Captivation

by Sarah Fisher

  As he turned away from the gorgeous scene he noticed a flicker of movement from the corner of his eye, and realised that he hadn’t dismissed his houseboy; he’d been so intent on Alex that he’d forgotten the boy was there.

  A thoughtful and mischievous smile slowly lifted the corners of his mouth. He moved smoothly back to where Alex lay quietly panting, shook loose a crisply starched napkin, and blindfolded her with it, whispering assurances as he worked.

  When satisfied that she could see nothing, he nodded towards the shadows, his gesture an explicit invitation. The boy’s bright eyes stared back at him, unconvinced.

  Tourne waved him closer and whispered in Greek, ‘Do what you want with her. Whatever you like. While she is on this table she is yours.’

  Alex lifted her head from the table and strained to hear. ‘Mr Tourne, what are you doing?’ she asked timidly. ‘Is somebody with you?’

  ‘Sssshhh my dear. Of course not - it’s only me here. You look so wonderful, well, I don’t think I can resist you after all. It would be such a waste...’

  The boy still looked a little uncertain, but bowed his respectful gratitude. His face was an amusing mixture of anxiety and enthusiasm as he dragged his thin cotton shirt off. Watching him, Peter Tourne realised the boy was barely out of puberty - seventeen or eighteen at the most. Underneath his shirt he was as willowy as a reed, with a straggling triangle of dark hair that extended from between his nipples on his undeveloped chest to the waistband of his drawstring trousers.

  Peter Tourne watched the boy gazing longingly down, clearly unable to believe his luck at the beautiful English girl spread before him. He smiled with amusement at the youthful erection that strained and threatened to split the front of his trousers. Of course, the lad had seen everything that had gone before, and it would be impossible for him not to be excited. His anticipation and excitement were as tangible as Alex’s.

  As Peter Tourne watched like a teacher monitoring the capabilities of his favourite student, the boy’s hands worked clumsily down over Alex’s slim hips. He slipped the candle out, replacing it first with his finger, and then his tongue. At first his caresses were experimental and tentative, as if he expected his employer to call his explorations to a halt at any time. As he slowly realised this wasn’t going to happen, he grew more confident, and began to relax and enjoy himself. Tourne warmed to the boy’s clumsy eagerness and tried to remember his name, but nothing formed in his mind.

  Much to his delight, the boy grew more rough with poor Alex as he grew more confident, although his abrasive fumbling came about more through ignorance than design. He turned Alex this way and that, exploring every inch of her vulnerability as if she was a new toy.

  The surprised confusion was etched on Alex’s face; these were not the ministrations of one so experienced and refined as her host and patron. ‘Mr Tourne...’ her whisper was barely audible above the eager sucking of the boy. ‘Mr Tourne... please.’

  ‘Sssshhh...’ Peter Tourne soothed again, and Alex moaned and stiffened as the boy accidentally found the spot.

  Peter Tourne doubted the boy had ever had a woman before, and if he had it had never been like this. Perhaps the boy had shared some guilty fumbling with a village girl in a dark alley, but certainly never had he had one totally at his mercy - his to command. Tourne grinned, imagining the houseboy having his face slapped by a peasant girl as their wills clashed over what part of her he might be allowed to touch or kiss. With Alex he would have no such trouble - she had relinquished herself completely to their control. The boy groaned hungrily, biting and nipping with his sharp white teeth at the soft places between her thighs. She squirmed and twisted exquisitely from side to side, moaning and rolling her head as his explorations grew more and more urgent.

  Suddenly he pulled away, eyes alight as his hands continued to nip and squeeze at her submissive flesh. His lips were glossy with her pleasure. He scrambled up onto the table. He straddled her waist, jerked down his trousers, and lay his bursting cock into Alex’s perspiring cleavage. He cupped and moulded her breasts around his erection, and thrust his narrow hips ever more urgently, until with an excited shudder he ejaculated over her throat and breasts. His seed exploded over her like an arc of milky stars.

  Peter Tourne smiled, thinking that the impromptu exhibition was over, and then realised he was wrong.

