The Voyeur (10 page)

Until that point, Anya hadn’t had time to consider her own body’s requirements. Suddenly, as she contemplated where to strike first, Anya felt her breasts poking at the underside of her ribbed corset, restricting her lungs. The thong she wore was already a little wet, and Anya was conscious of it digging uncomfortably into her crotch.

Anya was distracted from her growing arousal by the sound of Clara smacking the smooth side of her paddle against the shapely male arse before her. Throwing her own arm back, Anya hit the left side of Lee’s denim-clad butt.

Even though he’d been expecting it, the level of pain that bloomed through his backside evidently took Lee by surprise. He whistled out a long exhalation of shocked air as Anya quickly built up a pattern of strikes against his arse.

The resonation of the alternative smacks and spanks between the two parallel arses fast established a routine; one being hit, while the other enjoyed a second’s respite before being struck again.

From the privacy of one of the club’s private rooms, Mark couldn’t help but feel proud. The moment he’d met Anya at Bridge’s, he had realised her potential; now he could see that his assumptions about her sexual abilities and her intelligence were confirmed. He’d assumed the girls would choose to work as far away from each other as possible. This neighbourly approach to the challenge was a tactic Mark hadn’t seemed coming, and he was fascinated by it.

Switching off the second of the two webcams he’d trained on his employees, Mark concentrated the remaining electronic spy on both of them at once.

Impressed by their choice of volunteers as well, Mark adjusted his cock slightly as it became cramped within his trousers. On the last occasion Fantasy 5 had been carried out, he had carefully engineered who each of his girls would end up with. He hadn’t told them at the time; although Mark was sure they suspected what he’d done. This time everything had been left in their hands; but they didn’t know that. It excited him to think they couldn’t be sure how much the men they were with knew about them.

Leaning closer to the computer screen via which he was spectating events, Mark scribbled a few points in the notebook open on his lap, before refocusing his attention on the men. Still upright, their shoulders had hunched forward a little as they rested their weight on the hoops. Then the beatings came to a halt, while two sets of fingers undid their victim’s belts, gradually inching down the protective layer provided by their respective trousers.

Clara’s prisoner showed a hitherto unseen moment of weakness, letting out an almost childlike whimper, as his mistress flipped her paddle over, and caressed the nodule-covered leather over the stretched white fabric of his boxer shorts.

An accompanying shiver ran through Lee’s shoulders, even though Anya hadn’t physically touched him for a few minutes. A situation she quickly remedied, as the more painful side of the paddle connected with the much thinner material of Lee’s black briefs.

Pleased that things were progressing apace, and safe in the knowledge that his webcam was recording every precious moment for posterity, Mark rose from his seat, readjusted his erection-creased clothing, and sent a text from his mobile. Seconds later there was a knock on the door, and three figures walked in. A man and a woman overdressed in business suits, and another man in ripped designer jeans and a loose fitting jumper.

‘Welcome, Dr Sparrow, Ms Hill, Craig. I trust you have enjoyed Claude’s hospitality and my show so far. As you can see, my side of the bargain is being fulfilled.’

Ms Hill, her eyes narrowed, her pert nipples partially giving away the arousal she was so skilled at keeping in check, spoke curtly. ‘You seem to have written the task list on her back?’

Ignoring her tone of cut-glass disapproval, Mark merely replied, ‘Yes, I have.’

The secretary of Bridge’s club continued, ‘The other girl would be your housemaid?’

‘Housekeeper, actually. That is Clara. A marginally more subservient figure than Anya, but she’s a quick leaner, and ultra-obedient. Between ourselves I am very impressed with how she is holding her own out there. I will not, of course, be telling her that.’

‘I should think not!’ Ms Hill sounded appalled at the thought of Mark congratulating his employees on their behaviour. She found it difficult not to voice her thoughts out loud as she regarded the younger man sternly. ‘You are too soft. Well, things will be different when I am PA of Parker Software … Something I fully intend to be …’

The volume of the young men’s wincing abruptly increased, bringing the team from Bridge’s back to the point of their visit to Discreet. For a moment the four observers in the office were silent, each watching the screen before them, imagining themselves in the place of at least one of the players in Mark’s latest game.

