Publicly Display Yourself for Me

by Aphrodite Hunt

  PUBLICLY DISPLAY YOURSELF FOR ME

  (BOOK THREE OF THE INITIATION 2 SERIES)

  By Aphrodite Hunt

  This book is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places and incidents are the product of the author’s imagination or are used fictitiously. Any resemblance to actual events, locales or persons, living or dead, is coincidental.

  Copyright 2012 by Aphrodite Hunt

  Cover art by Aphrodite Hunt

  Published by Aphrodite Hunt at Smashwords

  WORKS BY APHRODITE HUNT

  The ‘Initiation’ series

  Open Your Legs for Me

  Blindfolded and Spread-eagled

  Thighs Wide Apart

  Teacher, Please Spread my Pussy

  The Final Initiation

  The Initiation: A Bundle of 5 Stories

  The ‘Initiation 2’ series

  Open Your Legs for my Family

  Bend Over for my Family

  Publicly Display Yourself for Me

  ‘The Royal Captive’ series

  Prince Miro’s Capture

  Prince Miro’s Submission

  Prince Miro’s Enslavement

  Prince Miro’s Punishment

  Prince Miro’s Escape

  Prince Miro’s Final Confrontation

  The ‘Naughty Nymphomaniac’ series

  I was a Naughty Nymphomaniac

  Officer, Please Spread and Cuff Me

  Gang Banged by the Chain Gang

  Hot, Wet and Steamy (individual stories)

  When He’s Inside You

  My Stepson is a Naughty Stripper

  The Gorgeous Naked Man in my Storm Shelter

  Her First Clit Ring

  Dear reader, as this list is not always comprehensive due to more stories being churned out after this point in publishing, please visit http://aphroditehunt.blogspot.com/ for more stories and updates

  PUBLICLY DISPLAY YOURSELF FOR ME

  1

  I’m curled up in my bed, alone, wondering how I’ve gotten myself into this mess.

  Oh yes. I remember.

  It’s the $250,000. My contract money to be a sex slave to a billionaire philanthropist and his three horny sons, locked in for a period of time in which I do not have a safe word to opt out from.

  And yes. It’s also because I am afraid of losing my boyfriend – the superrich and super-gorgeous Max Devlin – if I say no to his family.

  I’m sick, sick, sick.

  Depraved, more like. But although my thoughts oscillate between two extremes, I have no qualms that if I had to relive the last two days, I still would have signed the contract. It’s my nest egg, you see? I have to look after myself. I’m not much different from a kept woman – she opens her legs for somewhere to stay, privileges and money. The main difference is that she opens her legs for one man.

  I’m opening my legs for everyone in the family, and whomever they choose to fuck me. In there a term in history for one such as I? Bonded slave? I certainly haven’t heard of many cases such as mine. Or maybe they are all kept hush hush in the family closets.

  The soft breeze wafts in through the windows, tenting the curtains. It’s such a beautiful day out there, and I’m sick to my stomach. I wonder if I can feign illness. It wouldn’t be a total stretch. I am ill. The kind of illness that knots my stomach and makes me feel as if I’ll never be worthy to look my mother in the eye again.

  A knock sounds on my door. My stomach does another flip. Honestly, I don’t want any sex today. My pussy is sore from all that rough thumping I received yesterday, and if anyone suggests more sodomy, I swear I’m going to cry uncle. My butt is still having hot flashes from the flat paddle that was applied gleefully to it yesterday.

  This is why I’m lying, not sitting, down. I don’t think I can sit on anything harder than a plush cushion.

  It isn’t Max who comes in through my bedroom door but one of the twins. Alex. Maybe Brad. Yes, I still can’t tell them apart despite having fucked and sucked both of them individually and as a ménage.

  “Good morning,” he says, smiling.

  “Good morning,” I reply in a timid voice, hoping he would think I have laryngitis and go away.

