by Sarah Fisher
Finally sensing his presence she turned, her face tilted towards him, eyes alight and bright with tears.
‘It’s finished,’ she said in a voice cracking with emotion. In her hand she had a small brush, and as he watched she leant forward and signed her name with a flourish. He stepped up behind her and stroked her hair. She let out a long thin sob and turned to embrace his waist, pressing her face into his body. He could feel the tears, hot and angry, soaking into his shirt.
‘Please Peter,’ she whispered, ‘don’t make me leave here. Don’t send me away with those other people. I don’t like them.’
‘Let’s go and have dinner,’ he said quietly. He was afraid if he embraced her or answered her plea he would lose his sense of resolve.
Alex rubbed away the tears with the back of her hand, sniffed miserably, and then nodded.
They ate in virtual silence. Strangely, as they went out onto the terrace for coffee, Alex felt completely at peace for the first time in days. The mural was finished - her work was done and now she would find a way to go home. She had to; if Peter wouldn’t protect her, then she had to. She glanced across at him.
‘I’m leaving tomorrow,’ she said softly.
Tourne nodded.
It was an ambiguous thing to say. She knew he intended to deliver her to Simon Bay’s villa - but she had other plans. If he let her spend the night in the guest cabin it would be a simple matter of waiting until the household was asleep and then creeping away into the darkness. Instead of being driven the following morning across the island by Mario, to the fate that awaited her, she would catch the first ferry back to the mainland. Almost exactly as the thought formed in her mind Tourne turned to her.
‘You will spend tonight in the cell.’
Alex stiffened. Was it possible he could read her mind? She stared at him, considering her reply, afraid that if she protested too much he might guess her plan. After a few seconds she said softly. ‘Why can’t I sleep in the guest house?’
‘You really are quite astonishing,’ Tourne snapped. ‘How dare you question my decision? Surely by now, Alex, you’ve realised that it’s extremely unwise to do so? I am the master here - I set the rules. I’m certain your new master will correct your disrespectful failings as a matter of priority.’
Alex felt a flutter of anxiety.
Tourne continued. ‘Mario will take care of you tonight, and then I’ll have my housekeeper bathe and shave you in preparation for your delivery tomorrow.’ He beckoned her closer. She obeyed without another word. ‘And don’t ever question me or any other master or mistress again. Do you understand?’ As Alex was about to reply he caught hold of her hair, his face contorted angrily. ‘Even now you try to play this game by your own rules. Will you never learn?’ He pushed her away roughly. ‘Take off your dress.’
Alex lowered her eyes and began to unbutton the bodice. In arriving back from Mustafa’s in such a defiant mood, she had accidentally stepped too far back into her old recusant frame of mind. She fumbled nervously with the tiny pearl fastenings. She could sense his growing displeasure, and was relieved when the buttons gave way and she could slide the light cotton dress down over her body. She was afraid to look up at him, and simply stood in the pool of fabric, naked except for her sandals and the rings that he’d inserted.
‘Turn around.’
She did so, moving slowly, careful not to let her body posture suggest defiance or flirtatiousness. Even now she was his slave and relished the sensation of his eyes moving over her nakedness. If only there was a way she could stay at KaRoche with him. The thought glowed in her mind like a flare. There was nothing she would not do for him or give him; he owned her in every sense of the word, and she couldn’t imagine ever feeling the same way about any other man.
Her train of thought was broken by the arrival of the houseboy carrying a mobile phone. Tourne took it from him, and as he began to speak Alex realised with a jolt that the caller was Mustafa.
‘Actually, she’s with me now,’ Tourne said, once the niceties had been exchanged. There was a pause and he laughed without humour. ‘No, my mind is already made up, though I’m not saying your offer isn’t a good one. On the contrary - it’s highly flattering.’
Alex felt a cold chill of fear trickle down her spine - it seemed that Mustafa was pleased with her, and wanted her for his own. She prayed for Peter’s resolve to hold, and that he wouldn’t be swayed by the obviously tempting offers coming from the insatiable Arab.
