In a neglected garden all you see is grass and weeds and an occasional wildflower. Juliana knew gardens like that, back home. Stubborn plots with hard, parched soil, resisting the plough that broke their surface.
"You ruined dress."
Juliana opened her eyes slowly. Thank God the lights were low. She looked around and saw she was in the bed that had been given to her. Next to it she detected the smallish figure of Mei, the Asian girl. She held up a limp silvery piece of garment; it was almost torn in two. She frowned, which looked comical on her round porcelain face.
"Sorry," Juliana said, her jaw aching as she shaped the word. She sat up on her elbows. It made the sheet slide off her chest; she was naked.
"You take shower and go to sleep," the Asian girl said, turning to leave the room.
"I'm still hungry!" Juliana called after her, but Mei had already left the room.
Juliana crawled out of the bed to find a bottle of chilled water. The icy liquid soothed her parched throat. It ran down the insides of her chest like a river's delta to fill her empty stomach. He shivered and sank to the floor next to the refrigerator – her back to the wall.
My God, she had to leave this place. These men were barbarians, doctors or not. And then to think she'd thought Charrier was not too bad, really.
The hot water in the tub felt like heaven, relaxing her muscles and bringing peace to the turmoil in her head. She inhaled the sweet perfume and blew tiny mountains of foam from her open hand.
She knew things were wrong – horribly and disgustingly. But even then there were things she could easily get used to – fond of even. She loved the way Mei treated her, making her feel beautiful. She'd loved being with Ellis, finding something she'd never had – friendship. She liked John, the butler. He seemed to care for her within the limits of his position. And what she loved secretly and darkly and guiltily was her body's response to the sexual novelties she experienced. She'd never admit it, she'd bite off her tongue before saying it – but she knew it was the truth.
She also knew that she should resist, be tough like the neglected gardens back home. She should protect her integrity against these dizzying seductions.
But her body had a mind of itself. It instinctively knew there would be wonderful things to come, once she opened up to them – delicious treats and ecstatic marvels. She ran a hand over her slick, soaked belly, finding her slightly swollen lips and the little knob at their top. She rubbed it softly.
Then there was a knock on her door.
"Supper, ma'am, just a little bite." It was the butler's voice. She sighed. Good old John.
"Thank you, John," she said, hearing how the bathroom added echo to her voice.
She waited till he was gone and got out of the tub, wrapping her dripping body in the wide, fluffy robe – another thing she could get used to.
Supper was light and tasty; no doubt leftovers from the dinner she'd missed – spicy chicken wing and steamed vegetables; a bit of cheese and lovely fresh bread. She only drank half a glass from the small carafe of red wine. Then she rose and brushed her hair. She removed the last of her make up, rubbed cream into her face and cleaned her teeth before slipping into the short black negligée – the only nightwear present. Sighing she slipped between the silk sheets, intent on forgetting the bad, and dream of the good. She leafed through a Vogue for a minute, and was asleep before she even knew what she'd read.
***
Waking up in the night can be a scary experience, especially when something wakes you up – a bump, a sound. Someone's in your room, by your bed, breathing on you.
Juliana woke with a start. There was a dim light on – the small reading lamp she hadn't turned off. Trying to focus, she saw a pale blob floating a few feet above her bed. It turned into a face – a male face. It was the perfect nightmare. She screamed. A hand reached down to cover her mouth. It only fueled her panic.
"Shhh, Mrs. Austin," a voice said from the foot of the bed. "Don't panic; you know us all." It was the doctor's voice, dripping with honey. The hand left her mouth. She looked around; there were more faces. Faces she'd seen only hours ago.
There was her tanned table-companion: 'call me Vince.' She knew more of him than just his face. Next to him was the foul-mouthed surgeon – Greene, she remembered. His lips curled into a sneer; maybe they always did. Then she saw Charrier with his gleaming jowls, at the foot of the bed. He was like a ghost against the darkness behind him.
Fleming was present too, of course, and another dinner guest she'd forgotten the name of. Five faces she counted, all looking down on her. They still wore their jackets and white dress-shirts, although the bow ties had been undone or lost. She smelled cigars, alcohol too.
A hand pulled the sheets off of her. Cool air tightened her nipples. She knew that the short negligée did little to hide her body.
"Mrs. Austin," Dr. Charrier said, his voice low and friendly. "Would you please give these gentlemen a better view of your lovely body? No need to hide it."
