The Initiation of Ms Holly (Xcite Erotic Romance Novels) (6 page)

The chastity belt bit into the tops of her inner thighs and the heavy leather of the waist band cut off all possibility of a truly deep breath. She felt claustrophobic in a way she would have never dreamed possible.

Even a claustrophobic week or two in the chastity belt she would have been willing to endure, but the whole point of going through all this was to be with Edward. She thought he wanted to be with her. Or did he? After all, he had just had a good come in the mouth of the most beautiful woman Rita had ever seen while he watched her play the slut in front of the whole High Council. Perhaps he just saw her as another diversion for the rich and bored. Her stomach felt like stone, and her eyes stung. God, she wanted out of this place, and fast.

‘Oh, and one more thing, dear,’ Vivienne said. ‘The chastity belt is your little secret. If anyone finds out for any reason, and believe me, if they do, we’ll know. Game’s over, and your initiation is nullified.’

Vivienne snapped her fingers and the dungeon guards left. It was Edward who knelt to help her into her trainer bottoms, then he slipped the vest over her head, dressing her as though she were a helpless child, and indeed that was how she felt. As he leaned forward to zip her hoodie, he whispered very softly against her ear. ‘You were magnificent. I’m so proud of you.’ He cupped her face in his hand and thumbed away the tears. ‘I’ll text you as soon as I can.’

Once again Vivienne snapped her fingers and Aurora escorted Rita back up the stairs without a word and out behind The Mount to a limo waiting to take her back home. There she still had a proposal to finish for tomorrow’s meeting, all to be made more complicated by the biting and binding of the damned chastity belt.

‘T
HAT’S IT?’ THE CORNER
of Owen Frank’s upper lip twitched double-time, which was never a good sign. ‘You want to do a story on an allotment run by homeless people? Look at the sign on the door, luv.’ He jammed his finger in the general direction of the outer office. ‘It says
Talkabout Magazine
, not
Gardener’s World
, not
Big Issue.
’

He slapped the edge of his desk so hard that his tea mug jumped, threatening to spill the contents. ‘Damn it, Rita, I hired you because your work is edgy, quirky. And so far all you’ve given me is generic.’ He stood and walked behind her, surreptitiously checking out his Majorca-tanned reflection in the plate-glass window. He always looked like he’d just had a date with an airbrush. ‘You’re not in Kansas any more, Dorothy.’ He laid solicitous hands on her shoulders and gave them a knead.

She would have squirmed out of groping range, but the chastity belt pinched when she squirmed, so she sat still. He was used to having his way with women. She’d known that when she took the position, but she had naively believed her work spoke for itself, a belief that had definitely detoured her advancement at
Talkabout
. ‘Seattle,’ she said

‘What?’

‘I’m from Seattle, not Kansas.’

‘Whatever. My point is being in London is a big change and it’s enough to make anyone nervous. I know that, really I do. I’m a small town boy myself. But hon, it isn’t going to get any easier. You’ll have to buck up.’

He moved to pace back and forth in front of her, giving her the opportunity to admire his pretty-boy physique. She had to admit his choreography was always flawless. ‘I know you’ve got it in you, Rita. I’ve seen the good stuff you’ve written. You’ve just not written any of it for me. And frankly,’ he turned to face her so she could admire the front-on effect. ‘I’m really struggling to find a good reason to keep you here when I can get anyone to write generic. I want you, really I do. But I have to answer to the owners, don’t I?’ His gaze flitted to her breasts then back to her face so quickly that anyone who was less familiar with the man might have missed the subtext. If she wanted her story in his magazine, she’d have to pony up.

Her eyes stung from lack of sleep. She rubbed the corners to avoid smearing her make-up. At the moment, there’d be no ponying of any sort, even if she wanted to and she sure as hell did not. There must be something else she could offer to get him off her back, but Jesus it was hard to concentrate on anything but getting enough breath in her lungs and keeping her tender bits from being pinched.

She was such an idiot. She could have been chastity-belt-free by now. Last night, in the wee hours as she struggled to finish the proposal, she’d had three calls from her mother on the land line, calls she didn’t answer. Her number was supposed to be unlisted. Fat lot of good that did. The woman knew she was in London now. That worried her.

Somewhere between the awful itching of the belt and her efforts to master peeing through a sieve, she had made up her mind. She would suffer no more humiliation. She never wanted to be a member of The Mount in the first place. She didn’t even know what the hell that meant. And as for Edward, well if he was truly interested in her, he’d be interested whether she played Vivienne’s stupid game or not.

Then his text had come.

I no the nite was hard, but itl b so worth it. Plse trust me. I miss u terribly. Exx.

