The Voyeur (9 page)

Not really sure what to say, Anya said nothing.

‘That was a routine call, and you were experiencing only minor stimulation. You have handled far more than that without showing a flicker of emotion. The last time you took this test you were still a rookie, yet you performed so much better. You don’t seem to have grasped that I am making you do these tests again for your own good. To make sure all of our staminas – including my own – can cope with what lies ahead!’

Mark shifted his legs to one side and, reaching out a hand, gripped Clara’s wrist, hauling her from her cramped quarters. ‘You, on the other hand, Clara, did very well; excellent distraction technique.’

Anya’s stomach clenched; it seemed as if Mark was determined to make her fail, or at least feel a failure.

Clara looked from Mark to Anya, wisely keeping her counsel as her employer regarded his PA gravely, suddenly understanding why Mark hadn’t allowed them to fuck in front of him, or given Anya permission to wank last night. He was testing his own limits as well as theirs.
I wonder why?

Chapter Nine

Anya had expected serious chastisement. A body-wracking punishment that made her survival of Fantasy 12 appear a piece of cake. What she had actually received was nothing. Absolutely nothing, except the mental and physical anguish of only being able to look on as Mark eased down the zip at the front of Clara’s catsuit. The dart of desire that coursed through Anya’s frustrated frame heightened in the presence of her girl’s beautifully succulent breasts.

Taking hold of Clara’s hand, an unusual act of affection for Mark, he led the housekeeper to the door of the office before addressing Anya. ‘Finish your work. Do not pleasure yourself. The cameras are on, and I will know if you do. Then, at five o’clock, you will go to the dressing room and pack. We are relocating to the flat in London for a while.’

Clara didn’t look at anything but the floor as she allowed herself to be led away; but Anya could tell from the uneasy scuffing of her feet that the physical contact of Mark’s palm in hers was as confusing to the housekeeper as it was to the PA.

In the past Anya had packed for their trip to London with a combination of relief at escaping the quiet of the country for a while, and excitement as to what might happen to her and Clara while they were away. She knew it was inevitable that this trip would involve a visit to Discreet. A prospect that usually got her juices flowing with happy yet cautious anticipation. This time, however, their return visit coming so soon after the completion of Fantasy 12, the idea of being displayed at the BDSM club filled her with a sense of foreboding.

When Anya had briefly seen Clara in the kitchen at lunchtime, her partner had said nothing about what had happened with Mark. This wasn’t surprising, for Anya had assumed she’d been forbidden to talk about whatever had taken place. As Clara was no longer wearing the catsuit, but her usual casual jeans and white shirt, Anya couldn’t help but speculate if she’d changed alone, or if she’d had help. The thought bought her up short.

Anya didn’t like how she was beginning to feel. She wasn’t accustomed to jealousy, but she recognised with some reluctance that was exactly what was starting to stir within her.

Mark had always been so even-handed; completely just in his appropriation of either praise or punishment. Ever since their talk in the study, when he’d informed them they would be redoing some of the fantasies they’d believed to be firmly in the past, their boss seemed to be operating to an entirely different set of rules. Rules he hadn’t explained to his loyal staff. Unless, Anya thought with a jolt of suspicion, Clara knows, and it’s just me who doesn’t have a clue what’s going on.

At six o’clock Clara came into the dressing room and picked up the case that Anya had packed for her. ‘Got everything we need, honey?’

‘I think so.’ Anya took a step nearer to Clara. Her whole being throbbed for physical contact. It was hours since her video link had been so erotically interrupted, and yet Anya’s crotch still felt keen for the attention of a hand or mouth.

Clara, reading her lover’s intentions, subtly inclined her head toward the camera in the corner of the room. She could have said “We’d better not”, but she didn’t have to. Anya perfectly understood her hesitation. Instead, the housekeeper said, ‘I took the liberty of packing an extra bag for you earlier. A holdall containing a few things to make our room at the flat more homely.’

Anya rummaged a hand through the square, grey bag Clara had extracted from its home beneath of one of the long, overfull clothes racks. It held a collection of their softest and most comfortable jumpers – clothes that wouldn’t irritate the most abused of flesh. Anya was just about to ask why extra jumpers had been worthy of a separate holdall to their other clothes when she felt the crumple of a piece of paper hidden about halfway down the bag. Taking care not to let its presence become visible above the bag, and so be detected by the camera in the room, Anya peered closer, reading Clara’s neat, rounded handwriting.

Discreet trip will be a competition. Let’s try and keep the outcome close. Work together without appearing to work together.

