Julia raises an eyebrow. “Sure. Aren’t you scared?”
“How can someone be scared of such a little cutie like him?” I mean, Arthur looks like a very calm baby. I softly hold the back of his head and nestle him against my chest. “I’m sorry to have brought up my mother. I shouldn’t have.”
I notice Arthur drooling on my dress and decide to hand him back to Julia.
“It’s alright, Petra. Don’t worry. My mom just doesn’t like when we talk politics, that’s all.” Julia places a soft kiss on his head, but Arthur seems to want something else. “Would you mind if I breastfeed him?”
I’m shocked. I’ve never seen a baby do that, let alone in front of me. I’d prefer to leave Julia alone, as I feel strange disturbing her privacy, but then someone knocks on the door and, before we can say a word, opens it.
“May we come in?” ask Yara and Maud playfully.
“Of course. What a question.”
The women enter and each give Arthur a kiss. Yara holds him and starts giggling with him, while Julia sits on a sofa at the back of the room. I notice how Clarissa, the maid, is unzipping her dress from behind. As Julia pulls the dress down, I lay eyes on her beautiful white lace bra. Yara hands her little Arthur back, who seems delighted and joyful to be nestled against his mother’s chest. I look away when Julia pulls her right breast out.
Yara opens the first window in front of the door, which is the one furthest away from Julia, and lights up a cigarette.
“Oh, beautiful, Yara,” rebukes Maud. “I can’t believe this.”
“Still smoking?” Julia shakes her head. “Didn’t you tell everyone you stopped?”
Yara takes her first puff quietly. “Calm down, you two. It’s only one cigarette to celebrate Christmas. I stopped in public and in front of the kids. That’s what I promised. Oh, sorry, I’m so rude. Do you want one?” she asks, looking at me.
“No, I’m fine, thank you.”
“Well done, Petra. Don’t smoke—it’s terrible for your body and skin. Plus, you’ve got such a spotless and flawless one,” flatters Julia. “You will age gracefully.”
Yara rolls her eyes.
“How do you handle your stress and anxiety, Petra? I’m amazed by your discipline. You don’t smoke, you don’t drink…” asks Maud.
“I’m sure she has other ways of releasing her stress,” teases Yara.
The three girls burst into laughter, but I raise an eyebrow.
“We know about you and our brother. It’s okay, don’t worry.”
“Did he tell you?” Did they notice he was touching me?
“No, but you and your father are the only non-family invited. So, it’s not hard to guess… Plus, let’s be honest, the way you both look at each other says it all.” I blush and smile, looking down. “By the way, you know he’s gonna have the talk with Margaret, right? That’s why he brought you here,” continues Yara, enjoying her cigarette.
My heart skips a beat. “The talk?”
“Well, yeah. He never invited Amanda to Christmas in ten years. Margaret has this weird old tradition that Christmas has to be spent only with family.” Wow, Mom was right. “Or those who will soon be a part of it…”
“Lovers are therefore excluded,” interposes Maud.
“That’s why you and your Dad are here,” adds Julia with a big grin on her face.
“You mean he needs to ask her?” WTF? He’s an independent adult, after all. And what if Margaret doesn’t like me?
The sisters look at each other, carefully choosing their words.
“Yep. She has to give him her blessing.” Yara has to be joking—after all, she always speaks in this playful, frisky way. “Poor guy, we never needed it, but since Margaret has to give him the family ring… Anyway, you'll be fine.”
My heart skips beat. It doesn’t seem like a joke anymore.
Julia smiles at me. “Indeed, otherwise he wouldn’t have brought you here. Don’t worry,” she adds with her usual soft and mellow voice.
“But what about Hendrik Van Dieren?” I dare to ask. “I didn’t see him. Are he and Margaret separated?”
The sisters fall silent, looking again at each other.
“Kind of dead,” giggles Yara. “You know, when Mom found out about his bastard, she didn’t take it lightly.”
“Yara!” triggers Julia.
“What? It’s alright, Petra knows him. You know Jimmy, right?”
