by Sarah Fisher
The English girl gasped as the impassive column impaled her, and then lifted her hips to welcome the dark intruder.
Peter Tourne turned away - his job was done. His own intense excitement now needed release. The hard arc of his cock strained angrily inside his expensively tailored trousers. Later, on the way home, he would take his pleasure with Alex. It might be his last chance before he had to hand her over to her new master.
Chapter 11
In the early hours of the following morning, in the intimate darkness of the limousine, Peter Tourne ran a warm hand over Alex’s smooth thigh. She flinched, but didn’t resist.
‘Lift up your dress,’ he said. ‘Let me see where Monique marked you.’
She turned to look at him. ‘You should know where Monique marked me,’ she said softly, ‘you watched her doing it, didn’t you?’
He nodded.
‘I knew you did. I could sense you there.’ As she spoke she slid the dress up to her waist and turned so that he could see her back and legs. Her delicate creamy flesh was covered with livid weals and bruises. Between her legs - even in the gloom, he could see the marks on her thighs where Monique had bitten and pinched her skin as she drove the dildo home. He bent forward and tenderly pressed a kiss to each purple spot. Alex shivered as his tongue traced the perimeter of her injuries.
‘Open your legs wider,’ he said softly. ‘Let me kiss you.’
This was a reward for them both. He gave her tenderness and pleasure where before there had been pain. His tongue caressed and flicked around her clitoris. Alex moaned and sank into the soft leather seat. She allowed his attentions and the quiet movement of the car to relax her. She lifted herself to him, thighs opening, giving everything she was to him. He didn’t have to demand her obedience; it was his already.
She moaned deliciously, writhing under him, opening herself wider and wider for his intimate caresses. He could sense that in her heightened state her pleasure was so close to the surface that it wouldn’t take a great deal to unleash a maelstrom of delight. Gently he turned her over so that she was crouched on all fours, her knees pressed into the thick carpet, and her face and elbows sank into the seat.
She looked exquisite; ready for him, legs apart, her sex framed by the rich curves of her sore buttocks.
‘Hold yourself open for me,’ he whispered as he undid his trousers. She did as she was told, and more as her fingers sought out his raging shaft. Eagerly she pulled him closer, her fingers parting the lips of her quim in readiness for his entry. He took her from behind, letting her guide his throbbing cock into the depths of her weary but excited body. She bucked as he slipped home, pressing her buttocks into his groin and then whining like a puppy as he slipped a hand down and began to toy with her engorged pleasure bud. His other hand sought her nipples. They were as hard as cherry pips brushing against his fingers. Alex began to climax almost before he started to touch her.
Her sex closed around him tightly like a closed fist, milking him dry with every stunning contraction. Mutual waves of pleasure roared through them, echoed and intensified by each wild excited thrust - on and on and on until Tourne thought he could happily die inside her. It seemed an eternity before they were still.
As Alex turned over and tidied her dress she caught sight of Mario watching her in the rear-view mirror. She had little doubt that he’d enjoyed her exhibition with his master. Seeing his glittering eyes was an unpleasant reminder that she was still beholden to him. She wondered fleetingly what dark favour Mario might demand as payment for his silence about her phone call to Laurence.
Staring out into the dark balmy night she wondered whether Laurence had taken her plea for help seriously - surely it wouldn’t take him long to arrange a flight to Greece? Where was her rescuer? She tried to block out the events that had taken place at Simon Bay’s villa, but it was impossible; there wasn’t one part of her body that didn’t bear reminders of her time spent with Monique. Her nipples throbbed, the tender folds between her legs felt raw and swollen - and yet, out beyond the humiliation and the pain was a sense of elation and pleasure that drowned almost every other emotion. Peter Tourne’s tender caresses had brought the pleasure to the surface. She swallowed hard, confused again by the fact that her rational mind rejected the ecstasy her body demanded. Her rational mind was the part of her that demanded rescue. She slipped down in the seat, trying to avoid Mario’s penetrating eyes.
