The Erotic Dark (2 page)

She had written letters telling them not to worry about her, but she knew they would wonder what had become of her. Preston assured her he would even take care of her family’s concerns, assuage their fears with promises of her safety and well-being. Occasional contact from her would further serve to pacify them.

Lydia recognized that she was entering a different kind of prison, one she had created for herself, but at least she had the comfort of knowing she had made the choice. It had been her decision to the end, until the moment she had stepped out of the car onto the grounds of the plantation.

“You understand what is expected of you?”

The words had come from Gabriel. His voice was deep and somehow soothing, a welcome contrast to Preston’s elegant amusement and Kruin’s stoic silence.

“I think so.”

“And you understand that you cannot leave.”

Lydia almost laughed. Oh, yes. She understood that part very well.

“Yes,” she replied. “I do.”

“You don’t want to leave, do you, Lydia?” Preston asked.

“No. No, I don’t.” She didn’t either, not if it meant returning to the person she had been.

It was there, that first night in the drawing room, when they had subjected her to the start of her initiation into their cryptic world. Under a short command from Kruin, she had unbuttoned her blouse and removed it to allow them to critique her breasts, which were proclaimed to be firm and nicely shaped.

To Lydia’s embarrassment, Gabriel plucked at the rosy tips of her nipples to make them stiffen, and the three men began a discussion on the merits of the size of the round crests in contrast to her breasts.

When that course of conversation had been exhausted, Preston had told her to bend over an inlaid, cherrywood table that stood near the windows. And she had done so, her face burning with humiliation as she was instructed to bend over the table and lift her skirt to her waist, thus participating in her own exposure to the intrigued gazes of the three men.

She pressed her forehead against the cool wood of the table and tried not to start shaking as a rush of humid air swept over the backs of her naked thighs and disgust rose to choke her throat.

Gabriel had slipped his hands between her thighs, startling her as he pushed them apart and reminded her in rather polite tones that she was always to keep her legs apart when she was in their presence. His hands moved over her legs, stroking the arched curves of her calves as he told the other two men that although her legs were not long, they were well-formed and firm.

Preston murmured his approval over the shape of her waist and the flare of her hips that, in her exposed position, caused the cotton of her briefs to stretch over her buttocks and even into the furrow of her sex, creating an alluring little pouch. Gabriel had then removed the underwear that provided her with her last vestige of modesty, leaving it to dangle around her legs like a crushed tissue.

The three men examined her large, firm buttocks that jutted upward, her sex glistening with moisture from the heat, the plump knot of her clitoris peeking out from beneath a nest of luxurious curls.

Kruin ran his hands experimentally over the globes of Lydia’s bottom, his tanned fingers a striking contrast to the pale mounds before him. His fingers dug into the fleshy cushions as if testing their resiliency and strength.

To her shock, tears crowded Lydia’s throat, but she resolutely forced them aside, telling herself that nothing could be worse than what she would have had to face in public.

Kruin squeezed her buttocks, then pulled them apart to expose the shadowy cleft and the puckered ring of her anus. Lydia pressed her body against the table almost desperately, as if she could sink into the wooden depths and hide herself from what was happening to her.

Kruin had proclaimed her “firm enough” to react well to punishment and then, to Lydia’s further horror, he trailed one large finger down the valley of her bottom. His touch was clinical and completely impersonal, as if she were a piece of merchandise he was thinking of purchasing. His forefinger paused at the dark aperture and probed.

Lydia gasped. Her entire body strained against the invasion, earning a mutter of disgust from the muscular man.

“She is far too resisting,” Kruin said.

“She will learn quickly.” Preston didn’t sound particularly concerned.

Even through her haze of embarrassment and anger, Lydia had comprehended the permanence of his words. Yes, she hated Preston for forcing her to make the choice, but it was too late now.

Now, in this rambling, antiquated house with three men, she was enslaved. Now she was only Lydia.

She closed her eyes against the memory of her first night and breathed in deeply the assorted fragrances of the garden. A breeze drifted up between her parted legs and tickled her bared sex.

She wore nothing underneath her loose, cotton dress, not even the soft down of her body’s natural covering, for that had been deemed by Kruin to be far too abundant. Also he had claimed that her innate defiance required curtailing as soon as possible. The shaving had taken place on her first morning, after they had finished their assessment of her body and allowed her to retire to her room.

Gabriel came in early the next morning, just as dawn was beginning to spill through the curtains covering the French doors. Lydia had found no clothing in the closet and had resigned herself to sleeping in her skirt and blouse from the previous night, which disappointed Gabriel when he arrived to waken her.

“Always sleep naked unless one of us tells you otherwise,” he murmured, his words softly reproachful.

To her confused surprise, Lydia had experienced a pang of regret that she had displeased him, but she attributed her emotions to Gabriel’s soft-spoken manner rather than a hidden desire to obey.

Gabriel waited in the bedroom while Lydia showered, wrapping herself in a thin, cotton robe that was hanging on the back of the door. She gave Gabriel a questioning look as she rejoined him, although all he did was take her hand and lead her downstairs to the dining room.

An immense, walnut dining table dominated the room, along with at least a dozen embroidered chairs. Lydia, who had been expecting breakfast, was confronted with the sight of Kruin and Preston sitting at the table. She hadn’t comprehended the situation until she saw the lathering stick, bowl of water, and razor lying on the table at Kruin’s elbow.

Startled, she took a step backward, her wrist tightening against Gabriel’s grip. The three men had favored her with simultaneous sharp glares, which served to impale her to the spot.

Her heart thrummed like a taut instrument in her chest as she followed Preston’s instruction to dispose of her robe, revealing her freshly washed body, pearls of dampness still clinging to her skin. Her nipples tightened in response to the cool, morning air, providing the three men with an enticing image of the ways in which they might attend to her breasts at a later date.

