Chapter 4: Chapter 4
The study smells of leather and old cedar. Late morning light cuts through the tall windows, catching dust in the air. Ingrid crawls ahead of Marek's polished shoes, her knees sliding over the Persian rug. Her body aches from the night before, the plug a constant pressure inside her, leaking his seed down her thighs. She stops when Marek taps her ankle with his boot, and she spreads her knees wider without being told.
"Good girl," he says, settling into the leather chair behind the desk. "You know your spot."
She knows. She arches her back, letting her heavy, surgically enhanced breasts swing forward, the weight of them pulling at her spine. The BBL curve of her hips flares as she presses her chest to the desk's edge. Leo is already there, standing over the polished mahogany, a stack of contracts in his hand. He drops them onto her spine, and the paper lands with a soft slap.
"Hold still," he says, not looking at her.
She holds still. Her back trembles from the strain, but she holds. Leo uncaps a pen, sets it between her lips, and she closes her mouth around the metal cap, tasting the faint copper of it. He flips open the first page, reads, annotates. The nib scratches against paper. Marek slides his coffee mug into the valley of her cleavage, the ceramic hot against skin, and she bites down on the pen to keep from whimpering.
"Quiet," Marek murmurs, his hand finding her left breast. He squeezes, hard, absent-minded, his eyes fixed on a spreadsheet on his tablet. He kneads the silicone-and-flesh mound like a stress ball, working his fingers into the soft mass, pressing and rolling until her eyes water. The coffee sloshes in the mug between her tits. She doesn't move. She doesn't make a sound.
"Tighter arch," Leo says. She obeys, curving her spine until her lower back dips and her tailbone points up. Her skirt, a scrap of black latex, rides into her crack. She wears nothing else. The office is warm and bright, and she can feel the plug shifting inside her with every tiny movement she makes.
Leo rubs his chin with his free hand. He glances at her, head tilted, then returns to his documents. "Open," he says, and she opens her mouth. He swaps the pen for his thumb, pushing it past her teeth, pressing down on her tongue until she gags. "Good. Small mouth. Keep it that way."
Marek shifts the coffee mug, slides it to the desk, and takes both her breasts in his palms. He squeezes them together, the skin stretching, the implant firm beneath. "Still the best investment we ever made," he says to Leo. "Remember her before? Like a boy."
Ingrid flushes. She remembers. Her body was hers once. Then they took her to a clinic in Zurich, and when she woke, her chest was a size larger, then larger still. The BBL came next, reshaping her hips, giving her the curve they wanted. The doctors asked her if she consented, and she said yes, because Leo's hand was on her shoulder, the weight of it, and she knew the only wrong answer.
"Think she's ready to be filled again?" Marek asks.
Leo finishes his page, sets it aside. "Not yet." He taps the new stack of contracts. "We have the acquisition review in two hours. She stays here until then."
Marek grins at her, dark and slow. "Hear that, princess? Two hours on your knees. Think you can manage?"
She nods, the pen still between her lips.
"Say it," he says.
"Yes," she mumbles around the pen. "Thank you."
They laugh, soft and knowing, and the morning stretches on. Ingrid holds her arch. Marek squeezes her tits whenever he pauses to think. Leo uses her back as a surface, his elbows pressing into her vertebrae. The plug sits deep inside her, a constant, aching fullness, and she can feel her own wetness, thick with their combined cum, leaking down her thighs.
Two hours pass like this. And then, somewhere between the third and fourth contract, her mind drifts. It always does. It drifts back to the auditorium two years ago, the first time she saw them.
She was nineteen, in the front row of the university's grand lecture hall, her notebook balanced on her knee. The keynote on corporate acquisition was sponsored by her professor, who'd insisted she attend. So she sat, ink-stained fingers, neat ponytail, sensible cardigan, and watched two men in identical dark suits take the stage.
They were twins. She knew that from the program. Leo and Marek Halvorsen, co-CEOs of Halvorsen Industries. They moved alike, spoke alike, their voices overlapping and weaving. The lecture was brilliant. She took detailed notes, her mind absorbing every word.
