Angela's head slumped forward. Released by the great bear of a man who held her, she stumbled and folded down onto all fours. This was too much for the bear, already excited by the efforts of his friend. He crouched behind her and pulled up her coat. He worked wildly, exposing the ripe pale orbs of her backside. Before she had time to recover or protest, he plunged his great arching phallus into her quim, so recently abandoned by his companion.
Angela let out a high pierced wail, and arched back as if to try and push him out. Instantly the great bear grabbed her neck, impaling her with a single devastating stroke. With one hand he groped at her breasts, rubbing her already engorged nipples, pummelling the soft flesh with filthy fingernails.
After no more than a dozen stunning thrusts that drove Angela face down onto the ground, the bear's passion was spent. She screamed miserably as he rammed home for one final gut wrenching push.
Sliding out, he clambered to his feet and pulled a couple of notes from his back pocket.
"Here," he said thickly, handing the money to Peter. Without another word, he turned and headed back towards the cafe. The first lorry driver followed, lifting a hand in salute as he went after his friend.
Angela, sobbing softly, crouched beside the car. She was shivering, blouse in tatters, her naked backside smeared with dirt. Peter walked over and lifted her chin. Her eyes were bright, her pale face heightening the impression of her vulnerability.
"Peter," she whispered, unsteadily and laid her face against his thigh. He could feel tears soaking through onto his skin. Tenderly he stroked her hair.
"Was that it?" she murmured.
He undid his trousers. "Not quite."
Her eyes flashed momentarily and then she took his throbbing cock between her lips, cradling his balls gently with her fingers. Her tongue slithered over his shaft, lips working at him, sucking him deeper. He moaned and lay back against the car as she crept closer, ragged and dirty. Her breasts pressed against him, her whole body compliant and needy.
"Touch yourself," he murmured. "Give yourself the pleasure they denied you."
He caught a fleeting glance of her hand snaking down over her belly, seeking out the pleasure bud. She stiffened momentarily as her finger tips connected and began circling the tight little peak. He felt as much as heard the little moan of pleasure that trickled out around his cock. Locking his fingers into her dishevelled hair he pulled her closer, relishing the ancient act of worship that took him to the edge of heaven.
She sucked him dry while her fingers drove her own pleasure on and on. As his own orgasm engulfed him he felt her shudder, her breath ricocheting around his cock and belly in compelling little gasps. When they had done he took her hand and helped her to her feet.
"Deuvar," he said in an undertone.
The road ahead seemed unnaturally dark after the motorway. Peter peered out into the darkness to get his bearings.
"Not more than ten minutes." As he spoke his stomach contracted sharply. Ten more minutes and he would be at the gates of Deuvar. Ten more minutes and he would see Emily again. A cold finger of apprehension slithered down his spine.
"Turn there, on the left," he indicated a narrow road that lead to the iron gates of the country mansion. Deuvar stood alone in acres of parkland. As they passed through a stand of trees Peter caught sight of the building, far in the distance, its lights like stars in the darkness.
At the gate house a security guard eyed their car suspiciously. Peter unwound the window.
"Mr Howard," he said in a carefully controlled voice. "I am expected."
The uniformed man nodded and opened the electronic gates. Peter's fear was receding to be replaced by a sense of relief. Finally it would be over. He glanced at Angela. She was stony faced, tense. He grinned.
"Well, we're here."
Angela snorted. "Yes, but are we likely to be able to get out again?"
Peter shrugged. "You, most certainly, I'm not so sure about me."
On the hearth rug, Emily had rolled onto her back. She was still asleep, her face relaxed and almost child-like. Her legs were slightly apart. Between them Max could see her quim was bruised, a livid dark purple stain spreading over the pale flesh bore witness to her surrender. The heavy outer lips were smeared with moisture which glistened silvery in the lamp light. Her breasts were soft, nipples distended in the last heat from the fire. She looked at once both totally vulnerable and totally desirable.
Max stroked the mug thoughtfully. Had it not been for Johnson and Peter Howard he might had asked Naomi Haroldson if he could have sampled the girl's compliant little body. Instead he had seduced the wild woman. The pungent feral smell of her tattooed body still lingered on his fingers and lips. It would be fitting for her scent to be wiped away by the sweet smell of Emily's tender little frame. As he toyed with the idea he felt a familiar stirring in his groin.
Leonora grinned at him, as if she could read his mind. "Do you want me to wake her? When Peter gets here it will be too late."
Max snorted to cover his growing excitement. His fantasy was rapidly taking shape. He would tie Emily's hands above her head and have her there on the hearth. Open those long legs with his knee, bury his tongue in her fragrant depths as she writhed beneath him. He would slip his hands under her backside, lift her up to him, drink from that cunning compelling slit. When she was within seconds of reaching her climax he would screw her, in, out, deeper and deeper.
She would rub herself against him, seeking fulfilment of the sensations he had ignited in her. Moaning, she would open her mouth, let him slide his tongue, still suffused with the taste of her sex, into that other delicate pink orifice. Her tongue would tease around his, drinking in the taste of her own delight. She would lift her hips, begging him to take her further, higher… He shivered as he imagined her cunt closing around his cock like tight wet fist.
When he looked up he realised Johnson and Leonora were watching him with amusement.
Johnson shrugged. "Why don't you wake her?"
Leonora poked the girl with her foot. Emily blinked and then her eyes widened in surprise. Instinctively she tried to cover herself, her hands moving over her breasts and quim. Max smiled to himself, her natural modesty added a certain frisson to his fantasy.
Leonora nodded towards Max. "Mr Fielding wants you," she said coolly.
Unsteadily Emily clambered onto all fours, eyes sleep bright. Without another word she crawled over to Max and laid her head in his lap. She was warm and sleepy and smelt divine. Her face brushed into the heat of his groin sending sparks of pleasure up into his belly.
Max sighed and stroked her head. "It's all right," he murmured, imagining the raw bruised flesh between her legs and the dark glow of her beating. He would wait. He was certain there would be another time.
"Go back to sleep."
The girl blinked again and then curled up against him, her warmth seeping through his clothes, her soft breath electric on his thighs.
Across the room a light flashed on the telephone. Leonora picked up the receiver and then looked up. "He's here. Security just let him through the main gate."
Johnson uncurled himself from behind the desk and straightened his jacket. Max carefully slid out from under Emily. She made a little throaty moan as she repositioned herself and then was silent.
The atmosphere grew tighter and more strained with every passing second. All eyes were on the bank of security screens. They watched Peter Howard and a tall elegant woman come in together through the front doors. Under his arm Peter was carrying a familiar package.
Magenta.
The unknown woman glanced at Peter and then sat on one of the sofas. She touched his hand before he moved slowly across the hallway toward the stairs.