The Contract (10 page)

Behind him Angela was making muffled noises as she struggled to get into the harness. He'd had to guess her size, which was one of the reasons he had chosen the harness – a Basque or a leather body suit would have required a far more accurate guess.

When he turned again she was slipping the shoulder straps over her alabaster flesh. The harness fitted her like a glove – a very tempting glove. The straps circled her heavy breasts, the black leather accentuating their fullness and pallor. Lower straps framed her sex and either side the thigh straps… Peter smiled, already the harness was working its magic on his cock. She reddened at his appreciative glances and the obvious bulge in his pyjama trousers as he helped her fasten the buckles.

"Isn't this -" she paused, as if to find the right word, "obscene?" she whispered uneasily.

Peter snorted. "Don't be silly. You look magnificent. The real obscenities in life are cooked up by bastards like this -" He pointed towards the intriguing spiralling graphics of Johnson and Fielding's logo. "To the outside world they appear totally respectable, while under the umbrella of their respectability they're selling arms, toppling governments to increase their market shares – and scurrying round to buy up cheap grain destined for aid convoys. That's real obscenity." His tone was so intense that Angela stepped back.

Peter lifted a hand in apology. "Sorry, I'll climb down off my soap box. I've been chasing this organisation for years. They're so well established they thought that no-one would ever dare -" He stopped suddenly, aware that he was doing exactly what he had tried to avoid. If he told Angela anything he would be putting her at risk. Not only her, but himself as well.

Angela nodded. "I understand, but why are you doing it? I mean, what has it got to do with you?"

Peter leant back in his wheel chair. "It's my job," he said flatly.

"Your job?" she repeated.

"That's right." In front of them the computer images curled and swirled seamlessly into a 3D satellite picture of the world.

Instead of satisfying her, his explanation obviously intrigued her more. She moved closer, her ripe body garnished temptingly in the leather harness.

"What do you do?" she said. She was so near that he could see puckering around her nipples and catch the warm intriguing perfume of her skin mingled with the smell of the new leather.

He groaned in surrender and pulled her to him. "I'm a policeman," he murmured as he cupped her breasts in his palms.

He felt her tense and then pull away. "A policeman?" she stammered.

He nodded, catching hold of her shoulders and pulling her back towards him. "A very special type of policeman. Poacher turned gamekeeper. Don't worry I'm not going to charge you with anything other than being the sexiest woman I've laid hands on in years."

His lips brushed hers as he slid his fingers through metal rings set in the waist band of the harness and jerked her sharply onto his lap, biting down on her bottom lip until he tasted the rich coppery heat of her blood. She rubbed herself against him.

"Why don't we leave the computers to talk to themselves for a little while. I think we ought to have a look through the box of tricks I ordered," he said slowly.

Angela was trembling as she got to her feet and wheeled him back towards the bed. "Anything you say," she whispered unsteadily. "Anything you say."

Max Fielding took his phone call from Johnson in reception, watching the glamorous couples moving through to the music room, the restaurant, the bar – and of course the private suites that Deuvar boasted on the first floor.

A casual observer might have thought he had stumbled upon a luxurious country hotel, but small things suggested otherwise to the trained eye. Firstly the girls were all magnificent and all unnaturally deferential to their partners. Against the elegant evening dress a knowing eye might detect the faint outline of the nipple rings of the girls that were pierced. Finally, of course, there was the distinct air of expectation; the atmosphere hummed with a subtle but unmistakable eroticism.

Max's jovial and relaxed state of mind was broken by Johnson's icy tone.

"They can't locate that bloody chap. Vanished. I've had a man down at the hospital all day," he growled.

"He'll turn up."

Johnson snorted. "I damned well hope so. How's it going with that bastard Howard's girl?"

"Wonderfully. You should have come down yourself. You've missed quite a show. Leonora has high hopes for her. The auction will be…"

"I don't want anyone to have high hopes for her," Johnson snapped, stifling the words in Max's mouth. "I want her broken. I want to get my hands on Peter Howard. If he's alive he'll come to get her. I want -"

"Gently, gently," soothed Max. "If he's dead the item in question is lost. Nobody else would realise its significance. And we'll know if anyone tries to use it."

