The Cucquean's Contract

AUTHOR'S NOTE: Make sure you check the tags before you read, because the stuff that happens in this chapter may not be to your tastes. Otherwise, enjoy!

***

Thanksgiving comes and goes, and the Walgrens give me the weekend off because they don't want me around when their children are home for the holidays. I don't want to meet the mini-Walgrens anyway, since I don't know if they're as bad as their parents, and I'm glad to have a break from Steven and Gina. The only problem is facing my own family.

I tell them I've found a job as a municipal government clerk. The stereotype that Asian parents want their children to become doctors, lawyers, accountants, or engineers is well and truly alive in my family, but at least they're happy I'm able to support myself. How my sociology degree helps me oil the gears of government bureaucracy is a question they don't pose.

And now I'm curled up in a ball on my bed while the cramps and general misery cast a heavy cloud on my mind. Tomorrow is the weekend, and my period has finally arrived. The fact that I'm not pregnant is small comfort, not just because Steven Walgren will keep on fucking me until his seed takes root, but because I can't be happy about anything right now.

I know there's a clause in that wretched contract allowing me to skip a weekend when that time of the month arrives, so I uncurl my body and reach over towards the bedside table to retrieve my phone. I half expect to find a text from Gina giving me instructions about what she and her husband have planned for me, and it's a relief to see nothing recent.

'

I can't make it tomorrow. I'm on my period.

'

My brain fog isn't so strong that I can't send a simple text message, and as soon as I've pressed send, I let go of my phone and curl up into a ball again. I'll need to eat soon, but at least I don't have the Walgrens to look forward to tomorrow.

My phone buzzes, and I pick up my phone and check the reply.

'

Prove it. 60 seconds.

'

My heart leaps in my chest. Is she fucking joking?

No. She's definitely not joking, so I stand up and pull down my pants. Then I lift my shirt up and trap the fabric between my chin and my chest to hold it in place. Finally, I hook my thumb behind the rim of my panties and pull it out, stretching the fabric until my sanitary pad is visible.

I can see a fresh red stain in the material, and so will Gina when I send the bitch photographic proof that I'm not lying. I snap a picture with my phone and send it to her with plenty of time to spare, then I let my shirt fall and pull my pants up again.

Sure enough, my phone buzzes again, and I check the message.

'

Looks like you need to change your pad. Drink plenty of water and we'll see you next week.

'

I scowl at my phone's screen. I can't tell whether Gina's mocking me or giving sincere advice. Either way, at least I'm excused from sex slave duties this weekend.

Actually, she's probably right about the pad.

***

On Thursday, I receive another text from Gina, telling me to show up on Friday and pack a big enough bag for the whole week. Somehow, I'm surprised it's taken them this long to make me stay at their house the entire week or even move in with them indefinitely. Given that Gina doesn't want me to meet their kids, that seems unlikely.

I drive out to their mansion and arrive with a roller bag full of clothes and accessories, wearing running shorts and a tank top with a backpack of extra stuff on my back. By now, I'm a familiar enough face to the security guard that he buzzes me straight through the gate, but actually ringing the doorbell and waiting for the front door to open remains a tense experience.

The door unlocks and opens, surprising me with the sight of Steven Walgren on the other side wearing sweatpants and a T-shirt, neither of which can adequately contain his physical assets.

"Good afternoon, Grace," Steven greets me with a shark-like grin.

He opens the door wide for me and I step over the threshold. He even lifts my roller bag by the side handle and hoists it effortlessly into the air, making part of me want to swoon at his display of masculine strength. The sound of the front door slamming shut makes me flinch, reminding me that I'm more like a sheep being invited into the wolf's den.

"How was the drive here?" Steven making small talk with me feels weird.

"Not too bad," I answer politely, following his lead up the staircase, "where's Gina?"

"She'll be back soon," Steven explains, "she's dropping the boys off at their grandparents and then doing a little shopping for a meetup later tonight."

"Meet up? Are you going out on a date or something?"

"

We

are going out," Steven clarifies as we reach the top of the steps, "the three of us are going out for a very special evening tonight."

That answer gives me an ominous feeling. As we enter the master bedroom, several scenarios occur to me involving various forms of public humiliation. They quickly vanish as Steven lines my roller bag up against the wall and pushes the retractable handle back into its slot.

