– she needed satisfaction. Her hands where still secured to the frame above her head so that she couldn't even touch herself.
She had never felt the need before, but now more than anything else, she wanted to slip her fingers down into the wet hot confines of her sex and stroke the little pleasure bud that the guard had brought to the very brink of release. She sighed – and within a few seconds was asleep – the ache unfulfilled.
It was late. Peter Howard was sitting in the wheelchair beside the computers he had had installed. He watched the screens, letting his mind wander free. On the side table was Magenta, still encased in its water-proof wrappings. He didn't want to connect it up until he was absolutely certain he had a way in. It would be disastrous if they discovered Magenta's presence before he was set up and ready.
He was completely exhausted, but he knew that sometimes solutions appeared best in the grey still area before sleep claimed him.
Emily Lawrence was at Deuvar.
The knowledge appalled him, but he didn't know exactly what to do about it. He was far too weak to consider a one-man rescue squad. Surely Johnson wouldn't use her for the purposes Deuvar had been designed for? It had to be a bluff to draw him out. Emily might be a prisoner there, but even Johnson wouldn't stoop so low as to break a girl against her will. Deuvar had their precious contract that all the girls had to sign before they gave themselves into Leonora's clutches. He couldn't imagine that Emily would sign herself away.
Peter ran his fingers through his thick wavy hair. He really ought to be in bed. Angela had left – he glanced at the bedside clock – almost an hour earlier. He grinned. What an unexpected find she had turned out to be. He'd never realised that physiotherapy could be so much fun.
He had screwed her over his bed, gagged and pressed down amongst the sheets with their tight hospital corners. He'd held her by her harness and applied the delightful little nipple clamps he had ordered along with a few other things. She had whimpered and struggled as he had forced his way into her without prelude.
As he had pushed his cock home he had felt her waiting lips fold gratefully around him. When he had taken his pleasure he had turned her over and tongued her to her own release, making her beg him for more.
He yawned and looked at the screens one last time. He needed to sleep and the ideas and solutions eluded him. Carefully he pushed himself to the bed and eased himself onto the sheets; they still smelt of Angela's body.
Max Fielding had settled himself in the main bar at Deuvar, watching the evening's entertainment with his arm around one of Leonora's girls. On stage a slim blonde girl was tied, belly down, across an ornate plinth. Dressed in a low cut leather Basque that nipped her tight, her sex was tipped up for the attentions of her mistress, who's expert tonguing made Max quiver.
All eyes where on the masked dominant woman's hands, where a tiny crop nestled, its handle formed into a thick black dildo. As the girl struggled and writhed the woman alternately beat and fucked her with the device.
The girl's lightly tanned skin was suffused by a shimmer of perspiration, her breasts pressed flat against the plinth. Her face was flushed, wild screams reduced to groans by the rubber gag she wore.
Business in the bar was brisk. Several of the clients, Max knew, had arrived that evening purely for the auction of Emily Lawrence the next day. Leonora was circulating amongst them – the perfect hostess. Distinguished well known public faces mingled with the anonymous rich without a second thought.
Under Leonora's management Deuvar had rapidly become one of the best known open secrets amongst the world's wealthiest and most influential individuals. At Deuvar no pleasure was too extreme – and almost no secret too big to keep.
On stage, the girl on the plinth was sobbing behind her gag, a trickle of creamy juice
She had never felt the need before, but now more than anything else, she wanted to slip her fingers down into the wet hot confines of her sex and stroke the little pleasure bud that the guard had brought to the very brink of release. She sighed – and within a few seconds was asleep – the ache unfulfilled.
It was late. Peter Howard was sitting in the wheelchair beside the computers he had had installed. He watched the screens, letting his mind wander free. On the side table was Magenta, still encased in its water-proof wrappings. He didn't want to connect it up until he was absolutely certain he had a way in. It would be disastrous if they discovered Magenta's presence before he was set up and ready.
He was completely exhausted, but he knew that sometimes solutions appeared best in the grey still area before sleep claimed him.
Emily Lawrence was at Deuvar.
The knowledge appalled him, but he didn't know exactly what to do about it. He was far too weak to consider a one-man rescue squad. Surely Johnson wouldn't use her for the purposes Deuvar had been designed for? It had to be a bluff to draw him out. Emily might be a prisoner there, but even Johnson wouldn't stoop so low as to break a girl against her will. Deuvar had their precious contract that all the girls had to sign before they gave themselves into Leonora's clutches. He couldn't imagine that Emily would sign herself away.
Peter ran his fingers through his thick wavy hair. He really ought to be in bed. Angela had left – he glanced at the bedside clock – almost an hour earlier. He grinned. What an unexpected find she had turned out to be. He'd never realised that physiotherapy could be so much fun.
He had screwed her over his bed, gagged and pressed down amongst the sheets with their tight hospital corners. He'd held her by her harness and applied the delightful little nipple clamps he had ordered along with a few other things. She had whimpered and struggled as he had forced his way into her without prelude.
As he had pushed his cock home he had felt her waiting lips fold gratefully around him. When he had taken his pleasure he had turned her over and tongued her to her own release, making her beg him for more.
He yawned and looked at the screens one last time. He needed to sleep and the ideas and solutions eluded him. Carefully he pushed himself to the bed and eased himself onto the sheets; they still smelt of Angela's body.
Max Fielding had settled himself in the main bar at Deuvar, watching the evening's entertainment with his arm around one of Leonora's girls. On stage a slim blonde girl was tied, belly down, across an ornate plinth. Dressed in a low cut leather Basque that nipped her tight, her sex was tipped up for the attentions of her mistress, who's expert tonguing made Max quiver.
All eyes where on the masked dominant woman's hands, where a tiny crop nestled, its handle formed into a thick black dildo. As the girl struggled and writhed the woman alternately beat and fucked her with the device.
The girl's lightly tanned skin was suffused by a shimmer of perspiration, her breasts pressed flat against the plinth. Her face was flushed, wild screams reduced to groans by the rubber gag she wore.
Business in the bar was brisk. Several of the clients, Max knew, had arrived that evening purely for the auction of Emily Lawrence the next day. Leonora was circulating amongst them – the perfect hostess. Distinguished well known public faces mingled with the anonymous rich without a second thought.
Under Leonora's management Deuvar had rapidly become one of the best known open secrets amongst the world's wealthiest and most influential individuals. At Deuvar no pleasure was too extreme – and almost no secret too big to keep.
On stage, the girl on the plinth was sobbing behind her gag, a trickle of creamy juice
Similar Books
