The Contract Page 9

  There was the sound of a phone ringing and then another bright cheery female voice. After the social pleasantries Johnson said, "I wonder whether I could speak to Sister Angela Ruskin please. The night sister -"

  There was moment's hesitation at the far end of the line. "I'm very sorry," said the young voice. "I'm afraid you must have the wrong ward. We haven't got a Sister Ruskin working here. Are you sure she works nights?"

  "Yes," said Johnson slowly. "She was looking after Jack Roberts, the man who survived the plane crash."

  The girl coughed. "We did have Mr Roberts on our ward, but I'm certain we haven't got a sister Ruskin. Would you like me to get Sister Thomson for you? She's been on this shift for years. I'm sure she'd know."

  Before he could reply the girl moved away from the phone. A few seconds later the information was confirmed. No-one called Sister Ruskin worked or had worked on that ward.

  Johnson didn't listen to any more. His witness, the man in the plane crash, had last been seen with a nursing sister in reception. The same nursing sister who had signed the release papers for Jack Roberts; the last men to see Peter Howard alive. A nursing sister who, it now appeared, did not exist.

  Johnson had always believed that Peter Howard was working alone, a maverick with a healthy degree of self interest, a man with an eye for anarchy – now he wasn't so certain.

  He had arranged for a diving team to try and locate the crashed plane within hours of the crash – they had turned up nothing. What if Max Fielding was wrong? What if Magenta was in the hands of someone who understood exactly what Peter Howard had been doing?

  Thoughtfully he put the phone back in its cradle and stared into his glass. The ice cracked as he lifted the tumbler to his lips. He would get someone to chase up the mythical nursing sister, some-one had to know who it was.

  Standing in silence by the hearth was Johnson's slave girl. She watched him with those uncanny ginger eyes, totally motionless except for the rise and fall of her breasts. Tonight she was wearing a sheer white silk blouse and long skirt. Beneath he knew she was naked, the enticing curves of her dark breasts pressed invitingly against the blouse. The clothes did not disguise the fact that she was a wild creature; if anything they highlighted her feral nature, as if some narrow minded missionary had thrust her into them to attempt to hide her natural eroticism.

  "Lift your skirt."

  It was time for her evening beating. He would make it a good one tonight. He took another cigar from the box on his desk.

  Wordlessly the girl's fingers began to work on the fabric, gathering it up to reveal more and more of her long muscular legs. Her sex seemed to crouch between her thighs, sprung and ready for what was to follow. She caught up the material in one fist and slipped her fingers into the coarse hair, opening the lips to reveal the scarlet interior – a gaping orchid that smelt of the sea and the sky. Her clitoris was large, an acorn that nestled amongst the tantalising petals.

  He watched as she passed over it, circling and caressing. It flushed shades darker as the sensations coursed through her body.

  As she worked, a delicate beading of sweat lifted on her top lip. Her nipples hardened dramatically and pressed through the sheer fabric of her blouse. All the time her eyes never left his. Her lips parted, tongue peeping out, as the waves of delight got closer and closer together.

  The smell of female sex, musky and animalistic, floated towards him, making his mouth water. The girl's eyes glittered as her orgasm approached and she moaned softly…

  "Stop," snapped Johnson as he sensed that she was teetering on the brink of total release. Her eyes flashed furiously for an instant.

  "Come here!"

  She approached the table with the grace of a big cat, the smell of her intensifying with every step.

  When he had beaten her thoroughly, he indicated the desk and she lay across it on her back, holding tight to her skirt, revealing that wild place between her thighs.

  He took a final glance at his whisky and then poured it, ice and all, over the open lips of her sex. She flinched as it flooded over her, the ice biting and chilling as it ran.

  He snorted and lunged forward to bury his tongue deep inside her, his fingers plunging inside, forcing the remains of the ice into her feral arcane quim. She mewled as he found the pleasure places, lifting to encourage her master to make every use of her.

  He drank in the fragrance and the juices, a heady cocktail of excitement and sharp bitter alcohol. It was a matter of seconds before he felt her orgasm, her sex flooding with a thick milky substance that electrified his taste buds. She began to tremble as he pulled away and wiped his mouth.

