Peter Howard had been unconscious for five weeks, although he did not realise that yet.
When he did wake up it felt as if his head might just explode.
As at last he opened his eyelids, a fraction at a time, they felt as though they were scouring his eyeballs. Every other muscle in his body must be joined to them, because they screamed out in complaint as he tried to focus. He wanted to lick his lips but his mouth and tongue were as dry as sawdust. Bright sunlight cut into his skull like a knife.
A girl's face materialised above him; a pretty blonde with huge brown eyes, a nurse's cap added almost as an afterthought.
She smiled.
"So you're awake at last?" she whispered, in a gentle Scots brogue. "We knew you were coming to." His mouth was too coated and unwieldy to form the words. She laid a professional hand on his forehead. "Don't try and speak just yet. I'll go and get the doctor to come and take a wee peak at you, Mr Roberts."
Peter Howard screwed up his face. Roberts… of course!… memory flooded his mind with images… he had been on the run, they had swopped passports…
"My friend?"
"Peter Howard you mean, Mr Roberts?"
It sounded so strange. He nodded.
"Dead," she said. "It was bad. Mr Howard was unrecognisable." There had only been the two of them and the pilot. They crashed almost on take-off, they had got nowhere…
Her eyes were full of sympathy.
"Where are my things?" he muttered.
The girl smiled. "Everything that was brought in with you is safe and sound. Now you lie still while I go and get the doctor."
Peter Howard let his eyes scrape shut, listening to the nurse's shoes pitter-pattering across the hard floor, and tried to get a grasp of what it was he remembered.
Magenta!
He shivered as fragmented vivid images came like staccato gunfire – the drone of the engines, a burst of ear shattering static, a loud bang, voices raised in terror, a burning, terrifying sensation of cold water seeping through his clothes, strange unearthly screams of metal on metal, lights, noise – and all the time knowing, at some dark unfathomable level, that whatever else happened, he had to survive and save Magenta…
…he woke again, disorientated and sweating, and pressed the call bell. The little blonde nurse answered, smiling as she opened the door.
"I should think you're hungry?" she said, helping him up to a sitting position. Peter nodded even though it was a lie.
He couldn't help but notice the way her heavy breasts struggled against the thin fabric of her uniform. It didn't take much of a stretch of the imagination to visualise her naked. He breathed in her subtle perfume. He would tie her to the bed, watching those gorgeous breasts swaying as he arranged her on all fours for his pleasure. She would smile nervously over her shoulder as he tied the last of the restraints in place, suddenly aware how vulnerable she had made herself, with all her charms exposed. Her sex would taste so sweet as he parted her lips with his tongue; a sweet tantalising taste of the delights that would follow. His fingers would dip inside her; she'd be wet and would writhe deliciously at his touch. As she lifted to meet his fingers he would step back and slide the leather belt from his trousers, let the cool length play across her back and thighs. She would shiver and begin to moan softly.
He must be recovering…
In his imagination the nurse's face slowly changed to that of Emily Lawrence and the ache in his groin became almost unbearable. The hours he had fantasised about Emily's wedding night were incalculable. He had sensed how ripe Emily was the day she had first applied for a job in his office – so innocent, so gentle, with those flashing blue eyes.
As she had walked up to his desk he had imagined how she would crawl towards him on her hands and knees, naked and obedient to his every wish. He had wanted to be her master from the moment he had laid eyes on her – she would be his and his alone…
Emily convinced herself she must have been dreaming and opened her eyes. What she saw made the breath catch in her throat. She had woken up into her nightmare. Her arms were secured, feet splayed apart. Her naked body ached from cramp and cold, her buttocks still glowing from the kiss of the riding crop. With a growing sense of horror she realised she was in some sort of crate. Light filtered through circular holes just a few inches above her face.
One of her greatest fears was being confined in enclosed spaces. Her heart began to race and she longed desperately to be back in the strange sleep-state from which she had woken. She started to wriggle, trying to free herself from her bonds; her breath coming in tight hysterical gasps.
They had taken off the gag, but she was too terrified to cry out. Every movement brushed her body against the crate's rough sides, reminding her of Johnson's attentions.
At some stage someone had tied her hands tight across her belly, but the space was too confined for it to be of any advantage.