Afterward, when the crowd thinned, she started packing her bag. A shadow fell over her desk. She looked up. Marek stood there, hands in his pockets, his dark eyes fixed on her with a strange, hungry stillness.
"You were watching us," he said.
She blinked. "It was a good lecture."
"Not the lecture," Leo said, appearing at her other side. His voice was low, even. "You. We were watching you. Front row, third seat from the aisle. Touched your hair six times."
Her cheeks burned. "I was taking notes."
"Mm." Marek smiled, slow. "Come with us."
The word no formed in her throat, but it didn't come out. They led her to a private office at the back of the faculty wing, a room used for donor meetings. Leo locked the door behind them. The blinds were half-drawn, the room dim.
"Get on your knees," Marek said.
She stood there, frozen, her bag still on her shoulder.
Leo stepped closer. He didn't touch her, but his presence pushed her back against the desk. "You think you have a choice in this, Ingrid?" His voice was soft, almost kind. "We saw you. And what we see, we keep. That's how it works. Now get on your knees."
She sank. Her bag slipped from her shoulder and fell to the floor. She looked up at them, at their identical faces, and something in her chest cracked open.
Marek unzipped his trousers, pulled out his cock, thick and hard. He curled his fingers through her ponytail, yanked her head back. "Open that smart little mouth," he said. "Let's see if your brain can do anything useful."
She opened her mouth. He shoved himself in, deep, the head hitting the back of her throat. She gagged, tears spilling. He laughed, soft and cruel, and began to fuck her mouth. Leo watched, arms crossed, then stepped behind her, lifting her skirt, pulling her panties down. He found her cunt, slick and untouched, and ran his thumb over it.
"Virgin," he mused. "We won't waste that tonight. That's for the wedding." His thumb slid lower, to her ass. "But this is for us."
He pressed in. She moaned around Marek's cock, her body jerking. He worked her open, one finger, then two, the pain sharp and bright. Marek pulled out and came on her tongue, thick and warm, and she swallowed without being told. Leo pushed his cock into her ass, slow, stretching her until she cried out.
"That's it," Leo grunted, gripping her hips. "That's our girl. That's what you'll always be."
When they finished, they left her trembling on the floor, her mouth and ass full, her virgin cunt untouched. Leo crouched, cupped her chin, and wiped the tears from her cheeks with his thumb.
"You'll drop out at the end of the semester," he said. "You'll marry us within the month. Our families have already signed the agreement." He smiled, cold and certain. "You were never going to leave, you slut. You were always ours."
Ingrid blinks, and the study snaps back into focus. Marek is sitting forward, one hand still buried between her breasts, the other scrolling through his tablet. Leo has marked the last contract and set his pen aside.
"Enough," Leo says. "Stand."
She stands, shaky, her legs numb. The plug shifts inside her. Marek pulls it out with a wet sound, and she gasps, empty suddenly. Then he pushes it back in, hard, and she moans.
"That's for later," he says. "Tonight. We're taking you to dinner."
Ingrid looks up. "Dinner?"
"Family dinner," Marek says, his grin widening. "Everyone's been dying to meet the new bride."
The word bride makes her stomach twist. She doesn't argue. She never argues. Leo hands her a dress from a garment bag he'd hung behind the door: a scrap of red silk, no back, no sides, held together by thin straps. She steps into it, and it barely covers her: the curve of her BBL swells at the hem, and her breasts strain the fabric.
"We found this for you," Leo says, kneeling to lace a collar around her throat. "Fits perfectly."
They take her to the Halvorsen estate, a manor of stone and glass on the edge of the city. Marek opens the car door, and she steps out on trembling heels. Leo holds her elbow. His fingers dig in, steady and possessive.
The dining hall is lit with candles. Long table, silver, crystal. And there, seated at the far end, are her parents.
Her mother raises a glass of champagne, smiling. "To the new bride," she says, and the table echoes it.
Ingrid freezes. Her father nods at her, serene, as if this were an ordinary dinner. As if he hadn't handed her over like a deed. Leo's mouth presses against her ear.
"Surprise," he whispers. "You were always ours, kitten. Your family just sealed the deal."