by Sarah Fisher
Alex hadn’t realised she was so wet. Her body offered no resistance as Monique explored her. After a few moments the woman, obviously satisfied, withdrew her finger and rubbed it speculatively against her thumb. ‘Tight and wet. What more could a woman ask?’ She nodded toward the Arab. ‘Why don’t you feel for yourself, Mustafa? Tight, hot, and wet. Seems a real shame to waste a body like that on a man who prefers boys.’
The Arab smiled slyly and slid his hands between Alex’s legs. She closed her eyes against the humiliation. Mustafa smelt of lemons and something spicy that lingered on her senses. Whereas the American’s touch had been deft and businesslike, the Arab’s slow and callous inspection made Alex’s flesh crawl.
His fingers were like claws, and the rings he wore bit into her tender flesh as he pressed and prodded. As he breached her sex a single finger strayed further back, stroking the dark puckering of her anus. Alex stiffened - it seemed that Mustafa’s brother wasn’t the only one interested in the delights a boy could offer. He moved closer, sniffing at her neck and hair.
When he finally stepped away Alex struggled to suppress a shudder of contempt.
Mustafa nodded to Monique. ‘You are right. She smells good, almost wholesome. I have a suggestion. What if you try her out tonight, and I have her tomorrow?’ He glanced at Simon Bay for confirmation. ‘It won’t be a problem will it, Simon?’
Alex stared at Peter, waiting for him to protest, but knowing he wouldn’t; it seemed he’d handed the responsibility for her further education over to Simon Bay. She didn’t like Simon Bay.
‘No Mustafa. No problem at all.’
The enormity of Alex’s predicament suddenly hit her. More than ever before she realised just how powerless she was to prevent these people from doing anything they wanted with her. Things started happening around her and she was unable to do or say anything.
Monique glanced over her shoulder and beckoned to someone Alex couldn’t see. A few seconds later a broad woman pressed between the guests. Alex stared at the new arrival in horror; this was quite obviously the kind of woman Monique preferred. Her slave was no more than five feet tall and almost as wide. Her voluptuous curves were tightly encased in a finely tooled leather basque that squeezed her heavy breasts forward. Her body was contorted into a stunningly exaggerated hourglass. On either side of her cavernous cleavage a small white scar marred the creamy rise of her ample flesh. As Alex looked at the marks she realised with a chilling certainty that the little scars, each about an inch across and in the shape of a rose, where in fact burn marks the woman had been branded by her mistress!
Monique smiled warmly at her slave. ‘Gerta, I would like you to take...’ she paused and looked at Tourne. ‘What’s the girl’s name?’
‘Alex,’ he replied. ‘Alexander Sanderson.’
Monique nodded and then held out her hand. Without a word he dropped Alex’s leash into Monique’s palm.
‘Take her to my room, Gerta, and get her ready. I’ll be up to try her out after we’ve eaten.’ She spoke without taking her lustful gaze from the promising morsel who would be her entertainment for the evening, and passed the leash on to Gerta.
Alex gasped as the plump woman tugged sharply at the strap. She prayed that Peter would grab the leash from Gerta and take her away from Simon Bay and his corrupt hedonistic guests. She looked beseechingly at him, but as she followed Gerta across the crowded room he turned away and took another glass from the tray the waiter offered him.
Peter Tourne dabbed the napkin to his lips and picked up the wine glass at his fingertips.
Sitting opposite him, Starn Fettico grinned. ‘A superb meal.’
He nodded.
‘You’re very quiet tonight,’ Starn whispered. ‘Simon tells me your latest little kitten has created quite a stir. If Monique and Mustafa are interested you’re sure to get a damned good price for her. Not bad, bearing in mind she turned up out of the blue. I wish I had your luck.’ He paused, looked at his friend for a second or two, and then snorted. ‘Oh come on, Peter, that isn’t why you’re so damned quiet, it is? For God’s sake man, you told me yourself the world is full of women - all ready to serve us.’
