“I’ve had enough,” Amanda said, grabbing Amy’s wrist.
“Hey!”
“Mind your business, Stacy, or you’ll wish you had.”
“We’ll fuck you up,” someone said.
“Chill,” Stacy commanded her troops. “Amanda has Kat on her side, so she’s off limits.”
“Ouch! Shit!”
Laughter erupted around Amanda as Amy’s cigarette singed a spot on Amanda’s arm. The crowd watched in amusement as Amanda wrestled for control of the cigarette. Feet flew as Amy kicked shins and stomped feet, until finally Amanda twisted Amy’s arm and bent back her hand. The lit cigarette dropped harmlessly to the grass, where Amanda promptly snuffed it out with a shoe.
“You bitch,” Amy said. “I’m gonna tell.”
“You do that.” Amanda began to lead her by the arm away from the group.
Stacy called out: “Kat may stick up for you, but she doesn’t give a shit about Amy. Amy, you can hang with us anytime.”
“I don’t like you anymore,” Amy told Amanda. “I have new friends now. Cool friends.”
“Good for you. I have a new friend, too. A friend your friends are afraid of.”
CEREMONY OF FOUNDATION
“… May Lucifer praise your efforts to raise His child in an environment of love and care, tending to her every whim for six, six, and six months, never allowing a cry to go unheeded, never forcing her to do anything she didn’t want to do, as you now present His humble servant for tonight’s ceremony. The Ceremony of Foundation. Undoubtedly, the two of you are ready for the ceremony to commence, so let’s get right to it. Guardian Father, strip the child and place her into the cage.”
The toddler screamed bloody murder.
“May Lucifer praise you for your wonderful service.”
“Praise Lucifer!”
“You may go. Attendant, wheel away the cage to solitary confinement. This child shall go untended, in complete darkness. Let her shit herself, go hungry, go thirsty. Let this developing breeder’s mind crack as she is left abandoned by those who have cared for her so lovingly. Wheel her away.”
“… Each of Lucifer’s children have purpose. It is your purpose as the child’s guardians to program her to fulfill her purpose as breeder and sex slave.”
“Praise Lucifer.”
CHAPTER TWENTY-NINE
“I’m glad you recovered from your food poisoning.”
Mrs. Henning had apparently told Mr. Plum that Amanda had contracted a serious case of food poisoning, which was why she hadn’t been able to call before the start of her shift. The elaborate details, namely the severity of the sickness prompting a visit to the emergency room, struck fear in Amanda. How easily could the Hennings conceal the truth from the world if something truly horrible happened to her?.
“I’m so sorry, Mr. Plum. Please know that I would never let you down on purpose. I love my job, and I want to do it well. I’m … I’m …” She rubbed tears from her eyes.
“It’s okay, Amanda. I understand.”
A sob wracked her body. “I’ll need a job after graduation, and … and …”
“There-there, child,” Mr. Plum said while giving her a tentative pat on the back. “I see no problem with you staying on as long as you like.”
Amanda sniffled. “Thank you. I should take this ice cream to the freezer before it starts to melt.” She stood in the chill of the walk-in freezer until she had collected herself and with a deep sigh, made her way back to the front counter.
There, she found Jill chatting with a boy. He had the same build as Brad and the same color hair. Brad hadn’t called or sent Amanda a message in days and her heart briefly surged. After the boy left, Amanda absent-mindedly said to Jill, “For a moment I thought that was Brad.”
“No. Not tonight.”
“What’s that supposed to mean?”
Jill smirked. “He stopped by while you were in the hospital.”
“Looking for me?”
“Yeah, but I don’t know why.”
Frustration coursed through Amanda. “What did you tell him?”
“I told him you were dying.”
“What? You did not.”
“In a nutshell, yeah.”
“You’re a liar.”
“Believe what you want. Brad doesn’t care about you.”
Jill’s words hurt. But there had to be some truth to them. Why hadn’t he phoned or stopped by after hearing about her alleged hospital visit?
