by Sarah Fisher
"Deuvar," he said in an undertone.
The road ahead seemed unnaturally dark after the motorway. Peter peered out into the darkness to get his bearings.
"Not more than ten minutes." As he spoke his stomach contracted sharply. Ten more minutes and he would be at the gates of Deuvar. Ten more minutes and he would see Emily again. A cold finger of apprehension slithered down his spine.
"Turn there, on the left," he indicated a narrow road that lead to the iron gates of the country mansion. Deuvar stood alone in acres of parkland. As they passed through a stand of trees Peter caught sight of the building, far in the distance, its lights like stars in the darkness.
At the gate house a security guard eyed their car suspiciously. Peter unwound the window.
"Mr Howard," he said in a carefully controlled voice. "I am expected."
The uniformed man nodded and opened the electronic gates. Peter's fear was receding to be replaced by a sense of relief. Finally it would be over. He glanced at Angela. She was stony faced, tense. He grinned.
"Well, we're here."
Angela snorted. "Yes, but are we likely to be able to get out again?"
Peter shrugged. "You, most certainly, I'm not so sure about me."
On the hearth rug, Emily had rolled onto her back. She was still asleep, her face relaxed and almost child-like. Her legs were slightly apart. Between them Max could see her quim was bruised, a livid dark purple stain spreading over the pale flesh bore witness to her surrender. The heavy outer lips were smeared with moisture which glistened silvery in the lamp light. Her breasts were soft, nipples distended in the last heat from the fire. She looked at once both totally vulnerable and totally desirable.
Max stroked the mug thoughtfully. Had it not been for Johnson and Peter Howard he might had asked Naomi Haroldson if he could have sampled the girl's compliant little body. Instead he had seduced the wild woman. The pungent feral smell of her tattooed body still lingered on his fingers and lips. It would be fitting for her scent to be wiped away by the sweet smell of Emily's tender little frame. As he toyed with the idea he felt a familiar stirring in his groin.
Leonora grinned at him, as if she could read his mind. "Do you want me to wake her? When Peter gets here it will be too late."
Max snorted to cover his growing excitement. His fantasy was rapidly taking shape. He would tie Emily's hands above her head and have her there on the hearth. Open those long legs with his knee, bury his tongue in her fragrant depths as she writhed beneath him. He would slip his hands under her backside, lift her up to him, drink from that cunning compelling slit. When she was within seconds of reaching her climax he would screw her, in, out, deeper and deeper.
She would rub herself against him, seeking fulfilment of the sensations he had ignited in her. Moaning, she would open her mouth, let him slide his tongue, still suffused with the taste of her sex, into that other delicate pink orifice. Her tongue would tease around his, drinking in the taste of her own delight. She would lift her hips, begging him to take her further, higher… He shivered as he imagined her cunt closing around his cock like tight wet fist.
When he looked up he realised Johnson and Leonora were watching him with amusement.
Johnson shrugged. "Why don't you wake her?"
Leonora poked the girl with her foot. Emily blinked and then her eyes widened in surprise. Instinctively she tried to cover herself, her hands moving over her breasts and quim. Max smiled to himself, her natural modesty added a certain frisson to his fantasy.
Leonora nodded towards Max. "Mr Fielding wants you," she said coolly.
Unsteadily Emily clambered onto all fours, eyes sleep bright. Without another word she crawled over to Max and laid her head in his lap. She was warm and sleepy and smelt divine. Her face brushed into the heat of his groin sending sparks of pleasure up into his belly.
Max sighed and stroked her head. "It's all right," he murmured, imagining the raw bruised flesh between her legs and the dark glow of her beating. He would wait. He was certain there would be another time.
"Go back to sleep."
The girl blinked again and then curled up against him, her warmth seeping through his clothes, her soft breath electric on his thighs.
Across the room a light flashed on the telephone. Leonora picked up the receiver and then looked up. "He's here. Security just let him through the main gate."
