The Contract (23 page)

She gasped at the pain, her whole body drinking in the humiliation and red hot explosions like some strange erotic elixir. It was all Max could do to stop himself from getting up and plunging his cock into her. With every stroke of the crop the inner lips of her sex darkened like a compelling stormy ocean, flooding with scarlet, opening, grasping…

Max was certain that Johnson would be able to sense the girl's growing excitement. It was almost as if she was giving her whole consciousness over to the pain, drinking it up, drawing it into her. Deuvar had unleashed her. Max took a deep steadying breath, painfully aware of the throbbing in his groin.

From the corner of his eye he caught sight of Johnson's majestic slave princess. Her scarified and tattooed body had always fascinated him and he could see she was excited. Her skin was gleaming, her hands betraying a slight tremor, as across the room Johnson laid the crop on Emily with renewed vigour.

Emily slumped forward as the punishment continued. Her breath came in ragged gasps and it seemed to Max that she was glowing white hot with expectation and excitement. Finally Johnson cast aside the crop. The atmosphere was heavy with expectancy; his audience silent, trying to anticipate what might follow.

"Get up," Johnson hissed.

Emily uncurled herself like a cat, slowly with unconscious sensuality. Max held his breath; every sinew, every cell of the girl's body voiced an unspoken invitation. Emily turned slowly. Even with her eyes downcast Max could see the electric glittering passion in her face. Without a word Emily sank to her knees in front of Johnson and pressed her face to his groin.

For an instant she looked up, seeking approval. It was the same look Max had seen her use on Franz. Johnson made a thick guttural noise deep in his throat and then nodded. Emily's small hands worked at his fly, sliding his cock seamlessly from within the material into her mouth. She planted a kiss on the end, circling his foreskin with her tongue before taking him deeper, sucking and caressing with a ferocity that took Max's breath away.

As if suddenly realising they were not alone, Johnson slid his hands in Emily's collar and jerked her head away.

"Enough," he said breathlessly and then glanced across at Max. "Will you take her back to my suite?" he said, nodding in the direction of his own slave.

Max nodded.

Leonora, who had been standing behind her desk watching the proceeding with barely concealed excitement, spoke quietly. "Would you like me to leave too?"

Johnson nodded, and they left him alone with Emily.

Upstairs in Johnson's suite Max sat for a while, whilst Johnson's beautiful slave served him and Leonora drinks.

"Not like Johnson to be so coy," said Leonora, taking a glass from the proffered tray.

Max snorted. "I don't think he was being coy. I think having Emily Lawrence at his beck and call is one last pay back to Peter Howard for Magenta. Do you honestly think Peter will leave her here once they've struck a deal?"

Leonora shrugged. "Unlikely." She paused for a few seconds. "I was certain Peter was dead."

Max grinned. "Me, too. Slippery bastard. He and Johnson were cut from the same cloth. I should have realised that if Johnson thought he'd got out of the plane crash alive his hunch was probably right."

As they spoke Johnson's slave-girl stood by the door, silently awaiting their command. She always seemed almost disconcertingly attentive and Max – though he would never have admitted it to anyone – found her glittering dark eyes unnerving. It was as if she could see into his very soul. In the years that she had served Johnson, Max had never attempted to touch her, though he had often been tempted and knew she would not have denied him.

She was trained to obey. They knew that Johnson beat her every day, harder if he was not a hundred percent pleased with her docility. Harder still if he was in a bad mood. He had not broken her yet, he regarded her as a challenge.

Max let his eyes move over her lithe muscular frame, with its strange ancient markings. Perhaps tonight would be the night to take her, while Johnson exacted his own final revenge on Peter Howard by punishing Emily.

After a drink Leonora excused herself, leaving Max to contemplate the idea a little longer. Finally he beckoned her to him. She padded towards him like a faithful dog and crouched at his feet. When she looked up at him, he shivered.

"On all fours," he said in an unsteady voice, averting his gaze from her disconcerting eyes as she obeyed him.

