A Love Game

by Nicole Dere

  Chapter Seventeen

  I STARED DOWN AT my grubby, inelegantly parted knees. At least I was sitting up now, slumped forward, on Ant Van Reis’s advice, and that bilious whirling of my head and my insides was fading. ‘Here. Drink this.’

  I looked up through the tatty curtain of my hair, and took the tin mug from his hand. I sipped, coughed chokingly at the amount of whisky he had sluiced into the hot, milky tea. I sipped again, obediently, blowing against the rim at the scalding touch to my lips and tongue. Now that the hysterical violence of my weeping fit had ripped through me, I was back to that bone-aching weariness, and the headache tightened like a steel band around my head. I didn’t know how much sense, if any, he had made from my broken, sobbing outpouring. Desolately, I made another attempt. ‘I was trying to find Marty. Marty Dixon. I just found out he ... that he’s left Kengui, that he ... I thought you might know ...’

  He gave a deep, booming laugh, which made me glance down once more at my dirty toes, flexing in embarrassment. ‘You’ve heard then.’

  It wasn’t a question. Beneath the tear runnels and sweat, my face was burning anew. ‘Someone said you might know ...’ My voice faltered to silence again.

  ‘Sure. Why do you want him? What’s wrong, Jan?’

  ‘I’ve nowhere to go. No one who ...’ Again my voice died. A great shuddering sigh erupted and I swallowed, blinked back the onslaught of more tears. ‘Patrick – my husband – he’s left me. Gone up to Tendo – to work there. He doesn’t ... doesn’t want me any more. I don’t know what to do. Where to go. I can’t go back to England.’ I choked up, hung my head.

  ‘And you think Marty can help?’

  I heard the mocking laughter behind the deep tone, understood it. I nodded, unable to lift my head and meet his gaze. Those implacable pale blue eyes, looking right into me. ‘You know Marty’s with us now? Clio and me?’

  Again I felt it wasn’t really a question. He was just taunting me. Degrading me. Why not? I deserved it. Part of me, that deep, deviant part of my personality, recognised the familiarity of the feeling, even welcomed it. I still couldn’t meet his eyes. ‘I heard ... I’ve nowhere else to go. Nobody ...’

  ‘What about your friend Mags?’

  I burned everywhere now. My toes, all my inner senses, curled. For a long interval there was no sound except my hiccupping effort to prevent another sob escaping. My gaze was still riveted to the floor. I shook my head. ‘I can’t – there’s no one.’

  ‘Marty’s with usnow. Do you understand what that means, Jan?’

  Involuntarily I looked up. For an instant our eyes locked, I could not look away from that piercing gaze. My insides stirred, including the muscles in the walls of my sex, clenching, as though he had entered, touched me there in that private, most sensitive spot. And I knew instinctively in that nanosecond just what lay behind his question, the use of the familiar diminutive of my name, as indicative as that secret touch I felt deep inside. ‘I’ve nowhere to go,’ I repeated, in a whisper, my head down, bowed again, gazing at the floor. The truth, spoken and, even more important, unspoken, lay between us, joined us with almost physical intimacy.

  ‘You want to come to us? Stay with us? Like Marty?’

  I couldn’t speak. But I looked up, my eyes huge, welling with fresh tears, and nodded, silently begging him. And he nodded back, we both understood each other, and I shivered visibly, with thrilling fear. He leant back from me, sipped at his tea, and now I couldn’t look away from his face. I saw the slow appreciation of what had happened, my unconditional surrender, and all that it meant, the dawning delight which spread over those ruddy, rugged, handsome features. I was weak all over again, afraid, yet, paradoxically, trembling with huge relief.