It was Craig, the cricket club captain, who broke the tension first. ‘I trust you have not forgotten, Mr Parker, that the financial “situation”, shall we say, that you have with the club – which is in some way being compensated by your training of Anya – was only half of the bargain? The rest still has to be fulfilled.’ The ginger-haired man crossed his arms as he spoke, confident as always.

Mark struggled not to smile. The man was small fry, but if he wished to feel important then what did Mark care? ‘I have not forgotten. If I had, you would not be here now.’ He gestured to the laptop. ‘The time is close. The only reason it is not yet right is that these girls have been loyal and hardworking, and that, to my mind at least, grants them leeway. There is also an issue I had not foreseen. The girls have formed a bond together; this has added a dimension to the challenges now past, and I trust will enhance what is to come. That is the matter I wish to discuss with Dr Sparrow alone.’

Ms Hill and Craig simultaneously opened their mouths to protest at their exclusion, but Mark held up his hand. ‘I think you will appreciate events on the screen more than our boring business talk, and I have no doubt your employer will fill you in on events later.’ Mark placed a hand on Sparrow’s shoulder, and led him from the room, leaving Craig and Ms Hill to observe the remainder of the Fantasy 5 rerun in private.

The breathing of the two men was ragged. Their own personal competition was forgotten in their quest to stay in control; not to beg for the pain to stop; not to plead for their penis to be sucked, licked, or fucked.

Anya, on the connection of the tenth strike against Lee’s underpants, dropped the paddle to the floor. As Clara copied her actions, she stepped forward and rolled down the elastic waistband, keen to see what sort of imprint the punishment had made. The flush on his skin was evident from the first fold of cotton. The dawn of the bruises to come was already in place; yellowish circles blooming up from where the perfectly round nodules had bitten into Lee’s arse.

Running a soft palm over the burning butt, Anya savoured the increase in tension as his buttocks, which had momentarily relaxed, tightened once more. Bending, she kissed each shining cheek, cooling them, making Lee moan more than ever as his body adjusted to the almost shocking gentleness after so much discomfort.

With one eye on Clara, Anya continued to lap at his blotched purple posterior, doing her best to make him believe it was all over. Pushing at his jeans and underwear so that he could step free from them with ease, Anya loosened his ties and slipped the bindings from the top of the loop to the bottom. Retightening the straps, she then grabbed at Lee’s backside, pulling at him so that he had to shuffle his feet backward until he was placed as she required. Bent at the waist, his back and head at an approximate right angle to his legs, Lee’s butt was now an even easier target for Anya’s ministrations.

Once Clara had completed re-positioning her own volunteer, in an almost identical fashion, the women stood directly behind each man. With their damp crotches pressed against the protruding bottoms, they pushed their right hands simultaneously between the men’s parted legs, and wrapping their palms around each erect shaft.

Using her left hand, Anya undid the laces on her basque, letting her breasts ripple out above the boned fabric, easing the pressure on her ribs. So that Mark didn’t realise she was freeing her tits for her own benefit, Anya began to verbally taunt Lee. ‘I’ve had to release my chest. You seem to have got me all hot and bothered. Shame I’m not going to give you permission to see it; I’m sure you’d like to see my tits. Maybe you’d like to touch them?’

‘Yes, ma’am. I would.’ He spoke through gritted teeth as the slender hand at his dick glided along his length.

Anya knew the outcome of this retake was now down to her skill versus Clara’s, but should she attempt to make Lee climax before or after his comrade? After all, there was no realistic way they could make them come at the same time.