Johnson uncurled himself from behind the desk and straightened his jacket. Max carefully slid out from under Emily. She made a little throaty moan as she repositioned herself and then was silent.
The atmosphere grew tighter and more strained with every passing second. All eyes were on the bank of security screens. They watched Peter Howard and a tall elegant woman come in together through the front doors. Under his arm Peter was carrying a familiar package.
Magenta.
The unknown woman glanced at Peter and then sat on one of the sofas. She touched his hand before he moved slowly across the hallway toward the stairs.
Peter's almost glacial progress from screen to screen was watched with hawk-like intensity. Max could see the effort of climbing the stairs was all but too much for him. Peter's face as he reached the landing was ashen. Max could pick out the beads of sweat on his forehead. If Johnson noticed Peter's physical state he didn't comment, instead he stared at the screens, jaw set tight.
A split second before Peter knocked on the door of the office Johnson let out a long sigh and signalled for Leonora to let him in.
Angela stared into the shadows. Finally she was at Deuvar. It was a place she had fantasised about. Peter's initiation of her body into the delights of submission had only wetted her appetite for more. Something moved in the darkness. She stiffened, every nerve ending alight. From the darkness Johnson's body slave slipped across the room, her magnificent scarified body glittering in the fire light.
Angela swallowed hard, feeling her heart skip a beat as the woman approached, with her dark eyes turned towards Angela. She held out a hand in invitation. Unsteadily Angela got to her feet.
Behind her stood one of Deuvar's clients, an anonymous man whose cold flinty eyes belied his desire. Slowly, almost without thinking, Angela slipped off her coat and the thin dress she wore beneath, they slithered to the floor unnoticed. The man smiled as he drank in the details of the harness that Peter Howard had bought for her.
She bit her lip and then stepped towards him, her heavy curves accentuated by the fire light. He stroked her breasts, weighing them in his cold palms, thumbing her already erect nipples. With practised skill his fingers moved lower, fingering her sex with almost professional disinterest. If he noticed the slick wetness within his expression did not reveal it. Now he turned her, an icy finger slipping across the tight dark bud of her anus. He grunted and tapped her on the shoulder. She stood still, trembling slightly.
"On you knees," he snapped. "Have you been taught nothing?"
Angela complied without protest. He eyed her speculatively and then turned towards Johnson's slave. "She'll do." He held out his hand.
The dark woman handed him a slim crop. The man smiled thinly and flexed it into an arc. Angela felt a tremble of expectation as the man stepped behind her. The crop cut through the night air like a knife, exploding across her buttocks. She let out a wild sob, her whole body electrified by the heat of the crop's caress. Her whole soul responded, opening herself, surrendering as the man lay on a barrage of mind numbing blows. Tears of pain and pleasure ran down her face. She flexed her body, dropping her belly so that her sex opened, inviting her unknown master to take what she was so willing to give. He ran a hand over the glowing flesh between her legs and grunted with satisfaction.
"Bring her up to my suite," he said thickly. "Half an hour. Have Leonora arrange for her to be shaved." His fingers dipped again into the wet pit between her legs.
Angela shivered; she had obviously passed whatever test he had set. She slumped forward as she heard the man's footsteps receding.
"
Deuvar," she mumbled thickly. Johnson's body slave helped her to her feet. She embraced the strange woman. "I can stay?"
The woman nodded. Angela's stomach contracted; now she just had to see Peter Howard.
Chapter 14
It hadn't occurred to Peter that they might have Emily in the office. For an instant he hesitated in the doorway, taking in the detail of the naked girl, huddled asleep against the sofa. It hit him like a body blow when he realised the tiny naked creature was Emily. The quips, the confident words he had intended using as a greeting, faded and died on his lips.
"Emily?" he whispered incredulously.
His voice was enough to wake her. She looked up, disorientated, barely conscious. Recognition blossomed on her face a split second later.