  ‘Clio’s not lez, you know. At least not as far as Iknow.’ Again that booming laugh, then he reached out his strong arm, the fine blond, sun-bleached hairs like dust on his tanned skin, and for the first time since he had carried me into his office, touched me, above my knee, on my bare flesh below the short hem of my dress. The grip was firm, hard even, his big, spread-out fingers digging into my smooth softness, and staying there. ‘But she’s not an old dog, as I’m sure you’ll agree. Maybe she can learn a few new tricks, ya?’ He let his hand slide up my leg to my upper thigh, displacing the thin cotton, his grip clamping even harder about my limb. ‘So, sweetheart. You’re mine, then. Mine and Clio’s. Just like Marty. You belong to us.’ He chuckled lewdly. ‘Maybe not quite, though. Let’s celebrate la difference, as the Frogs say. To seal our bargain!’

  His grip shifted to my upper arm. There was no trace of gentleness now, only the hard, confident stamp of ownership in the way he hauled me to my feet. ‘Through here.’ He pulled me into a tiny cubicle, just about big enough to hold the two of us standing close together. The rest of the space was taken up by a lavatory bowl, with a chipped, venerable looking cistern, and a miniature hand basin fitted into the angle of two of the walls. His great hands hooked in my shoulders, forced me down onto my knees on the hard, damp floor. ‘Your first task, Jan. Show me you’re worth taking on.’

  I knew immediately what he meant. In any case, the bulging fly of his stained shorts thrusting only inches from my face was a plain enough message. Only that weak dissembling surface of my mind responded with shock, the outrage of the “how-dare-you” good little girl of convention. Far too late for any of that! My fingers were there, instantly, searching, tugging at the initially recalcitrant zip, drawing it down, fighting to release the bulge of that mighty dome from the even tighter confines of the underbriefs. It took something of a struggle before that swollen, dark helm emerged from the narrow slit, then the thick, pulsing shaft, hardening to a thrilling rigidity, so that instinctively I withdrew a few inches as it reared under my nose. I could feel its strength, its pulsating heat, as well as a satin smoothness of the skin, ribboned with the cords of veins standing out like vines curled along a stem. It was like fire on the feathery lightness of my deferential fingers.

  Even as that stupidly conventional part of me was screaming in shock-horror outrage, How dare you insult me with your obscenity – we’ve scarcely spoken before and you wave your dick in my face, expecting me to take it in my mouth, suck your huge excrescence?my lips were already puckering, my hand curled around his throbbing girth as I delivered that first tentative touching of lips, the deferential virginal taste of the gleaming fluid already adorning the slit at the crest of that great dome. He pressed into me, between my parting lips, and my mouth was stretching, my jaws agape like a devouring python, my cheeks pouched, striving to take in as much of his penis as I could, which was hardly more than the huge helm before my throat convulsed and I was gagging at the enormity of his occupation of my straining mouth. I sucked and spluttered, withdrew, with a noisy plop, licked frantically at his glans, at the underside where the little cleft and the thin line of skin joined it to that massive shaft, then stretched my neck like a flower’s stalk seeking the sun, to take him in again. His fingers dug hard into my skull, through the rats’ tails of my hair, and clamped me to his crotch. My nose was buried deep, the soft cartilage crushed against the wiry bush of the light brown pubis. Gasping and retching like a drowning swimmer, I was forced to withdraw again, desperately fighting against that ferocious grip in my hair holding me impaled on his huge cock. Somehow I fought free, or he released me so that I could draw breath. Terrified that he might think me useless, I buried my running face again in his belly, worrying like a terrier at the underside of that huge column. The great appendage slid up my forehead, leaving a generous trail of its seeping juice to mingle with the perspiration of my brow, while I lapped and gnawed at the salty hanging folds of his scrotum. I felt his balls tighten under my attack, as though afraid of my ravening tongue and teeth. The salty yeasty taste drove me even wilder, and I was seized with a crazy dual sensation of fear and ecstasy at the notion of his coming in my mouth, filling me up with what I knew would be a cataract of surging semen, a potent sealing of the domination
which I had already accepted.

  But, to my spinning bewilderment, and again a swift meld of desolation then critical excitement, he dragged me brutally away from his loins, from that great lancing cock. He hauled me up by my hair, then seized my hips in an iron grip, swung me off my feet and carried me the single pace to the corner, where that small washbasin was located. In less than a second he had torn my briefs clear. He didn’t drag them down over my legs but his fingers hooked in the cotton strip around my hips and literally ripped them free. It was only a considerable time later that it struck me just what an impressive feat of strength this was. OK – it was only a pair of bikini briefs, I hear you cry, but I urge the cynics to try it: rip a pair of cotton knickers in two in less than a second. It takes some doing, no matter how desperate you are to get at what’s inside them.

