The Contract Page 7

  She shivered as she bent forward to service him with her mouth. He imagined the pleasure as she tasted her own juices mingled with his. The image was so compelling that Peter wondered if he would be able to hold back.

  Her mouth seemed alive, drawing him in between her lips like a hungry beast. She sucked harder, her large hands lifting to cup his balls and tease along the length of his shaft. Her breath on his belly, hot and wet, was alone almost enough to drive him to the point of no return. Locking his fingers into her long hair he jerked her closer, driving into her again and again.

  Gasping, at the very moment of release, he pulled her away. As she sat up she looked surprised, denied her final prize. Peter took a deep breath, bringing himself skilfully back from the brink – avoiding looking at her heavy pink tipped breasts, over which it would be so tempting to spurt his thick shimmering semen. He held the base of his cock in both hands.

  "I want to feel this inside you," he murmured. "Buried to the hilt inside your cunt."

  Angela shivered and slowly crept up to take him into her. Her sex dragged him in, its slick throbbing walls closing around him like a tight hot fist. He snorted and burying his hands in her hair jerked her hard back so that she was forced into an erotic arc, her breasts jutting towards him, her mouth open as they struggled to set a frantic rhythm.

  She matched him stroke for stroke, mimicking his wild brutal thrusts. She screamed as he jerked her head back further still and writhed deliciously as he closed his teeth around her swollen engorged nipples.

  He felt the first contraction of her orgasm in the same white hot second that he felt the unstoppable throb of his own. He pressed his teeth tighter, trapping her tender flesh, as they both thrashed and thrust their way to oblivion.

  At Deuvar, Emily was being led in silence back to her cell by a burly guard after her first day as a member of Fielding and Johnson's elite contract girls. She had been allowed to return without a blindfold but even so her eyes were downcast.

  At the cell door the guard snapped a short chain into her wrist cuffs, linking them so that they touched. A second longer chain joined them from above the bed frame, which meant that she would be able to move around the cell. Alone, she stared unseeing around its confines and thought about the events of the day.

  Outside Leonora's office Kai had removed her blindfold and then led Emily gently downstairs into the main hall and there… Emily could hardly bear to think about it.

  The guests at Deuvar had free access to all the public rooms as well as a number of private suites. Well dressed men and women had been taking breakfast in an exquisitely furnished dining room over-looking a magnificent formal garden. Emily had been acutely aware of her nakedness and, worse still, of the thick leather harness that secured the device into her anus.

  Eyes turned toward her as she'd walked in, unashamedly assessing her, and then looked away as their owners continued with their meals and conversation. Before leaving her with the restaurant manager, Kai had reminded Emily she must do as she was told – anyone could command her. Emily sensed that Leonora wanted her to be seen before she was sold off. Humiliated beyond all belief Emily had been ordered to clear tables, her body at everyone's disposal.

  Men ran their hands over her breasts, teasing at her nipples with desultory interest. One ran a tentative finger over her quim, sniffing it afterwards. Those who didn't touch stared and examined with their eyes; their gaze was almost more invasive than the fingers and lips. Emily bit her lip as she imagined the open curiosity and desire she had seen on the faces of the guests.

  In the far corner of the dining room a tall distinguished looking man and his woman had been sitting at a secluded table. The man had beckoned her over and made her turn slowly for his appraisal. He turned to his companion, who Emily suspected was another of Leonora's girls, as if to seek her approval. The girl had said nothing but slid her perfectly tailored white dress up over her waist to reveal her nakedness beneath. Her sex was fringed by a careful clipped triangle of dark hair. Emily remained unmoving. The man stared at her and lifted an eyebrow. "Haven't you been told that you have to do what you're told?" he said coolly.

  Emily nodded. The man sighed theatrically. "My friend requires you to service her."

  Still Emily didn't move, unsure what was required of her. Behind her the hubbub of the dining room faded away as she had blushed crimson. The girl opened her legs and let her fingers tease at the open flushed lips of her quim. Her scarlet nail polish looked bizarre nestled amongst the soft downy curls.

  The man's expression was stony. "On you knees, bitch, and fuck her with your tongue. I want to watch you. Or would you prefer me to report you to the management?"

  Emily shivered, unable to believe what she had heard. She could feel her colour intensifying, and with it the white heat of Leonora's whip marks on her back. She dropped slowly to her knees, her heart hammering between her breasts. Slowly, slowly, she crept forward, praying that the woman would close her legs, praying the man would change his mind. She was so close now she could smell the rich aroma of the woman's sex; an oceanic salty perfume and with it mingled – she shuddered as she remembered the smell – with it mingled the white trickling remnants of her lover's semen. She flinched as the man grabbed the back of her head and ground it into the woman's exposed dribbling sex.

  Tears of revulsion and humiliation coursed down Emily's cheeks as she tasted the remains of his lovemaking. The woman writhed closer, pressing herself onto Emily's lips, moaning softly as she ground her quim against Emily's mouth.

