ABBARATH (3 page)

Me – I’m not smart.

I’m what Karyn considers lackluster. Pretty, a little vacant, too eager to please. But I’m goal-orientated when I set myself to it, and very determined despite my shortcomings.

$250,000 is a lot of money.

I don’t even need to tell my parents about it since I’m legally adult. I can stash it away in my own private bank account and use it for a rainy day. It would be my own little nest egg.

Oh my God.

I believe I’m going to say ‘yes’. There was never a doubt that I would say yes. The money is just a sweetener.

I enjoy being a sub. There, I’m being honest with myself. Max knows it. Max’s entire family knows it. Max’s sister hates me for it.

But now there will be no fail safe.

Once I sign on the dotted line, I am theirs to do as they please. They assure me there will be no permanent damage or scars, but the very fact that there is a clause in the contract just for that suggests there will be pain. A lot of pain.

I will technically be their sex slave.

Oh help me, God, but I think I will sign the contract anyway.

I’m still a coward.

I sign the contract, seal it in an envelope and slide it under the door of Russell’s study. That way I won’t have to come in eye contact with anyone and answer embarrassing questions. I’m avoidant that way.

Until they actually see my signature and come for me, that is.

It’s frightening.

It’s exciting.

It’s mysterious.

It’s the trembling anticipation of a doe which knows that her hunter is coming. And that she has willingly submitted to this.

So be it. This will be my fate. A fate of my own choosing.

The next day, Max comes for me.

“Thank you,” he says, kissing me. “You made the right choice.”

I don’t say anything as our lips lock hungrily. I miss this – kissing Max. Plain old vanilla kissing.

Normal male/female one-on-one sex. My arms go around his neck as I pull him closer. I want to melt into him – my beautiful blond boyfriend. I want to feel his cock inside me again.

Perhaps he feels my rising need, because he stills me.

“My father wants to see you,” he says gravely.

“Wh-what?”

“Your contract. It starts today.”

Yes. And I still don’t clearly know what it means.

“What do you want me to do?” I whisper.

“Everything I ask you to. Everything anyone in this house asks you to, even Heathcliff.”

He takes my hands and leads me to the closet.

“I want you to wear this.”

I hesitate. “But Max. Can’t we, you know, kiss a little and snuggle first? The way we used to do before . . . this?”

“No. He wants to see you now.”

He opens one of the closet doors.

“Let’s get you dressed.”

*

I’m in a pink lacy nightgown that is so short that it comes up to my crotch. The nightgown has little ribbons and floral motifs on it. I practically resemble a Barbie doll. My hair is done up in two pigtails tied at the ends with large pink ribbons.

My feet are bare as I obediently troop after Max to a part of the house I have never been to – the children’s playroom.

“This was my playroom when I was a kid,” Max explains. “Mine and Alice’s and Brad’s and Alex’s.”

“I assume you don’t use it anymore.”

“No, but my father does,” he says significantly.

My nerves are all tangled up with apprehension, and I find myself rubbing my wrists.
Keep calm
.

He’s not going to do anything that will permanently scar you. This will just be like the Initiation, and you got through that unscathed. Physically, that is.

But I still feel like I’m being led into the lion’s den.

$250,000. The money keeps tumbling in my brain like a mantra. If I keep focused on that, maybe I will calm down.

The door to the playroom is painted with Disney characters – Mickey and Pluto and Donald and Bambi – in bright smiley colors. Max pushes it open.

“Go on in.”

With trepidation, I walk through the doorway.

“Are you coming?” I turn around to ask Max, but he has quietly shut the door behind me.

The playroom is just as festive as its door. The murals on the walls depict scenes from children’s books. Rapunzel flits from tree to tree to hide from the Three Musketeers. The Seven Dwarves sit at the Mad Hatter’s table, and the Little Engine That Could chugs up a mountain to the witch’s gingerbread house.

Russell is standing by a large rocking horse. He fingers its gorgeously carved head. He looks up as I enter.

“Ah, Gina.”

I cast my eyes down demurely.

“Very good,” he says, striding over to me.

He’s so amazingly tall. Basketball player tall. He easily towers over me by a good twelve inches.

He wears a sweatshirt and pants.

