by COE 3. 1. 0
I blush. This does not go unnoticed by everyone in the room.
Russell pats Alice’s rump, a gesture that strikes me as unusual. She is after all older than Max.
“Off with you now. I want to have a look at Max’s girlfriend.”
Even the way he talks to her is unusual, as if she’s still a little girl. My anxiety intensifies.
“She’s nothing special, Dad,” Alice retorts as she reluctantly slides off his lap.
“Jealousy doesn’t become you, sweetheart. Come here, Gina, and let me have a look at you.”
“Go on.” Max prods me in the back.
I go around the large desk, which is cluttered with documents and bric-bracs, including a table photo of a little girl in pigtails whom I recognize as a childhood version of Alice. Surprise, surprise, she’s actually smiling in her photo – something I haven’t seen much evidence of since I arrived.
Russell is seated on his high-back leather chair, whose reclining back squeaks as he leans back to view me in all my party frock glory. He’s a giant of a man, with long limbs and a waist that resembles Max’s tapering one.
“Very, very pretty.” He holds out his large hands. “Come here, Gina.”
I’m not really sure what to do, but I do know that as a guest, I cannot rudely decline. But just gazing at this magnificent specimen of a man – a man in every sense – makes me go weak in my knees.
More so than his sons, he gives off the impression of instant and absolute command. His eyes are crinkled at the edges with laugh lines and his skin is weathered. I suspect he is a man much used to being outdoors.
I take two tentative steps towards him. He reaches out and grasps my hand.
“Sit here, Gina.” He pats his lap, recently warmed by Alice.
Alice hisses with exasperation.
I place my buttocks on his lap. My hands tremble a little. I can smell his aftershave – a musky scent that sends shivers through my body. His skin is very warm through his shirt and pants, and I am very aware of his overwhelming maleness, and of his hand on my back as I snuggle closer to his torso in a bid to maintain my balance.
He adjusts my body orientation so that I’m sitting partially sideways, with my legs dangling off his right thigh. The armrest prevents me from totally being sideways. His hand on my back slides up and down my bodice, stopping just above my buttocks. My skirt is flouncy and very much in the way of more contact.
My pulse is fluttering at my throat. I swallow a hard lump.
Max clears his throat and remarks, “Gina has very nicely agreed to submit – ” he pauses at the significance of the word “ – to the whole family.”
“Is that right, Gina?” Russell turns my dolled-up face to his. His nearness is unnerving.
“Yes,” I manage a whisper. He has such brilliant eyes. They are like opals and sapphires and every other blue gem rolled into two. I am transfixed by those eyes – so avidly that I only feel his hand on my thigh when it’s too late.
Of course, my thigh is covered by tulle. Voluminous tulle. I am not an innocent. I was expecting this, but still –
Russell asks, “Is her consent verbal or written?”
Max pauses for a second.
“Verbal.”
Russell clicks his tongue. “Very careless, son. Contracts should be drawn up and signed whenever possible.”
“She has a safe word to stop this any time she feels uncomfortable.”
I notice that with his father, Max is colder and not so forthcoming.
“Is that right, Gina?” Russell says.
“Yes.”
“And you’ll stop this . . . us . . . any time you don’t want to do this?”
There are many witnesses in the room, all hanging on to my every word.
“Yes,” I say, lowering my eyelashes.
“Slut,” Alice pronounces.
Her father says in a mild voice, “Alice, if you can’t keep from making snide remarks, perhaps we should banish you entirely from the study.”
“Fine then. I will not be party to this.” Alice strides out in a huff.
“Yeah, go polish your nails or something,” calls one of the twins after her.
“Brad, don’t needle your sister.”
“But she’s so emo and high-maintenance.”
“That’s enough.”
With Alice out of the room, the men seem to relax. Even Max’s shoulders are not so flexed.
Russell’s hand goes to my knee. He grabs a fistful of my skirt and raises it. A tendril of anticipation snakes within my groin as he slowly reveals the white skin of my thighs.
“So luscious. I take it she’s not a virgin.”
“She’s an initiate,” one of the twins drawls, as if that says it all.
His father’s hand caresses the plump flesh of my thighs – up, up until my panty line at where my hips meet my legs. I’m wearing frilly white panties with a little bow on the waistband to augment my whole girly theme.
Russell’s startling eyes arrest mine. “I should like to take a much better look at you, Gina. Would you like to sit on the desk?”
The implications of this are clear.
“Yes,” I whisper. My heart is thudding very hard against my ribcage, which is straining against my too-tight bodice.
The twins help me up onto the edge of the desk. They lift and arrange my frilly skirt so that my panty-covered butt is in contact with the wood.
“Spread your legs, Gina,” Max commands. There’s a hard edge to his voice reminiscent of my Initiation days. No doubt he’s trying to impress his father.
I obey. It’s thrilling to obey. A shudder of anticipation passes through me as I open my legs wide to reveal the crotch of my panties, which is rapidly becoming wet. My flouncy skirt threatens to fall down, and so the twins hold the hem up on either side.
“Very, very nice,” Russell says admiringly.
“Take off her underwear,” Max tells the twins.
