by Vivien Vale
“Morning, Dad,” Lawrence says to him.
Me? Well, since I’ve got my dick out and a slutty redhead at my feet in front of the stodgy old men who I’m going to be answering to by the end of the week, I keep my fucking mouth shut.
“Will you excuse us?” The old man’s voice is a little gravelly as he addresses Abraham Fertility’s board of directors, who are all piled into the doorway behind him, gawking at the scene.
At least he’s sending the members of the board away.
I’m fuming as I shove my cock back into my pants. As I do so, I glance at the portrait of our mother and mumble a silent apology. It pains me to think I was about to disappoint her.
“You, uh, better get out sweetheart,” Lawrence says to the red head.
“We’ll finish this later?”
I see her pleading look and wonder what exactly Lawrence sees in this woman.
“I’ll call you,” my brother says, delivering a little smack to her ass while she gathers her clothes.
By the time our father comes all the way into the room, we’re both in our seats. No one says anything.
The girl grabs her clothes and scampers out. I wonder if the board is hovering out the door, because if they are, they’ll be catching an eyeful of naked flesh. If any one of them suffers a cardiac arrest, then I suppose that’ll confirm it. None of them are that young anymore.
I try not to laugh at the thought.
By now, the bastard is sitting in his deep red leather chair at the head of the board table.
Silence.
The temperature has dropped a few degrees, and I wonder who will speak first. If I were a betting man, which I’m not, my money would be on Lawrence. Lawrence always takes on the old man.
“I would have expected more of my sons,” Abraham Sr. growls, and slams his flat hand onto the table.
My coffee now sloshes up and over the rim of the mug, barely missing my thigh as it slops to the ground at my feet.
I glance at Lawrence. That shit-eating grin hasn’t shifted an inch.
Neither has Dad’s frown. “If you’ve got the need to stick your cocks in anything with two legs and a pussy, then do it anywhere but here in my boardroom.”
Dad’s on a roll. I can tell from his expression. For starters, his eyebrows look like they might sustain an injury, the way they’re performing those gymnastic routines.
That and his eyes are boring into the two of us. This means he has to turn left, right, and left again. He’s doing it with such force it looks like he might snap his neck.
“I can see I’m going to have to make some changes before I retire,” he sighs.
Ah, crap. If I were on the edge of my seat before, then I’m practically up in arms now.
I’ve worked my ass off at this company in preparation for Dad’s retirement. Today’s supposed to be the day of his big announcement.
I’m not pleased to hear about any changes right now.
Red. I see red everywhere. Surely, the old bastard won’t change the rules now.
He wants out of the CEO chair just as badly as I want into it. I thought today was going to be about handing over the reins, because the old man was retiring.
My eyes find Lawrence. I’m furious about this prospect—he just looks annoyed.
“I’m not going to leave the family business to irresponsible pricks like you two. Two guys who can’t think beyond where their next pussy comes from.” He shakes his head.
That doesn’t just piss me off because it’s not true. I mean, it’s been quite some time since I’ve stuck my cock into any pussy—and I’ve got my reasons. No, no, it pisses me off because for as long as I can remember, getting tail is all Dad has cared about.
The fucking hypocrisy boggles my mind.
“This is a family company, boys. And right now? The two of you are not family men.”
I think Dad must be projecting, since he’s got more bastard children than he can count from just as many baby mommas—but he looks dead serious about it.
“So I’m giving you an ultimatum. You both get the next twelve months to find a girl, marry her, and get her pregnant. In fact, the first one to do this will get to run the company. And if neither of you can do this, one of my many other bastard sons can run this joint.”
Thunderclouds pass across Lawrence’s face. The storm is brewing and about to boil over.
“You can’t dictate who we knock up and when.” His voice is dangerously low.
Our father is unimpressed. “Last time I checked, I own the company—and you two are only here because you’re my children. I choose to let you be here. My company, my rules.”
“And where are we supposed to find such a girl?” I ask, not wanting to have open war with the old man.
There’s a tiny smirk in his face. “Ah, don’t worry, that’s under control. I’ve got a surprise for you.”
Lawrence and I look at each other warily.
Our father’s surprises rarely ever bode well for us.
What the fuck has our father cooked up this time?
June
I need to stop staring at these pregnancy tests, but for some reason, I can’t manage to tear my eyes away.
No, I don’t need a pregnancy test or anything. I am so not that kind of girl. My daddy raised me right: First comes love, then comes marriage, then comes the baby in the—you get the idea.
Unfortunately for me, my fiancé—make that ex-fiancé—wasn’t raised right at all.
And neither was that whore Mary Beth Mayer, for that matter.
What kind of man knocks up the town bicycle three weeks before he’s supposed to marry his high school sweetheart? Kody freakin’ Peterson, that’s who. My daddy didn’t raise me to name-call either, but I don’t have any problem calling a spade a spade.
Kody Peterson is an asshole, plain and simple. He broke my heart, and for a few days after he broke off our engagement, I felt like he had ruined my life.