  "Roll over!"

  She moved without a word, her skirt still clutched into an untidy bunch. With her bottom tipped towards him, her sex gaping in anticipation of his cock as he took a hand full of ice chips from the bucket on his desk and pushed them up inside her. She snorted and writhed but did not deny him. The heat from her body began to melt the ice on contact. The moisture, combining with her juices, trickled down her scarified thighs.

  Slowly he undid his trousers and guided his aching cock into her; gasping at the contrast of fire and ice he found inside.

  She arched up to meet him and he forced her down onto the table, grabbing her breasts through the thin fabric of her blouse, ripping away the material until he found his prize. He tore at her erect nipples, twisting and gouging as she thrashed beneath him. As he felt the hot rhythmic pulse threatening deep in his groin he sank his teeth into her shoulder and let go of every thought except pleasure.

  Chapter 7

  Angela brought a very late breakfast in on a tray.

  Peter had slept all night and most of the morning. The sun was high. He finally felt rested and his body was beginning to feel more like the familiar machine which he knew, and if not exactly loved, then certainly less abused. After breakfast he did a little gentle physio, watched over by his resident nurse, rather fetchingly attired in a caftan that suggested she was naked beneath. When he'd finished she knelt at his feet and gently began to massage his aching legs. She pushed her hair back off her face and handed him a towel.

  "How does that feel?" To his surprise her voice was throaty and excited.

  He glanced down at her. A fine line of perspiration had lifted on her top lip and she was glowing with pleasure.

  "Do you enjoy waiting on me?" he asked casually.

  She bit her lip and nodded. "Yes. Yes, I do."

  He smiled, as she turned her attentions back to manipulating the muscles in his calves.

  "Take off your caftan."

  She flinched and then glanced up as if she had misheard him. "What?"

  "I prefer my masseurs to be naked."

  Angela's hands lifted slowly to the neck of her robe. Her fingers trembled as she struggled with the tie and then pushed the fabric back over her shoulders. Her heavy breasts fleetingly brushed his legs as the material slithered to the floor.

  It was obvious that the role of body slave came naturally to her. He stroked her face and without another word she bent lower and pressed her lips to his toes. Her kisses lifted higher, ankles, calves, knees, thighs – she pushed aside his dressing gown and traced a line of wet kisses to the hard arc of his cock. Peter leant back and moaned softly. His lessons were paying unexpected dividends. Her lips closed around him almost gratefully, sucking his cock deep into her warm compliant mouth.

  Her breasts pressed onto his thighs as she worked on and on. Her lips and her kisses drove away the pain in his body as he was caught up in the compelling spiral of pleasure. She worked him skilfully, her fingers tightening rhythmically around the base of his cock while her lips worked around its sensitive crown. The moment of release was so close; Peter's breaths came in hot desperate snorts as Angela's tongue and fingers worked a wicked dark magic.

  Finally, just before the white hot crystals flooded his mind, he jerked his cock out from between her lips in time to splash her breasts and face with hot steaming sem
en. She gasped, stunned by the liquid exploding in glittering plume across her. He cupped her breasts, twisting her nipples. She let out a little mew of pain. He grinned and dipped his finger into the slick trail of pleasure where it trickled down over her skin. Slowly he traced patterns back and forth, marking her with his pleasure, making her his. She began to writhe, his touch seemingly driving her wild with desire.

  "Please," she whispered desperately. "Please."

  He drew a trail of semen up over her throat to her waiting lips. Her mouth seized upon it, drawing his finger deep into her mouth, lapping at his excitement.

  He smiled, watching her face. Her eyes were closed, her features suffused with pleasure as if the taste of his delight had evoked rapture. Her ripe breasts were flushed with excitement, the intricate spirals of semen adding a strange exotic glisten to her flesh.

  "What do you want?" he said quietly.

  Angela's eyes snapped open.

  "What do you want?" he repeated more slowly.

  She blushed crimson.

  Peter's face hardened. "Tell me, I won't ask you again."