Back in Leonora's office Johnson watched Emily Lawrence with a mixture of disbelief and astonishment. It was hard to credit this was the girl he had delivered to Deuvar. Her transformation was astounding. No wonder Peter had been so taken with her. The girl waited on the floor for his command. He could still feel the wetness of her lips around his cock, the heat of her breath, the look of total obedience she had given him.

He smiled and stroked the side of her face. She leant into his touch. Perhaps he ought to ring for Max to come back. There was a video camera in the office. How satisfying it would be to take her together and record the event for Peter's entertainment. Max with his cock in the girl's open willing mouth, himself buried to the hilt in her tender wet cunt. He glanced at the phone; fulfilment of his fantasy was just a call away.

The girl hadn't moved. She awaited his pleasure, her body trembling with expectation. The silver rings through her nipples glittered as her fear and anticipation grew. The air was still, heavy. Johnson picked up the riding crop and walked behind her.

Her sex was slick and open, a trickle of moisture seeping down onto her thighs. Her pert breasts hung down, nipple rings glittering still. He knew then that he couldn't wait for Max Fielding.

Kneeling between her legs, his fingers dipped into the engorged depths of her sex. She shivered, her quim hungrily tightening around him. Above, between the rounded curve of her buttocks, her anus twitched invitingly. Smearing the juices from her quim up over the forbidden tight bud he guided his cock into it, gasping as the muscular sheath snatched at him, drawing him deeper. He struggled for control as he took the riding crop and slid it into her sex, pressing it home. Emily let out a little mewl of terror as the leather handle slid inside her.

He grinned, easing his cock deeper still until he thought that he might drown in the heat of the girl's compliant body. The head of the crop brushed against his thighs as he worked it slowly in and out. As he set the rhythm, Emily began to move under him, lifting herself in response. In his mind's eyes he imagined the crop between her legs, a stunning tableau of pleasure and pain.

He grabbed hold of her collar and dragged her back against him. She let out a long soft wail of fear as he began to drive into her, on and on, pressing deep inside the most secret depths of her body.

He let his hands trail over her soft breasts, relishing their movement as they echoed his wild dark thrusts. Down over her waist and hips, pulling her closer and closer. She sobbed, impaling herself on him.

He knew he was close to the point of no return, the compulsive rhythm igniting wild forest fires in his mind. By the end of the night he would have everything, Magenta, Emily Lawrence and Peter Howard, but now there was only the heady urgency of taking his pleasure.

A raw brutal spiral of ecstasy rose up in him until every sane thought was washed away on its tide. On and on it went, wave after wave, until breathlessly he slumped over Emily's body.

The girl was trembling. The riding crop, still inside her, ran with the juices of her unfulfilled pleasure. Without a word he slipped his cock out of her and rolled her onto her back. Pushing her legs apart he ran his tongue along the engorged ridge of her clitoris. She tasted divine. The crop adding a strange animalistic taste of raw leather to her flavour. She moaned as she felt his tongue and lifted herself up towards him, offering herself like some exotic delicacy.

He worked on her, guiding the riding crop in and out, tonguing and biting on the delicate flesh that would trigger the explosive roar of her orgasm. She writhed and twisted, totally absorbed in her race for release, opening her legs wider and wider for his tongue. Finally she began to shudder, her whole body convulsing and twitching with the sheer magnitude of her delight.

He slid the crop out from inside her.

This was the ultimate victory over Peter Howard, its taste even sweeter than Magenta…

Upstairs, Max Fielding had finally allowed himself to sample the delights of Johnson's Princess. Lying beside her on the floor of the elegant sitting room, exhausted, drained dry, he felt as if he had barely escaped being eaten alive by her ferocious sexuality. For the first time ever he had encountered a woman who he truly believed needed to be beaten to be held in submission.

Beside them on the floor was the paddle he had thrashed her with. Every blow, every red hot weal that had lifted on her magnificent body seemed to add to her fervour when finally he had plunged into her. He still had the taste and smell of her on his body; a strange feral odour, a feline musk that clung to him. She appeared to be asleep, curled into a fetal ball on the hearth, but he had no doubt that if she wanted to she could spring up, perfectly alert and ready.

