by Emily Tilton
“...oversight has to change. As you know very well, Henry, Selecta quite literally has the whip hand over the entire system. Something has to be done about it, right?”
“You’re right,” Henry said, though his voice sounded distracted. Then the Relicorp CEO said in a different voice, “That’s it, Jenny. Move this little pussy on my hand.”
The conversation ceased for a few moments, and only moans and whimpers of four girls at different stages of sexual submission came over the feed.
“So I came to Monsieur Herrier with a plan,” Kevin said. “I said, ‘Let’s stage some games of Discipline, and leak the story. That will force the government to put Selecta in its place.’”
A message from Sarah Bennett popped up on David’s screen. His lips parted and he drew a sharp breath as he read it.
Rome thinks Logan is trying to instigate the collapse. They’re moving a satellite to destroy the chateau if necessary. If they decide to fire, you’ll have ten minutes to get our people out.
Chapter Seventeen
Barbara could hardly think, with Jean’s cock pounding her so hard against the fucking block. His hips slammed into her sore bottom as if he meant to deliver the message that no tycoon could claim her the way her leo could. The pain from her punished cheeks and the shame of being whipped and fucked over a block, in a row with three other girls, flowed together with the sheer urgent pleasure of a huge, driving cock in her soaking pussy. All of it made rational thought nearly impossible.
Cynthia...
Kidnapped? Yes, obviously... how would she be here, otherwise...
She heard moaning around her, and whimpering, and screams of forced pleasure. She sobbed with her own fullness, and then Jean had pulled out of her pussy, and the head of his penis pressed just a little higher, where he meant to complete the claiming of her body, and Barbara sobbed again.
Jean... captured... doing... what? Outside, for... for me...
She heard a long moan come from her chest as she made herself open to his hardness and felt him impale her deeply—the man who had first fucked her bottom, returned to reclaim it as his own.
For the game... the crazy game...
The game whose significance she had not understood that first time, two weeks before, when she had served Herrier as his piece and Kevin Logan had been the gamemaster while Jessica played for one of the other French magnates. Now, from what she had just heard Kevin tell Henry Granby, though Barbara couldn’t yet think it through, this game could bring down the Pretorian Guard.
How did this Kevin Logan person even know about that? Who was he? Did he represent the actual point of her mission, which Cynthia and Jean couldn’t even tell her for fear she would let it slip somehow?
He must be a Guardsman himself, who had... who meant...
Barbara arched her back and cried out. Next to her she heard Jenny Granby give a little whimper.
“That’s it, sweetheart,” Henry said from behind and above. “Let me in this adorable bottom. You know how.”
Jean drove deep inside Barbara’s own anus, then held himself there.
“I see what you mean,” he said. Barbara felt her eyes widen, and she whimpered at the degradation of her leo addressing her master while he had his manhood deep in her backside. His resolute voice seemed tuned to the frequency of every nerve ending in her body. “She does need this, doesn’t she?”
“She does. My little whore needs it very much.”
Barbara bit her lip and whimpered again, her whole body writhing over the block to try to ease the terrible fullness of her bottom, to press her aching clit against the hard wood of the fucking block beneath her.
Herrier spoke again. “Alright, gentleman. It seems to me these cunts are well claimed. Let us proceed. You’ll find a leash in the pocket of your robes, Mr. Granby and Mr. Mercator; clip it to your girl’s collar before you unfasten her restraints, please. It will remind her that she is yours, tonight, and let you lead her where she needs to go.”
* * *
Barbara couldn’t look at the other girls as, after loosing them from their restraints, the men in the robes whose colors matched their pieces’ collars helped them rise from the fucking blocks. Red for Barbara and Jean; purple for Kevin and Jessica; blue for the Granbys; green for Cynthia and Sebastian Fredricks. She gave Jean one look, the kind of look a girl might give an ex who has a right to feel a good deal of resentment for the way she broke up with him. He looked down at her impassively, the leash in his right hand, as if to tell her she would receive no mercy from him.