“Vaguely.”
“Let’s say Hendrik is far, far away,” snaps Julia, closing the subject.
A cold silence arises in the room, but Julia breaks it. “What if we brunch at my house tomorrow? Sebastian will be out duck hunting with his friends and family.”
What? Her husband is a hunter? No one else seems bothered by her announcement. As a vegetarian, I can’t help but feel sick picturing the poor animals being killed by those men. Fuck, it’s so barbaric! I start to wonder if Alex is also a hunter. Oh God... I shudder at the thought.
“Great idea. I’m in.” Yara takes a last puff of her cigarette before throwing it to the snow.
“Sounds like a plan,” adds Maud.
Julia smiles radiantly at their assent and looks back at me. “What do you think, Petra?”
Pfff, I can’t believe this woman married a man who kills animals for pleasure. She looks so lovely and caring. “Sure, sounds great.”
Chapter 27
Alexander Van Dieren
A couple of hours later, it’s finally time for my sisters to leave the estate. Petra wanted to see the other kids, but they were already seated in their respective cars, patiently waiting for their parents to finish their goodbyes and small talk.
Once they are gone, Petra and I wish good night to my mother and Roy, but they don’t seem to be paying much attention to us. We find them happily chatting in the petit salon—a cozy sitting room with a bright fireplace. I hold Petra’s hand and we go upstairs, excited like teenagers. We cross the hallway, past my sisters’ bedrooms, and at the very end, I open a door, welcoming her inside.
“This is your bedroom?” she gasps while taking in her surroundings. “Wow. You’re kidding me. This is probably bigger than most apartments in Manhattan.”
“Yep. And I never brought anyone here,” I reply, hands in pockets, caressing her panties. I love the fact she doesn’t even remember I have them in here.
“What do you mean?”
“My mother is very... um… old-fashioned.”
“So why does she accept me staying over?”
“Well, according to her, only the woman I will marry can bed me under her roof. And since I never intended to marry anyone before…” She blushes at my answer, but her eyes remain glued to the wall, which features framed photos of my equestrian competitions and polo games, accolades, some horse riding implements, and trophies standing on a chest of drawers.
“It’s hard to believe you were a professional equestrian.”
I chuckle. “Indeed, time flies.”
She points to one of the frames where I’m on a horse performing a working trot. “What kind of competition is this?”
“This one was a long time ago. I was maybe twenty-six there.” I smile, recalling the memories. “It’s an upper-level dressage competition.”
Petra raises an eyebrow. “A what?”
“I taught you that, Ms. Van Gatt.” We look at each other and chuckle. “Alright, you were maybe slightly too young to remember.”
My eyes instantly lock with hers. Fuck, I just want to pin her against this wall, spread her legs wide, wrap them around my waist, and do everything I’ve pictured the entire evening. But instead, I take a deep breath and remain as courteous as possible as I explain, “It’s a highly skilled competition where judges assess how well-disciplined a horse is for its rider. For that purpose, the animal is trained to perform from memory a series of predetermined movements, like a choreography.”
She doesn’t seem impressed. “That’s it?”
“It’s an art, Petra
. Even if it’s only pursued for the sake of mastery.” Dear Lord, why are we still talking?
Petra Van Gatt
I try to find the excitement behind such “art” while scrutinizing his memories on the wall. “Did you hit your horse with this?” I point at the riding crop that’s next to the frames and awards.
“Well, it’s normal.” He starts chuckling. “You want him to be obedient. If you’re not strict, he’ll never get trained. But don’t worry, there are specific rules in competitions—you can’t just strike your horse as it pleases you.”
Although I know he’s genuinely talking about horses, the talk with Margaret strangely resonates through me and seems less blurry. He has always loved equestrianism and has transmitted this passion to me, but I’ll never understand why whipping a poor animal is considered an art. The art I know and love doesn’t require any type of violence.
“I could never hurt an animal for the sake of awards or training. Sounds barbaric,” I snap to demonstrate my firm stance against animal brutality.
