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girls’ arms as they turned her to face their mistress. ‘You have been punished,’ Magda said. ‘What have you to say?’
    The weeping figure sank to her knees, then prostrated herself until her forehead touched the carpet. She moved her tearstained face forward until her brow rested against Magda’s shapely ankle. Her lips planted a kiss on the soft material of Magda’s shoe, at the pointed toe. ‘Thank you, Mistress,’ she managed, fighting against her weeping. ‘I’m sorry. I’ll try not to fail you again.’
    Another nod to her acolytes, and the forlorn figure was picked up and led out of the room.
    There remained one more task for Magda to perform, this time of a more private nature. Safely in a small study she slid the bolt on the door, and led Lord Burnopside to a leather armchair. She pushed the craggy figure down into it, revelling in her power to command and, with a sinuous ease of movement, which in the skin hugging dress required great dexterity, knelt between his slack knees. His robe was already open and his flaccid penis was weeping at its tip. She took it gently in her fingers and massaged it until it grew and stirred, lifting to her caresses, and then she bent and licked the drop of fluid away.
    She felt his legs quiver, his feet scraping softly on the thick carpet. He sighed. Her lips opened, formed a sensual O, and slid over the red helm. She drew it deep into her moist heat, then her lips slid down the shaft until she had taken him almost entirely within her. Soon he was rearing stiffly and groaning as his hips swivelled and his belly lifted in supplication, begging her to bring him the ease his drumming blood was demanding.
    She played him with captivating skill, prolonging his’ pounding excitement and bursting need until he was whimpering for mercy. At the last second she pulled her mouth away and let him jet his come over her uplifted face, and he wept, shuddering in release. She stood and turned away to the desk where the necessities for cleaning herself lay to hand.
    Some minutes later, when he’d recovered sufficiently, she said conversationally, ‘What about that little popsie of an actress? Any progress there yet? What’s her name? Felicity something... I must say she sounds and looks heavenly.’
    He sighed. ‘She is. But I’m afraid we’ll have to tread carefully there. She’s going to be enormously famous when A Woman’s Touch hits the screen. Or should I say, explodes on the screen? Stella tells me she’s working hard at getting into her pants - I mean, for real.’ He chuckled. ‘She’s already done it on camera. I’ve seen the rushes. As soon as I can get hold of a copy we’ll have a look at them together, eh? They’re utterly delightful, I promise you.
Chapter Five
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    â€˜Come on, darling, have another drink, for God’s sake! You must show me you’ve forgiven me properly for my little plot in front of the cameras the other day.’ Stella tipped the bottle and the wine gurgled into Felicity’s glass until she squealed as it almost slopped over the brim. Stella grinned tipsily. ‘You’ve got to admit though, sugar, that it’s the hottest scene this side of Lady Chat’s daisy decked pussy!’ The golden hair was a dishevelled mass. The top buttons of the loose white shirt were undone, showing the deep cleavage of those splendid breasts and the tiny satin bow at the V of the plunging bra which encased them. She had flung the slacks carelessly aside, and her long tanned legs were fully displayed as she lolled back in a wide chair.
    Felicity took another swig of the fruity wine. Her head swam. She was pissed, she acknowledged, but it was a pleasant feeling. She was rather proud of herself at the amount she had already drunk. Not without showing its effect, she conceded, but at least she hadn’t thrown up or passed out... yet.
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