Grinning, both Brad and Alex disengage my sweet-looking panties. They make sure my skirt is completely raised the whole time. They pull the little scrap of cotton down over my buttocks and off my legs. Then they make me spread my thighs wide again. Russell hasn’t taken his eyes off my crotch since I’ve been on the desk.
And now my naked pussy is bared to his gaze.
“Incredible,” he murmurs. “What a beautiful cunt.”
“We think so too,” says one of the twins.
“Are you sure she’s an initiate? Her cunt looks like it hasn’t been used much.”
“That’s part of her charm.”
My breath comes out in slow, careful heaves. I dip my eyes to glance at what they are looking at.
My shaven pussy has a pinkish clit which is wedged between two luscious labial lips. My slit of a vulva peeks out like a curious and very moist little mouth down below.
Russell’s spade-like hand reaches for my pussy.
I gasp as he peels open my nether lips. My clit and sticky grooves – previously snug in their warm folds – are struck by the sudden exposure. Russell uses both his hands to pinch my pussy lips and gather a generous portion of flesh to further spread them apart.
Two of his fingers quest into my hungry tunnel. A little moan escapes my throat.
“Still tight,” he says with genuine amazement.
“Yeah, after all the fucking we gave her,” says a twin.
“Not to mention all the fucking she got as a freshie,” smirks his double.
Embarrassment creeps to my cheeks.
Russell’s fingers probe my soft walls, searching for my G-spot. He watches my face for my reaction. When my pupils dilate with desire, he knows he’s struck home.
He withdraws his fingers. I note tendrils of my white vaginal cud upon them. He raises his finger to my mouth.
“Suck them, Gina.”
I comply by taking his proffered fingers into my mouth and licking my own womanly juices off them. I taste like fish paste.
“I would like to of
fer you something, Gina,” he says as I continue to suck at his fingers.
He pulls them out with a plop. With his other hand, he reaches for his top left drawer and takes out a thin sheaf of papers.
“Take your time to read this.”
“What is it?” I take the papers with trepidation.
“A contract. To be signed by you. To allow your body to be used as we see fit.”
I can hardly believe my ears. Around us, his sons are suddenly watchful, wary.
My vision is blurring as I skim through the contract. I see certain phrases:
‘no safe word allowed for duration of contract’
‘no cessation of activity allowed during the period of sexual servitude’
‘obedience and total compliance to given orders must be maintained at all times’
‘no permanent harm to her body will be caused’
My gaze leaps to the final sentence in bold.
‘In return for her sexual servitude from _________ to _________, Gina Wesley of ____________
will receive $250,000 in exactly 30 days from the last day of her service.’
My throat constricts in shock.
$250,000!
I read it again to make sure I am not dreaming.
I look up at Russell. He’s smiling broadly as he nods. “The money’s yours, Gina. If you do decide to sign.”
“You had this made before you even met me.” My voice falters.
“From Max’s description of you, I had no reason to doubt that I would find you a suitable candidate.” He makes it sound as if I’m applying for one of his multinational jobs.
This man . . . this CEO . . . this philanthropist and outstanding citizen is offering me money to be his sex slave.
No, scratch that.
His family’s sex slave.
I flit to Max, who studiously avoids my anxious eyes.
“What happens to us after this?” I say hoarsely. “I thought . . . I thought . . . ”
“It has always been real, Gina. You and me. I’ve never lied to you. This has always been me. Me and my family.”
Yes. He has been totally upfront about it.
This means I will never go back to vanilla base with him. Not if I want to be with him.
“I-I’ll think about it,” I mutter.
The twins help me down. My legs feel as wobbly as jelly, and it’s not from maintaining an overstretched position either. My skirt falls over my naked bottom.
Max shepherds me out the way I came in. As soon as we are out of the study, he kisses the top of my head.
“Don’t think of it as a business proposition, Gina. Think of it as connecting with yourself . . . who you truly are.”
Who I truly am. I don’t even know who I am.
I clutch the papers to my chest and walk as steadily as I can up the stairs to my bedroom, which in current circumstances can hardly be called a refuge.
3
The truth is – my parents are not rich.
I got into Gifford because my sister Karyn pulled strings. (And I know how she did it now.) Karyn in turn got into Gifford on a scholarship because she’s smart and scored off the charts in her SATs.
Me – I’m not smart.
I’m what Karyn considers lackluster. Pretty, a little vacant, too eager to please. But I’m goal-orientated when I set myself to it, and very determined despite my shortcomings.
$250,000 is a lot of money.
I don’t even need to tell my parents about it since I’m legally adult. I can stash it away in my own private bank account and use it for a rainy day. It would be my own little nest egg.
Oh my God.
I believe I’m going to say ‘yes’. There was never a doubt that I would say yes. The money is just a sweetener.
I enjoy being a sub. There, I’m being honest with myself. Max knows it. Max’s entire family knows it. Max’s sister hates me for it.
But now there will be no fail safe.
Once I sign on the dotted line, I am theirs to do as they please. They assure me there will be no permanent damage or scars, but the very fact that there is a clause in the contract just for that suggests there will be pain. A lot of pain.
I will technically be their sex slave.
