Trust Fund Baby Pt 11

Several hours later, Olivia returned home in a Lincoln Town Car, and needed physical assistance to get inside my condominium. I assume that the imposing stretch limousine was Baldwin's, and he had elected to send her home in it rather than calling her an Uber, due to her poor physical state. When I opened the rear door of the Town Car, Olivia was naked except for an oversized, Green Bay Packers football jersey, which bore the name of my favorite player, David Bakhtiara. The rear of the shirt was soaking wet, and as I reached into the rear compartment to assist Olivia to her feet, I was assaulted by the distinct odor of urine.

Apparently Baldwin had dressed her up in my team's colors and urinated on her as she knelt on his doorstep, awaiting her ride home. There was a large sheet of plastic on the rear seat, upon which she was forced to sit, as if she were a muddy dog being taken home to be bathed.

Olivia just wanted to sleep, but I persuaded her to let me clean up her wounds first. I ran a warm bath for her and helped her out of the sodden jersey, trying to suppress my anger at the way she had been treated. Baldwin had whipped her severely, using the rattan cane judging by the appearance of her welts. I knew that Olivia feared that particular instrument of torture, and the constant threat of it had contributed to her fragile mental state. She had been restrained for a lengthy period of time too, the ligature marks visible on her wrists and ankles.

Her lower back was extremely red, inflamed and raw from where Baldwin had instructed Madison to remove the Henna tattoo, announcing that she was the "Property of Maxwell." In typical Madison style, she had used a stiff scrubbing brush, rubbing alcohol, and some good old-fashioned elbow grease, to purge Olivia's back clean of the distasteful marking.

I poured Olivia a glass of wine, and administered her some painkillers, after ascertaining that she hadn't ingested any other drugs or medications. As she tried to relax in my deep Japanese soaking tub, I bathed her tenderly, and washed her hair, matted as it was with semen. Even though Olivia was about my age, I felt a strong paternal connection to her, and wanted her to understand that she was under my protection from now on.

Tears fell down my face as I apologized to her for my failure to insulate her from Madison's abuse, and in that moment we forged a deep connection, and an understanding of our relationship. While the sexual component was not completely eliminated, I never asked Olivia to do anything demeaning again, and on the occasions that we hooked up, it was all about our mutual enjoyment. We would make love tenderly in front of the fireplace, or on one of my private ocean-front balconies, ensuring that she was completely and utterly satisfied, before I got to orgasm inside her.

As the days dragged into weeks, I came to the realization that Madison and I were done, and I slowly adapted to life without her. Newport Beach is a small town, or at least the affluent areas that I frequented, and I would see her out and about, cruising around in a Pink Convertible Bentley, which bore the personalized license plates "MADI TOY."

I knew Jody's car had a similar vanity plate, "JODY TOY" and wondered if Baldwin had ordered Rachel an equally demeaning license plate, demonstrating his ownership of her too. I ran into Baldwin once in a while, at local car meets and the occasional charity auction. He was cordial of course, as one would expect in the company of these older philanthropists, although he would take potshots at me when we were alone.

On one occasion, at an auction to benefit the Red Cross, I bumped into him in the restroom of all places. As I positioned myself at a urinal a few feet from where he was peeing, he started in on me.

"Don't be shy, Pete," he said condescendingly. "No-one is judging you here."

It was a thinly-veiled reference to my diminutive cock size, and it put me immediately on the defensive.

"I was just trying to give you a little room," I said politely, trying not to engage him.

"Aren't you interested in whether the rumors about my mammoth cock are true?" he said laughing.

"What did you donate to the auction, Steve?" I asked, trying to change the subject.

"Well," he began with a smirk, "I donated a very unique and collectible sculpture by Stella Shawzin, although judging by the lack of interest in the piece, I wish I had offered Jody's asshole up for sale again. It sold for ten grand the last time it was available, and I understand at one point you were trying to purchase it for yourself," he added with a flourish. "Jody showed me the signed memorandum of understanding."

I knew that there was no chance of me winning this exchange, so after I finished my business, I backed off, moving towards the sink to wash my hands. Sensing my reluctance to fight back, Baldwin, ever the Alpha male, continued on his offensive.

