Escort in Training (Emma Book 1)

by James Grey

  CRACK! CRACK! CRACK!

  I attack with renewed vigour, trying to hit the paler patches of her skin. Yes, it’s me with the power now. What goes around, comes around, doesn’t it Petra?

  I realise that I’m pouring with sweat. There’s still a whisper of arousal in my nerves, but the thought of taking off my top quickly passes. I’m not ready to show Rupert my body right now. I’m still pissed off with him, though less so with every stroke of the belt that hits Petra.

  Yes, it’s like she’s his scapegoat now. I lose count of the blows, but I’ve gone way past the number of hits I gave him. I feel I can lay into her more, because in some twisted way she’s taking Rupert’s punishment as well as her own.

  I can see her muscles tensing. Her fists have clenched, just like her buttocks. It’s like she’s trying to squeeze the pain out. Maybe she’s human after all? Not a whimper from her lips, though. She’s a tough cookie, this one. I’ll have to give her that.

  And still I thunder the blows down upon her.

  CRACK! CRACK! CRACK!

  Me, who has never hurt a thing in her life.

  I stop, flick some stray strands of hair back behind my ears, and meet Rupert’s eyes. He’s looking up at me, softly disapproving now, yet wordlessly so. Those eyes. Suddenly I feel the tears knocking at the back of my eyes.

  Rupert doesn’t move, he just keeps looking at me. I take a step back, and survey the wreckage of my savagery. Her ass is bright red.

  I have inflicted some very serious pain on this woman. She’s motionless, passive, and in an instant I feel like an unspeakable bully. There’s a rising lump in my throat, like a light has just come on in my brain.

  I have no idea how to end this, but I know I need to get out. Now. I’m getting the sniffles, and can feel the emotion gearing up to flood through me like a torrent. A quick escape is all I want. I need to round off this act pronto, before all of my control falls apart.

  My voice wavers now. “Consider yourselves punished. Now don’t let me see either of you any time soon.”

  I drop the belt on the floor with a clatter. It’s my last statement. I have to force myself to avoid Rupert’s eyes. I turn and walk out of the door, slamming it behind me. The harsh crash of its wood echoes through the empty corridor as I leave them there.

  I scuttle down the hallway as fast as I can, my heart racing and the tears in full flow. Thank God I don’t meet anybody. I’m a tangle of all the feelings a woman can know, but mostly I am just upset. That was one hell of a ride back there, from anger to megalomania to pride to jealousy to lust. And back again.

  No wonder my head is in a spin. All I know is that I don’t want to go back to ‘our’ room. I don’t want to see her and I don’t want to know how long it will be before she comes back. If she’s blowing him again, crimson ass and all, I just don’t want to know. What I need is somewhere to unwind.

  I find myself heading for Sarah’s room. She’s on my side. She’s got a spare bed. I’ll close my eyes, and when I do all this will go away.

  I knock, whimper my name, and she calls me in. She’s sitting on her bed, reading a magazine, like a normal person might. Sanity in an ocean of madness!

  She looks up, concern all over her face, and says, “Hey you, what’s going on? What’s with the crying?”

  I shake my head. “Oh Sarah…I can’t talk about it now. I just want to curl up. I’m spent. I can’t go back to my room and her. Please can I stay in the spare bed?”

  The warmest, most caring smile lights up her face. “Sure thing! Whenever you’re ready. You just take it easy now and get some rest.”

  I nod, wiping my nose gracelessly with the back of my hand. She holds out a tissue box from the bedside table. I give her a feeble smile and take one. I blow my nose and dab my eyes.

  “Thank you,” I mumble as I crawl under the covers into the bed’s warm embrace. I’m fully clothed. She’s still naked. And I’m so completely spent that I don’t care. This day has been so long, I don’t even remember its beginning.

  She smiles back at me and flicks off my bedside light.

  Chapter XVII

  I wake up early. I must have fallen asleep right away. That always happens when I’m upset. But it wasn’t a pure sleep. Dreams haunted my night. Whips cracked in my head. Fury bubbled and burned. None of these visions were pleasant. It feels like I’ve only been half-asleep all night long, and I’m more exhausted than ever.

