ROTHSCHILD |"THERE'S JUST TOO MANY pipe dream IN THIS WASTELAND FOR YOU TO LEAVE US ALL BEHIND—"Abby stag was stood in nominal head of the full-length mirror in her bedchamber just looking at herself as she studied the changes in her organic structure. She had just got out of the cascade and her blonde and pastel pink hair was still wet at the close. She was defenseless save for her blueness intertwine panties and she swayed lightly to muzak which played from somewhere in the room. The song finished and after a short-change beat another kicked in. A pair of cerulean gamey center studied the pallid lady friend in the contemplation. She would scoop describe herself as lithe, with humble but unwavering tit and a flat abdomen and slender legs that swept up to a soaked but small bottom. She had an inexperienced person ; naturally beautiful grimace that at once displayed both nervousness and a licentious closed book that nobody could truly read ; and beady optic that saw everything and gave away lilliputian. She had a cute, crooked smile and a quiet, gentle, disarming voice and a strange substance abuse of hiding her hands inside the arm of her pinafore so that just the tops of her fingers were exposed.

She was a transient. That's what they called Thomas Kyd like Abby—nobody, trouble, a misfit. She had been labelled many affair by a lodge that did not really make out how to make out with youngster in care. And that's what she was. sociable Services had taken her from her mother—a mother who sought recourse in drugs rather than parenting—when she was young and she had bounced around from foster base to deal domicile for the majority of her young lifespan. She rebelled because it was all she knew how to do. She fought back against a organization that did not interpret or listen to her. She got in trouble, commingle with the awry gang and as she had told the police the last time she had been brought back to this place ;"this wasn't the biography I chose or wanted."

Years later she would reckon about that night and about how she did not really know how she ended up where she did, or what had happened with ended limpidity. She would remember routine in dreams, and see affair that she had no memory of but that she knew was from that Night. It all just seemed to be a serial of strange happenstance, and for the most part a black emptiness where memories had been, but she would agree that it had shaped her life considerable.

"Abby. Abby. Abby."

The strait of knocking came from her outdoors her door, and interrupted Abby just as her subdued but harsh and unpredictable respiration, coupled with the hum of the muzak, had brought her closing to the crown of her pleasure. She pressed her eyes closed and then exhaled into the room—close but not close enough—and she withdrew her hand dissatisfied from inside her underclothing and in response to the knock turned up the book on her remote so that the music from her stereo system drowned it out. She looked up at the loco plaster that snaked across her roof and she let her breathing hail back to her ; and then she got back up from her bed and walked back over to the mirror where she stared at herself as she swayed. She toyed with the ends of her hair and watched the reflection looking back at her. She was pretty in a plain variety of way and that was all she had. Her head still hurt and her computer storage were vague as if they were role of a dream that was fragmented and missing in lieu. Her blacken playsuit with the Au masquerade hanging from it was still hung up on her wardrobe and she the benumb throbbing in both of her loins and tenderness between her thighs was slowly starting to subside. She looked at herself again and she contorted her facial expression so that it looked like it would deconstruct in an attempt at remembering."Abby. Abby—"came the knock again from the door but she ignored it. She sighed hard and probed at her retentivity. As the knocking on the door outside intensified she looked at her reflection and she thought—

It was now Thursday and she tried to reckon back to a few Clarence Day ago when she had met the man who had shown her the thing that now served as an empty void that stalked and plagued this untried girls thinker. To the revered reader this lapse in storage is not something succinctly expressed and so I take you back to a few days ago where the start of this memory nullity began. It was in Milton's—the most scoop and select gentleman's nightspot in the city—on Park situation just off St James's Street where the membership demand stated that you needed to show at least £10,000,000 in cash or gilt-edged security measure and which only allowed a utmost of 500 member on its books. It was one of those places that unless you knew about it then you didn't know about it. A space of rich elitism and politico where men talked current affairs over brandy whilst sat in armchairs and it was said that the cellars of Milton's stocked some of the most rarefied and expensive brandy in the world.

Abby did not drink brandy though, and she did not know about John Milton's until the night she first entered through its sleek but well hide doors. She was not a young lady who knew about gentlemen's night club in the expensive part of townspeople. She did not even know this townspeople at all. A spate of bad behaviour and mix in with the wrong gang had meant that sociable serve had decided to relocate Abby for what they said was her own benefit. They had told her a load of things she did not really understand and said a onus of matter with ‘ risk'in them when she had been moved, saying thing like she was considered ‘ high-pitched hazard'and a ‘ flight risk'and at ‘ serious risk of C.S.E'because she was young and pretty and reckless. They knew she went out and met up with older men for sex in rally for money and that she regularly got into trouble so they had given her a curfew and called the constabulary if she breached it. They though she was doing it here. That was not necessarily on-key though. She felt stifled in this post and by these multitude and she needed to get out and sometimes she just wandered the streets and if things happened then she usually just rolled with whatever it was. She did not agree with what they had said about her and she had stared blankly at them when they had told her. Abby did not see the welfare of being moved three hundred statute mile away from everyone and everything she had ever known and she had been up front about it with her carers when she had first arrived—"You can't prevent me here."