At least Pammy was back to school. Her one true friend. And Kat, if you could call her a friend. Amanda longed to see Brad. She had begun to think of him as her boyfriend. Now all that seemed up in the air.
Amanda tried to stay up-beat throughout the remainder of her shift. She volunteered for all the dirty work just to stay busy and keep her mind off things.
After her shift ended, Amanda climbed onto her bike and wheeled out of the alley. As she turned the corner a familiar voice called out to her from a car.
“Amanda.”
She pedaled the bike over to the open car window to find Brad sitting inside.
“What are you doing here?” Amanda asked.
“Looking for you.”
Amanda smiled. “Looks like you found me. You could have came inside instead of waiting out here.”
“I got here after closing time.”
“I heard you stopped by Tuesday night.”
“Maybe. C’mere,” he said, leaning out the window. Her heart swooned as she stepped off the bike to press her lips against his.
“Get in.”
“Okay. But only for a few minutes. I have to go home soon.”
She propped the bike on its kickstand and left it on the sidewalk before sliding into the car. The interior had a musty, musky scent that Amanda associated with freedom and testosterone. She slid closer to Brad on the split-bench seat where their lips met again, this time more passionately. His tongue danced in her mouth as his warm hands began to roam her body. One cupped a breast trapped by the confines of her top. His sweet caress ignited a deep longing within her. But when he began to tug the shirttail free from her slacks to slip underneath, Amanda grabbed Brad’s wrist.
“No.”
“I’ve missed you.”
“I missed you too.”
“Okay.” Brad sighed. “Can you go out Saturday night? Josh got a reply from Pammy and he’s hot to see her again.”
“What about you?” Amanda teased.
“I’m hot to see you.” His hand crept up to her breast. “Can’t get you out of my mind.”
“Really?”
“Really. After what happened Saturday night …”
“You liked that, did you?”
“I can’t complain.”
“You shouldn’t.”
“Although I’ll complain about your need to go home soon.”
Yeah, she hated to think about that. Being here with Brad made her happy. And she wanted to keep him happy. His hormones were revved at least as high as hers right now.
… what happened Saturday night …
Brad obviously wanted sexual release. What teenage boy didn’t?
He stopped by … He doesn’t love you …
“We have a little time,” Amanda said.
“Yeah.”
“Just enough time for this.” Amanda placed a hand in his lap. He was already hard and throbbing. She gently rubbed him through his jeans. Brad reacted with moans, and she wanted to make him feel good, even if it drove her body wild.
“Hang on,” Brad said. He lifted his hips and readjusted himself, which solidified the idea in Amanda’s mind that she wasn’t merely rubbing some bulge in Brad’s pants but stimulating a sexual organ trapped behind clothing, an actual penis longing for insertion—something she couldn’t let happen. But she could allow it skin-on-skin contact.
“Lift your shirt,” Amanda said. Brad’s arm wrapped around her and cupped a breast, while her left hand dove down into his jeans, past the waistband of his undershorts, to to
uch his penis. It felt long, hard, smooth. Forbidden. Her fingers wrapped around the shaft and she began to stroke it slowly.
“Does that feel good?”
“Yes. Don’t stop.”
She increased the tempo and pressure. She could feel Brad’s pubic hair as she worked his engorged member. After several more minutes the awkward position tired her arm, but his stiffening, swelling erection told her his climax was imminent.
“Oh shit,” Brad said, “here it comes.”
His erection pulsated as it shot thick, warm goo up her forearm and into his jeans.
“Don’t stop,” he urged.
She didn’t stop, milking his cock as copius amount of spunk filled his shorts, coated her fingers and matted his pubic hairs.
“Oh, man,” Brad said. “What a fucking mess.”
It was a mess, and Amanda withdrew her arm. Her fingers were wet with cum, as wet as her own nether regions were with her juices, she realized.
For some odd reason she got a mental image of Amy licking her lips when threatened earlier, along with an image of Kat performing oral sex on Matt weeks ago at the party. She found herself curious about the taste and no clear way to clean herself.