  As I come to my senses I realise that Sarah is wide awake. She’s lying on her side, looking at me with concern in her eyes. When she sees I’m joining her in the waking world, her face breaks into a smile. It’s the kind of wake-up I’ll never get in my own room.

  Speaking of which….shit! Showers! I’m going to have to wash her again! Either that, or rebel completely. I sigh and curl up into a little ball. I don’t even want this day to begin. I hate it already.

  “What time is it?” I whisper from underneath the comforting duvet.

  Sarah giggles and says, “It’s only seven! You can go back to sleep if you want!”

  I groan. “Ugh. But I won’t. I don’t even want to think about today. I’m going to pieces.” And then, “I’m so happy I could sleep here, Sarah. You have no idea what a lifesaver it’s been.”

  She clears her throat and says, “Well, no, I don’t really. But I do know that I like having you here. Stay as long as you like! You’re a great distraction. And you’ve got to tell me what’s going on now!”

  Sarah throws back her covers, runs excitedly around the front of my bed, and crawls in with me. I’m too taken aback to say anything as she spoons up to me in her bright red pyjama shorts and plain white t-shirt. The little rebel’s sneaked some clothes on in her room!

  She puts her arm around my stomach and says, “I’ve had enough of shouting across this great big room. Now won’t you tell me everything?”

  This feels nice. Comforting, warm and almost motherly. All the things I won’t get from him or her. If there’s a girl among us whose looks are an acquired taste, it’s probably Sarah, but maybe that’s why she’s a decent human being. She needs friendship and support, so she’s learned how to give it. Positive vibes are simply flooding out of her right now. I feel better already.

  I bring her up to speed on my first few brushes with Rupert and Petra, blushing when I skip through the sex session. And then I tell her the whole story of last night, from the maze to the letter to the thrashings. She listens to it all without interrupting. Just the odd murmur in my ear to tell me she’s listening. I’m surprised, but it feels super-nice to have her hold me like this. I must be a wreck.

  “And that’s why I’d rather not do today,” I conclude. At least my sense of humour is coming back. “Can I call in sick for showers?”

  She snickers and says, “I dunno, maybe you can? Or you could just do me.” She gives my tummy a playful pinch. “I don’t have a shower partner, remember?”

  I ponder the idea, which sounds far more pleasant. But then, I think Petra will go through with it. So me switching to Sarah would be me backing down. Emma Carling does not lose face any more.

  “Don’t like that idea?” she says, sounding disappointed. She’s nothing if not flirty with me. I remember suddenly that we can have no secrets after our double-man experience the other day.

  “Don’t be silly,” I reply. “It’s just that it would be letting her win.”

  “You fancy her, don’t you?”

  Her words are like a punch to the stomach.

  “No! Stop it!”

  “Haha, I bet you do! Who wouldn’t? And tell me you didn’t feel a bit turned on during the beating…”

  I don’t know what to tell her any more. The beatings were an emotional tumble-dryer. Was I aroused at certain moments? I vaguely recall something like that. It certainly isn’t my dominant memory. And if I was, was it her? Him? The act of punishing? Being the punisher?

  “I can’t really say,” I reply crossly. “All I know is…I’m not really sure o
f anything. I can’t say I feel like seeing either of them. As for sexy beatings…I don’t know about that either. Maybe if it’s a bit less personal next time, then I’ll have a better idea.”

  “Less personal is probably what we’re looking at in this line of work, so I guess you’ll find out soon enough.”

  She cuddles up closer to me and holds me tight. Gosh, this Sarah really likes me!

  Petra ignores me in the shower, even as we rub our soapy hands all over each other’s bodies. So what’s new in that? Don’t mix business and pleasure, huh? Or pain and pleasure, as the case may be. It’s back to normal. Neither of us cracks. I don’t think we’ll be talking again.

  I do allow myself a moment of satisfaction as I note the rosy tan on her backside. I even take a step back for a second to admire the remnants of my handiwork. In the clear light of day, my guilt has taken a back seat again. Although it doesn’t look like anything the Emma I know would ever have produced, I’m strangely proud of that criss-cross of two-inch-wide pink strips.

