The Voyeur (14 page)

Chapter Fifteen

As the party got into full swing in the adjoining room. Clara could only hang there, tied against the hooks, her already pale face paler still as she obsessed about what might happen next, how long she was going to have to wait until she was fucked properly, where Anya was, and how tough the “main event” of Fantasy 13 was going to prove.

Finally, with all the muscles in her arms and legs scrunched into knots of tension, Clara heard footsteps approaching. They were coming.

The door opened. One by one the men trooped in like soldiers who’d survived a close-fought battle by the skin of their teeth. Tired, grass-stained, but obviously high on achievement. Craig flashed the shining silver cup before Clara’s eyes.

His face glowing with exertion and lust, he was the first to speak. ‘Take her down. Do not touch what does not need touching.’ Clara groaned softly. As far as she was concerned,
everything
needed touching, but she was grateful to rest her exhausted arms as she was hoisted into a fireman’s lift. ‘Get her outside.’

Clara’s skin visibly vibrated as the fresh air of an early summer evening hit her bare arse. Unsettled, her stomach squirming with erotic apprehension, Clara spotted Mark sitting on a wooden chair that had been placed just off centre to the pitch. Next to him was the inevitable camera, along with two other wooden chairs, upon which were perched Ms Hill and Dr Sparrow respectively.

It wasn’t the seated figures that mesmerised the blonde however. It was the woman lying silent, naked, and somehow poised with immense dignity, in the very centre of the cricket pitch, exactly halfway between the wickets.

She was dropped unceremoniously onto Mark’s lap. Clara’s head spun, and her body flushed as his deft fingers came straight to her nipples; his barely contained erection pushing at both his jeans and her arse. Her concentration centred on Anya’s prone body, Clara barely registered Mark’s whispered, ‘I hope you enjoyed the warm-up to Fantasy 13. Welcome to the main event; you will not come.’ As Mark continued to mutter to her, his housekeeper’s gaze darted from the figure of her prostrate lover to the queue of men who ran out before her, and back again. So, I’m not the one who has to accommodate all 11 team members, then …

A hierarchy of action had obviously been worked out amongst the men. Those who’d performed least spectacularly on the field were at the front of the queue, and would have first crack at their prize, while those who’d done better would benefit from the later stages of Anya’s condition.

Clara marvelled at the unwavering determination on Anya’s face as a young man who, from the jeers of the team, she gathered was called Paul, sprang his cock from his whites. With little concern for the woman awaiting him, the cricketer took a condom from a pile of protectives sprinkled on the grass, lay over the redhead, and shafted her in one smooth action.

Anya bellowed. The intrusion was so sudden, and the young man’s pumping so violent, that the PA felt as though she might be wrenched apart. No heed was paid to her at all as a second cricketer copied his colleague’s behaviour almost exactly. There was no time squandered on considering their victim’s aching tits. No thought was given to the fact that the desire to have a dick in her mouth was driving Anya insane. The men of Bridge’s Club needed release as much as she did, and they had no intention of doing anything that might hold that up.

Perhaps Craig has ordered them not to stimulate me? Anya hadn’t expected – not at this time or in this place – to be so turned on, to be revelling in her status as a sex object; a thing just for the amusement of others. Spurred on by her resolve not to disappoint herself, Mark, or Clara, Anya’s low moans increased in volume as the third dick in quick succession pounded her slippery snatch, scratching her clit and sending her into a muscle-jarring orgasm, which was accompanied by cheers from the team. Before she could recover, a fourth muscle rammed into her spasming channel.

All the time Clara’s eyes were glued to the unfolding orgy, her breathing shallow, her concentration now split between the rutting of her lover and preventing her own simmering climax. Unable to keep still, Clara shifted her weight a little against Mark’s legs, only to be rewarded with a slap to her legs, and a hurriedly hissed, ‘Keep still. You
must
be still,’ from her boss.

Digging her fingernails into the palms of her hands, Clara attempted to calm her pulse, trying to fight the ridiculous jealousy she felt toward Anya, who was being properly serviced and was allowed to come, while she had been left hanging on the edge of gratification for hours and hours.

The trembling that wracked Anya as she came again and again was finally beginning to subside when Craig crouched over her, his impatient tongue lapping a cruelly protracted journey from her neck to her breasts, bringing the PA’s exhausted body back to life, whether she wanted it to or not.