Barbara’s anus felt sore from his pounding cock, and she found herself putting her hand self-consciously back there, to soothe and to protect the poor little bottom Madame du Gare had punished and Jean had fucked. That made Jean’s eyes crinkle ironically, and he smiled as if in satisfaction. Blushing, Barbara averted her own eyes to look down at the stone floor, so that she didn’t have to see his face. Was he pretending to treat her like Herrier’s slut, or did he do it to protect both of them? Her thoughts whirled in her brain, and her mind felt utterly at a loss to answer as she bent her burning face to the floor and followed Jean at the tug of the leash at her collar.
As Herrier led them all outside, though, into the torch-lit night, Barbara managed to glance at Cynthia, who walked beside her, behind the Englishman who had fucked her bottom so hard, as the other girls listened to that first claiming. Barbara tried to hold firmly in her mind the relationship established by their cover—Cynthia had hired the economics student as a fetish model and prospective escort at the Ostia Agency.
How would a girl react to seeing her former boss at a party, just as naked as she is and wearing the same kind of collar? What if both of them had just received ass-fuckings, and were being led out into the night to play a twisted game?
She arranged her face into the woeful expression she thought a young economics student who modeled on the side, and had left the agency to become the plaything of a billionaire, might wear. She turned to Cynthia, to see the Ostia agna, station chief of Paris, with an expression of resignation on her face. Cynthia’s eyes, as Sebastian Fredricks led her along by the leash, naked in the warm darkness illuminated as if in a wicked fairytale by the glow of the burning torches, were turned downward as they crossed the threshold onto the lush grass of the chateau gardens. She looked to Barbara like a tamed wild animal, captured for sport and then housebroken by thorough, harsh discipline.
Barbara felt her jaw drop. She remembered Cynthia’s moans as Fredricks had caressed her, the way the blonde girl had said, Yes, sir. She knew that Herrier had trained Cynthia: he had spoken to the younger girl of her predecessor, with an irony that had told Barbara he must know something of how thoroughly Cynthia and David Mancini had infiltrated his organization. Barbara hadn’t had any idea, though, of how deeply her master had evidently wished for revenge.
Madame du Gare had given the Ostia station chief a terrible whipping, and then Sebastian Fredricks had claimed her with his hands and his cock, and now it seemed Herrier’s retribution had dazed Cynthia the same way Barbara herself felt stunned and helpless.
Literally led on a leash, by the man who initiated me, but who I rejected.
Something deep in her mind knew that she hadn’t truly rejected Jean; that she had a mission. Looking at Cynthia, and seeing the older girl turn to her briefly with eyes that seemed empty of everything but her submission to the man who had claimed her as his cunt, Barbara began to doubt her own memory of herself—her identity. She, too, was a cunt in the game of Discipline, now, shared by her master with the man who hadn’t known how to dominate her properly.
The last time Barbara had served as a piece in the game, the whole thing had gone by in a blur: Herrier had led her to a square, and then Kevin Logan had told her where to go, and then one of the French tycoons had spanked her over his knee in the players’ pavilion, and for some reason that had eliminated Herrier and Barbara from the game. Herrier had wanted to pay attention to his guests and the
game, and so he had sent her, his piece and his little whore, to bed under the care of Madame du Gare.
She had awoken to the sun streaming into the windows of the magnate’s bedroom and the feeling of his hand between her legs from behind, arrogantly parting her thighs and raising her knee so that he could enjoy her with his thrusting hardness even before Barbara had awakened fully. As she had whimpered, her bottom moving to the urgent, masterful rhythm of his fucking, Herrier had said in her ear, “It was a good game, my dear. Next time perhaps you shall experience more of it.”
Now, because of the presence of Henry Granby, Barbara got to hear an explanation of the basic rules in English for the first time; before the previous game Herrier had delivered the same confusing summary in French too rapid for her to understand more than a few sentences. The girls were made to kneel on the grass in front of their players, leashes held in the men’s hands, while the billionaire spoke. As he outlined the shape of the game, Herrier directed most of his words to Mr. Granby, but he occasionally addressed Jean as well, as if even an uninvited guest might expect a measure of courtesy from a man as great as Jules Herrier.