  By the time the second was up, my bare bottom was dumped in the tiny, grimy bowl – I felt the jar – and the icy clutch – of the rim, as it dug into my backside, then my widely parted legs were waving, and he was between my thighs, and that awesome prick was battering at my gaping vulva like a medieval ram against a walled city’s gate. But my palpitating sex had no thought of resistance. It was already flowing with the copious juice of welcome surrender, and my grubby little feet were waving madly in the air in encouragement rather than protest. Not that he needed any – the ram was aimed truly, and its mark was greedy to receive it. In it slid, thrusting aside the walls of fleshy tissue larded with means to assist its progress. I felt its hugeness, its piercing of the clinging tightness, and the painful pleasure of the shock of its drive against the very core of my hard little cervix. And down again, sliding, sliding, as though to withdraw entirely, so that I whimpered in panic and my bum clenched as it sought to escape from the shallow scoop of the basin, only to be driven down into its gripping tightness yet again at the plunging stroke of my possessor’s triumphal return. And on we went, bellies clashing, my splayed feet waving, my dusty soles uppermost, the rhythm so furious I could hear over my squeals of passion the squelching of my bum in the damp coldness of the bowl. It went on for ever, or all of three minutes, for such pleasure is eternal and never lasts. Though I could feel every nuance of our frenetic contact, it was not until after that tremendous climax (each good fuck is always the “best-never-been-like-that-before-ever, until the next one) that I became aware that the taps had gouged a deep furrow in both my hips, which will tell you, among other things, knowing the slimness of my figure, just how tiny that bloody washbasin was.

  ‘Guess what I’ve brought you? You’ll never believe it.’ The deep voice was rich with laughter. ‘Come on out, Jan! Come and meet your new mistress!’

  I padded out obediently, my heart bumping with fearful anticipation. I kept my head down. My hair still hung in lank rats’ tails, but at least it was clean, as was my naked body, having just soaked for long minutes in the soothing warmth of the shower. Already those incredible moments in the grotty little loo at the transport yard seemed an age away, even though the whole area of my pubis was tender, and my vagina stinging from the fierce assault. I was surprised to discover there was no telltale ring of redness round my bum after the way it had been jammed into that grimy basin for the timeless duration of our fucking.

  I was numb from the aftershock of that coupling all through the bumpy ride along a dusty track through the stock farm in Ant’s Land Cruiser. My new master! It was all so bizarre I couldn’t absorb it. The only vague feeling that registered was a kind of weird relief that the terrible sense of loss and uncertainty crushing me had gone. It’s too late now, girl! The admonition kept sounding in my dazzled brain, yet, as I’ve said, over all there was that knowledge that there really was nothing more I could do now to control or even influence events. I had committed myself completely to this subjugation, so forcefully driven home by his physical possession of me, and my body’s undeniable response to it.

  Physical sensations, perhaps unsurprisingly, were uppermost in my consciousness: the scratchy feeling of the scuffed upholstery of the passenger seat, the invasive protruding of the springs into my bared behind as I sat knickerless at his side. What would the cleaner or others of his staff think when they found the shredded remnants of my briefs in the bin? Or on the floor – I couldn’t remember what on earth he had done with them after ripping them off me. And what the hell did it matter, anyway? Nothing mattered any more, from now on. I had absolutely no control over my life any more, and that meant no more worry. Or so I had thought, even after my arrival at the large, sprawling, grass-roofed old-style bungalow, and the curious grinning stares of the dark faces there to see me climb awkwardly down from the high vehicle, scarcely avoiding giving the onlookers an indecent revelation of my scantily, scruffily clad form.