  The boy, sweating heavily, crouched lower, his cock still jutting forward and glistening with his own juices. He began to lap hungrily at Alex’s face and throat, and then sucked and chewed her budding, sperm-coated nipples. Easing himself further down the table his fingers returned to her sex and, pushing her fingers aside, he began to drag and paw at her clitoris.

  Alex groaned softly, relinquishing her body to the unseen stimulations. The boy grinned as she continued to writhe under his touch. His attentions turned to the candle which still lay between her legs on the table. He picked it up and buried it into her with one smooth movement. Alex whimpered, and her whole body convulsed. Her back arched and lifted from the table as the boy’s fingers returned to her pleasure bud. His tongue lapped and circled the pierced peaks of her breasts. Peter could sense her impending orgasm and was stunned that the boy could put on such a spectacular show.

  Alex expelled a long low mewl of utter pleasure and slumped motionless on the expensive tabletop. The boy finally collapsed onto her exhausted body, and lay with his contented face between her magnificent breasts. After a few minutes, suddenly remembering where he was, he quickly scrambled to his feet, and dragged his trousers up to hide his withering embarrassment from his employer’s perceptive gaze.

  Glancing furtively at the man by his side, the boy blushed furiously. Peter Tourne shook his head and mimed a show of applause.

  ‘You’ve done very well,’ he whispered. ‘What’s your name?’

  The boy’s colour intensified. ‘Raymond, Sir,’ he stammered, unable to meet his elder’s eye.

  Peter Tourne nodded. ‘Good. Fetch some fresh coffee, Raymond. I’ll be out on the terrace. You may tidy up in here later.’

  The boy nodded and hurried away.

  When they were alone Peter Tourne looked down victoriously at Alex.

  ‘Get up. Come here,’ he said in a low, even voice. Alex slithered from the table, her body slick with sweat and the remains of the boys’ excesses. The candle was still buried inside her. Her face was flushed.

  Peter Tourne ran his hands over her breasts and then down to her belly, his fingers fixing tight on the slippery wax. She gasped as he pulled it free. Slowly he trailed the wet shaft over her breasts where her soft flesh was still smeared with the boy’s glistening seed and saliva.

  ‘Tell me Alex, whose game are we playing?’ he asked, catching hold of her chin and tilting her face up towards him. ‘Whose rules do we abide by?’

  Her eyes were glassy. ‘Yours, Mr Tourne,’ she murmured.

  ‘Good. You have to understand that above all else.’ He rolled the candle thoughtfully between his fingers and then ran it across her lips. She shuddered. Her carmine lipstick left a smear on the white shaft.

  ‘Open your mouth,’ he whispered.

  Alex swallowed hard, quite obviously fighting her revulsion, but slowly her lips parted and he drew the candle back again. This time her tongue, moist and pink, trailed along the glistening cylinder. He angled it and pushed the tip against her pouting lips. They peeled open, and he slowly but firmly fed the inanimate object into her hot wet mouth before turning to pull the bell that would summon Mario.

  Alex open her eyes and stared at him with a mixture of arousal and surprise as the candle was slipped from her mouth. It was obvious he was dismissing her.

  ‘But, I thought - ’

  Her host’s face hardened. ‘I have already told you - you are not expected to think, or to talk. Is it so hard for you to understand?’

 
Alex looked down at the floor. Because he’d invited her to join him for dinner she’d assumed her reward would be to make love to him. Certainly she had not expected to be abused by him as she had been on the table, or to be manhandled again by his servant. She wondered if he would punish her now for her disobedience - but to her regret he turned away. Such exquisite torture, she thought miserably.

  Mario opened the door. His boss didn’t even speak. Mario had the lead in his hand and Alex knew then that whatever attentions were to be metered out it wouldn’t be Peter Tourne who provided them. She shivered; Mario’s expression suggested he’d been waiting for this moment. Alex looked desperately at her host as he casually dismissed them both with a wave of his hand and then headed out towards the terrace.

  Mario clipped the lead back onto her collar and gave it a sharp tug to let her know that he was now back in control. Alex nibbled her lip anxiously.

