“It … it’s — now?“
Bella’s belly is tying itself in knots. It can’t! It can’t be! No! Not now, of all times!
“There … there must be a mistake.“
Dressed elegantly, respectably, but with something about her that nevertheless speaks of a desire to spark sexual speculation in the mond of any man that sees her, the lovely girl, hugs the wall, looking for some feeling of safety — but her voice and her search lack all conviction.
She knows, he thinks; she’s weak. She won’t make a fuss — will let herself be helped into the anonymous but expensive sedan — probably won’t even resist when he puts his hand up between her legs, rips her panties away.
It was over a year ago — at some after party — incredible apartment, views all over the city, such high ceilings, mounds of drugs, Krug on tap, gorgeous leather sofas, gorgeous, famous people everywhere.
This young guy, slick, handsome, confident — Jason — had somehow rounded up the five of them — none of them really invited, all of them chancers, all pretty and dressed and made up to please, all in some way offering themselves to power on the basis of their sweetness, their willingness to please.
And he had made them an offer. An outrageous offer.
Two hundred thousand in cash, each. A shared apartment, not as good as this one, but swish enough, in a good area, for five years. Invitations to parties.
“Yeah right, and we have to fuck all the old fat guys!”, Abby — a demure looking redhead — had laughed, shocking Bella (she was fresh in from graduating from Sweet Briar in Virginia then, hadn’t got used to the speed of this city, its venality).
“Not at all — well, probably not. You see, it works like this…“
And he had explained this ridiculous, astounding scheme. Some sort of crazy lottery. One of them — just one of them, would be chosen, at some point after a year, and that one would be required to ‘attend an island resort owned by our sponsors’ for 6 months. The others wouldn’t have to do anything. Nothing.
The offer would be open for an hour. If they couldn’t agree, then it was over, gone. He offered them a quiet room to talk it over.
A one-in-five chance of being, probably, whored for six months, at some point in a year’s time. One of them suggested that it should be easy to disappear just before the year was up — ‘with that kind of money’. That such a deal was never going to be legally enforceable anyway; ‘Just go to court, threaten to expose the old leches — they’ll shrivel up and die rather than get bad PR’.
Of course, that had been Abby again — who they found out later worked with the young man for the ‘sponsors’.
But by then it was too late — they’d signed up.
And somehow Bella had hardly noticed when the year was up — after all, she had a new job, was having an affair with her boss (married, much older, but rich — wow, was he rich!), had spent all the money anyway, it all seemed crazy — impossible.
But here they were, these tall, strong men, hard and rough-looking, despite their slick suits.
It was going to be her.
And she was so frightened. Mostly because, deep down, she knew that she couldn’t survive six months and keep hold of herself. That she was going to be made over. That she was going to become what she has been nervously, desperately skirting around the edge of for some years now.
That Bella will soon be lost, that she is going to become someone else — not the sweet and breathless ingenue that she had learned to be at Sweet Briar, which had gone down so well with everyone — but instead, she will become a whore.
At some level, she feels, deep inside her, even in that moment of turmoil and desperation, it will be a relief.
To stop the pretence.
To simply accept that these strong men — that any strong person, to be honest — could get her to open her legs, open her lips, to kneel, to offer herself, have her work diligently to serve their pleasure, to pander sweetly to cruel whims, to accept shame, to smile…
He sees all of this in her eyes.
Damn but that Jason kid is good at this.
“My dick is hard already, sweetcakes.“
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