by Tara Hart
Are you kidding? This joke of a man is seriously going to turn me away?
“No, but I’m sure he’d be more than okay that I’m here.”
I give the joker a wink and he offers me a tight smile.
“Right, ummm…please come inside, I will bring your father through to see you.”
He gestures for me to wait in the sitting room like I’m some guest. That’s not going to happen. I follow behind the penguin, close enough to see my father’s face when he tells him of my unexpected arrival. Dad’s face turns pale, his jaw stiffens and then his eyes meet mine.
“Callum,” he announces tersely.
I look around the room. There are at least fifteen people here, standing in what was once our family room. The guests are all men and at first glance there is no sign of Leila. I don’t know whether I should be worried or relieved.
“Dad, having a little party are we?” I say, my voice is pleasant, unsuspecting.
“Just a function, something for work.” He straightens his jacket. He’s also dressed in a suit, similar to the penguin, but without the stupid bow tie.
He excuses himself from the conversation he’s having with two men who I don’t know. He leads me by my elbow away from the prying eyes and ears of his party guests.
“This probably isn’t the best time for you to be here, Cal.”
Subtle, real subtle.
“I can’t stick around, have a drink, and mingle with some of our towns elite?” I question.
A look crosses his face, like he’s internally debating how to let me down gently. He had the same face when he was about to tell me that mom died.
“It’s not a normal party, son. It’s all business. You’ll be bored.”
I gesture toward the men who are spread about the room, talking robustly as they swill their thirty-year-old scotch.
“What’s going on, Dad?” I smile. “You sound like you really don’t want me here.”
Just when I’m about to tell him all the reasons he should let me stay, another man walks in. My father’s eyes go wide and panic takes over his usually calm features. That’s when I notice the girl following behind the new arrival.
At first I think it’s just a normal woman, perhaps his younger girlfriend, and then I see what she’s wearing. I suppress the urge to gasp. Her body is mostly exposed, apart from a tight leather crotchless thong and a leather halter top that bares both breasts. She can’t be much older than twenty. Her eyes are fixed on the floor with her shoulders slumped forward as if she has no hope left.
I look back to my father whose face is now red. He looks as though he’s about to have a heart attack and I wonder if that would be such a bad thing.
“Ahhh, Cal.” He clears his throat.
I cross my arms over my chest. I have to admit I’m looking forward to hearing his explanation for this. He’s practically squirming before me.
I force myself to smile, gritting my teeth as I do so.
“Dad, what is this…and who is she?”
I let my eyes trail to the girl. I openly look her up and down as if she’s a complete turn on, but really I’m in shock. It can’t be more than forty degrees out and this underweight girl must be freezing.
“Who is she?" I question again.
“Cal, I don’t think…”
“Dad, whatever’s going on here, you’re not getting rid of me now, not after seeing that piece of ass.”
I hate myself. I’m a horrible person. I force my lips up into a smirk and watch my father’s face change from horrified to somewhat pleased. It’s the happiest I’ve seen him since my return to this godforsaken town.
“Well, I’ll get you a drink then.” He wanders over to the bar in the corner of the room and I let out a sigh of relief while quashing the need to vomit back to where it came from.
Casually, I hang my hands out of my pockets as I study the men around me. Most are in their fifties, grey hair, rounded guts, dressed in designer suits, wedding rings prominent on their ring fingers. If I saw them outside of this room I would think they’re just ordinary middle-aged men, but now I know better. I recognize a handful of them while others I have never seen before and don’t care if I ever see them again.
Dad walks back to my side, handing me a glass of scotch. “Gerry brought his pussy tonight too.”
I take a swig and let the amber liquid slide down my throat without wincing. I hate the stuff.
“His pussy?” I try not to show my distaste.
“That’s what he calls his girl, Pussy,” he explains, his mouth turning into a crooked grin.
You make me sick, I say with my eyes, but my mouth obeys me. “Cool,” I let out as nonchalantly as possible.
“Well, look who it is,” my father roars from my side. “Harry, how are you?”
Harry? I look at the man who I would never have recognized if I passed him in the street.
My uncle. The chief of Merling’s one and only police station and the reason I knew I couldn’t trust the authorities in this town. The sick fuck is in on this too. It seems all the men of Merling are tarred by the same perverted brush.
Harry shakes my father’s hand and then looks to me. His expression changes when he gets a good look at my face. I sense something. Surprise? Shock? I can’t tell.
“Cal?” He takes a step toward me, his hand perched in front of him. “Cal, is that really you?”
I take his hand and force a smile on my face when all I really want to do is punch him in the guts.
“Hey, Uncle Harry.” I do my best to sound genuine. “It’s been a long time.”
My father claps Harry on the back. “Let me get you a drink, brother. Scotch, okay?” he asks.
“I’d prefer a bourbon,” Harry responds and my dad laughs.
“Always have to be difficult don’t you?”
Dad walks off, leaving the comment in his wake. Harry stands at my side and hangs his hands out of his pockets. If I didn’t know better I’d say he’s nervous.
“So, when did you get back?” he asks.
He wants a reunion now does he? I don’t have the balls to tell him this is hardly the place for a catch up.
“Earlier this week.”
“So, Italy?” he questions.
I don’t hold back my sigh, hoping he senses that I don’t want to talk about it.
“I’m not going back,” I say in a deadpan tone. “Sofia and I are over.”
His eyes go wide and he seems genuinely upset by the news.
“I’m sorry to hear that.”
I offer him a sad smile and he pats me on the back, a comforting gesture. His response is sincere, which surprises me.
When my father comes back he hands Harry his drink and then excuses himself to greet more guests. I do a quick sweep of the room and that’s when I notice her.
My eyes are drawn to her with such a magnetic pull that I can’t look away, and that’s when I notice, every other man is staring at her too.
Chapter 8
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 thu
“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.
Chapter 9
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.
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