Captivation

by Sarah Fisher

  Alex’s stomach churned sharply while her urbane host turned her to the left and to the right, holding her at arms length, making a cold appraisal of what he saw as though he were an antiques dealer assessing a fine piece of porcelain.

  He continued: ‘I’ll make certain Mario doesn’t mark you before tomorrow tonight. Simon isn’t very keen on bruised fruit. You’re a little small for his tastes - but beautifully proportioned, and so, so succulent.’ He cupped and squeezed her breasts as if he were weighing apples. She blushed. He stroked her belly with a flat palm, and then slid a hand down between her thighs. A single finger probed and then opened her sex. ‘And still nice and tight here,’ he continued his commentary, ‘that’s good.’ He moved his attention to the studs that nestle in the plump outer lips of her quim. There was no emotion in his touch; it was simply a cold assessment of her flesh. ‘I’ll change these for my family mark once Simon has given his approval. Turn around again, and bend over.’

  Alex flushed crimson. The houseboy, as if anticipating his master’s requirements, gripped her shoulders to support and ease her forward until her face was almost level with his groin. She could make out the clear swelling before her eyes, and despite herself she was gripped by an almost overwhelming desire to open his trousers and swallow the young cock deep into her throat. Her mouth was parched. It wasn’t the houseboy that interested her - it was the near virginal erection hidden within that stretched material.

  Suddenly she gasped, and her attention was drawn to Peter Tourne’s exploratory fingers. He spread the cheeks of her bottom and ran an inquisitive finger over her anus. Alex shivered; it was the focus Mario’s particular pleasure, and the memories of the driver plunging into those most secret places of her body made her stomach churn anew.

  She felt something cold and oily trickle down the crease of her backside, and then felt a rush of humiliation as he worked a finger into the tight and dark closure. Her whole body tensed. Tourne grunted as he tried to breach the tight band of muscle.

  ‘Still very tight here too. Relax and pant, my dear, I need to get inside you.’

  Alex felt the houseboy’s hands tighten on her shoulders. Her shame excited him even more. She gasped as the finger pressed insistently at her entrance. She struggled to control her breathing, so that the tense band of muscle would relax and allow him entry without causing her unnecessary discomfort. Suddenly she emitted a long low groan as she opened and the digit slid home.

  Without warning the finger left her as quickly as it had violated her, and the satisfied Peter Tourne moved away, leaving Alex feeling embarrassed and exposed. She was about to straighten up when his voice stopped her.

  ‘Don’t move. Stay as you are.’

  Alex took a deep breath, wondering what would follow. It didn’t take long for the answer to arrive. From the corner of her eye she watched Peter Tourne cross the room and open the door. Mario was already waiting outside. He grinned salaciously when he saw Alex bent over, supported by the houseboy.

  Peter Tourne told his driver to enter, and then settled himself in a comfortable armchair. Alex couldn’t understand what was said between the two men, but she guessed that her host intended to observe and enjoy whatever was to follow. She watched him top up his brandy balloon from the drinks trolley by his side, and then wait for the show to begin.

  Between them, Mario and the houseboy manhandled Alex over to a stool and lay her across it. The corpulent driver knelt behind her, and the houseboy unleashed his raging virility.

  A charming little ménage à trois, thought Peter Tourne with pleasure. He knew that if he indulged Mario’s lusts now it would help ensure Alex arrived at tomorrow night’s dinner party unmarked.

  Mario grinned lustily down at the houseboy’s youthful cock, closed his fingers around it with surprising tenderness for such a big man, cupped and raised Alex’s chin with his free hand, and fed the straining erection into her mouth. The boy gasped with delight and threw back his head. Mario undid his young accomplice’s shirt. His thick fingers worked at his plump purple nipples. He leant forward and planted a delicate kiss on each, his tongue working around the buds.

  Peter Tourne wasn’t repulsed by the display of affection between the two males; he was enchanted; he had never observed this side of his driver’s nature before. If indeed Mario did prefer the muscular charms of the peasant boy it would explain his preference for buggery.