Deciding not to look at Clara any more, which wasn’t easy, as her lover had now freed her own luscious breasts, Anya picked up the paddle again, and smacked the studded side repeatedly against Lee’s tender backside. With every strike she yanked his cock forward, swinging the weapon up ready for a fresh swipe as she pushed his penis back again. With each new blow Anya watched Lee’s skin pucker and blanch, while the sounds from his panting mouth flew more freely.

The crowd of voyeurs that had gathered around Anya and Clara as they worked began to grow as the smacks against the men gathered pace, each one carefully placed, each tiny segment of male flesh the burgundy of over-ripe plums.

Her hand tiring, Anya spoke to Lee. ‘I’m very wet, you know. Such a shame you won’t be able to fill me up. My tits feel so heavy. You won’t be the one gorging on them, though, sweetheart. For you see, my friend, Clara, over there – isn’t she just the most beautiful woman you have ever seen? – and my boss, Mr Parker, are the only ones who are allowed to see to my sexual requirements.’

Lee’s groaning morphed into base yelps, and Anya was confident the images she was building in his mind were bringing him even closer to climax. Hearing Clara beginning to provide her own commentary for her companion, Anya kept talking. ‘I bet you can picture Clara and I together, can’t you? If Mr Parker thinks we’ve been good girls he might let us fuck later. I am very lucky. Clara is the best tit-sucker in the world.’

All the time the women spoke, conjuring up kinky tableaus in the men’s heads, their hands moved along their engorged dicks, and their arms continued to swing back and hit the offered butts with leathery thuds.

Then Anya heard it, the minor change in the tone of Lee’s breathing, a sound she’d been straining her ears to hear above the background noise. It was being echoed by the man beside him, if anything, with rather more urgency.

Doing her best not to panic and speed up her pace just because Clara had the edge, knowing that to change her rhythm now could slow Lee down, Anya kept going, milking him until her hand was slick with precome.

Lee’s wrist and shoulders were shaking with the effort of not moving away from the paddle, for to do so would surely mean he’d be denied the incredible sensations zipping through his penis. But suddenly it was all too much: the graphic image of the two women together, combined with the insistent burn in his backside and the hand at his dick, sent him over the edge, ‘Ma’am, please, ma’am …’

Letting go of the paddle, Anya watched as his spunk fired up the whitewashed wall in front of him with all the panache of a carelessly fired machine gun, only seconds behind Clara’s victim, who had come with a particularly fierce stroke of the paddle against the very crack of his arse.

Once each man had finished decorating the brickwork, the girls undid the bindings, and eased their charges upright. Kissing both men firmly on the mouth, they then, with the merest inclination of their heads in mute acknowledgement of a job well done, left their chosen helpers where they stood, and walked back to the bar in silence.

‘Clever girls. Very clever. I’m impressed.’ Back in the flats living room, Mark raised a glass of champagne to his lips; gesturing for his staff to take a glass of the pre-poured liquid. ‘You have learnt much from your time with me, and from each other.’

The girl’s eyes fell on the open notebook in his hand. Just how clever it had been to try and outwit Mark?

His face gave nothing away as he closed his book with a resounding snap before they could read a single word.

Chapter Eleven

‘I believe what you are proposing will work very well.’ Dr Sparrow placed the whisky tumbler upon his desk, its base landing precisely on the centre of the coaster that sat to the side of his laptop. ‘Your accounts of Anya’s progress under your tutelage, along with the evidence of my own eyes while at Discreet last week, all suggest she will be ready to attempt your final fantasy. I must say that I look forward to having her back on my staff once her training is complete.’

Mark drained his own glass, an uncompromising gleam in his eyes as he said, ‘Then I consider this deal sealed. Although I stand by what I said, Dr Sparrow; if Anya succeeds in the final challenge, I fully expect you to honour your wager and let me keep her.’

The club manager’s convivial tone hardened. ‘She has developed without question. Her sexual stamina and skills are obvious. But neither woman will make it to the end of Fantasy 13. You must see that?’ Dr Sparrow took Mark’s hand in his firm grip, an annoyingly smug gleam to his eyes. ‘And you are quite sure Miss Hooper will add the extra dimension Ms Hill has requested of me?’

