by Tara Hart
“Pussy?” I question, the disdain clear in my voice. “I’ve looked.”
The man seems taken aback by my comment, but an eager bystander quickly pulls his attention away.
“It’s time,” he announces to anyone who’s listening.
My father steps forward, heading straight toward Leila and I notice her shoulders tense impulsively.
“Here, honey,” he says in a calm voice that causes goose bumps to rise on my skin. He hands Leila a frayed leather rod.
I grind my teeth together when I realize what is about to play out in front of me.
“Fuck,” I mutter under my breath. Leila takes the flogger hesitantly, her demeanor changing once again.
“Give her something to moan about,” he gestures toward Pussy as he steps away from the girls.
Leila chews on the corner of her lip, her eyes scanning the room until they find me. I don’t know what she wants me to do. Step in and stop the scene from playing out? I can’t, not yet.
I watch the debate play out on her face. She has to do it otherwise it’ll be her getting whipped, but she’s trying to delay the inevitable.
“Come on,” one of the perverts shouts impatiently. Leila senses the growing impatience of the men, finally turning her body to face Pussy.
“I’m sorry,” she mutters before raising the whip and slapping it against Pussy’s bare ass.
I close my eyes as I hear Pussy’s first cry. It’s a tortured shriek that causes the hairs to rise on the back of my neck. Then I hear the whip again, this time louder, the slap against her skin more pronounced. Pussy shouts out, something in Russian perhaps, as Leila hits her again.
Pussy’s once pale skin is now a mass of pink and red. Her ass now marred by the lashings she did nothing to deserve, the pain evident on her face. Her knees dig into the chaise as her elbows rest on top, waiting for the next blow.
Leila hits her again, the whoosh of the whip now accompanied by a loud cry for help. Pussy bites into the cushion of the sofa in an attempt to stifle her cries.
“Please,” she begs. “No more.”
I look to my side and notice my uncle has turned away from the scene playing out before us. Maybe he’s just as uncomfortable as I am. This surprises me.
“I’m sorry,” I hear Leila mutter again, fighting back her own tears.
When the sound of leather slapping against skin sounds again I notice Harry flinch as he squeezes his eyes closed. He brings a hand to his face and pinches the bridge of his nose. It baffles me why he would attend such a party if he’s just as uncomfortable with the act as the girl’s who are being forced to perform.
“Enough,” I hear a man say. I watch as he steps forward and takes the tall brunette by the scruff of her neck, forcing her face to the curve of Pussy’s ass. Red welts blemish her pale skin and where the skin has not broken, it remains swollen and inflamed.
“Lick her,” he says, his voice gruff, his tone serious.
The brunette hesitates and he tightens his grip on her neck. “Now, bitch.”
She licks her lips once before tracing a line from Pussy’s sex up to her asshole. The man holds her in place and groans. “Again, baby. This time like you mean it.”
Leila stands next to them still holding the flogger in her hands and her face is stoic, as if she’s afraid to show any emotion.
As the brunette continues licking Pussy’s ass the man steps back, his sights now set on Leila. He walks over to her, a grin on his smug face as he grabs her by the wrist.
“Come here, princess.”
Leila struggles against him defiantly. He chuckles as he presses his body against hers. His arm wraps around her middle, holding her flush against his body.
“I like it when you fight.” Leila continues to struggle against him, but he overpowers her tiny frame. He rubs his crotch against her hip, a grin spreading across his lips. “You feel that?” He breathes through his teeth as he rubs his stiff cock against her body. I want to kill him.
“Someone needs to be taught a lesson,” he sneers into Leila’s ear loud enough for the room to hear.
“Pussy,” he says. “It’s your turn to discipline this little slut.”
He pushes Leila forward with such force that her shins meet the edge of the chaise, lurching her upper body forward. Pussy stands up, giving the room ample view of her blemished ass. She grabs hold of the flogger and I squeeze my eyes closed. I don’t know if I can watch this.
