by Anna Cundell
And he did. As she sucked on his cock as hard as she could she felt it spasm violently against the tight confines of her mouth. He moaned loudly, his hands grabbing the leather helmet, and his glans burst in her throat, erupting hot spunk. Bound so tightly to his cock, Clare could not pull away and had no alternative but to swallow the viscous liquid, swallowing it desperately.
The salty flood temporarily distracted her from her own climax, but not for long. With her mouth tasting of semen she felt her body begin to clench around the dildo that was driving inside her. And as if Anouska was feeling the same, Clare felt her drive the dildo home one final time, then grind her hips from side to side, using the little spur to rub against her clit. But she could not do that for long; the stimulation was too great. Just as Clare felt her own orgasm approaching Anouska wailed loudly and came, every muscle in her body suddenly locked, her fingers like steel as they clawed at Clare’s hips.
At that moment Henrick dropped his hand to Clare’s breasts, took the metal chain of the clips in his fingers and pulled it down, stretching her breasts with it. There was a monumental shock of pain that travelled through every nerve of her body, making her quake, and instantly Clare felt herself falling, all physical senses dissolving into an enormous black hole of sexual bliss. It went on and on. Even when she’d thought it was over another wave came along like an aftershock of an earthquake, almost as intense as the first.
The next thing she was aware of, Anouska was reaching under her chin and unhooked the cock strap from the chain around her neck. The brunette pulled her head away and Henrick Hammer’s cock flopped from her mouth, already starting to soften.
Anouska undid the dildo from around her hips, giving a slight gasp as she pulled it away from her sex. She dropped the harness aside, and then pulled her little white panties down her stockinged legs.
Henrick apparently knew what she had in mind, and moved around so instead of lying in front of Clare he was lying beside her. Anouska climbed up on the bed and straddled him. She took his flaccid cock in her hand and guided it into her sex, rubbing the glans against her clit. She leant forward and moulded her breasts into his face.
‘Lovely,’ he mumbled.
Clare could see his cock had begun to engorge again, and in no time it was hard enough for Anouska to rock back on her heels, guide it to the mouth of her vagina and sink down on it. She started to bounce up and down enthusiastically, her breasts swaying magnificently. After a few minutes she stopped, grinding her hips purposefully from side to side just as she had done with the dildo strapped to her. She cupped her breasts tightly, her eyes closed, tossed back her head and wailed volubly.
A moment later Henrick tore her hands away from her breasts, pulled her down to him and buried his face in that heavenly cleavage. He bucked his hips twice, and then arched his body off the bed, every muscle rigid. Two huge tremors rocked through him before he sunk back on the mattress.
Anouska climbed off him. His cock flopped back on his belly, wet with his own semen.
‘You’ve always had such energy, Henrick,’ she said, smiling.
It was certainly true. Clare had never seen a man come twice quite so quickly. But the display had not just been for his benefit, she knew. Nor was it just to satisfy Anouska’s needs. It had been done to emphasise that Clare was a slave. She would have loved to have Henrick’s cock erupting like that inside her, but she knew that however much pleasure she might take from what they did to her, in the end it was not what she wanted but what they chose to give that mattered. She must not expect to have a will of her own.
Chapter Nine
Henrick Hammer sat behind his vast desk; plate glass supported on chrome trestles. There was nothing on the glass but a wafer thin computer screen in slate grey, a keyboard in the same colour and a futuristic phone, a sleek curve of black plastic. Behind him was a wall of glass providing a panoramic view of the town beyond, and the glowering clouds that were gathering to the west had already obscured the sun.
They had not removed the cuffs, and with her hands still bound behind her back Clare sat uncomfortably on a ladder-backed chair in front of the desk. Though they had taken off the clips her nipples were sore and a deep ruby-red.
It had been a shock when Anouska and Henrick led her from the elaborately decorated and dark bedroom, not into the corridor with the lift but through another door into this office. Anouska had kissed Henrick on both cheeks, told him with apparent sincerity that she couldn’t wait until she saw him again, and left them alone.
Henrick worked on his computer, often taking telephone calls, some of them in German. Clare could hear voices from the next office. Henrick’s assistant, a girl with spectacles, had come in several times to give him papers to sign, though she gave no indication of being surprised to find a semi-naked girl with him. She left the door to the outer office open and Clare glimpsed several other people working on computers or going about usual office tasks.
The girl had examined Clare closely while she waited for Henrick to read what she’d brought in, her eyes roaming her breasts and the black lingerie. Clare thought her expression denoted a feeling of disdain, but she might just have been imagining it, reflecting her own uneasiness at sitting in a leather helmet and black lingerie with her breasts exposed while normal office life went on around her.
During all this Henrick appeared to barely acknowledge her presence. But after a long telephone call in German he suddenly turned and looked at her.
‘Stand up,’ he said briskly. ‘Come around here.’
Clare obeyed and walked around the desk to his side.
‘Bend over,’ he said.