Tourne was still speaking. ‘My dear friend, you know I would never set out to offend you, but the decision has already been made.’
Alex’s mind was racing. She assumed Mustafa was attempting to put in a bid before the auction to secure her services. She shivered. Only moments before she had brooded for the umpteenth time whether escaping was what she really wanted, and that what she longed for deep down was to stay with Peter Tourne, but she now realised that was impossible. For her own sake she had to finally accept that he had no intention whatsoever of keeping her - and that being the case, she had no choice but to escape from KaRoche.
As he continued to speak he beckoned her closer. She moved to his side, and trembled as he began to stroke her breasts with idle familiarity. Oddly his touch was of great comfort, and she crept even closer to him, relishing the smell and heat of his body as his fingers moved down to the folds of her sex. For a while he toyed with the ring that pierced her, and then casually slipped a finger into her moist quim. It wasn’t until he’d finished his conversation and handed the phone back to the waiting houseboy that she remembered they were being observed.
Tourne put a finger under her chin and tipped her face up to his. ‘It would appear that you’ve created a great deal of interest in my friend Mustafa.’
Alex fought to control her anxiety.
He grinned salaciously. ‘He just offered me at least twice what I might expect to get for you at auction. Believe me, that is quite a sizeable offer, and tempting to say the least.’
Alex swallowed hard, wondering whether he would be swayed by greed. He pulled her closer, pressing her down onto her knees. ‘But I told him your fate has already been decided.’
Alex tried not to show her fear; what did he mean? Had Simon Bay already put in an offer for her. Or perhaps Monique? Or Starn? Or was it someone else who’d been at Simon Bay’s party? What was going to become of her?
‘Undo my belt,’ Tourne said.
With trembling hands and heavy heart she did as he ordered.
‘Now, pull it free.’ He looked across the terrace to the still hovering servant as her fingers guided the leather through his trouser loops. ‘Come here boy, put the phone down. I have a job for you.’ He looked down at Alex. ‘Give my young friend here the belt, and then get down on all fours. Perhaps I can teach him a few new tricks.’
Alex tried hard not to meet the houseboy’s excited eyes as she handed him the belt. She could see his hands trembling as they closed around the buckle. Crouched at his feet she braced herself for the first kiss of leather. She wondered if his lack of experience would make him timid - it didn’t.
His first stroke was a terrifyingly ragged explosion that wrapped tight around her waist, cutting into her delicate flesh like razor wire. She heard Tourne say something in Greek, and closed her eyes and hid her face in the crook of her trembling arm in preparation for the second blow. This time it hit her squarely across the buttocks with a terrifying crack. The blow was so hard that it seemed to ricochet through her skull. Her every sinew tensed in readiness for the next strike. She heard her tormentor take a deep breath, and then she yelped in shock as the belt caught her low, flaring against the soft folds of her pouting sex.
The dark twin inside her mind was beginning to stir. She could feel a web of pleasure weaving itself in her belly as the next stroke, as hot as molten steel, blasted across her buttocks.
Then there was another, and another, and another. As the boy laboured on the myriad of sensations he unleashed became a blur. She gave herself up to the pain; a willing supplicant, riding it like surf as it crashed over her. Every thought and every fibre of her was fastened to the belt’s kiss. When the boy finally stopped she almost felt as if she’d been robbed of her pleasure. Hands grabbed her hips and she felt the urgent press of a cock seeking entry. She had no idea whether her rider was the houseboy or Peter Tourne - her only desire now was to give herself freely.
As the cock opened her, driving deep into her throbbing quim, she shrieked with pleasure. It felt as if she might drown and pull her unseen lover down into the water with her. The merest brush of the groin against her buttocks was enough to spark the first heady contractions of orgasm. On and on the waves swept, rolling out from the centre of her soul, until finally, exhausted and breathless, she collapsed onto the flagstones of the terrace. She was totally drained - all passion was spent.
