The Contract (4 page)

Emily felt the brush of the cold steel against her inner thighs and froze. The room was ominously silent. She dare not imagine what was to follow – except that at some level she had already guessed. Her nipples felt hot now; aching deep inside, and she had felt the cold rings against her flesh for a few seconds until her body heat had warmed them.

"Lie very still," said Leonora on an outward breath. The sensation that followed a split second later was abstract; white heat – accompanied by a strange hissing sound. Emily screamed out as she felt the ring pass through the lips of her sex. Tears of pain and terror blinded her. Standing between her legs Leonora made a low noise of satisfaction. "There," she said patting the girl's thigh, "all done."

Emily mewed in terror as something cold snaked over her belly. Glancing down she saw the glitter of a narrow chain and heard the snick of the catches as her nipples and sex were joined in an unnerving triangle.

Leonora leant over her, almond eyes alight. "You look very beautiful," she purred. "Why don't you let me show you?"

Emily felt her arms and legs being freed and then she was helped to her feet by one of the men. Her steps were unsteady, faltering. Ahead of her was a full length mirror. What she saw reflected there stunned her. The delicate chain linked the rings through her nipples before dropping down to the pink naked mound of her sex, creating a V shape that drew her eyes to the silver ring that nestled in the bare swollen flesh of her outer lips. Around her neck was the studded collar Roderick Banyon had put on her, and her wrists and ankles were still circled by leather straps.

Leonora smiled behind her and gently lifted Emily's dark hair back off her face. "You're nearly ready to begin your year with us," she said. "We will start your training tomorrow."

She snapped her fingers and the uniformed men approached and took hold of Emily's arms. She was too stunned to resist.

Leonora glanced at the men. "You may do the rest. Put her in 27 when you've finished." A second later she peeled off the surgical gloves, dropped them on the floor and vanished through the exit. Emily swallowed hard and looked from face to face of her two guards. What else was there they could possibly do to her?

They took her over in front of the thick glass wall. She could see and feel the eyes of the observers. "Kneel down," said the first guard. Shaking Emily complied.

The second took something from the trolley. Emily flinched; what in god's name was going to follow? There was a humming sound and the first guard jerked her backwards; they were going to shave her head. The clippers droned as they bit into her soft golden brown hair, the first shoulder length tress fell to the floor in front of her. Her humiliation complete, Emily tried to close her mind to the sounds. Tears were trickling down her pale unhappy face.

When they were done the first guard pulled her to her feet. His expression was blank and unfeeling.

"One last thing," he said and pulled something from his jacket pocket. It was a thin rubber hood that fitted like a second skin over her skull and down over her eyes and ears, shaped to leave her mouth and nostrils uncovered. It was almost a relief not to be able to see. Emily took a deep breath. Anonymous hands led her away; she was too shocked, too lost in her own private fears, to do any more than go where they guided her.

The walk seemed long, turning left and right, the floor cold and unforgiving beneath her bare feet. Finally she heard a key turn in a lock and was led into what she sensed was a smaller room. Her guards guided her onto a narrow bed, fixing something through the wrist cuffs so that her hands were secured above her head, with a little slack so that she could just about turn over.

"Don't try to take off the mask," were the final words she heard before the door slammed shut. Alone she curled into a tight ball and started to sob, great hot miserable tears that clung to the inside of the mask. The chains cooled and warmed as they brushed again the peaks and curves of her body. The pierced places felt hot, bruised and swollen.

Behind the mask she could see the compelling image of Peter Howard. Why had he left her in such a mess? Surely he must have known what sort of men he was dealing with!

Max Fielding had driven down to Deuvar to witness the initiation. He had not been disappointed – nor had any of their other clients who had paid to see the spectacle. He was sorely tempted to put a bid in to be the one to deflower her.

While the other gentlemen and ladies who had watched Emily's preparation had now gone off into other parts of the house to find gratification, he had come to visit what was jokingly called 'The Stock Cupboard'. At the rear of the secluded mansion were three tiers of small cells where the girls of Deuvar were kept ready for their masters' use.