"Oh, Peter," she gasped, half sobbing, her body flushing. She scrambled unsteadily to her feet and rushed towards him.
Peter felt tears of anger and regret as he closed his arms around her.
"My God," he said in an undertone. "What have they done to you?"
Her reply was a single tear.
"Yes, yes, very touching," snapped Johnson. "You know damned well what we've done to your precious little Emily. What I need to know is what you've done with Magenta."
Peter tried to get a grip on his thoughts. Magenta was slipping through his mind as he studied Emily. They had pierced her nipples, shaved her, on her buttocks was the angry kiss of a brand mark. He shivered. They were things he would have done himself, games they would have played. He wanted to touch her, taste her, reclaim her for himself. He felt his desire rekindling.
"Magenta!" Johnson hissed coldly.
Peter fought to regain his composure and centre his thoughts. He glanced up at the office clock. Half an hour was all he had left before his plan clicked into action.
He coughed to clear his throat, aware that his legs were unsteady, longing to sit down. He leant against Emily, trying to disguise his weakness as a clumsy embrace, all the time clinging to the Magenta. He looked up at Johnson.
"Firstly, you have to agree to let us both go."
Johnson snorted. "Oh, for God sake, Peter, why begin with melodramatics? You and I both know that you can't escape the people we work for. There's nowhere in the world that will be safe. Unless of course you co-operate and give me back Magenta." He paused. "If you do, I'll see what I can arrange."
Peter stepped forward, hand outstretched and offered Johnson the box he was carrying.
Johnson stared at him disdainfully. "You must think I'm totally stupid. We know you've already copied it. I want the new key. I need to know where it is."
Peter nodded. Johnson was saying all the things he had anticipated. "You're right. There is a new Magenta, but I won't let you know where it is until I and Emily are out of here."
Johnson pulled a face. "Oh really. What if I were to keep Emily here to persuade you? She rather likes it here. You certainly have an eye for quality, Peter. We have a contract she signed, agreeing to stay with us for a year and to be honest I don't think she would take that much persuading. Look at her, she is a perfect body slave. Did you receive my little video. Magnificent, wasn't it?"
Peter bit his lip. He had to stay in control. He forced a grin, trying hard to retain an air of bluff confidence.
"That's my deal. We leave, and you get the whereabouts of the new key." He flicked his eyes over the clock again; time was ticking by. "Less than half an hour and you'll have all the information you want."
Johnson sat down at the desk. "Half an hour?"
"That's right."
Johnson rested his finger tips together thoughtfully. "And then, I'll know where you've hidden the new key?"
"Yes. Look, I've left the key in the door for you. It'll be impossible to miss."
Johnson nodded slowly. "All right. Take her," he said dismissively, indicating Emily with his eyes. "But let me remind you, Peter, if I haven't got Magenta in half an hour you are in deep deep trouble. The world is not big enough to hide you or her. Do we understand each other?"
"Absolutely."
"Go then."
Peter turned, with Emily in the crook of his arm, and closed the door behind him.
Leonora let out a long low breath. Max stared at the closed door in disbelief. "You let him go?"
Johnson nodded. "Where the hell are they going to run to in half an hour? I'll have someone from security follow them. Whatever happens they won't get very far."
On the landing Peter grabbed Emily by the arm. "We've got to get out of here," he said.
She looked up at him with large moist eyes. "I'm so sorry," she began.
He shook his head. "Not your fault. I should have come for you sooner."
Emily sobbed. "I thought you were dead. I thought…"
Peter pressed his lips to hers. "Shush. I'm here now. everything is going to be alright."
The feeling of her slim body in his arms made him shiver. She was a feast, delightful. Feelings of love and desire bubbled up from low in his gut until eventually he had to pull back from her embrace. They had to get away. Time ticked by. They need to be out of Deuvar before his plan came together.
He pulled her towards the stairs. "You're going to have to help me. I'm still very weak. We need to get out into the grounds. Do you understand? We can talk about all this later."
