The Contract Page 8

Chapter 6

  Max Fielding took his phone call from Johnson in reception, watching the glamorous couples moving through to the music room, the restaurant, the bar – and of course the private suites that Deuvar boasted on the first floor.

  A casual observer might have thought he had stumbled upon a luxurious country hotel, but small things suggested otherwise to the trained eye. Firstly the girls were all magnificent and all unnaturally deferential to their partners. Against the elegant evening dress a knowing eye might detect the faint outline of the nipple rings of the girls that were pierced. Finally, of course, there was the distinct air of expectation; the atmosphere hummed with a subtle but unmistakable eroticism.

  Max's jovial and relaxed state of mind was broken by Johnson's icy tone.

  "They can't locate that bloody chap. Vanished. I've had a man down at the hospital all day," he growled.

  "He'll turn up."

  Johnson snorted. "I damned well hope so. How's it going with that bastard Howard's girl?"

  "Wonderfully. You should have come down yourself. You've missed quite a show. Leonora has high hopes for her. The auction will be…"

  "I don't want anyone to have high hopes for her," Johnson snapped, stifling the words in Max's mouth. "I want her broken. I want to get my hands on Peter Howard. If he's alive he'll come to get her. I want -"

  "Gently, gently," soothed Max. "If he's dead the item in question is lost. Nobody else would realise its significance. And we'll know if anyone tries to use it."

  "If they try to use it, it'll be too bloody late. Besides how do we know he was working alone?"

  "For God's sake calm down. Haven't we talked about damage limitation? Why don't you come down here and…"

  Before Max could finish his sentence Johnson slammed the phone down on him.

  Max sighed. From the open doors of the restaurant came the restrained sounds of a string quartet. He brushed the lapels of his dinner jacket and adjusted his cummerbund. Leonora had promised to join him for a drink. He glanced around to see if she had arrived.

  Close to the main entrance, two men dressed in immaculately tailored evening suits watched the comings and goings with equal interest. They looked as distinguished and affluent as any of the other guests, though Max knew they were part of the security force that Leonora employed. Each wore a tiny silver button in his lapel, connecting him by radio to the main office. After a few seconds one moved away from the door towards the main stair case. Max glanced at his watch. The shift was changing bang on time.

  Upstairs in cell 27 Emily lay on her back staring at the ceiling.

  The overhead light in the windowless room was gradually dimming. Emily felt immeasurably tired. Kai had said she would visit to remove the anal stretcher. Emily shivered as the thought crossed her mind. Removal would be bliss, but she suspected that the next day it would be replaced. At present it nestled like an invasive finger between the cheeks of her backside.

  The cell was gradually receding into shadows, not that there was much to see. The little room was furnished clinically, in white tiles, with a central bed screwed to the floor, complete with a built in mattress. A single blanket and pillow had been folded on the bed when she had returned from her day downstairs. Other than that, the only objects were a lavatory and hand basin against one wall. The floor was cold unforgiving marble. She blinked, hardly able to keep her eyes open, hoping that Kai would arrive soon…

  The sound of a key in the lock!

  She looked up, trying to focus sleepy eyes, and then froze in horror. Framed in the doorway was the guard she had seen that morning. His long hair was pulled back into a pony tail, accentuating the hard contours of his face. He had changed from the daytime uniform of blue shirt and charcoal grey trousers into elegant evening clothes which were skilfully tailored to highlight his impressive musculature.

  He grinned as he stepped into the cell.

  "Kai's coming," Emily hissed in a terrified voice. "She won't be very long."

  The guard shrugged. "Doesn't really matter does it? She isn't going to try and stop me."

  Emily clutched the thin blanket up over her body, aware of the harness biting into the flesh her between her legs as she instinctively clenched her muscles. Her arms were still linked together at the wrist, connected to the overhead chain. She struggled to pull them apart, knowing that it was useless.

  There was nowhere to run to, nowhere to hide. The man walked slowly across the room towards her, eyes glittering in the fading light. She glanced around in desperation and without thought leapt off the bed, trying to get away. She dropped to the floor against the wall, crouching like a cornered mouse.