"Take off your backpack and then your clothes." I start following the first order, but the second one takes me a moment to process.

"Um..." I'm about to ask why, but then I remember that the answer is 'because I told you to' so instead I answer: "sure."

I remove my backpack and place it carefully against the wall next to my roller bag. Reluctantly, I then remove my tank top to expose my braless chest to Steven's leering gaze, folding it up as neatly as possible and placing it on top of my roller bag. Next, my shoes come off along with my ankle socks, and finally my running shorts and cotton panties.

Steven examines my naked body approvingly. "You're not quite as curvy as Gina -- no one is -- but you've got nothing to be shy about." He turns his attention to my crotch crowned with a thick tuft of dark hair. "I see you've kept to the personal grooming requirements, too."

"No shaving or waxing of my pubic hair without prior permission," I obediently paraphrase the relevant clause of the contract, "only trimming with scissors is allowed."

"Indeed," Steven says pensively, "but frankly, I think you're getting a bit too wild down there."

After a moment of thought, he goes to the bathroom, beckoning for me to follow him. I do so, wondering if he's going to make me shave my crotch in front of him. The bathroom floor tiles are freezing cold and make me shiver until I step onto the mat.

"Put the toilet seat down and take a seat."

I do as instructed while he opens up the bathroom cabinet and pulls out a razor and shaving gel. I keep my thighs firmly closed with my hands on my lap while he retrieves a pair of scissors and puts everything down on the floor to one side.

"Um...so...how much do you want me to take off?"

"Spread your legs nice and wide," Steven orders me, "I'll be doing it for you."

I flinch when I hear that. "Seriously? Why?"

"So that I can have the pleasure of shaving and grooming your crotch just the way I want it to look while you sit there helplessly," Steven answers, his tone hardening as he speaks, "now do as I say and open your goddamn legs."

I gulp and obey, spreading my thighs wide and moving my butt towards the edge of the toilet seat. Steven kneels in front of me and picks up the scissors first, holding clumps of my pubic hair between his fingers and expertly snipping away. I take slow, deep breaths while he trims my pubes, gazing up at the top of the bathroom door to distract myself.

After several minutes of diligent hair-snipping, Steven looks satisfied. He brushes the clumps of pubic hair off my crotch, taking his time stroking my pubic mound before rubbing his fingers against my labia, and I just lie there and accept it, knowing I have no choice.

He stands up again and retrieves a flannel, soaking it under the tap before getting down on his knees again and wringing it over my crotch. The hot water stings my skin, but I try my best not to flinch as he soaks my groin before wiping away any stray traces of pubes and then depositing the flannel in the basin again.

Keeping my thighs open for him, I watch as he picks up the bottle of shaving gel and squeezes a big dollop onto my pubic mound. After putting the bottle down, he takes his sweet time rubbing the gel into my crotch, working it up into a thick white lather, and taking extra care to apply some to my pussy lips and just around my clitoris.

My heart is thumping in my chest as I watch him reach for the shaving razor and give it a rinse under the tap. I'm fearful of how gentle he may or may not be with that thing, but once again, I take deep, slow breaths, and await the inevitable.

"That's right, Grace," Steven encourages me, "deep breaths and stay calm."

He presses the razor against my skin and draws it across my groin. The wet scratching noise of the fine blades razing my pubic hair is accompanied by the gentle sting of the razor against my skin. After each stroke of the razor, Steven washes the blades under the tap before applying the next stroke, taking the utmost care as he does so.

He draws the blade across my skin in a single smooth motion every time at just the right speed, and within a few minutes, my crotch is bare. I keep my thighs parted for him as he inspects my groin, applying the razor a few more times to get rid of any stray strands of hair.

"All done," Steven announces proudly, "now we just need to apply some moisturizer and keep you naked for the next hour or so, and your crotch will recover nicely."

"Do you do this for Gina?"

"No," Steven replies as he washes the scissors and razor under the tap, "she knows how to give herself a good trim and a light shave around the edges."

"And you think I don't know how to do that myself?"

"I'm sure you do," Steven says as he puts all of the shaving equipment away, "but you're my fucktoy, and I want to groom you the way I prefer."

