Stuck On My Stepbrother (13 page)

But reading the email had made me get kinda horny again. This was becoming all too common for me now. Grinding my ass into my desk chair, thinking dirty thoughts about my stepbrother.

My mind raced through the possibilities.

Could I actually go through with this? What if I hated it? What if Adam tried to kill me?

And this Saturday, too. I was meant to be picking chard with Patrick.

Oh shit. Who was it going to be? Patrick? Or my stepbrother?

‘How does that feel? Tell me if anything feels painful, or if you want me to stop.’

I let out a long, delirious groan. ‘It feels perfect. Don’t stop.’

Don’t ask me why I did it, but I bailed on Patrick. I asked him if we could postpone it, maybe meet up on Sunday instead, but Patrick said he had ‘a family thing’ on Sunday. Which was a bit confusing considering all his family are in Ireland. I had no idea where things stood between me and Patrick any more.

And I really didn’t know if I was doing the right thing being here today, either. But against all my good conscience’s better judgment, I’d ended up at the spa.

Good conscience:
This will all end in tears.

Bad conscience:
I’ve never been truly daring my whole life. This is my moment.

Good conscience:
He will either murder you or rape you. One or the other.

Bad conscience:
He’s polite, he’s been open with me, he’s unbelievably sexy…

So, once again, the bad conscience won out. Perhaps I’d never learn. I guess whether or not you’re truly aware of it, you do pick your own destiny.

‘I’ve warmed up your muscles nicely. I’m going to get the scented oils now, Miss Smith, and give you a deep tissue massage.’

I kept my eyes closed as I heard the masseuse, Jessica, tiptoe away for a moment. Then I heard her soft-footed return, and the sound of oil being rubbed between her palms. I let the sounds and sensations wash over me. I hadn’t felt this relaxed in months. No, scratch that – years. I hadn’t felt this relaxed since before starting my Degree.
 

I felt Jessica’s hands on my shoulder blades, warm and slick, and I melted into the bed as she began touching me again. Soon I smelt the exotic scent of the oil she’d chosen for me: a dusty, citrusy, peppery, deep, almost smoky, aroma. It was a heady mix. I felt almost intoxicated. I opened my eyes but the effort was too great, and, heavily, they fell shut again.

‘Mr. Cooper chose this scent especially for you,’ Jessica said quietly as she rubbed the oil into my skin. ‘Frankinscence, sandalwood and ylang-ylang. You’re a very lucky lady. A man thinks a lot of you to pick a mixture like that.’

Her knuckles pressed down my spine, straightening my out, and her hands swept across the muscles in my back, loosening me up with every movement. I let the smells and the slick sounds of oil wash over me, lulling me to a point of relaxation that it was so deep it was almost sleep…

*

‘Miss Smith?’ Jessica asked, her hands on my shoulders. ‘It’s time for you to wake up now. You don’t want to be late!’

I was lying on my back now, naked from the waist up, and covered in oils. Even my breasts were slick and shiny with oil. Had Jessica massaged my breasts while I was asleep? I felt kind of excited at the thought.

Jessica handed me a glass of water, looking down shyly at my body as she gave it to me. ‘You’re very beautiful, Miss Smith,’ she said, blushing.

I looked down at my breasts, which had quickly grown an entire cup size since I’d started eating more, and they were the fullest they’d ever been. Luckily the extra weight didn’t drag them down; they were still just as perky as ever. With the oil all over them, and the nipples erect in the cold, they did look pretty good. Maybe I wasn’t so bad after all. I didn’t look like a woman from a magazine, but who wanted that? Adam didn’t seem to want it. Right now, he seemed to want
me
.

I drank the water, which was subtly flavoured with lemon, and then Jessica left the room while I dressed. I couldn’t believe the three hours were up already. I’d had a swim, a sauna and a jacuzzi, followed by a seaweed body wrap, and a massage. I could have stayed here for days, or weeks. I felt like I was walking on air. Everyone had referred to me as Miss Smith throughout the day, telling me that Adam had ordered me this or that treatment, handing me strawberries, making me feel like a princess. The only thing I’d found disappointing is that, while the other guests were all drinking as much free champagne as they liked, I was told that: ‘Mr. Cooper has forbidden you to drink. I’m sorry.’

