The Contract (17 page)

"Get up," hissed Franz, drawing the belt back again. Slowly, stiffly, Emily got back onto her hands and knees in time for Franz's second blow to explode across her reddening skin. This time she stayed on all fours, tears flooding down her face.

Three, four – five. Max murmured the number of strokes under his breath as the girl sobbed and writhed. Behind them, Naomi Haroldson watched the spectacle with growing excitement. Her eyes had darkened, her nipples pressed eagerly against the soft tight leather of her Basque.

Six, seven – Emily's movements were subtly changing as Franz laid on the belt again and again. Yes, she was afraid, yes, each blow hurt, sending ripples of pain through her chained body – but there was a certain eagerness and expectation in her movements now.

Max smiled to himself. She was enjoying it or, at least, some part of her was, some part he had recognised the first afternoon in the office.

He held his breath. If only Emily would surrender herself totally, relinquish control, let Franz and Naomi possess her completely. Sweat was dripping off her face and belly.

Nine, ten – her buttocks were scarlet, her body moving as if controlled by the crack of the belt. Behind her, Franz seemed mesmerised, his huge cock pressing against the soft cream fabric of his jodhpurs.

Eleven, twelve – Max could almost feel the strange dark excitement rising from deep inside the girl as she was beaten. She was still trembling but it was an electric pulse; a pulse of desire. Between her legs the delicate lips of her sex had flushed scarlet, a slick of her juices already trickling out onto her smooth soft thighs. Her breasts were flushed, nipples erect and glistening with a covering of sweat. She seemed to glow, every fibre, every molecule of her slender body straining for release.

In the little hidden observation room the watchers were all entranced; this was far better than they could have ever hoped for.

Franz dropped the belt to the floor and began to undress, Emily could not see him but every one of the watchers could sense the girl straining to hear, trying to detect what was to follow.

Naomi undid the restraints. Emily didn't move, held by the dark expectation of what was to come. Franz stroked her hips. "Turn over," he murmured. Wordlessly, the girl complied, laying on her back, eyes closed.

"Look at me." Franz hissed. "I want you to watch me take you -"

Emily's eyes snapped open, flashing wildly in the lamp light. The man was naked now. Behind the mask his eyes glittered and for an instant she thought she detected compassion, wildly at odds with the aggressive image of the leather helmet. Her back and buttocks screamed red hot, the pain and the heat suffusing her whole body. The glow of fear and anticipation had risen into a raging torrent. She knew her sex was wet, ready, throbbing with the need for satisfaction. She looked up at her seducer.

His body was stunning, slabs of beautifully sculpted muscle, a triangle of blond hair glistening in the centre of his chest. He was magnificent. She shivered as she looked further down. His great cock arched eagerly out toward her, and at the very end, through the foreskin, was a small ornate silver ring. She shuddered as he stepped closer. He caught hold of her under the knees and jerked her up towards him, pressing his mouth into her sex, eating her alive, biting and nipping at the raw excited flesh.

His teeth and tongue played with the silver ring that secured her sex lips, making her flinch and quiver by turns. As he lapped at her clitoris she started to sob with pleasure, writhing as he pressed on and on, driving her out towards oblivion. Something brushed against her thighs and she glanced down. To her astonishment Naomi Haroldson was crouching between the man's legs, servicing him with her mouth. Emily was so stunned that the breath caught in her throat.

Naomi Haroldson was worshipping the man with her body, giving him pleasure. She was another slave – another submissive. Emily gasped, riding the wild thread of pleasure out, out… She was so close to release that every part of her felt as if it was on fire. Her lover seemed to sense the approach of her orgasm and pulled away.

She gasped as he laid her back onto the plinth. "Please," she whispered, oblivious to the rule of silence. "Please -"

The man above her laughed. "Soon enough," he said softly, "soon enough."

Naomi slipped out from between his legs and clambered to her feet, wiping her mouth with the back of her hand. The atmosphere in the room was electric. The huge man pushed his finger gently into Emily's sex, catching hold of the ring that linked the lips of her sex. He teased the ring open. She held her breath, letting out a gasp of terror as he slipped the ring out through the delicate flesh.

