by Sarah Fisher
Now, standing alone in the villa, he wondered whether to go and watch Starn re-enact that first conquest. It might be interesting, but it would never be as magical as that first time when Gena had not known what to expect. He decided, on balance, to refill his glass - after all, he had Alex Sanderson to think about now.
Downstairs in the prison cell behind the gallery, Alex huddled into a foetal ball, trying to block out the sounds of Gena and Starn in the room beyond. Even through the thick walls she could hear Gena’s impassioned cries and Starn encouraging her on and on as he laid on the whip. The blonde’s voice seemed to echo from every surface.
Alex closed her eyes, pressed her fingers to her ears, and struggled to fill her mind with the images of the mural she intended to paint on the wall overlooking the pool in Peter Tourne’s garden. How likely was it now that she would ever have the chance to fill the cool shadowy space with pictures? However tempting the lessons Peter Tourne had to teach, she was afraid to think of what might happen if she abandoned herself to this madness. If the chance presented itself she would try to escape, even if it meant abandoning her possessions at the villa. Surely someone would help her? Perhaps the old housekeeper, who’d tried to warn her off in the first place, could be persuaded to help her break free.
As Alex tried to settle more comfortably on the thin mattress every muscle in her body ached. It seemed there wasn’t a part of her that Peter Tourne or Starn, Gena or Mario had not touched, kissed, beaten or bitten.
Finally, as the light darkened in the cell, Alex slipped into an uneasy sleep, her mind suffused with images of passion and pain. Again and again in her dreams she was torn between the desire to stay and the desire to escape. As she raced through the feverish dreamscape Peter Tourne thwarted her at every turn, and waited for her with a vicious whip in hand.
The sound of footsteps brought Alex back to consciousness with a start. The cell was now grey with early morning light. She felt cold and stiff. When she heard the key turn in her cell door her immediate reaction was to curl back into a ball in case it was Mario coming back for more. The door swung open slowly to reveal the wrinkled features of the housekeeper bearing a breakfast tray. The contents were meagre; a tin jug of water and two bread rolls and an apple, but to Alex they looked like a feast. The woman set the tray on the floor and then eyed Alex thoughtfully, her eyes moving over the girl’s nakedness. Her expression was not unsympathetic, and Alex knew she had to take a chance.
‘Will you help me?’ she pleaded quietly.
The old woman shrugged. ‘Is too late for help now. He already work the magic on you.’
Alex felt a ripple of fear run through her as the old woman continued. ‘You should go when first I tell you about Mr Tourne. You not listen then, why I listen now?’
Alex struggled to her feet, regretting it instantly as her body groaned in complaint.
The old woman nervously backed away through the open cell door. ‘If you give me trouble,’ she said, ‘I leave you to Mario - and he not always here. He forget to feed you. He very bad man.’
Alex stared at her. ‘I won’t give you any trouble,’ she whispered. ‘But please, you have to help me. If you go to my room and find my telephone book, look for Laurence Russell’s number. Please ring him. He’s my friend. He’ll come and get me. There’s money there, take it all...’ as she spoke she heard the sound of approaching footsteps, and the woman’s attention was drawn back into the corridor outside the cell.
There was a tirade of words in Greek and then the cell door slammed shut. Alex stiffened as she recognised Mario’s voice drowning out the old lady’s mumbled protests. In amongst the foreign words she recognised a few English ones - perhaps Mario was adding them for her benefit.
‘Not open door!’ the driver bellowed at the old woman ‘She is mine. Understand? I look after her you not interfere. No one to see her except me. She is mine!’
His words made Alex shudder - if she couldn’t speak to the housekeeper and persuade her to help she might never get away. Perhaps, though, she had already said enough. If the old woman rang Laurence she stood a chance of escaping.
While Mario continued to berate the housekeeper outside the cell, Alex, despite the handcuffs, hastily grabbed the apple from the tray and thrust it under the thin mattress. She then took a mouthful of the cool clear water straight from the jug, in case Mario decided to punish her by taking her breakfast away.