Still, I’d probably had more than enough to drink lately, and I was having too much fun as it was. That said, a drink might have helped steady my nerves…

I pulled on my black skirt and a plain white t-shirt. It was a risky move, but my breasts were so oily that I didn’t feel like putting my bra back on, so I put it in my handbag. I knew that even though my nipples were pale, they’d still be visible beneath the t-shirt. Given that they were so oily, the t-shirt might even grow see-through. But I felt so relaxed that somehow, it didn’t bother me.
 

I headed into the spa’s reception, sitting on a comfortable chair, breathing deeply, and lazily watching the other guests as I waited for my cab to show up. Most of the guests were wandering around in soft, white towelling robes. Even without their clothes on, I felt like there was something about the people here that made them look rich. They looked like they used good face creams, wore expensive-looking gems on their fingers and ears, had the confident appearance of someone who’d managed to get what they wanted out of life.

I noticed an old man in a robe, sitting in a chair opposite me, staring at my white t-shirt. I looked down. Oh god. It was as I’d suspected. The t-shirt material had become see-through. I didn’t have a sweater with me, either. I crossed my arms, but that had the unfortunate effect of pushing my breasts together, creating an enticing cleavage. The man opposite me licked his lips and then made to stand up. I hoped he was wearing underpants under his robe. I didn’t want to see any nasty surprises.

‘Miss Smith.’ A man in a chauffeur’s uniform appeared at the door. ‘The car is ready for you.’

I stood up and thanked the women at reception, and then followed the chauffeur outside. I couldn’t believe what was waiting for me there. A long, white stretch limousine! I’d been expecting a cab - not this!

The chauffeur opened the door for me, and, in shock, I got inside. I couldn’t believe how big it was in here. The interior was so clean it smelt new. There was a bucket of ice on a low table in front of me, and a bottle of fizzy water inside it. Not as exciting as champagne, but hey, I’d had all this other five-star treatment all day, so who was I to complain?

I cracked open the water and sat back while the chauffeur drove me towards my secret destination.

I wondered where he’d be taking me. A manor house? A castle? A palace?

I wondered, as well, whether I should put my bra back on. The chauffeur was wearing sunglasses. I wasn’t sure whether he’d be able to see me if he looked into his rear view mirror. My guess was that he would.

Before I’d made a decision about what to do, I heard my cell beep inside my bag. I pulled it out and checked the screen.

Rose. Scene begins when you arrive. Lasts 3 hours. Remember safeword if you need it. Hope you had a good day.

I put my phone back in my handbag, and sat back in my seat, getting that nervous churning in my stomach all over again.

After a stomach-churning, twenty minute ride, the limo swung a right off the Thruway, and then pulled into a large expanse of concrete that looked very much like an industrial estate. In fact, it
was
an industrial estate. The huge parking lot and overbearing warehouses gave it away. The chauffeur, a quiet man, in his forties, I guess, turned his head slightly as he slowed down the vehicle, and began parking up. ‘Well, Miss Smith, this is it.’

I looked out of the window. No. Surely not. This couldn’t be it. I thought I was meeting Adam at a fancy hotel. I’d been dreaming of the Crosby Street Hotel, the Four Seasons, or maybe, given Adam’s proclivities, the Mandarin Oriental. But not some seedy industrial park upstate.

I didn’t want to leave the shiny, expensive interior of the limo. It felt so out of place here, in this dump. What was going on? Was Adam going to murder me here after all? Was the chauffeur in on it too?

‘He owns that warehouse,’ the driver said to me. ‘The one over there.’ He pointed to a large, blue, unremarkable-looking building nearby. ‘Said he wants to show you something.’ He laughed, as if reading my mind. ‘Don’t worry, he’s not going to kill you in there.’

Just then, I saw the door of the blue warehouse swing open, and I saw Adam standing there. He lifted a palm in greeting, but there was no smile on his face.

‘Go on then, Miss,’ said the driver. ‘I’ll be waiting here for you. Got three hours to
kill
, apparently. Hope you like whatever he has to show you in there.’ From the jovial but polite way the driver was talking, it was clear he had no idea what Adam had planned.
 

I got out of the car, steeling myself for what was about to come, and I walked towards the door.