“Hit her,” he commands.
Pussy does as she’s told, bringing the whip high above her head before striking it against Leila’s back. I watch Leila’s face wince, but she doesn’t utter a sound. The man grabs Leila’s left breast, squeezing her cherry red nipple between his fingers.
“Again,” he commands.
Pussy hits her again, this time harder and I hear the whimper that she was desperately trying to hold back.
“Good girl,” he slurs as he steps away. “Now kiss her.”
He points to Leila. Pussy moves forward, her face tells me she doesn’t want to be here, but her arms and legs move anyway. She grabs Leila’s face roughly with one hand and forces their lips together. I see their tongues intertwining, moving violently against one another as the men in the room moan their approval. The two girls continue to kiss while the tall brunette fondles Leila’s breasts. She takes it into her mouth, circling Leila’s nipple before flicking it with her tongue.
A different man steps forward and I feel my body tense. I’m relieved when he bypasses Leila and walks toward the tall brunette. His hand reaches for her arm and roughly pulls her against him. He whispers something in her ear and she walks around the two girls, bends down and joins their kiss.
I watch the three girls kissing, their tongues twisting together as one. It should excite me. It should be the most erotic thing I’ve ever seen, and yet, I find myself unable to watch. Being in this room makes me feel like I need to take a cold shower. I’m not the least bit turned on.
“Canapé?” The penguin shoves a tray of food in front of me.
You have got to be kidding me. “Not for me,” I respond stiffly.
Food is the last thing on my mind, although I could probably use it to soak up some of the scotch. I hate the stuff and the bitter aftertaste that comes from drinking it.
The fat pervert from earlier steps forward, he moves behind Leila, both hands taking hold of her hips, pulling her ass against his crotch.
“What I would do to you,” he announces.
Leila’s face falls away from Pussy’s as she’s pulled roughly from behind, the fat joker grazing his cock against her ass cheeks.
“Perfect,” he shouts as he slaps her bare ass.
Once.
Twice.
Three times.
I watch her bronze ass turn a deep shade of red. My jaw works overtime as I try to keep it together and not lose my shit.
I can hear my father standing next to me. I didn’t notice him approach, but now all I can focus on is his heavy breathing, the sound enough to make me want to gag.
“You like what you see, son?” he questions.
I force my lips up at the sides. “Yes.” Very believable.
“Which one takes your fancy?” He grins.
Leila, only Leila.
My mouth falls open. I’ve forgotten how to form a sentence. “The brunette,” I start. “The short one.”
A look crosses his face, surprise maybe, but he recovers fast. “Beautiful, isn’t she?”
“Yes,” I respond truthfully.
The fat man continues to grope Leila as if rubbing it in my face. Leila’s eyes meet mine. She needs me. She needs me now more than ever.
“Can I have some alone time with her?” The words tumble out of my mouth before I can stop them.
My father’s eyebrows reach up his forehead, he’s taken aback by my request. A crease settles in his brow and his response comes unexpectedly. “I don’t see why not.”
He moves forward signaling me to follow. My legs are
immobile beneath me, I struggle to move, not sure exactly what I’ve just done.
He pulls Leila off the lap of the guy with the rounded belly. Fatty opens his mouth to protest, but one stern look from my dad is enough for him to keep his mouth shut.
“Take her upstairs, to your old room,” he tells me, his voice gentle.
He looks at Leila who has the same detached expression on her face. “Go with him,” he tells her.
She nods her head and leaves the room following close behind me. A chorus of disapproval from the men sounds as they watch Leila exit the room. I don’t turn to see their faces. All I care about is getting Leila to the safety of my old bedroom.
When we reach the top of the stairs, I take her hand in mine and guide her the rest of the way. Once inside, I swiftly close the door and turn the lock.
