The Voyeur (3 page)

‘You were right, Claude.’ The black-haired woman paused in her chastisement. ‘She is a professional. I wonder, though –’ she snaked the whip across Clara’s ruby lips as she continued ‘– what the reaction would be if her concentration was to be disturbed?’

As if her words had been the signal he’d been waiting for, the mistress’s male partner picked up a piece of celery from the buffet table, and showed it to his lover, hovering for approval.

The mistress smiled. ‘Excellent idea! Now, shall we begin again?’ Even as she spoke, the whip connected against the younger woman’s stomach as the flames from the candles were brought ever closer, and the almost ice-cold stick of celery was edged inside Clara’s slick pussy.

Yelling, but managing not to move, Clara clenched her fists against the bizarre mixture of pain, need, and anticipation. The blows came harder and faster, but somehow, by focusing for all she was worth on how proud Anya would be of her when she succeeded, Clara remained frozen to the spot; right up until the moment when the stick of celery, which was firmly wedged within her, was pulled abruptly out.

Hips arching with the loss, she cried out as much from anger at herself for losing control, as from her unbidden climax. All her sounds, however, were drowned out by the shrieks of delight from Claude and his compatriots. Immediately Claude tipped up his candle, and a small trickle of wax fell.

As the heated droplet got nearer and nearer to her right cheek, it felt to Clara as if everything was happening in slow motion. She howled as the wax hit her face, singeing her flesh before setting into a shiny, solid spot.

After that, Clara couldn’t help but react to everything that happened to her. Each time the whip connected, the edible dildo was pushed up or pulled out of her, and soon wax was being poured all over her. Hot drips were targeted at her cream nipples first, and tears streamed across her face. The flames that guttered ever closer to her became all Clara could see through her mind-blowingly, gorgeously painful imprisonment.

When it finally all stopped, it took Clara a few minutes to register that fact.

On a single word from Claude, his guests had all put down their candles and taken a step back from the table. Grabbing the camera, Claude began to snap photograph after photograph of the housekeeper as she lay there. There was wax absolutely everywhere except between her legs, and she ached all over.

It had all been too much for Claude’s counterparts, and they began to take out their frustrations on each other. Clara was vaguely aware of a threesome starting in the corner of the room, but paid little attention to it.

Abandoning the camera, Claude swiftly stripped, rolled on a rubber, and climbed astride Clara, pushing his blessedly rigid cock inside her. She no longer cared that she didn’t really like the man, or that he was about as far from her personal taste as it was possible to go. He had a thick dick, and that was all that mattered.

Groaning with delight, he sat there impaling her, yet unmoving. Then, picking a candle back up, he used its light to examine each of the hard blobs that had set against the girl’s exquisite body. Peeling them off one by one, he made Clara moan with a strangely pleasant discomfort, especially when he freed her globes from their smooth, waxy guardians, kissing them better with his tongue.

A new orgasm, which had been brimming alongside the applications of each burst of agony, was approaching Clara with frightening pace. As Claude tweaked away the final wax scab, he continued to move himself steadily inside her. Gripping her muscles around his shaft, Clara felt a shout of release build in her throat.

With a sudden evil grin, Claude tipped his candle right up, and an unexpected flood of hot liquid wax poured all over his captive’s pussy hairs.

Clara’s screams combined with an increase in his thrusts, and she came in a rush of exquisite pain, which was nothing compared to the torture of Claude removing the set wax a while later.

The others had gone. It was quiet outside in the hall as Claude gave Clara a drink of water. As she gulped it back thankfully, Clara’s frame quaked from the shock of the evening and the dizzying sensation of sitting up after so long being horizontal. The owner of Discreet passed a soft velvet cloak around her shoulders, hiding the wax stains that pitted Clara’s alabaster skin.

There was a knock on the door. Mark came in. ‘Well, Claude? Did my Clara fulfil our bargain for you?’

‘More than I could have hoped for.’ Claude smiled as he passed the evening’s DVD recording to Mark. ‘The second part of Fantasy 12 is complete.’

Acknowledging his employee for the first time, Mark turned her around, lowered the cloak, pulled a red pen from his pocket, and placed a neat tick on her back, the nib of the pen adding a further kick of bliss to her flesh. ‘Go to Anya. She needs you.’

