by Grace, K D
Vivienne’s laughter rang through the dungeon and echoed off the walls. ‘That’s too bad, girl, because he’s not for you.’ She pulled out with such force that the man howled frustration or pain. It wasn’t clear which. She ripped the strap-on free, then in a well-practised move, she undid the man’s shackles and shoved him back into the chair where he landed on his wounded bottom with a hard grunt and a sharp intake of breath. ‘No, he’s definitely not for you, Rita. As I said, you may punish him. In fact, I have no doubt that he deserves punishment from you. But I’m the one who fucks him. He’s all mine. Aren’t you Edward?’ She turned her back on Rita and straddled the gasping Edward, easing herself down onto his cock with a breathy whimper. ‘But you can watch while he makes me come. Then you can watch while he comes, would you like that, dear?’
Rita saw everything through a cold red haze that made it feel like her head would explode. But in spite of the anger and humiliation, the watching still made her pussy ache to be satisfied. Vivienne hammered and ground against Edward with angry grunts that sounded more like rage than pleasure. And after her first orgasm, she unzipped Edward’s eye slots, and giggled almost girlishly. ‘You can come now Edward.’
And he did come, lifting Vivienne from the chair wrapping her legs around him and hammering her against the wall with so much force that Rita feared he’d break her spine, and yet she came, and kept coming until Edward was spent and dropped to the floor on his knees. And then Rita came, her orgasm racking her like some strange burning torture, all of which she experienced through a mist of angry tears.
Chapter Twenty
RECOGNITION DIDN’T COME NEARLY as often as Owen would have liked, but occasionally it came just at the right time, and today happened to be one of those times. ‘Thanks luv. You’re a lifesaver.’ He gave the house cleaner of the flat complex where Rita lived just enough of a kiss on the cheek to make her think she was the only woman in the world. ‘I’ll let myself out when I’m done. Here, this is for your help. Rita will be so relieved that the story will now be in the next issue, thanks to you.’ He handed her twenty quid, after all, he could afford it. Then he added, ‘she might even mention you in the story, you know, a little thank you at the end. Would you like that, honey?’
He wasn’t sure how much English the woman understood, but she understood twenty quid, and she understood he was hot and paying attention to her. That was enough. It was usually enough. Besides, the woman had nice tits.
Inside Rita’s flat, he pulled the door to behind him. He didn’t know how much time he had. The last time she called him it was to say that the information she had got in Kent was paying off and she’d be out of the office for a while. Frankly he didn’t care where the hell she was. He didn’t need her any more.
He slipped off his shoes and dug in his pocket for latex gloves. He wasn’t about to leave fingerprints. Who knew what could happen? In the lounge next to the window he booted the computer and waited impatiently for it to come up. He had checked her pc at the office, but not with much hope, since she was never there these days. He didn’t know what difference it made, since Vivienne had basically already written the story. He wished she would give it to him. He didn’t have a good feeling about putting something in the magazine without time to go over it and add his personal touches, but in the end it wouldn’t matter. The money was in his account, and he was willing to let Vivienne put whatever she wanted into Talkabout. After all, it wasn’t his magazine. Any story on The Mount would be a coup for him. Besides hadn’t Lorelei promised it would be an award-winning exposé? It was win-win the way he saw it. Add to that getting to fuck Lorelei a couple of times a week and life couldn’t get much better. Who knew, maybe Vivienne would be so grateful that he might even get inside her sexy little cunt. His cock felt heavy at the thought.
He was surprised to find nothing on Rita’s computer was encrypted. There were no passwords, no secret files, no nothing. It was amazingly generic really, other than all the basic research on The Mount, the same information he already had. She had recently accessed several vintage porn sites. He quickly keyed the sites into his Blackberry chuckling to himself. He would have never figured Miss All-Work-and-No-Play for an internet porn fan.
After an hour of searching, his frustration levels were peaking, and if he had been at home, he would have thrown something. He knew a fair amount about computers, and he had expected that whatever he found would be encrypted. Vivienne didn’t seem interested in what he found as long as he found something. And he hated the thought of disappointing Vivienne.