  Emily had licked and tongued and kissed, the woman getting more and more excited with every passing second, lifting herself up, opening herself for Emily's inexpert caresses. Beside her she heard the man's breath quicken as he watched them. Beneath her the woman started to moan frantically and thrash from side to side. At first Emily thought it was a plea for her to stop until she suddenly realised that the woman was having an orgasm.

  Her male companion dragged Emily away then, and slipped his straining arcing cock from his trousers. Pulling the woman further off the bench he thrust his cock into her compliant writhing body.

  Emily was so stunned that she knelt beside them, staring in astonishment at the sight of his shaft sliding in and out of the woman's slick gaping quim. But it wasn't over – the man grabbed Emily's collar and thrust her face back towards the moist fragrant junction of their two bodies.

  The woman's writhing and moaning renewed. Her juices flooded Emily's mouth with an intense rich taste and below that there was the dark threatening contrast of the man's cock, a steam hammer that Emily's tongue lapped and serviced with every heaving thrust.

  Suddenly the man shuddered and began to snort, driving deep into the woman in the white dress, pinning Emily between them. His flaccid slick penis was the last thing that passed across Emily's lips as he pulled himself out of his lover.

  Sitting back on his heels he pulled Emily to him and kissed her, his tongue searching her mouth for the flavours of their love making. Emily was stunned and horrified. The man got to his feet, adjusted his clothing and waved towards the restaurant manager who had given Emily her tasks in the dining-room.

  "Tell Leonora I'll double my bid for this girl," he said, without looking at Emily.

  Emily threw herself back onto her bed in her cell, hot tears of shame and fear coursing down her face. She hadn't thought about Peter since the previous night, but now his distinctive features filled her mind. What on earth would he think of the way she had behaved since she arrived at Deuvar?

  They had met first the previous summer – just over a year ago – when she'd applied for a job with his import and export firm. He had explained he had several business interests and freelanced for big companies alongside his own commitments. What he really needed some-one competent to run his small office. Even as he'd been interviewing her she had sensed a little crackle of expectation in the air.

  She might still be a virgin, but she wasn't completely naive. She'd ju
st finished college, coming out top of her group for reception and secretarial skills and had been a popular girl with several regular dates. It was just that some part of her had refused to go that extra yard; she had maintained her virginity against all the odds. She wanted to give it as a pure white shining gift to a man she loved – and in her mind that man had become Peter Howard.

  Crouched on the bed at Deuvar it seemed now as if all that had happened to another person. It certainly didn't feel as if that girl, clutching her diplomas and references, was the same miserable, naked, whipped creature who had lay between the legs of an unknown couple, sucking and lapping at their bodies as they had made love.

  She shuddered, trying to recapture the face of Peter Howard. He had invited her out to lunch the first week she had been working for him, after that is was a dinner date, then the theatre. He seemed so confident and at ease wherever he found himself. It had seemed like a fairy tale – some-how unreal. When he had kissed her, hands circling to caress her breasts, she had felt a flurry of excitement and desire like nothing she had ever experienced before. When she told him, after he had invited her to spend the weekend in Paris, that she was a virgin, he had grinned – and embraced her – and taken her to Paris anyway.

  He had proposed to her on a little boat as they explored the Seine by moonlight. She had been astounded and touched when he suggested they buy her parent's a house as an investment. As the months had passed the fairy tale had continued and with it her sense of unreality.

  Even when the police had come to tell her he had been killed in the plane crash, somehow it had been in keeping with the rest of their relationship. It was as if they had something magical and impossible -

  A dark miserable sob wracked her naked body. They were the first true tears of grief she had had since she'd been told Peter was dead. Peter wouldn't ever be coming back to rescue her, he had gone forever and she was trapped at Deuvar. Peter Howard had cherished her for her naivete and her innocence – Now, as Leonora was arranging to auction off her virginity, Emily realised, with a chilling start, that her innocence had already been lost.

  Johnson had sent one of his men to the hospital and was fuming. He had spent all day trying to trace a man who should be extremely easy to trace. He knew his witness was barely able to walk, would need nursing and physiotherapy to recover his strength. But this man had managed not only to get out of the hospital, but then had promptly vanished. Johnson stared at the telephone, willing it to ring.

  Max Fielding had always been entranced by Deuvar, even before its conversion into a pleasure palace without equal.

  Set in magnificent grounds, the house dominated the landscape for miles in every direction. Autumn was his favourite time of the year and today the weather was balmy; bare trees in the long ride to the mansion thrown into relief by the golden sunlight. He had spent the day walking and exploring with one of Leonora's more articulate and intelligent girls for company.

  He planned to have dinner, check on Leonora's arrangements for Emily's auction, take his pleasure with a girl or two and then, having spent another night at Deuvar, drive back to London the following day.

  By late evening he had fulfilled his plans for dinner and tasted the delights of one of Leonora's more experienced girls; now he would have a drink and then return for second helpings of ripe female flesh.

  As he leant comfortably at the bar he thought about Peter Howard – what a terrible shame Peter had never seen Emily at work. By all accounts the day had been an eventful one. Max wished he had been there to witness Emily's performance in the dining room.