Later that night, safe in their adjacent single beds, Clara reached a hand out and stroked Anya’s hair. In the morning she’d hear all about her partner’s version of Fantasy 12, and in turn she’d tell Anya about her own experience. Mark might want them to view the films of the evening with him, although he usually enjoyed that pleasure alone.

Curling up, Clara closed her blue eyes and ran a hand quietly over her sore breasts, smoothing them where the wax had pinched her at her flesh.

Why do we do this? Every night she asked herself the question. Yet every day both she and Anya stayed to see what would happen next. I’m in a child-sized bed, in a tiny room that I share with another woman. I’m 29, for heaven’s sake. I’m a qualified hotelier, not a housekeeper! How the hell did I get here?

Chapter Three

Rather than go back to his London flat, Mark had driven the three of them to his Oxfordshire residence on their departure from Discreet. Sending the girls to bed as soon as they reached the house, he wasted no time before downloading the recordings of the events that had combined to make Fantasy 12 on to his laptop.

He watched Anya first, scrutinising her as she moved, squirming and writhing beneath the vast range of physical attention she’d been dealt. Mark’s intense brown eyes darted from finger, to tit, to dick – each touch a separate sexual episode within the whole, all of which he savoured.

Wrapping a palm around his cock, leaning back in his plush leather desk chair, Mark wanked. Agitating his length up and down within his fist, he allowed himself the rare luxury of an orgasm as he observed his faithful Anya perform.

As his climax gathered momentum, his face creased into tight approval, Mark had to concentrate to keep his eyes fixed on Anya’s swaying chest, and the woman who was easing herself up and down her face dildo, rather than closing his eyes and losing himself in solo gratification.

Mark knew that his girls didn’t understand his ability to remain physically on edge in the face of his fantasies coming to life. A control freak to the point of obsession, they hadn’t realised that Mark was too afraid of missing something to let himself climax when his erotic dreams were coming to life. It was only afterwards, long after everyone else had spunked and rocked, when he was back in his study, with the previously witnessed live show playing back like a personalised porn film, that Mark could relax enough to come. Only then was he safe in the knowledge that he could watch anything he might miss again and again.

With a sigh of profound satisfaction, Mark pressed pause as he witnessed Anya collapse exhausted onto the floor, and the last pair of exploratory hands move away from her succulent flesh. Lubricating his throat with a draught from his glass of water, Mark opened his desk drawer. Taking out his notebook, he added a short note next to his writings on Fantasy 12.

Then, pressing a serious of buttons on his laptop, Mark changed the scene before him to a picture of Clara. He sat up a little straighter. This was the first time he’d allowed her to perform one of the items on his list without him present, but he needed Claude on his side, and so had agreed to the club owner’s request for Clara to join his private party.

As he saw the candles being moved around his housekeeper’s supine body, Mark cursed. The darkness of the room in which Clara had been laid so sumptuously on the table made seeing what was happening difficult. Mark zoomed the camera inwards, his so recently spent cock reviving with speed.

Half an hour later, the moans of Mark’s second climax ricocheted around the study, and another note was scribbled within in his special book.

Sitting very still for a moment, he came to a decision. Mark had known for some time what his final fantasy would involve, but if it was to be completed successfully, then he was going to have to allow a few of his own rules to be broken.

He glimpsed at his watch. It was already five o’clock in the morning. There was no point in going to bed now. With a decisive heave, he pulled himself out of his chair, switched off the computer, and headed to the shower.

Banging on the girls’ bedroom door, Mark threw it open before he’d given them a chance to respond.

‘You’ve never told Clara how you became my PA, have you, Anya?’

Hurriedly lifting herself up onto one elbow, Clara wiped the sleep from her eyes, wincing as the ache of the previous evening’s activities caught up with her, the thin duvet chafing a little against her skin. Mark was never up earlier than them. Panic gripped the housekeeper: had she slept through the alarm?

A hasty glance at the clock showed Clara it was six o’clock. They’d only been in bed for three hours!

Anya groaned into her pillows. Always sluggish to wake at the best of times, she was only vaguely aware of activity in the room.

Where Clara was merely achy and sore, Anya’s body felt wracked with bruises. There didn’t seem to be an inch of her that wasn’t stiff or tender.

Clara glanced apologetically at her boss, giving Anya an urgent prod, hissing, ‘Mark is here. Wake up, honey!’

Blinking, her eyes adjusting to the light of the room, Anya hurried to sit up.