Amanda tentatively licked a finger. His fluid had a bitter, salty taste that wasn’t appealing. But it didn’t gross her out, either. It had come from Brad, a physical reaction that had made him happy. She licked another finger.
“That’s so hot,” Brad said.
“Yeah?”
“Shit yeah.”
She licked and sucked each finger until she had removed most of the semen.
“You do realize,” Brad said, “that if you’re going to taste it anyway, there is a much better, cleaner way to do it.”
He certainly had a point. A nice, long, hard point, actually.
Amanda said, “Oh, you’d like that, wouldn’t you?”
“Most definitely.”
She licked a dribble off her palm. “Would you still kiss me afterward?”
In response, he kissed her now. Very deeply.
“Keep it in your pants, Brad. I’ll see you Saturday night, if not sooner.”
“Great.”
“I should be going, before I’m late and get grounded.” Or worse.
“Later, sexy.”
“’Bye.”
The car rumbled away from the curb. It turned the corner as she started to pedal. The rubber hand grip on the left felt sticky and the bicycle seat rubbed nicely as she pedaled the bike toward home.
As she passed the Administration Building she encountered a group of guys, one middle-aged, another one even older. One reminded her of Matt while the rest appeared to be in their twenties. Amanda, pedaling quickly, didn’t get a good look at them as she sped by through the grass. They were bouncing around, hooping and hollering, giving each other high-fives and fist-bumps, obviously jazzed about something.
As her bike cut back onto the sidewalk ahead of them, their catcalls began.
“Come back, baby. I’ve got something for ya.”
“This bitch looks like she wants some, too.”
“Where you going in such a hurry?”
Amanda pumped her legs faster.
“Girl, you don’t know what you’re missing!”
What possible reason could they have for being on campus of an all-girl school this late? She didn’t plan to stick around to find out.
It was quiet inside the house, everyone asleep, presumably. She listened closely for any sign to the contrary and picked her way inside, up to her bedroom, without so much as a sound. Amy wasn’t waiting in Amanda’s room and Mr. Henning wasn’t visiting Amy’s room. And Amanda didn’t expect to receive any visits from Amy anytime soon—thank goodness.
Right now Amanda just wanted to be left alone with the thoughts of her boyfriend and what she might do with him the next time she got the chance. Her clothes dropped to the floor and she sprawled naked across the top of the bed in relative darkness, legs splayed. She could still taste him on her fingertips, fingertips that soon teased herself to the apex of a climactic release.
CHAPTER THIRTY
As Amanda changed out of her school uniform and into jeans and a T-shirt, she thought about the past few weeks. Things had actually returned to normal, for the most part. School was fine, her grades were holding steady at A’s across the board. Stacy hadn’t given Amanda any real trouble, and Amy hadn’t threatened to slice her throat while she slept. She couldn’t complain. Amanda had, however, taken to sleeping with a chair propped under the doorknob at night. She doubted it would keep anyone out, but it would prevent anyone from sneaking up on her while she slept.
To minimize issues with Amy and Stacy after school, she had simply begun taking her sweet time going to meet Amy at the “smokers’ corner.” The threat of Kat also seemed to keep Stacy and her cronies in line. Amanda, as usual, rarely saw Kat on campus. The tattooed teen hadn’t stopped by for any visits since the day Mr. Henning locked Amanda in the basement.
All and all, things were going as well as Amanda could hope for.
She went downstairs to find her foster mother. “Mrs. Henning, you said you had a special chore for me tonight?”
“Yes, Amanda.” Mrs. Henning wore tight sweatpants rolled up above the calf, a too-tight tee stretched over ample breasts. Her hair was tied up into a ponytail, the same as Amanda’s. The ensemble made Amanda want to hurl. “Tonight I need for you to be a darling and prepare dinner.”
“Yes, ma’am.” Amanda didn’t see anything special about the request. “What should Amy and I make?”
“Not Amy. Just you. From now on that is your job on the nights you don’t work at Sugar Plum Grill.”
“Yes, Mrs. Henning.”