He walked slowly along the galleried landings; most of the girls were out in the mansion, on display, though some of the privately 'owned' girls were still chained up and waiting in their cells. He grinned to himself. Sometimes it felt as if he was running a very private livery stable.

He peered through the open hatches. As a director he had a master key. Not too much was said about what went on in the stock cupboard. The male staff could avail themselves of whatever was on offer and some of the regular members, he knew, bribed the guards to have special privileges with particular girls.

In one cell was a heavy limbed Negress, trussed up on all fours, ready for the attentions of her particular owner. An ornate silver dildo had been skilfully inserted into her anus; apparently she was too tight for the man who regularly serviced her and who preferred the delights which a boy might better offer. Below the dildo Max could see, glittering, almost buried amongst her oily black hair, the row of silver studs that her master had had inserted into her labia. A thin plaited whip hung on the wall above her. The girl was making soft throaty sounds and Max wondered if perhaps one of the guards had used her – the pale lips of her sex glistened like jewels.

In the cell next door was a Junoesque red head, secured spread eagle against the wall. Max knew that she belonged to a particularly interesting female financier, who relished the chance to lay on the whip. He had watched them once, enjoying seeing the submissive Titian giantess crawl on her hands and knees to service her mistress with her long pink tongue. The memory made him shiver with pleasure. Perhaps he ought to make a point of watching them again -

In cell 27 crouched the reason for his late night visit. Emily Lawrence was curled into a fetal ball, her naked sex peeking shyly between the curve of her thighs. The silver ring was just visible under the harsh overhead light. He watched for a few seconds, trying to guess whether she was asleep or awake before fitting his master key into the lock.

Her body stiffened as she strained to hear his approach. On cat-like feet he moved alongside her bed. The thin hood picked out her distinctive features, rendering her face to an ebony sculpture. He stroked her thighs gently. "Straighten your legs," he whispered. "I want to look at you."

Slowly she complied, her lips trembling below the edge of the mask. Laid out for him under the unforgiving eye of the lamps she was a feast. "Open you legs," he murmured as he circled her nipples, delighted that they hardened under the merest touch. The rings looked superb; Johnson had been right in his decision to pierce her. He bent closer and took one between his lips, sucking the little fleshy peak and the cool ring into his mouth. She shuddered, obviously afraid that the flesh would tear.

As he kissed and sucked each peak in turn he moved his hands lower to stroke her sex; so tempting but as yet unavailable. He parted the lips gently above her clitoris and then kissed a soft moist route down over her belly until the little peak nestled between his lips.

Beneath him the girl began to moan – at once both afraid and excited. As his tongue worked faster she lifted up to meet his caresses. Her sex tasted of the sea, of a dark ancient ocean that compelled men to seek it out.

God, he would like to fuck her, feel his cock buried in that tight wet tunnel. The ring was just a gesture, a symbol, if he'd wanted to he could have slipped inside her…

Instead he pulled back, as the girl's pleasure began to drive him out to the edge of recklessness. He stood up and undid his trousers, guiding his stiff angry cock towards her trembling mouth. As she felt it brush her lips she shuddered and then opened for him.

"Carefully," he said in a low voice. "If you bite me, Leonora will take the greatest pleasure in pulling you teeth."

The girl stiffened momentarily and then began to lap and suck at him; a terrified puppy who sought only to please. Max Fielding smiled to himself and slipped his finger back towards her sex; after all there was no need to be stingy with pleasure.

"And just where do you think you're going?" said a crisp, efficient female voice.

Peter Howard was almost relieved to be caught trying to make his way to the nurses' station. The corridor floor was spinning up to meet him as he leant breathlessly against the wall outside his room. A strong pair of arms caught him under the armpits.

"I just wanted to get my things."

The corridor lights seemed to be darkening around him and his voice was disappearing down a distant echoing tunnel. He clutched frantically at the smooth walls.