Taking some mild pleasure from panicking the girls into life, Mark patiently repeated his question. ‘As I was saying, you’ve never told Clara how you came to work at Parker Software, have you, Anya?’

‘You said I shouldn’t.’

Mark nodded, a smile playing at his lips. ‘And for once you obeyed me.’

Too tired to think about what she was saying, Anya replied, ‘I always obey you.’

Choosing to ignore his PA’s remark, Mark inclined his head toward Clara, who’d perched herself on the edge of her bed, wrapping her duvet about her to keep warm. ‘You were never curious, Clara?’

‘Of course I was, but Anya said she couldn’t say.’

‘Did you never consider why I insisted on her silence?’ Mark leant back against their bedroom door, his thumbs hooked into the waistband of his washed-out jeans.

Clara shook her head, answering simply, ‘We don’t talk about our lives before we came here.’

For a moment their employer said nothing, not revealing what he was thinking, that these girls never ceased to amaze him. He’d never told them how lucky he knew he was to have found them. That would have ruined the game, so he said, ‘Very wise, but I think the time has come to share a little of that information, Anya – but only a little.’

‘Really?’ Anya, moving gingerly, propped herself up on her pillows, her arms hugging her knees. ‘Don’t you want Clara to do your breakfast? And perhaps I should get up and work on those spreadsheets for the accountant?’

‘Your concern is touching, Anya, but now is the time to tell her. To tell Clara the story of how we met, right up to the minute you placed the advert for my new housekeeper.’ Mark crossed his arms over his white T-shirt. ‘I’m going to get properly dressed. You two may take a bath. Then, Clara, I would like you to tend to Anya’s bruises, and then both dress. You will report to my study in an hour.’ He pushed the door open. ‘I trust you understand me enough to know that you are not permitted to start your story until we are all together.’

Nodding in unison, the girls were grateful for an hour in which to wake up properly and dress. Once he’d gone, Anya opened her mouth to speak but, always the more cautious of the couple, Clara held up an anxious finger to silence her. She knew Mark. He might have been lingering behind the door. He might have activated one of the household webcams.

A few moments later, reassured that their boss had definitely gone, Clara dropped her finger, and helped Anya to her feet. Adjusting her attention to her lover’s wounds, Clara said, ‘These bruises won’t last, and there are no cuts; not even a graze. You can tell they’re all professionals at Discreet.’

‘What happened to you last night?’ Anya sucked in her breath as Clara soothed arnica onto her body.

‘I was payment to Claude in return for Mark using the main floor for his show. He had a few guests to impress.’

‘You OK though?’

‘’It was all a bit obvious really; candles, food and stuff. I’ve got a few wax stains, bit sore; nothing I can’t handle. You got the brunt of Fantasy 12.’

Moving away, searching through the chest of drawers next to her bed, Anya gathered together her office clothes. ‘I’m going to grab a shower.’

Clara grinned at her partner, but her smile died on her lips, quickly to be replaced by an expression of concern, ‘Perhaps that’ll mean Fantasy 13 will be harder on me?’

Anya turned back, and hugged her. ‘I think Fantasy 13 will be rough on us both. I have a feeling Mark will be pulling out all the stops. He’s waited long enough for this.’ Heading away from the bedroom to get washed, Anya added, ‘Why now, do you think?’

‘Why now, what?’ Following her partner into the spacious bathroom, Clara tilted her head, kissing Anya’s swollen lips lightly.

‘Why do I suddenly have to tell you about how I came here, to this life?’

‘You think it has something to do with the last item on the list?’

Anya brushed her own lips against Clara’s forehead. ‘I have no idea. I can’t see how it could, to be honest.’

Mark was behind his desk in his study, a mug of fresh, piping hot coffee in hand, when the knock on the door came. He snapped his open notebook closed, sat up straighter, and called, ‘Come in.’

He gestured toward the two leather seats in front of him, and the women sat, both crossing and re-crossing their stockinged legs, betraying their unease. They were only ever asked to sit down when they were about to hear something that would hurt, even when that something turned out to be physically worthwhile in the end.

‘I will fill in the boring background, Clara. Then, Anya, I’d like you to take over the story. You, after all, were the key player in that particular show.’ Pouring two extra cups of coffee, Mark passed them to his assistants, a considerate move that confused them both further. ‘So, it was almost six and a half months ago. I had been at a meeting at Bridge’s gentlemen’s club, trying to end my membership with them – and, more to the point, extract myself from my association with its antiquated attitudes. Anya –’ he gestured to the redhead fidgeting in her chair ‘– was working there as the sports and social secretary’s administrative assistant. A job in which she was totally wasted.’