"If they try to use it, it'll be too bloody late. Besides how do we know he was working alone?"

"For God's sake calm down. Haven't we talked about damage limitation? Why don't you come down here and…"

Before Max could finish his sentence Johnson slammed the phone down on him.

Max sighed. From the open doors of the restaurant came the restrained sounds of a string quartet. He brushed the lapels of his dinner jacket and adjusted his cummerbund. Leonora had promised to join him for a drink. He glanced around to see if she had arrived.

Close to the main entrance, two men dressed in immaculately tailored evening suits watched the comings and goings with equal interest. They looked as distinguished and affluent as any of the other guests, though Max knew they were part of the security force that Leonora employed. Each wore a tiny silver button in his lapel, connecting him by radio to the main office. After a few seconds one moved away from the door towards the main stair case. Max glanced at his watch. The shift was changing bang on time.

Upstairs in cell 27 Emily lay on her back staring at the ceiling.

The overhead light in the windowless room was gradually dimming. Emily felt immeasurably tired. Kai had said she would visit to remove the anal stretcher. Emily shivered as the thought crossed her mind. Removal would be bliss, but she suspected that the next day it would be replaced. At present it nestled like an invasive finger between the cheeks of her backside.

The cell was gradually receding into shadows, not that there was much to see. The little room was furnished clinically, in white tiles, with a central bed screwed to the floor, complete with a built in mattress. A single blanket and pillow had been folded on the bed when she had returned from her day downstairs. Other than that, the only objects were a lavatory and hand basin against one wall. The floor was cold unforgiving marble. She blinked, hardly able to keep her eyes open, hoping that Kai would arrive soon…

The sound of a key in the lock!

She looked up, trying to focus sleepy eyes, and then froze in horror. Framed in the doorway was the guard she had seen that morning. His long hair was pulled back into a pony tail, accentuating the hard contours of his face. He had changed from the daytime uniform of blue shirt and charcoal grey trousers into elegant evening clothes which were skilfully tailored to highlight his impressive musculature.

He grinned as he stepped into the cell.

"Kai's coming," Emily hissed in a terrified voice. "She won't be very long."

The guard shrugged. "Doesn't really matter does it? She isn't going to try and stop me."

Emily clutched the thin blanket up over her body, aware of the harness biting into the flesh her between her legs as she instinctively clenched her muscles. Her arms were still linked together at the wrist, connected to the overhead chain. She struggled to pull them apart, knowing that it was useless.

There was nowhere to run to, nowhere to hide. The man walked slowly across the room towards her, eyes glittering in the fading light. She glanced around in desperation and without thought leapt off the bed, trying to get away. She dropped to the floor against the wall, crouching like a cornered mouse.

Her tormentor smiled lazily. "Run all you like," he said softly, undoing his jacket. "The fight excites me. I love it when they struggle."

Emily sobbed as he circled the bed. His progress was slow, unstoppable. For a few seconds he stood over her watching her face. She shivered; his eyes flickered with desire. She felt the tension ease in her body as the seconds ticked away. Just as her breathing had slowed, he lunged forward and grabbed hold of her wrists, jerking her to her feet.

She whimpered.

One hand dropped and tugged at her harness. He pulled her closer to him, running his lips against her cheek, pressing hot wet kisses into her flesh. The man licked her throat, then lower, touching his tongue to the metallic rings through her nipples, stroking her belly with long fingers.

In spite of herself, to her horror, Emily felt his touch light a beacon in her belly. The brush of his tongue sent a shard of silvery sparks through her mind. As he tipped her face towards him and pressed his lips to hers she was stunned to realise she was relishing her forced submission. His kisses were tender and exploratory, like a real lover. She moaned as his fingers stroked the delicate skin where the lips of her sex met.