  Of course, he’s blessedly gorgeous, with his dark hair and well-shaped nose and lips that are totally kissable. A spasm of desire passes through my loins despite myself. But I still don’t want sex. Can a sex slave state what she wants without getting another round of punishment?

  He walks up to the bed and hands me a paper bag that says ‘Erotic secrets’. I open my mouth to begin my rebellious protest (which I have rehearsed to good measure all morning in bed) but he wags a finger.

  “It isn’t what you think, Gina. Put it on.”

  I take the paper bag from him, feeling a little dazed. When I see the bag’s contents, I ask, “Where are we going?”

  “The beach.”

  “The one downstairs?”

  He winks. “Just put it on. You’ll see.”

  *

  I traipse down the curving grand staircase, feeling self-conscious. My muscles ache as if I’ve just been through a brutal Thai massage. I’m wearing a white terrycloth robe and high heels. Yeah, I’m going to have a ball digging those heels in the sand. I’m already having trouble digging my heels into the soft, sink-into-me carpet that must have been worth hundreds of thousands of sex contracts.

  Voices waft from the den. One of them sounds terribly familiar. I frown, trying to remember where I’ve heard it before. It’s not anyone who lives in this house, for certain.

  The trill of female laughter follows.

  Alice walks out of the den. “Well, one of the guest bedrooms is taken, but there are plenty more to go around. And oh, my Dad is – ”

  She freezes when she sees me.

  My feet grow roots at the bottom step. Alice always does to me. Makes me feel as if I’m an errant little girl in want of smacking.

  Alice narrows her eyes. She puts her hands on her hips. “Where do you think you’re going?”

  “To the beach,” I squeak.

  Yes, yes, I’m still a coward.

  She moves closer to me. So close that I can see the mascara on her long eyelashes and the fine makeup on her face.

  She hisses, “Don’t think I don’t know what you’ve been up to with my father.”

  I’m too frightened to say anything. My tongue seems to have turned into a piece of leather, and a cold draft wraps itself around my bare legs.

  “I know what you’re trying to do,” she goes on, the light in her eyes taking on a devilish cast. “I want you to know that you won’t get away with it.”

  An answer forms like a bubble in my throat. But I’m not trying to get away with anything! Does she mean the contract? I thought it was a ‘willing buyer, willing seller’ case.

  Unless . . . unless she thinks I want something more outside the contract.

  Do I?

  Well, I do want the affections of her younger brother, but does that count? Or do I know myself and my secret inclinations as well as I think?

  “I – I – ” I stammer.

  A girl tumbles out of the den, laughing. Her hair is coppery and streaked with blonde. Her complexion is clear and pink. Health glows from every pore of her athletic body, and she’s wearing a Nike tank top with running pants. Her midriff displays a bellybutton ring. A tattoo of a beautiful woman’s face adorns her right arm.

  “Say, Alice – ” she stops short when she sees me. “Hey, who’s this? You didn’t tell me you had other visitors?”

  “She’s not a visitor anymore,” Alice sneers. “I’ll tell you later exactly what she is.”

  The girl’s eyes roam up and down my bo
dy. A flush comes to my cheeks. I am no stranger to having someone gaze at me with desire, of course – but this girl wears a ravenous hunger in her eyes, as if she’s a beast who would like to devour me.

  “Heather?” A man exits the den to stride into the hall. He pauses in his tracks as soon as he sees me.

  I recognize him, of course.

  No wonder his voice is so familiar. I remember his soothing tones in Dean Whitehouse’s mansion during the night of my final Initiation. I recall his hands bathing me, his fingers worming into the tight confines of my pussy as he cleans my insides. I remember desiring his prettily decorated cock so badly there was an actual ache in my loins.

  “Greg!” I say, doing everything I can to stop myself from running into his arms.

  2

  “Gina?” His face lights up.

  An inexplicable joy explodes within my chest. I’ve always liked Greg. No . . . I adore him. Of all the people who initiated me, he by far has been the kindest – even when he has no need to be.