A blush crossed Anya’s face, and despite the lingering ache that throbbed through her, she felt a warm glow. Mark had never praised her work before.

‘Anya was taking the minutes of a meeting of the club’s cricket team. There was a major match coming up if I remember rightly, and the Bridge’s manager had his sights firmly set on winning it. So much so that he decided an additional incentive was to be awarded along with the trophy, should his team win. I should also point out –’ Mark directed his attention to Clara ‘– that Bridge’s conditions of employment are not that dissimilar to my own, but without the luxury of choice. In other words, Anya had no idea that sexual services would be called upon alongside her excellent ability to type.’

Clara’s mouth fell open as she realised what Mark meant, but as she turned to question Anya, Mark shook his head. ‘No, not yet. You’ll have your chance to comment after your colleague has told her story. Anya, please take up the story. You needn’t go into all the details that occurred prior to you entering the study that day, just go from when you walked through the door, and tell Clara everything that happened.’

Shifting uncomfortably in her seat, Anya, looked at Clara apologetically, mentally counted to ten, and began.

‘I hadn’t been with the club long, and on that day I had been sent to Bridge’s main study by my immediate superior, Ms Hill, to take notes. Well, that was what I was told I was going to have to do. When I went in, the meeting had already started, and the manager, Dr Sparrow, was furious with me for interrupting. Ms Hill had set me up.

‘Anyway, Craig, the captain of the cricket team, was arguing with Dr Sparrow.’ Anya paused, and gestured toward her current boss. ‘Mark was sitting in the corner. I was sure he was there under sufferance.

‘Dr Sparrow’s face flushed angrily when he saw me. I’ll never forget his derogatory tone when he spoke. He pretty much snarled at me. “Miss Hooper. We are having a team talk. Perhaps Ms Hill did not explain to you that we asked
not
be interrupted.”

‘I stood there like an idiot, not sure what to do. Meanwhile, the team captain, Craig, totally ignored my presence and continued his argument. He went on and on about how Sparrow “couldn’t change the goal posts now”, before he was stopped in mid-flow by Dr Sparrow. I remember feeling as if a hundred eyes were fixed on me. Each team member appeared hostile, searching and hungry. All except for Mark. He just stared at me with open curiosity.’

Anya paused, licking her lips. She knew Clara would want more information, more details, so, after gaining permission from her boss, she continued, ‘Dr Sparrow was short, with a waistcoat under his suit, and small half-moon glasses that made him look like a retired banker. But it was Craig who was the centre of attention in the room. Pure lust radiated from his face. I felt as if he was silently screaming at me, “I will be in your knickers and have you begging before the day is out.” He was one of those men who is incredibly handsome, and is very well aware of the fact. A peacock; all perfect red hair, green eyes, and muscles. Too arrogant to be appealing, but at the same time hypnotic, and you just knew he’d be able to give you a good time, even though it was easier to hate him than like him.

‘I wanted to escape from the hostile atmosphere, so I simply said sorry, and retreated from the room as quickly as possible. As I shut the door behind me I heard Dr Sparrow say, “A punishment due there already, and for Ms Hill too; she should have explained the situation fully. Volunteers?”

‘Every fibre in my body told me to get out of there. Yet something stopped me running. As I said –’ Anya paused again, face flushed, feeling more uncomfortable in her confession than she had the previous night, when she was being fucked by a group of strangers ‘– there was something dangerous but very tempting about Craig. The way he always stared at me with open desire seemed to have seared itself onto my brain. I couldn’t help it; my nipples hardened at the thought of him. As I hurried back along the corridor to explain our mistake to Ms Hill, I could see Craig in my mind’s eye kissing my tits, his tongue moving over my breasts, teasing my teats.’

Lowering her eyes to her lap, watching her own hands as they clasped together in her lap, Anya went on, ‘I was really worried about what would happen when I told Ms Hill. All I could think about was what punishment I was due. I kept telling myself that the worst they could do was embarrass me with a telling off, but my imagination was simply running away with me. I’d heard so many exotically sexual tales about what that team got up to, and what happened at Bridge’s after I’d finished work for the day that I became more worried by the second. Until then I had dismissed them as jealous gossip from those who couldn’t afford to join the club in the first place.