Seconds later the cell door slammed open and Mario stood framed in the opening, his face contorted with fury. He strode across the cell and, without warning, hit her hard across the face with his open hand. The power and surprise of the blow made her stagger backwards. Unable to steady herself because of the cumbersome handcuffs, she toppled over onto the floor, banging her head on the corner of the bed as she did.
‘You not talk to her!’ Mario roared.
Alex’s head span, though through the swirling confusion she could see the brute bearing down upon her. For one awful moment she thought he was going to kick her and tensed up, curling into a tight ball, waiting for the blow. Instead he stooped over, grabbed her hair, and yanked her back onto her feet.
‘You make me angry!’ he spat, throwing her down onto the mattress.Despite his fury his eyes moved hungrily across her naked body. She sensed that for him anger and desire were emotions that were always dangerously close to the surface of a very thin line.
He glanced back at the ruined contents of the tray - the bread was crushed on the stone floor, and the water jug lay in its own puddle.
‘You hungry?’ he said thickly.
Alex nodded. Perhaps he wasn’t such a monster after all.
Grinning, Mario clambered up onto the platform and knelt astride her. She stared up at him in horror as he unzipped his fly, trying to make some kind of contact with the cruel mind behind the bright flashing eyes. She could smell the rank odour of his masculinity even before he pulled out his cock.
‘Eat this then,’ he snorted grimly, flexing his hips as he thrust his engorged shaft into her mouth it was pointless to try and fight him. Struggling to control the feelings of nausea Alex began to suck, her mind revolted and ashamed as Mario grunted with satisfaction, his fingers seeking out her breasts, his body moving rhythmically against her face. Alex prayed that while Mario was busy abusing her, the old woman had gone to the guest cabin. Mario snorted as the pleasure overwhelmed him, and he pulled her closer. She could feel the tension building in his body and braced herself for his orgasm. Seconds later her mouth was flooded by a wave of thick semen. Alex gagged. She tried to spit his seed out but he clamped her jaw shut tight around him so that she had no option but to swallow.
He closed his eyes and slouched with his chin on his chest, and his whole body in a state of total relaxation. He remained kneeling over Alex with his hands on his thighs, and his shrinking cock being soothed by the natural fluttering of her tongue. She looked up at his bulk and wondered when he would leave her in peace. His cock felt like a slug in her mouth.
At last he slipped from between her lips. He lifted his considerable weight from her aching breasts and clambered off the platform. He grinned down at her. ‘I bring you coffee now,’ he said, waving towards the discarded tray. ‘Hot coffee and more breakfast. You just remember not to speak to old woman - you are mine. I look after you now.’
Alex sniffed miserably, her mouth still thick with the taste of his semen. Glancing up at her gaoler’s face she hoped she’d already said enough to the housekeeper. Mario left the cell, slammed the door shut behind him, and turned the key in the lock. Alex stared into the gloom and waited for him to return.
Chapter 5
Peter Tourne sat alone under a parasol on the terrace and ate his breakfast. From his vantage point he could see the fishing boats sailing out of the tiny harbour, and the first of the ferries arriving. Although it was early the sun was already hot. He glan
ced at his watch. Hearing soft footsteps he looked up into the wrinkled brown face of his housekeeper. She was carrying a jug of coffee. He smiled.
‘I thought for a moment you were Miss Sanderson,’ he said in English.
The old woman frowned. ‘Mario is too rough,’ she said flatly in her native Greek. ‘He’ll hurt her unless you speak to him. Miss Sanderson isn’t like Gena, not a local girl. If you’re not careful you could get into trouble. She’s too delicate to be left to a ruffian like Mario.’
He smiled. ‘I understand what you’re saying. Would you please ask him to bring Miss Sanderson up here? After all, I commissioned her to paint a mural. There’s no need for her to be locked up all day long.’
The old lady nodded and turned away. He watched her leave; Mario wouldn’t dare touch Alex out in the open, but locked in the small cell was another matter. What he didn’t want his housekeeper to know was that he knew exactly the kind of man Mario was, and that his driver’s brutality was a useful addition to every girl’s training.
He waited in his study for Alex’s arrival. When she stepped into the room he regarded her carefully. He noticed that she didn’t lift her head to meet his eyes, which was a good sign. Naked, and with her hands still cuffed, she looked so touchingly vulnerable.