The ‘
Exx’
had kept her hanging on.

Enduring Owen’s abuse in a chastity belt – surely that must be the definition of hell. It wasn’t Edward in the chastity belt, was it? Oh no, he was too busy being sucked off by Vivienne, and who knew what else they got up to after Rita had provided the evening’s entertainment. That was it! When Owen finished ranting, she’d go home and remove the chastity belt. Then she’d masturbate her pussy raw, and mail the key back to Vivienne specifically telling her what she could do with it.

Owen had got around to groping her shoulders again, in the form of a friendly massage. ‘I’d hoped to mentor you, Rita,’ he said, enjoying the view down the front of her blouse. ‘But somehow I’ve failed you. If you could just give me something, something to make me believe you’re up for this job.’

The words just came out. ‘What if I could get you an inside exclusive on The Mount?’ The minute she’d said it, she felt guilty. Thoughts of making love to Edward flashed through her head.

Owen nearly busted himself in a fit of laughter that came out in hot little puffs against the top of her head. ‘Honey, if you could get an inside exclusive on The Mount, you’d get a Pulitzer. Hell, you could have my job, or anyone else’s. Your career would be made, wouldn’t it?’ He heaved a sigh that ended in an avuncular chuckle ‘I know your situation seems desperate, darling, but there’s no need to promise what you can’t deliver. I’m sure we can work something out.’

Suddenly she could think of nothing she’d love more than to expose that bitch, Vivienne, to massive media humiliation. Visions of the woman kneeling in front of Edward with his cock in her mouth went a long way to assuage the guilt she felt at betraying him. Once the Vivienne-hate stopped making her feel like her chest might explode, she ignored Owen’s continuing rant as the realisation suddenly sunk in. The gift horse had been given to her. Here was the story of a lifetime all wrapped up with a bow and a chastity belt, an exclusive that no one else in the whole world could get. And it was all hers. She was an insider. She was an initiate. All she had to do was endure, and she was good at enduring.

‘I’ve been there,’ she said softly.

Owen stopped mid rant. ‘You what?’

‘I said I’ve been there, to The Mount. Twice.’

‘Bloody hell!’ He stumbled back to his desk and downed the rest of his tea in one burning gulp. ‘Are you serious? You can’t be serious? How could
you
have got into The Mount?’

She shifted in the chair to scoot forward, then thought better of it when the belt gave her a good pinch in the crotch. ‘Let’s just say I have friends there, and that chances are extremely good I’ll be invited back. Soon’

For a long moment, he studied her hard. She could just make out the flutter of his pulse against his throat. Then he leaned over his desk. ‘Can you get me in?’ His words were little more than a breathy rasp. She was certain the rumours about The Mount’s orgies and sex parties were not nearly as arousing to him as what being seen there would do for his reputation.

‘I can try.’ True enough. She could try. But she wouldn’t, not even if hell froze over.’

He drummed his fingers. ‘Mind you, I’m still not convinced you were ever there in the first place. I mean people do strange things when their jobs are on the line.’

She said nothing. She held the winning hand, and he knew it.

‘Of course,’ he added quickly, ‘if you could get me a story, even just an insider’s account of an evening there, readers would eat it up. If you can do that, well, like I said, you’re on your way up, honey.’

‘Oh I can do that.’ She leaned forward and felt the pinch. ‘I can do that and a whole lot more.’

Once Owen was convinced that Rita had actually been to The Mount, and hints had been dropped that she’d try to get him a reservation, her escape from the office was easy enough. After all, she was an investigative reporter, and as such she now had a plan of action, something to concentrate on other than the constant feeling of suffocation.

It was unusually hot in the flat for early spring, so she stripped down to the dratted belt and a thin vest and began to write, in as much detail as she could remember, the events that had led to her acceptance as an initiate into The Mount. What did it actually mean to be a member of The Mount? Did it just ensure she could get reservations for the table of her choice and free dance lessons whenever she wanted? She stroked the metal crotch of the chastity belt. Somehow she seriously doubted it.

Most of the online information about The Mount was purely speculative, a lot of it from gossip rags that claimed to know somebody who knew somebody who had an acquaintance who got reservations. Still Rita hoped to uncover something new.

There were claims that The Mount taught the dirtiest of dirty dancing, the kind that ended in the horizontal mambo. There were claims that the place was really a restaurant where rich epicureans paid massively to sample rare species of animal. There were claims of orgies and devil worship and money laundering and white slavery.

Amid all the rumours, there was one actual restaurant review from a
Guardian
journalist who wrote that he’d seen nothing more exotic on the menu than locally farmed ostrich meat, though he had eaten the steak Diane, and it was superb. He had added as a post-script that he had not found the dancing dirty in the least, and that it had been rather subdued the night he was there.

