She followed his instructions, spending the whole day masturbating but not cumming. Diane and Valerie were going to join, though they hadn’t received the same directions. It made Vivian feel special.
Vivian arrived to greet a new group of Elijah’s guests she’d never met before. They spoke a thick, harsh European tongue that Vivian couldn’t name. She had never been good with languages. Even Elijah spoke the foreign dialect with them to Vivian’s astonishment. He was full of surprises.
Diane and Valerie arrived just after Vivian, and the three were introduced to the men as their “entertainment for the evening.” Normally Elijah’s guests fawned over them, but this group didn’t seem so interested, ignoring the scantily clad women to talk about ... well, whatever the heck they were talking about.
The girls grabbed a bottle of Möet and headed out to the jacuzzi.
The women were going to new lengths to show off for these men, this time giving particular attention to one another’s pussies. While Diane was licking her out, Vivian could see one of Elijah’s friends blatantly stroking himself. Once the show was over, and the girls returned to the living room, the men acted perfectly normal, as if the women hadn’t just been on the balcony putting on a sensual show.
“Would anyone like a drink?” asked Diane, holding up another unopened bottle.
Vivian couldn’t make out what those men were talking about, but they seemed to be in great moods, laughing, talking boisterously, cheering one another. They probably just made a ton of money on some business deal.
After getting a fresh glass, served by Diane, the bald man with pointy eyebrows on the corner sofa called Vivian over to him. As she approached, she could see him undoing his belt. She glanced at Elijah—she’d only ever serviced him—he nodded his approval. Vivian got on her knees in front of the man and took his large, stiff cock in her mouth.
She gave the man a world-class cocksucking—licking his balls, wetting them with her tongue, parting his ball sack, pushing the testicles apart, sucking each one in her mouth, dragging her tongue up his shaft, swirling it around his cockhead, warming and wetting it with her saliva.
Meanwhile, two other men called Valerie and Diane to suck their cocks. Before long, everyone was naked. The men were fucking the women in all kinds of positions. Diane guided one man’s cock inside of her while she gave head to another man. Vivian could only concentrate on one task: pleasing Elijah. She let other men fuck her just to please him, but if he wanted her, she would be all his, even if she had to share him. And she did—with both Diane and Valerie, who were bent over doggie-style. It was a full-on orgy. Anyone who wasn’t fucking someone was pleasuring themselves while watching the others grind and groan. Vivian was horny from edging herself to climax all day and as Elijah slammed his cock deep into her pussy, she was doing everything she could not to cum, as per Elijah’s instructions. She’d never orgasmed in front of a group before, which made the experience extra exciting.
Deep, throaty pornstar moans were poured from the mouths of all three women.
Before hitting the brink, Elijah pulled out of Vivian. He told her to lie down on the floor, face-up. Once she did so, he pushed two fingers inside her. Then three, then four. His long, thick fingers felt incredible inside of her. He stroked her G-spot while massaging her clit with his thumb. Vivian panted heavily, moaning. This time, her moans were so real, she didn’t even have to think about them. Having been so close to orgasm all day, Elijah’s four-finger fucking was divine. She ground against his hand, forcing his fingers deeper inside of her as she floated on a cloud of pleasure. She was enjoying it so much that she hadn’t noticed everyone had crowded around them to watch.
When Elijah stopped momentarily, Vivian’s head tilted up and her eyes caught those of her audience. “Don’t stop, baby!” she cried.
“Don’t worry, pet, I have a surprise,” said Elijah as he fetched something from behind the sofa—a baseball bat. He gave it a playful swing.
Vivian gasped. Does he really intend to shove that entire thing in me, she balked.
Elijah produced a squeeze-bottle of lubricant and drizzled it on Vivian’s pussy. He then rubbed the head of the baseball bat up and down the entrance to Vivian’s pussy before pushing it in as far as he could, which wasn’t very far at all.
Vivian screamed in agony and gushed with desire.
“Fuck yourself with this baseball bat,” he ordered. “Use it to make yourself cum for our entertainment.”