He pulls out a squeezy bottle of moisturizer and squirts a big dollop into the palm of his hand before putting the bottle back and approaching me again. He then gets down on his knees again and proceeds to rub the lotion into my crotch. He's generous in applying it all over my groin, also taking care to apply some to my labia and the area around my clitoris.

The moisturizing lotion being absorbed into my freshly shaved skin creates a refreshingly cool feeling in my crotch. I feel pampered by the attention he pays to my pussy, especially when he starts to tease my clit with his finger. I know he's doing it because he can, but the more he rubs it, the less I mind, and I tilt my head back and close my eyes as he masturbates me.

A knock on the bathroom door distracts us both. "Having fun without me?"

I'm immediately startled by Gina's presence and sit up on the toilet while Steven turns around to smile at his wife. She's standing in the bathroom doorway, leaning against the frame with a one-piece dress held up by shoulder straps.

"Just making sure Grace is properly groomed for tonight," Steven replies, standing up with the moisturizer bottle in hand, "her little oriental jungle was getting pretty wild."

I try and fail to stop myself from rolling my eyes at that statement and its racist phrasing as Gina enters the bathroom and walks into her husband's open arms. She deliberately turns to make sure I have a clear view of her sticking her tongue in his mouth and playfully biting his lip before turning to examine his handiwork on my crotch.

"My God, I'm glad I don't let you shave my beaver."

"You don't like it?"

"You just said you were making sure she's properly groomed, but now she's totally bald down there," Gina explains disapprovingly, "now she looks like she's still in junior high."

"I'm right here, by the way," I speak up, annoyed at being talked about in the third person.

"I know that, Grace, I can see your adorable little bald patch from all the way over here."

"What d'you have against smooth skin?" Steven punctuates his question by running his hand up the inside of his wife's bare thigh.

"Anywhere other than the head or the groin, that'd be fine," Gina responds, moving her hand to the long bulge in her husband's sweatpants, "but women with no hair downstairs look like little girls. It's the same reason I don't like her wearing cotton panties. She's too old for that."

"I'll be sure to dress more like a cougar going forward," I mutter under my breath.

"A cougar?!" Gina laughs, overhearing my comment, "Oh Grace, I have no interest in younger men. In fact, there's only one man I'm interested in at all."

With that, she turns back to Steven and sticks her tongue in his mouth again. He slides his hand all the way up her dress and fondles her crotch, sliding his fingers up and down her slit through the fabric. Gina athletically lifts her leg and allows him to hook one arm under the crook of her knee to keep it propped up in the air while he uses his free hand to keep feeling her up.

I wonder if having sex in front of me is a power play to show that they can engage in the most intimate acts wherever and whenever they want regardless of how uncomfortable I feel about it, or maybe as the family pet, my presence doesn't matter. Either way, I may as well enjoy the show, so I get comfortable and wait for them to finish.

Steven drops his pants, exposing his impressively thick hard-on before pulling Gina's panties to one side and sliding his cock inside her. She gasps as he penetrates her and holds him close.

His thrusting is practiced and forceful, expertly holding his wife's leg in the air with one arm while wrapping the other around her waist. Gina stays poised in the air on one leg, hugging her husband close to her body as he fucks her. Her eyes are half closed and an open-mouthed smile spreads across her face as the lovemaking progresses.

They're going at it pretty hard, and I try to keep my fingers away from my freshly shaved pussy. The sight of Steven's cock sliding in and out of Gina's cunt is getting me hot in spite of myself. It doesn't look like he's trying to last a long time; he just wants to fill his wife up, and the way she's moaning and digging her nails into his shoulders tells me she can't wait.

I can also see a patch of golden pubic hair on Gina's groin, neatly trimmed and shaved at the edges into a triangular shape pointing down to her special place. A fantasy flashes through my mind of tying her up and forcibly shaving her crotch so that it looks like mine. I don't think that's likely, though she might make me stick my fingers inside her once Steven is finished.

Steven's grunting is getting louder, signaling that he's reaching his limit. It's only been a few minutes, but clearly this is a quickie. Gina's moaning louder, too. Before long, Steven thrusts his cock balls-deep inside his wife and groans deeply. I'm able to see the underside of his shaft pulsating as he pumps his seed into Mrs. Walgren's pussy.

