Slowly he undid his trousers and guided his aching cock into her; gasping at the contrast of fire and ice he found inside.
She arched up to meet him and he forced her down onto the table, grabbing her breasts through the thin fabric of her blouse, ripping away the material until he found his prize. He tore at her erect nipples, twisting and gouging as she thrashed beneath him. As he felt the hot rhythmic pulse threatening deep in his groin he sank his teeth into her shoulder and let go of every thought except pleasure.
Chapter 7
Angela brought a very late breakfast in on a tray.
Peter had slept all night and most of the morning. The sun was high. He finally felt rested and his body was beginning to feel more like the familiar machine which he knew, and if not exactly loved, then certainly less abused. After breakfast he did a little gentle physio, watched over by his resident nurse, rather fetchingly attired in a caftan that suggested she was naked beneath. When he'd finished she knelt at his feet and gently began to massage his aching legs. She pushed her hair back off her face and handed him a towel.
"How does that feel?" To his surprise her voice was throaty and excited.
He glanced down at her. A fine line of perspiration had lifted on her top lip and she was glowing with pleasure.
"Do you enjoy waiting on me?" he asked casually.
She bit her lip and nodded. "Yes. Yes, I do."
He smiled, as she turned her attentions back to manipulating the muscles in his calves.
"Take off your caftan."
She flinched and then glanced up as if she had misheard him. "What?"
"I prefer my masseurs to be naked."
Angela's hands lifted slowly to the neck of her robe. Her fingers trembled as she struggled with the tie and then pushed the fabric back over her shoulders. Her heavy breasts fleetingly brushed his legs as the material slithered to the floor.
It was obvious that the role of body slave came naturally to her. He stroked her face and without another word she bent lower and pressed her lips to his toes. Her kisses lifted higher, ankles, calves, knees, thighs – she pushed aside his dressing gown and traced a line of wet kisses to the hard arc of his cock. Peter leant back and moaned softly. His lessons were paying unexpected dividends. Her lips closed around him almost gratefully, sucking his cock deep into her warm compliant mouth.
Her breasts pressed onto his thighs as she worked on and on. Her lips and her kisses drove away the pain in his body as he was caught up in the compelling spiral of pleasure. She worked him skilfully, her fingers tightening rhythmically around the base of his cock while her lips worked around its sensitive crown. The moment of release was so close; Peter's breaths came in hot desperate snorts as Angela's tongue and fingers worked a wicked dark magic.
Finally, just before the white hot crystals flooded his mind, he jerked his cock out from between her lips in time to splash her breasts and face with hot steaming semen. She gasped, stunned by the liquid exploding in glittering plume across her. He cupped her breasts, twisting her nipples. She let out a little mew of pain. He grinned and dipped his finger into the slick trail of pleasure where it trickled down over her skin. Slowly he traced patterns back and forth, marking her with his pleasure, making her his. She began to writhe, his touch seemingly driving her wild with desire.
"Please," she whispered desperately. "Please."
He drew a trail of semen up over her throat to her waiting lips. Her mouth seized upon it, drawing his finger deep into her mouth, lapping at his excitement.
He smiled, watching her face. Her eyes were closed, her features suffused with pleasure as if the taste of his delight had evoked rapture. Her ripe breasts were flushed with excitement, the intricate spirals of semen adding a strange exotic glisten to her flesh.
"What do you want?" he said quietly.
Angela's eyes snapped open.
"What do you want?" he repeated more slowly.
She blushed crimson.
Peter's face hardened. "Tell me, I won't ask you again."
"I want you to – to -" she looked at him, eyes alight with need. "I want you to fuck me," she said desperately. "I need you to make me come, please."
He laughed dryly. "Stand up," he said, straightening his dressing gown to cover his exhausted cock. "Open you legs."
Angela's face was scarlet, her nakedness raw and almost uncanny. He slipped a finger inside her, and grunted with satisfaction. Her quim was so wet that she was dripping. Her juices ran down over his fingers. His thumb brushed her clitoris and she quivered with pleasure. Slowly he circled the engorged peak, each touch rewarded by Angela letting out a little eager whimper of delight.
She came in seconds, impaling herself again and again on his fingers, her sex clutching and tightening around him until finally he pulled out from inside her and she collapsed back at his feet in a sobbing gasping heap. He smiled, wiping his fingers on a towel she had given him.
"Get up," he said. "I'm going to have a shower and then get back to the computers."
Angela, still red faced, glanced up at him.
"Thank you," she muttered thickly and began to drag her caftan back on.
Slowly she got to her feet and started to tidy away his breakfast tray. He noticed that she hadn't re-tied the neck of the robe and the curve of her heavy breasts was clearly visible. She was learning. At the door she turned.
"By the way, who is Magenta?"
Peter stiffened. "What?"
"I came in to check on you last night. I thought I heard you moving around. You were talking in your sleep. The only word I could make out was 'Magenta'."
Peter tried to retain his composure, but couldn't resist glancing at the carefully waterproofed box beside his bed. Angela was still watching him.
"You really don't want to know," he said flatly.
Angela stood the tray down and crept closer.
"Oh, but you're wrong. I really do want to know. Look, Peter, if you're in some sort of trouble maybe I can help. For God's sake, I'm helping you already. You say you don't want to put me at risk, but surely, just by being here, you're putting me at risk already? I want you, I want…" her voice faded, the colour returning to her cheeks.
Peter leant back in the wheelchair. She was right. He glanced back at Magenta.
"If I tell you -" he began.
Angela nodded. "When you tell me, then I'll help you all I can. I used to operate a computer."
Peter glared at her as she stepped towards the key board. "Don't touch any of this. I have to get in unnoticed. Magenta is my way in."
Angela grinned. "Like a key?"
Peter blew out a long stream of air. "No, not a key, THE key."
He would need Angela to do things which he couldn't do whilst he was still so weak; driving, fetching, carrying. He would have to tell her. He sighed and switched on the computer. Johnson and Fielding's logo appeared out of the gloom. He touched the screen like a talisman.
"All right. Magenta is the key to a huge computer network. There is no way to lock Magenta out. Each time the combination changes Magenta is programmed to change with it. The system and the key, Magenta, were created at the same time."
Angela crouched beside him, listening with obvious interest. Her eyes were alight. His eyes lingered on the inviting shadowy curve of her breasts.
With determination he dragged his mind back from her enticing body and keyed in an opening sequence.
"This is the front door." The design on the computer screen changed seamlessly into a menu page. "All lovingly designed by the same man."
Angela stared at the screen and then across at Peter Howard. "You?" she whispered. "You designed Magenta, didn't you?"
Peter nodded. "Yes, it was me. I designed the whole package. Magenta is the only key into a huge business network. A corrupt business network. Johnson and Fielding are involved in manipulation on a global scale. With Magenta I can unlock their system and give the information to anyone who wants it: Interpol, the Fraud Squad, MI5, FBI, CIA, DPP -"