Another picture from this year’s party.
A Volunteer
Picture: The Volunteer
“Well hello beautiful!”
She has been shifting, twitchy, as they had come ‘round the corner, the three of them, having taken themselves off from the surprisingly formal and frankly quite boring beginning of the garden party, it having been made clear to them by one of the uniformed manservants— respectfully enough, but without room for doubt— that if they wanted to fumez le shit, they had better do it far away from the Great Table.
So they had followed a path up the lightly wooded slope, and found a place to smoke and laugh.
“Kiefer, I never really believed you about your dad and this place, but fuck me, man, it’s real. Those girls, man … THOSE FUUUCKING GIIRLS!”
“Are we really going to get to fuck them? For real?”
“Sure, but later. And not just fuck them, either. All these old dudes— the real members, they’re all super rich and they own it all— girls included— you gotta let them do it their way, or get thrown out— I got loaded before I came, last year, and, honestly, dude, I can’t even remember what I did, but I got taken off behind some shed and punched in the gut then kicked out of some side gate, locked out; had to walk to the town before I could get a signal for an Uber. And my dad just fucken’ laughed at me!”
“So we need to be cool. But we’ll get some, never fear. My dad says it gets real wild, later. Some girl is gonna get gang-fucked in front of everyone, once all the normies leave. And did you see those two at the top of the steps? You could do anything to bitches like that; they’re not even fucken’ girls any more— just fucken’ sex-dolls.”
But now, on the way back, they’d gotten a bit lost, come a different way, and here was this girl.
And now she wasn’t just twitchy, it was as if her whole body was trying to shrink itself, pull itself out of the world, like. She really wasn’t sure she wanted to be where she was, with them where they were— three big, strong, stoned twenty two year olds, grinning and staring at her. Shit, she’d probably heard them talking just now, about what they wanted to be doing with girls like her, later.
But it didn’t look like she was going anywhere— those chains, fixed to the cuffs— she couldn’t even protect herself! She had looked up, fear and nervousness writ large in her face— with something else, too, as if she wanted to know something, was looking for something. She’d dropped her gaze, though, flushing deeply. Christ, but she was pretty. Chained up! Fuuuuck.
Play it cool, play it cool. Show the other two he knew what he was doing. This was his place; his dad was the member that had guested them in; he’d be a member, one day, if he didn’t blow it; his dad had told him. The reward for going to fucken’ business school, not sports science so he could be a basketball player. Shit. She’d better be good.
“What’s your name, pretty girl?”
She was wriggling like an embarrassed seven year old, clearly wrestling with a whole lot of conflicting emotions. He ought to feel bad, he knew. She was younger than him, even— should she really even be here?
Still, she was here, wasn’t she? Chained up, for fuck’s sake. She must be one of them, one of his dad’s sex-toys. A slut, a whore.
Only … only she was so pretty, so shy, so sweet-looking…
He hears a noise, a camera click; Kanu taking pictures (the one above) Jesus, that didn’t feel right. This was actually a bit weird. He makes a face at Kanu, who makes one back, but puts his phone away.
“Li … Liana … S … Sir.”
Sir? Fuck, weirder and weirder. He was so hard it felt like it was going to push out the waistband of these stupid formal pants. The other guys were looking awkward, too. None of them great with the small talk, at the best of times, but how do you talk to a chained up young woman at a party at a sex club?
“Hi Liana, I’m … I’m Kiefer, and this is Joël, and this is Kanu.”
Introductions? Really? Time to step up, take the initiative.
“So, Liana, what is going on with you? I mean … chained up like this, at … at a party like this …”
“I … I … I don’t know. It’s … It’s probably a mistake … I shouldn’t … Stupid. So Stupid! Moron!”
She was talking to herself, her hands pulling at the cuffs, the chains noisy for a second or two. Tears glistened in her eyes, but she didn’t cry. Her head kept twisting around, looking away from them, down into the garden, up into the sky. She was in real distress, it was clear; her mouth working, chest heaving, breathing disordered.
God, but he wanted to fuck her. She was chained up! She couldn’t stop it, could she? They could just rape her, fuck her, walk away. Deny it, if anyone made a fuss; her word against theirs— a dirty whore against three rich young men, one a Member’s son. Ha!
But he didn’t seem to be able to even reach out to touch her, which he also wanted to do…
“Can … ” fuck, was he really going to say this? Too late; it was falling out of his mouth; “… can I … we … help you?”
Jesus, that was stupid. But actually … actually, he would like to help her— be strong for her … Pathetic, perhaps … but he feels it.
She looks at him, too, looks him in the face, eyes wide, face white, cheekbones burning red.
“Oh! o! Maybe…” her head twists wildly again, looking at the ground now, searching …
“The key— for the … the little locks, I … I threw them … somewhere … that … that way.”
“Wait, you locked yourself here? What for?”
“Stupid. Stupid, crazy idea. Bad idea. I don’t know. She’ll abandon me. How could I have done this?”
Again, she wasn’t talking to them. Indecision; whatever it was she was going through, it was way, way too deep for him… Fuck!
Ok, something to do, something simple. Look for the key…
“So, over … this way?”
It was immediately obvious that it would be a miracle if keys could be found for the tiny padlocks in that wild tangle of long established undergrowth, but, after looking at each other, shamefacedly, the boys shrugged and made a show of looking, while Liana keeps on twisting and turning in her distress.
The charade goes on for couple of minutes, until;
“Stop. Stop. No. No.”
“No. I don’t… I don’t want to be free.”
“You. All of you. I need you to do this to me. Now. Do me.”