But in times of trouble, a country gal like me knows that she just has to cowgirl up.
Which is why instead of moping around Wheatfield, Nebraska, I hopped in my little blue pick-up truck and drove all the way here to the Big Apple.
June Johnson, welcome to New York freakin’ City.
“Looking for something?” a slimy male voice says over my shoulder.
I nearly jump right out of my skin at the sound.
Really? I scoff out loud.
You’d think at this point, I’d be used to this crap. Guys here are trying to talk to me all the time, and they’re all trying to seem so friendly about it, too.
But I know this city isn’t friendly. None of these dopes are interested in how my day is, and they’re not trying to help me find anything, either.
Not anything I could possibly want, anyway. Although I’m not looking for anything I want as much as I’m looking for something I need.
Not that it’s anyone’s darn business, least of all this creep behind me. Just what kind of store is this, anyway? It’s like some kind of weird convenience mart where everything is priced about ten times higher than it should be.
Yes, I know the city’s supposed to be expensive, but these price tags cannot be for real…
Oh, well, it doesn’t freaking matter now, because this skeevy, overbearing store clerk is breathing down my neck.
That’s another thing about the city—I thought everything was supposed to be nice and anonymous here, but it seems like people get into each other’s business as much as they do back in Nebraska.
And here, they don’t even pretend to be nice about it. This clerk guy—or whatever they call ‘em here—has found a way to sound helpful without sounding helpful at all. The words are there—but his tone sure isn’t.
Good lord, and he sees me looking at the pregnancy tests. Now I’m blushing on top of feeling uncomfortable. Freaking great.
I still feel him standing behind me. He knows exactly what I’m looking at. Now all I want to do is get out of here—but
if I just run, it’ll look too suspicious.
I may actually want to come back and shop here one day. Maybe when money isn’t so much of an issue.
And who knows what kind of a reputation I must be getting already.
I’m a city gal now, so it’s time to think fast. I grab the box nearest the pregnancy tests.
Walking to the register, I don’t even look at what I’m holding. As long as it’s not a pregnancy test, I don’t care.
I don’t know what would be more embarrassing, and I don’t care to think about it. I walk toward register confidently, box in hand. Whatever I’m holding, I’m committed to buying it.
Halfway to the register, under the harsh lights of this unpleasant little shop, I sneak a look at what I’m actually about to purchase.
The good news is that it’s not a pregnancy test.
The not so good news is that it’s not only a box of tampons, but it’s a Value Pack—whatever that means. I’m assuming, looking at the size of this box, that it’s a large supply of tampons meant to last for quite some time.
For me, it’s probably going to last forever, since I don’t even use these things. Putting anything up there just doesn’t sound comfortable. Maybe if my momma had been around, god rest her soul, she could have talked me through it, but…
Moot point. I’m stuck with them now. I guess City June will just have to learn how to be a tampon-using kind of girl.
Unfortunately, they’re also going to set me back a few dollars, which is not what I need right now. But since I’m already committed to this, I don’t even hesitate for a moment on my way to the register.
Of course, that same clerk guy is already behind the register. It’s like he’s following me ahead of time or something.
I try to spot a price tag on the box as I place it on the counter, but there’s none that I can see. It can’t be more than two or three dollars, though. At the very least, I hope it’s not four.
“Ten dollars, gorgeous.”
That’s all he says.
And he’s not even smiling.
His lips are pulled back in something way creepier than a smile. More of a perverted sneer than anything.
I try not to sigh too loudly. I’ve committed to this, and I need to pay the hefty price for this so-called Value Pack of useless-to-me tampons.
My hands are shaking slightly while I dig my wallet out of my purse. Opening my wallet, my fears are confirmed.
There’s one solitary bill sitting in my wallet. Not wavering from my commitment, I try my best to smile while handing the clerk the last ten dollars I have in the world.
Upon exiting the store, I’m the proud owner of a large box of tampons and literally nothing else—besides my trusty blue pickup parked at the curb.
I don’t even have any idea if I’m parked legally. A parking ticket probably runs like ten or fifteen dollars here, and that’s ten or fifteen dollars more than I can afford.
Trying to make heads or tails of the traffic signs, another sight catches my eye, and I can’t look away.
There must be a dozen women walking across the street. Heck, they’re not even at a crosswalk—they’re just strolling right across the middle of the street like it’s nothing!
I can see why they’re so confident—they all look like they’re just stepping out of a Nordstrom catalog or something.
Maybe there’s a fashion show across the street?
Whatever. I’ve got bigger things to worry about now.
First, I need to find a better parking spot for my truck.
Then, I need to figure out how to get some income.
After giving one last curious look at the parade of women crossing the street, I walk around to the driver’s side of my truck, rooting around in my purse for the keys.
They don’t seem to be in there. Did I drop them in the store or…
No. No, I couldn’t have.
Damn it.
Even though I can clearly see my keys in the truck, dangling from the ignition, I’m still in denial.
I didn’t just lock them in there.
No way.