  Alex’s delicate English rosebud mouth closed around the houseboy’s shaft. Her red lips were stretched, and her eyes were shut tight. Mario shuffled behind her, struggled to free his own bursting cock, and then buried himself to the hilt in her unprotected quim. Crouched between them she was rapidly becoming just a vessel for their mutual desire.

  Peter Tourne suppressed a smile as Mario began to plunge in and out of her; it seemed that in front of his master, Mario was conforming to a more usual course of pleasure. Perhaps he was afraid he would incur disapproval if he drove home into his preferred orifice.

  Alex let out a thick guttural grunt as Mario began to move in earnest. He slid his rough hands up under her ribcage, turning his attentions to her nipples. His fingers twisted and teased at the engorged peaks, making Alex want to cry out - although the houseboys’ cock muffled her cries.

  Mario’s attentions returned to his accomplice, whose expression was one of absolute ecstasy. Seemingly oblivious to the girl squashed and huddled between them, Mario pulled him closer and planted a long kiss on his gasping mouth. The houseboy groaned and held Mario to him. Alex, humbled and reduced to a mere vehicle for the two males’ pleasure, was completely forgotten as they grunted and rutted enthusiastically towards release.

  As Mario’s lips worked against his, the houseboy groaned again and flexed his hips, driving his cock deeper into Alex’s waiting mouth. Mario snorted, almost as if he could feel the boy’s excitement directly, and renewing his rhythmic thrusts in and out of Alex, began to gasp and moan as orgasm overtook them both. The houseboy’s eyes opened to reveal a strange mixture of pleasure and fear, and then he convulsed. His seed exploded into Alex’s mouth and seeped from the corners of her lips. Mario shrieked in delight, clawing the boy closer, sweat pouring down his face as the convulsions and contractions of his own climax closed over him.

  When their passion was spent, Peter Tourne got to his feet and waved his driver and houseboy aside. Alex, still crouched over the stool, was wet with their perspiration. He helped her to her feet. Mario’s seed trickled from her sex, and a smear of the houseboy’s semen clung to her chin.

  Peter Tourne smiled warmly. ‘You are ready,’ he said softly, and handed her back to Mario.

  Returned to the darkness of her cell and chained for the night, Alex lay staring up into the blackness. She could still taste the houseboy’s excitement in her mouth. Her body’s raw desire for satisfaction dispelled even her dreams of escape.

  The two servants had been oblivious to her own needs; they had used her, and wanted nothing but her body. That knowledge - dark and compelling - made her ache with a strange sense of pleasure. Peter Tourne was right; she was ready. There was no possibility of going back or unlearning the lessons he had taught her.

  She slid a finger between the lips of her quim. Mario’s seed coated her fingers, lubricating her caresses as she stroked the soft folds of her sex. Need rose up through her belly like an angry roar. She instantly found the tiny bead that was the seat of all pleasure. Circling the hood with a deft knowing finger she drove another deep inside her quim. The need for release was so close to the surface that the first brush was enough to light fantastic fires in her mind.

  As the pleasure began to build Alex imagined Peter Tourne’s face; imagined him watching as the two servants had taken her; imagined their bodies penetrating her depths - and instantly she was lost. Deep inside her sex began to contract, sucking her fingers down as orgasm drove away everything but the intense imag
e of Peter Tourne’s dark flashing eyes.

  When Alex rose and showered the next day the villa KaRoche was already humming with activity. Mario brought her breakfast early, but was so preoccupied that he barely looked at her. Later, while Alex worked in the gallery, the sound of voices from the main villa filtered down to her. She could hear vehicles arriving, the sounds of male voices, and muffled banging and thumping.

  Mario had barely seemed interested in the ritual of deciding what she was to wear for the day; she had ended up dressed quite comfortably in a thin summer dress and sandals. Had it not been for the collar and chain she could easily have passed for a houseguest. Alex guessed that this was Mario’s intention; should a deliveryman inadvertently find his way into the gallery it wouldn’t do to find a woman, naked except for a leather basque, chained to the wall.

