“He didn’t discard her. Her father broke them up, after you tipped him off.”
“Oh, so they weren’t both adults, capable of going against an old man who didn’t understand their love?”
“I suppose Sophie didn’t want to destroy her relationship with her father.”
“You suppose. But you don’t know anything about it, Lydia.”
“Then tell me.”
Karl-Heinz reached for her and cupped her elbow in a steadying hand. It felt like a warning.
“Sophie found out she was pregnant.”
Lydia clapped her hands to her mouth. No, don’t tell me, she wanted to plead, but she couldn’t.
“Of course, her father wanted her to terminate, but she refused. She was convinced the child was Milan’s and she was still in love with him. She went to tell him about it and he sent her away. He didn’t want to know. The game was over for him and he didn’t want anything more to do with her.”
“Are you…sure about this?”
“Of course I’m sure. She was devastated, almost suicidal, but she clung on to the thought that, when the baby was born, he would come back to her. The baby was a boy. I insisted on having a DNA test to establish paternity—he was mine.”
“Oh God,” said Lydia. “Oh God. He was your son. So, what happened? You and Sophie aren’t together.”
“No, of course, she didn’t want me. And she didn’t want the child either, once she knew he wasn’t Milan’s. She had post-natal depression and she never managed to bond with him. When he was six months old, she handed him over to me. He was brought up by my mother. Sophie has suffered with poor mental health ever since. She has never held down a job or a relationship. So, if anyone’s life has been ruined…”
The appalled silence was broken by a ringing of the doorbell.
“Who the hell is that?” grumbled Hackmeyer. “I can hardly send one of the staff to the door if it’s a census taker or something. Karl-Heinz, you’re sensibly dressed. Would you mind very much?”
“Of course.”
He looked rather relieved to have an excuse to leave the table, thought Lydia. She had ruined the sexy mood now. They might as well all go home.
“I’ve rather put a dampener on the party, haven’t I?” she said apologetically.
“You needed to know the truth,” said Hackmeyer with a reassuring smile. “Kaspar has many secrets. You deserve to know them, if you are going to be with him.”
“Be with whom?”
The double doors crashed open and Milan stood between them, glaring down at the assembled company.
Chapter Twelve
“I don’t recall inviting you,” said Hackmeyer icily.
“I’m not staying,” said Milan. “I’ve just come for Lydia. Let’s go.”
He held out his hand to Lydia, who sat as if turned to stone, staring at him.
“Kaspar,” said Karl-Heinz in a more conciliatory tone. He stood and moved towards the gatecrasher. “This is not a good idea.”
“Nothing that happens in this house is a good idea,” he replied with a snarl. “Lydia. Come.” His tone was more urgent now and Lydia half-rose.
“Don’t,” snapped Karl-Heinz, turning to her.
“If you were hoping to pre-empt Julius telling the truth about you,” said Sarah calmly, “you’re too late. She knows the full story of Sophie and Jean-Marc.”
“Jean-Marc, the child you handed to you mother and ignored for the rest of his life?” Milan laughed and tossed his hair.
Julius rose, his face transfigured with rage.
“Don’t bother,” said Milan. “I suppose you don’t know that Jean-Marc wrote to me? We met up while I was in Prague earlier this year. I went to visit Sophie. You haven’t seen her since the child was born, I gather.”
“I ―” Julius sat back down with a bump.
“She is in a private sanatorium near Salzburg. She didn’t recognise me.”
“I’ve paid for his education,” said Hackmeyer weakly.
“Yeah, you’ve paid for him, and then you’ve cut him adrift. He hasn’t seen you for three years.”
“Nobody comes out of this story well,” said Karl-Heinz. “Can we stop raking up the past in order to prolong a battle?”
“It’s my fault,” said Lydia, slowly and clearly. “You’re bringing up all this stuff because you want to, to win me. Well, I don’t want to be won. I’m not a trophy. But I do see that I need to make this choice soon.”
“It might help,” said Milan dryly.
“We should leave,” said Karl-Heinz, taking Lydia’s hand. “The mood is ruined.”