As he retreated a few steps, Craig’s cock became more prominent within his whites. He gestured to his waiting men; two team members stepped forward. The PA almost gagged as one of them crouched over her face, pushing his solid dick slid down her throat. Licking and sucking with a bodily contentment that increased tenfold as she felt another dick bury itself between her legs, Anya’s mouth was soon oozing with salty cream. The anonymous man’s spunk hadn’t been completely swallowed before a fresh rock of a cock was wedged into her mouth.

Growing increasingly restless for some attention herself, Ms Hill turned to her employer. ‘Just look at that slut; she really is one hot bitch. Touch her, doctor, I bet she’ll come instantly.’

Approving of his secretary’s advice, Dr Sparrow walked toward Anya. Lowering himself to his haunches, the club manager placed a finger over both Anya’s nipples, pressing all his weight on her delicate teats as he observed her being serviced by two of his team members at close range.

The harshly concentrated touch of the doctor on her delicate teats made Anya almost leap off the grass in an agony of ecstasy. Convulsing in the extremes of pleasure, she bucked hard between the unknown men screwing her, and Dr Sparrow’s hands, until she abruptly collapsed against the grass in hazy, sex-drugged exhaustion.

Mark’s lap was sodden with the wasted juices of his housekeeper. Sweat ran all over Clara, trapping itself between her flesh and the cricket pads she was wearing, causing them to chafe against her skin. Her hair felt hot and sticky beneath her cap, and her breasts felt raw from the constant pinching and rubbing from Mark’s fingers.

Having to witness Anya’s sexually honed body take cock after cock, and touch after touch, was agony. Torn between wishing she was the one on the receiving end of the orgy and being relieved that she wasn’t, every inch of Clara longed for a climax of her own. This inaction was every bit as torturous as all the tasks Mark had thrown her way before.

Steeling herself to remain as immobile as humanly possible, Clara kept her eyes on Anya as her lover was allowed to drift into sleep. This isn’t over, though, she realised – it can’t be; not all the men have used Anya yet. And if Fantasy 12 is a guideline, then Fantasy 13 hasn’t even got going yet … Clara tried very hard to rein in her thoughts – this was not a good time to panic.

Waking gradually, her eyes blinking in the fading evening light, Anya realised that she had been moved. Although she was still on the pitch, she was now slumped at the boundary edge.

‘I trust you are feeling refreshed?’ Ms Hill was standing over Anya with a cricket bat in her hands. The reverential way she was caressing it made Anya’s blood chill. ‘Craig scored the winning four runs with this beauty. I thought it only fitting that those of us remaining to receive our prize from you should include it in this little victory ceremony.’ The fire in Ms Hill’s eyes was unmistakable, and Anya swallowed hard, dogged in her resolve not to let the older woman have the satisfaction of winning anything from Mark – least of all her.

‘It would be wise to do
exactly
as you are told.’ Craig had abandoned his shirt, revealing a torso ripe for tasting. Frightened, yet at the same time erotically supercharged, Anya didn’t have the energy to raise any objections as her body was picked up and leant against the advertising boards that divided the stand from the grass. ‘You will not be bound. Mark has assured us that you are professional enough not to move.’ Mentally Anya groaned; having to force herself to remain motionless in the face of the pain she knew was to follow was going to be incredibly tough.

Seconds after Anya had been carefully positioned, her hands grasping the top of the advertising boards, Clara came into her view. Standing two seat rows higher up than Anya, her arms were being held behind her naked back by Mark. Although Clara remained frustratingly out of Anya’s reach, having her directly in her eyeline felt somehow reassuring. Whatever she had been through while Anya had been fucked to exhaustion, she had survived it, and that thought gave the PA a further boost of confidence. I can get through Fantasy 13. We both can.

Mentally preparing herself for the punishment she knew Ms Hill was longing to inflict, Anya looked directly at her partner. Clara’s eyes were glazed with frustrated want, and her nipples were a brighter scarlet, and her chest more swollen, than Anya ever seen them.