"Make sure you wash your hands," he said cheerfully. "The stench of urine is such a foul odor. I remember how much Olivia stunk when I took a piss on her, before sending her back to your place. Did you ever get my piss stains out of your beloved Packers shirt?"

As I headed for the door he kicked me in the nuts once more, evoking his ownership of my ex-fiancée, Madison.

"I should put that washed-up bitch Madison on the auction block," he said coldly. "My concern is that you will bid on her, in a last-ditch attempt to fuck her one more time."

I was so relieved to get out of that restroom, and I returned to my table with his taunts ringing in my ears. The rest of the auction went without issue, and I ended up successfully bidding on a few items for the good cause. My philanthropy at such a young age was not lost on some of the older, more established patrons of the cause, and several of them engaged me as the evening wore down, to congratulate me on being on the right path.

As luck would have it, I was talking with Larry Dodge and his wife, two of Orange County's most generous benefactors, when Baldwin joined us. Forced to be polite in the company of two people that he respected, Baldwin made small talk until the subject of his upcoming sixtieth birthday came up.

"Are you going, Pete?" Larry asked me, which was awkward as I was just about the last person that Baldwin would have invited.

Before I could even respond that I wasn't invited, Larry took over the conversation.

"Of course you are," he said cheerfully. "In fact, I want you to come with me. My car will pick you up so that you can enjoy a cocktail. I know the gathering is men only, so I am sure we will be getting pretty rowdy."

As Baldwin looked on from the sidelines, nodding his affirmations politely, the plan was set. Larry's driver would pick me up at 7pm, we could enjoy a cocktail in his limousine and head over to Steve's to celebrate his sixtieth birthday. I left the charity event shortly after that, and it wasn't until I got home that I realized that I was going to be inside the house of my nemesis. I was grateful that it was a male-only event, as the sight of Madison flitting around, playing his dutiful girlfriend would have been emasculating, to say the least. Also, I really couldn't face Jody and Rachel after their recent attempt to play me.

I was a little nervous as the hour of Baldwin's party approached, but after Olivia helped me to get dressed in my best suit, I felt a resurgence in my self-confidence. Larry's driver picked me up at the appointed hour, and I enjoyed a stiff vodka in the back of the limousine as we headed to Baldwin's place. As we drove up his extended driveway, there was an impressive array of sports cars assembled there. I wished I had arrived in my Orange Lamborghini to steal the show, until I noticed Baldwin's LaFerrari parked front and center, which would have totally upstaged my exotic car.

To my amazement, there was a Bugatti Chiron parked there too, just about the most expensive car you would ever see, at least that could be driven on a daily basis. Sure, there were vintage Ferraris hidden away in climate-controlled garages all over Southern California, but they weren't actually ever driven. By contrast, the Bugatti Chiron, available at around three million dollars, was the ultimate display of automotive wealth.

When I picked up my Lamborghini Aventador from the Newport Beach dealership, they had a Chiron there for sale. I had a feeling that it was probably out of my price range, and I was astounded to learn that the lease payment was sixty-five thousand dollars per month, ten times the amount I paid to lease my Aventador. Seeing the car in the flesh was an awesome and eye-opening experience, and an indicator of the wealth that some of these guests possessed.

Inexplicably, nestled among the expensive toys was a late-model Toyota Camry, and I wondered if maybe the Doctor from the Super Bowl Party was there. He had been persona non grata at that event, so I had no clue how he had wrangled an invite here, if indeed that was his car.

After we parked the limo, my heart sank as I saw Jody and Rachel greeting the wealthy men at the door of the opulent residence. As usual, they were dressed identically, dolled up in matching baby-blue Dior cocktail dresses and high-heels. Baldwin had purchased identical jewelry for them to wear, had their hair and make-up professionally done, and had adorned them with matching baby-blue ribbons, arranged in their hair in such a way as to make them appear coquettish.

There were a couple of guys in line ahead of me, and I overheard the interaction between them and the host. Baldwin didn't even acknowledge the girls' names or individual identities as he introduced them, simply referring to them as "the twins." They stood at the door welcoming the guests with a kiss on the cheek and a glass of champagne, undoubtedly stirring a physical reaction from each of the male guests.