But it was beginning to look like disappoint Vivienne he would, because wherever Rita kept the information she had gathered about The Mount, it wasn’t here or in the office. He was just getting ready to close down when he noticed an incoming email. He hadn’t thought about emails! Quickly he pulled up the new message. It was from Rita’s mother.
Rita,
This has got to stop. Why are you keeping me away? How long will you punish me for the past? I’m your mother, no matter how much you pretend otherwise, and I love you. Please at least email. We can work this out.
A quick look down through Rita’s emails revealed a good half of them were from her mother, and none of them answered. He wondered what had happened that would keep a girl from her mother, especially a girl that he grudgingly had to admit, had so much potential. But that wouldn’t interest Vivienne.
He reached down to shut off the computer, and his Blackberry slipped from its case onto the floor. As he bent to pick it up, he noticed a memory stick lying on the under frame of the computer table, completely hidden from sight. His heart skipped a beat, as he fumbled it and dropped it beneath the table. On his hands and knees, he dug it out, then stuck it into the port. And there it was! Pages and pages of notes on The Mount, all written by date, almost as though it were a journal. He read with his pulse racing.
–Leo never fucks his pets, in fact he treats them all with the greatest of kindness, but he chooses which pets can fuck which, and he watches. Having him watch while Brutus fucked me was almost as arousing as the sex itself. I don’t know what any of these people do when they aren’t pets. Pets don’t talk, so we only know what we can communicate with our bodies.
Owen unzipped his trousers to give his engorging cock a little breathing room. Jesus! Who’d have thought Little Miss Pert Tits had such a wild streak? He read on, stroking his lengthening penis with a latexed hand.
–I don’t fully understand what initiation into The Mount involves. So far it seems to involve lots of sex, good sex, sometimes scary sex. But there’s so much more. I know there is, but I can’t seem to get anyone to talk to me. The vintage porn sites seem to indicate that The Mount may have been around for a very long time. Not the restaurant, but the society, or cult or whatever it is.
A secret sex cult? Well everyone in London had heard those rumours, but could they possibly be true? And was it possible that Vivienne would give him anything as juicy as this to publish?
–At first I was afraid, hand-cuffed to the handlebars of the Harley, alone in the dark with both my holes filled. But when I calmed down a bit, I realised I could not only come easily in this predicament, but I could come repeatedly, and every orgasm built on the last, stronger than the one before. It was like I was on some incredible drug, the more I orgasmed, the more powerful I felt, and the more powerful I felt, the more mind-blowing the orgasm. I don’t know where I was when Morgan returned, but it wasn’t anywhere on this planet. When he returned, he took out the dildo and fucked me, and I think he must have felt what I was feeling. He came so hard I thought he’d break bones, and he kept coming. The sex was wild and feral. His leopard tattoo seemed amazingly appropriate under the circumstances.
Owen downloaded the files with one hand, while the other worked his cock. He had just put everything back in its place and was about to shut down, when he had an idea. He went back to the emails from Rita’s mother and copied them, still stroking his cock.
When
he shut down the computer, he could hear the cleaning woman just outside the door. He did his best to stuff himself back in his trousers, then opened the door and motioned her inside.
She liked the kissing. She definitely had the tongue for it. She didn’t seem to notice the latex gloves, or maybe she thought it was just kinky. At first she protested when he pushed her back against the door and kneaded her tits. But it wasn’t much of a protest, and when he sucked and nipped her through her white T-shirt until her nipples swelled like they’d drill through the fabric, she whimpered softly and reached for his fly. With slight of hand in which he prided himself, he slipped a condom over his cock. After all, he didn’t know where this chick was from.
Under her skirt, beneath practical cotton knickers, her pussy was shaved smooth and slick. It gripped at his fingers like a sucking mouth. When he shoved aside the crotch and pushed into her, her eyelids fluttered and she gasped some gibberish he didn’t recognise before she wrapped her legs around him and braced herself against the door frame.