“As you can see,” Herrier began, gesturing to the interior of the pavilion, “there is a place here for each player to sit, as well as the various pieces of furniture and implements that you may use when demonstrating your mastery of the cunts you will be called upon to discipline and enjoy when contests arise.”
Barbara saw Jenny Granby look around fearfully at the two fucking blocks and the bench, at the rack of canes and paddles and straps. She looked up at her husband, who put his hand down to stroke her cheek reassuringly. What did it feel like, Barbara wondered, to be a young wife whipped by the housekeeper and fucked by your husband at a party, then led out naked and leashed to kneel at his feet in the darkness? Barbara thought that she could see on Jenny’s face that at least she had the same kind of troubling desires Barbara herself did—Jenny obviously felt a good deal of fear, but her moans, too, over the block as Mr. Granby fucked her, had sounded very real.
Is it like when Jean... when my leo... claimed me, in the initiation cell?
Memories came flooding back, then, and Barbara had to fight back a tear as she listened to the cruel man who thought he had taken possession of her, body and soul, as his little whore, speak about the dark, terribly arousing game in which he had awarded her back to her leo, her true master. She looked up at Jean, and found him looking down at her, his eyes narrow, and she knew in that moment—even if she also knew she would have to forget it, too, very soon, because of what the mission and the game demanded.
She knew he loved her even in that narrow-eyed, nearly cruel gaze. His very cheekbones, those high, sexy ridges, told her. He couldn’t keep it from her any more than Barbara could keep her love from him, though she did her best to keep her own face set in the scorn of the bad girl who has dumped her kind boyfriend for a magnate who treats her like the slut she is.
“There are many interesting choices to be made in the game,” Herrier said, “and I will do my best to recommend at each juncture two or three that seem wisest, especially in the midst of your first contest.”
“Can you say a little more about the contests?” Mr. Granby asked, looking down again at Jenny with a smile as if in hope that the answer would reassure her.
Kevin Logan answered with a chuckle, “You’ll both find them pretty natural, I think. There are rules, obviously, but on your turn if you tell Jules what you want to do with the girls, to punish them or enjoy them, he’ll tell you what move to make.”
Jenny had turned to the tall, brown-haired American as he spoke, a deep furrow on her forehead. Barbara hardly remembered what Herrier and the other French billionaire had said during the contest that had eliminated her, in that last game, but she remembered Mr. Logan and Herrier deep in conversation about it—she felt sure that for those who understood the game, it had a great deal more complexity than this explanation made it sound like. On the other hand, Barbara supposed you could know the way the pieces move on a chessboard, and play a game without knowing anything about how your experienced opponent beat you so quickly.
Mr. Granby clearly had the same hesitation Barbara did. His hand played idly with Jenny’s hair in a way that made his young bride’s chest visibly heave with need as she looked up at him, and sent a distracting quiver through Barbara’s own hips. His eyes, though, sought out Mr. Logan’s with the acumen of a man used to out-strategizing those around him.
“Fair enough, but I’m guessing there’s a good deal more to it, or you wouldn’t be in France.”
Mr. Logan chuckled, but Barbara had a momentary sense that Mr. Granby had landed a heavy blow, perhaps without knowing it.
“No, that’s right,” he said, putting his hand down to stroke his own wife’s cheek. Jessica’s expression as she looked up at him seemed unreadable to Barbara. Who was she? Who were they? “I’m here because these contests of mastery have many meanings—and, I’m hoping, some impact beyond the game.”
Chapter Eighteen
Jean had two theories, now, as to why the Logans had taken up residence with Jules Herrier and brought to him the game of Discipline. Neither of them made much sense, but Jean was at a loss to come up with a third version of the story—at least a version that fit the available facts.
Either Kevin and Jessica Logan had a mission—given by the Guard or by some other entity—whose existence lay hidden above Jean’s security clearance, or they had gone rogue. Going rogue could mean betraying the Guard, but Herrier still didn’t seem to know about the Guard. When he and Kevin spoke of the American couple’s presence, or of the significance of the game of Discipline, they spoke only of Selecta’s role in global governance, economics, and culture.