Regarding her girl with thankful gratitude, Anya said, ‘That’s an excellent addition to my packing. Thank you.’ The brief envy she had felt evaporated. Whatever Mark was up to; however much Clara knew, she was still on Anya’s side.

‘If you want to change you’ll have to hurry; we’ll be leaving soon. Mark tells me we’ll eat later.’ Both girls knew what “later” really meant. It meant “after” – but after what, they had no idea.

The journey to London seemed to be taking for ever. All three of them were sitting in the back of Mark’s chauffeur-driven limo; the girls on the sofa seats facing in the direction of travel, with Mark perched on the folding seat opposite, his knees rubbing against Anya’s. No one spoke, and the atmosphere was heavy with the effort of trying to appear comfortable and relaxed.

Every now and then Mark would raise his eyes from over the top of his laptop, and peer hard at Anya’s face, scrutinising it for some reason he’d decided not to share. Her imagination, which had already slipped off the scale, went into overdrive. What is Mark studying that makes his cock tent beneath his blue denims?

Clara, her hands gripping the beige leather seat either side of her legs, stared at nothing in particular out of the window. Again Anya found herself considering whether her partner was aware of what was on the other side of the laptop screen. Getting annoyed at her own paranoia, Anya pressed her hands together and tried to take some calming breaths without making it obvious that she was uneasy.

They were almost within walking distance of the private cul-de-sac of deluxe penthouse flats in which Mark had his city residence when he knocked on the opaque glass participation that divided the front and back of the vehicle, indicating for his chauffeur to stop.

‘You seem rather ill at ease, Anya.’ His concerned tone took his PA by surprise. ‘I am informed by Clara that you are a little worried about recent events.’

Anya inclined her head a fraction. Lying to Mark was pointless. He could see through bravado at 20 paces, and all-out lies cost more than she was prepared to pay.

For the first time in days, Anya felt he was actually pleased with her.

‘As you haven’t been so silly as to deny your misgivings, I will tell you one more time. But
only
one more time. I am giving you and Clara the chance, before we reach Fantasy 13, to improve your performances, and to get your stamina up to a level where not only will you survive what I have in store virtually unscathed, but you will be exhilarated by the experience,’ Mark studied each woman in turn, but let his steel gaze linger over Anya much longer than Clara. ‘So far I am a little disappointed in you. Tonight, however, I am going to give you each the opportunity to recoup some of the points you may, or may not, have lost over the past couple of exercises.’

Mark repositioned the laptop so the girls could see what it was that had kept his eyes glued to the screen. Every hair on the back of Anya’s neck bristled as she observed the split screen. On the right side she could see herself at the epicentre of a graphic fuck. This was the first time she had witnessed the film footage of her part in Fantasy 12. She had frequently seen videos of herself on Mark’s laptop screen, but this didn’t feel real somehow. It was as if she was watching some other woman being debased, not herself on all fours being screwed in every way possible.

On the left side of the monitor Clara was laid out upon a large wooden table, her courage being tested to the extreme as hot wax dripped onto her luminous skin. The volume was not on, but Anya could easily imagine what sort of noises were emanating from her girl’s mouth, as her face highlighted every facet of human emotion.

The unfinished arousal of that morning raced back through her breasts and snatch. A sideways look at Clara, whose own eyes were entirely fixed on Anya and the woman fucking the dildo that had been attached to her face, showed the film was having a similar effect on her.

Suddenly snapping the laptop closed, Mark posted it into the light leather pouch on the back of the seat next to him, sprang his erection from his jeans, and wrapped his fist around his penis. ‘You are going to have to be on top of your game tonight, girls, and draw on all your experience. I am taking you back to Discreet where, let’s face it, your reputation after our last visit may well have become notorious.’

The women’s gaze followed his hand, hypnotised by its movements up and down the stiff shaft.

‘I think it would be a good idea to lose some of the sexual tension you are hoarding.’ As if he was suggesting nothing more unusual that making a cup of tea, Mark continued, ‘I’ve already told you that time is short before Fantasy 13, so we are going to have a fast rerun of Fantasy 4
right now 
– before we head into the flat. Clara, if you would lift off your T-shirt and bra, please.’

Before she’d had the chance to digest that Mark was rushing the next item on his list, Clara pulled off her clothes with breakneck speed. Instantly Mark dived forward, pushed her backward, and shot his load all over Clara’s pearl-white torso.

With a husky edge to his voice, Mark commanded, ‘Anya, get her cleaned up.’