When the penis eventually slipped away and she opened her eyes, she was pleased to see she was alone with Peter. It seemed his words to the houseboy had been a dismissal. She curled up against his broad chest, making soft noises of pleasure and affection. He gently disentangled himself from her.
‘Don’t Alex. Put your dress back on, and I’ll send for Mario. You must be ready to leave tomorrow.’
Alex stared at him, the sense of cruel reality returning. Despite everything she was still nothing more than a commodity; he’d done with her and now she was dismissed. She got to her feet, eyes downcast to disguise her pain and sense of loss. With clumsy fingers she pulled on her clothes. Once again the truth hit her that escape was imperative, and before the next sunrise.
Mario silent appeared and snapped the lead onto her collar without being instructed. He then led her away from Peter Tourne and away from the villa. His eyes were alight with lust.
‘What did big Arab do to you?’ he teased with a wicked leer as they made their way into the shadowy garden. Alex suspected he already knew, and wondered how much of the day he’d spent thinking and lusting about what had happened to her. As he jerked her close she could smell stale wine. She could see he was a little drunk.
‘You like it maybe? You know Mario like it.’ He stumbled a little on the steep steps and held out a hand to steady himself. As he did Alex, without thinking twice, seized her chance.
Grabbing hold of the leash with both hands she gave it a hefty tug, completely unbalancing her gaoler. As he staggered towards her she lifted her knee and felt a satisfying crunch as his testicles squashed against it. Speechless, gasping for air, and completely unable to move, Mario let go of the leash and collapsed into the bushes. He curled into a ball and rolled onto his back, his large hands clutched to his groin. Without considering the consequences Alex grabbed a garden hoe that lay carelessly nearby, and brought the handle crashing down onto the slob’s head. He slumped instantly, and ceased moving or making any noise.
Turning sharply, Alex sped away, running down through the archway that led to the guest cabin. Without daring to look back she threw open the door and grabbed the holdall she’d hidden in the wardrobe earlier. It may have lost her a few seconds, but it would be far easier to get away dressed in sensible outdoor clothes with money and a passport. She checked quickly and was relieved to find both her money and passport still inside. She tried not to think of Mario and the enormity of what she’d done, lest her frail courage suddenly desert her. Despite her haste she had the presence of mind to grab a couple of succulent oranges from the bowl by the window for sustenance. Then, bag in hand, she hurried back down through the gardens, desperately seeking a way out that didn’t involve going back into the villa.
Removing her sandals she ran down flight after flight of stone steps. As the darkness closed around her she thought she heard voices from the terrace. Perhaps Mario had recovered already. Just as she was about to hide in the relative safety of the bushes, she saw a gate set in the perimeter wall, and headed for it. Carefully easing it open, she was delighted to find it led onto a steep coastal track - it was hardly a road. Panting heavily, Alex quietly closed the gate behind her and slipped into the oily shadows.
In the moonlight she could see the track was cut into a deep gorge, its high sides creating dark pockets of inky blackness. She scurried for cover and changed into the clothes she’d brought with her. Rolling the discarded things into a tight bundle she stuffed them deep into a patch of scrub and headed downhill on what, she hoped, would be the pathway leading to the main harbour. She could now distinctly hear voices on the hillside above. She had no head start to speak of - if she wanted to be safe she knew she’d have to find someone to help her, or somewhere to hide.
The track, which skirted the walls of KaRoche, was steep and uneven. Alex was glad she’d had the sense to bring boots. The heavy rubber soles not only gave her good grip but also muted her footsteps. In the darkness she was certain no one could see her from the grounds of the villa, but her heart still beat a calypso rhythm in her chest, and the downy hairs on the back of her neck prickled. Gingerly she clambered up the steep walls of the track, trying to get her bearings.