  Maybe it’s because they tell me I’m getting kinda liberated in this place. And they remind me that I am strong. Not to be messed with.

  There is still a part of me that feels repelled. But if this is a kinky rite I had to go through, well, I can’t think of a more deserving recipient. (Apart from my ex-boss, of course…my that would be nice!) And yes, it’s a little bit sexy to think that it was me who painted that scarlet picture. I can’t understand that part…I never knew I had it in me. But there you go. I’m learning new things about myself every day here.

  I think the other girls all notice it too. You can see the marks from several paces away. Latifa winks at me over Alyssia’s shoulder. Sarah watches us, unashamedly fascinated. Lilia catches my eye with a cold glare. Petra, in fact, seems to be the only indifferent one in the room. Are we the number one storyline here? Surely the others have had their adventures too…haven’t they?

  Rupert is nowhere to be seen. Funnily enough, it’s just Miss Jackson and another mentor, the glamorous Miss Ridgewell, watching us from the gallery.

  I’m famished, but I nip back to my room to fetch some clothes. Petra still seems no more grumpy than usual. She certainly has no interest in where I might have spent the night. I find myself unconcerned about what she may have done with hers. We ignore each other. Every girl’s played this game, and honestly it’s not that difficult. It’s easier than pretending, I always think.

  Then I remember my resolution to stick with Sarah in her time of nakedness, so I just head off to her room in my towel. She’s thrilled when I drop it, explaining that I won’t see her isolated and want to support her.

  I grab her and we report for cooked breakfast entirely in the nude. I’m far less bothered now that I’m not the only one, and the other girls barely seem to notice our state. Maybe they’re quiet because they know their turn will come. Miss Jackson pauses in the doorway, and gives me a smile. I rather hope she likes my ‘initiative’.

  But never mind naked – I’m only thinking food this morning. Last night’s unexpected exertions played out on an empty stomach, and I can feel it now.

  Wilfred obliges me with poached eggs (who even knows how to make those?), bacon, fresh fruit and creamy yoghurt. Sarah’s a little more restrained, and I feel like a pig. But I’m lucky that I’ve never been one to put on weight. All I ever did was lose it, courtesy of work stress.

  At times like this, being waited on hand and foot with brilliant food, I can’t bear thinking about failing at this thing. There’s no downside to this kind of perk. As for other aspects of the game, well, I’ll keep working on those. The fundamentals of it are sexy and fun. Surely it’s just a case of getting used to it?

  The opportunity to push myself further comes in the afternoon. It’s new territory for the group: everyone is going to be involved in something at the same place and time. The life-sized chess board at three o’clock, to be precise. I gulp as Miss Ridgewell announces the plans to us at the breakfast table. She has a twinkle in her eye.

  All the trainees are instructed to wear black. We’re told not to wear anything tight, but it’s stressed that we’re to put on enough to be ‘identifiably black’. The weather is warm again, though breezy. Alyssia’s see-through thing would do the job, I think to myself. Life-sized chess. They’re not short on imagination here.

  Rummaging through the Aladdin’s Cave that is my closet, my eye falls on the weird backless dress. The really backless one. It’s jet black. Sexy in its own way. It’s definitely loose. Dare I? I think I’ve got the guts, but what if the whole event is perfectly respectable and I end up the odd one out? Those doubts again. What a yo-yo my mind is!

  Respectable seems highly unlikely, but I compromise and wear a pair of reasonably substantial – yet silky enough to make you groan – black panties. At the last second I decide to add a bra.

  It’s quite a collection of outfits that gathers on the lawn alongside the chess board. There’s leather and plastic. Robes and miniskirts. A cape and a cloak. Some very high heels. Well, you can always trust a bunch of girls to get into the spirit of fancy dress. If this was a test of our creativity and daring, I’d say we’ve all done well. Although our stuffed wardrobes certainly make that easy.

  I stare at Sarah. She’s not been granted leave to dress yet. Someone has used body paint on her instead. Strategically. Only her sex and breasts have been spared the black brush. It’s…compelling.