As if hypnotized, Vivian grabbed the baseball bat with both her hands. She lifted her knees and set her feet on the floor. Adjusting her hips, she took the bat deeper inside her.
Lost in the debauchery of the moment, she was only dimly aware of the men and women cheering her on. Determined to take as much as she could, Vivian ignored the pain and pulled the bat ever into her already-stretched hole. The pain began to subside as she fucked herself with it. Soon she found herself coasting on the edge of orgasm as she fucked herself with the baseball bat on Elijah’s living room floor for all his business partners and her friends to see.
A spurt of thick, hot liquid hit her forehead, another hit her breasts. Before a third man had the opportunity to ejaculate on her, she heard Elijah ordering her to cum.
Screaming with pleasure, she surrendered to a full-body orgasm while men came on her, shooting their loads on her body and face.
Elijah looked down at her with a satisfied smirk.
It was 4 AM by the time the party ended and everyone left. Elijah sat at his desk in his home office working on his computer. Vivian had just showered once again in the balcony bathroom and was about head out herself. On her way out, she popped her head into Elijah’s office to say bye.
He stood. “You did well today,” he said, reaching for his bag. He pulled out a bigger stack of cash than he’d ever given her. “Good girl.” He handed it to her.
Despite the condescending connotations, Vivian was thrilled by his approval. It was the first time he’d said such commending things to her. She beamed inside, feeling like she’d finally made him proud. Maybe, at last, he’d be ready to take her as his main girl. It’s time for me to make my move, she told herself, smiling.
A few hours later, Vivian returned to Elijah’s. It was the time Elijah usually left for work, so she knew he’d be awake. This time, she came armed with Fifi.
Elijah greeted them sweetly as he had the time before. “You know what, Fifi, I got some real ice cream after you made fun of me last time. Let me go get you some. Vivian, will you help me, please?”
Vivian followed him into the kitchen, leaving Fifi by the floor-to-ceiling windows to enjoy the panoramic city view.
“Why did you bring her here again?” Anger filled his face.
Vivian’s voice shook, “She has an ear infection and—”
“Your daughter is not my responsibility,” he cut her off.
“Don’t you like her?”
“This is the second time you’ve brought her here!” he raged, avoiding her question. “Do you think if you keep bringing her around my heart is going to melt and I’ll somehow invite you and your daughter to move in? That I’ll take care of all your needs? Is that what you see me as? A living, breathing trust fund?”
“I just—”
“You just what? You thought that because you’ve been a good little bitch for me I’ll suddenly want to play house with you? Just so that there’s no ambiguity, let me be absolutely clear: You will never be anything more to me than a cheap, disposable whore.”
Vivian flinched and pondered her next move. She came up with what she thought was a good response, “Don’t you ever want a family?”
“Do I look like I want a family? Do you think I have any room for a wife and kids in my life? And even if I did, do you think I’d want that kind of life with you of all people?”
“What’s wrong with me?”
“You’re a slut!” he shouted. “Just a few hours ago you were smiling, fucking yourself with a baseball bat whi
le a bunch of guys creamed on your face!”
“I thought that’s what you wanted me to do?”
“Get the fuck out of my house! Don’t ever show your face here again!”
Tears streamed down Vivian’s cheeks—real ones, this time. She turned away and went to find Fifi.
“What’s wrong, Mommy?”
“Nothing, Fifi,” Vivian lied, wiping her tears away.
Fifi didn’t notice Elijah watching them leave from the kitchen.
A few days later, a knock came at Vivian’s and Fifi’s hotel room.
Vivian had sprung for a five-star hotel for her and Fifi for the week. She could easily afford it with the money she’d made from Elijah. She knew she should have set it aside for her and Fifi to live on down the line since it wouldn’t last forever, but it was so much more tempting to indulge her broken heart now.
She swung open the door, sporting a plush bathrobe. The bellboy bowed slightly, passing her an envelope with his white-gloved hands. It was from Elijah.