“No,” said Hackmeyer belligerently. “You can’t go. We’ve gone to a lot of trouble to organise this for you.”
“Perhaps another night,” urged Sarah.
“Lydia, come home,” said Milan.
“Not with you,” snapped Lydia. “I don’t know how I feel about you right now. I wish I was surprised to hear that you treated that girl so badly but I’m not. And I hate that.”
“You’re right,” said Milan. “I deserve to be punished. I want to be. If it will help you, Lydia, I will take anything.”
His declaration was like a bolt of lightning, illuminating the room, showing everyone’s true faces. Suddenly everyone was breathing harder, leaning further forward.
“Anything?” said Hackmeyer. “Do you mean that?”
“I want this to be over,” said Milan. “Take out your anger on me and then let it rest.”
“What exactly are you suggesting?” said Karl-Heinz.
Milan looked behind him at the staff, who had re-entered the room bearing trays of toys, as presumably they had been ordered to do at the start of the evening. They stood by the double doors, seemingly unsure of whether to stay or leave.
Milan strode over to the young man and took a whip from the tray. It was a thick-handled flogger with strands of plaited leather flowing from its tip.
“Hurt me,” he said, proffering it. “Any of you. All of you. Give me what I deserve.”
“Milan, this is crazy,” said Lydia, but the others shushed her.
“I will take it for you,” he said. “It should be you who does it.”
“No.” She shook her head. “I can’t.”
“Then any of you? Hackmeyer? Von Ritter? Come on. You know you want to.”
He flicked the whip between them, flexing his wrist with insouciant flair.
It was Karl-Heinz that reached out and grabbed it.
“I don’t have any animosity towards you, Kaspar,” he said.
Milan laughed disbelievingly.
“You don’t believe me,” continued Karl-Heinz, “but it’s true. I know that, if it weren’t for you, I’d have Lydia all to myself, but I suppose that just means you have good taste. I think you’re a great musician and I also think you could be a good man. I don’t want to hurt you, but if you think it will help you, I’ll do it.”
“Get off, Karl-Heinz,” said Hackmeyer impatiently, pushing back his chair and seizing the whip from him. “I’m going first.”
“Milan, let’s go,” said Lydia, nervous now that the whip was in Hackmeyer’s hands. She envisaged her lover’s back, shredded to ribbons, while the vengeful Hackmeyer stood over his panting body.
“No way,” leered Hackmeyer. “Get undressed, Kaspar.”
“No.” Lydia tried to wrench the whip from him.
“I want this,” said Milan simply. “I want you to see it. I’m not leaving until it’s done.”
“Then at least let Karl-Heinz do it. Not that…” She couldn’t think of a word to describe Hackmeyer. Not one that wouldn’t get her thrown out of the house, anyway.
Milan nodded.
“If that’s what you want.”
“Karl-Heinz?” she said, beseeching.
He held out his hand for the whip. Grudgingly, Hackmeyer gave it.
“Make it hard,” he growled.
Lydia sank into her seat, covering her lower face with her ha
nds.
Milan took off his coat and threw it over a chair, then set about unbuttoning his shirt.
He was so beautiful, thought Lydia, still finding that the sight of his naked torso took her breath away. The taut, strong arms, the defined chest and flat stomach all made her skin flush and heat all over.
He handed the shirt to her and she took it and breathed into it. The scent of him whirled around in her head while he pulled off his boots and socks then unbuckled his belt.
She followed the little trail of dark hair down from his navel to the waistband of his boxers with her eyes. His trousers fell from his hips and over his thighs.
“You could do with putting some meat on your bones, Kaspar,” jeered Hackmeyer, but Lydia couldn’t agree with him. To her, he was perfect.
He kicked off the trousers, reduced now to a pair of grey silk boxers with a blue pattern. Surely that would do, Lydia thought.
“All the way,” said Hackmeyer.
Karl-Heinz turned and pointed the whip at his old friend.
“This is my call, Julius,” he reminded him. “Keep them on for now.”
Milan stood before them all, defiant in his vulnerability.
“Okay,” he said. “Where do you want me?”
Karl-Heinz pondered this, chin in hand.