Later, rumours went out that the whole interview had been orchestrated, that the journalist had never actually been to The Mount, but had been hired by The Mount to take some of the heat off. This was outrageous in light of the fact that the more wild the rumours, the harder people tried to get reservations and the longer the queues were in front of the entrance every night.

Everyone knew that Vivienne Arlington Page managed The Mount, but no one seemed to know who owned it. No one knew anything beyond the fact that the empty Victorian wool warehouse had been bought up and renovated and
voila
! The Mount burst fully formed into the world.

The sleepless night and the stress of the past twenty-four hours made concentration hard. Rita finally turned off the computer to take a nap. She usually slept in the nude, which made the chastity belt even more of a pain, but with a heavy sigh she slipped out of her vest and pulled back the duvet.

As she did so, she caught a glimpse of her reflection in the mirror, and a flash of blinding light reflected off the metal plate that cupped her pubis in a tight caress. She hadn’t noticed that the plate below the locking mechanism was shaped like a cupping palm, as though someone had reached between her legs and rested a protective hand against her pubic bone. Still concentrating on the detail of the plate, she pulled a chair in front of the mirror and sat down, cursing under her breath at the pinch.

The pinch was always followed by an unsatisfied sense of anticipation. Sometimes when she masturbated she pinched herself down there until it almost hurt. And when she was right on the threshold between pain and something much nicer, she often had her best orgasms. Perhaps if she concentrated on the almost pleasure the pinch could provide, she’d forget about how trapped it made her feel. She opened her legs wide, and in spite of the tightness at her waist and the chafing at the tops of her thighs, she had to admire the workmanship.

She ran a hand down over the openings for her urethra and anus. She had heard somewhere, or maybe read in some nasty piece of porn on a rainy day when there was nothing better to do but curl up with her Rabbit, that some chastity belts could have butt plugs and dildos attached to them. With a sudden rush of pleasure, she imagined what it would be like if Edward were the one in control of what attachments should fill her holes. She imagined his hand pressed against her pubis like the metal plate. She imagined his fingers, or maybe even his teeth pinching her, like the plate against her vulva pinched.

Her focus, which had until now been only on the intricacies of the chastity belt, took in the entirety of her body. Her legs were splayed at either edge of the chair. Her waist looked slimmer, longer and porcelain-delicate beneath unforgiving black leather and polished metal. Above it all her full breasts seemed even fuller, crowned urgently with heavy, aching nipples that made them look like decadent twin desserts waiting to be devoured.

And the one man she wanted desperately to enjoy them was off-limits. A flash of guilt tightened her chest. She had put herself through all this for him, and now she would betray him. But if she mattered so much, then why didn’t he just tell Vivienne, with all her Mount rules, to go fuck herself.

Granted, she wasn’t nearly as pretty as Vivienne. But she knew things, things Vivienne didn’t. She cupped her breasts and stroked her nipples with her thumbs, then very carefully began to rock against the chair.

At first the pinch was shocking, making her wince and gasp. But after a little practice, she learned to rock just enough to keep the pinch stimulating without being agonizing. She did that by letting her arse cheeks do most of the moving while she squeezed from the inside, tightening those exquisite muscles designed to grasp an erect penis in that amazing internal massage that caused such pleasure.

With careful focus, she managed just enough rocking so that the pinch stimulated her vulva. With the tensing and relaxing of her girlie muscles, she imagined Edward unlocking her and filling her with his distended cock. Tense and relax, tense and relax. Edward riding her so hard. Tense and relax. And her ripping the golden mask away, tense and relax, just in time to see his face when he came. The view in the mirror drifted out of focus, the edges burnished by the afternoon sun and the encroaching tremors of imminent orgasm. At last, in a yelp of pleasure and pain, she came, trembling and convulsing against the metal plates covering her pussy, slickening them with her juices.

Vivienne didn’t know everything. If she did, she would have known a chastity belt, even one with triple metal plating, couldn’t keep Rita from coming. She was an expert at stealth orgasms. She’d been having them since she was ten, under the watchful eyes of unwitting adults, in restaurants, in classrooms, on buses. No one ever suspected just how well she’d mastered the use of her secret girlie muscles. She smiled at her flushed face shining in the mirror, then crawled into bed and slept.

‘So what’s up with you and Edward?’ Kate called from the kitchen.

Rita pretended she hadn’t heard the question.

‘Lots of rumpy pumpy, I’m guessing.’

Her voice was closer this time, and Rita looked up to find her friend standing over her with two cups of coffee. ‘Well?’