  Then I notice the gentlemen. Most of the faces are familiar to me by now. I try to stop myself seeking out one in particular, but it’s only a moment before I notice him. Rupert, like all the others, is resplendent in a creamy white dress suit. The men are identically tailored, down to their red pocket handkerchiefs and silver cufflinks. To a man, they look like they’re on their way to one extremely exclusive wedding reception.

  They ignore us as we gather, and continue to mingle amongst themselves. They help themselves to drinks, mostly of the sparking variety, from an immaculately laid-out side table, where Wilfred is in attendance. Miss Jillings calls us together and hands us bottles of water. She instructs us all to drink. I can feel electricity brewing already.

  Finally Miss Jillings sets us up. Most of us fill the second row on our side of the board. It’s a long time since I’ve played chess, but I surmise we must be pawns. And then it finally dawns on me why we’re all dressed in black. The girls are all on one team. My square is near the edge of the board. We’re all told to stand upright – hands in front of us - with our legs slightly apart.

  Alyssia, Carrie and Simone are given roles as knight, rook and bishop respectively. The last five places on our team are taken by women I don’t recognise. Generally they seem a little older and wiser. Beautiful, of course. They seem unperturbed by the mystery of it all, and share jokes amongst themselves as they assemble. The uncertainty in our trainee group is palpable though. Even Alyssia and Latifa are quiet as the men take their places.

  Apart from the morning showers on day one, when we were all too shocked to have any thoughts at all, this is the first time our group has faced a collective new challenge. Maybe I imagine it, but for once I seem to feel a blanket of solidarity over us as we contemplate the two ranks of white suits before us. All of us. I don’t think any of us wish it on any of the others to be the first to have to make a move.

  And what happens when one of us is…taken?

  At last we are all in place. A voice cries out for a pawn to advance, and Robert takes two paces forward in the middle of the board. I start in the direction of the sound: it’s our mysterious daily waker. Not for the first time this week, he’s lording it over us in an elevated position – this time a chair on the terrace – and I haven’t noticed. Looks like he’s calling the shots for the white team.

  As for team black, well, none of us gets a say. There’s another equally authoritative looking man sitting next to waker guy. I’m pretty sure I haven’t seen him around the house before. He decides where and when we will move.
In effect, we’re just actors in a giant game between two overgrown boys. What kind of a thrill are they getting out of making us their puppets?

  It’s not long before I find out. I’m quickly plunged into one of the most shocking afternoons of my life. Incredible and indelible. If there were any inhibitions in this setup before now, they take a pounding today. I can’t imagine a more intense test for our group. Or a better bonding exercise.

  I watch, mouth agape, as the first capture is made. Their knight – a balding man with a cigar in his mouth – takes our pawn Carol. She awaits her fate with admirable courage. She must know the eyes of nearly forty people are locked on her as she goes limp and lets him pull her skimpy dress off her shoulders, dropping it to the floor. She must know we’re fascinated and powerless and riveted as she follows his instructions to bend over in nothing but her heels.

  Not ten yards away from me, on a bright afternoon in an English country garden, the oriental beauty is vigorously fucked in the middle of the chess board.

  I doubt she comes, but she whimpers and cries out as he gets closer and then releases into her. Then, bent over with her eyes closed and breathing heavily, she is given her marching orders. She gathers up her clothing and walks off the board, white liquid streaming down her legs. Her expression is blank. Jesus. My heart starts to thud at the thought I could be next.

  Is it a good thing that I’m a fringe piece? It’s a long while before I am moved. I watch as Lilia the pawn is taken by Frederick, whom I remember mainly for his intense stare while he watched us shower. He demands a blow job. She unhitches his trousers with ease, and delivers what looks like expert service. He comes in her mouth. I can’t tear my eyes away. Except to catch Sarah’s now and then. She looks worried again.

  The game is not entirely one-sided. The female team has its share of success, and when one of our team takes a white piece…the man evidently submits to the woman’s desires. Holy crap! I think I like that idea even less. But Alyssia seems to revel in squatting above Jack, exhorting him to lick her ass and pussy. She comes in loud and ear-splintering fashion. Bloody extroverts!