But then I try to open the door, and…
Damn it.
Locking the keys in the damn truck…I mean, really? What next?
And there are still more freaking women crossing the street. What the hell is going on there, anyway?
With a frustrated pivot, I spin around to see what the big freaking attraction is.
Directly across the street is one of many giant freaking office buildings in the area. The confident stream of well-dressed, seemingly well-off businesswomen is making its way into the entrance.
Carved in giant letters above the entrance are the words Abraham Fertility Incorporated.
Huh.
Do all of these women work there?
I don’t know much about typical business hours in New York, but it’s getting late in the morning. A place like that wouldn’t just be opening now.
So why does it look like their entire staff is just arriving?
Unless that’s not their staff—at least, not yet.
Those women are dressed to impress, after all.
Maybe my luck is turning around. My keys are locked in the truck, but I do I have a copy of my resume in my purse.
If there’s a job opening at this Abraham Fertility place, I’d be a fool to let an opportunity like that slip through my fingers.
Looking in my purse, I spot the neatly folded slip of paper I’ve been carrying with me since well before I left Nebraska.
After unfolding my resume, I give it a quick check.
The Wheatfield Public Library has several IBM Selectric typewriters available for members. The recent afternoon I spent at one of those typewriters is finally going to pay off.
My resume is a bit on the sparse side, but hey, it looks clean and professional.
I’m also wearing what could be described as a business casual outfit. It could stand to be ironed, I suppose, but I know for a fact it looks good on me.
My keys and my truck can wait. With my resume in hand, I join the stream of hopefuls making their way into Abraham Fertility, Inc.
Come on, Junebug. Let’s show these city slickers what a country girl can do.
Carter
“Alright, sweetheart.” Lawrence leans back in his chair with yet another shit-eating grin on his face. “Give us a little twirl now.”
The blonde giggles, her bare tits swaying as she spins on cue. This is the fifteenth blonde we’ve seen this morning, and the twenty-seventh that Lawrence has ordered to strip naked here in the board room.
It’s not that they haven’t been gorgeous, and it’s not that I’m not attracted to them.
It’s just that the more I see of them, as they posture and pose naked for Lawrence’s enjoyment, the less I can see myself with them.
“Mmmm. Daddy likes that, honey. Now bend over and spread yourself. Let’s see that pussy.”
As the blonde complies, I can tell Lawrence is itching to get his cock out and stroke himself while he watches her. Any other day, I might have joined him. But the prospect of losing this company has hit me hard—and the prospect of choosing my bride, my wife, mother of my future children has hit me even harder.
I couldn’t be less turned on right now.
And it doesn’t help that dear old Dad is here in the boardroom with us, supervising this little cattle-call he’s set up to find the mother of his future grandchildren.
Of course, there’s also the little matter of my mother. Sitting here, watching these girls shamelessly strip and do whatever my horny twin brother asks of them, I feel her presence more than ever.
I’m not sure she would approve.
The deeper and longer I reflect on this, the more I wonder how fucking shallow these girls are.
With the mentality of sheep, they come in to parade around and obey without question. I bet if Lawrence asked them to suck our father’s cock, they would. Would they stop at jumping out the window
if asked?
Probably not.
I mean, why doesn’t any one of them show some guts? None of the potential mothers/brides have shown anything other than total obedience.
As far as I’m concerned, there’s a fine line between stupidity and respect. Any woman I’m going to get pregnant has to be respectful of both my status and me and at the same time—but I don’t want her to follow the pack blindly.
My hands are twitching.
This is fucking killing me.
This hurdle I have to jump is ridiculous, and I hate my father for it already. He knows he’s got me cornered, though. He knows I’m going to do whatever it takes.
If the double standard-having prick is run over by a bus this afternoon, it would be well deserved.
But deep down, I know that wouldn’t solve my problem—I bet the bastard has already changed his will to reflect this new position of his.
It pains me to sit here and have my father dictate my life to the point of giving me a time frame to get a woman pregnant and marry her.
Whatever happened to personal freedom, making choices and experiences for yourself? And here I thought I lived in a free country.
The longer I sit here, the less I feel like watching this fucking train wreck. It’s unlikely I’m going to be able to find someone in the gene pool parading around naked in front of my father, my salacious brother, and me.
Let’s face it, who really wants their future wife on display, naked in front of their brother and father?
Briefly, I glance in the old man’s direction. The bulge in his pants confirms my suspicion—he’s turned on. He’s not only enjoying Lawrence’s demands—he’s loving it.
Obviously, Lawrence is a man after his own heart. No doubt he’s going to go find himself some pussy when the show is over.
“Let me you hear beg for it, babe,” Lawrence demands.
With an internal groan, I slide down in my seat.
I glance at my watch—we’ve been here for an hour already. It seems like a lifetime.
I don’t think I can stand much more of this shit.
“Give it to me, pleeeeeeease, oh pleeeeeeease fuck me,” the blonde moans. “Coooome on, baby.”
“Is that the best you can do?” my brother barks.