One Week in the Private House (42 page)

Jem knew she should apologise, but she was so close to the edge that she couldn't speak. Her Master was moving his fingers in and out of her sex, slowly and thoughtfully. There was a wet sucking noise as he pulled his fingers free at last, and Jem sobbed with a combination of shame and frustrated desire.

'Now I'm going to cane you here,' he said, trailing his wet fingers down the length of the valley between her buttocks and stopping just about the parted lips of her vulva. He tapped the base of the anal plug, and sent a tremor through the sensitive ring of her anus and into the depths of her belly. 'You'll discover what a clever device this is. I'll be able to aim the cane directly on to your anus, but this will shield your pretty little arsehole from harm while sending delicious shivers right inside you.'

He smacked the base again, harder, and Jem felt her anus being pushed a little more open by the blow, as she simultaneously felt the sting of his hand between her buttocks and the vibration of the long cylinder inside her. 'I expect you to have an orgasm as a result of this caning,' he said. 'You will wait until I give my permission, however.'

'Yes, Master,' she said, hoping that she could restrain her climax until he permitted it.

He showed her the cane: a thin, very flexible length of smooth wood.

He caned her bottom with unvaryingly hard strokes, delivered with a steady rhythm. There was time between the strokes to feel the sharp stinging line of pain start to merge into the channel of building heat that seemed to run down the centre of her body and collect in her throbbing clitoris. There was time to hear the low hiss as the cane was drawn back, and the louder hiss as it descended.

Jem knew that if she had not been so sexually aroused, the pain would have been unbearable. He was caning the most sensitive and most intimate parts of her body, the stripes crowded together in a narrow corridor of taut skin, overlaying each other again and again, stimulating the same nerve endings repeatedly. But instead of yelling in outraged pain, Jem was moaning and crying in a frenzy of desire.

More and more often the cane smacked against the base plate of the anal plug, sending shocks of excitement through her. Her cries became regular and breathless, matching the accelerating pace of the whipping. The only half-coherent thought that surfaced in the whirlpool of sensations that filled her mind was an urgent wish that the caning would move down to-4ier sex and bring her quickly to the climax that was in any case becoming inevitable.

The strokes were falling faster and faster, and every one contrived to sting her and also touch the anal plug. She knew she couldn't hold back much longer. Her cries were faster and quieter, a succession of high-pitched gasps.

i want you to come now,' her Master said, his voice raised above the hiss and crack of the cane.

Jem had merely to think about her clitoris and the strokes of the cane and the movements of the anal plug seemed instantly to transfer their effects to it. She was momentarily distracted by the sound of two heavy thumps, which might have come from beyond the door; but the rhythm of the caning didn't falter, and the tingling of her clitoris could not be ignored.

'Come on, Jem,' her Master urged, caning her yet faster. She looked down and caught sight of her breasts, crisscrossed with pink streaks and shivering in time with her Master's strokes. It reminded her of the eagerness with which her nipples had met the strap, and that memory was enough to propel her towards her climax. Suddenly she was coming, surprised by the leaping fountains of sensation that gushed within her, and then gulping for air and squirming and screaming as wave after wave of wonderful, swooning, vast slow explosions of delight burst in her mind and reverberated through her body.

In the middle of it all she heard, distant and irrelevant, a crashing noise, and the Master's voice raised in anger. It didn't matter. Ripples of contentment were running up and down her. 'Wow,' she thought, 'that was some firework display.'

She tried to stretch her muscles, and found that she couldn't move. She remembered she was tied to the saddle. In Headman's study.

Her mind was suddenly clear. Gods, she was stiff. And very sore. She twisted her head from side to side. Something was going on.

Headman was shouting. Another crash; and the door flew open.

In the corridor were the slumped bodies of two of Headman's elite bodyguards. Standing in the doorway, with a pistol in one hand and an iron bar in the other, was a blonde Valkyrie in laddered stockings, a tiny skirt, a brief tunic and a policewoman's cap. It was Lucy Larson.