Tourne nodded. Starn was right - but even so he’d thought about nothing but Alex since Monique’s intimidating slave had led her away. He’d insisted that Alex be returned to him before he left for the villa KaRoche. Mustafa had complained - after all, wasn’t Alex supposed to be his for the next day? Reluctantly Tourne had agreed to Simon’s arrangement, and then confirmed that he would have Alex delivered to Mustafa first thing in the morning.
He glanced around the room. Monique was lighting a cigarette from the candelabra in the centre of the table. In her everyday life she was an executive in a top New York merchant bank. In her secret life she had a stable of handmaidens - mostly women like Gerta. Tourne acknowledged the nod she gave him.
He’d always thought her choice of plain and homely bed partners reflected her insecurities about her handsome rather than traditionally beautiful face. Whatever her motives, she certainly had the money and influence to indulge her tastes. He’d also met Sven, the Swedish harem master who travelled with her. Ostensibly he was her personal trainer, while the posse of young women masquerading as her PA, her secretary, her housekeeper - each had a fictional role to play in the life she led outside in the real world.
He wondered fleetingly what Alex’s role might be in the household if Monique followed through on her promise and bought his protégé - but as he watched her, logic told him that the only reason Monique had insisted on sampling Alex’s charms was to assert herself - to prove once again that she was more than equal to any of the men present.
Across the table the rich American woman aped a yawn.
‘I’m sure you gentlemen will excuse me,’ she said with a sly wink. ‘I’ve had a very busy day. Jet lag, you know how it is.’ She fooled no one, least of all Tourne. Monique was eager to get her hands on the exquisite English girl upstairs. Around the table the diners shuffled to their feet, their innate good manners acknowledging Monique’s abrupt departure.
Simon Bay smiled and lifted his glass towards Tourne. ‘Here’s to pleasure,’ he said, his eyes firmly fixed on his guest. ‘Perhaps you gentleman would care to join me in the drawing room?’ he addressed the whole table. ‘I believe Tony has organised a little display for our amusement.’
There was a murmur of approval as all eyes turned towards Tony, another of Simon Bay’s party guests.
As Peter Tourne got to his feet Mustafa pushed his way through the crowd. When he reached his side he caught hold of his arm and whispered furtively: ‘I have no wish to see any more trained apes perform. Simon tells me he has given Monique the Chinese suite.’
Tourne stared at him uncomprehendingly. ‘I’m sorry?’
‘The rooms overlooking the sea,’ the Arab continued whilst trying to contain his obvious enthusiasm. ‘Surely you must know about them... the mirrored rooms?’ He grinned, and Tourne instantly understood. Several of the suites in Simon Bay’s villa were fitted with large mirrored walls. Those in the know were aware that the mirrors concealed secret rooms where the events played out could be observed by a select band of his inner circle.
Tourne discreetly followed the Arab across the room. He wasn’t surprised to see that Simon, having waved his guests into the drawing room, was making his way towards them. In one hand he was clutching a bottle of Krug, and in the other three glasses.
He smiled and shrugged philosophically. ‘Is there anyone who hasn’t already seen Tony’s show? They won’t notice we’re gone.’
Tourne glanced back over his shoulder, hoping that Starn Fettico hadn’t seen them leave the main group.
‘This way,’ said Simon, waving the bottle towards his left. ‘Outside, down the steps, through the garden. Just follow the path, but quietly my friends, we have no grea
t desire to give the game away, have we?’
Alex was growing increasingly uneasy. Since her arrival in Monique’s room she’d been stripped naked by Gerta, with the help of an intimidating Swede called Sven, and now she hung, powerless, bound to a frame in the centre of the room while her plump little captor oiled her body with some kind of perfumed unguent.
Peter Tourne’s indifference had knocked the fight out of her - though she knew she wouldn’t be able to overcome Gerta and Sven anyway.
When the doors to the suite opened she struggled to turn to see who had arrived. The collar around her throat made any movement virtually impossible, but from the corner of her eye she saw Monique reflected in one of the huge mirrors that lined the room. Her suspicions were confirmed by the sound of the American’s distinctive purr.
‘Bring me a scotch, Gerta. Christ, my feet are killing me.’