  Her tormentor smiled lazily. "Run all you like," he said softly, undoing his jacket. "The fight excites me. I love it when they struggle."

  Emily sobbed as he circled the bed. His progress was slow, unstoppable. For a few seconds he stood over her watching her face. She shivered; his eyes flickered with desire. She felt the tension ease in her body as the seconds ticked away. Just as her breathing had slowed, he lunged forward and grabbed hold of her wrists, jerking her to her feet.

  She whimpered.

  One hand dropped and tugged at her harness. He pulled her closer to him, running his lips against her cheek, pressing hot wet kisses into her flesh. The man licked her throat, then lower, touching his tongue to the metallic rings through her nipples, stroking her belly with long fingers.

  In spite of herself, to her horror, Emily felt his touch light a beacon in her belly. The brush of his tongue sent a shard of silvery sparks through her mind. As he tipped her face towards him and pressed his lips to hers she was stunned to realise she was relishing her forced submission. His kisses were tender and exploratory, like a real lover. She moaned as his fingers stroked the delicate skin where the lips of her sex met.

  The guard pulled away sharply, his face contorted into a lecherous leer. "Don't tell me you don't want me to touch you. Look at yourself."

  Emily blushed and dropped her gaze. Her nipples had swollen and hardened, flushed crimson with need – and her sex – she shivered. She knew she was getting wet but knew that it didn't matter how wet she was – the guard had other plans. He pushed her toward the bed and rolled her over onto her belly, securing her hands to the bed frame. She began to tremble, unable to fight him. Her mind was a mass of contradictions. She didn't want what was going to follow – or did she? Her body was telling her something else, part of her was aching to feel his touch, his lips – she cried out as he ran a finger along her spine.

  "Get up on all fours," he said flatly.

  If she expected him to be quick and furtive about his plans she was wrong. He moved around her, cupping and touching her breasts, stroking her belly with cool invasive fingers. She closed her eyes.

  His clinical appraisal was exciting her beyond all belief and knowing that he was looking, touching, exploring, made her flesh quiver. She had no choice, she had to submit to whatever he had planned and the knowledge excited some dark submissive creature that lurked in her mind.

  He turned his attentions to her sex, rubbing a finger into the groove of her lips, sliding beneath the ring, seeking out her pleasure bud. She let out an excited sob as he brushed it, tempered with fear that he would dislodge the ring.

  She gave a throaty gasp as he climbed onto the bed behind her, fingers fiddling with the straps that held the dildo in place.

  She had expected him to take the harness off but instead she just felt the relief as the stretcher slid out. She sighed as her muscles eased. Behind her the guard grunted softly. She felt him moving closer, his breath on her back and lower still on her buttocks.

  What happened next astonished her; his tongue slid darkly between the gaping lips of her quim. He dipped into her, lapping and sucking, fingers lifting to join it.

  Emily was stunned. She felt her body respond, moving with his touch, seeking out his attentions. She eased herself back to chase his tongue, pushing herself back to meet him. She began to shiv
er, praying that he wouldn't disappoint her.

  The man chuckled. The sound was softened and distorted by her flesh. When she felt his fingers moving back to stroke the tight bruised bud of her anus she resisted, stiffening, suddenly afraid.

  "Don't fight me," the man whispered thickly. "Remember, lady, I won you, and I'm going to have you. I'm going to bury my cock so deep in you, make you scream out for more." His finger slid into her and she gasped as her body closed gratefully around him.

  "Please," she begged, "No, please I'll do anything -"

  He laughed. "Too right you will." His finger eased out slowly. Over her shoulder she heard the sound of him climbing down off the bed – and the unnerving muffled sounds of clothes being removed.

  She could sense his eyes on her body and imagined what the pictures were that he was seeing. Her sex was gaping, slick and hungry, her breasts were flushed and her back was striped with the mark of Leonora's whip. She had seen the way the ring between Kai's legs glittered as she moved. Was that what this man could see; the flash and glitter of invitation?