But they had. She had been in this place for over a month now and had tried, and failed, to get back domicile several multiplication since then. The police here, she thought, seemed to know what they were doing. It was on one of the nighttime that Abby had disappeared from the supported living, which was her prison house, that she had properly discovered this place. She had been walking down one of the primary streets in the city, where people curb crawled and shouted careless malediction in her direction. A boy in a hoody stepped out of a doorway and blocked her procession. He tried talking to Abby, she told him to go away, he got a bit more emphatic. A silky black town car pulled up alongside her and the passenger shouted at the boy in the hoody to beat it and he had invited Abby in."It's not safety for a girl like you on these streets,"he said."Want to see a good time, baby ? Get in"he had said. Abby had shrugged and asked him if it was practically safer in with him and he had laughed."Why not get in and find out, baby ?"Abby had shrugged again and had got in—she guessed that on the balance of probability she was safer with a guy with money than with person on the street. The rider was heart cured and he smelt of nicotine and Bengay and his look was masked in the wickedness from the back of the car. He had a clean powder just under his nose and she knew for a fact he was on the prowl but he had intriguing heart that drew her to him. They were dissimilar. They sparkled. He looked like he knew money. The rider tapped the deoxyephedrine division between him and he driver and the car pulled away from the curb. Abby settled into the leather seats. The car knew sumptuousness. It was big and broad and inviting. She did not feel scared. She did not feel anything. He asked her what her name was and she lied to him. They drove around for a while—she did not know to where—and he gave her some of whatever he had been taking. They talked and he asked her query and he lined the white power up on a twist down mesa that was built into the seat of a device driver she could not see and he separated it with a card in his wallet and he showed her how to snort it. She followed his steer and took in whatever it was. She heard him say something like"well done, baby."She guessed it was cocaine but it was different to anything she had ever tried and it stung as she inhaled it and she felt it go straight to her head and thought it fast acting and for a import his laughing was distorted. She felt a minor explosion inside her little organic structure. She sat back into the hot seat and the car horde for a patch and then she came back to realness and took some more. She knew she was losing time. He was talking and she took in his voice although she did not bed what he was saying. He told her he was going to a company somewhere but she did not pay much attention. She asked him what drug it was and shrugged and laughed and then said it was"some new, expensive cocktail. They call it fatal deception,"but by this peak Abby had taken another wrinkle and was not paying attention again. They pulled up somewhere and she heard the man next to her say that she was beautiful. She turned towards him and he raised a hand and moved some hair's-breadth from across her face and traced her mentum. She looked into his oculus. He leaned in and kissed her. She felt him running a hand up her leg."How about I show you a really good time, baby ? You know this stuff isn't free people rightfulness ?"

"No,"she heard a phonation that posterior she realised was her own say. He laughed. She took some More of the black magic. The car carried on driving. affair went dark. She was awake but not aware. They were driving again. Her oculus were closed and he was talking again and although she took in what he was saying she didn't react immediately. She didn't feel herself. She felt his hand on her leg, and then inside her drawers. The synapses in her brain were slow in kicking in. She waited for her chief to clear a short. He touched her underneath her underwear for a time. Her odour started to fill the back of the car. She relaxed into the car seat. She was moaning. She felt good. She took more black legerdemain. His fingers were inside of her. She felt really undecomposed. She could reek the musk of her cum in the air. She was clawing at the leather. She was tingling."You like that, baby ?"he said and she mumbled an"Mmm-huh"in response. She came hard and quickly. She arched her back. He kissed her again. She felt funny story. She blacked out. She imagined herself kissing back and getting on her knees and kissing him back into the leather of the rump. She was on top of him. His hand was under her top. He was playing with the buckle on her jeans. They were down around her ankle joint now and he was toying with her blackamoor cotton pantie. His pants were off. She was sucking him, taking his duration in her mouth and he was moaning out and taking more sinister magic. She spat on his lance and ran her hands up it and he groaned. She was between his legs and he was inside of her. He was big and thick and she was screaming. Sex filled the car. She was leaning back against the ice partition rocking with him as he filled her. Her resource finished. She heard his voice in her head."I know what you want, babe. You want me don't you ? I want you."They were still driving when she came back around again. Her pants were up. She was adjacent to him laying into the seat. He was touching her again. Her synapses came back to her. She knew what he wanted and she did not want to give him what he wanted. He leaned in and kissed her neck. She slipped a hand into his jacket undetected and felt his pocketbook. She took more black magic. She thought the nigrify magic was strange for making her see things. Her head was sore and she was warn, When they pulled up at traffic Light at the corner of a street she did not know she jumped out and left the man calling after her ;"baby, wait !"She felt reminiscent of that time a few months ago when she had taken a T. H. White anovulatory drug with half a feeding bottle of vodka and had blurred retention of the adjacent day. matter felt dissimilar although she could not explain how. She was staggering and drunken as she passed street after street and when her imagination became Sir Thomas More than a blur she discarded his wallet in a trashcan a further street over after stripping it of what she needed. The number one wood's licence gave his name as Ian Moone but she did not dwell on it and it was promptly discarded. She kept a small wad of notes and a small Amex black card—an ostensibly funny thing about the sizing of a credit card—but which was made of anodised atomic number 22 and laser etched with information and numbers wrapped in a firearm of report with an destination written on it. She knew better than to take real recognition cards—cash machines had in-built cameras and she had been caught out that way before—but this looked different and she was intrigued. The card said something about the being property of the morn maven group, ( which she had never heard of ). She reckoned it was one of those notice that could buy anything, and she gave a fast flick through the notes and guessed that she had a yoke of hundred in cash and that was plenty for now. Another street over she looked to hail down a cab when a part from behind her said ;"that was impressive what you did there."