  The driver rubbed the back of his hand across his wet lips and then greedily stroked one of Alex’s breasts. He grinned and jerked the lead again. This time Alex followed him - she had no choice. Glancing back just as Mario led her through the door, she saw Peter Tourne out on the moonlit terrace - he was staring out to sea, oblivious now of her presence.

  Chapter 7

  After that night with the houseboy, days at the villa KaRoche began to take on a regular pattern for Alex. Each morning Mario would unchain her and lead her out from her cell to the long gallery beside the pool, where she would work on the mural. At first Alex thought it would be impossible to paint under such circumstances, but soon discovered creating the mural was the only vestige of normality that remained, like a touchstone, in her new and strange life.

  The way she was dressed was dependent upon Mario’s lecherous whims. Sometimes he left her naked, other times he dressed her as a peasant in cotton blouse and skirt, or sometimes he strapped her into a tight leather concoction.

  In the heat of the afternoons she was allowed to rest, chained back in her cell. The hours of siesta were always fitful and uneasy; if Mario was not required to drive his boss anywhere or had no other work in the villa he would visit her. Sometimes his visits were purely for sexual relief, on others, if the day had gone badly, he came to take his frustration out on her body with a whip or a leather belt. She dreaded the sound of his footsteps outside the cell door.

  In the evening Mario and the housekeeper would appear to dress her for Peter Tourne’s pleasure. She would be perfumed and painted, and then dressed according to his instructions; sometimes in exotic ball gowns, sometimes in an elegant evening dress - most often though it seemed he preferred her in a boned leather basque or corsets, her features obscured by a masquerade mask.

  Upstairs in the dining room Tourne would feed her by hand as she knelt at his feet. On some nights he required nothing more than her silent companionship. On others she was expected to exchange social niceties or embark on long conversations about art or literature. Part of the game he played with her was that she was supposed to guess which it was he required. If she made a mistake and was unable to guess, her punishment was to be handed over to the houseboy, whose taste for oral sex and ejaculating on her exposed flesh seemed endless. As Tourne ate his dinner she was always aware of the boy waiting eagerly in the shadows - waiting for his turn to make use of her body. Whenever Tourne beckoned the boy over his youthful eyes would sparkle intensely. Alex had felt totally humiliated when she’d learned the truth about that first night on the table, and the humiliation lessened little with each subsequent occasion she was given to the boy. Peter Tourne always preferred his servant to make love to her - if that was indeed what it was - on the table, so that he could enjoy their exhibition. Sometimes he would offer words of encouragement to the youth, guiding him and educating him in the ways of taking her. When the youth had had his fill Tourne would wave them both away and Mario would take her back to the cell to begin the ordeal afresh.

  Though it seemed impossible, Alex began to settle down to the peculiar rhythm of life at the villa KaRoche. Within a fortnight her life in London was but a distant memory, and all the while the mural, the finest thing she had ever painted, took shape along the gallery walls, recording forever a coded warning of the events that had overtaken her at the villa.

  Her plan for escape rapidly became a dream to sustain her in the long dark nights, chained to the bed, waiting for a footfall in the corridor that would announce one of Mario’s late night visits.

  Starn didn’t reappear at the villa for some time. At first she thought it was Tourne’s way of punishing him for trying to take advantage of her while she’d been painting in the gallery, but overhearing a telephone conversation while she was at dinner with her host, she realised that it was because Starn and Gena were away on a business trip in London. Knowing that Starn was staying in the city in which she lived made her wistful. Would she ever be allowed to go back to the life she had known?

  As the days passed, it was obvious to Alex that the elderly housekeeper couldn’t have rung her agent, Laurence. If the old woman had done as she’d asked, Laurence would surely have come to rescue her by now.

  Sitting at Peter Tourne’s feet in the dining room one night she wondered fleetingly if Laurence had contacted him since that first phone call. Normally she would have expected her agent to have rung her at least once or twice a week while she was working on a commission, to see how the work was progressing. It seemed that nothing at KaRoche was as normal. She wondered what excuse Tourne had cooked up to explain why she never came to the phone.