  She swallowed hard as he moved closer. She could feel the heat of his body, smell his musky male odours. Something trickled down over the crease of her backside, cold and oily. She shuddered as he worked it into her, dipping now and then between her legs to smear her juices there too.

  "You look so good," he whispered as he moved closer. "You know they're all going to want you? They'll take you every way they can once you've been sold and broken in. There's an Arab here likes to fuck woman in company – one cock up your arse, another in your cunt, maybe a third in your mouth. They'll whip you till your skin is raw and then make you beg them for more -"

  Emily let out a strangled terrified sob.

  "And you'll love it, because some hungry part of your body wants it all, doesn't it? You'll thank me then for being so gentle – I've seen women split if they're too tight and the client wants it like this -"

  As he spoke Emily felt the dark unnerving press of his shaft at the very entry to the most secret parts of her body. His fingers pressed down on her clitoris, rubbing it knowingly, circling the engorged hood, encouraging her to come with him, to accept what he was offering.

  She gasped and then screamed as he opened her, pressing his cock slowly into the tight closure between her buttocks. The sensation was of pain and fullness, a tight terrifying progress that stunned her.

  Over her shoulder she could hear his laboured breaths. "There," he hissed, creeping closer, brushing her raw flesh with his belly and chest. He encircled her like a great bear. His fingers moved again, sending shards of pleasure through her as he started to move. She thought each thrust was going to tear her apart; her fear ebbing and flowing with the waves of pleasure he was creating with his fingers.

  "Move with me." He thrust deeper and deeper. "Come on!" He suddenly grabbed hold of the harness around her waist and jerked her back onto his body, impaling her again and again. She mewled in pain. "Move," he gasped and she had no choice but to follow his orders.

  Her body seemed to have a will of its own, pressing and surging with each movement. She could sense he was close to release, her own excitement hovering unfulfilled between her legs and he drove deeper still until she thought he might kill her.

  He snorted suddenly and drove so deep that she screamed out in terror. Deep inside she could feel the throb of his orgasm and on her back his breath in red hot ragged snorts.

  Slumping down across her, he fought to get his breath. She tensed as he slid out from inside her leaving a sensation of rawness and heat. She pressed her face into the pillow. Her body had been abused and yet her mind longed for her own release. She bit into the cloth, tears prickling up behind her eyes as the guard clambered off from bed. The unfulfilled excitement in her belly ached like a tooth.

  "How was she?" said a familiar voice.

  Emily flushed scarlet as she heard Kai making her way into the cell. She didn't move or look round, her embarrassment too overwhelming.

  "Not bad. When's the auction?" said the guard without emotion.

  "Noon tomorrow, the boss wants it done quickly." Emily felt Kai's softer feminine hands on her back. "You haven't split her have you?" she said, opening Emily's buttocks to examine her.

  "No, you know me. She's so ripe and wet – shame we couldn't have made up a threesome, but I'm off duty now -" He laughed dryly. "Do you know who'll be here tomorrow?"

  Kai said nothing. Instead she pressed Emily down onto the bed. "She ought to go to sleep," she said almost in Emily's ear. "Big day tomorrow."

  Emily relaxed her hips, and let her belly sink into the mattress. She closed her ears to what else they said. She wanted them to leave and stop talking about her as if she wasn't there. She screwed her eyes tight shut and tried to conjure up Peter Howard's face and the sound of his voice.

  When she opened her eyes again the light in the cell had finally gone out and she was alone. Between her legs her backside felt red raw and worse still was the ache in her belly – she needed satisfaction. Her hands where still secured to the frame above her head so that she couldn't even touch herself.

  She had never felt the need before, but now more than anything else, she wanted to slip her fingers down into the wet hot confines of her sex and stroke the little pleasure bud that the guard had brought to the very brink of release. She sighed – and within a few seconds was asleep – the ache unfulfilled.