They travelled the rest of the journey back to the villa in silence. Peter pulled her close. She rested her head in his lap, relishing the sensation of closeness. By the time the car drew to a halt Alex was almost asleep. She yawned stretched and uncurled, easing the cramp from her back and shoulders then followed her master inside. As they entered the main hallway Peter turned and said:
‘For the remainder of the night you will stay in the guest cabin. I’ll have the housekeeper wake you up early. Mustafa has asked that you be delivered first thing tomorrow morning.’
Alex stared at him aghast. ‘But... but what about finishing the mural?’ was all she could think to say. Every time she felt she was making headway with Peter Tourne he knocked her back by reconstructing the wall between them.
He shrugged. ‘It’s almost complete, isn’t it?’
Alex nodded. ‘Yes,’ she said sadly. ‘Almost complete... but - ’
He turned and began to climb the stairs. ‘In that case I’ll ask Mustafa to return you as soon as he’s finished with you, so you may finish it. Simon’s auction is to be held next week, so I want it finished by then...’ his voice faded.
Alex nodded sadly. She already knew that Simon Bay wanted her to go to his villa as soon as possible. ‘Another day should be enough.’
Peter Tourne didn’t reply. With a great sense of loss Alex opened the French windows that overlooked the garden. Someone had lit the lamp in the guest cabin. It glowed at the window like a beacon in the velvety darkness. She hesitated for a few seconds on the steps of the villa, drinking in the perfumed night air, and feeling tears prickling up behind her eyes. It would soon all be over. She rubbed her eyes. Peter had already made up his mind; it didn’t matter what she did to try and persuade him otherwise, he intended that she should leave KaRoche.
As she picked her way carefully along the pathway towards the cabin a slight rustling close by caught her attention. Before she could determine what the sound was a hand clamped firmly over her mouth.
She knew at once and with little surprise who her assailant was - Mario, come to collect his debt! One arm locked firmly around her waist, pinning her hands. Alex knew it was pointless to fight or resist. He pushed her down into one of the flowerbeds, turned her over roughly, and knelt heavily across her heaving breasts.
He quickly undid his flies and leant closer. His erection was ivory white in the darkness, a fearful scimitar that he pressed to her face. She tried to turn away as he brushed the swollen helmet against her cheek, although she knew it was pointless trying to resist.
‘Suck me, English girl,’ he sneered as he trailed the moist tip over her closed lips. ‘You leave here soon, and I not tell Mr Tourne about your phone call. You owe me.’ He grinned and shuffled closer. ‘We not got much time. No time to sleep. The boy wants you before you go. I say he could.’
He smelt of raw male musk, his whole body sweating and ripe. Alex felt numb - yet strangely excited - as he guided his throbbing flesh into her stretched mouth. Closing her mind to the discomfort and the taste and smell of his body, she began to work on him. From the undergrowth she heard the houseboy’s heavy breathing; it seemed they both intended to make her pay for Mario’s silence.
A few hours later Alex rolled off the bed in the cabin. The copper coloured evening dress was stained with earth and splashes of semen. Mario and his accomplice had taken their payment in full. She pulled it off unsteadily and made her way to the bathroom. Looking at her reflection in
the steam kissed mirror she wondered how on earth she’d allowed herself to sink so low.
The morning sunlight caught the links of the chain that linked her nipples. Either side of the rings were two tiny bruises like fingerprints; the reminder of the nipple clips that Monique had applied to her.
As Alex turned slowly she could see the purple stripes that curled across her narrow shoulders. Her whole body was a map of the journey taken through the realms of pleasure and pain.
She stepped into the shower and let the refreshing water course over her. It warmed her skin and muscles, soothed away the aches and pains, and massaged her bruises as attentively as any lover could.
She closed her eyes and turned her face up into the torrent. The sound stilled her mind and the drumming heat soothed her body - the perfect combination.
When she went back into the sitting room, wrapped in a fluffy white robe, she was surprised to see that in her absence someone had delivered a breakfast tray. Alex had hoped that Peter would invite her to eat with him. She had barely a chance to pour the coffee before the housekeeper appeared in the doorway.
‘Mr Tourne say the car be ready for you in half hour.’