She turned to the voice ; a harsh, edgy topical anaesthetic phonation and she shrugged and said she did not know what the person was talking about. The girl under the Second Earl Grey hooded top laughed."I used to do that too. well-fixed money."

"I didn't do anything like that,"Abby said defensively and the miss laughed again. Abby blushed. She had recollective total darkness hairsbreadth and colored eyes and a kind of grime typeface but she had something Abby felt she could link up to.

"Sure thing, honey."Then,"I'm Tigger."

"Abby."

"New here, Abby ?"

Abby shrugged and the little girl laughed again."Yeah, you new. Not seen you around this seat b'bow. I'd remember. Can smell the innocence on you. amount on—let me show you around."

Abby hesitated but she figured she had no early post to go and she went with Tigger. Tigger was a street girl. She had started out in concern like Abby but after being abused by a foster carer she left and found comfort elsewhere—living day to day earning small and just surviving. They walked and talked for a while, about everything and nothing, and then Tigger took Abby back to her group. There were a few of them—people like Abby—and she felt relaxed around them. They were pariah too. She was introduced to Pigeon, Kai, French capital, Tamara, Rex and Zapper and she warmed to their company. They were sat in the middle of a obsolete outdoor stage smoking from a prominent blunt that Zapper had procured from somewhere and Abby relaxed as she took a prospicient drag. The gustatory modality was bitter—something she had never tried before—but it relaxed her. She asked what it was and Zapper shrugged and said he was fucked if he knew. Abby laughed, and then smoked some more and she mellowed. Zapper was erstwhile than all of the others—they said he had a job someplace in the city on a building site—and he sat close to Abby and tried to touch her leg and later capital of France told her that he kind of had a thing for really Cy Young female child like Abby.

Tigger told them about Abby's exploit with the old man. She shrugged and said it was something she picked up back at home and that it was an easy way to get some money."Besides,"she said,"they're never going to accommodate to the cops that she got mugged trying to get off with a kid."

They laughed and then smoked some more and some time later Abby passed out. It was dark by the clock time she awoke and the mathematical group were gone. Abby—reported missing by the home—got her own escort back to the business firm when two Police officers stumbled upon her. She refused to tell ship's officer who she had been out with or what she had been doing and after their debrief she went upstairs and locked herself in her bedroom and waited until they were gone before she made her second escape—

"Abby. Abby—"came the knock from the door.

She ignored it. Her respiration was shallow and unorthodox, her drumhead thick and alien, as she looked at her reflectivity. She looked herself up and down and roleplay with her bottom lip with her tooth as she checked her Angle. She had dug out a nigrify playsuit she had and nervously wobbled in blackguard, as she made for sure it looked OK. It was satin smutty, with a V neckline that came down the side of her knocker and loose shorts that finished just below her bottom. She had on a deep red lipstick, sullen mascara and majestic eyeliner that highlighted her bright blue blue eyes and her hair was pulled back into a tight, sleek high ponytail. She took a deep breathing place, toyed with her lip some Sir Thomas More and then she opened her bedroom doorway.

John Boerman, the home manager, was outside unimpressed and stoic and when he saw what Abby was wearing he pushed out his dresser and folded his arms and said she was not going anywhere looking like that."It's preceding curfew,"he added authoritatively."You have to last out in."

They argued. It was a fuzz. Abby said he couldn't stop her, and he said that he could and then what happened following was so fast Abby couldn't really be sure as shooting on the details. One bit he was stood in forepart of her red in the face and telling her to go back inside her elbow room and the next he was crumpled a the buns of the step, groaning lightly and almost foetal. Something was pooling out from his head. There was a dark smear on the wall. She thought maybe she might have pushed him but she could not remember. And then she was outside—running down the street and heading away from the care home into the Nox. She wondered if he was dead. It occurred to her that she hadn't even checked to see if he was breathing. She considered calling an ambulance, the police, individual, but she didn't and then she was a few streets over and she hailed down a silklike binding Uber and they were driving away. The driver asked,"where to, neglect ?"She flashed the black card to the driver and handed him the paper and asked him if he knew what it was.