At last, Jem thought deliriously, the cavalry's arrived.

'Hello, hello, hello,' Lucy Larson said. 'What's going on here then?'

Headman was furious. 'What the blazes do you think you're doing?' he yelled. 'No one has access to these chambers without my permission. I remember you: you're new here, aren't you? You were initiated yesterday. You've made a big mistake, my girl, and I can promise you you'll pay for it. Now get out and report to the dungeons for punishment!'

Jem couldn't believe her eyes. Lucy, accustomed to obeying orders, had started to turn as if to leave; but she kept the pistol trained on Headman.

'You're the Master?' she said uncertainly.

'Yes,' Headman said through gritted teeth.

Lucy lowered the pistol. Jem almost screamed with frustration. 'Don't I know you?' Lucy said. 'I've seen you in the papers, haven't I? The business pages. Oh my God! You're Terence Headman! I'm sorry I disturbed you, sir. You must be a very busy man. Tfrere must be some mistake. I was just following these instructions -'

'Lucy!' Jem's voice cut across the policewoman's chattering and Headman's continuing tirade of instructions and threats. 'Listen closely. Terence Headman is the Master. You can file charges against him for several hundred blackmail offences, but right now I suggest you arrest him for assault and battery against me.'

Lucy raised the gun again, but still looked confused.

Jem swore. 'Take him out, Lucy. Drop him. Ask questions later. And get me off this device.'

There was a pop, a hiss, and Headman had no time to dodge the dart that embedded itself in his shoulder. Before he had crumpled to the floor Lucy was tugging at the belt across Jem's back.

Jem started giggling, and then laughing helplessly as her arms and legs were released.

'That's amazing,' she managed to say at last to a puzzled Lucy. 'Not only do I get rescued, but I have time to get the best orgasm of my life. So far. Born lucky, that's me.'

Lucy's training had not prepared her for the situation in which she found herself. She had no idea what to do.

She was in the topmost chamber of a medieval castle, surrounded by ancient and futuristic instruments of torture. Sleeping fitfully on the floor was one of the country's better-known property tycoons, dressed in nothing but chains and bits of leather. Collapsed against a bookcase, and swearing softly in an American accent, was a devasta-tingly beautiful woman wearing a dishevelled confection of pink cotton and lace. Lucy looked from one to the other, and then caught sight of a third figure: a woman, chained to a chair, with everything except her erogenous zones enclosed within a rubber suit.

Lucy began to feel disoriented. She clung to one indisputable fact: she had caught the famous Terence Headman in the act of committing an assault. She'd got him bang to rights, and that meant at the very least a commendation, and perhaps promotion.
Chief Inspector Larson
- yes, that sounded right. And she deserved it. Headman was beginning to groan; he was waking up.

'He's got the constitution of an elephant,' Jem said. 'Quick, help me get him on the saddle.'

Lucy snapped out of her daydream. 'What? Him? He's no problem. I've got him covered. Look, are you OK? You're very pale. Would you like to sit down?'

Jem tried to laugh. 'Sit down? That's the last thing I intend to do. I'm OK. But we have to immobilise this bastard. He's big, strong, clever and vicious. Let's put him on the Saddle.'

Lucy shrugged, and pulled into the centre of the room the metal and leather contraption that Jem had indicated. Together, the two women managed to drape the semiconscious Headman along the concave leather surface.

'Fasten the straps across his back,' Jem gasped. 'Put his boots in the stirrups and pull them up tight.'

Lucy felt she was losing control of the situation. 'This man is my prisoner,' she said. 'It's against regulations to use unnecessary restraint on a suspect.'

'Suspect!' Jem screeched. 'Listen, lady, this guy's a maniac. Anyway, I'm willing to bet that doll's outfit you're wearing doesn't come equipped with handcuffs.'

Lucy shrugged again, and secured the straps across Headman's back. 'All right,' she said, 'you've got a point. But the minute he wakes up, I'm going to arrest him, caution him, and read him his rights.'

'You can read him what you like,' Jem said. 'Just make sure you get his reply on tape.'