  "I want you to – to -" she looked at him, eyes alight with need. "I want you to fuck me," she said desperately. "I need you to make me come, please."

  He laughed dryly. "Stand up," he said, straightening his dressing gown to cover his exhausted cock. "Open you legs."

  Angela's face was scarlet, her nakedness raw and almost uncanny. He slipped a finger inside her, and grunted with satisfaction. Her quim was so wet that she was dripping. Her juices ran down over his fingers. His thumb brushed her clitoris and she quivered with pleasure. Slowly he circled the engorged peak, each touch rewarded by Angela letting out a little eager whimper of delight.

  She came in seconds, impaling herself again and again on his fingers, her sex clutching and tightening around him until finally he pulled out from inside her and she collapsed back at his feet in a sobbing gasping heap. He smiled, wiping his fingers on a towel she had given him.

  "Get up," he said. "I'm going to have a shower and then get back to the computers."

  Angela, still red faced, glanced up at him.

  "Thank you," she muttered thickly and began to drag her caftan back on.

  Slowly she got to her feet and started to tidy away his breakfast tray. He noticed that she hadn't re-tied the neck of the robe and the curve of her heavy breasts was clearly visible. She was learning. At the door she turned.

  "By the way, who is Magenta?"

  Peter stiffened. "What?"

  "I came in to check on you last night. I thought I heard you moving around. You were talking in your sleep. The only word I could make out was 'Magenta'."

  Peter tried to retain his composure, but couldn't resist glancing at the carefully waterproofed box beside his bed. Angela was still watching him.

  "You really don't want to know," he said flatly.

  Angela stood the tray down and crept closer.

  "Oh, but you're wrong. I really do want to know. Look, Peter, if you're in some sort of trouble maybe I can help. For God's sake, I'm helping you already. You say you don't want to put me at risk, but surely, just by being here, you're putting me at risk already? I want you, I want…" her voice faded, the colour returning to her cheeks.

  Peter leant back in the wheelchair. She was right. He glanced back at Magenta.

  "If I tell you -" he began.

  Angela nodded. "When you tell me, then I'll help you all I can. I used to operate a computer."

  Peter glared at her as she stepped towards the key board. "Don't touch any of this. I have to get in unnoticed. Magenta is my way in."

  Angela grinned. "Like a key?"

  Peter blew out a long stream of air. "No, not a key, THE key."

  He would need Angela to do things which he couldn't do whilst he was still so weak; driving, fetching, carrying. He would have to tell her. He sighed and switched on the computer. Johnson and Fielding's logo appeared out of the gloom. He touched the screen like a talisman.

  "All right. Magenta is the key to a huge computer network. There is no way to lock Magenta out. Each time the combination changes Magenta is programmed to change with it. The system and the key, Magenta, were created at the same time."

  Angela crouched beside him, listening with obvious interest. Her eyes were alight. His eyes lingered on the inviting shadowy curve of her breasts.

  With determination he dragged his mind back from her enticing body and keyed in an opening sequence.

  "This is the front door." The design on the computer screen changed seamlessly into a menu page. "All lovingly designed by the same man."

  Angela stared at the screen and then across at Peter Howard. "You?" she whispered. "You designed Magenta, didn't you?"

  Peter nodded. "Yes, it was me. I designed the whole package. Magenta is the only key into a huge business network. A corrupt business network. Johnson and Fielding are involved in manipulation on a global scale. With Magenta I can unlock their system and give the information to anyone who wants it: Interpol, the Fraud Squad, MI5, FBI, CIA, DPP -"

  Angela reached forward and stroked the waterproof wrappings of Magenta. "How many are there?"

  Peter grinned. "This is the only one – at the moment. That's what I was doing when the plane crashed. Taking it to Switzerland to get a friend to give me a back way into this system." He indicated the computer screen.

  Angela pulled a face. "This is the only one?"

  Peter nodded again. "That's right. I'm good. I made it fool proof. The only way we can get a copy, is to let it -" he grinned – "the term I used was to let them was mate with the master computer. It will then make a copy which I can then transfer off from the main system."

  "You mean like a baby?"

