Sarah Fisher - The contract

As Emily regained her balance Franz beckoned to her. She approached him slowly, unsteadily but with deference, eyes downcast. He put a finger under her chin and tilted her face up so she could look at him. Gently he undid the collar that she had worn since the afternoon in Johnson and Fielding's office and from a side table took another. It was almost identical, with rings set either side in the leather, but whereas the first had metal studs this one was made of finely tooled leather set with glittering diamond chips. He fastened it tight around her neck, dragging her close to him so that her breasts brushed his muscular body.

The movement made the brand bite into her mind and she shivered in spite of the pain. His hot oiled flesh re-ignited the dark flash of desire in her belly.

Franz smiled down at her and she knew at once that her desire, her obedience and submission had pleased him.

Behind the two way mirror the invited audience began to thin. The performance as far as they were concerned was over, there were other delights to be sampled and relished over at the main house.

Max Fielding stayed in his seat, however. He suspected, as he watched the girl allow Franz to re-collar her, that she had been completely broken. Her addiction to submission had begun. For Max this was almost better than the wild frantic threshings of her deflowering.

Without any prompting Emily Lawrence sank to her knees and pressed her lips to Franz's feet, the brand mark a livid terrifying reminder of her new found role. Behind her, Naomi Haroldson wore an expression of triumph on her stunning features.

The door to the mirrored room opened and two servants brought in trays and jugs. Max knew the next part of Naomi's favoured initiation and it was one which, he believed, revealed more about the new slave than almost any other.

Franz snapped a plaited leash into Emily's collar while Naomi laid a thick towel over the plinth. Franz lay back in comfort, bringing the new girl to heel beside him. He smiled and closed his eyes, awaiting the ministrations of the two women.

Naomi handed Emily a sponge and, without another word, the girl began to wash her new master, lovingly attending to every inch of his body. She soaped his chest, running her long fingers through the hair where it curled between his nipples. The soft sponge was followed by her lips, pressing kisses of obedience and submission onto his slick golden skin.

Unconsciously Max got to his feet, moving closer to the glass, and stared at the girl. She was worshipping Franz with every sinew of her body. When she came to his shaft she hesitated for an instant, as if afraid. She glanced towards Franz to be reassured and then began to soap the flaccid cock.

Working her hands back and forth, cupping his balls, gently taking the foreskin with its intimidating silver ring back and forth, she seemed totally absorbed. The beast began to stir in her fingers, swelling and blossoming as she worked it more confidently. Slowly, on her knees, she moved closer, rinsing the dark purple head lovingly.

Max held his breath as she planted an experimental kiss on its angry crown and then drew Franz's cock into her mouth. Her lips closed around him, sucking and tonguing eagerly. Franz smiled and lifted himself a little, relishing the girl's attentions. Even from behind the glass Max could hear Emily making soft noises of excitement. Franz tugged a little on the lead, instantly Emily pulled away, eyes bright.

"Give yourself to me," he said, in a voice barely above a whisper. Emily swallowed nervously, glancing at the meaty bulk of his pierced cock. Franz tugged the lead again and the girl climbed slowly across his narrow hips. The muscular Nordic giant cupped the base of his cock between his fingers, pulling it upright for the girl to mount. Max could sense Emily's apprehension as she eased herself, a fraction of an inch at a time, onto Franz's shaft.

From where Max stood he could see the stunning image of Franz's phallus gliding into the girl's open quim. The lips of her sex closed around him, a wet, glittering seal of excitement fastening tight around him. For a second or two she was still, holding herself almost unnaturally upright. Franz shortened the lead, wrapping it around his meaty fist, and lifted his hips, pressing himself deep into her. Emily let out a mewl that betrayed both her fear and her desire. Franz's face contorted into a grin of pleasure as, tentatively she started to move, grinding her sex into him.

Max hissed with delight. Emily Lawrence had surrendered.

Johnson's car purred into the drive at Deuvar. The night was dark, frost glistening in the headlights.

Johnson stretched. "All we have to do now is wait," he said, almost to himself. Beside him, his slave girl's face was impassive, her ginger eyes staring out into the darkness as if she could see beyond the shadows with those compelling cat's eyes.

He glanced at his watch. If everything had been going to schedule Emily had already been deflowered. A small price to pay for his betrayal. He was pleased that she had been so eager to take on Peter's imaginary debt. It would have been messy if they had had to abduct her.

Certain now that Peter was alive, convinced that he would eventually read his computer message, Johnson was confident that soon he would have Magenta back in his possession.

After all, he reasoned, a man who was sentimental enough to wait until his wedding night to deflower his girl friend was surely foolish enough to trade her for a piece of computer hardware.

When he had Magenta in his grasp – Johnson considered the possibilities as the chauffeur opened the car door – Peter Howard would offer no further threat. He would be no real risk unless he had had a chance to duplicate Magenta and Johnson's computer experts assured him that the system had not been breached.

Without Magenta, Peter would be totally expendable. But Johnson was not by nature a violent man; without the key to the computer system Peter Howard would be totally powerless. Perhaps he would be generous and let the two of them walk away.

Johnson stepped out of the car, pulling his coat tight around him. The only problem was that his associates, the dictators and invisible influential people he served, might not be so easy to appease.

The slave girl uncurled herself and fell into step behind her master. She was taller than Johnson by a head, dressed in a fine purple wool cape that covered her from head to foot. Beneath, he knew, she was naked except for a leather thong that ran around her waist and between her legs, pressing up into those wild inviting places that offered so much pleasure.

Johnson held a suite of rooms at Deuvar on stand-by, always ready for his use. Under the mansion's impressive portico Leonora was waiting for his arrival. She looked cold, as if she had been there some time. Johnson waited for her to greet him – after all, she was an employee. When the social pleasantries had been attended to, he looked over towards the Haroldson's cottage.

"How did it go with Emily Lawrence?"

Leonora smiled. "Very well, though I haven't seen the video tape yet."

Johnson nodded. "Perhaps you will be good enough to arrange for it to be sent to my suite when it's ready, and could you send up some supper for us?"

Leonora nodded. "Of course. Anything else?"

Johnson allowed himself a narrow smile. "I'm expecting a visitor. When he arrives please send him up."

"Anyone I know?" said Leonora, leading the way into the main hall.

"Peter Howard," said Johnson, flatly. "Please ring to let me know when he gets here." He saw the surprise register on Leonora's face.

"Peter – but I thought -"

Johnson dismissed her with a wave of his hand. "He's very much alive and I have every reason to believe he will soon be on his way to Deuvar."