Alex wondered if the American would give herself a few seconds respite before she turned her attentions to her - she was wrong. The American stroked her back.
‘It seems that someone has already taught her about the whip.’
Alex winced as the woman pressed her fingers against one of the weals that marked her spine. A hand circled her torso and cupped a breast, fingers teasing at her nipples.
‘I’m not certain about the rings,’ Monique continued. ‘I much prefer branding - so much more permanent.’
Gerta mumbled her agreement and Alex shuddered as Monique’s hands snaked lower to stroke her sex. ‘Though here, when the mount is shaved, it is quite effective. Perhaps it’s an option I might consider.’
Alex wondered how long this cool and analytical assessment of her body would continue - perhaps the American’s only reason for bringing her here was to ensure Mustafa didn’t touch her first.
‘How did she behave when you stripped her?’
‘She did as she was told,’ Sven grunted from somewhere close by.
Monique stepped round in front of her. Alex looked away, intimidated by the merciless look in the other woman’s eyes. Monique pensively swirled the ice around in her glass, and then suddenly reached forward, grabbed hold of Alex’s hair, and jerked her head up. Fiercely she pressed her lips to Alex’s, forcing her mouth open to accept her tongue. As she did, Alex felt something brush her nipples, sending a chill right through her - it was the cruel ice cubes. She stiffened, trying to resist the woman’s searching lips.
‘Kiss me you little bitch,’ hissed the American.
Alex, fighting her revulsion, struggled to respond. The scotch splashed over her breasts, while Monique’s hands, still cupping the ice cubes, roamed wherever they pleased. Alex shuddered again in horror as she felt the ice traverse the lips of her sex, and then gasped as Monique slipped the cube inside her. The first was followed by another - and then another. They were so cold they seemed to burn; a hideous combination of ice and fire that made her feel dizzy. Monique’s lips and mouth were wet and tasted of wine and acrid cigarette smoke. Instinctively Alex tried to turn away from her, but Monique pulled her closer. Alex squealed as the tormenting fingers returned to her nipples, twisting and pinching at their delicate peaks.
‘Please,’ Alex whispered in desperation. ‘Please...’
Monique stepped away and looked contemptuously at the poor girl. Alex could see the dark outline of the woman’s nipples pressing through her expensive evening gown and trembled - Monique was clearly very excited. Deep inside Alex felt the ice beginning to melt, trickling out like chilly fingers over her thighs as the scotch dripped from her belly.
‘I think our little friend here needs to be taught that I always get what I want, and I don’t expect to have to fight for it. Bring me my toy box, Sven.’
Behind the huge mirror that overlooked Monique’s suite, Peter Tourne, Simon Bay and Mustafa were already enjoying the events being played out before them. Tourne was monitoring and savouring Alex’s shocked expression as Monique approached her carrying a small ornately cut box, from which she produced two evil looking nipple clamps. Designed like crocodile clips, they were encrusted with precious stones. Alex gasped in horror as Monique lifted then up for her to see, and then groaned as the first one bit home.
The second made her squirm in agony, her fingers clenching and unclenching in anguish. Monique looked triumphant.
‘Oh, that’s much better,’ she purred and ran her tongue over Alex’s flat tummy.
Tourne felt a warm excitement in his groin as he imagined the delicate cocktail of sweat and scotch.
Gerta circled the English girl slowly, and then tied a blindfold tightly around her head. Once satisfied with her handiwork she handed her mistress an old fashioned teacher’s cane. It seemed Alex was to be taught a cruel lesson.
Monique grinned maliciously as the girl struggled in vain against her restraints. She bent the cane into a semi circle before releasing it with a malevolent hiss. Alex whimpered. The American teased the tip along the crack of the girl’s sex. As the cane slid over her skin she stopped struggling and began to tremble.
Monique licked her lips hungrily as she circled the girl, letting the tip of the cane trail over her sweating body. Finally she stood behind Alex, flexed the cane once more, and then let go with a stroke of the most astonishing venom. The whole of Alex’s body convulsed in the restraints. Even behind the glass the men could hear Alex howl as the pain ripped through her.
