by Nicole Dere
‘We’ll have you properly pierced one of these days,’ Staith promised, as though he were offering a rare treat. Mags and the others told us that the piercing, and the wearing of the rings afterwards, was less uncomfortable than the ornaments that clipped into place, but I was just as much concerned with his lordship’s use of the word ‘we’ll’.
So, although my insides felt as though they had been sucked out of me, or as if I had stepped off the edge of a chasm into an enormous void, somewhere in the bedrock of my reeling consciousness I was not surprised when Lord Staith announced, with one of his avuncular smiles at the assembled gathering, ‘I’m pleased to tell you that the girls have officially joined us. As of today, I have acquired them.’ He held out his arms, beckoning us, and automatically Jane and I stepped into his embrace, felt his hands encircle our hips and pat with pride of ownership our bottoms.
‘And I can tell you I’ve paid a far from small fortune for you,’ he went on, his hands caressing our warm flesh. ‘Your former master is now a man of substantial means!’ He chuckled, and nodded towards Jack, at whom I was staring transfixed.
All at once I could not breathe and wondered if I was about to faint. Jack was smiling, and he met my stare without concern, but somewhere under that solid front I thought I could detect a veiled hint of some emotion, of some uncertainty – maybe even guilt. I would still like to think I did, but his face shimmered and dissolved in the tears that welled up, and I had to swallow the choking lump in my throat.
Meanwhile I heard a gasp, and then the raw and ugly sound of gut-wrenching sobs. Jane broke down completely and slumped to the ground. Her dark head fell against Staith’s bare knee and her hands grasped his plump legs, her tears smeared on his tanned skin. ‘No, please,’ she begged. ‘Please let us go. You can’t…’
‘But I can, my dear,’ he mused. ‘And I have.’ His tone and air of utter confidence sent a chill up my spine. He nodded towards the athletic figure of Mags, who came forward quickly and scooped Jane up from her abject crouch, and then Staith’s voice stayed at the same soothing pitch as he gave his orders, and Mags and two of her assistants swiftly carried her bodily away from the table, down towards the white sand. She was still sobbing brokenly, begging to be released, though she made no effort to resist as her cries faded.
They carried her to a simple contraption of two stout uprights joined by an overhead horizontal bar. I stood rigidly, Lord Staith’s arm still resting lightly around my waist. The tears rolled silently down my face while I watched Mags and the others tie Jane’s wrists over her head to the crossbar. They stood back and Mags picked up the short handled whip, and flicked it with practised skill so that the lashes fell with a sharp hiss across Jane’s bottom. The livid stripes blazed over the tanned curves and she jerked, capering in a wild dance of pain.
Mags waited before she struck again, and Jane’s frenzied twisting caused the weals to bite and lift across her hips and the outer sides of her thighs. Her screams rang out over the otherwise pleasantly peaceful scene, the sea rolling languidly in against the sun-drenched shore as the entranced watchers sat at the long table, enjoying an excellent buffet lunch.
The cracking strokes went on for a long time before Staith nodded, and by then Mags was glistening with perspiration. Jane hung there, slender arms stretched up to the cords that held them, her head lowered, lost in her private despair.
Staith’s manicured nails ran lightly up and down the cleft of my bottom. ‘While we’re tying up loose ends,’ he said pleasantly, ‘you might like to know that your young American friend is now safe in some desert camp in South Yemen. With her blonde Germanic bitch of a mistress, of course. Oh, and by the way,’ he added by way of an afterthought, smiling at Carl, ‘you’re mine also, of course. I have some male acquaintances who will find you absolutely enchanting, my dear fellow, as we all do.’ There was a murmur of laughter from the company, both male and female.
‘Yes, Lord Staith, thank you,’ Carl said subserviently, standing there, slender and still pale despite the weeks of being naked beneath the tropical sun. His lowered face was carefully devoid of emotion. In the background Jane’s bitter sobs died to a soft, childlike sniffling, oddly in harmony with the soothing surge of the sea.
Also Available From AUK and Chimera
Table of Contents
Cover
Front Matter
Title Page
Publisher Information
Advisory Note
Introduction
Part 1
Part 1 – Jane’s Story
Chapter 2
Chapter 3
Chapter 4
Chapter 5
Chapter 6
Part 2
Chapter 7
Chapter 8
Chapter 9
Chapter 10
Part 2 – Moira’s Story
Chapter 12
Chapter 13
Chapter 14
Part 3
Chapter 15
Chapter 16
Chapter 17
Chapter 18
Chapter 19
Chapter 20
Chapter 21
Chapter 22
Chapter 23
Also Available
From AUK and Chimera