Finally she willed herself relax, closing her eyes to block out the terrifying image of the raw wood just inches above her face, and instead strained to hear what was going on outside. At first all she could hear were the laboured sounds of her own breathing – no voices – and the distant muffled hum and vibration of an engine. She bit her lip; what in God's name had she got herself into? Almost as the thought formed in her head the engine noises stopped and there was the sound of a vehicle door being opened.
People talking!
Emily concentrated on picking out the words; there was at least one male voice and a woman. She sighed with relief. Something must have happened. Someone must have found her – she was safe.
The feeling was short lived.
"Get it inside," snapped the female voice. "You're late. I have people waiting."
The man mumbled a reply. Emily realised that whoever the woman was, she was expecting Emily's arrival. This was no rescue but a delivery. She felt the crate being lifted; a rocking sensation that made her feel slightly sick and disorientated. Even through the wood she could feel the change in temperature as she was carried outside and the light from the air holes above her subtly changed.
Seconds passed and she strained to remain calm, trying to concentrate on the voices and sounds outside as she was carried back into some sort of building. She felt a jolt as the crate was placed on a floor and held her breath when she heard the catches being opened. Then her prison was flooded with brilliant white light, momentarily blinding her.
"Well, well," purred a deep female voice, "so this is Peter Howard's little virgin bride?"
Emily screwed up her eyes against the glare, her sense of fear and vulnerability returning like a tidal wave.
"Get her out of the box," commanded the voice. "I haven't got all night."
Emily peered out from behind half closed lids. Above her two uniformed men perused her nakedness with cool disinterest. She couldn't see the woman. The two men crouched, pulled her roughly to her feet and held her under the arms. The leg irons meant that she could barely move.
The room she found herself in was clinical, with a doctor's couch dominating the centre. Beside the couch stood a tiny Eurasian woman dressed in black leggings and a short grey silk sleeveless top. Her sleek dark hair was tied back in a pony tail. Emily shuddered; this was no rescuer. The woman's slanted almond eyes flashed with a cold cruel glitter. "Get her onto the table," she said again, as she snapped on a pair of surgical gloves.
As they carried Emily across the room she saw that one wall was entirely made up of thick glass panels – and behind it a host of shadowy faces watched the proceedings with interest. Emily whimpered miserably as the two men laid her on the couch and did not resist as they secured her wrist cuffs above her head. She tried to stay calm, taking one deep breath after another.
The Eurasian woman smiled thinly down at her. "I am Leonora," she said evenly. "I run Deuvar. That is where you are. What I say is law, do you understand?"
Emily nodded.
Leonora's hand closed tightly around Emily's chin. "Not good enough." she whispered darkly. "Tell me, do you understand?"
"Yes," Emily whispered miserably.
"Good," said the dark woman, relinquishing her grasp. "Now let's see if you were telling Mr Johnson the truth." She nodded to the two men. Emily felt them unbuckle the leg irons and guide her ankles into high stirrups that spread her legs wide, exposing the deepest recesses of her body. Glancing down she could see the unknown faces moving closer to the glass to get a glimpse of what lay between her thighs. Emily was so shocked that she began to struggle, although she knew it was pointless. She felt her shoulder joints crackle and scream in protest.
Leonora sighed and rested a gloved hand on Emily's exposed sex, her fingers sliding down over her clitoris; the woman's touch was both electrifying and at the same time, deeply threatening.
"Lie still."
Emily froze as Leonora began to examine her. Her tiny hands cupped Emily's breasts, squeezing them speculatively, before moving them down over her belly, touching and prodding as if she were meat. Finally Leonora moved between her legs, spreading the lips of Emily's sex open, watched by the audience behind the glass and also the two uniformed guards. Her fingers brushed Emily's clitoris again sending a shower of sensations through her prone body. Emily moaned and without thinking lifted her hips.
Leonora smiled narrowly. "You're going to be good," she murmured. "I can see that." She nodded towards one of the uniformed men. "Get me the wedge and bring the trolley closer."
Emily stiffened as she felt a roll of something cold and unwieldy sliding under her buttocks, tipping her pelvis so that she was totally exposed. Leonora pulled an overhead light down and slowly slid a single finger into Emily's quim.
Instinctively her muscles tightened around it and Leonora let out a humourless chuckle, "My God, this is so tight."
In spite of herself Emily could feel little crystals of expectation and desire building low in her belly. Leonora's finger worked a little deeper, her thumb brushing Emily's clitoris as she worked. The girl let out a thin mew of pleasure and fear. Leonora withdrew her finger slowly, and in its place Emily felt something stunningly cold; her whole body stiffened. Leonora glanced down at her and slid the cold metal in a little further. Emily's body resisted its intrusion.