‘Tourne’s playthings are always so soft,’ Monique sneered and beckoned Sven to her. The tall blonde slave undid his mistress’s evening dress and guided it down over her shoulders. Beneath it she was wearing a leather basque that matched that worn by Gerta. In those few seconds while Monique was undressing, Alex began to sob, struggling frantically to get free of her bonds. Monique smiled without humour and drew the cane back again. Already there was a vivid crimson weal on Alex’s slim buttocks.
The second stroke was, if anything, more vicious than the first, and caught Alex on the base of her spine. She sobbed miserably, mouth gaping and gasping for breath. Tourne noticed the trickle of liquid running down between her thighs. Alex slumped forward, gasping as Monique lay on the third and fourth blows. The cry of agony seemed to catch in the girl’s pulsating throat.
The cruel American again drew back the cane and brought it down with another terrifying crack. Alex could only whimper now, and Tourne sensed the subtle change in his pupil as she gave herself up to the pain, allowing its dark enchantment to drive away her fear. He wondered if Monique had noticed the change - but knew from her stance and the expression on her face that she had. The girl seemed to almost offer herself up for the next blow, writhing provocatively in the frame. The next blow made her gasp but her hips thrust back, revealing the plump contours of her quim.
Monique smirked. ‘Perhaps she isn’t so soft after all.’ Another blow. Alex moaned and stretched. Monique hastily threw the cane to the floor. ‘Cut her down.’
Behind the glass Peter Tourne smiled; Monique was good.
Gerta looked at her mistress for some kind of explanation as to why the punishment should stop, but was waved away.
‘Take off her blindfold, too. I want to see her adorable face.’
Alex stumbled from the frame and was steadied by the powerful arms of Sven. She was still trembling, her eyes glazed, but she turned instinctively towards the sound of Monique’s drawl.
‘Come here, my little one,’ the American woman purred, standing with her legs apart, hands on hips. Alex dropped to her knees and crawled to the woman’s feet. Without a word she nuzzled at the proffered and naked sex, her tongue begging entry.
Monique grinned. ‘Oh, you are good,’ she whispered thickly. ‘Very good. No wonder Tourne is so proud of you.’ She opened her legs a fraction more to allow the girl greater freedom.
Understanding precisely the requirements of his mistress, Sven handed Monique a huge black d
ildo. She looked at it with longing while the beautifully inexperienced face continued to work between her legs, and then slipped it into the kneeling girl’s hands. Without any instruction Alex lapped at it, her tongue lubricating its thick rubber shaft, and then slowly she pushed it into the mistress’s open quim, smoothing its path deep inside with her tongue.
In the hidden room Tourne could feel the growing excitement of his two companions.
‘Oh yes!’ Mustafa hissed between gritted teeth whilst leaning forward to get as good a view as he could. ‘Your young lady is quite, quite superb. Whatever Monique offers you, my friend, I’ll double it.’
Tourne smiled. He could sense Alex was almost sharing her mistress’s pleasure - it seemed to flow through the two women, rolling back and forth like a tide.
Alex pressed the dildo home, her tongue lapping urgently at Monique’s pleasure bud. Her whole body was alive with sensuality as she set a compelling rhythm with the huge phallus. Above her, Monique locked her fingers in Alex’s silky hair, ground her hips down onto the thick stem, and then threw back her head, drinking in the attentions of her new and willing slave.
As the first waves of the American’s orgasm rolled through her, Simon Bay grunted his approval. ‘Are you sure you won’t let the girl stay here tonight? I’d most certainly like to slip into that wet little quim of hers myself. Seems such a waste to leave it all to that bull dyke.’
Tourne shook his head. ‘Not tonight,’ he murmured, his eyes still fixed on the continuing activities inside the room. Still trembling with after shocks of pleasure Monique knelt on the floor beside Alex. Without a word passing between them, Alex gently withdrew the dildo from Monique’s body, and impulsively licked the juices which coated it. Monique’s whole demeanour had softened significantly, and she looked into Alex’s eyes with apparently genuine affection. She gently took Alex’s hands, guided the dildo away from her lips, and with no resistance she eased it down and into her grateful sex.
