by Ian Smith
After a few minutes Tyler put down the whip and the music was turned off. Rosie gratefully came to a halt, her flesh stinging in a number of places.
“I think that’s enough foreplay,” Tyler Mason said. “All right, gentlemen, I’m afraid it’s one girl between two. I’m sure they can all cope with two at once, but let me know if you feel that yours didn’t give you total satisfaction and I’ll birch the hide off them.”
Jefferson Peters immediately grasped Rosie’s wrist. He lay down on his back so that his big, thick manhood jutted proudly up into the air. Rosie knelt astride him and slowly lowered herself down, looking frantically around for the other man she had to service at the same time. It was Bassett. She was already lifting herself up and down, humping the police chief; leaning forwards so her head was not bobbing up and down so much, she took Bassett’s cock into her mouth. He had bossed her around the house since her arrival here a month or so ago and occasionally he had spanked her, but this was the first time she had been made to have sex with him. Her thigh muscles worked hard as she screwed Jefferson Williams’ prick and her tongue began to work on Bassett’s older but still rigid member. She felt the hands of the man underneath her grasp her cheeks, his fingers digging in painfully in as he began to dictate the pace of her thrusts on him, whilst Bassett’s bony fingers equally painfully grabbed her bare boobs, mauling them roughly. Out of the corner of her eye she could see Charlotte, on her back with legs wide apart and Phillip Saunders between her spread thighs, whilst she too took another man, Freddie Mason in her case, in her mouth. Meanwhile Cassandra was on all fours whilst Donald Peters thrust his way into her vagina from beneath her and Tyler Mason cruelly buggered her from behind.
Bassett came first, and Rosie’s throat worked frantically as she swallowed his salty outpourings. As he withdrew, she was able to focus her attention a little more on Jefferson Williams, her hands caressing his chest as his thrusts became stronger. Suddenly he rolled her over so that he was on top and between her legs and the helpless teenager felt him go off inside her as she tried to hide her misery and revulsion.
The last man to come was Tyler Mason. The men began to gather their clothes whilst the three girls were dismissed so that they could shower before helping to prepare the evening meal. All three were tired and sore, with Cassandra moving particularly stiffly. Even so, the day was not yet over and night rarely brought much relief either.
Flashback Seven
Rosie could still recall vividly the first time she had met Tyler Mason. He was brought into the virgins’ room by one of the sales assistants, a glamorous young woman in a low cut top and miniskirt which still left her far more covered up than the girls she was trying to sell. Rosie and the others scrambled to their feet, as they had been told to do each time a customer came by. Rosie brushed a little straw self-consciously off her flanks and tried to look unconcerned by her nudity. It wasn’t possible. She looked at the latest customer. In the day or so she had been here, over a dozen men had come by and each had pawed her and felt her boobs. It was incredibly demeaning. The other girls had been similarly inspected and two of them had been sold. Another new girl had replaced one of them, her innocence also protected by a chastity belt.
All of these men had looked dominant and frightening, but this man exuded power and authority. He scared Rosie. She had a funny, nervous feeling in the pit of her stomach that he would be the one.
He had a good look at the other brunette on sale and then came to Rosie. He walked around her, thoughtfully regarding her. When his hand reached out to feel the firmness of her breast, Rosie shivered but tried not to back away. The assistant gave him her age and measurements as he regarded her, as well as the price.
Rosie did not want to be sold, but she knew it would happen sooner or later and her nerves just wanted to get it over with. She did not want to lose her virginity, but again she knew it would be forced on her and she just wanted to get on with it. This man was scary, but the others had all been equally unpleasant in their own ways. Rosie found herself not knowing what was best.
“What is your name, girl?” the man said in a tone used to obedience.
“Slave Rosie V419,” she croaked nervously.
“Hmm. Are you a good slave?”
“I don’t know, Master,” Rosie said, tears welling in her eyes. “I’ll try my best.”
He studied the shop’s brochure. Rosie had gathered that there were details on each slave, their nationality, known background, how the training had gone. He looked at her again, studying her youthful figure. The chastity belt hid very little. He came to an abrupt decision and turned to the assistant.
“I’ll take her.”
Rosie nearly fainted with fear. The assistant unlocked and detached her chain from the wall and led her by it out into the foyer. Rosie’s bare legs trembled as she walked unsteadily. She watched as the key to her chastity belt was handed over and the young man on the computer till printed out the document that would confirm this man - Mr. Mason, the assistant had called him - to be her legal owner. Tonight, in all probability, he would unlock her chastity belt and give her her first, unwanted experience of sex. And she would let him, because she didn’t dare risk punishment for disobedience. Her life of slavery was about to begin.
Chapter Eight
Donald Peters and Jefferson Williams were both late for the evening meal, having disappeared for a while. They sat down apologetically at the large dining room table where everybody else was already finishing off the soup.
“I’m afraid it’s minestrone rather than tomato soup tonight,” Tyler Mason said to Donald Peters. “I hope that doesn’t interfere with your investigation, since you were so excited last night about tomatoes.” His fishing for clues led to puzzled frowns from others.
