Peter Howard hunched uncomfortably in the passenger seat of Angela's ageing estate car.
Outside, through the winter darkness, he didn't recognise the countryside or any landmarks. The country roads were almost empty, winding back and forth between dense woodland and small villages. He glanced down at the map on his knees. It was too dark to read but he was certain that in another mile or so they would join the motorway.
They had barely spoken since he had turned off the computers, though he was convinced she had phoned her employer. He wondered if her contacts would be waiting for him too. In spite of the dangers erotic possibilities filled his exhausted mind.
If only they had had more time to explore the dark side of her nature. He would like to have her pierced. Her broad pink nipples would look magnificent topped with little silver rings, with tiny bells that would announce her arrival or her excitement. He imagined them pressed against her dark blue cotton nurses uniform.
And he would shave her quim, revealing the plump contours of the delicious meaty sex that crouched between her heavy thighs. Yes, Angela was a banquet. He shivered, feeling the familiar press in his groin. He imagined her tied across a table with soft leather thongs, lit by the soft glow of candles as he laid a studded tawse across the naked mound, making the delicate skin flush crimson with heat and pain.
In the headlights of a passing car Peter glanced across at his silent companion. Her face was drawn and pale, her fingers gripped the steering wheel.
"Are you still wearing the harness?"
Angela groaned. "You're totally incorrigible."
"Answer me!"
"Yes. I am wearing it!"
He closed his eyes and imagined her again secured for his pleasure, the harness biting into her delicate flesh, a pillow beneath those heavy thighs as he ranged over her body with a tawse and his lips. She would sob as he cracked the leather down on her breasts, writhing and twisting away from the stinging delicious heat. Between her legs, between her naked glowing lips, he would see the slick silvery juices of her excitement, encouraging him on, driving him towards release.
He could almost hear her begging him to stop as he mounted her and forced his cock into her hot wet mouth. His shaft would silence her words as she drained him dry, sucking, desperate to pleasure him. Finally he would untie her and she would crawl towards him, slide down from the table and curl herself up at his feet, awaiting his command.
A picture of Emily Lawrence formed slowly in his imagination, her slim lithe frame a stunning counterpoint to the heavier curves of Angela. In the shadows he would sit watching the women, sensing their excitement as Angela spread her legs and Emily moved closer, her mouth open, tongue peeping provocatively between her full lips. He stroked a finger idly across her belly.
"Open yourself for me," he whispered in his imagination, or was it sleep? Emily blushed deliciously and then slid two fingers between the lips of her sex, revealing the moist pink flower within. He smiled, relishing the sense of power. "Angela," he said in an undertone, "kiss my sweet love, make her beg for more."
Beside him Angela climbed reluctantly onto her knees, eyes alight with apprehension and revulsion – but she wouldn't refuse him. She kissed the wet fragrant crease, shivering when she tasted Emily's excitement. Emily moaned and threw back her head as the older woman began to lick her in earnest, her plump pink tongue tracing the delicate contours of Emily's engorged clitoris. Peter slid onto his knees behind Angela and plunged his raging angry cock into her dripping sex, impaling her again and again, encircling her pierced breasts with his hands, dragging her back onto him while above them Emily sobbed with pleasure.
It seemed no more than a few seconds later that he woke from the tantalising dream, sprung from sleep by the sound of a motor horn. Images of Angela and Emily lingered for an instant in the erotic tableau that was hard to tear himself away from. It took him a few seconds to remember where he was and a second or two longer to realise that they were now stationary. His cock ached. Beside him, Angela had her hands wrapped around a steaming plastic beaker of coffee and looked totally exhausted.
Across the car park, a motor-way service area was doing a roaring trade. Peter stretched and then winced as half a dozen rogue vertebra snapped back into position. Angela passed him a lidded cup of coffee from a plastic tray.
"I just couldn't go any further without a break," she said. "I was afraid I might fall asleep."
He nodded and sniffed, trying to beat his tired mind back into shape. "How much further?" he said thickly, voice still throaty from sleep.
"About an hour, the traffic at this time of night is fairly light. All except for the lorries." She grinned. "Your instructions are pretty good." The words were followed by a stifled yawn. He noticed she was wearing the long coat she'd worn when they'd taken a walk together.
He stroked her face. "Are you wearing anything under that?"
"It's to damned cold out there to go naked."
Peter leant closer. "Pity."
Angela yawned again behind her gloved hand. "Why? What had you got in mind?"
He smiled, recalling the fragments of his dream. "A million and one possibilities for a woman of your calibre." He glanced at the car clock. "Why don't you have a nap? If we're only an hour away from Deuvar we've made good time."
Stiffly he turned round, pulled a rug off the back seat and handed it to her.