Hiding his annoyance at having to reassure Sparrow yet again, Mark said, ‘I am perfectly sure. I have never known Clara fail to rise to a challenge, as I am sure your club captain will discover today.’

‘Forgive me.’ The doctor had the good grace to appear at least marginally sheepish. ‘Ms Hill has been a loyal servant, and is so rarely rewarded. I would like her wish to be granted.’

Knowing Ms Hill’s loyalty could not be questioned, but finding the second part of Dr Sparrow’s statement highly questionable, Mark said, ‘We will proceed with Fantasy 13 as planned after the final of the London Gentlemen’s Clubs Cricket Championship. The girls will be ready.’

As he escaped the stuffy atmosphere of the office, for a split second Mark wondered if he was finally about to ask too much of his staff, but the stirring in his cock as he thought about the spectacle Fantasy 13 would provide stiffened his resolve. This was going to be incredible, and it came with the added bonus that his connection to the club would, once the girls had helped him fulfil his debt to them, be broken. The trouble was neither Anya nor Clara knew of this debt; just as they didn’t know that Anya wasn’t a permanent member of his staff, but only on loan to Parker Software, and if they didn’t succeeded in completing Fantasy 13, she would have to go back …

Clara picked up the note from the table and stared out of the kitchen window. There was no one in sight – yet. She was aware of the sensation of being observed beyond the presence of the ever-vigilant webcams. Yet she knew that Mark was out, and Anya was closeted in her office so it couldn’t be their eyes she could sense on her.

She re-read Mark’s spidery handwriting.

Fantasy 8. Anya passed this one last time, so it is just you. I will view the event on my return. M

There was no time indicated on the note as to when the task was scheduled to begin, and no clue as to who she was supposed to perform it with. Clara chilled. She couldn’t deny she had enjoyed this challenge the first time round. Sex with Anya in the garden in front of a group of gardeners, who had then shown their appreciation by spunking all over their climax-rocked bodies. It had been embarrassingly daunting at first, but mind-blowingly sexy by the end. This time though, it was to be without Anya. How could this possibly work and still be the same fantasy?

Throwing the note in the bin, Clara squared her shoulders. She had a day’s worth of household tasks ahead of her, and if she wasn’t careful nothing would be accomplished by the time Mark came home from wherever he’d disappeared to.

Having emptied the dishwasher, Clara became absorbed in memorising the contents of the freezer, when suddenly she was squealing in surprise as a gloved hand came from behind, clamping itself over her mouth.

Dropping a handful of spoons with a clatter against the tiled floor, her pulse accelerated to fifth gear. Forcing herself to remain calm, Clara told her racing blood that she would be perfectly all right. She’d been warned what was going to happen, and it would be OK. In fact, with hindsight, Clara knew that Fantasy 8 was the easiest of the experiences she’d have to endure all over again.

The musty smell of garden waste filled her nostrils as Clara was backed out of her kitchen. She wasted no energy on fighting back; already knowing it was pointless. The arm that was wrapped around her waist hoisted her up so only the tips of Clara’s bare toes had any contact with the floor.

Dragged into the fresh air, spluttering a little against the damp glove, Clara’s mind raced as she was deposited unceremoniously onto a pile of topsoil next to the shed.

Two student gardeners, who obviously couldn’t believe their luck, and another man Clara had never seen before, stared down at her. This third man threw aside the gardening gloves he’d been wearing. The housekeeper’s pulse zipped up a notch. His red hair was neatly cropped; his green eyes shone with a devilment a million miles from the kind gleam that Clara always associated with Anya’s similarly coloured eyes. There was no way he was a gardener. Everything about him appeared hard, as if he was edged with steel.

No one moved, and as the tension grew Clara began to wish they’d get on with whatever it was they were about to do to her.

