The Contract Read Free Page A

him in panic only to feel Johnson's hands closing around her upper arms.
    His strength astounded her. She started to fight in earnest, struggling and wriggling against his grip. Behind him the third man sighed and stepped over to an elegant cupboard by the door. What he produced from inside made Emily gasp behind the gag. He was holding a long metal pole, on each end of which was a leather cuff matching the ones on her wrists. He lifted an eyebrow and smiled. Her heart thundered in her chest and she renewed her fight with Johnson and Banyon trying to suppress the waves of excitement that built alongside the fear. Her breath was roaring through her as she tried to break away from them.
    Johnson pushed her face down onto the desk with one sharp movement, pressing her breasts down onto the cold marble top, Banyon caught hold of her collar and held her head down while she felt Johnson force his leg between her thighs. The cold desk sucked the breath of her as she felt other hands jerking her legs open. Her head spun as the leather bit into her ankles, securing her open and vulnerable for whatever was to follow.
    Johnson grunted. Even through her struggles and his clothes she could feel the hard press of his erection against her buttocks. She whimpered as he stepped away, unable to push herself upright. She tried to block out the image that she must present to the three men. She could also sense that her fear and bondage added something to their pleasure – and the sensation that was growing minute by minute between her legs. Something glowed there, a tight white hot desire that she had never experienced before.
    She lay for a few seconds, trying to turn her head to see their faces. All she could see on the desk was a carbon copy of the contract she had signed so easily.
    Behind her she could hear Johnson's breath quickening. "I think," he said in a low voice, "that we ought to show Miss Lawrence what she can expect."
    Away to her right she heard the unearthly hiss of the riding crop cutting through the still air and the next instant a white hot pain, as clear and destructive as a pistol shot, flashed through her. Behind the gag she screamed out, the sound registering as a dull miserable moan. The pain from the whip spread out like a glowing red hot lava flow, suffusing her body with wild sensations. Before she had time to compose herself the second blow struck, echoing the path of the first, driving away all reason.
    Tears flooded down her cheeks and she screwed her eyes tight shut, wishing she could block out the terrifying hiss of the riding crop as it swung back again. She shook uncontrollably as the next blow bit home -
     
    Max Fielding watched with curiosity as Johnson struck again. His friend and associate had a curious bright-eyed stare as he beat the prone girl, and Max wondered if, secretly, Johnson imagined that it was Peter Howard who was tethered and at his mercy. Across the girl's pale buttocks three great livid weals had risen. She was wriggling instinctively to avoid the blows, revealing more and more of her plump slick sex.
    Max sighed; it was a shame she had claimed to be a virgin – he would have liked to feel his cock sinking to the hilt in that moistly fragrant cradle of pleasure. Her breasts were splayed against the icy marble, her eyes squeezed great tears down onto her face; she looked wonderful.
    Johnson laid the whip on again, four, five, six strokes – each as angry and effective as the last. The girl's screams were stifled to an unhappy tight noise forcing its way out around Roderick Banyon's ridiculous paisley handkerchief. She writhed frantically; seven, eight, nine – a trickle of urine ran down her thigh pooling in a steaming puddle on the floor around her feet.
    Max glanced at Johnson's face; the grim look of determination had faded to a narrow smile. He drew the crop back again and cracked it with unerring accuracy across the ripe curves of Emily Lawrence's backside and then threw the little