The guard pulled away sharply, his face contorted into a lecherous leer. "Don't tell me you don't want me to touch you. Look at yourself."

Emily blushed and dropped her gaze. Her nipples had swollen and hardened, flushed crimson with need – and her sex – she shivered. She knew she was getting wet but knew that it didn't matter how wet she was – the guard had other plans. He pushed her toward the bed and rolled her over onto her belly, securing her hands to the bed frame. She began to tremble, unable to fight him. Her mind was a mass of contradictions. She didn't want what was going to follow – or did she? Her body was telling her something else, part of her was aching to feel his touch, his lips – she cried out as he ran a finger along her spine.

"Get up on all fours," he said flatly.

If she expected him to be quick and furtive about his plans she was wrong. He moved around her, cupping and touching her breasts, stroking her belly with cool invasive fingers. She closed her eyes.

His clinical appraisal was exciting her beyond all belief and knowing that he was looking, touching, exploring, made her flesh quiver. She had no choice, she had to submit to whatever he had planned and the knowledge excited some dark submissive creature that lurked in her mind.

He turned his attentions to her sex, rubbing a finger into the groove of her lips, sliding beneath the ring, seeking out her pleasure bud. She let out an excited sob as he brushed it, tempered with fear that he would dislodge the ring.

She gave a throaty gasp as he climbed onto the bed behind her, fingers fiddling with the straps that held the dildo in place.

She had expected him to take the harness off but instead she just felt the relief as the stretcher slid out. She sighed as her muscles eased. Behind her the guard grunted softly. She felt him moving closer, his breath on her back and lower still on her buttocks.

What happened next astonished her; his tongue slid darkly between the gaping lips of her quim. He dipped into her, lapping and sucking, fingers lifting to join it.

Emily was stunned. She felt her body respond, moving with his touch, seeking out his attentions. She eased herself back to chase his tongue, pushing herself back to meet him. She began to shiver, praying that he wouldn't disappoint her.

The man chuckled. The sound was softened and distorted by her flesh. When she felt his fingers moving back to stroke the tight bruised bud of her anus she resisted, stiffening, suddenly afraid.

"Don't fight me," the man whispered thickly. "Remember, lady, I won you, and I'm going to have you. I'm going to bury my cock so deep in you, make you scream out for more." His finger slid into her and she gasped as her body closed gratefully around him.

"Please," she begged, "No, please I'll do anything -"

He laughed. "Too right you will." His finger eased out slowly. Over her shoulder she heard the sound of him climbing down off the bed – and the unnerving muffled sounds of clothes being removed.

She could sense his eyes on her body and imagined what the pictures were that he was seeing. Her sex was gaping, slick and hungry, her breasts were flushed and her back was striped with the mark of Leonora's whip. She had seen the way the ring between Kai's legs glittered as she moved. Was that what this man could see; the flash and glitter of invitation?

She swallowed hard as he moved closer. She could feel the heat of his body, smell his musky male odours. Something trickled down over the crease of her backside, cold and oily. She shuddered as he worked it into her, dipping now and then between her legs to smear her juices there too.

"You look so good," he whispered as he moved closer. "You know they're all going to want you? They'll take you every way they can once you've been sold and broken in. There's an Arab here likes to fuck woman in company – one cock up your arse, another in your cunt, maybe a third in your mouth. They'll whip you till your skin is raw and then make you beg them for more -"

Emily let out a strangled terrified sob.

"And you'll love it, because some hungry part of your body wants it all, doesn't it? You'll thank me then for being so gentle – I've seen women split if they're too tight and the client wants it like this -"

As he spoke Emily felt the dark unnerving press of his shaft at the very entry to the most secret parts of her body. His fingers pressed down on her clitoris, rubbing it knowingly, circling the engorged hood, encouraging her to come with him, to accept what he was offering.

She gasped and then screamed as he opened her, pressing his cock slowly into the tight closure between her buttocks. The sensation was of pain and fullness, a tight terrifying progress that stunned her.