Alex nodded, but the old woman didn’t move. ‘Was there something else?’ she asked.
The old woman stepped into the cabin, glancing nervously over her shoulder. ‘He ring again for you.’
Alex stared at her. ‘I’m sorry?’
The old woman held a bony finger to her lips. ‘That man, the one you tell me ring. He ring here last night when Mr Tourne out, and then he ring later when Mr Tourne in.’
Alex stiffened. ‘Laurence? He rang here?’
The woman nodded. ‘I answer phone. He talk long time with Mr Tourne.’
Alex’s stomach knotted. She wondered what Peter had told her agent. What excuse had he spun for her absence? She only hoped that Laurence would still arrive in time to save her - perhaps he’d phoned to confirm his arrival.
‘Do you know where he was ringing from?’
The housekeeper shrugged.
Alex pressed on. ‘Did you hear what they said?’
This time the old woman shook her head emphatically. ‘No,’ she said angrily. ‘I not listen.’
Alex realised that by asking she was implying that the woman spied on her employer. ‘I’m sorry, I didn’t mean,’ she said quickly, but the old woman fixed her with a cold stare.
‘I not listen,’ she repeated. ‘But I think your man, he is in Greece - the line sound very bad. The local exchange is very old.’
Alex nodded. ‘Thank you,’ she said softly. She hoped the old woman was right.
She finished breakfast and reluctantly got herself ready for her trip to Mustafa’s villa. As she dressed her mind wandered again and again to Laurence Russell. He was hardly a friend, but even so he had to help her. She visualised his face and smiled; she knew his interest in her was not purely business. She’d clearly seen that in his eyes the last time they’d spoken in his office. She picked up her jacket and bag - she only hoped his arrival would be soon. Once the mural was complete there was no telling how long Peter would let her stay at the villa KaRoche - but she knew it wouldn’t be for very long.
The car journey back across the island seemed to take hardly any time. Alex peered out of the tinted windows of the limousine, looking again at the sights she had seen on the previous evening. In daylight the island was even more beautiful than she had supposed. It struck her that under different circumstances she could have relished her stay on D’arnos.
As the car headed out along the coast road the beaches below looked magical; each rocky inlet giving way to another with spectacular views out over the rich blue ocean. Mario, divided from the seating compartment by a glass panel, seemed distant and cool. They passed what looked like Simon Bay’s villa, curled like a sleek white sphinx at the mouth of a rocky cove. Turning back inland they followed the line of the sea until, amongst a grey green rise of olive trees, Alex saw what looked remarkably like the minaret of a mosque.
She stared in awe as they approached and more and more of the palatial buildings were revealed. Set high on the hillside Mustafa had built or bought what looked remarkably like a Moor palace.
Mario guided the car between a stand of trees towards ornate wrought iron gates. Alex felt her stomach tighten. Until now she had been enjoying the scenery, but as the gates swung smoothly open she realised with a start that she was seconds away from meeting a man who could be her new master - or worse still - was trying her out to see if she might suit his cousin. Alex swallowed hard, grateful that the trees along the steep driveway cast a shadow inside the car, hiding her expression of trepidation. She was being delivered like a parcel - on a sale or return basis. Alex struggled to control the growing sense of panic. She remembered the feeling of unease she’d felt the previous evening when Mustafa had run his hands over her body, and she remembered the strange smell of his cologne. She wished she could go back to Peter Tourne.
She trembled; panic mingling with expectation. It was as though there was another part of her - a dark twin soul - who, far from being afraid, was relishing the moment.
Ahead, in a semicircle of sunlight, Alex could see two dark-skinned men, dressed in long flowing white robes. As the men turned to watched the car approaching Alex saw they were carrying guns, and tucked in their cummerbunds were curved ceremonial swords. They had to be Mustafa’s private bodyguards.
The car slowed and stopped in front of imposing double doors.
Mario turned to her. ‘I will see you tonight,’ he said malevolently as he slid out to open the door for her.