She stands before me, wrapping her arms around her middle, her eyes once again cast to the floor. As I look her up and down I find myself torn. I want to take her in my arms and tell her everything will be okay, but I don’t know if that’s appropriate. I’m already on the edge of where I can take this relationship, but as I look at her face, the tears threatening to fall from her beautiful eyes, I know I have to do something.
“I’m going to hug you now,” I warn her.
She nods her head in response, acknowledging my words, maybe even welcoming them.
I wrap my arms around her shoulders, careful not to touch her back where she was whipped moments ago. She settles against my chest, her virtually bare breasts pressed against my body as she fights hard not to break down.
I pull away from her and hold her at arm’s length. The best thing I can do is get her out of her ridiculous outfit and into some comfortable clothes.
I walk to the ottoman on the other side of the room. I grab the throw rug that sits on top and wrap it around her shoulders.
“Your bedroom?” she asks as her eyes glance around the room.
“Yes,” I answer gently. “A long time ago this was my bedroom.”
She sits on the edge of the bed offering me a smile.
“It’s nice.”
“Of course it wasn’t decorated like this when I lived here,” I tell her.
When I moved away to college my mom redecorated it and made it into a guest room. The tone is neutral, navy blue and ivory. It doesn’t suit me, but suits the character of the house. The only thing that indicates this was once my bedroom are the trophies that sit atop a floating shelf. Football, lacrosse, baseball—I was an active kid. You name it I played it. My father wanted me to take part in every sport and it wasn’t enough just to partake, I actually had to win. So I did. There was never any other option. I had to play by his rules.
Leila seems calm now, at ease in my company. I flick on the bedside lamp and take off my shoes.
“You’ve had many girls in this room before, no?”
I notice the devilish grin on her face. She winks at me and I can’t help but smile.
“Only a couple,” I answer modestly. None who mattered.
“Your parents let you have girls in here?” She seems genuinely shocked.
“Yes, when I was old enough. Plus they weren’t home a lot of the time, so what they didn’t know…”
“You were a naughty boy.” She points a finger at me. She seems playful and carefree. I like this side of her.
“No…” I try to keep my face serious.
I acted out a lot once I reached high school. Parties, girls, drugs, anything to try and get my parents attention. But as long as I got the grades, they turned a blind eye to the other stuff.
“I had many parties here too,” I tell her.
“Parties?” she questions, a crease settling in the middle of her forehead.
“No, I don’t mean parties like what’s going on downstairs,” I say. “Keggers,” I continue, which only confuses her more. “House parties, you know music, dancing, drinking.”
“Yes. I know,” she answers.
“Not like the party that’s going on downstairs,” I add.
A sad look crosses her face. “I’m sorry you had to see that.”
“Why are you sorry?”
“I saw your face, Callum.”
I love the way she says my name. Her tongue lingering on the L’s and over pronouncing the “lum”.
“You had trouble watching. I saw you look away,” she says, her voice cracking as she utters the words.
“Of course I had trouble watching,” I say. “Look at what they were doing to you, what they were making you do…” I pause. “It was horrible. I am just sorry I couldn’t step in sooner.”
I wrap an arm around her shoulders and she winces from the pain.
“Let me take a look at your back.”
The blanket falls off her shoulders and I curse when I see the skin where she was lashed. “Fuck.” Her usually bronze skin is red and inflamed. The skin hasn’t broken, but it still looks painful as hell.
I don’t notice any scars or markings from previous parties. Her skin is perfect apart from the fresh injuries from tonight. I wonder how long it’s been since she was last beaten, how long since someone whipped her. Just the thought causes my hands to clench into balls.
“Let me get something for that,” I say.
As I walk toward the door I hear the soft thud of Leila’s footsteps behind me.
“Don’t leave me.”
I spin around and look straight into eyes that are pleading with me to stay.
“Hey.” I close the distance between us. “I’m just going to the bathroom, I’ll be right back.”
She looks at the door and then nods her head for me to proceed.