Juliana's eyes flew to his face. He smiled and nodded, but she felt paralyzed. She was tired; why couldn't they just leave her alone?
A hand cupped her right breast, rubbing the flimsy gauze over its nipple and skin. Another hand found her left breast. And yet another slid under the negligée's hem.
"No," she said, making the word float on a sigh. A murmur of chuckles ran around her bed. The hands increased their pressure; a finger slipped inside her vagina. Then there was a tearing sound – the fabric of her negligée split to expose her naked body.
Juliana knew she should resist – she even thought she wanted to. But all she did was wriggle under the probing hands, repeating her 'no's' in ever-decreasing whispers.
There was no longer any fabric between the mauling hands and her breasts. Her clitoris was being pinched, while fingers ran in and out of her vagina. A thumb entered her mouth, just as she opened it in protest.
"Good girl, Mrs. Austin," the voice from the foot of the bed commented. "Now please raise your dainty right hand and find the present we brought you."
Once more she wanted to resist, but her hand left the place where it had halfheartedly tried to stop the big male hand ravaging her vagina. It rose to meet another hand that led her to an erect penis.
"Take it, Mrs. Austin," the voice went on. "Hold it and make it grow. Make it throb and discover how much it loves you."
The hand opened her fingers and placed them around the rod. It was at once soft and hard – it throbbed and it glowed. Feeling it sent a thrill to her heart – a sensation she hated as much as she loved it.
Another hand took her left hand, opened it and then closed it over a penis that was as hard and thick as the first one. She moved her hands up and down before she knew what she was doing: she automatically imitated the rhythm of the fingers that plowed inside her.
"Mmmm, yes," the voice hissed. "I knew it. You are a natural, Mrs. Austin. Now move your body just like you move your hands. Up... down... and round and churn and twist... and up and down, yes. Very good, Mrs. Austin."
The buzz returned, and it drowned the ongoing voice – just like it drowned her thoughts. The pumping fingers in her vagina were replaced by a wet, sucking mouth and an intruding tongue. But it wasn't her vagina, she remembered, it was her pussy, her cunt, and she moaned, arching her back. When she was like this, she had tits and a cunt, and that was fine. Nothing mattered now, really, did it? She could do... nothing. Everything was... as it was. Wasn't it?
Was it her hand that pulled the penis to her mouth, or did the man push his cock and make her do it? Who knew? Who wanted to know? Fact was that the cock in her right hand reached her mouth at the exact moment she opened her lips. Its head slid up her tongue and she sucked on it. She knew she had to suck it – and that she wanted it. She knew things were as they were supposed to be.
When the man on her left rubbed the wet, drooling tip of his penis over her brow and eyes and bulging cheek, she turned his way, letting the first cock pop out before she took the new guest in.
Juliana had become the center of an orgy, although she didn't know it was called that way. She sucked on ever-changing cocks and was sucked herself until her entire being sang with soundless music. Her mouth tried to moan the words to that song – on the few occasions it wasn't occupied. Her wriggling, bending, arching body did the ballet.
Juliana Enders had by then lost touch with reality –as had Mrs. Austin. It hardly occurred to her that the penetrating tongue had grown in length, width and firmness. That it had taken on a piston-like ferocity she'd never experienced before. She felt stretched, very much stretched, but there was no pain; she felt full, penetrated deeper than ever. The pounding was like beating a drum. It set the rhythm to an overwhelming music that invaded her body from all sides.
The orgy became a merry-go-round that robbed her of sense and focus. Cocks entered and withdrew from her mouth and hands; they also filled and left her pussy with a speed that made it impossible to tell who was visiting her or when. She was man handled and shared. Her body was shoved around and touched, mauled and kneaded. But who cared anymore? The crescendo of the music crashed her into a debilitating orgasm – but she was already climbing to a new one.
Hands pulled Juliana up to her knees, and when they let her down again, she lay on the slick flesh of a male body. A hard cock once more entered her throbbing pussy to nudge her on to yet another climax, while her mouth and hand were filled with silky-skinned iron. She pulled and sucked and rode without a thought in her mind – or a care in the world. Then another sweaty, naked body lowered itself on top of her, and a new and alarming sensation tore her sweet cloud of oblivion away. Something blunt pressed against an opening, and it wasn't her vagina – it was her anus.