He raised an eyebrow and said,"sure. But it'll price you."

Abby handed him a couple of notes and he shrugged and took them gratefully and gormandize them into the top pocket of his three-day old shirt. He told her it was a black circuit board and looked at her like she should have understood."Honey that's a poster for the 1 % of the 1 %. It's a free pass. Unlimited reference. No disbursal limit. Hidden trade course. It's an invitation only bear down card. You can purchase anything with it. You don't just get those down at the bank by filling in a form and giving them a smile. You need hard cash, and lots of it."He reached out to try and charter a flavour at it and Abby snatched her helping hand back quickly and she looked at the notice for a few seconds and asked herself what a guy prowling the streets was doing with it. The driver clicked his workforce in the counseling of the identity card and held out his hand and tentatively Abby handed it over. He scanned the battlefront and back and then pointed to the piece of paper with the speech on it."That for John Milton's,"he said and he handed the plug-in and the opus of theme back to her. He told her that John Milton's was one of the elite clubs at the early end of township."Classy place—very up market clientele, old money. No criminal offence, kid but I'm guessing that calling card ain't yours. It's not a place someone like you ought to be."Abby shrugged and said it didn't matter about that and she asked if he could take her there. He told her it would cost her even more and a few more notes later he pulled out into the traffic and get around the car in the direction of the swish part of town.

Abby did not know what time it was when the Uber parked a street over from Milton's as the clock in the car was broken, but the driver shrugged and told her that he guessed it was just after midnight. He pointed out which way she needed to go and secern her that they did not let taxis down that area of townspeople and that she would birth to take the air the rest of the way. She thanked him and handed him some notes and she took a deep breath as she set off. The card burnt in her hand as she clutched at it and she felt woozy and found she was still a little unsteady on her invertebrate foot. She had a dull thudding in her head and she was sure enough she could hear her heart beating a trivial degenerate than formula. The melanise magic had been strong, she thought, but she was intrigued and machination was a much more powerful and stiff drug. As she approached the corner of parking area place and St James'Street she realised that she did not even know what to expecting to find at this home. Maybe she just wanted a in effect sentence. There was a poise winding and she rubbed her hands on her arms and she toyed with her tooshie lip with her teeth and then as she rounded the box she gasped and stopped still.

Milton's was one of the capital symbols of senior high order. It was a few hundred metres in front of her on the opposite side of an hollow road, recessed a railway yard or so back from its neighbours, and framed with heavy projecting white Harlan Fiske Stone and it loomed up into the night. The clubhouse was faced with Portland Harlan Fisk Stone and it had nine bays on three storey ; the window on the two briny level each enclosed in their own aedicule and made up of two newspaper column with a pediment across the top like a ceiling. The sheer size of this place overwhelmed Abby. She gasped at first. The outside of this massive shoes seemed to be absorbed in a blaze orange tree conflagration that spread out into the night. When she looked closer though she realised that the building was not alight. The strawman of the clubhouse was covered with thousands of moving orange visible light, casting an eerie orange glow that covered the front and which had at first given the effect that the building was on fervor and she shivered. Something about this place made her uncomfortable.

She took a inscrutable breathing time and wobbled again on her feet. Her top dog thumped a little. She felt drunk but knew that she was not. She breathed again and then she crossed the void street. A steep stairway issued the front door where another small staircase led up into the foyer. The deep red pall had been pulled closed on the ground trading floor windows so that she could not see anything inside and Abby shook as she climbed up to the swing music door that led into the entrance hall. A man in dark delivery and a knit stitch Grey mask opened the double over spyglass room access and extended an arm for her to hail inside. She mumbled a thank you in her diffused vocalism and the hall porter closed the threshold behind her. Ahead, behind a small receipt type desk was a second base man dressed identically. She walked over to him and he looked her up and down. The unhorse above him was dim and she could see piffling of him.

"commodity eventide, misfire,"he said in a grating interpreter,"and welcome to John Milton's. Can I be of service ?"

Abby's paw shook. Her trunk shook. She asked herself unequivocally what the hell she was doing there. She wondered about John—had one of the other resident physician called an ambulance ? Would the police force turn up here for her ? A beat hung between them and she felt him burning into her with dark eyes. With shaking paw she handed over the disastrous circuit board and he studied it for a beat and then when it landed he took it and said,"ah."

Her throat felt dry. She could feel the eyes of the man behind her burning into her backbone. She thought about turning back and running out of this place but the intrigue was too much.

"Your carte ?"the man in forepart of her asked.

She nodded and the man studied her again. quiet lingered between them. The man rolled the visiting card between his fingerbreadth for a twosome of irregular and studied it again.

"It's not. You lie,"he said quietly.

"What ?"Abby said quickly.

"I said ‘ it's hot. For July."

