain. Then the agony was so intense that a scream involuntarily tore its way from her throat.
    For the first time she saw the cat-o’-nine-tails in his other hand, the small metal tips at the end of each thong gleaming in the light. She looked down at herself. The lash marks were already rising across her breasts, her belly and thighs, and blood was beginning to seep through the skin where the metal had torn into her flesh.
    Before she could speak, his harsh voice tore at her. “Whore of the Boche! Do you think I will be like the others? Slave to your cunt?”
    She could only shake her head. There was no way she could speak. Her voice had gone with shock.
    Again the lash. Again the pain. Then his hand was in her hair, cruelly forcing her to the floor before him. She tried to cover her face with her hands but he forced her head back so that she could look at him. His phallus, fully erect now, hung over her face like a giant snake.
    His voice was harsh and cruel. “You are the slave and he is your master. Look at him and know that you are nothing but his whore.”
    She tried to turn her head away but his hand gripping her by the hair would not let her move. Then the cat fell again. This time across her back. Twice. The pain engulfed her and she screamed, her voice almost raw with hoarseness.
    It was as if her scream of pain triggered him off. His phallus began to leap like an angry cobra as his semen came spurting over her. Angrily he lashed at her again and the pain and the semen seemed to be flowing all together over her body.
    Then it was over and he thrust her violently to the floor. She sprawled, sobbing, at his feet, unable to move. He stood silently for a moment, breathing heavily, looking down at her. Then he prodded her with his foot until she rolled over on her back, her face staring up at him.
    His voice was normal now. “Go to the bathroom, whore, and clean yourself.”
    She didn’t move.
    Again the lash. Her body jumped with the pain. “Do as I say!”
    Slowly she rolled to her hands and knees and began to crawl to the bathroom