Lost & Bound (5 page)

Leila

I feel like I’ve done this a million times.
Getting ready for one of his parties is nothing new to me, but tonight it
feels…different.

Callum will be here and that excites me. I
know I shouldn’t feel this way, but I do. I can’t wait to see him again, even
if he will have to see me like this.

I look down at what I’m wearing. The outfit
Osborne picked especially for this evening.

“Here is your outfit for tonight.” He placed
it on the bed. “It’s new and cost me a pretty penny, but I think you will look
fabulous in it.”

I eyed the outfit and fought back the
impulse to scoff. It looked ridiculous.

“You will curl your hair,” he instructed.

“Yes.”

“And you will wear pink lipstick, not red.”

I nodded my head.

“What do you say, Emmy?”

That’s not my name.

“Emmy?”

“Yes.”

“Good girl.” He ran his thumb along the bow
of my lip causing my whole body to shudder.

“You can come upstairs at eight.” He
gestured toward the clock. “Oito. No sooner,” he warned.

I steered my eyes to the floor.

“What do you say, Emmy?”

“Eight,” I repeated.

And then he was gone.

That was three hours ago and I’ve spent the
majority of that time getting ready. I’m just going through the motions really.

I bronze my cheeks, accentuating my
cheekbones and then I apply bronzer to my chest and cleavage. As I look in the
mirror, I coat my lips with pink gloss.
Pink not red,
I hear in my head.
Yes, master.

I know it needs to be perfect. My hair, my makeup,
my outfit, they all need to look flawless otherwise I will face the
consequences later.

The night of my first party I had been
defiant in getting dressed. He forced me into my skintight leather outfit and
applied my makeup himself. He didn’t do too badly at it either, but he had been
so angry with me. Once he deemed me ready for the party he bent me over his
knee and hit me with the palm of his hand
over and over again
as if I were a rampant child.

When I thought my ass could take it no
more, my cheeks numb and stinging, he forced himself inside of me, ramming into
me again and again until I was bleeding. He fucked me to show me that he owned
me, but part of me thinks he liked it when I disobeyed him. He loved nothing
more than being able to punish me.

Tears prick my eyes as I think of that
night.

Ever since, I’ve been compliant in getting
ready for his parties and tonight
is
no exception.

Tonight’s outfit—the one he bought
especially for the occasion—is a white
halter top
that is two sizes too small. As I glance in the mirror I notice my breasts are
spilling out of the sides. It came with a matching white thong that thankfully
covers my sex, but bares my full ass. White, thigh high fishnet stockings
complete the tasteless look.

He handpicks every outfit himself and he
has very particular tastes. As time goes by, each outfit consists of less
material and shows more skin than the last. For someone who insists he’s high
class, his taste really is questionable.

I look at the bedside clock. 7:58 p.m. Two
minutes. Two more minutes until I enter the room and their expectant faces look
me up and down. Some of them get stiff just from the sight of me.

I usually dread it. My entrance followed by
the groans of delight they don’t even attempt to suppress. But tonight I can’t
wait for it to be eight o’clock. I can’t wait to see Callum.

One more spritz of perfume and I make my
way upstairs. I stop on the other side of the frosted glass doors, peeking at
the room full of men. There are many in attendance tonight, at least fifteen,
which is more than usual. They all stand around in their lavish suits,
muttering to one another while they sip their expensive liquor. I can smell the
stench of whiskey from here—the scent a reminder of where I am.

I push through the door and watch their
faces look at me eagerly. Their eyes drink me in and I struggle to keep my face
stoic and void of any emotion. I walk to the long white chaise in the middle of
the room and cast my eyes to the floor. This is the starting point and I am to
wait here for instructions.

I subtly survey the room out the corner of
my eye and that’s when I see him.

Callum
, I
say his name to myself. I fight back the urge to smile as my eyes give him the
once over. He’s not dressed like the other men. He’s wearing faded blue jeans
with a plain black shirt, the top few buttons are loose, revealing just enough
skin to make me want to see more.

His hair looks wet, as if he just got out
of the shower and it’s messily spiked on top of his head. He’s drinking
something, whiskey perhaps, while talking to an older man. I recognize the man,
he’s been to several parties, but he’s never touched me, unlike numerous other
men in the room.

After a few moments, Callum’s eyes scan the
room, stopping and doing a double take on me. I can’t read the expression on
his face. He takes a mouthful of his drink, while keeping his eyes fixed on me.
He doesn’t smile, he doesn’t even smirk,
he
just
watches me with his unwavering gaze. It almost sends a chill down my spine, the
way his dark, hooded stare pins me in place.

I see movement from the other side of the
room. Osborne approaches me. I keep my eyes focused on the floor, hoping the
ground will swallow me up and make me invisible. He does a half circle around
me, accessing my appearance, making sure I’ve obeyed his rules.