“You know,” he said, “I think I just want you to stand straight. That’s it. Shoulders back.” Milan, facing the table like a criminal before the Bench, thrust out his chin.
“Do you want to see his face, Lydia?” asked Karl-Heinz gently.
She shook her head, swallowing.
“Okay, turn around.”
Milan presented his rear view. Lydia looked lingeringly at the perfect back with its sharp shoulder blades and narrow waist. His skin was flawless, pale marble. What would it look like after Karl-Heinz’s work was done?
“How many do you think, Kaspar?” asked Karl-Heinz, running the butt of the whip handle along the length of Milan’s spine.
“Do it until I can’t take any more,” muttered Milan. “Until I fall on my knees.”
Hackmeyer looked impressed, Sarah a little scared.
“You don’t have to do this, Milan,” said Lydia, her voice faltering.
“Yes, I do,” he said. “Do it. Don’t hold back.”
Karl-Heinz took off his jacket and rolled up his sleeves to the elbow. Lydia had seen him do this many times, but it still gave her a weak-kneed feeling, even though it wasn’t her bottom in the line of fire this time. She was going to see how he looked when he was delivering a flogging—the missing part of the fantasy.
Suddenly, she didn’t know whether to be horrified or aroused anymore.
Milan looked so delicious, a blank canvas for Karl-Heinz’s sadistic artistry. She had changed her mind about not wanting to look.
Now she wanted to look quite desperately.
Karl-Heinz drew back his arm and lined the whip up with the centre of Milan’s back. Then he flicked it forward, so fast it blurred, and the leather tongues licked Milan’s skin, swishing down, leaving faint red splotches.
Milan neither flinched nor made a sound. It must hurt, on his back like that, Lydia thought. She was sure she couldn’t take it. It was bad enough on the cushioned flesh of her bottom.
Karl-Heinz seemed a bit miffed at Milan’s lack of response and he laid the next stroke in the same spot, rendering the red marks a deeper and angrier shade.
This time there was a tightening of Milan’s shoulder blades and a tiny gasp. Lydia saw the tendons stand out at the back of his neck.
Karl-Heinz kept up the pressure, whipping fast and steadily all over the lower portion of Milan’s back. She saw Milan bow his head, clench his fists. She saw welts of crimson scored all over his skin, then saw that skin become sheened with sweat.
On about the fifteenth stroke, he let out a moan.
“Okay,” said Karl-Heinz. “Take down your underpants now. I haven’t finished.”
Milan let the wispy silk flutter over his firm, tight buttocks and fall to his ankles. Lydia was relieved that the focus was off his poor back, but now Karl-Heinz would make it even harder, she was sure.
She looked sidelong at Hackmeyer, who had reached for Sarah and sat her on his lap. His fingers were busy under the netting of her skirt.
Karl-Heinz’s first stroke of the whip on Milan’s bottom was a scorcher, landing with a fierce crack, creating half a dozen instant weals.
Milan inhaled sharply and made a noise a little like a steam whistle.
“Oh, don’t hurt him!” beseeched Lydia.
“Hurt me,” begged Milan. “More. Give me more.”
She saw the sweat pour off him with each new stroke. She watched his bottom and thighs turn into a swollen red mess of blotches and stripes until no pale skin remained. She saw him flex all his muscles, shift from foot to foot, shake his arms, do everything he could to try to endure the pain, but when he started to buckle at the knees and sob she could watch no longer.
“Oh, stop it, stop it,” she cried as he fell forward on his knees, shoulders shaking.
She rushed around to the front of him and threw her arms around his neck, crying with him. She heard the whip fall to the floor, aware of nothing else but Milan’s hot, damp body pressed to hers and his tears soaking the shoulder of her dress.
“Darling, my darling,” she whispered, rocking him in her arms. “It’ll be all right.”
It took her a moment or two to realise that she wasn’t the only person holding Milan in a tight embrace. She looked up to see Karl-Heinz, crouched beside him, his arm around Milan’s waist and his cheek against Milan’s wet cheek. And Milan had his arm around Karl-Heinz too.