  He is as handsome as ever – with his curly hair, now a tad longer, and the sexy cleft in his chin. His beauty is different from Max’s. More boy-next-door wholesome as opposed to my boyfriend’s Abercrombie and Fitch model looks. His arm muscles bulge from the T-shirt he is wearing, which is not particularly form-fitting or tight.

  Alice turns to him and possessively hugs his waist. Lover-type possessive.

  Oh no.

  “You know her?” she says jealously.

  “Sure, of course. Gina is, uh . . . ” He arrests my eyes, unsure if he should proceed.

  I don’t know how much Alice knows of what goes on in an Initiation, but I’m not sure if Greg wants her to know that he was part of mine.

  “I’m Max’s girlfriend,” I conclude for Greg. My heart is tapping fast against my ribcage. Greg is such a fine, decent young man. Far too good for the likes of Alice, even if she’s an heiress to a billionaire’s fortune – divided four ways, of course.

  Greg’s face is open and searching.

  “So you hooked up with Max?” he marvels. “Wonders never cease.”

  “What do you mean by that?” I say.

  “It’s just that I have never seen him hook up with an . . . uh – ”

  Again he stops. I know he was going to say ‘initiate’, but he’s once again unsure of how much I want to divulge. That only endears him further to me.

  “It’s OK, Greg,” I say, a lump forming in my throat. “Everyone in this house knows I was a former initiate.”

  An expression of scorn flits through Alice’s fine features.

  “A former and current whore, more like,” she remarks.

  Heather crosses her arms, amused.

  “That wasn’t very nice,” Greg retorts. He sounds like he means it too.

  “I’m just telling it like it is.”

  “You don’t know Gina.”

  “And you do?” Alice turns suspicious all of a sudden.

  Greg seems uncomfortable. “Let’s can the subject, OK?”

  “No,” Heather chimes in, “this is all terribly interesting. Please go on.”

  Alice flashes Greg a vicious glare. “I’ll can the subject only when I want to, not when you tell me to. You forget your place.”

  I’m bewildered. Whatever relationship Alice and Greg are having, it’s clear she’s in the driving seat. What the hell is someone as nice as he is doing with her?

  I am saved when Max comes in through the front door. Silhouetted against the late morning sunshine, he resembles an angel. OK, fallen angel, because there’s a seductive streak of darkness within him that all of us can clearly see. My gut does a flip flop. Max is so gorgeous that he eclipses everyone else in the room, including Greg.

  “Hey, baby,” he says to me, “you ready to go?”

  “Yes,” I say in relief, running as fast I can into his embrace.

  Max grins as he kisses me on the top of my head. He smells of sweet soap and eau d’ toilette, which is the only scent he seems to prefer. He’s affectionate-like – in the manner that we used to behave when we were having blissful vanilla sex, back before this whole family visit/sex slave contract thing started.

  Ordinarily, I am ecstatic when Max does this, but now there are undercurrents in the hall. I’m aware of a quick shadow of disappointment flitting across Greg’s handsome face. Alice’s mouth twists in an almost snarl, while Heather observes everything with a casual nonchalance, as though she is above all these petty politics.

  Max says, “Gina, I assume you have met Greg? He’s Alice’s boyfriend, come for a visit.”

  Yes, this affirms it. No reference to my Initiation. It’s safe to hazard a guess that Alice doesn’t know of Greg’s involvement. Max has also cleverly made the assumption that Alice thinks I’m unworthy to be introduced to anyone.

  “And this is Heather, Alice’s friend from college.”

  “Pleased to meet you,” Heather says, smiling in that mysterious way of hers. She doesn’t come over to offer me her hand, but under the circumstances, I don’t blame her.

  “What’s in store for your little pet today?” Alice’s voice grates on my eardrums like gravel.

  Max’s smile grows wide. “Why don’t you come along and find out?”