“No problem, Sir,” said Donald Peters effusively as he sampled his soup, “and may I say it is delicious. Your hospitality has been most kind.”
“I trust that in return you will eventually be able to shed some light on the events of last night but one,” Tyler said but Donald again did not rise to the bait, so he went on smoothly: “talking of hospitality, I hope that you enjoyed our little session with the slaves this afternoon.”
The discussion turned to the relative sexual merits of the three girls, which was hugely embarrassing for Rosie who stood there, as usual with her tits hanging out of the front of her uniform and her bottom bare and vulnerable. Charlotte and Cassandra also stood on hand, equally exposed, only slightly less red-faced than Rosie as their most intimate secrets were aired in public. Jefferson Williams described Rosie’s vagina as ‘delightfully tight and warm’, whilst Freddie Mason claimed (fairly) the credit for teaching her oral sex. It was an effort for Rosie to stop herself running from the room in shame; she managed to even not cover her face, although she could do nothing about her furious blushing. Not to be outdone, Joanne Mason loudly commended Slave Ashley on the size of his manhood and his athleticism, stamina and control, giving just the slightest impression that it compared most favourably to her husband’s. Only Elizabeth Mason and Doctor Steven Chase remained discreet, although they did admit to having had a ‘wonderful afternoon’.
When the meal ended, Jefferson Williams insisted that everybody made their way to the lounge. The whole household were there: Tyler Mason, his wife Joanne, Freddie Mason, Elizabeth Mason and Steven Chase, Phillip Saunders, Donald Peters and Jefferson Williams, Bassett and all five slaves: the four girls, Rosie, Charlotte, Cassandra and Cora, and Ashley. The slaves and Bassett stood whilst everybody else took comfortable seats. All eyes were on Donald Peters, who seemed oblivious and totally relaxed. At Bassett’s quiet instruction, the slave girls served drinks.
“Well, get on with it,” Freddie Mason said impatiently. “If you know who killed Edward Harris and how it was done, let’s hear it.”
“Do you know?” Elizabeth Mason asked.
“Well,
I have a few ideas,” said Donald Peters rather vaguely. “As you say, there is the question who and also the question how, but also the question why. Don’t forget that question: why was Edward Harris killed?”
“I thought we all decided it was a lunatic,” Phillip Saunders stated. “After all, nobody really even knew the poor man.”
“True,” replied Donald Peters, “but this killing was far from just being random and senseless. It was too intricate, too well prepared. Somebody had a motive for it.”
Tension spread around the room. Donald Peters seemed to want to say no more.
“What motive, and who?” Tyler Mason’s voice was tight.
“Ah, that’s the problem,” Donald Peters said. “Finding out what the motive was is harder. I’m merely saying that this murderer had a very good reason for wanting Edward Harris dead.”
“I don’t believe that you have any idea at all,” commented Steven Chase acidly. “I think you are merely fishing, and we are wasting our time here. If you haven’t got anything to tell us, I see no reason to continue this little charade.” He went to get up.
“Please, Doctor Chase and everybody else, remain seated and patient,” Jefferson William’s said with quiet restraint. The slaves and Bassett, who were standing, were ignored. For once Rosie could forget her exposed boobs and bum and her terrible vulnerability: her eyes were fixed on Donald Peters, who took centre stage once more as Steven Chase settled irritably back into his seat. Rosie looked around the room. In the last three weeks, as a new slave she had learnt to be frightened of these people, of their power over her and their cruelty; but right now she was even more frightened of them, because one of them was a murderer.
“Well now,” said Donald Peters, “let’s look at how the murder was done. You have a man in a locked room, the only door watched by half a dozen people, no secret passages or any tomfoolery like that, no other way in or out. He is killed with a poison that must get into the bloodstream, and so must enter through a hole or puncture in the skin: so he must be stabbed, or injected, or pricked or something like that and yet we find no single puncture in his entire outer skin. There is the puzzle.” All this, it was later shown, was true.
“And you, I think, have no more idea than the rest of us how that could have been done,” concluded Tyler Mason sharply.
“Oh, I can show you several methods. For example, here is one device the Borgias used centuries ago.” He produced a little antique box. “Doctor Chase, would you do me a favour? Please examine the contents of this box and give your professional opinion.”
Steven Chase took the box from Donald Peters. It looked like a cheap present box. “Is this the one I understand you found last night?” he asked.
“No, it comes from a museum.” He named a city around a hundred miles away. “The curator is an old friend of mine and when I contacted him rather late last night - I fear I woke him up - he agreed to send it here by courier.”
“Why ask me?” Chase asked. “I’m no antique expert.”
“I’d like your medical opinion on what is inside.” Steven tried to open the lid. “It may be a little stiff,” added Donald quietly.
“It is very stiff,” replied the doctor. “But I think I can just about ... ow!”
“Yes, you see that is what is meant to happen,” Donald explained. “You can’t open the lid more than a crack, so you put a fingernail underneath to lever it open. A little needle shoots out and the poison under the nail trick works once again. Don’t worry, doctor: it’s clean. We were very careful.”