Alex smiles with great amusement. “I know. You used to be afraid you’d be too heavy for the pony.” He laughs hard, shaking his head. “You, a tiny little thing, thought you could hurt a pony. You are so funny, Ms. Van Gatt.”
“That’s me.” I smile back at him, and before he can reach me for a kiss, I see a half-open door with access to another room. “What’s over there?”
Alex lets out a sigh, displeased to have been thwarted. “My study and library, Ms. Curiosity.”
I skip over joyfully. Alex follows behind me. I gasp in admiration at the two-level library linked with a spiral staircase. I feel like I’m in heaven with the walls of books. This library and office space feels like a hidden secret room. I love it!
“So many books! Have you read them all?” I take one from the shelves that looks quite dated and dusty—maybe a first edition—and look at the back cover, intrigued. I can already picture myself stealing it to read tomorrow.
Suddenly, I hear him unfastening his belt and unzipping his pants.
“What are you doing?” I snap while trying to turn around. But he holds me tight against him, grabs the back of my neck, and bends me over his desk, my face resting flat on it.
“I need to fuck you now,” he growls hurriedly while lifting my dress up.
And before I can even blink, he rams so deep into me that it takes my breath away. “Ahhh!” I squeal at the intensity of it. My heart starts racing nervously as he pushes his cock slowly back and then savagely forth with a strength that scares the hell out of me. “Ahhhh…” I panic and whine, as I’m filled with fear. I’m breathless for a moment, but he keeps groaning even louder. He pulls back again and I shut my eyes tight, trembling at his next move. He grunts lustily while forcing himself farther in, and I whimper in a broken and feeble voice. But he doesn’t care. His strokes become more urgent, hurried, pounding me repeatedly in and out while gripping my waist so hard I wonder if it’ll bruise. I feel my pussy breaking apart, my body quivering. But I don’t beg him to stop, no. “Ahhhh...” Instead, I continue whimpering as I endure every single thrust. He neither kisses me nor holds my hands. He’s just entirely satisfying himself . The more frightened I am, the harder I feel his cock forcing inside—and the wilder he seems to be. I’ve never heard him growling so savagely before. At this point, I feel like that horse who has to remain obedient to its rider. I shut my eyes, as I can’t shut my ears. He rams farther and faster into me, propelling my hips forward with every thrust, but I’ll never ask him to stop. “Ahhh…” My breath comes in short, loud gasps, and my mind can barely digest so many emotions. I feel fear, pain, anger, and… fuck, desire. Desire to obey and let him do it. I remain silent, my face resting on the desk, ashamed that I want him to keep going—to keep using me so savagely for his own pleasure, to keep satisfying himself with me, his slut, his sub, his in every sense. Damn, I can’t even believe this is turning me on.
With his arms holding me tight, his strength blocking me from making a single movement, he pushes himself into me one last time as deeply as he can to fill me completely, and with a long, bestial groan, I feel his cock tighten and pump his cum inside. I wish I could have been deaf to not hear it so sharply. Even after that, he keeps going back and forth, and with each thrust, I feel more of his cum entering me. He starts to slow down, until he finally stops and remains inside me for a moment, savoring the pleasure at having used me so selfishly. I can feel his orgasm dripping out of me. It must have been a lot. Then he removes his cock very slowly, wipes it on my ass, and, once the tip is totally dry, puts it back into his boxers. I can hear his zipper and belt fastening. Why did he do that? Why was he so rough with me? I’m still paralyzed, barely breathing.
“Turn to face me,” he orders icily. His tone is enough to give me goose bumps.
I obey, totally mortified, in shock at what I just went through. My face messy, scarlet, my cheeks wet with tears, I stand up and feel his warm cum trickling down my thighs.
“Look at me.” He pulls my chin up, forcing me to stare at him.
Frightened by his glare, I swallow my anger and keep quiet.
“There will be times I might want to throw myself entirely into you without foreplay, without tenderness, without cuddling, without being gentle.” He sighs. “Do you feel comfortable with that?”