  It was late. Peter Howard was sitting in the wheelchair beside the computers he had had installed. He watched the screens, letting his mind wander free. On the side table was Magenta, still encased in its water-proof wrappings. He didn't want to connect it up until he was absolutely certain he had a way in. It would be disastrous if they discovered Magenta's presence before he was set up and ready.

  He was completely exhausted, but he knew that sometimes solutions appeared best in the grey still area before sleep claimed him.

  Emily Lawrence was at Deuvar.

  The knowledge appalled him, but he didn't know exactly what to do about it. He was far too weak to consider a one-man rescue squad. Surely Johnson wouldn't use her for the purposes Deuvar had been designed for? It had to be a bluff to draw him out. Emily might be a prisoner there, but even Johnson wouldn't stoop so low as to break a girl against her will. Deuvar had their precious contract that all the girls had to sign before they gave themselves into Leonora's clutches. He couldn't imagine that Emily would sign herself away.

  Peter ran his fingers through his thick wavy hair. He really ought to be in bed. Angela had left – he glanced at the bedside clock – almost an hour earlier. He grinned. What an unexpected find she had turned out to be. He'd never realised that physiotherapy could be so much fun.

  He had screwed her over his bed, gagged and pressed down amongst the sheets with their tight hospital corners. He'd held her by her harness and applied the delightful little nipple clamps he had ordered along with a few other things. She had whimpered and struggled as he had forced his way into her without prelude.

  As he had pushed his cock home he had felt her waiting lips fold gratefully around him. When he had taken his pleasure he had turned her over and tongued her to her own release, making her beg him for more.

  He yawned and looked at the screens one last time. He needed to sleep and the ideas and solutions eluded him. Carefully he pushed himself to the bed and eased himself onto the sheets; they still smelt of Angela's body.

  Max Fielding had settled himself in the main bar at Deuvar, watching the evening's entertainment with his arm around one of Leonora's girls. On stage a slim blonde girl was tied, belly down, across an ornate plinth. Dressed in a low cut leather Basque that nipped her tight, her sex was tipped up for the attentions of her mistress, who's expert tonguing made Max quiver.

  All eyes where on the masked dominant woman's hands, where a tiny crop nestled, its handle formed into a thick black dildo. As the girl struggled and writhed the woman alternately beat and fucked her with the device
.

  The girl's lightly tanned skin was suffused by a shimmer of perspiration, her breasts pressed flat against the plinth. Her face was flushed, wild screams reduced to groans by the rubber gag she wore.

  Business in the bar was brisk. Several of the clients, Max knew, had arrived that evening purely for the auction of Emily Lawrence the next day. Leonora was circulating amongst them – the perfect hostess. Distinguished well known public faces mingled with the anonymous rich without a second thought.

  Under Leonora's management Deuvar had rapidly become one of the best known open secrets amongst the world's wealthiest and most influential individuals. At Deuvar no pleasure was too extreme – and almost no secret too big to keep.

  On stage, the girl on the plinth was sobbing behind her gag, a trickle of creamy juice sliding provocatively down the inside of her thighs as her mistress drove the dildo home. The girl shuddered. Max turned away and made his way up to his suite. He had an important phone call to make.

  His female companion lifted an eyebrow in question. Max smiled and ran a finger over her full scarlet lips. "I won't be long," he said. At the door he lifted a hand in farewell to Leonora who was in deep conversation with a Greek oil magnate who had arrived by helicopter. She barely acknowledged him as he hurried upstairs.

  Johnson was sitting at home considering what he ought to do next. In front of him was the latest faxed report from his man at the hospital. It made disturbing reading. He glanced at it, poured himself a scotch over ice and then picked up the phone.

  Hospitals were large anonymous places. People and names got lost in the system. He shouldn't have to check the information he had received for himself, but Johnson was the kind of man who found it very, very hard to believe that anyone could do a job as well as he could.

  He tapped in the number and after two rings a polite female voice answered. "Good evening, St. Leonard's Hospital, how may I help you?"

  Johnson looked at the sheet in front of him. "I wonder whether you could put me through to Hansard ward?"