Inside were the details of a trust fund with Fifi’s name on it. There was also a handwritten letter. Vivian opened and read it:
Vivian,
I know you’ll probably blow all the cash you earned over the past few months pretty quickly, so I’ve set up a trust fund in Fifi’s name. This is to cover her schooling, supplies, health, and nutritional needs until she finishes high school. Invoices need to be shown before money can be withdrawn and receipts must be sent to the bank upon payment or the account will be frozen. Make no mistake, this is for Fifi and Fifi only. It’s to keep her from ending up like you.
Best, Elijah.
Chapter 9
Little girl
Ten years later. Fifi is seventeen years old. Elijah is forty-five.
Fifi adjusted the ballerina’s delicate little arm. “Good form, Trina,” the seventeen-year-old complimented her young student, who looked back at her with a glowing smile. The class was already over, but Fifi was giving some special attention to one of her students who had fallen behind. She didn’t mind; she never wanted to leave the studio. Ballet had shaped her in so many ways, she wanted to give back what she’d gotten from the practice. Watching Trina lock her limbs into challenging postures and struggle to make them look easy, Fifi was reminded of herself at Trina’s age. Ballet had been her rock in a life that could have easily led her astray.
Once the money she’d made from Elijah had run out, Fifi’s mother had taken to full-on prostitution and developed a cocaine habit. She hadn’t gotten married; Vivian always claimed it was because monogamy wasn’t for her. Though that was a trendy thing to say, Fifi suspected the real reason was that no one wanted to marry her mom. Vivian was now thirty-six and layered with plastic throughout her body. That, on top of her questionable mental and financial state, made her rather ineligible for most of the guys she was interested in.
There were always strange men in the house, rarely ever the same ones twice, and they were often rude and sometimes violent. They made advances toward Fifi, trying to talk to her, touch her, get close to her, asking her creepy questions. One man was so aggressive Fifi had snapped and threatened to kill him if he didn’t leave her alone. Vivian had resented Fifi ever since. She was already jealous that Elijah had entrusted funds for her daughter and spiteful over how mean Elijah had been to her at the end. So, when she was drunk and high, which was often, Vivian was abusive to Fifi. She smacked her where the bruise was easy to hide. Fifi was always surprised her mom had the foresight for that.
She was lucky to have a trust fund that covered not just education but extracurricular activities as well, so when she’d turned twelve, Fifi discovered a private, live-in ballet school just outside of town; needing desperately to get out of her Mom’s house before something really bad happened, she’d signed up right away. The school’s schedule was intense: wake up at 5 AM, practice from 6 AM – 8 AM, school from 8 AM – 3 PM, then cross training 4 PM – 6 PM, and more practice 7 PM – 9 PM. There was no homework so students could focus on ballet. The academy was full of young prodigies. Fifi had discovered her natural talent for dance during a free class at her school the year before. She was told that her raw talent had helped her admission, as the school didn’t usually take anyone without experience. That, and the fact that they’d had record-low enrollment levels that year.
She’d been the only student there from the rough side of town, and her peers figured that out pretty quickly. It hadn’t taken long for someone to find out what her mom did for a living, the rumors soon followed. Fifi had heard just about every rumor about herself: That she’d grown up in a whore house, her dad was in prison for murder, that Fifi and her mom were a mother-daughter drug dealing duo. One guy even said his brother was in college and claimed that he and a bunch of college dudes gangbanged Fifi’s mother. Kids loved to gossip, and Fifi was used to being the source of their amusement. Such hurtful comments didn’t affect Fifi anymore. She’d crafted her own world, reading philosophy, listening to classical music, ballet dancing, and her fantasies.
Fifi desperately wanted a better life for her mom, despite her failings as a parent. That’s why Fifi taught ballet, to send her mom money. It would mean fewer men her mom would have to sleep with that month, and to Fifi, that made it completely worth her efforts.