Falling upon Clara, Anya licked up her boss’s creamy seed, paying particular attention to the blonde’s nipples, relishing the feel of their rough texture against her tongue, waiting for her arse and tits to get slapped as they had during the first part of Fantasy 4.

Anya could hear Mark’s sighs of satisfaction, always more pronounced when he was observing other people indulging in sexual pleasure. Once again Anya found herself considering whether Mark might find the act of having to relieve himself of a hard-on simply a necessary chore that got in the way of the voyeuristic experience.

While she squirmed beneath Anya’s intense lapping, Clara’s chest rose and fell with a rapidly climbing climax as the salty sweet spunk slid down Anya’s gulping throat.

The PA’s own tits agitated against the inside of her shirt, aching to be freed, while her knickers stuck to her pussy with the liquid that had been on standby in her channel since early that morning.

Arching her back, Clara’s legs juddered as Anya scooped up the last of the come from her areolas. Then Mark leant forward and, rather than spank her as she’d expected, he grabbed Anya by the groin, clenching it bruisingly hard within his fist. The effect was instant. With her lips full of nipple, and her groin being roughly manipulated, Anya wailed with the release of her long-delayed orgasm.

‘Right!’ Mark sat up straight, business-like once more, Fantasy 4 already forgotten. ‘Your mission for tonight is to go your separate ways within Discreet, and each pick up a man. Seduce him. Make him do whatever you tell him to. In other words, you are going to redo Fantasy 5. This time, though, you are in competition. The question you need to ask yourselves is how do you win, and how do you lose?’

Chapter Ten

Over her months of employment at Parker Software, Anya had become accustomed to hiding the shake in her shoulders that typified the nervousness accompanying her erotic excitement. Tonight, with the nip of the evening air cloaking her bare shoulders as she and Clara were escorted from the limo to the entrance of Discreet, she was finding it took more effort than usual to keep her chin up and her shoulders back.

Still somewhat shocked that the previously painful Fantasy 4 had been disposed of so quickly, the women moved through the club, pretending they couldn’t hear the comments that followed their progress as they dutifully trailed after their employer into Discreet’s main hall. It was obvious from the turning heads and unsubtle whispers of those already within the club that news of Anya’s previous humiliation had spread.

Walking proprietarily, flanking them like a lion with his lionesses, Mark led his basque-clad beauties toward the bar, where he was greeted by Claude.

‘Good evening, Mr Parker.’ The club manager smarmed at Mark with his habitual greasy smile.

‘Good to see you again, Claude. I hope business is prospering.’

‘Indeed, Mr Parker. Especially since word of your last visit has circulated. I would be lying if I said that many of our regulars hadn’t been eagerly awaiting the return of your exquisite workforce.’

Mark merely raised a non-committal eyebrow, to reassure Anya and Clara that this time there had been no bargain struck between himself and the manager. Their challenge for the night ahead was going to be hard enough without the strain of an additional undisclosed favour Mark owed Claude adding to the mix. The muscles in the back of Clara’s neck unknotted a fraction as this minor bonus sank in.

‘Can I arrange some refreshment?’ Claude continued to be ultra-friendly, yet his openness was marginally less forthcoming as, unlike on the last occasion, Mark failed to invite him to use his Christian name.

‘I’ll have a scotch on the rocks, but the girls haven’t yet earned the right to a drink.’

Claude nodded in a knowing fashion, even though he knew nothing.

Turning his back on their host, who was gesturing for the bar staff to attend to the whisky, Mark examined his staff. Although identically dressed in rich emerald silk bodices with matching suspenders, stockings, thongs, and high-heeled shoes, the effect the outfits had on each woman was strikingly different.

Clara’s blonde hair and pale skin tone brought out the vividness of the fabric as it contrasted with her porcelain complexion. Anya, her glossy red hair falling around her shoulders, her darker flesh radiating against the close-fitting basque, could almost feel the outfit’s colour reflecting the jade of her eyes.

Finding potential subjects for the task ahead was not the problem. The problem was deciding which of the men from the crowd whose hopeful eyes followed Anya and Clara as they independently prowled the club would help them meet success in this latest challenge.

Ignoring the men who were blatantly coming on to her, their body language and less than subtle comments making their intentions obvious, Anya let her gaze stray to a guy propped up at the bar. Slightly distanced from the other voyeurs, his back against the counter, his eyes drank in the scene before him. It was the sense of awe that emanated from him as he took in what was happening all about him – the constant semi-orgied state of the main room giving him plenty to be wide-eyed about – that made Anya assume it was his first visit to Discreet.