"I don't think we need this," he said and threw it onto the floor. "Now watch me."

He lifted her up again, rubbing the head of his cock between the outer naked lips of her sex. She shuddered, her whole body cried out for him to take her while her mind was filled with terror that his great craning cock would split her open. His progress was unnervingly slow. He eased inside her a fraction at a time, the icy cold kiss of his cock ring marking his progress with a chilling caress. There was pain and pleasure, a dark feeling of tearing and heat as he breached her – and more compelling still, the aching need of her body. Suddenly he plunged home, driving his cock and the icy cold ring deep into her.

She screamed in fear while her rogue body instinctively lifted to meet his. She felt her body closing gratefully around his shaft, sucking him in, taking him deeper still. Suddenly she was moving with him, trying to suppress the pain and the terrifying tightness. She heard the sound of wild excited sobbing and was stunned to realise the voice was her own.

Naomi smiled down at her and then slowly climbed onto the plinth, straddling Emily's chest. The older woman held open the heavy lips of her own blonde fringed quim.

"Kiss me," she said thickly and lowered her sex onto Emily Lawrence's face.

The taste of the woman's excitement flooded Emily's mouth. She had no choice but to comply and was horrified to realise that she wanted to submit – to obey. She pressed a tentative kiss to the junction of Naomi's lips and breathed in the woman's erotic perfume. Naomi moaned, whispering words of pleasure and encouragement.

Emily began to lick, to kiss, while between her legs the man drove home and her desperate body matched him stroke for stroke, driving them both out towards the white hot lights of orgasm. Above her Naomi writhed and gasped, clutching at Emily's hair, her breasts, the thick collar she still wore around her neck. Suddenly Naomi began to snort, grinding her pelvis, dragging Emily's face closer and closer.

At the same instant Emily felt the man deep inside her begin to thrust madly, wildly, and she was swept away by a glittering, all engulfing sensation of such intensity that she thought she was going crazy -

The small crowd in the viewing room was silent as the girl began to buck and thrash, sucking every last drop of pleasure from Franz. At the height of his orgasm the blond giant dragged off his mask, threw back his head and gasped his way towards ecstasy. Naomi Haroldson was arched back, grinding and writhing.

Max realised he had been holding his breath as the threesome fought the last few steps of the way towards release. He let out a long shuddering breath as their climax finally crashed across their sweating bodies like a tidal wave. Finally, sated, they collapsed down onto each other.

George Haroldson touched Max's arm. The old man's eyes were alight as he held out a glass of champagne towards Max.

"Here, old chap, I think you might need this."

Max nodded dumbly.

George smiled. "Stunning, isn't she?"

Max nodded, wondering whether he meant Naomi or Emily. "You took the words right out of my mouth," he said, sipping the icy champagne.

Beyond the glass Naomi Haroldson was slithering down off the exhausted girl's torso. Slowly she crept around to between the girl's legs and began to tongue her gaping sex.

Emily snorted, trying to resist, wriggling. Franz clambered to his feet and grabbed Emily's thighs, holding her open for Naomi's attentions. Max guessed what was to follow, marvelling at Franz's stamina and powers of recuperation. Max had seen him in action before. It wouldn't take the great Nordic stud too long before he was ready for the next round.

They pulled the hapless girl onto her hands and knees, though she was so consumed by passion that Max suspected she barely knew what was happening to her. Franz and Naomi fastened her wrists, working wordlessly. When they had done Franz slipped something out from under the plinth – a dark shape that reminded Max of the floor show with the two girls in the main bar.

Naomi knelt in front of Franz and ran her tongue over the object – a large black double ended dildo, Naomi's particular favourite. She slithered gracefully under Emily, who still crouched on all fours, head hanging down. Franz slipped one end of the dildo into Naomi's compliant eager body with gentle hands, stroking it where it nestled into Naomi's body.

Emily, sensing something was going on, looked down into the face of the woman who lay beneath her – and then stiffened as she felt the brush of the rubber cock against her thighs.

At first Max thought she might resist – but he had reckoned without Franz. The tall man laid one hand on the small of Emily's back, stroking a finger along the livid reminders of the belt's caress.