The girl’s eyes met. Concentrating hard, Anya willed Clara to understand how important it was to stay strong and follow every demand made of her. She fervently wished she’d had some time to tell Clara why success here was so important. In turn, Clara was quietly hoping that Anya would be able to survive the BSDM session that was about to begin without breaking down. The thought of Ms Hill getting the better of the woman she loved was gut-wrenching.

The wicketkeeper edged along the seats between Anya and Clara. Between his fingers, James held the wooden bail from the top of the cricket stumps.

From behind Anya, Craig spoke. ‘Clara, it is blatantly transparent you badly need to fuck – more than you ever have, perhaps?’

Clara nodded dully, all personal pride gone in the face of her desperation, inwardly cursing the months of Mark’s training that had taught her body to need and respond to more and more outlandish sexual behaviour.

‘Then you will be given a modicum of relief.’ Craig gestured to James, who rubbed the bail over the blonde’s nipples, causing Clara to cry out with a hot discomfort that made her pussy twitch.

‘You will have that handy wooden dildo inserted within you– however, you will not move; you will not bring yourself off, and if Anya here makes so much as a murmured cry during the next stage of her boss’s dream, then it will be removed, and you will never receive the seeing-to you desire. Not only that, but we will have no choice but to declare Fantasy 13 over. A failure for Parker Software – and you, Clara, along with Anya and Mark, will have to face the subsequent consequences.’

With her eyes fixed on Clara’s, Anya braced herself. She could hear Ms Hill behind her, still stroking the cricket bat, talking to Craig about how honoured “this tart” should be to receive its attention. The delay before action seemed to last forever, so when the first blow did come it caught Anya off guard; just as it was supposed to. A burning intensity of hot pain spread across her rear as the smooth bat was expertly wielded against her pink flesh. A stream of screams gathered in Anya’s throat. There was no gentleness in the assault, only full-blown strikes, as if the secretary was on the pitch trying to score a six. All Anya’s willpower was anchored into holding any sounds within her throat, and stopping her feet from running away and never ever coming back. Her hands were holding the boards so tightly that her knuckles began to speckle with blotches of white and her wrists shook.

In perfect time with the professionally oiled bat meeting its target for the second time, James rammed the short wooden bail between Clara’s outstretched legs. Not that the force behind his insertion was necessary, the blonde’s thigh’s glistened with sticky desire as she fought not to come on the spot, such was the relief at having something, however insubstantial, inside her.

The heat from Mark’s cotton shirt against Clara’s sweat-dotted back was adding another dimension to her hunger. With her teeth snapped firmly shut, and her heart racing, Clara could feel Mark’s pulse thumping in his wrist. She knew that his voyeuristic habit was being given the workout of its life as he observed Fantasy 13 take shape before him.

Hardly daring to breathe, for each gulp of air seemed to jar James’s hand, and send invisible bubbles of lust through her clit and up into her breasts, Clara continued to will Anya to stay silent and motionless as the cricket bat continued to spank her rump with vengeful thwacks.

By the fifth stroke the sting in Anya’s arse began to be replaced by the aching desire she’d longed for, and the dark thrill of welcome pain crept through her roasted cheeks. Craig appeared in front of her as the extreme fantasy continued. He stared with begrudging admiration into her eyes. This was a woman who could, and would, take anything, and he was more determined than ever to win her back to the club – permanently. ‘You are the most incredible creature. Parker has trained you well. You have permission to speak to answer this one question. I believe you are enjoying yourself as much as we are. Would that be true?’

‘Yes.’ Anya replied, through her gritted teeth, locking her own eyes into his, telepathically pleading with him to provide the relief that she so frantically needed.

Having reduced Anya’s backside to a flaming crimson, Ms Hill now longed to kiss it better. But that was not part of Mark’s plan. Instead, ignoring the fresh flush of craving the bent-over woman was causing in her pussy, Bridge’s secretary dropped the bat, primly saying, ‘Thank you, Miss Grant.’

Anya was pulled upright, her vision clouding a little as her gaze fell back upon Clara. The sight of her lover, as desperate to come as she was, the slim wooden dowel held within her by the wicketkeeper’s fist, no longer reassured Anya, but added to her delicious torment.

Passed from Mark into the hands of two of the cricket team, Clara’s cricket pads were removed, and the bail was extracted from her slit with a sticky pop. The short wooden stick gleamed in the evening light, coated with the housekeeper’s pussy come.