"I have to look," Leonora said quietly. "And I won't break through – virginity is too valuable a commodity to waste on a lump of stainless steel."
Emily felt her face flush crimson as Leonora bent to examine what lay within her.
She was nodding as she came back up. "She's telling the truth. Nothing's been this way before."
Emily bit her lip. "I told Mr Johnson -" she began.
Leonora's face darkened like thunder. "Haven't you been told that you only speak when spoken to?"
Emily seeing the fury in the other woman's face nodded.
Leonora ran a finger casually down over Emily's belly. "Don't forget, you signed a contract, you're ours now. If you break the rules then you will be punished. Do you understand?"
Emily nodded again, too terrified to speak.
Leonora smiled thinly and slipped the chilly metal out. Emily let out a sigh of relief, but if she thought her ordeal was over, she was wrong. Leonora's gloved fingers worked lower, trickling something cold and slick down over the tight bud of Emily's backside. Emily instinctively tensed as she felt Leonora's fingers begin to work at it, seeking entry. She sighed and slicked a little more cream over her fingers tips. "Pant," she said coldly. "Let me in. We can do this one of two ways; trust me, it's much easier if you co-operate."
Leonora had seen many girls like Emily in her years at Deuvar; and had trained or broken them all. She relished the look on their faces when they first arrived; the compelling, tremulous look of fear and anticipation. The girl on the table was unconsciously resisting her with every sinew in her prone body; but she would be swift to learn. When it came to seeking entry into this tight bud, convention as much as anything else was what prevented the girls from relinquishing control.
Emily Lawrence snapped her eyes shut as Leonora gently eased her finger through the tight circular band of muscle. Emily's body tightened around it, seemingly sucking it deeper. She would need to be stretched – her anus was far too tight for most men, though it could be that she was just tense. A fluttering pulse throbbed in Emily's throat, betraying her fear.
Leonora casually stroked the ridge of the girl's clitoris. It had already stiffened to a tight scarlet peak. Emily moaned and twisted a little under the caress; she was going to be good, responsive – frightened at the moment, but quite obviously excited.
Leonora could smell the girl's excitement growing; her nipples hardening deliciously. She rubbed the little pleasure bud again and was rewarded by the girl lifting herself a little, seeking out Leonora's finger tips. As she lifted higher Leonora drove her finger all the way into her arse. Emily gasped.
After a few seconds Leonora withdrew her finger; there was more that had to be done before Emily was ready to be taken into the training house. Leonora nodded to her two male helpers. The thick dark wedge of pubic hair had to come off, and – she glanced at the tray on the trolley – Johnson had said he wanted her pierced. One ring through the thick outer lips of her quim and one in each nipple.
Leonora turned briefly, watching the appraising eyes of the clients who had been invited to view the evening's proceedings. They wouldn't be disappointed. Business would be good after tonight's little performance with Emily Lawrence. Her presence and her virginity would excite a lot more interest.
One of the uniformed guard pulled on a pair of surgical gloves and began to swab the delicate pink aureole of Emily's nipples. The girl's eyes snapped open in sheer terror. Leonora stepped away. She always enjoyed watching her helpers at work.
Emily began to writhe as the second man moved down to rub something between her legs; the cream they used would dissolve away the thick dark hair and leave her sex as naked and vulnerable as a ripe plum. Emily let out a thin squeal of terror as the first guard pressed the cold metal piercing gun against her breast. He adjusted the head so that jaws nipped the skin tight
"No," Emily hissed. "Please!"
The second word was cut short by the explosive sound of the tiny bolt biting through the delicate flesh. The little silver ring that the piercing gun delivered flashed like a darting fish in the brilliant clinical lights. When the guard positioned the gun for a second time all that could be heard was a soft breathy sob.
Leonora smiled. The nipple rings looked superb and linked together with a fine silver chain would be a great aid to bringing Emily to heel. The room was now silent except for the soft unhappy sobs of the prone girl. Leonora looked at the clock on the clinic wall; a few more minutes and the second guard could swab away the remains of pubic hair.
Leonora glanced at the long sprung instrument that would deliver the third ring. It was already primed. All she would need to do was gather up the delicate skin and press it through. It would be over in seconds.
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.