He wore skinny black denims, and his crumpled white shirt was opened at the throat, rather than to his waist like the majority of the males (well, those who had bothered with a shirt in the first place), making Anya warm to this lone man. His eyes hadn’t got the conceited air that the majority of the seasoned Discreet clients radiated. He was also reasonably cute. His dated, foppish haircut suited his baby-round facial features. Anya judged him to be somewhere in his late 20s or early 30s.

Letting her eyes meet his for the briefest moment, just long enough for him to realise that she was interested in him, she quickly looked away. It was a classic move, but Anya had witnessed enough people being seduced to know that it would work. Raising her eyes back up to the man, who was failing in his attempt not to stare at her, Anya tore them away again and shot a glance at Clara, trying to gauge how far she had got with her own selection process.

Clara was progressing faster. Already astride the lap of a gorgeously chocolate-skinned Adonis, she and her chosen one were kissing fervently, and his hands were not proving backward at coming forward over her chest. Anya smiled to herself. Unless Clara remembered she was supposed to be in charge soon, it wouldn’t be long until those slim male fingers were attempting to undo the laces that tied the bodice stretched across her tits.

Reminding herself she was supposed to be competing with Clara, Anya returned her attention to the man at the bar, and bored her eyes into his. Ignoring the jostling slaves, masters, and mistresses through which she walked, the PA, without breaking eye contact with him, strode directly to the bar, stopping inches from her target.

‘You want to touch me.’ It wasn’t a question. Anya tilted her head to one side as she spoke, taking a tiny step forward so that her breasts stroked the cotton of his white shirt.

He said nothing, but Anya could tell by the acceleration of his breathing that, even if he was wary of what she might be proposing, the idea appealed.

Anya began to trace a green-painted fingernail down the line of his neck, undoing his shirt buttons as she did so, so that her hand could complete its journey from the tip of his chin to the top of his navel. There she paused, delighted that the smooth chest led to a sexy line of hair, leading like an arrow from his belly button to his boxers, the waistband of which protruded from the edge of his jeans.

A jet of erotic curiosity ignited within Anya, and she had to see exactly how far that trail of unexpected hair went. Will it stop short of his groin? Or does it carry on, meeting up with his pubic hair and the penis that is evidently stirring within his trousers?

Leaning in, Anya could feel the rasp of his voice caress her neck as she whispered, ‘I want to make you come.’

His answer of “OK” was barely above a whisper. He clasped his hands to her waist, and bought Anya forward, extinguishing the last millimetre of air between them.

Placing her hands on top of his, careful to remain in charge, Anya gently but firmly prised them away, ‘I have rules.’

‘Which are?’ The PA could feel the man’s confidence building, and for a moment she considered that he could be a plant. Has Mark placed him conveniently on his own so that I would go for him? But it was too late to worry about that now.

‘You will address me as ma’am. You will do what you are told. Only what you’re told. And you will do it immediately.’

Lowering his hazel eyes and brushing his matching hair from his forehead, he replied, ‘Yes, ma’am.’

Anya felt her own desire increase. It had been ages since she’d been completely in charge, and she was determined to savour the opportunity while she could; hopefully impressing Mark at the same time. Anya wasn’t sure where her boss was, but she had no doubt that, even if she couldn’t see him, he would be able to see her and Clara, and would probably have his secret notebook in hand, already scoring their performance.

Convinced that the more public she made things the better Mark would like it, Anya took hold of her conquest’s hand and steered him toward a row of sofas that dominated the right-hand corner of the main hall. Temporarily ignoring the rings that were fastened to the walls of the club, most of which already had a man or woman attached to them suffering a cane or a palm being slammed across a proffered backside, Anya formulated her plan while she walked to the seats where Clara already sat. If they were in competition, it would help if she knew what her rival was doing, and anyway, they had agreed to work together, even if it was secretly.

Mimicking Clara’s position, Anya pushed her male companion onto the cushioned seat at the opposite end of the long bench. Sitting astride his lap, relishing the heat that ignited between the rub of their legs, Anya asked, ‘What’s your name?’

‘Lee, ma’am.’

Anya smiled, picked up each of his hands, and put them on top of his head. ‘Well, Lee, I have been given some instructions concerning how to behave tonight; and in return I am going to instruct you to do certain things for me. OK?’

Her new friend didn’t reply, but his expression indicated agreement.

‘Do you see the blonde girl at the other end of this sofa?’

‘Yes, ma’am.’

‘Good. Do you see the gentleman on his knees in front of her, his hands either side of her legs?’