Thus Jean thought he could tell that Kevin Logan didn’t intend to betray his vows to the Pretorian Guard. But, he reflected as he listened to the man explain at least as much as he wanted Henry Granby to understand, Kevin could simply not wish to risk Herrier’s retribution—or even the vengeance the Guard might wreak. Jean’s mind went round and round, even as he tried to calm it, since each word out of Kevin’s mouth seemed to deepen the mystery.
Jean wished he could look at Cynthia, to see if his station chief and friend were alright—and whether she had any silent advice to offer as to how to handle the Logans. His cover as a fellow of the faculty of economics, however, kept him entirely separate from the Ostia Agency: Jean couldn’t risk a glance in Cynthia’s direction, since it might betray a familiarity with her that he shouldn’t possess, according to his cover.
“Let me ask you, Henry,” the American said. “And you, Jean, since it seems like you’re an expert.” Jean raised his eyebrows at the compliment, trying to make his face resemble that of a confused, obsessive, jilted boyfriend who also happens to know a great deal about global energy markets. “Do you think that Selecta could maintain its... let’s just call it market share... if it became general knowledge that their executives played this game? And a friend of the First Lady is involved?”
Jean looked at Henry and gave a Gallic shrug. Henry chuckled, but Kevin seemed unamused.
“I don’t know,” Jean said. “Americans seem to get away with a lot these days.”
That made Henry laugh outright. Jean took the opportunity to glance down at Barbara, who gazed up at him with troubled eyes. Her forehead creased when they exchanged the look, and then Barbara broke eye contact to look over at Jessica Logan. Jean followed his naked game piece’s gaze to see that Jessica had fixed her own eyes on Barbara.
What did the American girl mean to communicate? Resentment? Sympathy? Self-justification? Jean didn’t even know if the Logans knew that he and Barbara were Guard operatives, though they must know Cynthia Mancini, and neither of them had acknowledged the acquaintance: Jessica seemed just as reluctant as Jean to look at the Ostia station chief.
But Henry pulled Jean’s attention back to the conversation. “Yes,” he agreed, “but not that kind of
thing. I mean, this kind of thing.” He gestured to the naked girls on leashes at their feet. “I have to admit that I’ve been trying to pull Relicorp in Selecta’s direction, but I’m guessing you may mean to make me an offer I can’t refuse.”
“You are a man of sense, Mr. Granby,” said Herrier. “An alliance against Selecta is precisely the aim. Mr. Mercator, what does your expertise tell you will happen if the European industrial base allies itself with Relicorp, with the backing of Mr. Fredricks here, as far as the energy markets are concerned?”
Jean’s heart seemed to skip a beat. “Realignment,” he said automatically. Also, potentially, the collapse of the global economy.
Without the soft landing—or with only as much of it as the Guard can put into place in the six months or so it would take for the markets to freeze.
Jean stared at Kevin. Now a third theory pressed itself on his mind, consistent with every piece of data except Jean’s having heard that Kevin Logan was a wise, sane man.
“Realignment,” Kevin confirmed. “Selecta put on an equal footing with Relicorp and the Groupe. Relicorp with an equal stake in the corporate laws.”
“Ah,” Henry said. He looked troubled, though. He had come here, Jean remembered, at the behest of his friends Maia North and Gordon Ernkat. To sign on with Logan and Herrier would be to betray them.
Or could Granby see the potential downfall for the whole world of loosening Selecta’s grip? The true fragility of the global economy was a secret known only to the Guard, but things would still perhaps look plenty fragile to the CEO of Relicorp.
“Do not decide now, my friend,” Herrier said to Granby. “Let us play the game. Our lovely Jessica will have her image shared more widely this time, as she serves her husband’s pleasure—that, I am afraid, will occur whether you consent or not.”
Jean looked at Jessica again: she still had her eyes fixed on Barbara, but now they seemed to Jean to have a question in them. Do you understand?