  "More or less, I'd intended to make a copy and put Magenta back before anyone knew it was gone. Trouble is, since I've been in hospital, someone seems to have closed off the back doors I left open."

  Angela glanced at the second screen. Roderick Banyon's message still hovered in the top left hand corner.

  "And what about your girl friend?" she said flatly. "What about Emily? Are you going to trade Magenta for her?"

  Peter felt a gut wrenching pain. It was the question he couldn't bring himself to face. Magenta was too big to trade for… he stopped the train of thought, snatching it back. "Even if I traded Magenta I'd undoubtedly lose her anyway. There has to be some other way. The people who are interested in this machine are totally unscrupulous."

  "Johnson and Fielding?"

  Peter shook his head. "A lot of people are interested in who has access to this knowledge. Organised crime, Dictatorships -" he stopped. "Look, I've told you enough, probably too much. Emily is the bait in a trap to draw me out into the open. If they know I'm alive, if they know where I am, none of us are safe."

  Angela pushed herself to her feet. "I'll make us some coffee. Is there anything else you want?"

  Peter grinned, leaning forward to plant a kiss on the curve of her shoulder. "Oh yes," he murmured. "I want a lot more."

  Angela wriggled away from him. "Shower first. I've got to ring in to let the hospital know I won't be in this week. I won't be long."

  Watched by a different guard and Kai, Emily showered in the bathroom at the end of the landing. The events of the previous night weren't mentioned as Kai dried and oiled her body. Emily's backside still glowed from the attentions of her late night visitor. She was relieved when Kai undid the harness that had held the anal dildo in place. After tending to Emily's nipple and quim rings Kai removed the fine covering of stubble that had grown over the lips of her sex and rubbed a soothing lotion into the delicate flesh. Emily surrendered totally to the other woman's attentions. What other choice did she have?

  When Kai was finished she looked appraisingly at Emily. "I'll take you to Leonora now. She wants to see you before today's auction."

  Emily tensed. Kai grinned, running a finger gently over the girl's throat. "Relax, you haven't broken any of the rul
es today, have you? You'll be fine."

  She snapped a leash through Emily's collar and led her through the maze of corridors. On the next floor Kai directed her towards a room which Emily instantly recognised as the clinical room she had been taken into on her arrival at Deuvar. When they reached the door she hesitated; Leonora and another guard were inside, preparing a trolley beside the clinician's couch.

  The tiny hard-faced Eurasian women looked up at the sound of their approach. Her eyes had no warmth in them. "Good," she said to Kai. "Bring her over here."

  Emily swallowed hard and climbed onto the couch, shivering as the guard fixed her arms above her head.

  Leonora glanced down at her. "I'm going to check you're in the same condition as when you arrived – our clients appreciate our honesty. And then -" she glanced at the trolley. "I'm going to give you a contraceptive injection, it will be renewed three monthly whilst you are with us." She paused. "Normally we wait until our girls are sold off, so that their new owners can make the decision. Some of the overseas clients prefer their women to be fertile. Fertility confirms their status; any children born from liaisons at Deuvar are taken and raised in their own homes -"

  Emily felt her colour draining as Leonora continued. "Some men prefer women who they can suckle from -"

  Emily flinched as the guard lifted her legs into the stirrups for the examination. Leonora's touch was cold and perfunctory. When she had done she pulled off her rubber gloves and smiled narrowly. "Good, everything is still in order. You will remain here until we are ready for you. Kai will help you dress. Remember, we demand obedience. You already know the punishment for disobeying the rules. I would have preferred to have trained you for longer before you were auctioned off, but the powers that be have decided otherwise. Whoever buys you will have exclusive rights to your body for twenty four hours only. After that your training with us will resume whilst you earn you keep."

  Emily considered the words with a growing sense of apprehension as Leonora left.

  As soon as she had gone, Emily strained experimentally against the ties that held her wrists. Remembering the night she had been brought to Deuvar, she was certain that the medical room hadn't been far from the outside – and freedom. Her body was well oiled; if she could just slip the leather straps down over her wrists. She strained a little harder, wriggling on the leather couch.