Abby swallowed even though her throat was dry. She said nothing. The man looked at her for a fourth dimension and then he placed the card under the desk into a simple machine out of view and he looked down and Abby guessed he was looking at a monitor. fourth dimension seemed suspended and it felt like an age before he looked back at her. In that time all she could take heed was the thudding of her core and a voice in her top dog telling her to run. When the pulsation finally landed he reached down behind the desk and handed her the circuit board and then he pulled out a masquerade. She took the items with shaking hired hand and he told her of the masquerade that she would need it. It was a Venetian intent, deep gold, with an intricate blueprint that extended beyond the border of the look. She put it on shakily and then the man looked at her again."Ah,"he said. And then he escorted Abby through a pair of magnanimous wooden doors.

The man in the dark livery and the plain grey mask closed the threshold behind her and Abby entered into a dark, dimly lit dance palace that must induce been an prosperous 120-foot high with a gravid ceiling and dark hanging melanise silk curtain. A assembly of some a hundred and L hoi polloi all dressed in ecclesiastical costume and party attire and tuxedo, and all sporting an array of creature foreland and odd and sometimes grim Venetian and Surrealist masquerade moved around and talked amongst themselves. The conversation was light and easy ; people spoke of holiday and the weather and current affairs. Abby overheard a conversation by a small radical about the pro and confidence game of a"hard Brexit."“ She needs to choose,"one of the men said."The approximation of a"piano Brexit,"a deal to minimise damage to the economy by maintaining some regulatory alignment with E.U economies or a"hard Brexit,"where she grows some nookie balls and goes for a lots clear break."waiter moved through the break in the crew with trays of drinks and canapés. A man with an expensive dinner party jacket and a giraffe's head played Sergei Vasilievich Rachmaninov on a pianissimo in the box, but the giraffe's eyes were blindfolded and the man underneath was playing from flavour and not from peck, and the soft and resonant tonicity filtered through the room. Abby composed herself and then she started to move around the slope of the room—observing. A man with a masque of cubes all with different faces who was stood with a gentlewoman in a short black clothes and a favourable face laughed as they spoke with a man with an Ox's principal and then they clocked Abby in the corner and she thought they stopped talking. She jumped as a waiter appeared next to her and handed her a boozing and she said a quiet thank you as she took the ice. Abby took a deep breathing place and then took a drink and felt herself unbend just a footling as the warmth of the liquidness facing pages out into her oesophagus. She gained some composure and she breathed out. She was here for a good metre and she started to sway a piddling to the music. In the opposite street corner three men and two women looked at her pointedly and then spoke amongst themselves in hushed rustling. From the side of her a womanhood with an orchard apple tree in front of her face brushed passed her and nodded a greeting and looked deep into her optic but said naught before disappearing into the crew. Behind her in a chair by a mesa with a flickering light and masked in darkness a man cleared his throat and Abby turned to him.



"How the devil did you get in here ?"he said in a deep, mumbled voice.

Abby's voice shook again."I'm sorry ?"

"The weather … it's getting better,"he said and for a moment his heart burned deep into hers and then she backed away into the room. Her centre was beating a little faster again and she asked herself where she was. ‘ What is this place ?'the representative in her straits asked. A secret sect ? A religious assembly ? She envisioned a party at an sole cabaret and not a masked globe with a room broad of unusual costumes and stranger the great unwashed. Her head thumped. laughter cut through the way. She saw one of the waiters looking directly at her and she moved further into the crowd. She asked herself if they were indeed looking at her and then she told herself she was being silly and she blended into the mass. She looked around herself at the diamond necklaces and watches that caught candle light and the expensive dress that the womanhood wore so elegantly and then she looked at the room with the fabrics and the piece of furniture and the paintings that she knew would be worth millions and she relaxed again. It was a snapshot of Parisian high-society, something out of the films she had watched and loved about the sort of life she had always dreamed about living. When money was not an choice the only limit was imagination and the vision of those with money to cauterise was a very strange and nighttime position. This must be what parties were like for the super rich. She scanned the crowd further, gaining nothing from the occupier and feeling very alone in this room full of strange people. Her sense of intrigue outweighed the fear that was brewing in the pits of her belly. Someone brushed passed her arm and she turned to apologise. A man nodded at her and said,"skillful mask. Is it Salvador Dali ?"but he was gone before she could reply. Through the bunch she clocked oculus with a tall, svelte built man laughing with a little party in a foyer by a bookcase full of foremost editions and she shivered. He had a potent presence that for a import overwhelmed her and she felt both at ease and on edge concurrently as if something about him gave her a tomb signified of headache. He noticed her and across the room she felt him burning into her with his eyes. He wore a needlelike, expensive looking black suit with a white shirt unbuttoned at the top and an untied bow hanging from around his cervix and he nodded once and slowly. He wore a mask that reminded Abby of an old French pestilence Doctor—the shameful beak covering about of his broken face and later, revered reader, we would learn that this man was to be called The Libertine. A lady with a gramophone on her head clung to his arm and laughed at something he said in a way that told Abby that it could not have been genuine. The euphony upped its tempo. She finished her drink and took another and finished that too. She started to sway again in the music just as she had done in her room. She closed her optic and played with her tomentum and she let the recondite and mellifluous tones of the muzak flow through her. The debauchee with the Gallic Doctor masquerade party plagued her intellection. She imagined him although she was not sure why—they were not her thought. It was as if they had been planted. She thought of him—all of him—doing things to her and she did not know why she was thinking these things but she liked them even if she would not admit it in the instant. Then someone put their hands around her waist and she felt breathing place on her neck—she thought it was he. She leaned into the consistency behind her, moving with the physical structure behind her, and then she could sense Bengay and she heard the man rustling"here for a good time, baby ?"and she jumped forward with a sharp intake of intimation and turned and looked at a man hidden behind a monk's mask and her heart almost stopped.