He thrust so hard, he feared he might break the door, but he couldn’t help it, not after what he’d just read. The cleaner’s lovely tits bounced and bounced with each thrust, and she kept saying. ‘Is good, so good. Is good, so good.’
After he came, he disposed of the condom and the gloves in the cleaner’s rubbish bin, kissed her on the cheek and, feeling rather generous, he slipped her another twenty quid.
Once he was out of Rita’s flat and back in his car, he called Lorelei on the designated mobile and arranged a meeting at the Ritz, giving himself enough time to get back to his flat for a shower and a freshen-up. After what he had just found, he figured he was guaranteed a very good fuck from Lorelei. Things just kept getting better and better.
Chapter Twenty-one
SLEEP NEVER CAME EASILY for Rita lying on the thick carpeted floor at the foot of Vivienne’s enormous bed. Perhaps it was knowing that Edward was always in that bed with the bitch. But then so were several other people. It was humiliating on the bad days to lie there listening to the wet sounds of sex, and instead of being outraged by her obvious ostracising, being so horny that there was no rest until she came on her fingers, often more than once. In spite of Vivienne’s instructions that she was to allow herself to be fucked by whoever wanted her, Vivienne had angrily refused all those who had asked for her company and made her watch without touching herself while she offered them any of her other servants to satisfy their needs. Some of them got off on being watched by Rita. Most didn’t care as long as they got fucked.
Edward, for the most part, ignored her, hidden behind his golden mask and often trussed up in whatever costume suited Vivienne’s fancy at the moment.
It was the first peaceful night in Vivienne’s flat since Rita became the woman’s slave. Vivienne had spent the evening at The Mount, making an appearance and doing her normal working duties. She returned to her apartment complaining of a headache, for which she took two sleeping pills and a glass of fizz. Then she shooed everyone out of her room except for Edward, making venomous threats toward anyone stupid enough to disturb her. A few had headed off to various guest rooms in the flat. Most had sought out other more hospitable accommodations. Rita had found a place on the floor of the lounge in a pile of pillows – slaves were not allowed on the furniture unless they were invited. It was the most comfortable bed she had had since her arrival, and still she couldn’t sleep.
Try though she might she couldn’t shut out thoughts of Edward cosied up with Vivienne. Every little night sound caught her imagination. Was Edward fucking her quietly, secretly, folded around her in a spoon position, his hands cupping her exquisite breasts? Or maybe his face was buried between her legs; maybe he was licking fizz from Vivienne’s girlie cup as he had done to her.
Whatever he was doing, he would be without a mask. The thought twisted her insides to some weird hybrid of pain and arousal. Had she not endured all this just for a glimpse of his face? That was stupid! She thrashed amid the pillows trying to get comfortable. Of course she had endured all this for the story, and whatever feelings she might have had for Edward, he certainly didn’t return. She was a game, nothing more. Just like Vivienne had said.
She rose and tiptoed into the kitchen for a glass of water. She was all about getting her exposé, she reminded herself. What better time to do a little research than when Vivienne was in a drugged sleep.
The flat was enormous, but she had been there long enough to know her way around. She tiptoed down the hallway to the study, which was on the river side of the flat, and a long way from Vivienne’s room. Even without sleeping pills and fizz, one could have an orgy in the study and Vivienne would never hear. Rita had massaged Vivienne’s feet there once while the woman took care of paperwork. She had promised herself she’d come back to check things out first chance she got.
Quietly she squeezed between double doors made of some exotic wood with a swirling pattern in the grain, pulling them shut behind her. The study was almost as big as Leo’s, but much less masculine. The city was never really dark and streetlights bathed the room in silver glow, so much so that she could almost read by it. In spite of the fact that the building had been renovated when The Mount sprang into existence, the study had the feel of a place untouched by time, and that intrigued Rita. The antique wooden file cabinets were locked, and so was the big oak desk. She craned her neck to take in all the shelves of books. It was like looking for a needle in a haystack even if she knew what she was looking for, and she didn’t.