Still Emily hung back. "This is how you wanted me to be though, isn't it?" Her voice unsteady and emotional.
Peter stared at her. "What do you mean?"
She bit her lip. "A slave? Yours to command. My master?"
Peter shivered, there was no point in lying.
"Yes," he said thickly. "I wanted to show you so much, give you everything -" He stopped. "And I still do. Let's just get out of here and then we can start again. There are so many things we can do together. A million and one possibilities." He paused. "You look beautiful."
She blushed and he wondered what she had already seen and done. He would take great pleasure in making her tell him about it – and punishing her for it. A million and one possibilities. Her eyes were alight now with a subtle mixture of desire and love.
"Come on," he said firmly and taking her hand they made their way down stairs. He didn't look back, every second was precious. He forced his uncooperative body to obey him.
Below them the hall was silent. Through the windows the first light of a winter dawn began to break through the trees. In the distance he could make out a familiar sound that reassured him that they had a chance to get clear of Deuvar. His office had obviously sent the help he'd requested.
At the main door Peter hesitated. He couldn't take Emily outside without clothes, and he was so bitterly cold himself that he wondered how far he could get across the grass if he gave her his overcoat. There was no time to go back into the main house to find something to cover her with.
As he considered what to do, a figure stepped out from the shadows. Angela Ruskin, naked now except for the harness he had bought her. She was smiling.
He was speechless. She looked totally at ease as if she had been at Deuvar all her life.
"So, you're leaving?" she said slowly.
He nodded, stuck once again by the sensuality of her glorious ripe body.
"I thought you wanted to leave, too?" He glanced out of the window. "Our transport will be here in any second."
Angela ignored him and stared at Emily. "I hope you realise what a lucky girl you are," she said. "Here." She walked over to the sofa by the stairs and brought back the full length coat she had worn to drive Peter to Deuvar. "You'll need this. It's bitter outside."
Peter glanced out into the morning and then back at Angela. "Are you sure you want to stay? You can come with us. I'll make certain you'll be okay."
Angela held up a hand to silence him and laughed. "I've already decided this is the perfect place for me. Where will you and Emily go?"
Peter shook his head. "Far better if you don't know. One thing though, who were you working for?"
Angel
a looked past him into the velvety shadows of the hall. "For Magenta, who else?" she said softly.
Peter was about to protest but turned instead to follow her gaze. Almost invisible in the darkness was a second figure; tall and majestic. Johnson's magnificent tattooed body slave stepped out into the subdued light.
Peter gasped.
The scarified woman smiled. The expression seemed bizarre on her normally impassive features. "I am Magenta. That's my name," she said quietly in a deep, cultured voice. The same voice, he realised with a start, he had heard when he'd rung Johnson's home number. "A secret key to a mystery."
"But," Peter began, "you were intending to betray Johnson?"
The tall woman shrugged. "I'll never leave him, but he and his organisation were destroying my father's country, tearing it apart like hungry wolves over the carcass of a lamb."
Peter looked back at Angela, more confused than before.
"It's the truth. I'm working for Magenta," she said and brushed her lips against his cheek. "Years ago I used to work, as a nurse, for an aid organisation. I met Magenta's father at one of the hospitals during an official visit. He is the crown prince. He asked me to visit her when I got back to London. We've been in contact ever since."
Peter was still rooted to the spot, looking from one to the other. Never in a million years would he have connected the statuesque nurse with the wild savage who walked a respectful pace behind her master on a silver leash.
"We have to go," he said at last.
Angela nodded and walked into the shadows, arm in arm with the disconcerting Magenta. At the foot of the stairs she turned back. "Peter?"
"Yes?"
Angela Ruskin smiled and blew him a kiss. "I never said thank you for my education."
Peter grinned. "My pleasure."
Johnson picked up the metallic box that had once been Magenta, leant across the desk and switched on the computer. Max poured them another mug of coffee. "So, what happens now?"