She looked at him curiously. "And what are you going to do?"
"Drink my coffee, stretch my legs and by the time I get back I'll have decided which of those million and one possibilities we've got time for before our little show down at Deuvar."
Angela smiled sleepily. "Do you want me to get the wheelchair out for you?"
Peter shook his head. "I'll be fine. I'm much stronger now."
Without a word of protest Angela pulled the rug up around her shoulders. Within seconds her eyes were closed and before Peter had finished his coffee her soft steady breathing informed him that his chauffeur, rescuer and betrayer was sound asleep. He let himself out of the car and took a deep breath. The night air was like broken glass, ripping into his lungs. Head bowed against the icy wind he made his way unsteadily towards the service area.
Max Fielding hurried upstairs to Leonora's office at Deuvar. He had walked back from the Haroldson's cottage, replaying the images of Emily's seduction. He wasn't altogether surprised to be informed by the doorman that Ballard Johnson had arrived with his body slave.
Upstairs, Leonora opened the door to her office before he had the chance to knock. Inside, the Haroldsons, their friend Franz, and Johnson, accompanied by his slave girl, were drinking and talking.
Leonora handed him a glass of champagne, and nodded towards Johnson.
"Peter Howard is on his way here," she whispered under her breath, "and he has Magenta with him."
Max suppressed a gasp of surprise as Johnson came over to greet him.
"Well?"
Max smiled. "Nice to see you too, Ballard. You missed a fine show over at Naomi's cottage. Emily Lawrence was magnificent."
"Naomi has been telling me. I don't need her to be magnificent. I need Magenta."
"Where is Emily now?" said Max, scanning the room.
Johnson lifted his glass towards Leonora's video security cameras. "On her way here with Kai and a guard."
Max glanced up towards the screens. The two women and the guard were no more than a few seconds away. Max settled himself in a comfortable leather armchair; it seemed as if he had arrived just in time.
There was a discreet knock on the door. When the party came into the room Max watched Emily with some interest. She had subtly changed since they had first met at his offices. She seemed less self assured, but now he could detect a heightened sense of her own sexuality. She might well have been shaved, pierced, beaten, humiliated, but all these things had combined to awaken her, not crush her. Max allowed himself a smile, he knew that Johnson had had no such plans for Emily when he had cooked up the plan to flush Peter out from his convenient grave. She had been merely a pawn in the game, but, at Deuvar she had quickly developed into something far more interesting.
From behind her desk, Leonora stared at the two girls with disdain. Her small features hardened. Sold or not, Emily was still the butt of her fury. Emily's actions had compromised Kai and, potentially, the reputation of Deuvar. She looked from face to face.
"Well," she said at long last to Kai. "What have you got to say for yourself?"
Kai glanced up nervously. "I'm sorry," she whispered. "I told Emily that escape was impossible."
Leonora snorted. "You should have said something to me. Surely you must have realised if she talked about escape she might seize the first opportunity to try and get away. You should know better than this."
Leonora nodded towards Birdie. "Take Kai next door and secure her. And get the rest of those rags off her." She turned back to Emily. "You," she said steadily, "have disobeyed the two rules I told you are paramount; obedience and silence. You have to be taught what is expected of you."
As she spoke she turned towards a cupboard and removed a vicious looking whip. She held it out towards Emily. The girl drew back, eyes filling with tears.
"Take it," Leonora snapped. "Your punishment for disobeying me will be to discipline Kai. Twenty five strokes. If you're too timid or try to spare her she will get another twenty five. Do you understand me?"
Emily, trembling, nodded. Stepping forward she took the whip from Leonora's hands. Her face was ashen.
"I didn't mean to," she spluttered unhappily. "I'm sorry."
Leonora sighed. "Go into the room next door. Kai is waiting for her punishment."
Reluctantly Emily did as she was told. Leonora glanced back at her guests and then flicked a switch on her desk. A panel in one wall silently glided open, revealing a large two-way mirror overlooking the room beyond. Behind the glass Kai had been manacled, wrists bound together, to a low cross beam in the ceiling.
Birdie had gagged her and was just fastening ankle restraints to the floor; Kai was total exposed. Emily Lawrence stood behind her.
Even through the glass it was possible to see the way Emily's hands trembled as she drew back the head of the whip for the first stroke. Her inexperience made her aim inaccurate. She caught Kai around the waist, the snaking head of the whip raising a vivid scarlet line.
The crack echoed around Leonora's office. Kai screamed out behind her gag, eyes flashing with terror and pain as Emily laid on the second blow. This time it landed squarely across the shoulders making Kai twist around. Emily was too late to hold back on the third stroke which caught Kai high on the breasts.