He nodded to Mario.
‘I think we can dispense with the cuffs, Mario. After all, Miss Sanderson is an artist, and we can’t expect her to work with her hands so crudely bound, now can we? I think I have something here that will do just as well.’
He opened his desk drawer and brought out a narrow leather collar, set with silver studs. Alex looked up towards him for the first time since entering his study. Her face was pale and gaunt. There was a livid red mark on one temple - perhaps the housekeeper was right; Mario was taking his role as gaoler a little too seriously. Tourne had no wish for any of the girls in his care to sustain permanent damage - that would be counterproductive.
He held the collar out to her and turned it in his fingers so she could see what he had in store for her. It had a ring set in it, from which could be hung a chain and handle - like a dog lead. At one end of the collar was a tiny lock fastening that snapped shut and which couldn’t be opened without a key. He handed it to Mario. Alex didn’t move as the heavy man slid the collar round her throat and snapped the lock shut. When it was snugly in place Mario removed the handcuffs.
Tourne nodded his approval. ‘And how is my servant treating you, Alex?’ he asked, encouraging her to look at him. Alex glanced up with dark unhappy eyes. He could guess.
Alex shot a quick sideways glance at the swarthy driver, her eyes suddenly flashing with fury and hatred. ‘Fine - Mr Tourne,’ she said quietly - and wisely.
Peter Tourne smiled. She learned fast. ‘Good, then in that case I think it’s time you started work.’ He looked her up and down. ‘I’ll have Mario find you something appropriate to wear. The sun is very fierce today and you’re so fair skinned.’ He paused. ‘Fair skins always command a good price at auction.’
He watched Alex stiffen and stare at him.
‘At auction?’ she repeated, unable to keep the note of astonishment out of her voice.
He nodded. ‘What did you think happened to girls like you?’ he said softly, seeing the fear moving across her face like water rising. ‘When I’m ready I’ll sell you on, like Gena, and like a dozen girls I’ve trained before you. Don’t make the mistake of thinking you’re special; you’re just one of many.’ He paused and let the realisation sink in before he continued. ‘Fair skin always brings a good price.’ He waved to Mario and handed him a leash that matched the collar. ‘Get her showered and dressed, and then take her down to the garden so she can begin her work.’
Alex sat in the long cool gallery by the poolside. Around her were the tools of her trade, brought down by the housekeeper and arranged on a small folding table. She had had no chance to speak to the old woman again. Mario had watched them both like a wolf awaiting his chance to pounce.
Alex stroked the boxes of familiar brushes and paint tubes, trying hard to regain some sense of control. It was difficult. A length of chain extended from her collar to a ring set in the floor, which meant she could easily move around but could not escape.
She’d assumed when Peter Tourne had told her she would be found some clothes that he meant something of her own - she had been wrong. Mario had brought her a sheer white cotton shirt, so thin that she might as well have been naked, and a skirt that looked as if it had belonged to the elderly housekeeper. It reached the floor, and was made of rough wool. Barefoot and with no underwear she felt like a peasant servant girl, chained and ready for her master or any other man that passed her way. Every movement made the rough wool brush against her sensitive skin, electrifying her bruises and scratches.
Alex stared down at her drawing pad, wondering how on earth Peter Tourne expected her to work when so much had happened. The ideas forming in her head had nothing to do with art or painting, but of pain and passion and an overwhelming realisation that she had to escape from the clutches of Peter Tourne before it was too late. She could still feel the whip cracking across her back, and still feel Mario’s brutal touch...
She picked up her pencil thoughtfully glancing down at the wildly erotic images she’d drawn the day before. Perhaps she could create a moral fairytale - a parable that would warn other girls what Peter Tourne was like. The idea began to take shape. Turning to a new page she began to draw frantically, filling sheet after sheet of paper with rough sketches. Perhaps, if she could do nothing else, she could help warn other girls what fate awaited them in the luxurious villa called KaRoche.