'And where am I supposed to find a tape recorder in a museum like this?'

'I'll find the tape machine; how about you unzip the rubber queen? Her name's Lesley, and she's a witness. She won't have heard much, she's seen less, but she's felt plenty.'

Lucy had a great deal of difficulty with Lesley. The rubber suit was not easy to remove, and the unfortunate blonde seemed to be delirious once Lucy had peeled it from her body. Lesley, too, refused to sit down, which Lucy found exasperatingly incomprehensible until she saw that Lesley's bottom was even more sore than Jem's. The girl refused to believe that Lucy was a policewoman, but took no chances anyway and would not disclose more than her name and address.

By the time Lucy had found a scrap of paper on which to note Lesley's particulars, she became aware that another conversation was going on in the room. Headman had woken up.

Til give you half,' Headman was saying, his voice still thick and unsteady. 'Half of everything, Jem. Think of it. We'd make a good team.'

Jem was shaking her head in disbelief as she stared down at his bound form; Lucy began to think that her grip on the situation was slipping again. She marched towards the saddle.'

i'll take over now,' she announced. 'You,' she added, nudging Headman's ribs with the point of a shoe, 'stop trying to bribe a witness. Terence Headman, I am Inspector Larson, on a special assignment for the Missing Persons office. You are under arrest.'

She charged Headman with every offence she could think of, while Jem impatiently tapped what appeared to be a riding crop against the edge of the desk.

i demand to speak to my solicitor,' Headman said when she had finished, and Jem snorted in disgust.

'He's got a point there,' Lucy said, and then raised her eyes to find that Jem was pointing the pistol at her. 'Put that down, dear,' Lucy said. 'You've had a very trying ordeal, and -'

'Cut it out, sister,' Jem said. 'We'll do things my way. Turn on that tape machine, keep your ears pinned back, and take notes if you want to. Terry baby has a choice: he can either spill the beans about this whole set-up, and let the law take its course, or else I'll give you a dart, police lady, and he can take his chances with me while you're asleep. I'll be just as gentle with him as he was with me.'

Lucy started to protest, but Headman cut her short, i'll talk,' he said, i'll gi\e all the information you want to hear. I don't want to be left alone with Jem.'

This is all very irregular,' Lucy grumbled. But Jem had the pistol, and a taped confession would wrap up the case. She pulled a chair up to the desk and turned on the tape recorder.

Jem's arm was tiring. Headman's revelations had been given grudgingly: Jem had been obliged to jog his memory with the riding crop at frequent intervals. The policewoman was making it very obvious that she was getting restless, and kept asking whether it was really necessary to go into such detail about the administrative systems within the Private House. Jem tried to ignore the interruptions, and continued to ask Headman about the location of deposit boxes, the names of secret bank accounts, and the exact relationships between the shell companies and subsidiaries of Headman's business empire. Headman's muscular buttocks were a flaming network of raised weals, and his answers came in broken sobs, but at last Jem had all the information she wanted.

There was just one more part of the plan to put into operation, as far as Jem was concerned; but at that moment three Security guards appeared in the doorway, their pistols drawn.

Thank God!' Headman cried weakly. 'What the hell kept you? Guards, these two women are traitors. Keep them covered and get me off this contraption now!'

i'd love to keep them covered, Master,' Julia said with a smile, 'but I rather think we'd better leave you where you are. Are you all right, Jem?'

Jem could have wept with joy. She couldn't speak for a moment, and could only shake her head and grin stupidly as Maxine and Asmita closed the door and covered the room with their pistols and Julia stepped towards her. She fell into Julia's outstretched arms. 'We did it, Jules,' she whispered, burying her face in Julia's dark hair. 'We did it!'

As if from a great distance, Jem heard Lucy's shrill voice. 'Julia!' Lucy shouted. 'Asmita! For goodness' sake find a telephone and call the police. Any police! Just dial 999. Tell them Inspector Larson wants a car and a detective team immediately. Julia! Are you listening?'