  She worked without interruption all morning, and instead of Mario arriving at lunchtime to take her back to the cell, the housekeeper arrived with a tray. The old lady’s expression was tight and preoccupied. She avoided Alex’s eye as she slid her lunch onto the table alongside her paints. It seemed that the dinner party had taken precedence over everything else. Alex really didn’t mind. It made a pleasant change to sit in the shade by the pool and eat her food.

  After she’d eaten Mario arrived, dressed in a clean and tailored uniform, and without comment he took her back to the silence of the cells. His face contorted into a grimace as he chained her.

  ‘He say not to touch you,’ he said with obvious frustration. His expression hardened. ‘Not to touch, pah!’

  Alex felt a sense of triumph; it appeared that Peter Tourne’s will did extend to events in the cells after all. Her delight was short lived as Mario unbuckled the belt that held up his tailored trousers. ‘He means I should not mark you.’

  Alex stiffened. ‘I’ll tell Mr Tourne - ’ she began, but instantly regretted it. Mario’s eyes flashed with fury. Drawing back his hand he slapped her face with the open palm.

  ‘You tell him nothing!’ he snapped, and slapped her again. As she stumbled he stooped and grabbed her calves with surprising agility, and flipped her onto her back on the platform that served as a bed. She shrieked in surprise at his swift assault. Mario jerked her legs apart and moved forward sharply so that her feet rested on his shoulders. ‘You make big mistake. Mario can do things to you that leave no marks.’

  Alex flinched as his fingers tore at her dress - but as he pulled it aside she knew it wasn’t her sex that drew him, but the dark closure behind. He spat into his hand and stabbed a finger roughly inside her anus; with hardly any lubrication her body screamed out in protest.

  ‘Tonight,’ he hissed between gritted teeth as his fat finger plunged in and out, ‘when Peter Tourne and guests have finish with you, I and the boy will be down to give what you deserve! No one will hear you cry - all people be too drunk to care!’

  Alex shivered. ‘N-no, Mario, p-please,’ she stammered. ‘There’s no need to be rough with me. I’ll be nice to you, and your boy!’

  Mario snorted and spat into his hand again. Dragging his finger out of her he unceremoniously flipped her onto her belly and spread his saliva over the tender puckering. With her face forced down into the thin blankets she tensed as she felt his cock brush her thighs.

  An instant later he breached the tender skin. She held her breath - she wasn’t ready. Terrified that he might tear her she willed her body to relax. Mario was oblivious to her concerns. Alex screamed as he forced himself deeper. A hand clawed round and over her face, covering her mouth.

  ‘Quiet, bitch!’ Mario snorted. Alex clenched her fists and bit down on his hand, trying to find a way to combat the pain. Behind her she heard Mario laugh. ‘You not hurt me,’ he sneered, ‘and if you do, you pay later!’

  Upstairs in the villa preparations for the evening’s dinner party were well underway. Peter Tourne kept only a handful of staff at the villa: Mario, his housekeeper, and a procession of local boys to wait on table and tidy the garden. For any formal or important occasion he would hire in the staff he needed and arrange for the meal to be catered by an exclusive catering company - his housekeeper’s cooking, though adequate for his own private tastes, was more often than not little more than simple peasant fayre.

  For Starn and Gena’s reappearance and the visit of Simon Bay, he wanted something more spectacular. Flowers had already arrived from the mainland, a chef and his retinue were busy working in his kitchen, and various lackeys were preparing the dining room.

  Tourne glanced at his watch. He had no particular need or desire to impress Starn - but Simon Bay was a different matter. In his office he had a gown that had arrived on the ferry, delivered by courier that morning, for Alex. He wanted Simon to be impressed by his latest pupil. It would be extremely convenient if Simon could be persuaded to allow Alex to join his stable for his annual slave auction.

  Tonight he would oversee Alex’s preparation’s himself. He sighed - in a way he would be sad to see her go, but for him it was the challenge of the initiation that gave him the greatest delight. Once a girl was broken he would rapidly tire of her company. He much preferred it if they left KaRoche before they lost their appeal. It would be sad if that happened with Alex. A month at his villa should be enough - after that he would let Simon Bay do what he could with her.

  As the florist carried a huge display of lilies into the hall, Peter Tourne’s mobile phone rang.