  Now, however, my fatalism vanished like pale smoky wisps of dawn before the fierce burn of the morning sun as my newly washed, fragrant body was paraded before an enviably elegantly dressed Clio, and I shivered, despite the heavy heat of the afternoon. One frightened glance at her disbelieving, antagonistic stare sent my own gaze down to my freshly clean, squirming toes. Even though she finally gave a loudly derisive laugh, it gave me no reassurance. Neither did the slow penetrating examination she gave of every exposed inch, from my damp tangled hair to those helplessly twitching toes. I was sure she could see my trembling, but would my cowed servility lessen the hostility I could feel bristling all round me?

  Somehow I thought not, and my heart sank to join my toes when Ant said in his usual hearty tone, ‘Well, I’ll leave you two to get acquainted, eh? I’ve got to get back to work for an hour or two. I’ve already explained to Jan that Marty’s gone off for a week or two on a little holiday with his new boyfriend. Still, give us a chance for Jan to get to know us. Break her in to our little ways. You can make a start now, love.’ He gave her a light kiss on her cheek to which she hardly reacted. Those striking eyes had never left me.

  ‘I’ll do that all right,’ Clio answered, with a smile that added goosebumps to my shivers.

  ‘Did he shag you?’ She fired the question at me even before the Land Cruiser’s motor fired.

  ‘I didn’t ... I couldn’t ...’ My chin went down, I began to snivel quietly.

  She gave another harsh laugh. ‘Rape, was it? I bet it’s the best fuck you’ve had in your poxy life, eh?’ She gave a dismissive shrug, and I shrank back as she advanced on me. ‘Don’t be such a sodding wimp! Right! Lesson Numero Uno. Who’s boss. Just about everyone, as far as you and Marty are concerned! Stretch out over this. On your tum. Stick your skinny little arse in the air, where I can get at it.’

  As she spoke, she dragged and kicked a leather pouffe away from the long wooden and basket-weave settee, into the middle of the floor. It was a patchwork of brightly coloured segments, with an inlaid pattern in tiny beads over its circular surface. I hesitated for just an instant, and she grabbed at my arm, thrust me roughly towards it. Gingerly I lowered myself, so that I was laid across it. I felt its coldness, the slight prickliness of the bead pattern on my belly. It was not exactly difficult to work out what was about to happen, as I hung over the round footstool, with my bottom prominently displayed in the air.

  She moved away. I heard her sandals clicking away down the corridor. I stayed where I was, in my abject, undignified position. She was back in a few seconds, then she bound my splayed wrists and ankles with nylon stockings, an arm to each of the wooden legs at the front of the settee, my spread legs to each of the two armchairs that made up the suite.

  ‘This will definitely hurt you more than it will me, slag! Scream all you want. The servants’ll love it. Although, from what I’ve heard of you, I guess you’ll enjoy it as much as anyone.’

  She used a hairbrush. ‘Someone else has had a similar idea,’ she chuckled, as she noticed the last of the pale, faded bruises from Dave Evans’s spanking. It seemed an age ago now – in a different world. It was. Dave’s ringing slaps were love taps compared with the fiery ordeal Clio inflicted on my burning, th
robbing, blistered behind. I tried not to scream, but my resolution did not last beyond the first explosive smack of the hard back of the brush on my clenching buttocks. The blows cracked out like rifle shots, with a pause between each, to give her time to relish to the full my howls and sobbing pleas for mercy. Even the solid furniture to which she had tethered my limbs squeaked and skidded as my wild, hopeless struggles caused it to move a little on the polished smoothness of the floor. ‘Please! Please stop!’ I blubbered, my world a blind red glare of pain. I was oblivious of the small ring of wide-eyed, giggling spectators that swiftly formed in the crowded doorway and by the open windows to see the new, naked white memsa’abget her thrashing from Memsa’abClio.

  It probably lasted little more than three or four minutes, if that. I had no idea how degradingly I screamed and begged and pleaded for mercy, but at last the fusillade of blows ceased, the pain became one constant burn, and the beating ended.

  ‘Now you know where you stand with me, don’t you? I’m not Fat Mags. I’m no lez, understand? I’m your mistress, you do everything I tell you, as fast as you can.’