"Stay still," he murmured. "Let Naomi feel what I felt, let her have you -" As he spoke he guided the thick phallus into the girl's quim. Max could sense her resistance, her revulsion, but she was no match for Naomi and Franz. Naomi began to move, screwing the dear little Emily with her dark rubber cock, moaning with pleasure as if she could truly feel the tight confines of the girl's body around her.

In spite of herself, Emily began to move, encouraged by Franz's voice and his caresses. He slipped his fingers into the deep recesses of her body, seeking out the sensitive creases, the hard swollen peak of her pleasure bud, the wet junction where her body closed around the rubber phallus -

Max downed his champagne in a single gulp. If there was ever a couple who could convert Emily Lawrence to the compulsive, addictive pleasures of submission, the heady cocktail of pain and passion, it was Naomi Haroldson and her stunning friend, Franz.

Already the huge man's passion was beginning to rekindle, his exhausted member rising and thickening. Franz worked his fingers over Emily's sex, smearing the juices back toward the other secret orifice, and with infinite care pressed his newly revived cock into her arse.

Emily bucked, snorting, as he sought to move deeper. The blond giant's fingers were compelling her on towards oblivion,stroking, teasing. And like a well trained dog Emily responded, stretching, arching back to accept the attentions of her two lovers.

Max wished Leonora and Johnson could have been there with him. Particularly Johnson. If he had seen Emily's compliance, her eager movements under Franz and Naomi's tuition, perhaps he could have seen her as something other than a tempting scrap to catch Peter Howard.

Beyond the glass, the girl arched her back, dropping her hips. Franz slipped his fingers under her collar, securing her into an exciting erotic bow, pulling him onto her and Naomi. Max hissed his approval, wishing he had brought one of Leonora's girls with him to satisfy the hungry ache in his own groin.

Through the glass Emily was pushing her mind and body out towards the stars as Max shuddered and refilled his glass.

Peter didn't taste the chicken casserole Angela had cooked for him. His mind was on her change of position. They ate in silence while he tried to think his way around the trap he'd found himself in. Angela served the dessert, desperate to catch his eye.

"Please," she said in a low voice. "This doesn't change anything. I'm not going to turn you over to them."

Peter snorted. "Do you expect me to believe that?"

"Yes."

He had an uncanny feeling that she was telling the truth, but how could he be certain? "What did you bring me here for?"

Angela pointed to the bank of computers he had had set up close to the bed.

"To do exactly what you're doing now. Johnson was kept away from the hospital by confirming you were definitely Jack Roberts, even though we knew you weren't. We – you have to bring them down, Peter, set your plan for Magenta into action. That's all. I told you, we only want what you want."

He watched her face. She was sincere, he was almost convinced of it.

"Why?"

Angela shook her head. "I can't tell you. If you knew, you might be able to guess who I was working for. If you knew that they could be in danger. You said yourself that the men Johnson and Fielding work with are ruthless."

"What about our little educational package?" As he spoke he glanced at the cane that sat amongst the debris on his bedside cabinet.

Angela smiled and stood up, lifting her elegantly tailored skirt. She was naked beneath.

"A bonus," she whispered. "It's something I'd only ever dreamt of until now." She blushed as she spoke.

At least Peter was completely convinced that she was telling the truth about that. She turned very slowly; the marks of the cane still ribboned across her white skin. He shuddered, thinking about the way she had writhed, opened herself for his pleasure. He tried to hold his thoughts on track.

"Are you really a nurse?"

She nodded, still holding her skirt high up over her thighs. Her fingers teased at the moist outer lips.

"Yes, or at least I was until my father became ill. All that part is true. I nursed him for years." She paused, looking steadily at Peter. "My employer knew about Magenta for a long time. They'd been watching you, waiting for an opportunity to sound you out. When it was stolen they tried to make contact, but it was too late. Then, once they knew the plane had gone down it seemed as if it everything was lost. When they realised you had survived it seemed the perfect opportunity. I started going onto the ward, watching, waiting, so people wouldn't think it strange to see me there. My job was to bring you out, to help you if I could."