He lets out a low whistle and then leans in
close to my ear, the stench of whiskey practically leaking from his pores.
“Beautiful, Emmy,” he purrs, his warm breath hitting my neck.

I don’t respond. I don’t make eye contact.
I just stand straight with my gaze fixed downward.

He runs his finger along my stomach, toying
with the band of my flimsy thong.

“I love this on you,” he says quietly.
“Wear it on Monday, won’t you?”

I’m already dreading Monday night.

“What do you say, Emmy?”

“Yes,” my voice squeaks out of me. I sound
pathetic.

“Good girl.”

He pats my ass gently before walking away.
I let out a quiet exhale. I’m glad to see the back of him.

I look to Callum. He hasn’t taken his eyes
off of me. His lips are turned down at the sides and his shoulders are tense. I
can’t tell what he’s thinking, but it’s such a relief to know that he’s here.
For the first time in a long while, I don’t feel so alone.

The new girl walks to my side. It looks as
though I won’t be the only entertainment tonight. The new girl has only been to
three of these parties. She’s from somewhere in Europe and knows little English,
although she probably thinks the same of me.

Her brown hair is worn straight and frames
her face perfectly. Her skin is much paler than mine, and while wearing her
platform heels, she towers over me.

I feel for her. I’m practically a
professional at this by now. I’ve been to more parties than I care to admit and
while it doesn’t get any easier, I know what to expect and what strength I need
to get through this.

The Russian is here too, the one they call
“pussy”
. I spot her standing next to her
owner, her eyes cast to the floor.

She’s tall, skinny and blonde. Her hair is
worn short and she reminds me of a model plucked from the pages of a fashion
magazine. She is the total opposite of me.

Pussy has been around for a little over a
year and she is familiar with my body as I am hers. She’s done things to me.
She has touched me in ways a man never has.

I had never been with a girl until I came
to this house. And if I’m being honest, it does nothing for me. I like men.
Strong men
who know how to treat a woman. Sadly, I haven’t
come across a man like that in a very long time.

Pussy glides over and stands at my side. I
smell her familiar scent followed by her usual greeting.

“Olá,” she whispers.

I respond the same way I always do. “Olá.”

And that is as far as our conversation
goes—as far as it’s allowed to go.

I chance a peek at Callum. He’s standing
with the same man, drinking the same drink, while staring at me with the same
powerful look.

For the first time, I feel nervous under
his intense gaze. A shiver runs down my spine as I realize whatever happens
next is completely out of my control. Only one thing is certain, Callum is
about to witness it all.

Callum

Nothing could have prepared me for this, to
see her in this way.

Just when I thought she wasn’t coming, she
enters the room, her body on full display in a white outfit that exposes the
bulge of her breasts and her bare ass. She looks humiliated as she walks the
few short steps and takes her place in front of a white chaise sofa.

I notice the room falls silent and every
single man focuses on Leila. I watch their faces change as they openly ogle
her, looking her up and down as if it’s their right to do so. My fist clenches
at my side as I watch the men drink her in, not even attempting to hide their
perverted tendencies from their faces, or their dicks. Leila’s dignity is being
stripped away, piece by piece, and I’m powerless to stop it.

I watch with interest as my father
approaches her, giving her a once over with his eyes before slapping her on the
ass. My teeth clench instinctively. It’s the only way to stop the obscenities from
spilling from my mouth.

He smiles as he walks in my direction.
“Sexy, huh?” He nudges me with his elbow like we’re two
freshman
checking out some teenage girls.

I nod my head and steer my eyes back to
Leila. Two girls now stand on either side of her.

A tall, skinny brunette who has the
physique of a fashion model, all skin and bones. She’s not nearly as beautiful
as Leila. A tall blonde with short hair completes the line up. She’s wearing a
ridiculous black number with a spiked collar around her neck. I see her mutter
something to Leila and Leila responds curtly, but that’s as far as their
interaction
goes.

As the lights of the room dim there is a
lull in the chatter. Soft jazz music plays in the background as the attention
turns to the three girls.

I cough and notice all three girls look in
my direction. They quickly avert their gaze back at the floor as if they’re
scared of making eye contact.

“I’m afraid your son is quite a hit with
the whores, Bill,” one of the men announces.

It takes me a moment to realize he’s
referring to me. I raise my eyebrows in question.

“The girls.” He gestures toward the three
women he’d just referred to as whores. “You seem to have caught their
interest.”

“I hadn’t noticed,” I croak. My mouth is
dry. Why is my mouth so dry? I down the rest of my drink in one long gulp.

I’m hardly an Adonis, but compared with the
other middle-aged dinosaurs in the room I’m probably a welcome change. I guess
the girls are happy to see someone who is closer to their age and not almost a
fossil in the ground.

“You should take a closer look at my girl,”
a fat man says as he comes to join our group.

“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.