“Also, it will be your sole responsibility to do all the chores: vacuuming, dusting, cleaning the bathrooms, laundry.”
Amanda, shocked, asked, “What about Amy?”
“Amy will help me with dinner on the days that you work. She can do any miscellaneous cleaning then.”
“Yes, Mrs. Henning.”
“That will be all.”
Great. Just great. Well, at least Amanda didn’t have to fool with Amy. The girl didn’t help much, anyway. But still, every little bit counted.
Amanda might have a little time to kill before beginning dinner. She had done all her chores yesterday, Sunday, along with Amy’s meager help. Amanda went to the kitchen to view the menu listed on the dry erase board on the refrigerator.
Meatloaf with mashed potatoes, a family favorite and one of Amanda’s specialties. It would take a while, but without Amy’s distractions, Amanda could daydream about Brad while she worked. She started by setting a pot of water on the stove to boil, and then emptying the dishwasher, reliving her dates with Brad the past few weeks. Two movies, one with Pammy and Josh, and another house party. Drinks, music, Pammy leading Josh into a room to “rock his world” while Amanda and Brad made out in a dark corner.
“Let’s get a room,” Brad had urged.
The temptation was strong. “I’m … not ready yet.”
Brad didn’t press the issue, which filled Amanda with guilt instead of relief. She wanted to make him as happy as he made her. A little heavy petting helped and a few other times here and there after work didn’t seem to hurt, either. Amanda had started to wonder if something was wrong with her, and had decided to take things a step further very soon.
She had just turned down the heat on the boiling potatoes when the doorbell chimed. No one answered so after a moment Amanda started toward the foyer. She knew instinctively not to ignore the chime, something Amy might do, because anything (being locked into the basement) might happen.
Amanda, to her disgust, opened the door and saw the bald man and teenage boy who had visited Mrs. Henning numerous times. Amanda avoided eye contact.
“Come in,” she said. And a little louder: “Mrs. Henning, you have visitors.”
“I thought she was younger,” a gruff man’s voice sai
d.
“Not her, Dad. Her.”
Amy had appeared at the top of the stairs. She wore a similar athletic outfit as her mother, though tighter and more vulgar. Pigtails bounced as she bounded down the stairs. Amanda stood speechless as Amy, removing a lollipop from her mouth, said, “This way, boys. Mommy is upstairs.” She took the boy by the hand and led him and his father up the stairs. They turned right, toward Amy’s bedroom. A few seconds later, Mrs. Henning went walking by, headed in their direction.
Amanda, thoroughly sickened, fought back the acid burning her throat. She returned to the kitchen, sure she wouldn’t be able to stomach one bite of dinner.
Horrible, disgusting sounds began to emanate from Amy’s bedroom, which was located right above the kitchen. Amanda unsuccessfully tried to drown it out by switching on a radio and violently chopping veggies for the meatloaf. Heaving, she raced for the downstairs restroom where she violently vomited.
Everyone in this house was insane. Sick. Perverted. She would almost rather die than live with such depraved madness.
Almost.
But she could see light at the end of the tunnel. A mere pinprick, but light all the same. Only a month remained before Thanksgiving break, and then only a few weeks until holiday break. If she did everything right—everything—she could ask for more hours at work, not spend hardly any time at home, other than to sleep, for nearly three weeks. After that, only half the school year remained. She would have Brad, Pammy, even Kat. She could make it to graduation, which incidentally landed on the calendar only a day after her eighteenth birthday. Then she would be free!
And then this entire family could literally go eff themselves.
After rinsing her mouth out with water, she returned to the kitchen (and raucous noise of creaking springs, occasional footsteps, and obscene language and laughter) to turn up the radio even louder.
The obnoxious noises were all but drowned out and in no time Amanda had completed her prep work. With potatoes simmering, meatloaf in the oven, and garlic Parmesan asparagus ready to bake, not much remained except to set the table. In the past, Mrs. Henning would take things from here. Except she was upstairs, with her prepubescent daughter, pleasing men.
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