  ‘Tourne.’

  ‘Hello, Peter,’ a familiar voice at the other end of the line laughed. ‘It’s Laurence here. I’ve just rung to see how Alex is getting on.’

  Tourne glanced over his shoulder at the milling servants. ‘One second,’ he said in an undertone. ‘I’ll just take your call upstairs to my office.’

  Laurence laughed again. ‘No chance I could have a word with her?’

  Tourne sighed. ‘My dear friend, it’s siesta time here.’

  ‘Ah yes, how foolish of me to forget.’

  Peter Tourne, cradling the mobile phone, climbed the stairs to his office and closed the door.

  Chapter 8

  After Mario finally left Alex’s cell the day seemed to pass slowly. Alex dozed spasmodically, her dreams suffused by images of Mario, superimposed upon Starn, the willowy houseboy, and last of all Peter Tourne - who, in the franticly erotic dreamscape, watched Alex’s every move, his eyes alight with vicarious pleasure.

  She had assumed that at some time during her imprisonment he would make love to her, but it appeared, since that first night when he’d shown her the delights of the gallery, that his real pleasure lay in voyeurism.

  Tonight he would introduce her to his friend, Simon Bay. He had no intention of keeping her at KaRoche once the mural was complete - and she knew without a doubt that the plans that had formed in her mind for escape had to be put into action now. She had no desire to be the plaything of yet another unknown man. She closed her eyes, trying to imagine what it might be like to be auctioned off to the highest bidder. Her fear and anger were balanced by a darkly erotic counterpoint; there was a strangely erotic frisson in the idea of being bought and sold like a common slave, tied and naked for the eyes of her would be masters.

  As evening fell Alex heard the sound of approaching footsteps and stretched, readying herself for the arrival of Mario and the housekeeper. She wondered what they had brought for her to wear; Mr Tourne’s tastes were eclectic to say the very least. She was surprised when the door swung open and Peter Tourne himself stood framed by the shadows. He was dressed in an elegant dinner suit, his hair slicked back and tied into a knot at the nape of his neck. The darkness gave his lean features a predatory, wolfish cast.

  Behind him, Mario and the housekeeper waited expectantly. For a few seconds the atmosphere in the cell seemed tight with anticipation. He held out his hand towards Alex, and she was stunned to realised that the feeling she experien
ced in the wake of the simple gesture was akin to love. Something caught in her throat, tears bubbled, unbidden, behind her eyes. She wanted to beg him to let her stay at KaRoche, to let her serve him and him alone. The words that formed in her heart wouldn’t form in her mouth. The moment of intense emotion passed and Mario silently unclipped her leash and led her to the room beyond the cells.

  Someone had set a tin bath in the centre of the gallery, and beside it stood a large solid table. Lamplight threw the objects into sharp relief. Alex felt as if she was about to step onto a stage.

  Peter Tourne settled himself against the wall in the shadows and watched while his servants prepared her for her introduction to Simon Bay. Despite everything the sense of theatre remained, as if she was taking part in a strange ritual. The old woman soaped and shaved her quim. Mario washed her hair then lathered her breasts and back. The two of them worked in complete silence as if they had performed the same rite a thousand times before. The only sound in the room was the water lapping over the side of the tub and splashing onto the flagstone floor.

  With every passing second Alex felt more and more like a prize possession being prepared and polished for a final exhibition. None of the others in the room seemed to care who she was - it was her body they were preparing, not her mind. Waves of panic closed over her just like the water that washed over her ripe breasts and slim hips. Finally the old woman helped her out of the tub, dried her with fluffy towels, and then guided her to the table.

  Mario took her wrists and lifted her onto the cool wooden surface, urging her down onto her back. The tabletop was set with manacles that snapped around her wrists with an unnerving finality.

  Her ankles were next.

  Spread-eagled and naked Alex held her breath as Tourne approached and ran a proprietorial hand over her breasts. He cupped and stroked them thoughtfully. Mario appeared at his shoulder carrying a small stainless steel box. Alex stiffened, knowing with an uncanny certainty that the box held the tools that had pierced her.