Thoughtfully, Max looked through the glass at Emily Lawrence. She could be no more than twenty and delightfully self-assured for one so young. No wonder Peter Howard had been so keen on her. Small, with high up-tilted breasts and long legs accentuated by her carefully tailored skirt, her apparent composure was belied by the throbbing pulse in her long neck. Her grief was reflected in her delicate features. He understood Johnson's rage at Peter Howard's betrayal, but even so he couldn't help but feel that perhaps the turn of events hadn't been all together unfortunate.
Emily was beautiful and he knew from his carefully documented research that Peter was her first and only lover. To Johnson she was simply bait, but Max would take the greatest pleasure in stealing Emily away from Peter Howard – whether he was dead or alive. Possessing her wouldn't make up for what Howard had stolen, but Max Fielding would revel in it never-the-less. He felt a familiar stirring in his groin; he was going to enjoy Emily.
Their accountant, Roderick Banyon, had resumed his seat behind the marble-topped desk. Emily had placed the phone back in its cradle; her eyes were wide now, a flicker of fear in her face. Banyon's expression was cool, almost disinterested.
He rested his finger tips together lightly and spoke in a low voice. "I'm waiting, Miss Lawrence."
Slowly Emily's fingers fumbled with the top button of her blouse. She shivered as the material gave way; beneath she was wearing a delicate white bra. Her nipples – hard dark peaks – pressed against the lace. She slithered the skirt down over her rounded hips. The dark triangle of hair beneath the sheer fabric of her panties couldn't quite disguise the contours of her sex. She was hesitant; her reluctance adding an erotic frisson.
On the far side of the mirror Max moved closer to the glass. Only Peter Howard had seen Emily like this. Until now those subtle curves and plains had been the province of just one man, now she would share them with many, the first being Roderick Banyon. Emily bit her lip and began to struggle with the catch of her bra. Her pale face betrayed her anxiety, her lips trembled. The scrap of lace fell to the floor and instinctively she covered her naked breasts with long slim fingers.
Banyon shook his head. "Oh, no," he said softly, his voice clearly audible through the mirror's speakers. "Peter owes us far too much for you to be coy, my dear." He indicated her crotch with his hand. Flushing scarlet, Emily slipped off her knickers. Banyon nodded approvingly. "That's much better," he said on an outward breath. "Now come over here."
Emily took a tentative step towards the desk and he smiled. "From now on you will do exactly as you are told, do you understand?"
The girl nodded, her eyes never leaving Banyon's face. He opened his desk drawer and removed a studded leather collar, with metal links set into each side. "Lift you hair," he said, "and come closer."
She crept towards him, her expression betraying a mixture of fear and anticipation. Banyon smiled triumphantly as she knelt in front of him, her pert breasts brushing his knees. Glancing up towards the two-way mirror he fastened the buckle and then dropped his hands to her shoulders. "I want you to suck me dry," he said in a soft voice that did not disguise the command.
She hesitated, then dropped her head, nervous fingers seeking out the zip of his trousers, pulling it down, reluctantly exposing his throbbing cock. She moved slowly onto all fours, full buttocks exposed and slightly apart, revealing the delicate pink lips of her sex nestling between them.
Slowly, slowly, she took Banyon into her mouth, fighting her revulsion and fear. As her lips closed around him, Banyon caught hold of the thick collar and pulled her closer.
"Ah!" he gasped as the girl began to work on him with her tongue. His eyes closed as she wriggled closer.
In the pit of Emily's open sex was a glistening droplet of moisture, caught in the lamplight. Though her mind might deny the fact, her body couldn't lie – she was enjoying her unexpected submission!
Behind the glass, Johnson was already on his feet. He opened a cabinet in the little hidden room and removed a riding crop.
Max snorted and drained the remains of his scotch. "I thought you liked to leave that side of the business to Leonora?"
Johnson flexed the slim leather riding crop speculatively between his fingers.
"Normally, yes, but after all, Miss Lawrence has come to us under unusual circumstances. I'd like to let her know what to expect." He jerked the door open, flooding the room with light.
Through the glass the girl was sinking lower now, resigned to the task in hand. Each lapping caress, each hungry wet kiss around Roderick's cock, echoed through her slim body, her hips flexed, her breasts quivered as Roderick held her tightly by the collar.
Emily shuddered as Banyon's cock pressed deeper into her mouth. The smell of his excitement and the taste of his hard throbbing flesh flooded her senses. His grip on her collar was brutal as he moved closer and closer to the point of release. She could feel tears of fear and humiliation prickling behind her eyes. Could he tell she had never done this before? She shuddered as she tasted the first few drops of semen in her mouth.
Above her, Banyon began to grunt and writhe. His fingers tightened on the collar until she could barely breathe. Suddenly he thrust hard into her mouth and she tasted his warm salty offering; a great sea of excitement that took her by surprise and flooded down over her chin. She gasped, struggling for breath as he pushed her away onto the floor. Her tears couldn't be held in check any longer and trickled down her cheeks; salty water mingling with the salt of Banyon's semen.
"Well," said a male voice close by. "So this is how you spend your tea breaks is it, Roderick?"
Emily was so startled that she let out a thin mewl of panic, while in front of her, Roderick Banyon slowly slipped his exhausted cock back into his trousers. She was about to scramble to her feet when the same voice commanded her to stay were she was. She obeyed, crouching at Banyon's feet, not daring to raise her eyes. She was so embarrassed and self-conscious that it was almost a relief to stay on the floor.
"Miss Lawrence has signed the contract?"
Banyon, seemingly unfazed, nodded.
The man made a noise of approval. Emily allowed herself a glance across the room and realised there were not one but two men, standing in the office doorway. Both were dressed in expensive suits and they appeared to be distinguished business men in their late forties. One spoke, while the other – she shuddered – was carrying a slim leather object in his right hand…
A riding crop!
A chill flitted down her spine. He was watching her intently, like a cat might watch a mouse.
Over her head the other man was speaking.
"… down to Deuvar. We've already arranged transport. Mr Johnson thought he might come in and see what our newest acquisition has to offer." He moved across the room and touched Emily on the shoulder, his fingers were cool. "Get up," he said gently. "Mr Johnson would like to look at the you."
Unsteadily Emily clambered to her feet, eyes still downcast, cheeks flushed scarlet. The man referred to as Mr Johnson made a thick sound on the back of his throat. "Turn around," he grunted. Emily moved slowly, their eyes hot upon her flesh, making her shiver. She could feel the scarlet flush spreading down over her whole body and was aware of the remains of Banyon's excitement still on her chin.
Johnson stepped forwards and ran his hands over her with a cool appraising touch – almost as if he were dealing with horse flesh. He let the end of the riding crop tease over her breasts and then his fingers moved lower. She flinched and drew back as he splayed the lips of her quim, seeking entry.
"What's the matter?" he asked as she stiffened.
She tried to speak but the words caught in her throat, Johnson's fingers worked lower.