When it was my turn to be introduced, Baldwin smirked and whispered in muted tones so that no-one else would hear.

"Pete, you have already met my toys."

With that statement of ownership made, Jody handed me a glass of champagne, and they both gave me the obligatory kiss on the cheek, causing an immediate and involuntary expansion in my underwear. When I entered the room, it was evident that all of the men had visible hard-ons, having witnessed the twins being presented to them like a couple of fuck-toys. These guys were wealthy Alpha males, used to having their way around women. So, shortly after Rachel and Jody joined the gathering, the men started taking liberties with them.

It was fairly innocuous at first, a touch here and there, the occasional resting of a man's hand on the girl's ass, as they chatted. As they became increasingly emboldened by the complete lack of pushback, I witnessed one or two inappropriate gropes. The twins reacted to the sexual harassment with agreeable smiles, and girlish giggles, but I wondered how long they would be able to contain the men.

As I looked around the room, I recognized several of the partygoers, a pack of local Newport Beach millionaires all looking to get some action from the twins. There was one man there that was completely out of place, an older, out of shape Arab named Ahmed. He really didn't fit in with this group, from the poor fit of his suit, to his slovenly, disheveled appearance, that bordered on unkempt. Strangely enough, he addressed everybody with the respectful title of Mr. and asked if the Heinekens were really free. Once he was assured that the bar was complimentary, he grabbed two of the ice-cold premium beers, and double-fisted them within a few minutes.

I chatted with Ahmed for a couple of minutes, learning that he was actually a driver for one of the wealthy businessmen, and was only invited because it was his seventieth birthday. Just as I was about to leave Ahmed, Baldwin approached us with a huge smile on his face, and Madison on his arm. As he paraded her through the assembled men, I felt the eyes of the room upon me, as word got around that she was my ex-fiancée, but now part of Baldwin's ever-increasing toy collection.

Madison barely acknowledged me, but even as we briefly made eye-contact, I could tell that she was as high as a kite. Her eyes were glazed over, and she had a vacant stare on her face, as she was presented to Ahmed. I knew that Madison must have been grossed out by this out of shape Arab, but she smiled broadly as they were introduced, and passively stood by his side.

"Ahmed is my honored guest," Baldwin said assertively. "I want you to take very good care of him."

"Of course, Steve," Madison responded with uncharacteristic deference. "Whatever you say."

It was very emasculating for me to witness my ex-fiancée being handed over to a seventy year old fat guy, with the instructions to attend to his every need, particularly as the room had hushed as they watched to see my reaction.

"It is considered rude in my country for the hostess not to drink with the guest," Ahmed proclaimed loudly. "Enjoy a Heineken with me."

Even though Madison was not much of a beer drinker, preferring the more ladylike beverage of champagne or wine, she agreed to switch to Heineken to placate him, and somebody opened up an ice-cold can for her, and handed it to her. Initially she seemed a little perturbed that no glass was pro-offered, but Ahmed spoke up animatedly.

"From the can," he said excitedly. "We drink it from the can."

Baldwin left the two of them to get acquainted, and as I slinked off into the crowd, the last thing I saw was Ahmed resting his hand possessively on my ex-fiancée's ass, as they chugged their brews like a couple of college kids on a date. Baldwin stopped by a few moments later to make sure that Ahmed was being suitably accommodated, and ended up ordering Madison to keep pace with the old Arab, as far as the beers were concerned. Each time Ahmed motioned for another beer, he got her one, and Madison not wanting to appear rude, pounded them with him.

Madison was wasted within the first hour, the four Heinekens she had consumed conspiring with the drugs she had been plied with, to lower her defenses and inhibitions.

"MDMA," Baldwin whispered as he approached me from behind. "A little trick I learned from Madison herself, when we dominated Olivia. Four hits of MDMA triggers a deep-rooted desire within women to be touched, and Madison will be no exception," he said ominously. "I have also denied her any sexual release for a week," he added with a chuckle. "That bitch is so fucking horny she will do pretty much whatever I ask for an orgasm."

As I turned to confront him, he slipped into the crowd, emerging seconds later standing on a slightly elevated platform, holding a microphone.

"Gentlemen, if I could have your attention please," he began with an air of theatricality. "Please follow me into the drawing room."