In the pale light, her attention was drawn to the marble sculpture that rose like a bas relief from floor to ceiling against the back section of wall. It was the familiar motif of Venus and Mars wrapped around each other in a conjugal embrace. Mars’s armour and weapons were strewn across a woodland glade. He wore nothing but a beautiful erection, which he was about to thrust between Venus’s open thighs. The thin fabric of Venus’s gown had been pushed up over her hips to reveal the sculpted details of her vulva exquisitely open and ready for penetration.
With one hand, Mars fondled her full breasts, which had tumbled free from the top of her gown, while the other supported her bottom in his efforts to lift her onto him. The sculpture had the fine attention to detail Rita had seen in the works of Bernini. Mars’s fingertips seemed to press into the soft flesh of Venus’s breasts and buttocks. Rita could almost see the moisture dewing between Venus’s labia. The work had the patina of old marble, and the power to elicit arousal, like everything else at The Mount.
Rita couldn’t resist touching the sculpture, knowing that she would be well punished for it if she were caught. She ran her hand up over Venus’s flank, traced the shape of her open vulva, then turned her attention to Mars, running her fingers down the flat of his stomach, catching her breath at the exquisite detail of his pubic curls. She couldn’t resist. She slid her hand down and closed it around the shaft of his penis, moving her fingers over the cool marble until her thumb came to stroke the curved rim just below the head.
There was a click that sounded unbelievably loud in the silence. She jumped back and caught her breath, just as the whole panel on which the sculpture was mounted swung open to reveal a small, wooden chamber lit by the flicker of gas light.
When she was in control of her racing heart again, she cautiously stepped inside. The room was not much wider than her bathroom at home, but longer, both sides lined with leather-bound volumes. She leaned close and squinted at one of them. The gold gothic lettering read, The Laws and Statutes of the Covens of The Mount. London Coven. It was dated 1898. From what she could tell, the earliest volumes dated back to the late 16th century. A careful glance inside revealed that the older volumes were all in Latin. As she walked slowly down the length of the room perusing the shelves, the books became histories, again the earlier ones in Latin. There were volumes upon volumes, all labelled The History of The Mount, London Coven, followed by dates.
Her pulse was like a drum roll in her ears, and her lungs
struggled to get enough oxygen. This was exactly the break she had been looking for, and yet, how could it possibly be?
She tiptoed to the back of the room, where there was an oak chair and table on which one of the volumes lay open next to a bottle of ink and a nibbed pen. Scarcely trusting herself, she squinted down at the open page to find handwritten in italic script:
In spite of all that Vivienne demands of her, the initiate, Rita Ellison Holly, continues to conduct herself in a manner that none can question. The rest of the council grow tired of her prolonged suffering, and yet there is nothing we can do other than bring the matter before the Elders and risk everything we’ve worked so hard for. Rome still considers us little more than a backwater coven, primitive and barbaric, hardly worthy to be considered a coven at all. And if we were to make our situation known, perhaps we would only confirm their opinion of us. But then again, perhaps they are right.
Beneath was a pen and ink drawing of a sleeping woman stretched on her side. The shift she wore had fallen away to expose her full breasts, nipples tight – perhaps from something in the dream world. The hem of the garment was scrunched around her hips just high enough to intimate what lay at the juncture of her thighs. With a start, Rita realised she was looking at a drawing of herself curled at the foot of Vivienne’s bed.
It was signed, Edward Darcy Ellison.
‘What are you doing here?’ Edward’s voice came from behind her, but before she could do more than jump, he commanded, ‘Don’t turn around. Stay put, and close your eyes.’
She did as he said. There was a click and the sound of the panel closing.
‘Sit down.’
She obeyed, not sure how much longer she could have stood anyway.
He approached her from behind and slipped a black silk handkerchief over her eyes, tying it securely against the back of her head. ‘I’m not masked,’ he said, ‘so you’ll have to be. It’ll be like old times.’