Alex ignored him, her attention was firmly fixed on the entrance to Mustafa’s luxurious home. Across the sweeping driveway the doors opened, and in the shadows Alex could see a tall woman, dressed in traditional Muslim robes. Jet black, the robes covered her from the top of her head and down to where they brushed the tiled floor. Only the way the figure moved revealed the fact that she was female.
Alex took a deep breath; this was the moment of truth. In the doorway the woman beckoned to her. Alex climbed nervously from the car, and without looking back she hurried inside.
The smell struck her as soon as she stepped from the sunlight; the perfume of citrus fruits and rich oil. Her hostess - if that was what the woman was - had turned and was already gliding away from her through the opulent hall. Alex followed.
The cool interior of the huge building was quite astonishing. It was decorated in a subtle mixture of traditional Arabic and European styles. When they were beyond earshot of the guards the woman caught Alex’s arm and said, in a low and melodic voice, ‘I will take you to the harem, to prepare you for my master.’
Alex nodded. She could just see flashing blue green eyes through the black lace eye mask. Silently Alex followed her deeper into the building through a warren of passages. Finally they stood in front of a pair of heavily carved doors; smaller versions of those at the entrance to the house. The woman touched them with a slim pale hand, and at once they folded back on silent hinges to reveal a huge marble lined room. Alex gasped - it was like looking into an ornate bird cage.
On couches around a central fountain girls of every colour and caste relaxed in luxurious splendour. Every one of them was dressed in the traditional costumes of the harem. Every one of them was swathed in jewel bright colours with gems to match. Some were playing cards, others reading, some small groups were talking. Mustafa’s harem must have had at least twenty-five exquisite girls in it - and they all turned as one to look at the latest arrival.
‘Would you like some tea?’ asked the mysterious woman in the black robe.
Somewhat bemused, Alex nodded as a statuesque negress came over to introduce herself.
‘Hiya,’ she said cheerfully, extending a hand. ‘I’m Antia.’ Alex was surprised to hear the ta
ll coloured woman had an American accent. She thought for a second of Monique.
‘A redhead,’ the coloured girl continued whilst eyeing her up and down appreciatively. ‘You’re not Irish by any chance, are you?’
Alex shook her head. Antia grinned. ‘Shame, we think Mustafa is secretly trying to recreate the United Nations. You’d better come with me and have your tea later. I’m supposed to be getting you ready.’
Alex hadn’t expected such a warm welcome, and was pleasantly surprised by the confidence and kindness the woman showed her. She began to relax - just a little. As if sensing her confusion Antia took her hand.
‘Come on, I’m not going to bite you. We’re all sister’s here. There’s really no need to be so nervous.’
‘But... but aren’t you all Mustafa’s slaves?’
Antia smiled. ‘Yeah, and it’ll be easier on you if you don’t forget that. But we’re all here because we want to be with him.’ She paused. ‘We know what he can offer us, and we all enjoy it.’ She lifted her hands to encompass the splendid room. ‘It’s wonderful the things modern slavery can provide,’ she added with a grin. ‘Now, come on, I’ve got to get you ready.’
She indicated another carved door set into one wall. Alex followed her. Beyond the door was another large and splendid room; finished in marble it was much like the previous one. In the centre was a huge sunken bath, and beside it a massage couch and table. It reminded Alex of pictures she’d seen of ancient Roman baths.
Antia nodded to her. ‘Take off all of your clothes so we can get started.’
As Alex began to unbutton her summer blouse she glanced up and froze. Set high up in the wall was a balcony. Mustafa was sitting there watching, his face expressionless. He’d come to witness his beautiful sample being made ready. Reddening, Alex slipped off her blouse and skirt. She was naked underneath.
Antia looked at her marked body and winced. ‘Wow, who did that to you?’ she asked. Alex looked away shamefully, and Antia said: ‘Never mind, you don’t have to tell me. It’s just that it’s been a long time since I’ve seen anyone cut up like that. Mustafa only marks us if we misbehave, and so everyone learns very quickly not to.’ She scooped up Alex’s clothes and dropped them into a laundry hamper. ‘I’m going to wash you down first. Get into the bath.’
