CHAPTER 1

 

Patricia Dayne emerged elegantly from behind the wheel of her shiny new Ferrari, flashing a smile at the smartly uniformed parking attendant who held the door open. The twenty-five year old advertising executive was a high-flier in her own right now. The sense of power and achievement was intoxicating. So what if her path to the top had left a few casualties behind? This was worth anything.

Patricia strode confidently through the lobby of the Empire Palace hotel, feeling gloriously at home in the opulence of one of the most exclusive hotels in London. If anybody looked twice it was only in admiration. This expensively dressed, dark haired young woman belonged here.

She hadn't always felt so at ease among the rich and beautiful people but that was before her arrival as a major player. Nobody would ever look down on her again.

She scanned the bar, but there was no trace of the man she was scheduled to meet. Keeping her waiting was probably John's pathetic equivalent of the last sting of a dying wasp. Patricia chose a table in the most discreet section of the bar and ordered a glass of mineral water. Let him toy with her, if it made him feel any better. His pleasure would be short-lived.

Five minutes later, he strolled casually into the bar, took a moment to feast his eyes on a dark skinned young woman in a tight fitting white mini-dress, then locked his gaze on Patricia.

She greeted him with a frosty look. He didn't apologise for keeping her waiting. Neither of them even spoke until after his drink had been delivered.

"I wasn't sure you would come," he said, leaning back in his seat. "But I'm glad you did."

"What's this about?" Patricia demanded impatiently. "If I wanted cheap flattery, I could find it in more agreeable company."

John smiled. "Those balls you've grown are really doing the business, Patricia. Your voice even sounds deeper. Speaking of doing the business, I believe congratulations are in order. You managed to land the US Springs contract all on your own. Well, at least you managed to sign the relevant documentation all on your own. We both know who did the real work."

Patricia rolled her eyes and sighed. "You win some, you lose some. That's how it works in business, John."

The older man took a sip from his beer and then leaned closer, his eyes narrowing.

"Don't give me lectures on how business works, you poisonous bitch," he hissed, struggling to keep his voice in check. "You were picking off the cream of our clients behind my back while we were still partners. Then, you unleashed your Rottweiler lawyer to bite my legs off when the moment was right for you to go solo. You fucked me in a big way, Patricia."

"I'm sorry," she replied.

He looked shocked. "You're sorry?"

"Yes. I'm sorry that I've wasted my time coming here to listen to this self-pitying nonsense. You need to grow some balls of your own, John. So what if I got ambitious and played dirty? There's no law stopping you from competing against me."

"Apart from the small matter of bankruptcy, you cunt."

Patricia smiled. "Let me give you a little advice, should you ever again find yourself working in advertising. Women don't like to be called cunts. Now, if you'll excuse me, my act of charity for today is done."

He grabbed her right arm and squeezed tightly. "Before you leave, I thought you might like to congratulate me. I made a rather profitable sale of my own today."

"Oh. What did you sell?"

He released her arm and smiled. "I sold you."

He left without another word. Patricia was still staring into space when the black woman John had been admiring at the bar took his place.

She placed a credit card shaped key on the table.

"Room 611," she said quietly. "Your new owner is waiting."

"Who's waiting?" Patricia demanded. "Who are you?"

"I'd hurry if I were you," the mystery woman replied. "He doesn't like to be kept waiting."

Patricia stared at the room key. Her arrogance had dissipated like air from a pricked balloon. What did her former partner mean by saying he had sold her? And who was the slender black woman who had appeared and then disappeared again, like an apparition?

Patricia finished her drink, then walked out of the bar and took the elevator to the sixth floor. If John had gone crazy and was playing some silly game, she would indulge him. After all, there was only ever going to be one winner in any contest between them.

She didn't knock on the door of room 611. If she had been given the key, it made sense to just walk in. The room was in darkness.

"All will be revealed in a moment, Patricia."

The deep male voice was unfamiliar.

"What's going on?" she demanded nervously.

A hand thrust against her back, propelling her into the room, and then the door slammed shut behind her.

A pale, rectangular light flickered and Patricia found herself staring at a vision of herself on a giant television screen. She was wearing nothing but white lace g-string panties.

She realized she was watching herself at a party that had taken place over a year ago. Patricia was sprawled face-down and naked on a white tiled floor. A slim, eighteen year old Thai hooker, in spike heeled pink shoes and matching rubber panties was walking on Patricia's oiled body, her sharp heels digging into her flesh. A fat, bald old businessman knelt in front of Patricia. He was fisting his cock with one hand and feeding her cocaine with the other.

PATRICIA PROVES HER CREDENTIALS ran the tagline, before the next scene.

A young woman in high heels, minuscule black leather skirt and black leather bra staggers through the mud of a biker festival, sucking on a joint and swigging from a bottle of bourbon. A fat, bearded biker grabs her breasts and attempts to kiss her. She drops to her knees in the mud, takes a swig from the bottle, then unzips his leather jeans and sucks his cock in a performance that grabs a great deal of attention.

Patricia sucks another six bikers, kneeling in the mud, before sprawling onto her back, with her legs spread, laughing wildly and pouring bourbon down her throat. She isn't wearing any panties and it's obvious she is there for the taking.

AND WHAT A PARTY THAT WAS!