My jaw drops at his words. How can he ask me if I’m okay with that? “I…” That’s the only word I manage to mumble feebly. I’m so disappointed, confused, and enraged by his attitude that my mind is totally blank, unable to form a proper sentence. But he’s still waiting for an answer… And to my surprise, I stare downward and mutter the word he’s expecting, a word I find repulsive and humiliating for the very first time. “Yes.”
“Good.” He kisses my forehead like a rewarding gesture for my behavior, then moves down to my lips, but I show no reaction whatsoever to his touch. I don’t even look at him. He brings my hand to his chest where I can feel his heartbeat, and presses it against his skin. “Can you feel it?” I nod, looking away. “It belongs entirely to you, Petra. I’m all yours.” He pauses. “Are you all mine?” We hear knocking at the door. “One moment!” He waits for my answer, staring intently at me.
I look back at him and reply, despite my voice being weak and broken. “I am.”
He grins with an air of satisfaction. “I love you, Ms. Van Gatt.” Then he brings my hand to his lips, very slowly kissing my knuckles, and I find myself smiling timidly at it. “Don’t worry, you’ll get used to it. It’s just frightening the first time,” he adds, bringing my body closer to his. “May I have a kiss?”
I give him a quick one for the sake of him letting me go. Once he does, I run into his bedroom and close the door behind me. I hear him sighing loudly, then walking toward the library door and opening it.
“My sincere apologies, Mr. Van Dieren, but Lady Margaret would like to see you in her office. May I escort you there?”
“Sure, many thanks, Stuart.”
After he leaves, I take a shower with the intention of washing away my pain. Yet my mind is still tormented by what he has just done. I’ve never refused him before—why would he need to be so rough? I think about Mom and her warnings about Alex, and Margaret telling me how all women, after a while, were trained to please him and do whatever he wanted. I’m scared. Very scared. Not of him, but of losing him if I become too docile and too obedient, like his previous girlfriends. After all, I’m still so inexperienced, so young—easy prey for him. Oh God, what if I’m just a game to him? A dressage competition to win? Is the engagement also part of it? I swallow hard, petrified.
Someone knocks on the door.
“Yes?”
The door opens timidly. It’s Clarissa, the lady’s maid.
“Good evening, Ms. Van Gatt,” she greets. “May I?”
“Sure. Good evening, Clarissa. What can I do for you?”
Clarissa raises an eyebrow. “Um, I’m here to help you to dress in your nightwear, Mis
s.”
“Oh, sure.” I realize I’m again following his orders, but I’m too curious to see what he’s brought for me. Plus, I already promised to wear it.
Clarissa goes to his dressing room and takes the package from a drawer. As she opens it, I see that the content is enveloped in black tissue paper.
“Could you kindly undress, Miss?” I obey and remove my dress, my black bra, and my black lace thigh highs.
She opens the tissue paper. I glance over to see a red corset—Christmas red. I can’t help but smile. Clarissa takes the lingerie and lays it on the bed. I take the red lace thong with a bow on the back and put it on, then pull on the new pair of black lace thigh highs. Clarissa takes the red corset, wraps it around my bust, and starts to close the clasps on the front one by one.
“Miss, could you please brace yourself on the back of this chair, so I can tighten the back?”
I push the chair, turning it to face the wall that displays his awards—as I definitely can’t stand to look at my figure in the mirror—and hold myself against it. Clarissa starts to tighten up the red laces from behind. I’ve never worn a corset before, but I feel Clarissa compressing my waist and chest a bit too much. Breathing feels difficult as she continues to push even further. “I’m sorry, Miss. But it has to be tightened well.”
I let out a sigh, the nerves boiling under my skin. I know Clarissa is just following his orders… And so am I. Damn it. I look again at the wall in front of me with all his “dressage” awards and the framed photos of him holding his trophies, him riding his horse, him mastering the poor animal. Fuck, I’m not his pet to be domesticated, for God’s sake! And I have the firm intention of reminding him of that.
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