Tears of guilt and remorse flooded down Emily's face as she struck again. Kai's screams slowly subsided to a muffled miserable sob as the whipping continued. Her body instinctively spun away, twisting and writhing to avoid the whip's unnerving bite. Each shuddering desperate turn revealed the secret places of her body; the pale glistening lips of her sex, soft curves of her ripe open buttocks, the sensuous up-tilted contours of her breasts.
Max Fielding watched with growing excitement as each blow cracked across Kai's delicate flesh. He counted the strokes under his breath, aware that Emily, though doing as she had been instructed, was desperately trying to hit Kai across the buttocks where the thicker flesh would absorb the blows. Beside Emily, Birdie the guard watched without emotion, ensuring the punishment was exacted as ordered.
Kai's slim body was flushed scarlet, her flesh criss-crossed with narrow welts. At twenty strokes Emily began to falter. Her whole body trembled with the effort to sustain the rhythm and continue in spite of her obvious reluctance. Leonora stepped up to the glass and pushed an intercom button.
"Finish it," she growled. "Or I'll have Birdie give her twenty five more."
…twenty one, twenty two. Kai's eyes were glassy as if her consciousness had retreated to some distant corner of her mind to escape the kiss of the whip. Sweat glistened on Emily's body, a trickle running down between her breasts as she completed the final three strokes. When she had done she seemed to freeze, dropping her head, hanging onto the whip like a staff. Birdie eased it from between her fingers and then turned his attentions to Kai.
Before Kai was cut down Leonora pressed a button and the panelled screen slid silently back into position, blocking off the view from her invited audience.
Johnson was already on his feet, his heavy features flushed with excitement. "Bring them back in here," he said thickly.
A few seconds later Emily stumbled into the room, followed by Kai, who, despite the severe beating, already seemed to be regaining her composure. She walked stiffly as if considering every step. Both girls stood in front of Leonora's desk, looking down, both subdued, both exhausted.
Johnson stepped forward and ran his hands over Emily, examining her like so much horse flesh. The girl was trembling, her face puffy from crying. Johnson let his fingers linger on the rings that pierced her nipples and she flinched.
He looked at Leonora. "I wanted her pierced too," he said, running his fingers down over the naked lips of her sex.
Franz spoke before Leonora had a chance to reply. "I took it out. I wanted her open."
Johnson nodded. "Put it back in tomorrow," he said to Leonora. He eased his finger deeper, sliding inside the girl's quim. "She's wet," he murmured appreciatively.
"Turn around, so that Mr Johnson can look at you properly." Leonora snapped.
Wordlessly Emily turned to face Johnson. She was still trembling.
"What would you like me to do with the two of them now?" said Leonora.
Johnson's fingers lingered, working around the naked folds with practised skill. "Send Kai back to her room," he said. "And if Naomi has no objection I'd like Miss Lawrence to stay here with me for a little while." He glanced at Leonora. "After all, we are expecting a guest who might be rather interested to see her."
Naomi Haroldson got to her feet and pulled her dress straight.
"No objection at all, though perhaps when you've done with her you would be so good as to send her back over to our cottage." She glanced at her watch teasingly. "After all we've several more hours owing to us. I'd hate Franz to forgo his promised treats."
Johnson nodded. "Of course. Thank you for your indulgence."
When the Haroldsons and Franz had gone Max clambered to his feet and poured himself another drink. All this time, Emily stood frozen to the spot whilst Johnson continued to caress her, exploring every inch of her skin. The girl seemed too afraid or ensnared to move a muscle.
"The Haroldsons paid a lot of money to have her for the first twenty four hours," said Max.
Johnson snorted. "It's in their best interests to do as I ask. Besides, they know I won't sell them short. They can have her back when I've done." He slipped his fingers once again into the compelling spot between the lips of her sex.
"Get me a crop," he said softly, without removing his fingers or changing his tone of voice.
Leonora turned and selected a short riding crop from her cupboard.
"Bend over the desk," whispered Johnson, his face no more than a few inches away from her ear. Emily did not hesitate. She bent forward, taking her weight on her hands.
Max Fielding was struck again by how different the girl had become. The pose accentuated her shapely hips and narrow waist. He knew Johnson would beat her now, excited by the spectacle of Kai's punishment. As the crop was raised the girl shivered; not with fear but with expectation. Her pale skin was suffused with a delicate glow, her nipples hardened, pink buds accentuated by the glitter of the silver rings.
As the crop exploded across her buttocks Emily's hips flexed, opening her sex, exposing the pale orchid-pink lips within. The fragrant slit was wet, sopping, an open invitation, newly breached, desperately needy, writhing wildly under Johnson's vicious strokes.
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."