  No, no, no, I want to cry. Definitely not a good idea. I turn my face pleadingly up to Max’s, but he engages his sister’s gimlet eyes over the divide.

  “Oh yes!” Heather gushes. “I want to go.”

  Greg’s expression is guarded.

  Alice’s plump and very scarlet lips curl up. I wouldn’t say it’s a smile because it’s too malicious to be one.

  She says, “Why not? It will be good for some laughs.”

  3

  Because there are so many people coming along, absent Russell (thank goodness), we pile into three cars. Three because Max’s Porsche can only seat two. The twins are in their red Ferrari – the one belonging to Alex, or is it Brad? I can’t even tell their cars apart since they purchase duplicates of everything. Alice and her gang are in her yellow Mercedes.

  My terrycloth robe is still wrapped around me, but I’m beginning to feel the stirrings of dread and anticipation. Outside, the vista of the sun shining upon the sea with its undulating and glistening waves belies the underlying danger of the day . . . and what it portends for me.

  “You OK?” Max’s hand reaches for my hair.

  I love it when he twirls my thick mahogany hair between his fingers. That gesture speaks of so much affection . . . even a kernel of the love I feel for him (but of which I am not sure he reciprocates). Oh, I have no doubt that Max is fond of me. But love? Can a man such as he actually love someone else in the romantic sense? A man who must be in control all the time, who must dominate and see his loved ones tethered and chained and subject to the whims of his forebears or those in authority.

  Max’s mind is sickeningly twisted, but I still love him despite that fact.

  “I’m OK,” I assure him.

  “Was my father too rough on you?” There’s concern in his tone.

  “No.”

  “Did you like what he did to you?”

  I hesitate. The truth?

  “I liked some of it. The rest . . . ”

  I still haven’t come to completely embrace the joys of spanking yet. Oh yes, I love the all-encompassing domination and humiliation of the act, but I still haven’t brought myself to love actual pain.

  “You can always tell me if either he or they have been too rough on you.”

  I wonder if he’s referring to his brothers or Alice. “I thought I had no ‘get out of jail free’ card.”

  “Yes, there’s that. But you can still tell me.” He glances at me out of his brilliant blue eyes. “I can persuade them to take it down a notch.”

  A skein of warmth unravels within my chest. He cares! He really cares! Dare I even think that thought?

  I don’t know what demons Max is fighting inside his head, but his beautiful face is troubled as he
turns away to focus on the road.

  The cliff road is winding and long, but we are gradually descending. Several car lengths away, the twins’ Ferrari picks up speed and disappears around a bend. We have lost Alice behind us, though I know she will eventually catch up, much is the pity.

  Once we are on the flat stretch of coastal land, strip malls start to come up. The storefronts are upmarket – stuff like French patisseries, bars with creative names and kitschy designer clothing. The people who throng the sidewalks wear expensive-looking beach apparel – pareos and bandeaus and caftans and wide-brimmed hats and other wraparounds. Their sunglasses are fashionable without appearing outrageous. Yes, this is certainly Max’s crowd we are playing to here.

  “You know Greg,” Max says casually.

  “Yes.” I’m a little cautious when it comes to Greg. Yes, he has had me, but so have dozens of other men. I honestly don’t know how Max feels about him.

  “What do you think of him?” There’s that undercurrent there again. Max is complex, but I still recognize jealousy when I hear it.

  Max . . . jealous!

  I say, “I don’t really know him all that well. He’s all right, I reckon.”

  “You reckon.” He barks a short laugh.

  “Why?”

  Max shakes his head. “Nah, you’re probably right. It’s just that I can’t get over Alice getting a boyfriend from Gifford.”

  “Why? Is he younger than she is?”

  “Slightly. But he’s a – ” Max pauses, seems to think to better of what he’s going to say, and then clams his mouth shut.

  “What?” I persist.

  “It’s nothing. It’s none of my business anyway what my sister does. Just as it’s none of her business what the rest of us do and don’t do.”