‘You must be Clara.’ The redhead peered down his nose at her, his cocksure manner setting off alarm bells in the back of Clara’s mind. She had an uneasy feeling that she knew exactly who was scrutinising her after all.

‘You know who I am, don’t you?’

He was radiating a kind of sexual potency, and now she was sure she was in the presence of Bridge’s cricket captain, Clara could see precisely why Anya hadn’t been able to resist being fucked by this man.

‘I think I do; but I can’t be certain, sir.’

‘And who do you think I am, Miss Hooper?’

Keeping to herself her thought that this guy might well be the ultimate in sex machines but was undoubtedly a total git as well, Clara spoke with demure respect. ‘I suspect you are the captain of Bridge’s cricket team, sir.’

A self-satisfied smile crossed Craig’s face. ‘Anya has mentioned me, then?’

‘Yes.’

The younger men shuffled their feet nervously. Clara could almost hear their silent wishes for the other man to hurry proceedings along. They’d been promised sex with the housekeeper, and so far all that had happened was that the guy they’d been told was in charge was keeping them waiting.

Craig turned to the apprentices. ‘An arm each, please, gentlemen. Get her into the shed.’

This Clara had not been expecting. Fantasy 8 had been an outside affair before. The moment she was bundled into the large wooden hut, she saw precisely why she had been moved. Mark hadn’t wanted to miss anything. A camera was set up on a stand on the long potting bench that ran the length of the shed.

Her eyes stayed on the camera for a fraction of a second, before an unexpected spectacle took all Clara’s attention. Anya, trussed helplessly in garden twine at the wrists and ankles, was slumped on a pile of old potato sacks and bags of compost, dressed but for her tits, which were naked and raw. She’d obviously been on the receiving end of Craig’s personal attention for some time.

This really wasn’t right. All of Clara’s instincts told her this was wrong, even by the standards of her bizarre lifestyle.

Fantasy 8 hadn’t been like this. Clara and Anya had simply fucked each other in the gardens while Mark and his outside staff watched. Apart from the kidnap element, there had been nothing more demanding than that. This, on the other hand, was heavy stuff. Clara almost asked out loud if Mark was aware of Anya’s situation, but thought better of it. His note had clearly stated that Anya wasn’t going to be involved. The camera was pointing at Clara alone; and so, providing the screwed-up rag that had been wedged between Anya’s teeth stayed in place, Mark might never know that his PA had been here at all. Clara had no doubt. Mark has no idea …

‘I want you to keep your eyes on me, Clara.
Just
on me.’ Craig spoke with a firmness that attached less importance to Anya than to the pile of disused flower pots in the corner of the shed. It wasn’t lost on Clara that her lover’s name had not been mentioned.

Craig sat next to the video camera. ‘Go for it, boys. The housemaid is all yours.’

Her lips dry, the blonde did her best to relax. She dismissed Craig’s deliberate downgrading of her household position, telling herself that this situation was nothing. Two blokes and one arrogant voyeur. She could cope with this easily.

Clumsily eager, the students glanced at each other, as if agreeing on some pre-planned routine. Totally ignoring Craig; although unable to prevent themselves from letting their eyes stray to the semi-naked, dishevelled woman in the far corner, they made short work of stripping Clara.

The hard bumps behind their mud-stained combats told Clara that speed was very much of the essence. In fact, the first student’s load appeared as if it would explode before he’d even clasped his member in his hand. Pointing his shaft toward the delicate pale chest that was so temptingly displayed, he pumped his wood only twice before coating Clara’s flesh. His seed splattered all over her stomach, rather than against the breasts she suspected he was aiming for.

Craig’s tut at the boy’s lack of finesse was lost on the sexually consumed students, but Clara heard, and her dislike of the cricketer rose to another level.

Though too well trained to glance at Anya, Clara found she was concentrating on why her girl was here in such a manhandled state, rather than on what the second student was preparing to do. She was therefore taken by surprise when the dark-skinned young man, who had slightly more grip on his self-control than his companion, strode forward and pushed his ebony dick between her lips.