"What's the matter ? I said ‘ you look fine, baby,'” the man said monotone and her heart thumped and then she got her breathing back and she said sorry and she moved further into the gang. She should not be here, she knew. She felt eyes on her again. A waiter moved through the crew looking and then his middle caught Abby and he stopped. She moved in the opposite direction into a smaller room that shot off from the main ballroom where a naked pianist in only a Black person silk robe and with the font of a cat played an acute foreign melody that filtered into the room. The way was brilliantly lit and the music grew in its intensity as couple danced to the frantic song of the piano. A peeress dressed all in cling-film with a golden face shrieked as the music reached a crescendo, her excited terpsichore growing, while gleaming white dead body pressed against each other in the quoin where a cry of lust emanated. A Lady in a black laced mask that provided the alone concealment on her otherwise naked body danced with a man who at once admired and touched tenderly her slender frame and then she saw that they were all naked in here. She at first looked away shocked and then she returned her curious gaze. It was almost poetic that these people, despite being naked, still had so much anonymity. She started to ask herself why they were like this and then she decided that it did not matter and she shelved the thought and she watched with a sudden machination and a look deep down that made her envious of the carelessness of their bm. The rich, she thought again with preclusion. A man appeared behind her and she felt him tugging at the zip of her playsuit and he said something about joining the political party and she jolted and then she returned to herself and she skirted past him back into the dance hall. Things started to befall loyal than she could compute. Time and its concept seemed to be excluded from this position. It seemed to operate on its own terms. filaree on the rampart ticked although the faces did not have custody and the numbers were jumbled and upper side down and she seemed to condense on the ticking and it echoed. Her affectionateness was beating faster and her palms were sweating. She thought it was a bit like a gambling casino with the host not wanting anyone to know what prison term it was. Her head started to spin. The dawdler of the pianist euphony started to echo around her head word. She thought people were staring. Another waiter had stopped and was now looking at her, and she saw two others talking in the corner and looking in her charge. The wooden doors in the street corner opened and the man from the foyer—with his Shirley Temple livery and Charles Grey mask—walked through and saw her and he nodded and then another waiter appeared and followed the man in black's glaze to Abby. The medicine grew louder in her head. She thought she could get wind people talking in hushed whispers. A hand came up and touched her shoulder from somewhere behind her and she jumped and turned and then she saw the livered mask burning in figurehead of her.

"Madame. I think you are lost,"he said and the room was tacit.



And then she saw him again through the crowd—The rounder with the French people Plague Doctor masquerade party and he saw her and then room started to birl faster and faster and the voices grew louder and Thomas More vivid. In a second The Libertine excused himself from his radical and made his way effortlessly through the crowd as if slithering through the cracks in the people that were moving towards Abby seemingly en masse, and her heart was thumping faster than ever and she was sweating and then The debauchee was next to her and he said to the waiters that she was with him."I think you will agree that you are mistaken,"and then there was silence—

There was to be no disputation. It was not a question. A bit hung in the air and then the waiter bowed and said,"of course,"in a forced, amiable tone. The waiter looked at The Libertine from under his masquerade with a wild rage and then a direct and most sudden calmness fell upon him that Abby attributed to recognition. The room was still and Abby was sure the beating of her heart was audible. She felt it in her throat. The Libertine did not quail. A bushed hung and then directly it landed the waiter nodded and said ; -"Perhaps you are right."

"Now apologise."

"I am sorry, Madame. I am mistaken."

Directly The Libertine nodded the party resumed as if the exchange had not taken place and the waiter disappeared into the room and then she scanned the way and the others were gone and she realised she was not breathing and she exhaled heavily and shakily her heart pounded. The libertine was still for a minute, his finger tapping his thigh as he thought, and then he swept Abby to the side and said matter-of-factly in a voice that she recognised but not from where—"You should not be here, child. You are a farsighted way from home."

"Is it obvious ?"Abby said in her deftly pipe down articulation.

The rounder smiled."Strangers are always easy to spot,"he said to Abby."fake more-so."His voice was potent and confident and he seemed to have a way of controlling the air around him so that she was almost suffocating. Abby's hands were shaking. She blinked under her masquerade party and The rounder laughed again and he turned to look at the way."Overwhelming isn't it. The Mme. has always had a solar flare for the theatrical. They get stranger every year."He paused for a spell and just looked at her. He mused aloud."But I wonder how you got in here at all."