Once the form of the mural began to take shape, Alex became totally immersed in what she was doing. Time passed without her being aware of it. Oblivious now to her surroundings, the only thing that registered were the pictures forming on the page. Almost triumphantly she tore a leaf from her sketchbook and began to transfer it onto the squared paper that would help her scale it up for the long wall. Peter Tourne had promised her that she could create whatever she wanted - she intended to take him at his word.
Alex didn’t hear the footsteps approaching from the garden behind her. The first time she registered a presence was when a shadow fell across her sketchpad.
‘I’ve been looking for you,’ said a low voice. Alex froze, all thoughts of the mural instantly flooding away as if a dam had burst. She turned slowly and looked up into the grim face of Starn Fettico.
She swallowed hard, knowing she was completely vulnerable. ‘Mr Tourne is upstairs, I think,’ she offered. She placed the pencil and pad on the table and sat with defensive expectancy, like a Wild West gambler preparing for an assault by a sore loser; she knew he wasn’t looking for his friend.
Starn nodded. ‘I know that. It isn’t Peter I wanted to see,’ he confirmed her fears. ‘He’s busy this morning.’
Alex felt a growing sense of panic. She watched Starn’s eyes move to the contours of her cleavage and breasts, and then fix themselves on the dark peaks of her nipples where they pressed through the thin cotton voile. She shuddered as he looked away, his gaze moving on to trace the silver chain from the ring in the floor to the collar she wore around her neck. Before she could protest he grabbed the chain and jerked it hard, dragging her to her feet. The table at which she had been working tipped dramatically, spilling pencils and paper all over the flagstone floor. The collar slid sharply up under her chin, making her gasp with discomfort.
Starn pulled her closer, ignoring the chaos he’d created. One hand cupped her breast through the thin blouse while he thrust a foot between hers and forced her legs apart. She could feel his hot and stale breath on her cheek - and an ominous lump against her belly.
‘Do you like what you’re learning?’ he hissed. ‘Peter tells me you’re a natural - but I’m not so sure.’
‘Please,’ Alex w
hispered, ‘leave me alone. I have work to do for Mr Tourne.’ She knew she had to divert his attentions. ‘Tonight. Come to my room tonight. I’ll be good - I’ll do anything you want. Please... you’re hurting me.’
‘Shut up!’ Starn hissed. He jerked the chain again, his hand dropping now so that he could fumble with her skirt, dragging it up to allow him unobstructed access to her tensed body.
‘Peter doesn’t want me to have you yet,’ he said thickly, pawing at her thighs. ‘He seems to have forgotten that women like you are meant to be used.’ He paused. ‘He’ll sell you on, you be sure of that. He’s already making plans to have you auctioned off. I might make a bid myself. You and Gena would be so good together.’ He grinned, nodding towards her sketches where they lay on the floor. ‘I saw you drawing. Are you the princess in the pictures? Gena the peasant bitch and Alex the little English princess. You’d make a superb pair; you with your sexy tongue up inside her cunt, crouched over, lovely cute arse in the air, while I take you from behind. Oh yes, I’d like that.’
Alex shuddered. Without Peter Tourne there to control him, Starn seemed almost as brutal as Mario.
His searching fingers finally found her sex beneath the skirt. ‘You’d like that too, wouldn’t you?’ he grinned as he ran his palm over the close stubble that had re-grown on her quim. He forced his hand experimentally between her legs, cupping the outer lips and teasing a finger inside her.
Alex squirmed and held her breath. She felt him stiffen even more against her belly.
‘You’re wet already!’ he snorted. ‘Perhaps Peter was right about you after all - you are made to serve.’
Alex could feel the tension building in the pit of her stomach. The muscles tightened in her shoulders. She had to get away.
Starn probed deeper, his concentration slipping for an instant as he found the goal he’d been seeking. She felt him relax, and suddenly twisted round violently, breaking free from his clutches. She clenched her fists and thumped them down onto his chest, pushing him so hard that he lost his balance and stumbled backwards. With her pulse hammering in her ears she turned to run. In the split second before she took flight, Alex remembered the collar and chain - but it was too late. Starn, breathing heavily, was already ahead of her. Although she didn’t see him she felt the chain jerk so violently that it almost choked the breath right out of her. Another violent tug sent her crashing to the floor.