I stand before him, my hands entwined together in front of my dress. I lick my lips as he lifts my chin towards him.

“Very pretty. You’re a very pretty girl, Gina.”

“Thank you.”

“Now, I want you to call me Daddy. Do you understand?”

“Yes.”

“Yes who?”

“Yes, Daddy.”

“Good.” He nods approvingly. “I want you to play along. You’re a bad, bad girl.”

“I’m a bad, bad girl,” I echo, my nervousness escalating.

“You haven’t done your homework.” He pauses, waiting for me.

I catch on.

“I . . . I haven’t studied for that quiz.”

“Yes.” He smiles. “And those grades you got in Math were atrocious. Simply atrocious. What do you think I should do to you, Gina?”

My stomach flips.

“Y-you should punish me.”

“Punish me what?”

“You should punish me, Daddy.” My voice quavers at that last note.

“Then lift up your skirt.”

The difference now is that I’m not wearing anything under my nightdress. Those were Max’s specific instructions. Bashfully, and feeling like a chastised little girl, I raise the hem of my dress to show him my pussy.

“And have you been fornicating with men?” he says, reaching down to touch my labia.

“Yes, Daddy.”

I hold my breath as his fingers digs in between my pussy lips and clit. He kneads my sensitive flesh there in a manner that can only be described as laborious.

He tsk-tsks, shaking his head like a disapproving parent.

“Come with me, Gina.”

Meekly, I follow him. I let my dress fall as I walk.

He whirls round suddenly. “Did I give you permission to cover yourself?”

“Uh, no, Daddy.” I frantically grope for the hem of my dress again.

“You’ll be punished for that,” he notes.

He leads me to the play table, which is a bright red in color. Little wooden alphabet blocks scatter the surface. A jug of milk sits next to an empty glass. Little beads of moisture have condensed upon the jug, denoting how cold the milk is.

He pours me a glass of milk and raises it to my lips. My hands are still engaged in holding up my skirt.

“Drink, Gina. Milk is good for you. Builds your bones and teeth.”

I obediently swallow the milk. He upturns the glass so that the milk rushes into my mouth, faster than I can swallow it. He does this on purpose, I believe. The ice cold milk floods my upper lip and spills from the sides of my mouth, dripping onto the front of my nightgown and the tented fold of my raised skirt, and further down to the wooden flooring.

“My, my, what a bad girl you are to spill your milk.” His voice takes on a harder edge. Harder than any tone he has ever used on me.

A frisson of fear bubbles in me as I gaze upon his face. The planes of his handsome cheeks have lost their softness.

“You see the mess you made?” He suddenly grabs hold of my hair at the back of my head.

I cry out in more shock than pain.

“Kneel down and lick it all up from the floor. Keep your skirt up at all times.”

Trembling slightly, I fall to my knees. It’s a balancing act to bend my body over as well as to keep my dress up, so I settle for thrusting my ass out. My dress slides down my angled body, revealing my stomach and the undersides of my breasts. I lower my mouth to the little puddles of spilt milk, aware that a milk moustache decorates my upper lip. My pink tongue darts out to lick them.

As I lap at the milk, Russell goes behind me to inspect my ass. I feel his hard shoe wriggling in between my relatively closed thighs, nudging them apart.

“Keep your legs apart at all times, Gina.”

“Yes, Daddy.”

I can feel the tip of his shoe honing in on my pussy. Its textured edge teases my soft lips, dragging them away from my sticky clit. I’m starting to get wet, and I’m certain that my creams are smearing the rough leather of his shoe. The thick material continues to graze my sensitive skin, bluntly stroking my clit.

I feel a hand upon my ass. It snakes all over my soft skin and pinches the plump flesh. A finger worms its way and burrows into my asshole.

My breathing quickens, as does the pulse at my throat.

When I have finished licking the milk off the floor, he taps my ass. “You’ll need a potty break now, Gina.”

“But – ”

The hand smacks me harshly on the rump. “No buts.”

“Yes, Daddy.”

I get up, making sure that my dress is lifted high to reveal everything below my waist. Russell gestures to a potty in a corner of the playroom. It’s blue and boat-shaped, made out of some plasticky material.