“I’ll be two seconds,” I reassure her.
I open the bedroom door and take one look back at the broken girl before me. Fuck, I feel for her, I really do, but I’m struggling internally with my own thoughts. I don’t know if what I’m feeling is sympathy or something else.
Chapter 10
Leila
He comes back almost instantly. He has a glass of water, some cream for my back and some aspirin. I down the pills without hesitating and swallow the rest of the lukewarm water.
“Let me rub this into your back. It’s going to hurt,” he warns, “but I’ll be gentle.”
I let the blanket fall to the floor and stand before him as he rubs the cream into my skin gently. I take a sharp inhale, surprised by the coolness of the cream and then by the pain that follows.
“Fuck, Leila,” he lets out. “I’m so sorry.”
I shake my head. “You didn’t do anything.”
“Exactly, I didn’t do anything.”
I suck the air between my teeth as he finishes rubbing the cream into my back. He’s gentle, his fingers moving lightly across my skin. If I wasn’t in so much pain, I may actually be enjoying this.
“All done.” He offers me a sympathetic smile.
Without saying anything he wraps the blanket around my shoulders and walks over to the nearby dresser. Opening each draw, he sifts through its contents.
“This should do it.”
He strolls over to me cradling a pile of clothes in his arms.
“Put these on.”
Taking the clothes from him, I eye them curiously.
He takes a few steps and then turns to face the wall. “You can change now. I’m not looking.”
It’s silly really. Considering what I’m wearing there is no need for Callum to turn away, but it still brings a smile to my face knowing he’s such a gentleman.
I slip out of my ensemble, which doesn’t take long and I climb into the baggy track pants that Callum handed me.
“Are these your clothes?” I ask.
“Yeah, from years ago,” he says. “Sorry if they’re a bit musty, they’ve been sitting in here for a while.”
“Musty?”
He lets out a low laugh, probably at my poor level of English. “Sorry if they smell like an old person,” he clarifies.
When I slip the
oversized hoodie over my head the pain shoots through my body even though the cream has numbed my skin somewhat. I take in a breath and let the scent of the clothes wash over me.
“They smell nice,” I say. They smell like fabric softener…and Callum. “Okay, I’m dressed.”
He turns at the waist and I watch his lips turn into a smirk. “The pants are a bit big on you,” he comments.
He must have noticed the five extra inches that are dragging on the floor.
“I don’t mind.” I smile.
He walks over to the bed and pulls back the covers. “Get in,” he tells me.
“What?”
“Get under the covers,” he says. “Relax. You’re staying in here tonight.”
I study his face and realize he’s serious.
“With me,” he adds.
I bite on my lip as my eyes shift to the bedroom door. I wonder if Osborne is testing me and the ultimate punishment is soon to follow.
“He’s not coming in here, Leila. I promise you. Now get into bed.”
I do as I’m told, slipping under the covers as he props two pillows behind me and tucks me in at the sides like a burrito.
He takes a seat on the edge of the bed, his hand toying with mine above the covers. The room is quiet, neither of us speaking. I’m nervous as I wait for him to say something. Anything.
He brings his eyes to look at my face, they look dark in the subtle light of the room, but they are still beautiful.
I wonder if he’s finding the moment as intense as I am. Callum saved me tonight, something I’ve dreamed of for all these years. He saved me in more ways than he’ll ever know.
Clearing his throat, his eyes focus on my lips and then slowly draw up my face, past my nose and to my eyes.
“Leila,” he whispers.
I hold my breath. The way he just uttered my name, the way he’s looking at me with such intensity, the way he just focused on my lips longer than normal.
“Yes?” I answer in an embarrassingly husky tone, a tone that tells him I want him.
He licks his lips. I watch his tongue run across the soft pink surface, the sight doing things to my body that I find impossible to deny. My nipples harden just from the sight and I feel a pull between my legs. Holy fuck, just kiss me.