Lydia started to protest that she could do the shaving herself, for she was fairly faint with nerves at the thought of any one of these men taking a sharp razor to her delicate folds. The cavernous space of the dining room gave the act an edge of impersonality that made her want to turn and run.

Her protest died in her throat when Preston’s expression hardened, but her eyes flashed rebelliously at him as Gabriel assisted her onto the table. She had hoped it would be Gabriel who would do the actual shearing. He appeared to have the patience to do a careful, precise job without allowing the razor to slip. Instead, it was Preston who settled into a chair in front of her and gave her a charming smile.

“You didn’t think I would relinquish this job to someone else, did you?” he asked, as if he had read her thoughts. “Something I have been anticipating with great delectation?”

“I imagine you’ve been anticipating many things with great delectation,” Lydia muttered.

Preston gave a laugh of delight. “How right you are, my haughty Lydia. You have no idea how many times during our childhood I longed to see you debased.”

Lydia closed her eyes against the stark reality that he now had the power to debase her in any number of ways. She felt his hands on her inner thighs, pressing her legs apart so she was fully exposed to their view.

The lush, dark curls between her legs were still damp from her shower, glistening in the light from the overhead chandelier. Preston picked up a pair of scissors and began a thorough trimming of Lydia’s vulva, each snip of the blade causing her to draw in a breath until Kruin remarked mildly that she had better lie still or risk injury.

Preston’s scissors clipped so close to Lydia’s outer labia that she felt the coldness of the blade against her skin. Sweat broke out on her forehead as she silently prayed he wouldn’t damage her most vulnerable areas.

When Preston was satisfied with the closeness of the cut, he sprinkled more water on her before he scooped up a handful of lather and began to massage it into her mons. Lydia jerked in response to his touch after the fright of the sharp steel.

Preston took his time stroking the lather against Lydia’s vulva, amusing the other two men by sliding his finger down the soft folds of her sex. Foam dampened his fingers, along with a viscous moisture that made him chuckle softly. The nub of Lydia’s clitoris swelled in response to his sensual ministrations, and as he trailed the tip of one finger around the hard knot, Lydia began to pant.

Her eyes were tightly closed again, her hands clenched into fists at her sides, her skin flaming with mortification over the sensations winding through her body and the method by which those sensations were being evoked.

Preston picked up the razor and positioned it at the top of Lydia’s downy triangle. Her eyes flew open when she felt the edge of the blade, but a warning look from Kruin made her clench her teeth and force herself to endure this indignity. Gabriel gave her a slight smile before moving around to obtain a better view of the proceedings. His own excitement already pressed against the front of his trousers.

With great pleasure, Preston drew the razor over Lydia’s mons, leaving behind a path of silky smooth skin that carried the promise of delicious sensations. He was careful to shear every last hair off before moving down to her labia, which proved more awkward and difficult to barber.

Preston, however, was not without experience when it came to erotic shaving. Had Lydia known this, she might have been somewhat comforted, but as it was, she suffered in tense silence as Preston alternately stroked the razor over her plump lips and ducked the blade in water to cleanse it.

Kruin’s big hands closed around Lydia’s ankles, startling her as he lifted her legs off the table to allow Preston easier access to the hairs that sprouted farther down and encircled her anus. Lydia’s face burned with humiliation at this further insult, but she didn’t dare move for fear the steel blade would slip.

Preston scraped away her hairs with a precision that rivaled that of a master barber, then put the razor aside and reached for a small bottle of oil. Lydia opened her eyes when she no longer felt the rasp of the blade and tried to pull her ankles out of Kruin’s inexorable grip.

From his position behind Preston, he gave her a searing look that warned her to be still. Lydia glared at him, her legs straining as she fought his strength, fought to free herself from the shame of her position and what she had endured.

“Lydia.” Preston’s sharp voice cracked through the air like a whip.

“Let me go!” Lydia snapped, unable to stop herself as a rush of relieved adrenaline went through her. She pushed her upper body up, her legs kicking wildly at Kruin.

“Stop.”
Gabriel’s arm clamped like a steel band around Lydia’s ribcage. His features hardened with uncharacteristic irritation as he glowered down at her, his green eyes like chips of sea glass. “This is completely inappropriate, Lydia. Stop it right now.”

Lydia stilled, her breathing hard, her entire being aflame with rebellion and the need to be free.

“You made the choice, Lydia.” Preston looked disgusted with her display. “Don’t act like we’re subjecting you to something you didn’t agree to.”

“I didn’t agree to this,” Lydia said coldly.

A deadly silence settled in the room—silence edged with an ominous sense of danger.

“Excuse me?” Preston said, his voice eerily soft. “What did you say?”

Lydia’s teeth sank into the plump fullness of her lower lip. She sensed immediately that no other words she might have uttered would have been received with such displeasure. She closed her eyes as the fight drained from her. When Preston repeated his query, she shook her head.

“Nothing. I did agree to this.”

The horrid thing was, she had agreed, had willingly walked through the door with the knowledge that they would do with her as they liked. And, in exchange, she would have her anonymity.

The silence hung for several minutes before Preston resumed his task. He dispensed a small puddle of oil onto his fingertips and began rubbing it into the cleanly shaven areas of Lydia’s vulva. Her body twitched in response as his fingers slipped once again into the damp folds of her sex, only this time with far more calculating movements.

With a start, Lydia felt her clitoris throb, a tight circle of pleasure that began to wrap around her loins. She struggled against the sensations, even as Preston’s finger slid into her wetness, even as she was aware that three men were watching her dispassionately when she began to gasp for breath and writhe on the table.