She moans with pleasure as she feels his cum filling her up, and hugs her husband more tightly, resting her chin on his shoulder, and panting deeply. She makes eye contact with me, and I try to look nonchalant as I sit there and wait for them to finish.

Steven's cock gets floppy, and he withdraws it from Gina's pussy. A trickle of cum oozes out of her slit and dribbles down the inside of her leg as Steven lets her stand on both feet again. I stay seated as Gina grabs some toilet paper and uses them to wipe away the cum stains while Steven washes his cock under the tap and pats himself dry before pulling his pants back up.

"I've got some outfits for you to try on for this evening, Grace," Gina remarks to me as Steven walks out, "but you'll need to let your pussy air out first. We'll do the fittings in an hour."

"Sure," I reply, dreading the evening to come.

***

Half an hour's drive from the Walgren's mansion is an exclusive downtown club, and the SUV pulls up outside the entrance well after dark. Gina kills the engine and she and Steven exit first. He's gentlemanly enough to open the passenger door for me, and I thank him as I step out onto the pavement. He shuts the door firmly and Gina locks the car before handing the keys to him.

A few people are milling around outside, and Steven strides right past them up to the entrance. He looks so slick in his business suit that he could be on his way to an investors' conference, and he practically towers over the bouncer who checks his ID before allowing us inside.

Gina is wearing a white one-piece cocktail dress and matching heels with a simple bun held in place by a hair clip. She seems weirdly dressed down for the occasion, especially compared to my outfit: a backless black dress with open cleavage and an extra short hem.

The outfit also includes dark stockings and open-toed five-inch stilettoes to show off my red-painted toenails. Gina's also done my hair up in a double bun with bangs to make me look like Chun Li. The pale foundation, darkened eyebrows, mascara, and cat's eyes makeup complete the look along with some lip gloss. The Walgrens even made me put on a choker.

The cold evening wind prickles my legs through the stockings, making me shiver on my way to the club entrance. I'm sure I look like a high-class Asian escort as Gina escorts me through the doors, following Steven's lead through the lobby.

The interior looks like that of a luxury hotel crossed with almost any nightclub I've ever been to. The plush carpet and gold and marble fixtures strike an awkward contrast with the mirror walls and dark lighting, all the more so as we ascend a set of steps that have been roped off and proceed one level up. An attendant then ushers us into a private suite.

Plush couches forming a square U-shape are lined up against the walls with a large table to one side and a briefcase sitting on top. In the middle of the room is a metal pole sticking through the ceiling and floor which is obviously for pole dancing. The central pole is surrounded by a cushioned platform about two feet off the ground with the same upholstery as the couches.

As Steven and I take a seat on the couch, Gina struts over to the briefcase and pops the lid open. She looks over at Steven with a grin and pulls something out of the briefcase.

"Everything is exactly as we ordered it," she says, tossing the object to Steven.

He catches it with both hands, and my heartrate spikes when I see that it's a pair of handcuffs.

"Now we just need to wait for our guest to arrive." Steven puts the cuffs to one side and assures me: "don't worry, Grace, they're not for you."

I want to ask who they're for if not me, but I have a feeling I'm going to find out soon enough.

It isn't long before there's a knock on the door followed by it opening and the guest entering. He's an Asian man with small eyes, a flattish nose, slightly tanned skin, and a jet-black buzzcut. He's dressed in a suit and tie and surveys the room as the door shuts behind him.

I hear the clicking of the lock, trapping him in the room whether he realizes it or not, but what catches the guest's attention is the three of us. A pleased look flashes across his face before it's immediately subsumed by a puzzled expression, as if he was only expecting one of us.

"...Mr. Walgren..." the Asian man greets Steven with confusion.

"It's a pleasure to meet you in the flesh, Mr. Kwan." Steven's shark-like grin is subdued as he speaks, as if he doesn't want to give the game away just yet. "Gina's told me all about you."

"Not too much, I hope," Mr. Kwan says, a confident smile barely concealing a nervous look.

"Enough to prompt me to set up this meeting." Steven nods to Gina, and she stands up and goes back to the briefcase to retrieve something. "You were clearly interested enough in her to come to this meeting thinking it was going to be just the two of you, but there's nothing either of us does that doesn't involve the other spouse, so here I am."