  In the heart of the Kent countryside, Peter Howard was re-arranging Angela's annexe to take the computers that had arrived just as night was falling. She had found him a desk and extension leads and brought in the wheelchair so that as fatigue hit him he could still manoeuvre around the growing bank of sophisticated technology. Peter had just managed to get the computer system on line and working when the final delivery arrived; a motor bike courier carrying a large gift-wrapped box. Angela carried it into Peter's room. "This just came. I assume its something else for you?"

  Peter glanced over his shoulder as he slid another screen into position. "Actually," he said, without a hint of guile, "it's a little something I ordered for you."

  Angela laughed. "What?" but even as she spoke she was tearing off the elegant wrapping. What was inside made her gasp and then giggle. Peter had turned his attentions back to the computer screen when he heard the noise. "Well," he said without looking up. "What do you think?"

  Angela made a soft excited sound in her throat. "My god," she hissed. "It's absolutely wonderful."

  Peter turned to watch Angela holding up the leather body harness against herself. It was set with links so that the wearer could be secured for her lover's pleasure. Straps criss-crossed back and forth across the body, designed to divide and accentuate the breasts, while others went between the legs and round the thighs.

  Peter grinned. "You'll look superb in it. Here, bring me the box; there should be a few other little surprises hidden away in there."

  Angela pulled a face. "Can't I look?"

  Peter carefully took the box out of her hands. "They wouldn't be a surprise then, would they?"

  Angela giggled and spun away from him, still holding the body harness up against herself. "Would you like me to put it on?"

  Peter nodded as the screen he was working on flashed into life and a logo appeared.

  Angela glanced at it. "Can I ask you what all this is about?"

  Peter grimaced. "I'm not sure it's such a good idea, the less you know the less danger you're likely to be in."

  Angela was working on the buckles on the body harness as he spoke. "I really would like to know," she said, running her fingers over the fine tooled leather thoughtfully. She read the words at the centre of the screen as they formed themselves into a perfect arch. "Johnson and Fielding? Who are they?"

  Peter slipped a disk into the computer. "The bad guys," he said. "And I'm going to nail their arses to the mast." His tone was distracted and distant. It was vital that he got into Johnson and Fielding's main system without being traced. What he had got on the screen at the moment was their front door – their shop front onto the computer network. What he really wanted was to find an unlocked back-door or maybe the electronic equivalent of an open skylight.

  Behind him Angela was making muffled noises as she struggled to get into the harness. He'd had to guess her size, which was one of the reasons he had chosen the harness – a Basque or a leather body suit would have required a far more accurate guess.

  When he turned again she was slipping the shoulder straps over her alabaster flesh. The harness fitted her like a glove – a very tempting glove. The straps circled her heavy breasts, the black leather accentuating their fullness and pallor. Lower straps framed her sex and either side the thigh straps… Peter smiled, already the harness was working its magic on his cock. She reddened at his appreciative glances and the obvious bulge in his pyjama trousers as he helped her fasten the buckles.

  "Isn't this -" she paused, as if to find the right word, "obscene?" she whispered uneasily.

  Peter snorted. "Don't be silly. You look magnificent. The real obscenities in life are cooked up by bastards like this -" He pointed towards the intriguing spiralling graphics of Johnson and Fielding's logo. "To the outside world they appear totally respectable, while under the umbrella of their respectability they're selling arms, toppling governments to increase their market shares – and scurrying round to buy up cheap grain destined for aid convoys. That's real obscenity." His tone was so intense that Angela stepped back.

  Peter lifted a hand in apology. "Sorry, I'll climb down off my soap box. I've been chasing this organisation for years. They're so well established they thought that no-one would ever dare -" He stopped suddenly, aware that he was doing exactly what he had tried to avoid. If he told Angela anything he would be putting her at risk. Not only her, but himself as well.
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  Angela nodded. "I understand, but why are you doing it? I mean, what has it got to do with you?"

  Peter leant back in his wheel chair. "It's my job," he said flatly.

  "Your job?" she repeated.

  "That's right." In front of them the computer images curled and swirled seamlessly into a 3D satellite picture of the world.

  Instead of satisfying her, his explanation obviously intrigued her more. She moved closer, her ripe body garnished temptingly in the leather harness.

  "What do you do?" she said. She was so near that he could see puckering around her nipples and catch the warm intriguing perfume of her skin mingled with the smell of the new leather.

  He groaned in surrender and pulled her to him. "I'm a policeman," he murmured as he cupped her breasts in his palms.

  He felt her tense and then pull away. "A policeman?" she stammered.

  He nodded, catching hold of her shoulders and pulling her back towards him. "A very special type of policeman. Poacher turned gamekeeper. Don't worry I'm not going to charge you with anything other than being the sexiest woman I've laid hands on in years."

  His lips brushed hers as he slid his fingers through metal rings set in the waist band of the harness and jerked her sharply onto his lap, biting down on her bottom lip until he tasted the rich coppery heat of her blood. She rubbed herself against him.

  "Why don't we leave the computers to talk to themselves for a little while. I think we ought to have a look through the box of tricks I ordered," he said slowly.

  Angela was trembling as she got to her feet and wheeled him back towards the bed. "Anything you say," she whispered unsteadily. "Anything you say."