As I pondered who the fuck has a drawing room in the twenty-first century, the assembled men followed him into the large room. When I shuffled into this luxurious living area, my jaw dropped as I saw a Sukebe chair proudly displayed. As a lover of rim-jobs, I knew exactly what the purpose of this sex-toy was, and had seen hundreds of rimming porn videos, in which this specific piece of equipment had been utilized.

Essentially a low-slung chair, constructed of clear-acrylic so that it was completely see-through, the Sukebe chair had a wide slit down the center that served to support and separate the buttocks. This enabled a man to sit comfortably for an extended period of time, while a woman crawled underneath him and ate his ass. I didn't even know that Sukebe chairs were available outside of Thailand and Japan, but Baldwin had apparently procured one, and it was cleaned and positioned in such a way to invite questions as to its purpose.

Of course, there weren't many shrinking violets in this group of Alphas, and almost immediately one of the guests asked what the strange looking chair was doing in the living room. Baldwin stepped forward, and after announcing to the assembled men that it was a Sukebe Chair, he turned the spotlight on Madison.

"Madison will be happy to answer any questions about the Sukebe chair. It is her area of expertise," Steve announced, with a chuckle, as my ex-fiancée shuffled forward nervously.

Madison seemed very uncomfortable in the spotlight, but Baldwin was relishing her obvious anxiety. She answered a few questions about the purpose and function of the chair, to the growing interest of the men. Once it became apparent that it was a sex-toy, and its use was within Madison's area of expertise, all of the men wanted to see it in action. Madison was shuffling around with her head slightly lowered, her humiliation evident, as the men peppered her with questions.

As she responded, I could sense that the words were not her own. It appeared that Baldwin had given her several scripted responses to some of the questions that he had anticipated, and these were worded in such a way to elicit excitement from the guys. It was working too, as the fervor in the room was palpable, and some of the guys' questions were quite risqué. Emboldened by Madison's lack of pushback and Baldwin's agreeable nature, risqué soon descended into crude.

"Do you enjoy giving rimjobs to complete strangers?" one of the businessmen asked, inexplicably.

"I enjoy pleasing men, whether or not I have made their acquaintance," Madison responded demurely, still obviously using the scripted response, which not only elicited a murmur of approval from the men, but also opened the flood-gates to a multitude of lewd questions.

"What do you typically wear when you perform analingus?" another asked, identifying himself as a medical professional.

"A baby-blue Dior dress," she answered, to a raucous cheer from the group.

A flurry of questions ensued, and they asked Madison whether she got wet performing the sex-act, if she enjoyed performing for a crowd, if a man had ever orgasmed solely from the rim-job, amongst other very rude things.

Baldwin was loving the whole humiliating scenario, and finally as the men realized how much under his thumb Madison was, he intervened. He thanked Madison for the detailed explanation, and she got a round of applause. Then he dropped the bombshell.

"Now for the million dollar question," he said with an air of theatricality. "Who wants to see Madison under the Sukebe chair?"

Predictably, there was a thunderous roar of approval at the prospect of a practical demonstration of the sex-toy, followed by an immediate protest from Madison, albeit transmitted via her facial expression, rather than verbally. Baldwin stepped forward and addressed my ex, in front of the assembled men.

"Madison, lose the dress," he said condescendingly, as she squirmed uncomfortably under the gaze of a dozen men.

To her credit, she didn't capitulate immediately, offering him the token resistance of a glare, before heading for the door to disrobe.

"Where are you going?" Baldwin asked the increasingly unsettled woman. "We want to see you strip for us."

I was expecting some loud accompanying rock-music for Madison to gyrate to, as she disrobed seductively for our visual stimulation. However, Baldwin merely folded his arms expectantly, and in the hushed environment, Madison began to disrobe. You could have heard a pin drop as the guys watched on intently, all sharing a singular thought, who the lucky guy was going to be.

If the thought of my ex-fiancée being forced to strip for the assembled businessmen was hard to stomach, it was positively revolting to me to think that Baldwin expected her to perform analingus on a complete stranger. Although, as I looked around at the hopeful faces, I wished that I had been in a roomful of strangers, as I knew most of these guys, which made it worse.