  ‘You seem distracted this evening, my dear,’ he said, running his hand down over the curve of her shoulder.

  Alex blushed and looked up. ‘I’m sorry,’ she whispered.

  Tonight she was dressed in an elegant white shift dress and high gold sandals. Under different circumstances she might easily have passed for a society beauty dining with her lover.

  Tourne smiled indulgently. ‘I went to see how the mural was progressing this afternoon. It’s very good. I am extremely pleased with what you’ve created for me.’

  Alex nodded; she’d learnt it wasn’t wise to be too forthcoming. He got to his feet and poured them both a glass of wine.

  ‘How much longer do you think it will be before it’s finished?’

  Alex stiffened; finishing the mural was something she hadn’t given too much thought. When the mural was complete would he let her go home, or would he sell her on as Starn Fettico had predicted? She glanced up at him, trying to suppress the strange mix of hope and fear that formed in her belly. His expression revealed nothing.

  ‘A few more days,’ she said carefully. ‘Perhaps a week, at the most.’

  ‘Good,’ he said. ‘Starn and Gena are due back from England tomorrow. I intend giving a dinner party to welcome them.’

  Alex wondered whether he meant to include her too, but decided to say nothing.

  He turned his glass thoughtfully in his fingers. Alex couldn’t help but notice the houseboy hovering hopefully in the shadows. He was watching her with interest, his stare burning with intensity. As their eyes met he licked his lips and lewdly rubbed the already considerable swelling in his trousers. Alex shivered. She knew he was hoping she would make some small mistake that would fire his employer’s displeasure.

  As she turned away she realised to her horror that Peter Tourne had been speaking ‘...We’ve been friends for years. Like you he is English. I’ll be interested to see what he makes of your progress.’

  Alex struggled desperately to reconstruct the words she hadn’t paid any attention to, but fortunately her host didn’t seem to have noticed her rude lapse of concentration. He beckoned to her.

  ‘Now, stand up, my dear. I’d just like to assess your progress.’

  She did as he asked without thinking.

  ‘Good. Take off your dress.’

  Alex reached round to f
ind the zip. He shook his head in exasperation and clicked his fingers toward the houseboy. ‘Help her with the dress.’

  Alex felt the youth’s hands on her back his breath was warm and moist on her skin. Was Peter Tourne giving her to this enthusiastic but clumsy boy yet again? What had she done wrong? The boy struggled to unfasten the zip and then pulled the thin fabric down off her shoulders. The delicate dress slithered to the floor like liquid. Beneath it Alex was naked. The boy didn’t move away - Alex could almost feel his excitement scorching her bare flesh.

  Peter Tourne studied her beauty thoughtfully. ‘Turn around,’ he instructed her with quiet confidence.

  As Alex obeyed she lowered her gaze to the floor; she couldn’t bear to witness her own humiliation in the victorious expression of the young lad. She knew he was taking advantage of her closeness to drink in every inch of her nakedness.

  Tourne murmured his approval. ‘The bruises have gone,’ he said, almost to himself. ‘And there are no weal marks. Good. I’m sure you’ll meet with Simon’s approval.’

  Alex completed her slow turn. As her compliance had grown Mario had been less vehement in his beatings. She’d quickly learnt, however repellent his desires, it was far better to do as she was told than risk his fury. As a result, he’d been less quick to use the whip or belt on her.

  Tourne leaned forward in his chair, and then began a more thorough examination of her. It seemed he was particularly interested in the rings that pierced her nipples and the studs that pierced her labia. Though far from healed, they were no longer sore or inflamed.

  ‘They’ve taken very well,’ he murmured as he ran a finger over them. Alex shivered - the nipple rings in particular made her feel totally vulnerable. ‘You are very nearly ready, my dear.’

  Alex’s mind raced. Ready? Ready for what?

  ‘My dear friend Simon has expressed an interest in you. He will be here tomorrow night, and then, when the mural is complete, and if he thinks you are suitable, you will join his stable for auction.’