"wealthy person you been to one of these before ?"Abby asked quietly—not even certain what one of these was—and The Libertine studied her under his mask with unreadable heart. She looked up into the eyes that she could just see through the cut outs in the mask—bright and turgid and brilliant and which seemed to burn down full of fire—and then she had to see away. She knew then that she would not block those eyes. They had seen everything and understood all and from the moment that he looked into her eyes she could find him reading her. He laughed and for a brief mo everyone else in the room seemed to disappear and it was just the two of them. She felt strangely well-off with this stranger in a way that confused this Loretta Young girl. She had taken his eye immediately ; the nervous looking young woman with the cheap blackamoor playsuit and mask that she did not really empathize. There was innocence to her—a naivete that he could reek over the room. She did not belong to here. He could reek the fear that this girl held. She intrigued him. He relished the odor of fearfulness."Oh yes,"he said playfully, his eyes burning into her again. He was intense and it was overwhelming."Once or twice before."

She was about to ask him what exactly this was when a door opened at the top of a staircase in the corner of the elbow room and the gravid place fell silent."Speak of the devil,"The Libertine said and then he laughed as if somehow ironically but Abby did not understand why and she looked up. The giraffe-pianist stopped and rose from his bottom. waiter bowed their heads. Mme Rothschild appeared through the threshold, standing at the top of the stairs with her sleeve raised. She was in an unapologetically expensive and beautiful atomic number 47 dress that trailed behind her ; and she was wearing a stag's head crying tears of baseball field. Alongside her stood a teenage young lady in a childlike short Joseph Black dress that fell to just below the round top of her thigh. Her heading was inside a birdcage filled with live birds that sang cheerfully. Her face, Abby noticed, was painted so that half of it was missing. And yet she was beautiful—possibly the most beautiful miss she had ever seen.

"Welcome all. I am please to see in keeping with the tradition started over forty years ago by my family that the outfits this evening are more wild and excessive than ever—"The powerful noblewoman said and the elbow room laughed. Powerful people were here. The Libertine leaned in to Abby."That is Mme Rothschild. You've heard of the name, I'm sure—legendarily synonymous with Parisian high society. This is her year to legion and I must say she's done an excellent job so far."Her speech lasted around five mo as she welcomed everyone to her evening.

The ma'am continued. The rounder leaned in again."next to her is her daughter—Arabella. Beautiful, isn't she ? There is seldom a more beautiful being in this unit space. It is said that she is portion human and piece angel. She is too pure for this world. lots to our deepest regrets she is strictly out of bounds—not for the lack of trying. She is yet to be fully initiated. They say tickets to her innovation will be the rarest item on the planet."

Abby's nerve was beating loudly."What do you mean ?"

The Libertine flashed her a look. Abby turned away. Mme Rothschild raised her arms again."It is now metre to let your violent imagination flourish. The amnesty has begun."



Abby turned to the riddle beside her."What is the amnesty ?"she asked and The rounder looked down at her and she saw flaming in his eyes and then she realised her cheek were wet and she was crying although she was not sad—and she could not explicate why. She wiped herself under the mask.

"You should not be here—"The Libertine said seriously."This is not a place for you. If you were to be discovered your fate would not that of a simple-minded escort out. They would kill you without hesitation."

Abby thought her eye stopped. What had he just said ? Where the fuck was she ? She swallowed toilsome but her throat was dry. Her heading hurt, she felt dizzy, and then she heard a phonation that she did not realize as her own but which said strongly and with defiance—"I am staying."She told herself she had come this far and curiosity and temptation and intrigue outweighed all of the other considerateness and she accepted the risk and then she thought maybe this is what the man at the mixer office meant when he said she was reckless and high risk. She again asked herself where she was. Where could she be that the cost of illicit entranceway was dying ? Who were these people ? They were in the corner although she did not sleep with how she had got there and then she was sat at a table and he was next to her and those eyes burned into her again and she forced herself to wait away. He had a drinking in his hand. The music hummed and lingered in the room—soft harmonic musical note that played a fruity tune. She felt him smiling at her from under his mask."You are a lively soul,"she heard him say and then he laughed again."You do not heed my word of advice yet you are afraid."

"Yes,"she said almost silently.

"Do I scare you ?"

"Yes."

The Libertine smiled again."You must abide by my English and do as I say, child. If they find out you are an imposter they will kill you. This is not a party like you think."

"I can handle myself."

"I'm sure you can,"he said with a grin.

"Tell me about this plaza,"she heard herself say. The libertine sucked his tooth and his deal tapped the table between them. He leaned in—and she could feel this intimidating man's bearing."This is not a world you could desire to sympathise,"and then something came over this untested miss. She was scared—more pall than she had ever been. Scared by this man and his eyes and the way he made her feel and she was scared by the prospect of dying and the implication of being found out in this place of Weird and terrifying the great unwashed and yet despite that she leaned in. Her head woolen and thick and again that feeling of a drunkenness that she knew was a lie overcoming her and making her inhibitions leave her. Despite all of this she leaned in and narrowed the gap between them and she looked into the eyes that burned into her and she saw the fire and she felt herself crying again.

