ABBARATH (2 page)

“I don’t have anything to wear.”

More tears squeeze out of my eyes. I’m behaving like a hyper-expressive mental patient, I know, but I’m in such a shambles right now that I don’t care.

For answer, he lifts my chin. His grin turns into something else – the knowing smile of a dominant.

“You’ll look beautiful in anything, Gina. And my father, after all . . . is
family
.”

His emphasis on the word does not go unrecognized.

My mouth goes dry.

“You wish me to – ”

“I’ve brought you something to wear.” He gestures to the paper bag. “Go on. Try it.”

*

I walk nervously into the study, accompanied by Max and his twin brothers. It is a large chamber whose walls are lined with shelves of books, files and curios found only in rich people’s studies.

Artifacts from all over the world – Mayan jars, Chinese snuff bottles, Masai shields – decorate it. These are in turn interspersed with oil paintings.

I almost gasp at the paintings. I recognize the artistic imprint of a Monet, a Caravaggio. The paintings in this room must be worth a fortune.

Laughter issues from behind the large mahogany desk. Alice is sitting upon the lap of a man who resembles Max.

She scowls as soon as she sees me.

But what a man her father is!

He is blond and broad-shouldered from what I can see of him above the desk. His eyes are a piercing blue, and he doesn’t look a day above forty. He resembles a movie star – a leading man who is used to sucking up all the energy in a room. His charisma radiates across to me, and in a room full of gorgeous, studly young men – all replicas in one way or another of him – my gaze is riveted to his face.

He’s wickedly and powerfully handsome.

Alice glares at me while her father favors me with a bemused look.

I’m wearing what Max instructed me to. It’s a flower girl’s dress in lilac tulle, with a skirt full of flounces. A pretty black sash cinches the waist, and it’s decorated by a huge black silk flower. The dress is made to fit me, of course, but the sash is very high at my waist, just below my breasts. I’m not wearing a bra, and so my nipples strain at the thin material.

“He likes little girl party dresses,” Max tells me.

So this is where Max gets his little girl fetish from.

“And does he like little girls?” I ask, my skin paling at the thought.

“Only when they are grown up and dressed like you.”

The philanthropist who likes little grown-up girls now smiles at me

“What’s she doing here?” Alice demands. “This is a private family room.”

Her father says, “Come now, sweetheart. Max tells me Gina is practically family by now. Isn’t that right, Max?”

He has a deep voice. One that would not be out of place in an opera.

“Certainly.” There’s a stiff formality to Max’s tone when he addresses his father. He puts his hand behind my back to shepherd me to the desk. “Dad, this is Gina Wesley. Gina, this is my father, Russell Devlin.”

A frisson of nervousness passes through me. I can hardly walk, especially when Alice is glaring at me out of hateful eyes. My hair is done up in two ponytails, both sprouting from the sides of my head.

My feet are shod in black Mary Jane shoes and my white beribboned stockings are up to my knees.

I believe I might have worn an outfit like this when I was eight.

In church.

When I was a better person.

“You’re very, very pretty, Gina,” Russell observes as I approach.

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 offer 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.

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.