The intimacies he had shared with her had done nothing to dispel his apprehension of her. Quite the reverse. He trusted her less. She was a far wilder and more savage creature than he had ever reckoned and he wondered that Johnson would have something so untamed so close to him.

On the edge of sleep himself it sounded as if her breaths were closer to purring than human respiration. Slowly, but certain that she was aware of every movement he made, Max dressed and left, glad when the door was closed and he was out of range of the strange tattooed Amazon.

It was late. Max's body craved sleep but he knew that Johnson would be waiting for Peter's arrival. There was no way he could let his partner wait alone. Slowly he made his way towards Leonora's office where he had no doubt Johnson would be ready and very much awake.

When he opened the office door for an instant he had a strange feeling of deja vue. On the hearth rug a naked woman lay curled into a ball, her shoulders gently rising and falling as she slept.

Sitting on the elegant leather sofa, Johnson raised a hand to quieten him. "Let her sleep," he whispered. "It will make rather a touching spectacle for our friend when he arrives, don't you think?"

Max glanced back at Emily. Her pale buttocks were criss-crossed with a lattice of weals, a glittering crystal of moisture sparkled in the enticing crevice between her thighs, while the newly burnt brand mark glowed like an angry jewel on her delicate flesh.

"Well," said Johnson, loosening his tie. "Did you enjoy her?"

Max reddened. "I'm sorry?"

Johnson chuckled. "Come on, don't tell me you didn't fuck my body slave. I know you too well. How was she?"

Max spluttered a little. The experience was too new and far too disturbing to discuss with the tattooed girl's master.

As if reading his mind, Johnson stared into the flames of the dying fire. "She's terrifying, isn't she? I sometimes feel like one of these people who keeps a venomous snake or a wild cat for a pet. It's almost as if you are constantly challenging fate, defying the creature to turn on you."

Max looked at his friend incredulously. "You feel that about her?"

Johnson nodded. "Is there a man who wouldn't?" He glanced at his watch. "I wonder where our friend Peter Howard is?"

Max shrugged. "Do you really think he will come tonight?"

Johnson nodded emphatically. "Oh yes. I'm certain of it." He let his gaze rest on the girl peacefully asleep on the hearth rug. "If I was him I'd be hard pressed to resist such enticing bait."

It took Peter Howard some time to cross the car park at the motor-way service station. He knew he was recovering from the plane crash, but his progress seemed unnervingly slow. He was relieved to finally install himself in a booth in the rest area and order more coffee. He was shaking from the effort of the walk and prayed that Johnson and Fielding had taken their usual softly softly approach to trouble. He certainly wasn't up to any kind of rough stuff.

Even though it was late the restaurant was busy. In one area a group of rough looking men, obviously lorry drivers, laughed as they swopped stories and cigarettes. As one walked over to the counter Peter beckoned to him and made a proposition. The man grinned and nodded, shaking on the deal with one large tattooed paw.

Two strong coffees and a meal later Peter made his way out to the bank of phones near the toilets and reluctantly tapped in the number to his office. He would have to call on them to back him up, to get him out if everything went the way he anticipated at Deuvar. If he survived the meeting he would need to get out of the country, then there was the matter of Emily. He shuddered, recalling the images of her naked vulnerable body on the video he had been sent.

The pictures in that short sequence, reasonably clear and painfully vivid, created a paradox in his mind. He had fantasised a thousand times about making love to her, breaking her, making her his. He closed his eyes and steadied himself against the wall as his call was answered. His feelings about the video made him question whether his desire for her was purely lust or was it really love?

If he didn't love her, why was he going back to Deuvar when his plan could so easily be unravelled from the far end of a telephone wire? The answer came like a soft white heat; because whatever had happened to her at Deuvar he still wanted Emily for himself. He didn't care that he hadn't been the first, what mattered more was that she was safe and free – but most of all that she was with him.

He coughed to clear his throat and his mind and in a few curt sentences arranged for a safe passage for himself and Emily to South America. He didn't tell the officer at the far end of the line what he had done with Magenta. The organisation he worked for, along with everyone else, would find out soon enough. He just hoped there would be enough time to get Emily out safely before the shit hit the fan.