Far below, away to her right and along the edge of the shoreline, she could make out the lights of the harbour. Above her she heard the sound of a car starting up - either Mario had alerted Peter, or Mario intended to take the car to search for her himself. He would now be in a foul mood - to say the least, and she certainly didn’t relish the thought of being caught and subsequently punished by him.
Overhead the moon broke through the clouds, and for a few seconds Alex could see that amongst the rocks and bushes on the seaward side of her was a path that led down towards the rocky shoreline; it looked impassable to anything but foot traffic. She scrambled up between the bushes and began to pick her way down towards the sea. The path was steep and precarious, twisting backwards and forwards between the tumbles of boulders and wind contorted trees.
It seemed to take an eternity to get down to the shoreline. With every step she was afraid she might fall or lose her footing in the darkness. Finally, though, the path flattened out, and Alex was at last aware of the peaceful lapping of the warm Mediterranean. Another few steps and she was finally walking on sand, and a gentle sea breeze played through her hair. Relief popped in her stomach as she spotted a cluster of lights through the silvery darkness. It wasn’t the main harbour, but at least here she might get some much needed help.
A hundred or so metres along the beach she realised that what she could see was a low cottage or a boatshed, with a small fishing vessel hauled up onto the shore beside it. A lantern swung and squeaked in the breeze. Figures huddled around the boat, the sound of their voices and an occasional laugh drifting towards her. As she got closer one of the figures looked up; a pale face in the dark night. Before she considered the possible dangers she called out to them.
‘P-please...’ her timid voice strained nervously. ‘Can - can anyone help me?’
A man called back in Greek. Something about his voice startled her. The lantern swung higher and two of the figures headed towards her at a brisk trot. She sensed instantly that she’d come across a clandestine meeting that was supposed to be secret, though she had no idea what it could be. Calling out had been a terrible mistake. Turning frantically she scrambled around in the darkness for the cliff path. Behind her she could hear raised voices getting rapidly closer, and she knew she’d escaped from one nightmare, only to foolishly stumble into another.
As she stumbled around in the stamina sapping sand a pair of steely hands clamped onto her shoulders. She shrieked in terror. She was utterly unable to resist as her captor flipped her over onto her back. Pinned down in the darkness she struggled and twisted back and forth to try and unseat the shadowy stranger who held her down in the sand. After a few seconds another figure appeared with the lantern, and lifted it up so they could see what i
t was they’d caught.
Alex, breasts heaving and breath rasping in her lungs, glanced up into the lamp’s glare. Four male faces peered down at her. One of them mumbled something in Greek, and a second leaned closer. His rough fingers slipped under the leather collar Peter Tourne had fastened around her throat. The man sitting heavily on Alex said a few words to his colleagues. She didn’t need to speak Greek to understand that they knew exactly what the collar meant. The man who’d touched the collar now tugged at the front of her shirt. It was strained tightly across her breasts, and the buttons easily popped open. The delicate silver chain and the rings that pierced her nipples glittered in the lamplight. There was a split second of silence. Alex felt the lust rising in the men as clearly as she could hear the sea rolling in, and had little doubt as to what would follow.
One of the men mumbled Peter Tourne’s name, and there was a contemptuous laugh from the man sitting on her as he squeezed and mauled her vulnerable breasts. His breath reeked of cheap wine.
Jerking their prize to her feet, he picked her up as if she weighed no more than a child, and threw her over his shoulder. She gasped and thumped his back with her fists, her feet kicking wildly. Her strong captor merely laughed, slapped her bottom, and tightened his grip on her thighs.
When the party reached the boat the man threw her unceremoniously onto the sand. One of the other’s knelt across her and pinned her hands back above her head. She was surprised when another pressed the mouth of a bottle to her lips and grunted something at her. Unable to resist, she took a long drink. Wine poured down her throat, making her gasp for breath. The lamp was put down in the sand and the soft light draped across Alex’s bewildered face. Another pair of hands closed around her waist, while someone else pulled and tugged her boots and jeans off.