Adam didn’t step forwards, and he still didn’t smile. He was dressed in a black t-shirt and loose black pants. It struck me that I’d never seen him out of a suit. He looked good. Even more muscular. And, in those loose black pants, he looked like a martial arts expert or something. Very rugged.

I gave him a nervous wave as I approached, and, for some reason, a nervous giggle, but he didn’t respond. His face remained deadly serious.

‘I wasn’t expecting this,’ I babbled nervously. ‘A warehouse. What are we doing here?’

Adam stood in the doorway, blocking my entrance. ‘Take off your shoes,’ he commanded.

I noticed that his shoes were bare.
 

I bent down in front of him and unfastened my kitten heels, then stood on the concrete outside in bare feet, shivering. I wished I had worn a bra under my t-shirt. I looked down and confirmed my worst suspicions: my nipples were like bullets. Adam wasn’t looking at my nipples, though. He was staring at my feet.

‘You’ll need to wash those,’ he said, walking inside, leaving me to grab the door after him, and follow me in.

‘Thank you so much for the spa treatment,’ I said (you know what I’m like, with my nervous chatter) as we walked down a plain, white corridor, my bare feet freezing on the cold, hard floor, shoes grasped tightly in my hand.

He led me into a small, basic-looking kitchen. There was a sink, a stove, and a table. No chairs.

‘Wash your feet,’ Adam said to me. ‘They’re filthy. I sent you to the spa to get clean. Look at you now.’

‘I, I–‘ I wanted to tell him that they were perfectly clean before I had to take them off in the parking lot, but I could no longer find my tongue. Adam looked so harsh, so annoyed, so mean, that I didn’t want to upset him further.

‘On the floor,’ he said, pointing.
 

I looked up at him, at his glaring sincerity, and then sat down on the floor. He went to the sink, wet a sponge, and then threw it down beside me with a wet thud. Some of the water splattered onto my skirt.
 

‘Wipe,’ he said, and I took the sponge, and began to wipe my feet. ‘Your legs are dirty now too,’ he said. ‘Wipe your legs.’

I put out my legs in front of me, and rubbed my shins with the sponge, which had now grown dirty from the floor too.

I looked up at Adam when I felt I was finished, and caught him staring intently at my legs. ‘You haven’t finished,’ he said. ‘Wash them all the way up.’

I felt like I was smearing dirty dishwater all over myself. The water was tepid and dripping onto the floor and forming brownish pools of water. Still, I did as Adam said, desperate not to disappoint him this early on in our meeting. I lifted my skirt and ran the wet sponge over my thighs.

‘The insides of your thighs too,’ Adam said, sensing I was going to leave them out.

I opened my legs a little, not even needing to look up to know that he was staring intently at the space between my thighs. Then, shivering, I ran the wet sponge all the way up to my panties, feeling the water dripping onto the fresh white cotton, making them see-through at the crotch.

‘That’s enough,’ said Adam softly, taking the sponge off me, then carefully washing his hands with soap and water. I stayed shivering on the cold floor until he told me to get up, and then I followed him down another corridor.

I was worried, having washed my feet, that they’d get dirty again, and that would displease Adam, but the floor in here was immaculate. It had been painted white, same as the ceiling and walls. I was sure I could smell fresh paint.
 

Eventually, he took a doorway to the right, and led me into the huge, open space of the warehouse. In here, just as in the corridor, everything was white. There was no furniture anywhere to see, just plain white floor, white columns, every few metres apart, a high, white ceiling and white walls.
 

Adam led me over to one of the white columns, and pushed me up against it. The warmth and closeness of his body surprised me. I dropped my shoes and the clatter as they hit the floor echoed around the space. His torso pushed against mine. Without my bra on, my breasts felt bare against him. He was so tall that his abdominal muscles pressed against my nipples. I wondered if he could feel how hard they were beneath my t-shirt.

He bent down, pushing my back hard into the pillar behind me, and whispered into my ear: ‘I didn’t ask you to come dressed like a little whore.’

I was so embarrassed that I almost yelped. What had I been thinking? A white t-shirt and no bra? In front of my stepbrother?
And
his chauffeur?

Adam took hold of my forearms, and held them tight at my sides, while he stepped backwards and looked at my breasts. He tutted. ‘
I’ll
tell you when I want you to dress like a whore,’ he said. ‘I’m the one in charge.’