“Now, Gina, I want you to pee into the potty. You are not allowed to get any piss out of the potty bowl or I’ll make you go down on your hands and knees to lick it from the floor.”

A flutter of angst fills my stomach. The bowl of the blue potty is relatively small, made for a toddler.

“Do it, Gina, or I’ll be very angry.”

I pull in a deep breath. I’m not even sure I will be able to let my urine flow. It’s too soon after the milk and I don’t have an urge in my bladder yet.

I place my legs around the side of the potty, still holding up my nightgown. The potty is the size of a small stool. I wonder who used it once. Max? Alice? I lower my haunches in a squat. My groin is directly above the bowl. I close my eyes to relax my pelvic muscles.

Russell moves to my front. He too squats before me. His eyes are watchful and riveted upon my pussy. It is a humiliating position for me to be in.

I steel my resolve. I decide that the best way to approach this would be to release my urine in short measured bursts, not an uncontrollable continuous stream. I have done this before – urinated in front of another dominant, another master. I can do it again.

After straining a little, my bladder starts to ease and my trickle begins. I angle my urethra so that the stream pours downward instead of jettisoning forward. I stem the flow after each spurt to ensure that none of it splashes onto the sides of the potty. When I have finished, a pool of warm yellowish urine glistens at the bottom of the pan.

“Very good, Gina. I would not have to punish you after all . . . yet. Now stand up.”

I gingerly get onto my feet, making sure I don’t kick the potty away. That would be really, really awful.

“Take off your clothes.”

I’m relieved. At least I don’t have keep on holding up my dress. I tear the little girl’s nightgown over and off my head. I’m wearing nothing underneath, of course, and my breasts are revealed for the first time to Russell.

He stares at them as if he has never seen tits before. I wouldn’t say my breasts are spectacular, but they are not too shabby either. My flesh is taut and tight, and my nipples are little pink rosebuds which perk up enticingly if properly stimulated.

A slow smile spreads over Russell’s fine lips.

“Come with me, Gina.”

I pad after him timidly. He opens a sliding door that leads outdoors – or more precisely to a little children’s playground complete with colorful slides in the shapes of dinosaurs, swings, a merry-go-round and a seesaw. My eyes widen at the pristine condition these are kept in.

Russell strides to the seesaw. He takes something out of his pocket that is long and hard. My tongue goes dry as he affixes it on one of the seats at the end. It is a dildo, attached to a plastic strap.

When he has finished tying the strap around and under the seat, the artificial cock stands like a lighthouse on top of its ripe balls. It’s amazingly realistic-looking and flesh-colored to boot.

Anatomically-correct veins delta all over its thick shaft, which looks luscious enough to suck.

Russell turns to me. “All ready for you, baby doll.”

Hesitating only mildly, I walk to the dildo-strapped seat. Russell helps me to straddle the seat and lower my body onto the upright cock.

“Easy does it.”

He makes sure that my pussy hole is atop the dildo’s swollen head. Then he pushes my hips down.

“Feel it going inside you, baby doll. That’s right. Take it all in for Daddy.”

I close my eyes to savor the girth of the appendage. I slide it into my wet vagina as far as it can go

– to the mouth of my cervix. My vulva stops just short of the balls.

“Now hold on to this,” Russell instructs me, placing my hands on the handle before my seat.

“Don’t let go.”

He goes over to the end of the seesaw and straddles it. I can well imagine him playing with his children on this seesaw in the normal father-offspring sense. Which makes his obvious fetishes even more shocking.

“Comfortable, Gina?”

“Yes, Daddy,” I squeak.

He begins to work the seesaw. The entire apparatus creaks with our collective weights. As my end goes up, the dildo presses deeply into me, eliciting a gasp from my throat. I go down again, my stomach lifting, and the dildo seemingly exits an inch out of my pussy.

The cycle is repeated. And repeated.

“Like it, Gina?”

“Yes, Daddy.” My pants are becoming shorter.

He increases the seesaw’s rhythm. The dildo pummels into my pussy mercilessly. Up. Down. Up.

Down. The sensation is raw, unnerving and intense. It’s a fucking unlike anything I have ever received.

Russell’s smile grows broader as a sexual flush spreads from my cheeks to my breasts, which are jiggling with the gravity and exertion.