Chapter 20: Day 6: Morning Meeting
The sticky warmth between my thighs was already turning tacky, a sickening reminder of Mark's payment seeping into the cheap cotton of the pajama shorts I’d pulled on after scrubbing myself raw in the shower. My skin felt tight, sensitive. The water hadn’t washed away the phantom sensation of the pink skirt’s scratchy ruffles, or the weight of those stupid bows pulling at my scalp. Heading towards the kitchen felt like walking towards a tribunal. The scent of stale coffee and burnt toast grew stronger, mixing unpleasantly with the lingering ghost of Chris’s cologne and the underlying musk of the house.
Mark was already there, leaning against the counter, shirtless, shoveling cereal into his mouth like nothing had happened. His eyes flicked up as I entered, a slow, knowing smirk spreading across his face. "Mornin', payment plan," he said, milk dribbling slightly down his chin. He wiped it with the back of his hand. "Sleep alright? Or still feelin’ me inside ya?" He chuckled, the sound grating.
I froze, the blood rushing to my face. My hands instinctively clenched at my sides. I couldn’t look at him. Instead, my gaze darted to the small kitchen table where David sat, hunched over a textbook, a mug of coffee steaming beside him. He didn’t look up, but I saw his knuckles whiten around his pen. Chris was by the sink, filling a water bottle, his back mostly to me, muscles shifting under his dark skin. He glanced over his shoulder, his expression unreadable, before turning the tap off.
"Shut up, Mark," David muttered, finally looking up. His eyes met mine for a fleeting second – a flash of something complicated, maybe guilt, maybe discomfort – before skittering away to stare fiercely at his book. "Just… eat your cereal."
Mark slammed his bowl down, the clatter making me jump. "What? Just stating facts, Davey boy. Our little arrangement." He pushed off the counter and took a step towards me. I flinched back, hitting the doorframe. "Keeps a roof over her pretty head, doesn't it?" He reached out, not quite touching me, but his finger traced a line in the air inches from the swell of my breast under the thin t-shirt. "These bad boys, and that sweet, tight little package between her legs? More than worth the rent discount, right boys?"
Chris turned around fully now, leaning against the sink, arms crossed. He didn’t smile, didn’t frown. Just watched. Assessed. His eyes, dark and intense, traveled down my body with a detached curiosity that felt almost worse than Mark’s leering. It made my skin crawl. My nipples tightened traitorously against the soft fabric of my bra, a humiliating betrayal by this alien body.
"Mark, seriously, knock it off," David tried again, but his voice lacked conviction. He ran a hand through his messy hair, looking pained. "It's… it's fucked up."
"Fucked up?" Mark laughed, a short, harsh bark. "It's the deal, Dave. She lost the bet. She took the pill. She agreed to the terms to stay here. Simple." He turned his predatory grin back on me. "And today’s a new day, Taylor. Fresh start. So. Payment time. Aren’t you forgetting something?"
My throat closed up. I knew what was coming. The ritual. The daily humiliation laid bare in the harsh morning light, in front of them all. My stomach churned. I tried to speak, but only a croak came out. I cleared my throat, forcing the words past the lump. "I… I choose…"
Mark’s smile widened. "Louder, sweetcheeks. We all gotta hear the choice. House rules." He gestured expansively at David and Chris. "The boys need to know what’s on the menu today."
David winced, staring fixedly at his book, his jaw clenched. Chris remained impassive, but his gaze didn’t waver. It felt like being pinned.
I swallowed hard, the taste of bile in the back of my throat. The words burned. "I choose…" My voice trembled. I forced it louder, hating the sound echoing in the suddenly silent kitchen. "I choose… pussy." The crude word felt filthy on my tongue, a violation in itself. Heat flooded my cheeks, spreading down my neck.
Mark clapped his hands together once, a sharp, triumphant sound. "Atta girl! Knew you loved getting that little slit stuffed." He winked. "Good choice. Always enjoy spreading those pretty lips wide." He turned to David. "Your turn, Dave. What's your pleasure today? Still haven't popped your cherry on the new model, have ya? Time to break it in properly. Front door or back?"
David flinched violently as if struck. His head snapped up, his face pale, eyes wide with a mixture of horror and… something else. Anger? Shame? His gaze darted to me, filled with a raw anguish that mirrored the revulsion churning inside me. He opened his mouth, closed it, looking trapped. His eyes flicked down to my body, just for an instant, a flicker of that unwanted heat I’d seen before warring with his obvious distress.
Chris pushed off the sink, his movement smooth and deliberate. He picked up his water bottle. "Don't care," he said, his voice a low, calm rumble that cut through the tension. "Just make sure she's cleaned out afterwards if it's the back. Hate a mess." He took a long swig of water, his dark eyes meeting mine with unsettling directness. There was no malice, just… practicality. An ownership. He turned and walked out of the kitchen without another word, the dismissal absolute.
Mark laughed again, slapping David on the shoulder. "See? Easy. Chris don't sweat the details. Just wants his turn." He leaned towards David, lowering his voice mock-conspiratorially, though still loud enough for me to hear. "She’s tight, man. Like, really tight. And those tits? Fuck. Grab a handful while you're pounding her. You'll thank me." He winked at me again. "Payment schedule stands. Mine’s already paid, Chris gets his later. David…" He nudged him. "Don't keep her waiting all day. Playtime’s before dinner." He grabbed his cereal bowl and dumped it noisily in the sink. "Gotta hit the gym. Work off some energy for tomorrow." He sauntered past me, deliberately letting his hand brush against my ass as he went. "Lookin' forward to choosing again tomorrow, Tay-Tay. Maybe I'll have you suck it for a change. See how deep that pretty throat goes."
He disappeared down the hall, whistling.
The silence he left behind was thick, suffocating. David still hadn’t moved, hadn’t looked back at me. He stared at his textbook like it held the secrets of the universe, his shoulders rigid. The air vibrated with his unspoken turmoil and my own rising tide of panic. The casual brutality of it, laid out over cereal and coffee. Chris’s indifferent practicality. Mark’s obscene enthusiasm. And David… David was the worst. His visible conflict didn’t feel like protection; it felt like a prelude. A guilty man still planning to take what he felt owed.
His seed. Inside me. Again. Today. Every day. My body, just a collection of holes for their use. The thought hit me with the force of a physical blow. I swayed slightly, gripping the doorframe for support. David finally looked up, his expression haunted. He opened his mouth, maybe to apologize, maybe to justify.
But I couldn’t hear it. Not now. The room felt too small, the air too heavy with the scent of their presence and the crushing weight of the deal. I turned and fled back down the hallway, Mark’s lewd whistle echoing in my ears, Chris’s indifference chilling my spine, and David’s tortured silence promising a violation that felt, somehow, like a deeper betrayal. One payment down. Two more to collect. The day stretched ahead, interminable, every tick of the clock dragging me closer to David’s guilt-ridden possession and Chris’s detached claiming. My choices felt meaningless. The holes were all that mattered.