Sarah Fisher - The contract

Naomi Haroldson got to her feet and pulled her dress straight.

"No objection at all, though perhaps when you've done with her you would be so good as to send her back over to our cottage." She glanced at her watch teasingly. "After all we've several more hours owing to us. I'd hate Franz to forgo his promised treats."

Johnson nodded. "Of course. Thank you for your indulgence."

When the Haroldsons and Franz had gone Max clambered to his feet and poured himself another drink. All this time, Emily stood frozen to the spot whilst Johnson continued to caress her, exploring every inch of her skin. The girl seemed too afraid or ensnared to move a muscle.

"The Haroldsons paid a lot of money to have her for the first twenty four hours," said Max.

Johnson snorted. "It's in their best interests to do as I ask. Besides, they know I won't sell them short. They can have her back when I've done." He slipped his fingers once again into the compelling spot between the lips of her sex.

"Get me a crop," he said softly, without removing his fingers or changing his tone of voice.

Leonora turned and selected a short riding crop from her cupboard.

"Bend over the desk," whispered Johnson, his face no more than a few inches away from her ear. Emily did not hesitate. She bent forward, taking her weight on her hands.

Max Fielding was struck again by how different the girl had become. The pose accentuated her shapely hips and narrow waist. He knew Johnson would beat her now, excited by the spectacle of Kai's punishment. As the crop was raised the girl shivered; not with fear but with expectation. Her pale skin was suffused with a delicate glow, her nipples hardened, pink buds accentuated by the glitter of the silver rings.

As the crop exploded across her buttocks Emily's hips flexed, opening her sex, exposing the pale orchid-pink lips within. The fragrant slit was wet, sopping, an open invitation, newly breached, desperately needy, writhing wildly under Johnson's vicious strokes.

She gasped at the pain, her whole body drinking in the humiliation and red hot explosions like some strange erotic elixir. It was all Max could do to stop himself from getting up and plunging his cock into her. With every stroke of the crop the inner lips of her sex darkened like a compelling stormy ocean, flooding with scarlet, opening, grasping…

Max was certain that Johnson would be able to sense the girl's growing excitement. It was almost as if she was giving her whole consciousness over to the pain, drinking it up, drawing it into her. Deuvar had unleashed her. Max took a deep steadying breath, painfully aware of the throbbing in his groin.

From the corner of his eye he caught sight of Johnson's majestic slave princess. Her scarified and tattooed body had always fascinated him and he could see she was excited. Her skin was gleaming, her hands betraying a slight tremor, as across the room Johnson laid the crop on Emily with renewed vigour.

Emily slumped forward as the punishment continued. Her breath came in ragged gasps and it seemed to Max that she was glowing white hot with expectation and excitement. Finally Johnson cast aside the crop. The atmosphere was heavy with expectancy; his audience silent, trying to anticipate what might follow.

"Get up," Johnson hissed.

Emily uncurled herself like a cat, slowly with unconscious sensuality. Max held his breath; every sinew, every cell of the girl's body voiced an unspoken invitation. Emily turned slowly. Even with her eyes downcast Max could see the electric glittering passion in her face. Without a word Emily sank to her knees in front of Johnson and pressed her face to his groin.

For an instant she looked up, seeking approval. It was the same look Max had seen her use on Franz. Johnson made a thick guttural noise deep in his throat and then nodded. Emily's small hands worked at his fly, sliding his cock seamlessly from within the material into her mouth. She planted a kiss on the end, circling his foreskin with her tongue before taking him deeper, sucking and caressing with a ferocity that took Max's breath away.

As if suddenly realising they were not alone, Johnson slid his hands in Emily's collar and jerked her head away.

"Enough," he said breathlessly and then glanced across at Max. "Will you take her back to my suite?" he said, nodding in the direction of his own slave.

Max nodded.

Leonora, who had been standing behind her desk watching the proceeding with barely concealed excitement, spoke quietly. "Would you like me to leave too?"

Johnson nodded, and they left him alone with Emily.

Upstairs in Johnson's suite Max sat for a while, whilst Johnson's beautiful slave served him and Leonora drinks.

"Not like Johnson to be so coy," said Leonora, taking a glass from the proffered tray.

Max snorted. "I don't think he was being coy. I think having Emily Lawrence at his beck and call is one last pay back to Peter Howard for Magenta. Do you honestly think Peter will leave her here once they've struck a deal?"

Leonora shrugged. "Unlikely." She paused for a few seconds. "I was certain Peter was dead."

Max grinned. "Me, too. Slippery bastard. He and Johnson were cut from the same cloth. I should have realised that if Johnson thought he'd got out of the plane crash alive his hunch was probably right."

As they spoke Johnson's slave-girl stood by the door, silently awaiting their command. She always seemed almost disconcertingly attentive and Max – though he would never have admitted it to anyone – found her glittering dark eyes unnerving. It was as if she could see into his very soul. In the years that she had served Johnson, Max had never attempted to touch her, though he had often been tempted and knew she would not have denied him.

She was trained to obey. They knew that Johnson beat her every day, harder if he was not a hundred percent pleased with her docility. Harder still if he was in a bad mood. He had not broken her yet, he regarded her as a challenge.

Max let his eyes move over her lithe muscular frame, with its strange ancient markings. Perhaps tonight would be the night to take her, while Johnson exacted his own final revenge on Peter Howard by punishing Emily.

After a drink Leonora excused herself, leaving Max to contemplate the idea a little longer. Finally he beckoned her to him. She padded towards him like a faithful dog and crouched at his feet. When she looked up at him, he shivered.

"On all fours," he said in an unsteady voice, averting his gaze from her disconcerting eyes as she obeyed him.

Back in Leonora's office Johnson watched Emily Lawrence with a mixture of disbelief and astonishment. It was hard to credit this was the girl he had delivered to Deuvar. Her transformation was astounding. No wonder Peter had been so taken with her. The girl waited on the floor for his command. He could still feel the wetness of her lips around his cock, the heat of her breath, the look of total obedience she had given him.

He smiled and stroked the side of her face. She leant into his touch. Perhaps he ought to ring for Max to come back. There was a video camera in the office. How satisfying it would be to take her together and record the event for Peter's entertainment. Max with his cock in the girl's open willing mouth, himself buried to the hilt in her tender wet cunt. He glanced at the phone; fulfilment of his fantasy was just a call away.

The girl hadn't moved. She awaited his pleasure, her body trembling with expectation. The silver rings through her nipples glittered as her fear and anticipation grew. The air was still, heavy. Johnson picked up the riding crop and walked behind her.

Her sex was slick and open, a trickle of moisture seeping down onto her thighs. Her pert breasts hung down, nipple rings glittering still. He knew then that he couldn't wait for Max Fielding.