The glass of the desktop was cold and it soothed her tingling nipples. With her hands still cuffed behind her she had to rest on her breasts and they were squeezed flat.
‘Good,’ he said. ‘Now spread your legs apart for me.’
Awkwardly Clare wriggled her legs apart, then felt his fingers pulling her panties out of the way. For a moment there was silence, punctuated by the ringing telephones in the next office. Henrick didn’t move. She could not see him but she was sure his eyes were riveted to her sex. Then the phone on his desk rang and he picked the receiver up.
‘Yes… of course, send her in.’
The door opened and Jacqueline Fellowes entered.
‘Jacqueline, how lovely to see you again.’ Henrick got to his feet and kissed the blonde on both cheeks.
‘And you, Henrick. You’re looking well.’ Ms Fellowes’ eyes turned to Clare. ‘I hope she’s been behaving herself.’
‘Yes, she’s quite exceptional.’
‘That’s what your brother said.’
Ms Fellowes was wearing a tight and short black dress that moulded itself to the contours of her breasts and bottom and flat stomach. Above the top of the black leather thigh boots and below the hem of the skirt her slender thighs were sheathed in dark grey nylon.
‘Stand up,’ Ms Fellowes said.
Clare did as she was told.
‘You know the correct way out,’ Henrick said.
‘Of course.’ Ms Fellowes took Clare’s hand and started towards the door.
‘Tell my brother I’ll definitely be interested in her,’ Henrick called after them.
‘She is still a patient, Henrick.’
‘I know, but if…’
Ms Fellowes opened the office door and turned towards him. ‘If is a big word,’ she said.
In the back of the limousine Ms Fellowes dropped the leather flaps of the helmet down over Clare’s eyes, clipping them closed and plunging her into darkness. A broad leather strap was bound around her ankles, and another buckled tightly around her waist, trapping her arms against her back. Two more straps followed above and below her breasts, squeezing them, and another around her thighs.
‘Open your mouth,’ Ms Fellowes ordere
d.
Clare felt something being pushed between her lips, but not the oval plastic Anouska had used.
‘Wider,’ Ms Fellowes said.
A broad phallus filled her mouth almost as completely as Henrick’s erection had earlier. It pushed against the back of her throat. The zip in the helmet was closed, sealing the phallus tightly in place.
The car stopped and started at first, but soon their progress was less interrupted and Clare guessed they were driving out of town. After a while there were no more stops but from the way the car slowed and rolled as it went around bends they must have taken a country road and not a motorway.
In her cocooned world she must have drifted off to sleep because she woke with a start. The car was breaking sharply and her body lurching forward. The car skidded to a halt and she was thrown back in the seat, whimpering as her arms were squashed painfully by her own weight. The car door opened.
‘What the hell do you think you’re doing?’ Ms Fellowes demanded angrily.
‘We’ve come for the girl,’ a man said gruffly.
‘What?’ Ms Fellowes’ incredulity was oddly muted.
‘Don’t make any trouble.’
Clare felt hands grabbing her and she was pulled out of the car. She was lifted and carried a few yards, then bundled onto a ridged metal floor and tinny doors slammed violently. Immediately the tyres were screeching and the van accelerated off.
It had all happened so quickly Clare was in a daze. She had been abducted? But who were her assailants?
The aggressive movements of the van as it cornered were tossing her from side to side, but she found by squirming around there was something in the middle of the floor to brace her feet against, partly combating the rolling motion. She listened intently for any voices but could hear nothing above the noise of the engine and the tyres.
It was difficult to estimate how long it was before the van slowed, took a sharp left turn then eventually came to a halt.
Clare heard the van doors opening. Hands grabbed her and she felt cold air on her cocooned body and heard feet crunching on gravel. A moment later she was hoisted over a shoulder and felt herself being carried downstairs. Though it was warm there was a distinct smell of damp.
They stood her upright. She was so tightly bound it was difficult to balance, but she felt a wall at her side to give her support. Fingers began unbuckling the wide leather straps, and a rush of pins and needles followed as each was removed. Finally they unclipped the cuffs at her wrists and for the first time for hours she was able to bring her arms around to the front. Her muscles felt like sponges and any thought of resistance was hopeless.
Hands led her forward until she felt something soft in front of her.
‘That’s a bed. You can take the helmet off yourself.’ It was the same gruff male voice. A door was closed, and then she heard the familiar sound of a key turning in the lock.
She found the zip over her lips, opened it and pulled the phallus from her mouth. She unclipped the little flaps of leather and opened them. She was in a small square room. It was clearly in a cellar and had no window. The walls were bare red brick. The floor was covered with linoleum and the light came from a bare light bulb hanging from the centre of the low ceiling. The only furniture was a narrow bed and a wooden chair. On the chair were a tray of food and a jug of water. There was an open doorway to the left, and beyond a shower cubicle, a washbasin and a toilet.
Ominously there were a series of four metal rings bolted to one wall, in the same position as the ones in her previous room at the clinic.