Oh help me, God, but I think I will sign the contract anyway.
I’m still a coward.
I sign the contract, seal it in an envelope and slide it under the door of Russell’s study. That way I won’t have to come in eye contact with anyone and answer embarrassing questions. I’m avoidant that way.
Until they actually see my signature and come for me, that is.
It’s frightening.
It’s exciting.
It’s mysterious.
It’s the trembling anticipation of a doe which knows that her hunter is coming. And that she has willingly submitted to this.
So be it. This will be my fate. A fate of my own choosing.
4
The next day, Max comes for me.
“Thank you,” he says, kissing me. “You made the right choice.”
I don’t say anything as our lips lock hungrily. I miss this – kissing Max. Plain old vanilla kissing.
Normal male/female one-on-one sex. My arms go around his neck as I pull him closer. I want to melt into him – my beautiful blond boyfriend. I want to feel his cock inside me again.
Perhaps he feels my rising need, because he stills me.
“My father wants to see you,” he says gravely.
“Wh-what?”
“Your contract. It starts today.”
Yes. And I still don’t clearly know what it means.
“What do you want me to do?” I whisper.
“Everything I ask you to. Everything anyone in this house asks you to, even Heathcliff.”
He takes my hands and leads me to the closet.
“I want you to wear this.”
I hesitate. “But Max. Can’t we, you know, kiss a little and snuggle first? The way we used to do before . . . this?”
“No. He wants to see you now.”
He opens one of the closet doors.
“Let’s get you dressed.”
*
I’m in a pink lacy nightgown that is so short that it comes up to my crotch. The nightgown has little ribbons and floral motifs on it. I practically resemble a Barbie doll. My hair is done up in two pigtails tied at the ends with large pink ribbons.
My feet are bare as I obediently troop after Max to a part of the house I have never been to – the children’s playroom.
“This was my playroom when I was a kid,” Max explains. “Mine and Alice’s and Brad’s and Alex’s.”
“I assume you don’t use it anymore.”
“No, but my father does,” he says significantly.
My nerves are all tangled up with apprehension, and I find myself rubbing my wrists. Keep calm.
He’s not going to do anything that will permanently scar you. This will just be like the Initiation, and you got through that unscathed. Physically, that is.
But I still feel like I’m being led into the lion’s den.
$250,000. The money keeps tumbling in my brain like a mantra. If I keep focused on that, maybe I will calm down.
The door to the playroom is painted with Disney characters – Mickey and Pluto and Donald and Bambi – in bright smiley colors. Max pushes it open.
“Go on in.”
With trepidation, I walk through the doorway.
“Are you coming?” I turn around to ask Max, but he has quietly shut the door behind me.
The playroom is just as festive as its door. The murals on the walls depict scenes from children’s books. Rapunzel flits from tree to tree to hide from the Three Musketeers. The Seven Dwarves sit at the Mad Hatter’s table, and the Little Engine That Could chugs up a mountain to the witch’s gingerbread house.
Russell is standing by a large rocking horse. He fingers its gorgeously carved head. He looks up as I enter.
�
�Ah, Gina.”
I cast my eyes down demurely.
“Very good,” he says, striding over to me.
He’s so amazingly tall. Basketball player tall. He easily towers over me by a good twelve inches.
He wears a sweatshirt and pants.
I stand before him, my hands entwined together in front of my dress. I lick my lips as he lifts my chin towards him.
“Very pretty. You’re a very pretty girl, Gina.”
“Thank you.”
“Now, I want you to call me Daddy. Do you understand?”
“Yes.”
“Yes who?”
“Yes, Daddy.”
“Good.” He nods approvingly. “I want you to play along. You’re a bad, bad girl.”
“I’m a bad, bad girl,” I echo, my nervousness escalating.
“You haven’t done your homework.” He pauses, waiting for me.
I catch on.
“I . . . I haven’t studied for that quiz.”
“Yes.” He smiles. “And those grades you got in Math were atrocious. Simply atrocious. What do you think I should do to you, Gina?”
My stomach flips.
“Y-you should punish me.”
“Punish me what?”
“You should punish me, Daddy.” My voice quavers at that last note.
“Then lift up your skirt.”
The difference now is that I’m not wearing anything under my nightdress. Those were Max’s specific instructions. Bashfully, and feeling like a chastised little girl, I raise the hem of my dress to show him my pussy.
“And have you been fornicating with men?” he says, reaching down to touch my labia.
“Yes, Daddy.”
I hold my breath as his fingers digs in between my pussy lips and clit. He kneads my sensitive flesh there in a manner that can only be described as laborious.
He tsk-tsks, shaking his head like a disapproving parent.
“Come with me, Gina.”
Meekly, I follow him. I let my dress fall as I walk.
He whirls round suddenly. “Did I give you permission to cover yourself?”
“Uh, no, Daddy.” I frantically grope for the hem of my dress again.
“You’ll be punished for that,” he notes.
He leads me to the play table, which is a bright red in color. Little wooden alphabet blocks scatter the surface. A jug of milk sits next to an empty glass. Little beads of moisture have condensed upon the jug, denoting how cold the milk is.