“I should have appreciated,” Chase said pompously, sucking his finger, “if you had demonstrated it on yourself instead.”
“Well, we needed someone who didn’t know the trick to clearly show that it works. But as I say, we cleaned it. There wasn’t any poison there to start off with, but just to be sure we used some alcohol on it. Actually, specifically, we used some brandy we found in a flask in your room, doctor ... why, whatever is the matter?”
Chase had lurched to his feet, a look of horror on his face. “You’ve poisoned me ... you devil,” he gasped.
“Are you sure?” asked Donald mildly. “Can you feel the effects of the curare yet?”
Chase was struggling for breath. “I’ll take you with me!” he snarled, and lunged towards Donald.
Jefferson Winters smoothly inserted himself into the physician’s path. “Please control yourself, doctor,” he ordered firmly.
“And,” Donald Peters added, “once you do so you’ll realise that you’re not suffering from anything except fear. Not that I blame you for being frightened, because you know as well as I do that it was that brandy, laced with curare that you used to kill Edward Harris.”
Joanne Mason came quietly into the room. The room’s occupants - Tyler Mason, Freddie Mason, Phillip Saunders, Jeff Williams, Donald Peters and Slave Rosie - all looked enquiringly at her. The other slaves had been dismissed to other duties, Rosie remaining on standby duty. Doctor Steven Chase had been taken in handcuffs to the police cells.
“Elizabeth is tucked up in bed,” Joanne answered their unspoken questions. “I’ve left Slave Ashley with her, just as a comfort. He’s actually doing quite a good job of soothing her.”
“That was quite a turn she had,” Freddie said, unusually soberly for him.
“She does genuinely love Steven,” replied his sister-in-law. “I think, Mr. Peters, that you had better tell us everything.”
There was a chorus of agreement. Rosie also concurred, although she remained silent, of course. She was only a slave, on duty as their attendant; but for once she was grateful that it was her turn to be present in case they wanted anything.
Apart from Rosie, who remained standing discretely in the background, everybody settled down. Donald Peters began to talk.
“My very good friend Jeff here, who is an excellent police officer, will tell you that the solving of any murder starts with examining the three ‘M’s: means, method and motive. The method, of course, looked extremely baffling at the start, with the locked room and so on. Most people fixated so much on that problem that they ignored the other two issues, particularly the means. But that was the first thing that struck me. That is, how did the murderer obtain the poison? Curare is not a common substance. I asked myself who might be able to obtain such a chemical and concluded that people in the medical profession would be best placed, so that meant Dr. Steven Chase or Mr. Phillip Saunders. That did not entirely rule out anybody else but it would be easier for them. For now, I would just file that thought away.
“I freely confess that I could not see how the trick was done, so my next thought was about motive. Of course, that seemed a complete dead end as well. Nobody knew Edward Harris, he had no money, no position; indeed, he was a complete non-entity. Why should anybody want to kill him? I couldn’t see any reason. So, second possibility: was he killed by mistake because the murderer expected somebody else to be there? Again, no: everybody knew that Harris, and nobody else, would be in that room. Dead-end again. Then I had another idea: what if Harris’s death was for another purpose, just a means to an end? That was more promising. Tyler Mason is known to be extremely wealthy, so what if he is the ultimate intended victim? Just suppose that Harris’s death could be pinned on him? It was a tenuous line of thought, but I hadn’t got much else at that stage, so I decided to see where it took me. If Tyler Mason is convicted of murder, he would be enslaved for life and the family fortune passes on to his inheritors. Now, what suspects does that bring into the frame? Well, his wife, his brother and his sister, obviously.”
“Hey now, hang on a moment,” protested Freddie.
“It was just a logical premise,” Donald Peters said hurriedly. “But none of those three would find it easy to get curare. On the other hand, widen the net just slightly and you can add Elizabeth’s fiancé, who as we have all seen, tended to
dominate her somewhat. He would benefit, through her, if she came into a large amount of money. His name has now come up both in means and motive, the only one to figure in both, scarcely conclusive, but just interesting enough that I wanted to keep a close eye on the good doctor. Now, just suppose he wants to kill Edward Harris and frame Tyler Mason, how does he do it? And as I pondered this, little things started to fit together.
“The charade with the locked, haunted room is at first childish stupidity to him. Then he sees a chance. With considerable subtlety, Steven Chase promotes the idea of the poison trap. The first victim of the room had died of a heart attack, quite innocently: it was probably Steven Chase, perhaps through Elizabeth, who slowly begins to push the idea that it was not a natural death and also embellishes the vague and untrue ideas that others have died in there in mysterious circumstances. Perhaps he did this a few days before the murder?” One or two heads nodded, recalling minor things. “At this stage I didn’t know when the idea came to him, or when the thing developed which enabled him to pull off what seemed an impossible murder.”
“Which was what?” Jeff asked impatiently.
“I’ll come to that in a while. I’m showing you things as they came to me. Now, why would he create an impossible murder? He doesn’t want it to be seen as impossible: quite the opposite, he wants to lay a trail right to our host’s door. So something, evidently, went wrong.