Ballet had been Fifi’s replacement mother. It had taught her the values and essential life skills Vivian had been unable, or unwilling, to teach her. It had given her purpose where Vivian had told her she was useless. It had given her grace and beauty where Vivian had told her she was ugly. It had given her strength where Vivian had done everything she could to keep the girl weak.
As Trina twirled and hopped across the hardwood dancefloor, Fifi remembered how nervous she’d been during her first week at the school. Everyone had seemed to know one another and it had looked to Fifi that everyone’s technique had been perfect except her own. But she had stuck with it, given it her all. When the other students left after class was over, Fifi would always be on the barre, squeezing in as much practice time as she possibly could before the teacher had to chuck her out.
Fifi looked at her reflection in the floor-to-ceiling mirror. Her slim, flat middle was adorned in a black leotard; gray tights spanned her strong, slender legs; her hair was pulled back into a tight bun atop the crown of her head, showing more of her fresh, glowing skin. She was every bit the image of a ballet dancer.
The sun was just about to drop below the city skyline, its final rays of the day streamed through the windows, reflecting in the mirrors that hung on every wall, practically blinding Fifi, who raised her hand to shield her eyes. On the seventh floor of the eight-story studio building, they were treated to beautiful sunsets over the big expanse of green space below, where the students often went for their evening runs during cross-training. The speakers sang Tchaikovsky’s Dance of the Sugar Plum Fairy, one of Fifi’s childhood favorites. She loved the laid-back, cheerful feel of the neighborhood, which was relatively upscale compared to where she’d grown up.
“Point those toes, Trina. There you go. Arms straight. Chin up. Good.” No matter what was happening in Fifi’s life, she always had a smile on when she was in the studio—ballet made her soul sing.
Trina stopped, breathing heavily. “I did it, Ms. Sophie!”
Fifi clapped her hands. “You did, Trina! Amazing work. Now, you get those shoes off and soak your feet tonight in an ice bath, okay? They deserve it.”
“Okay, Ms. Sophie! Thank you for the extra time.”
“My pleasure, sweetie.”
The students adored Fifi, partly because of her gentle demeanor and partly because of her love for and dedication to ballet, which resonated in every moment of her presence in the studio.
Near the studio door were mothers and one father chatting amongst themselves and keeping a close eye on their children. Fifi noticed the father shooting her occasional glances. She caught his eye and gave him a smile. She had a soft spot for daddies. Fifi loved the
energy good daddies projected, and she could tell a good daddy instantly. It wasn’t necessarily the way he talked to or about his kid, it was his whole presence: strength combined with gentleness, a willingness to let down their guard in front of their kids and be a bit silly, an exuberance for rough and tumble play that mothers often shied away from. Most of all, good daddies seemed to give off a feeling of safety, an assurance that with him around, everything would always be okay. Fifi often found herself gravitating toward daddies she met at garden parties or of the children she babysat. In this case, the daddy of the ballet student she was teaching.
Fifi shut off the air conditioner, switched off the lights, and closed the blinds. She walked outside to her bicycle to ride back to her dorm. It was halfway between the ballet studio and her mom’s house on the rough side of town. It wasn’t that her mother couldn’t afford to live in a better place—Lord knows she’d made good money from her “freelance entertainment business” as Vivian liked to call it—she chose to spend her money on boobs, bags, and botox. And coke. Because of her mom’s reckless spending, Fifi didn’t send her money directly. Instead, she would order healthy groceries to be delivered to her mom’s house, paid her car payments when they fell behind, and picked up any other slack. Fifi was more of an adult than Vivian already and she wasn’t yet eighteen.
When Fifi reached her bicycle, it started raining. A car pulled to the curbside by the bike rack. It was the dad from her class, his daughter Trina sat in the back.
“Hey, can we offer you a ride? I’ll drop you at home if you like,” Trina’s dad said through the open passenger window.
“Oh, thank you so much, but I’ve got my bike,” Fifi responded.
“We can take that front wheel off and pop ‘er in the trunk if you like? I got some tools in the back.”
Sophie Corrupted Page 6