Clare stripped off the black basque, the panties, shoes and the stockings. She was not surprised, after everything that had happened to find both stockings were laddered. She used the toilet, and then went to work on the helmet. It took her some time before she could raise her arms over her head and find the knot of the laces at the back. After so long in bondage the task was exhausting, and she had to stop several times before she managed to free the laces and pull the helmet off.
She showered and dried herself on the single towel provided, wondering what was going to happen next. Sooner or later whoever had done this was going to want to claim their prize.
She ate a little food, but realised just how tired she was, and then all she wanted to do was sleep.
When she awoke she actually felt refreshed. There was no question that the quality of sleep she had achieved since arriving at the clinic was remarkable. Not only was it undisturbed, but she seemed always to wake up in a lovely daze of warmth.
At some point someone had turned the overhead light off and the room was dark, though there was a little light leaking beneath the door.
She sat up and tested the muscles in her shoulders, tentatively rolling them. They were stiff but not painful.
Considering she was naked, alone, locked in a cellar and had no idea where, she felt remarkably calm. The more she thought about her abduction the more she was convinced Gulliver was responsible. Anouska had probably told him about going to see Dr Hammer’s brother, and it would be easy for him to arrange to have Ms Fellowes followed.
Presumably whoever was responsible was determined to keep her indefinitely, and strangely that idea was intensely exciting. She had the feeling that when she got back to the clinic all that awaited her was a formal interview with Dr Hammer, who would declare the prognosis for her condition excellent, sign her off as a patient and tell her she could go home. If she was right and the doctor planned to return her to normal life then the alternative of staying as a slave was an attractive one. She might feel differently in a week or a month, but at that moment she did not want her adventure – because that was how she thought of everything happening to her – to end.
Though she had not heard any footsteps in the corridor outside the overhead light suddenly switched on, and she screwed her eyes up against the brightness. The lingerie she’d discarded had disappeared, though the high-heeled shoes were still there, and another tray of food had been left by the door. She got up and went into the bathroom, used the toilet, showered and washed her hair, then returned to the bed. She had no idea how long she’d been asleep or even what time it was, but she was hungry and ate everything they’d left for her.
Just as she finished she heard footsteps coming down the corridor outside, and then the key was turning in the lock. The door opened and a man stood there. He was wearing a shirt and slacks and had a black hood over his head with two holes for his eyes, rather like a medieval executioner. He was holding a rope.
‘Are you going to be any trouble?’ he asked. It was the same gruff voice she’d heard before.
‘Who are you?’
‘Don’t ask questions. Put your shoes on.’ Clare stood up and stepped into the shoes. ‘Cross your arms in front of you.’ This time his voice sounded vaguely familiar, but she couldn’t place it.
She did as she was told and he tied the rope around her wrists, leaving a knotted coil of it dangling.
‘Do you work for Gulliver?’ she asked.
‘I told you to keep quiet.’
He grabbed the dangling rope and pulled her forward. They left the cell and went along a narrow corridor. There was a staircase at the end and he led her up it and along another corridor with large bare windows. Outside she could see a lawn and lots of trees, but no other buildings. He opened a door and pulled her inside.
This room was much the same as the one downstairs, with bare brick walls and a wooden floor, but it was larger. There was a double bed in one corner with a brass bedstead. Across the centre of the ceiling was a thick wooden beam and attached to this were several ropes, pulleys and leather straps. In the corner there was a wooden stand that contained several whips and rattan canes.
The man led her to the centre of the room. He threaded the rope over one of the pulleys then pulled it until Clare’s hands were drawn up ab
ove her head and she was almost on tiptoe, then she watched as he tied the rope to a cleat on the wall.
‘That’s what you like, isn’t it?’ he said, moving behind her. She could feel his breath on her throat, and a hand caressed her bottom.
‘Y-yes.’ She didn’t want to call him master. He was not her master.
She sensed him raise something above her head, then ease it down over her eyes. Once again she was plunged into darkness.
He patted her bottom possessively. ‘Don’t get lonely,’ he said, and then a few seconds later she heard the door being opened and closed.
Her whole body reacted with predictable excitement. She was incredibly uncomfortable, every muscle stretched as tightly as piano wire and she was forced to hold her head back between her arms, but the potential for an orgasm still pulsed in her sex. She tried to take deep breaths to calm herself, but in such a predicament it was extremely difficult.
Some time later the door opened and closed again. She heard footsteps on the wooden floor. She listened intently for any clue as to who it might be, sure now she would recognise Gulliver’s voice.
‘She looks good.’ That was not him. But she did have the feeling she’d heard the voice before.
‘Yeah, and you know what she likes…’
Before the first man could comment the lash of a whip whistled through the air and struck Clare on the meat of her backside, stinging her like a tongue of flame. It was a quite different sensation from the riding-crop or the cane – much more intense. Almost immediately there was another whistle and the whip lashed her again, and this stroke seemed to curl inward down between her legs.
She trembled violently.
‘See, loves it…’