‘Yes, ma’am.’

‘Well, you and he are going to have a competition.’

For the first time Lee looked as unsure as he did excited, and Anya allowed herself a second to revel in the feeling of power that tripped up her spine as she watched him digest what she had said.

Clara’s helper appeared to be begging for some form of attention, and as her eyes met Anya’s, the PA felt a surge of pride for her lover. Clara was no mistress. In spite of the fact that Mark made her carry a whip in her boot, if she’d been a stick of rock, Clara would have had “submissive” written all the way through her; yet she was coping with this challenge with far more professionalism than on the last occasion this task had been thrust upon them both.

Lee’s eyes narrowed as he observed the undeniably fit and gleaming body of the man crouched at the blonde’s feet.

Anya experienced a prickle of pleasure. Lee was a player. She could tell that, even though he had no idea what it was he was going to have to do, he was already determined to be the best. Anya’s mind worked quickly, wishing she’d had more time to think through exactly what would be the best way to win. Then, remembering the note her partner had hidden within her luggage, Anya decided she would still try to win – but not by too much.

Putting up her hand as if she was training a puppy, to indicate to her follower that he should stay where he was, Clara stood, and gave the briefest of glances to Anya, letting her lover know that she was ready for this fantasy to be worked in tandem.

Anya’s heart drummed faster, hoping like hell that Mark hadn’t noticed the silent exchange, but knowing there was very little chance it had passed him by.

Clara strode to the row of rings along the nearby wall. There were two free beside each other. It was neither original nor inventive, but Anya saw that what her lover was silently proposing would work. Taking her partner’s lead, Anya put her own hand up so Lee would also stay where he was, while she went to join Clara by the whitewashed brick wall.

Working in unison, without a word being spoken, they claimed the adjacent hoops, which were screwed into the wall approximately two metres apart. If they so chose, any attached victim could, with arms outstretched, touch their tethered neighbour.

Collecting the bondage ropes beneath the highly polished metal hoops, Anya and Clara beckoned to the waiting men.

Lee began to stroll toward Anya, wiping his palms on the back pocket of his denims as he moved, trying to appear casual. Clara’s target, however, remained at floor level, moving on all fours to his temporary mistress.

Inwardly amused by the conflict on Lee’s face, as he dithered over whether he too should drop to the ground, Anya, her expression giving nothing away, raised an eyebrow, letting him know that she was paying close attention to him. She could almost hear him thinking “If I want to win, do I have to crawl?”

Lee’s indecision lasted until he reached Anya who, with one eye still on Clara, pointed to the hoop. ‘You know how these rings are employed?’

‘Yes, ma’am.’ It would have been impossible for him to have missed the number of tethered folks as he entered the club. The background noise of the swish of whips and canes constantly cut through the air, as arms were thrown back, and weapons connected with bums, tits, and legs. A noise that was only dwarfed by the howls from those on the receiving end of such specialist punishment.

‘I would like you to lose that shirt. It seems a shame to deny the room a proper view of that torso.’

Shrugging the shirt from his shoulders, Lee let it fall to the ground where he stood.

‘Good boy.’ Anya appreciated the sight of his lower stomach hair for a split second, before pointing to the loop. Lee moved closer, turning so his back was to the intimidating fastening.

Running the leather straps used to secure the victims to the wall through her fingertips, Anya gestured toward Clara’s companion. ‘You will copy him.’

Lee carefully regarded the other man. He was facing the wall, his hands clasping the hoop of metal, and the blonde woman with him was threading the thin leather strap over and around his wrists and the hoop, so that they were inescapably bound together. Lee offered his own hands up to the ring, and Anya snaked the restraining lead in a figure of eight around his arms.

Standing side by side, the women mutely examined the well-toned backs and taut buttocks of the strangers who had so quickly surrendered themselves to their care. The light sheen of perspiration showed more clearly on the chocolate skin of Clara’s prisoner, yet Anya knew that Lee was equally oiled with erotic fear, and wondered if she would lose points if she licked rather than whipped his muscular flesh.

Wary of hesitating for too long, Anya approached the rack of weapons kept for the use of the clientele. Rather than selecting the whip she was sure Mark would have expected her to, she picked up a double-sided paddle. Smooth black leather on one side, and dotted with hard rubber studs on the other. Anya acclimatised her arm to its pleasing weight as, without a trace of emotion giving her away, Clara collected a similar weapon in bright red leather.

Even from the back, it was clear that Lee’s breathing had accelerated, and she could see he was gripping his tethered palms tight together, even though nothing had happened yet.