At 4, I am allowed into my room and told to prepare. The door is left unlocked.
I shower; there is gel and shampoo in the shower. I rapidly do my hair, and apply what little makeup is available. A thick mascara, the bottle says waterproof, so it won’t run with the tears I guess. Dark red, almost garnet colored, lipstick, and that's it. Nothing else. I step to the door and check the time: 4:56, just in time. I step out on the landing, nude, shaking on my tall sandals. If I am so terrified, why am I so moist, down there? No one else is out here, until at 4 all the girls come out, beautiful in their red capes. They sit down on the couches, and wait. I would like a shot of some of the liquor on the cabinet, but we are not allowed to serve ourselves liquor. I should have drunk more of the white wine at lunch.
At 4:15 Mr. Hastings comes up. He calls me, Bonnie and Coralee, and takes us up the stairs to the playroom. As we approach the playroom I find my legs getting weak, and the flutter of butterflies in my stomach approach nausea. I glance at the girls, who are preceding me. Coralee seems somewhat nervous, but taking it all in stride. Bonnie is even worse than I am. She is openly crying, whimpering. I am sure she will fall.
Mr. Hastings leads us into the playroom and kennels Bonnie in one of the cages; Coralee, he leaves standing in the room. Me, my wrists are tied together with a silk band and tied above my head to the central column, and then he leaves.
I do not know how long we were left there. I was shaking with fear and anticipation; then the door opened and a man came in. I could tell it was Mr. Roderick. Coralee went to her knees immediately, her weight on her heels, her knees wide open, her hands on them, palms upwards, slightly cupped.
I could tell he was Mr. Roderick. He is around 6 foot tall, dressed in black pants, white shirt and a dark red smoking jacket. His age, I can't tell, between 40 and 55 perhaps. His hair: More salt than pepper, combed back, and a short gray goatee covering his chin. He enters the room. If he walked through a forest, he would expect the trees to move aside for him, so masterful is his stride.
He approaches me, I smell him. The aromas of strong tobacco, cigar actually, mixes with rum, and a musk that I can only define as animal. Not a word. He examines me, critically. After an hour, that was actually a minute, he twirls his finger at me. I understand I am to turn, so he can see my back. I do so. I can't see him now; I can only sense him watching me, like a wolf watches a lamb. I feel like a lamb, tethered as bait for a tiger, only there is no hunter hidden in the bush to shoot the animal. I am offered as a sacrifice to the Lion God. He touches the nape of my neck, with a finger, lightly. I convulse, I am almost coming, from just one touch of his finger on my neck. His finger now traces my spine, down to its base; shudders. His hand now spreads around my cheeks, rights and left, pressing on them. I feel gushing. He moves further down; he penetrates me with one, two fingers. I am sopping wet, my breath, panting, halting. His finger touches my clit. That's it, I jump against the column, buck against his hand screaming my release. He backs off, leaves me hanging. His only word: "Excellent".





A couple of comments if I may.
I hate spellchecking. Before it came into the picture, I almost never miss-spelled anything, I was surprised at how many mistakes it picked up. I guess I get sloppy. I did leave in some "errors" where the grammar check detected "fragments", but those were placed there intentionally, so I do not consider them errors.

Thank you for looking at this.
K