Sarah Fisher - The contract

Finally he threw the whip down onto the floor, dropped his trousers and plunged his raging bulbous cock into the dark stormy recesses of her anus. She snorted madly and bucked against him, while his hands circled round to cup her slick glistening breasts. He nipped and twisted her long distended nipples.

She gasped, matching him stroke for stroke as he plunged deeper and deeper into the stunningly tight orifice nestling between her buttocks. He felt her hands slipping down between their legs, one palm cupped the root of his cock, nipping and pressing in time with their thrusts. The fingers of the other, he knew, would be buried to the hilt in her sex, a thumb rubbing her clitoris. He sensed the rhythm of her fingers through the thin membrane that divided her two electrifying orifices. She beat out a steady counterpoint, driving them both over the edge to the white heat of oblivion.

With one final thrust he surrendered control, letting her stunning body close around him, driving away all reason, sucking every last drop from his cock. He felt her orgasm hot on the heels of his own and was dragged back to the brink to take one final look into the pit of pleasure as her body drew him in hungrily. It felt as if she might be able to swallow him whole, consume him in the wild beast that throbbed between her legs.

Snorting, breathless, sweat pouring down his face, he withdrew and collapsed back into an armchair. She turned round slowly and murmured the one word he understood from the all the year's they had been together.

"Maestro."

She dropped to her hands and knees and crawled onto the mat alongside the hearth. In front of the last embers of the fire she stretched out and closed her ginger eyes; a sleek wild cat exhausted and well fed after a long day's hunt. Johnson smiled to himself and picked up the report he had been reading.

Peter Howard looked at the computer screen in the ward clerk's office and cursed. 'Access denied.' It seemed as if everyone really did believe he was dead. He tapped in another code sequence; he wanted to connect up to a relatively secure corner of the computer network before he dared to try and open Magenta. His body complained, he was exhausted. He leant back and rubbed his eyes as Angela Ruskin appeared with a mug of coffee.

"Someone will be coming soon." She handed him the mug. "How's it going?"

Peter snorted as the computer denied him again. "I can't do it," he said, tapping in another access code. "There are other ways in but I need the time to chase around, back track, find a back door – shit – how long before I can leave hospital?"

Angela pulled a face. "Four or five days I guess."

Peter groaned. "Oh well…" He stopped mid sentence as a message scrolled up onto the screen. "Oh, my god!"

Angela read the message over his shoulder. 'They have Emily' She leant closer. "Emily?"

"My girl friend," he said flatly. He looked at her and decided upon honesty. "We plan to get married."

Angela didn't bat an eyelid. "And who has her?"

Peter sighed and ran his fingers back through his dark hair. "Some people who could do her an awful lot of harm. They want something I have. I have to get out of the hospital, I just have to! Can't I just walk out?"

Angela snorted. "Don't you mean just wheel out? Your body isn't much up to walking yet." She paused thoughtfully. "You basically just need rest and recuperation, you could discharge yourself into a nursing home."

Peter looked thoughtful. "Would that take long to arrange? I'd need computer access, arrange for some funds -"

Angela grinned. "Actually, I had a better idea. There are dozens of nursing homes in this area. No-one would be that interested in checking up on you. To be honest they'd be pleased to have the bed back. Why don't you come home with me? I could help you cook up a fictitious nursing home place for the forms -" She paused, eyes alight.

It was Peter's turn to grin. "And?"

She lifted her skirt slowly to reveal the ripe red hair around her quim. "Perhaps you will do me a favour. Didn't you say you would teach me discipline, like at Deuvar?"

Peter nodded. No harm in that!

Angela placed a form in front of him. She had been well prepared, it seemed. "Better fill this in then, Mr Roberts."

"Are you serious about taking care of me?"

"I've got a fortnight's holiday due to me. I'll ring in tomorrow night and say my mother is sick."

Peter lifted an eyebrow.

Angela grinned. "Well, all the others do it. About time I had some too."

Peter slid his hands up her thighs; they were warm to the touch. "Some of what?" he whispered darkly.

She wriggled around so that his fingers slid effortlessly into the thick matt of hair around her quim. He pressed deeper, sliding inside her, feeling the wet compelling pull of her sex.

"Whatever you have to offer me."

Emily Lawrence was woken by a gentle touch on her shoulder; the merest fleeting caress.

Instantly conscious, she needed no time to collect her thoughts or struggle to remember what had happened to her. As she woke to the fearful darkness created by the thin mask she knew exactly where she was. She remembered the command to remain silent unless spoken to and struggled to stop herself from asking who was there, instead she strained to listen for clues. Her face and head felt desperately hot and uncomfortable under the rubber and her nipples and sex felt raw and vulnerable from being pierced.

After a few seconds she felt gentle hands undoing her wrist restraints, the movements accompanied by soft tuneless humming. A hand stroked her collar, there was a clicking sound, and then a soft tug.

"Come with me. We'll wash you now," said a foreign sounding female voice. The unseen woman re-enforced her invitation with a sharp tug on the collar.

Emily unfolded her body and put her feet on the floor. Her full bladder ached. The tug came again and she guessed that it was perhaps a leash fixed to the loop in her collar. Gingerly she took two small steps, hands in front of her.

Her companion laughed. "We'll never get there if you go so slowly. Here -" Emily felt a small cool hand linking though her arm. "I'll show you. I'd forgotten you can't see."

They walked arm in arm out into what sounded like a corridor, where Emily had walked the night before and then – still at a snail's pace – into another room. With every step Emily was conscious of the chains, afraid to snag or catch them, she walked as if she were on broken glass. Firm small hands guided her onto a bench and she heard another snick of metal on metal.

"Close your eyes." said the voice. "It will be very bright when I take this off." Emily complied as the mask was rolled back off her face. The cold air hit her moist sweating skin like a soft kiss. She moaned with relief as the pressure was relieved and instantly wondered if she was going to be punished. Opening her eyes she looked straight into the face of a small oriental girl, dressed in a clinical smock. Her companion smiled.

"Better?"

Emily nodded, unsure whether the question demanded an answer. They were in a large white-tiled bathroom. By the door was a man in uniform who was watching the two women without interest. Ahead of her were shower cubicles and open lavatory stalls – neither had any doors. Beside her, snaking away from the collar on her neck, was a long length of chain that was secured into a large ring complete with a small lock. It was so high on the wall that she could only assume her diminutive walker had given the security guard the chain as they came in – she certainly wouldn't be able to reach it herself.

The girl smiled again. "My name is Kai. You can wash and then I'll do these -" Her tiny quick silver hands cupped Emily's nipples, touching the silver rings. Emily flinched. The girl pulled a face. "It's all right. I'll make them feel better. Lie back a little." Carefully she removed the chain that linked each ring. As the links moved through rings Emily bit her lips, praying that they didn't snag.