"If you can just hang on for a split second," said his rescuer, "I'll grab a wheel chair and we'll have you back in your bed in no time. You should have rung if you wanted anything."

Peter was looking up into the eyes of a statuesque strawberry blonde dressed in a crisp navy blue dress. The uniform did nothing to disguise the fact that she had a figure that would drive most men insane. She smiled coolly at his appraising and appreciative stare. "I can see you're on the mend," she said with amusement. "So what was it you were looking for?"

Peter focused on her name badge. "Sister Ruskin?" he said in surprise.

She nodded and took hold of his wrist. "My, my, but your pulse is racing, Mr Roberts. I think we'd better get you back into bed."

Peter nodded. "I wanted to see the things they'd brought in with me – when they fished me out of the water?"

She gave him an indulgent look. "Did you try looking in your bedside locker?"

Peter blushed. "I never thought -" he began but the Sister's expression stopped him in his tracks.

She winked at him knowingly and wheeled him back into his room. As she helped him into bed Peter could detect a tiny but unmistakable hum of desire in her touch. He glanced across at her; her pupils were dilated and glittered darkly like jet. He didn't want to betray his ignorance and waited whilst she crouched to retrieve what was in the bedside locker.

His heart leapt as he saw the familiar contours of his hold-all – it appeared unscathed – but there was something else. The sister placed a large white envelope alongside the leather bag. It was sealed with the hospital's official stamp and marked 'Private' in a round distinctive hand.

"The doctors wanted to try and find out more about you, whether you had a family, or were on any medication – that sort of thing."

Peter picked up the envelope and turned it thoughtfully between his long fingers. It felt thick, like a magazine or – he smiled as comprehension dawned – a brochure. Johnson had given him a sample brochure for their company's flagship retreat, Deuvar. He'd got no idea it had been in his holdall. The brochure was an elegant maroon-bound book whose tasteful and discreet cover belied its torrid contents.

"Did you take a look inside?"

The woman nodded and bit her lip. "Yes," she replied softly. "I never dreamt such places existed."

Peter peeled open the flap of the envelope. "And did it excite you?"

She nodded, her face flushing crimson, "Oh yes," she said. "I'm rather afraid it did!"

Peter Howard smiled. "Perhaps I can help you then," he said softly.

He watched as Sister Ruskin tucked him carefully into his bed, her hands moved rapidly, her face was still flushed from her confession.

"What I really need is access to a computer," he said when she finally looked at him. She was so close that he could detect the smell of her perfume and beneath it the scintillating hint of perspiration. His fingers moved to her ample breasts, seeking out the tight buds of her nipples. She hesitated as he began to undo her uniform.

"Have you any idea," he said in a low, barely audible voice, "what it feels like to be at a man's beck and call? Always to be available for his every wish, his every desire?" One hand snaked lower to gather up her skirt as he pressed his lips to her cleavage. She shivered and moaned softly, the colour draining from her face, as she pressed her body closer to him and he found the swollen mound of her sex between meaty muscular thighs.

"I could teach you so much, Sister Ruskin," he said darkly. His touch was more brutal now, probing amongst the fabric to find an entry. Instinctively she opened her legs to give him greater access, and let out a throaty gasp as he tore the fabric aside and plunged his fingers into her sopping quim.

"My God, you're so wet, so ready." He pressed wet kisses to her warm fragrant skin. "I would like to fuck you, tied on all fours; push deep inside you as you lay bound and gagged for my pleasure." He let one finger toy with her anus. "No place is too secret, no pleasure too wild. Would you like that, Sister? Or perhaps you would prefer to be beaten first?"

He slipped his fingers out of her, letting one hand cup her plump cool arse. "The kiss of a belt here, making your skin sing, making you beg for mercy and more in the same sweet breath. Would you like that?"

Desperately she pulled herself away from him, eyes flashing diamond bright as she re-buttoned her bodice. "My God!" she hissed breathlessly. "Will you take me to this place, to Deuvar?"