Gagging a little, making her throat accommodate the sweating meat, Clara allowed the apprentice to thrust in and out of her mouth, bringing her hands to his balls; hoping her manipulation would speed up his ejaculation.

Her technique was far more sophisticated than anything the student was used to, and his spunk was soon swimming down Clara’s throat, escaping from the corners of her mouth and trickling over her chin. It was only after he’d extracted himself from her lips that Clara noticed he’d had his eyes shut, lost in a private world of post-come bliss.

‘Thank you, gentleman.’ Craig hadn’t moved, nor did he pay any heed to the students as they tucked themselves back into their boxer shorts, neither making eye contact with the other.

Clara, her mouth a little sore from her oral fucking, kept her own expression carefully neutral, starring at the dirty floor rather than at Craig. Just being in the same room as him felt dangerous.

The moment the shed door had shut behind the blushing students, Clara felt a shiver of cold run through her. Not because she was naked, but because Craig was now in front of the camera, speaking directly into the lens. ‘Mr Parker, I commend you on your housemaid. Her technique was such that the young men were putty in her hands. You have two very happy students on your temporary staff. Albeit brief, the retake of Fantasy 8 is complete.’

He then clicked off the camera and, with his hands on his hips, said, ‘Get up, Anya; for goodness’ sake, you look a total mess, woman.’

Clara forced herself to swallow back all her instincts to rush to her partner’s aid as Anya strove to stand with dignity, a feat hampered by the tightly bound twine at her ankles that had cut into and laddered the stockings she wore. Teetering on her shoeless feet, Anya looked an incongruous mix of willing slut and unwilling victim. Her black A-line skirt was crumpled and stained with dirt, her naked tits were a shocking pink, her nipples large and virtually begging for a mouth to soothe them all by themselves.

Craig picked up an unopened packet of flower seeds from the bench, and Clara was surprised to see Anya flinch as he played it between his fingers.

‘What’s the matter, Anya? Don’t you want to climax today?’ Craig stood in front of the PA’s swaying body, and immediately Clara saw what had enflamed Anya’s beautiful tips. Taking the edge of the seed packet, the captain rubbed it against her nipples, slowly, over and over again.

Clara could imagine all too well how good it must feel, and yet how important it was for Anya to remain still, for unwise movements might cause a paper cut against her globes, such was the sharp edge of the pack.

The packet was now being slapped against each nipple, and Clara could hear the rattle of the seeds inside above the moans that were dissolving into Anya’s gag.

As if suddenly bored of Anya’s lack of reaction, even though he was the one who’d made her helpless to respond, Craig threw the seeds onto the bench and turned to Clara. Saying nothing, her stripped off the thick woollen jumper and white T-shirt he wore, and pulled Clara to her feet so they were naked chest to naked chest.

The flicker of desire that shot through Clara felt like a betrayal of both Anya and Mark as Craig moved enough to agitate the end of her nipples against his smooth torso. She wished her own hands were bound so that it would appear as if she was being forced against her will, to show that she was powerless to stop the flow of juice that had started at the top of her legs. Juice that had been conspicuous by its absence when the students were using her as wank fodder.

Clara risked Craig’s wrath by turning her face toward Anya, trying to communicate with her eyes alone that she was sorry for whatever was about to follow.

Anya blinked, very quickly, but it was enough to tell Clara it was all right, that her girl comprehended the situation. Clara wasn’t at all sure Mark would understand, though.

‘Clara!’ Craig snapped at her, his hand coming to her neck, turning her face back so she was staring directly into his emotionless eyes. ‘Your lover is being punished. Her punishment is to see me, who I suspect she hates, fuck you, the woman she obviously loves. The real beauty of the situation being –’ Craig broke off, his hands coming to Clara’s breasts, his large palms encasing them, laughing as her nipples pushed at his hands ‘– that it isn’t me screwing you that will form the chastisement, but the fact she has to live with the knowledge that seeing us together will turn her on.’