It should have been awkward, or strange, but it didn’t feel that way. It felt right, a natural expression of emotion, the outward symbol of forgiveness.
“Are you okay?” Karl-Heinz asked.
Milan simply brushed his cheek against the other man’s, holding on to Lydia as tightly as he could.
“Thank you,” he said, under his breath. “Thank you so much.”
“An affecting scene.”
The sarcastic voice that seemed to come from a huge distance away belonged to Hackmeyer.
Lydia looked up over Milan’s shoulder and was mildly surprised to see that Hackmeyer had Sarah bent over his knee now with her skirts up and he was preparing to spank her with a wooden ruler paddle.
“That was a nice aperitif,” he explained. “Got my juices flowing. Now I want to spank my woman.”
He let the paddle fall, hard and loud, on Sarah’s bottom. She kicked her legs and squealed, clearly enjoying herself.
Lydia wobbled to her feet.
“Let’s go,” she said, to both her lovers. “I don’t want to stay here.”
Hackmeyer, whacking away with gusto, looked up and made a cartoonishly sad face.
“But I want you to stay. I want you to join in the fun and games.”
“How can I be in the mood for fun and games after this?” she shouted. She turned to Karl-Heinz, who had put a steadying hand under her elbow. “You can stay with your lovely friends if you want to, but I’m going home. With Milan.”
“No, no, I’ll come with you,” said Karl-Heinz. “I don’t want to stay without you.”
“Really? I’m sure Sarah would be happy to suck your cock again.”
She reached for Milan’s clothes and laid them in front of him. He was on his knees, head on the floor, hands clasped over his eyes, rocking.
Karl-Heinz picked the whip back up and cracked it suddenly, making Lydia jump.
“Don’t disrespect me, Lydia,” he said. “I won’t be spoken to like that by you.”
She stared at him, immobilised and slightly thrilled.
“I’m sorry,” she said. “Then, shall we leave together? You, me and Milan?”
“Fine.” He bent and rubbed Milan’s shoulder. “Come now, old man. Get your clothes on and I’ll call a cab.”
Lydia helped Milan to his f
eet and dressed him, pulling the underpants and trousers as gently as she could over his abused backside, keeping his shirt loose instead of tucking it into his waistband. All the same, he winced and hissed continuously until the socks and shoes were on, at which point he offered Lydia a tired smile.
Hackmeyer had given up on Sarah’s spanking and was trying to remonstrate with an unrelenting Karl-Heinz.
“We could have had such a great time,” moaned Hackmeyer. “A foursome. You love foursomes! Come on, Karl-Heinz. Send the fiddler on his way and pour yourself a brandy.”
Karl-Heinz shook his head. “No,” he said. “This ends here. You and Kaspar stop these pathetic, childish revenge games or I won’t have anything more to do with either of you. Put the past where it belongs and leave each other to make a better job of the present.”
Lydia looked sharply at him. “Good advice,” she said, letting her words hang in the air for his deeper consideration.
He flinched, then recovered with a benign smile at her. “I suppose I should take it,” he said.
He called for a taxi, made his farewells to the host and hostess then the triangle of lovers left, Milan supported at each side by the other two.
“We’ll go back to my place,” said Karl-Heinz, helping Milan into the back seat after Lydia, then joining them himself. “I have some good stuff to rub into your skin after a whipping. It soothes the burn and prevents bruising. Lydia knows all about it, don’t you, Lydia?”
Lydia simply blushed and nodded, wondering what on earth the taxi driver would make of the conversation. She held Milan’s hand, stroking the knuckles, wanting to take all his pain away—the physical and the emotional.
He had stopped shaking, she noticed, but he obviously couldn’t get comfortable and sat awkwardly, holding his upper body stiff. He put his arm around her and got as close as he could, seatbelts permitting.
“I love you,” he said to her.
Lydia’s eyes filled with tears.
“I love you too,” she said. “You silly, reckless, ridiculous person.”
“I want you to love me because of how I am, not in spite of it,” he said. “I promise you, I will be a better man, from now on. This is the start of a new life.”
Close Harmony Page 12
