Authors: Nina Lane
A moan escaped her parted lips as Preston began rubbing the sensitive bud of her sex, his fingers splaying over it to pull up the protective hood. And then pleasure crashed over Lydia’s body, her hips pumping involuntarily as she rode out her rapture in front of them all.
Kruin released her ankles, letting her thighs fall limply to the sides as shame crept in to overpower her pleasure.
“We will excuse your wantonness this time,” Preston said. “In fact, for now, you may take your physical pleasure. However, be aware, Lydia, that you will soon not be allowed to experience an orgasm without our permission. Not in front of us, and certainly not alone. And lest you think otherwise, you should know that any self-gratification will be exceedingly obvious to us all. Is that quite clear?”
Lydia nodded, unable to look at any of them.
Her shorn vulva glistened with oil, and Gabriel brought a mirror to her so she could view Preston’s handiwork for herself. The sight of her bare triangle caused her to burn with mortification, for now she was utterly revealed, her modest concealment scraped away to expose every aspect of her secret charms.
When had that taken place?
Lydia thought now as she sat in the afternoon warmth of the garden. Yesterday or the day before?
She tried to calculate how long it might be before another shearing was in order, since Kruin had informed her in his emotionless manner that she would be kept bare for the duration of her stay here.
Which, as Lydia well knew, was indefinite. As she had never before had to endure a shaven vulva, she had no conception of how long it might take before the hairs began to grow back.
She let out her breath in a long sigh. However long it took, she had no doubt that one of the three men would appear to whisk away the offending stubble as soon as it was discovered.
In truth, Lydia was currently rather enjoying her bare state, as the gentle breezes were causing the most delicious sensations to play along her sex, cooling the humid warmth that gathered there as a result of the Louisiana heat.
Her comfort level had increased significantly when Preston informed her that she was to wear no underclothes. The loose, cotton dresses Gabriel furnished for her proved to be quite luxurious. Air drifted underneath the hem constantly, and her unfettered breasts swayed with every movement, giving her a feeling of unconstrained freedom previously foreign to her senses.
Recognizing Gabriel’s voice, she stood and walked toward the house. He was waiting for her on the veranda, clad in a pair of dark trousers and an open-necked, navy shirt that made his green eyes seem almost crystalline.
“You can walk around the grounds, you know,” he said.
Lydia nodded, for they both knew there was no escape. She almost smiled. How could there even be an escape for something into which she had willingly entered?
No one, not even Preston, had forbidden her from leaving the confines of the house or the plantation grounds. And yet she was still utterly trapped, her criminal activities having led her to this place that reeked of depraved sexuality.
She glanced at Gabriel, the aesthetic side of herself appreciating the sharp, handsome planes of his face, the dark arch of his eyebrows over his emerald eyes, the masculine sensuality of his mouth. She wanted to ask him how he had become involved with Preston, how he had arrived at
La Nouvelle Vie,
but she was wary of attempting to delve too deeply.
“What does it mean?” Lydia murmured.
La Nouvelle Vie
“A new life.”
He looked at her then, his eyes touched with a hint of softness. “Remember, Lydia, that’s what you have here now. And take your inspiration from your new surroundings.” He waved a hand at the grounds. “The ivy and the oak trees. Remember you must strive to be like both.”
Before Lydia had a chance to question his enigmatic statement, Gabriel stepped aside to let her precede him into the house. Although he had told Lydia that she was to obey any order he chose to present, he appeared unable to rid himself of certain vestiges of chivalry.
Lydia’s bare feet padded on the hardwood floor as she entered the solarium, where all the breakfasts and lunches were served. Plants filled the glass annex, giving it the aura of a lush jungle.
Preston and Kruin were already sitting at the solarium’s glass table, which was filled with assorted dishes prepared by an elderly woman who appeared three times a day in the kitchens. Lydia did not know the woman’s name, nor even what she looked like, as she arranged the table and disappeared back into the kitchens before anyone had arrived to eat.
Like a spirit in a haunted castle, Lydia thought, as she settled in a seat next to Gabriel and reached for the crystal glass of lemonade that had been placed at her setting. She wondered if the cook knew what went on here, or if she simply didn’t care.
Whatever the situation, the woman prepared perfectly delightful meals, with today’s lunch consisting of cold, roasted pheasant; wild rice dotted with crunchy, little pinenuts; avocado salad; soft, fresh rolls that burst with steam when one split them open; and individual cups of meringue custard dusted with a sprinkling of nutmeg.
Preston ate heartily, his dark eyes dancing with amusement and anticipation as his gaze kept straying to Lydia. He rambled on about several newspaper articles he had read that morning, making a point to mention the police’s continuing search for, as they put it, “the fugitive embezzler.”
Lydia paled, her fingers clutching at the cloth napkin in her lap. “What else did they say?”
Preston smiled, his tongue flicking out to capture a grain of rice that clung to his lower lip. Lydia found the gesture somehow obscene, and she turned her attention to her food, which no longer appeared appetizing.
“Merely that they’re searching for you, Lydia, darling.”
“They won’t find me.” As much as she had come to dislike Preston, she silently willed him to confirm her statement.
Preston laughed. “Oh, sweetheart, don’t worry. Of course they won’t. Not here.”
Lydia’s gaze met Kruin’s from across the table. He ate with the precision of a musical conductor, with no wasted energy and every movement edged with purpose. He returned her look steadily and then, to her great relief, shook his head in an almost imperceptible movement.
For Lydia, it was enough. She returned to her lunch with renewed enthusiasm.
Nothing would happen, nothing could happen. All she had to do was live here with them and concede to their desires.