Patricia is entertaining an important American client, out of office hours. The American ordered a kinky lesbian show and Patricia plays the role of ponygirl, with a slender, blonde Eastern European escort girl in the saddle. Patricia chomps down on the hard leather bit of her harness as the whore wields her riding crop with far more enthusiasm than is necessary.

"Edited highlights from the dark side," the heavy male voice intoned from the darkness.

Patricia was too shocked to respond. The hardcore porn show had been less than ten minutes long, but she felt like she had watched a lifetime of sordid secrets laid bare.

She fumbled for the light switch, but her arm was grabbed and a steel clamp snicked securely around her right wrist. She smelled perfume and then a cold blade touched her throat.

"Relax, slave. It's always more enjoyable when you surrender completely. Of course, you already know that."

She felt the woman's warm breath as she whispered in her right ear. It had to be the whore from the bar. Whatever twisted game John was playing, Patricia now knew she had fatally underestimated him.

Holding the knife to her throat, the woman nudged her into taking a few steps further into the darkened room. Then, she instructed her to kneel. When Patricia had complied, a heavy hood was placed over her head and fastened around her throat.

"Well, here we are at last," said the deep voiced man. "Are you scared, Patricia?"

She nodded. The tip of the knife pricked the side of her neck, just enough to draw a bubble of blood.

"Answer your Master," the woman barked harshly.

"Yes, of course I'm scared," Patricia replied. "Who are you? What do you want from me?"

"Who I am is not important," the man answered. "As for what I might want from you, I have yet to decide. Now that I see you in the flesh, you're not quite as spectacular as you like to think."

The light had obviously been switched on, but Patricia remained in complete darkness. Was this how she was destined to be remembered - slashed from ear to ear in an anonymous hotel room, choking on her own blood in a suffocating bondage hood?

No. Patricia might have been quaking in fear, but the rational part of her mind hadn't completely shut down. If her captors had simply wanted to cut her throat, they would have done it already. This was the opening scene of a game. Patricia would only die if she did something stupid, like refusing to play.

"I'm listening," she said.

Rough hands ripped her blouse open and squeezed the lace cupped mounds of her breasts. A shudder coursed through her entire body. If she was to be dispatched by a woman, she would appreciate the rough touch of a Master to see her into oblivion.

"I like your submissive approach," he said. "However, there's still a very good chance of your not leaving this room alive. So, I suggest you take this opportunity to ask me some questions. You won't get another, even if you do survive."

"Where's John?"

"I have no idea. Probably gone off to stalk his next victim."

"He said he was celebrating selling me. What does that mean?"

"You've seen a sample of the footage, Patricia. There is much, much more. It would take a couple of days to watch all of it. Your former partner is a very sick man. He spent a fortune on covert surveillance of you. He even had a camera installed in the toilet cubicles of your office bathroom. He often dressed up as a woman to follow you to clubs. He paid prostitutes to pretend they were you while they were jerking him off. I can show you a movie of same, if you like."

"Fine," Patricia said. "Take off the hood and I'll take a look."

"I like you as you are, for the moment," he replied. "I presume you'd like to know how I ended up with all this juicy footage."

"Are you going to tell me?"

"It's an intricate tale of intrigue, Patricia, but suffice to say John wasn't the only one with a penchant for games of the night. Our paths crossed at a particular time and subsequent events led us to where we are now. It was no grand conspiracy. If I hadn't seen a few minutes of John's footage of you, you wouldn't now be a heartbeat away from death."

"He's involved in this," she said. "He told me downstairs in the bar. He was acting like a man who had achieved something."

"You could say I made him an offer he couldn't refuse," her captor replied. "Any more questions?"

"Yes."

His hand withdrew from her breast and punched her stomach. As she slumped forward, he grabbed her throat and pushed her backwards, laying her flat on her back.

"No more questions," he growled. "Spread your legs."

Patricia instinctively obeyed.

Her assailant ripped her bra open and slapped her breasts. Then, he rammed his right knee up between her legs. Patricia squirmed. He grabbed her right nipple and twisted it until she screamed, pushing his knee against her crotch.

The woman was kneeling on her splayed hands. The cold blade of the knife touched her left breast. Patricia gasped as it swished in an elegant arc, tiny crimson bubbles oozing in the wake of the gleaming steel. A rough hand moved between her legs, thrusting down the front of her panties, grabbing her pubic hair.

A finger penetrated her, then a second finger. The tip of the knife pushed gently against her belly button. Patricia spread her legs wider, offering herself in complete submission. Her captor probed her roughly, ravaging her with his fingers. The flat of the blade gliding over her stomach provided an additional sensual thrill. Patricia certainly didn't want to die. But her craving for pain and humiliation had been reawakened with a vengeance.

It had been a long time since she had been abused. She had been tied up with business lately and thought she might have even conquered the demon that had so often driven her to take insane risks. Instead, that demon had somehow taken a human form. One more dangerous than anything she had previously experienced.

By the time the man withdrew his fingers, he knew he didn't need any further threats. His captive was well and truly subdued. If he wanted, he could even make her beg for him to hurt her.

The woman moved away, but Patricia made no attempt to get up. A gloved hand gripped her throat and pushed her flat onto her back. She heard the rasp of a zipper as his grip tightened.

He forced her legs apart with his knees, then clawed at the crotch of her panties until the lace ripped. The full weight of his body bore down on her. She felt the tip of his hard-on against her damp slit. One thrust and the full length was inside her.