Now her face is fully flushed, and the movements of her body have changed, grown slower, softer.
“Please, stop. Do what you want— what you were talking about doing. To the girls. I’m a girl. I’m chained up. Do me.”
They come back to her, but the gear change has them stuck; They’d been helping a lovely, frightened teenager, chained up in a sex club run by old perverts, looking to free her, imagining her pretty gratitude, imagining feeling strong and good and chivalrous— real knights rescuing a damsel in distress. But now she’s asking her to fuck them? Was she? Wasn’t she?
They are staring at her, not knowing what to think, and once again, she changes gear, speaking urgently, sincere, personally;
“My … the woman who … it doesn’t matter … I … she … I want her to … to bring me here; to … to … to have me … trained. She … she fucks me, but … but she won’t bring me here, and … and she must, or … or she’ll lose interest in me, and … and I couldn’t bear it, so … so … Stupid, stupid stupid…”
She was calling herself names again, momentarily lost in despair, blinking back tears; it’s not erotic for them anymore; they don’t know what to think, but her emotions are raw, powerful, and they do, they do want to help her; she has their whole attention, she fascinates them; each of them would do remarkable things for her— so they feel, at least.
Her head comes up again, but her eyes are lowered, and her voice is low and throaty now;
“You … you … I need you to rape me, fuck me. Do me; be rough, hurt me, mark me— bruises, beat me, bite me— thrash me, whatever… Dirty me. Make me dirty, ugly.”
Tears are flowing, now, down her face, but she is not sobbing.
None of them move; the three boys look at each other, look away; this is not how any of them had expected today to be.
There is a long silence, and then at last she looks up, looks at them in the eyes, looks for the longest time, helplessness in her eyes, before her head goes back, right back, so that she is looking at the sky, and a soft, despairing wail comes from her, which seems to last a very long time indeed, getting thinner and harsher, until it is cut off, dead, and her head jerks back to a normal position and she speaks again, low, serious, urgent, but still, very softly;
“You need to hit me. Hard. Knock me down. Really hurt me. Once you’ve done that, once you’ve made me cry, once you’ve kicked me while I’m on the floor, then you’ll be able to see me, know I’m a whore, a slut, a piece of cunt. So do it.”
“Do it! Knock me over; thrash me; then you’ll be able to do it to me; what I deserve. What I need, because of what I am; because I’m a slut and a whore. I … you … you’ll see … I …I’ll make it good for you; all my … all my ho …holes. All … all need fucking. Hard … Hard fucking. Please… please, just hit me. It will be fine, I promise you … ple…”
She doesn’t get to finish the word, because Joël, always the meanest of them, has slapped her so hard that she topples sideways, onto her knees, crying out, so softly, so sadly, so brokenly; the chain, taut at her wrist, yanking her back again, so that she seems just like a marionette for a moment, less than human, and Joël says;
“You next, Kiefer. Do it.”
And he does, somehow, like an automaton, he does, and then so does Kanu, and then she’s on the floor, legs awkwardly splayed, dress ridden up and she’s not wearing panties and her arms are chained and Kanu is pushing his cock in between her legs and she’s moaning in pain and fear and he is ripping the bodice of her dress so he can get her hands on these sweet breasts and he’s calling her dirty names and …
It would be a lie for any of them to say that they felt good about themselves, fifteen or so minutes later, each of them having come inside her at least twice, leaving her, crying brokenly, stickied and dirtied. She had said it, though, very clearly, as they were leaving, silent, conflicted;
“Thank you” she had said, “Thank you”. Her voice was slurred, because Kanu had done something to her jaw with that first blow, but she was sincere, and they heard it.
Without discussing it, they had avoided the knot of dancing, laughing girls, and the crowd of well dressed people on the terraces, gone and got themselves a few bottles of beer each, and ended up on the benches by a little fountain, away from the others. They weren’t talking much; each processing in a different way.
An hour or so later this serious-looking older woman had arrived, with three scantily dressed girls in tow, all smiling sweetly and wiggling cutely.
“Boys; we’re not going to discuss it, but I gather you had a rather intense welcome to ways of The Castle, earlier. Far be it from me to make any assumptions about what you will conclude about us, about this place, but I want to introduce you to J, V, and N, who very much want to see if you can be encouraged to have a little fun, while you’re here.”
And with that, she’d smiled at them— a rather cool, amused smile, even condescending perhaps, but a smile, and then left.
There was a little awkwardness, then, but it was pretty, giggly, seductive awkwardness; already very short skirt hems were coquettishly flipped up and cleavages were apparently innocently offered as the girls softly made it clear that they would appreciate being close to the boys, that they were not interested in talking, that they were pleased to see evidence of bulges in pants groins, that they themselves were not difficult to arouse.
Things went very well from then on.
Tacitly, the boys made no efforts to participate in the transgressions of the evening. Having been shown a comfortable lounge, with its own well stocked bar, by their girls, who soon wore the boys out, and then returned to the party, giggling amongst themselves, the boys were more than content to grin at each other, and get even more stoned.
They had had an orgy with slavegirls. That was not nothing. That thing with the girl, before, that was … well … something else… There were clearly some very weird people at this Castle place.
Joël was the one who ended up becoming a member, and had many other opportunities to make pretty Liana cry and beg; he was always, always mean to her, and she always, always made a point of offering herself to him first, if she had any choice in the matter…
Kiefer never made it as a basketball player, but he did drop out of business school. And Kanu bought a great deal of photographic equipment.
Note to the sharp-eyed; this Liana is indeed the Liana of the series. This story, though, is some time in advance of the main series.