No matter how base those desires were.
A little shudder rippled through her body.
Gabriel glanced at her. “Are you cold?” he asked politely.
Lydia shook her head. She dipped her spoon into the creamy, golden custard, the flavor of which melted as lightly as sunshine on her tongue. Before she could take a second bite, Preston pushed his chair back and stood, dropping his napkin to the table.
“Now!” he proclaimed with authority. “Let us go into the drawing room for some entertainment.” He flashed another smile at Lydia. “Lydia, darling, won’t you accompany us?”
Lydia stared at him, wondering if he was giving her a choice. Before she could respond, Gabriel and Kruin were also standing, their gazes fixed on her. Apprehension seized her, her legs trembling as she stood and turned toward the drawing room.
Ah, how he had wanted her like this. How he loved to see her buttermilk cheeks burn with humiliation. Preston Severine knew that his imagination could conjure up only a fraction of the scenarios he would enact with Lydia. She presented an infinite array of possibilities, many of which had flared through his brain as a teenager.
They were the same age, had grown up together in the heart of New Orleans with its sagging, bright buildings and wrought-iron fences. Lydia had come from a wealthy, ancestral family with a huge home in the French Quarter, while Preston lived with his mother in a one-room apartment infested with winged cockroaches. Lydia’s father, determined that his daughter would not be coddled, insisted that she attend public school along with the majority of other children.
And so Lydia and Preston had attended the same schools, explored the swamps together, played ball in the street, until Lydia had eased into womanhood. Then she had begun to shed the remnants of her childhood, painting her features with cosmetics and flirting with older boys.
When Preston sought her romantic attention, she had laughed and called him a child. He was too young, she said. She needed someone older, more experienced, a man, not a boy. He still smarted from those remarks.
Slowly his obsession with her had grown. He watched her walking down the street, her budding breasts pressing against her shirt, her hips beginning to round out the fabric of her skirt. Her hair flowed like a waterfall, and her lips seemed more succulent with each passing day.
Preston began wondering about the changes of her body, the hair growing under her arms and between her legs, the size of her burgeoning nipples. As his own body matured, as he woke each morning with a stiff penis, Preston’s curiosity about Lydia grew even more explicit.
Thoughts of Lydia naked, aglow with perspiration, riding his youthful erection with heaving fervor…how such thoughts had overpowered his days and nights! How many times he had rubbed his penis mercilessly, imagining thrusting it into Lydia’s glistening pussy, her eyes half-lidded with lust, her mouth open and red. And then he had spurted all over his own clenching hand, feeling a rush of embarrassment over his pathetic fantasies.
Nothing he said or did had caused young Lydia to look at him with anything more than irritation or a condescending smile. As she became aware of her family’s position in the world and in relation to everyone else, she developed a supercilious demeanor that only served to excite Preston all the more.
He began to imagine what it would be like to bring her down a notch, to see her haughty expression melt into one of lust, to rip her designer clothes from her body and expose her trembling flesh.
Now, finally, over fifteen years since they had departed for college, Preston had Lydia right where he wanted her.
He closed the door of the drawing room. A magnificent satisfaction settled inside him as he gazed at her and knew that she was his to do with as he liked.
He adored the flash of anxiety on Lydia’s face, the evidence of her awareness as their personal…what was a good word? He disliked the term “slave,” for that carried such a negative connotation, and there was nothing negative about their little agreement.
Plaything, maid, servant—none did justice to Lydia’s true role as theirs to mold and command as they saw fit, to teach her to take pleasure in her position and to revel in her surrender as they reveled in their authority.
And she would, Preston knew. She had been staunchly in control for her entire life, her future always hers to direct and manage. She had been proud, imperious, assertive. And she had the intense intelligence to be able to skim vast amounts of money from a large corporation for ten years without incident.
Until now. Until she had been forced to contact him in the desperate hope that he would be able to help her. Oh, he would help her. He would definitely help her. Her identity beyond the perimeters of
La Nouvelle Vie
no longer existed. Now she was nobody except Lydia.
Amusement sparked in Preston’s blue eyes as he watched Lydia standing uncertainly in the middle of the room. He focused his attention on the lower half of the woman’s body.
“I think we’d all like to see your shaven cunt again, Lydia,” he said thoughtfully. “Why don’t you pull up your dress and show it to us?”
Two spots of hot anger and embarrassment appeared on Lydia’s cheeks. She didn’t move for a moment, which gave the men cause to think they might have to exact a creative punishment. They all stirred at the thought and found themselves to be a bit disappointed when Lydia reached for her skirt and began to draw it over her legs.
Three hungry gazes stared at the shorn apex. Her plump lips were nestled so lusciously between her rounded thighs that Gabriel stroked the tip of his forefinger down over her smooth mound and between the folds, making Lydia start with surprise. Gabriel murmured his approval of the satiny feeling of her skin before he moved away from her and settled into an overstuffed chair.
“You’ve been a bit disobedient, haven’t you, Lydia?” Preston asked. “We’ve all decided that you require punishment.”
She looked ill at the very mention of pain. Her skirt slipped from her hands, falling about her knees in swirling folds as she stared at Preston in shock.
“You didn’t tell me you were going to hurt me.”
“Ah, Lydia, darling, we would never hurt you,” Preston replied gently.
His blue eyes were soft as he stood and approached her, placing his hands on her shoulders. He turned her around and lifted her skirt to exposed the rounded globes of her bottom, the enticing sight of her flared hips parted by the dark crevice. He stroked his hand over the large mounds, making Lydia shudder in response.