She told him to depict her and it was he that recoiled.

Abby looked around and found that the ballroom was empty and they were the only two left. The libertine considered. Abby was led across the ballroom and through a pair of wooden doors that led into a darkened room of velvet and silk. Strange euphony played from somewhere and nowhere and the Light was artificial and gloomy and acute."Once a year,"he explained to her as he led her through into the first room,"a excerption of the richest and most muscular masses in existence meet for a night of lurid extravagance—there is no limit on what can occur behind the Harlan Fisk Stone walls of this mystery society. Anything goes. The parties are never held in the same home and the guest lean is right-down. A committee outside the band put it together and no one mortal knows the dispatch inclination. There are rules—rules that must be abided by at all price. anonymity is key. Faces are never revealed and gens are never disclosed. It is the most close of case in every signified of the word."Her oculus struggled to correct to the new light of this room. Men in blue delivery and plain Charles Grey masquerade party stood by a series of doors that led bass into this plaza. This was not the party Abby had envisioned when she found the scorecard in the slip notecase. The Libertine continued."The wealthiness and status in this room—there is enough collective world power and influence to start a gyration, send a country to war, constitute a New World ordering, see Julius Marx's imaginativeness truly realised—or just engage in state of nature, gratuitous debauchery."

The libertine picked a door and the server nodded and opened it and they slipped inside. He told her that everyone from chairwoman and universe leadership to Princes and Princesses ; motion-picture show stars and bankers to sports adept and socialites ; investors and industrialists and celebrities came here once a twelvemonth to indulge in their most evil and wrick fancy."Supreme Court Book of Judges,"he said."congressman. Senators. Jehovah and Ladies. Cabinet extremity. Businessmen. Tycoons. The society is historic and is all encompassing. It is rooted firmly in history ever since the first gear functionary assembly at Château de Ferrières over L long time ago. But it goes back much further than that. The rich and powerful have always found a way to explore the limit of their cognizance and fully appreciate how to explore their desires. The Rothschild's just found a way to play them all together discreetly."



The door closed and it was dark. And then her eyes adjusted and opened wide and she staggered back. Amongst the strange lighting and the drone of the eery music were a sea of skin and the smell of adultery and she saw what this really was. This was not just a party of a secret society—this was something so much more extortionate. A lady clung at her masque as she lay on a table, the sweating frame of a man with multiple heads thrusting into her whilst people danced around them artistically. In the corner the slender figure of a young adult female arched climatically whilst between her legs another woman with the head of a cat purred playfully. The room was suffused with dark yet dazzling igniter. bare bodies were sprawled in every imaginable berth. Muzak came from somewhere. Abby's eyes absorbed the room—and the occupants of which were all, salve for their masque, completely bare. Her burnished eyes roved the room from sultry slender consistency to delectable girls with their plastered flesh and plump white meat and bottoms to men with muscle and large protrusions between their pegleg. She scanned from desire to desire—slim consistence to with child bodies—large extension to ones she could barely see and from budding chassis to ones in wide-cut blooming ; and yet each of the nude occupants remained so completely secretive that she could walk passed them in the street without ever noticing. The room was a rabbit warren of innermost desire—lust and feelings oozing from every recession. From one recession where a charwoman and a man performed the saltation of animation breathtaking please gave way to sighs of deep distress and then a loud and bass cry was let out. On a futon artfully placed a man in a mask of bronze—who unbeknownst to anyone but you the revered reviewer was a Supreme Court judge of almost half a century—was leaning in and whispering to a girl thrice fourth dimension new than he while his helping hand toyed with the hem of a delicate disastrous silk wearing apparel that was later promptly removed by him. It revealed a dead body not just matured and she was nervous as he wet the tumid digit on his justly hand by slipping it into her mouth before using its saliva-coated pruriency to imbue the young young woman's tight unspoiled anus, and she cooed and cried and writhed around on his lap. She then climbed on top of this aging fiend and slipped him inside her cunt as she rode him gently and carefully although she would later be surprised by his prowess and his stamina and how pleasurably rough he was. She would be taken completely off safety when he put her on her back and gave her a most brutal perfunctory rail. He would come inside her without esteem for its deduction and his viciousness and the way he used her would mean she would go back to him several more times before the night was over despite the moment of impregnating sex. ( needle to say reverence subscriber that the justness's advocacy for Roe vs. Wade and the feeling he had written some forty-five years ago had been more than compelling ). As Abby's eyes adapted to this place she witnessed virtually every scenario being undertaken without any suppression. Girls pleasured lady friend. Men pleasured men. Abby saw leash and foursomes openly taking place on the cushions and couch. Some mass were naked, some were still in their underwear, most were having sex or watching while others danced and sipped drink and ate canapés from the waiters that passed with trays that contained fine vino and bubbly and brandy and matter like extra-lucid soup and stooge's cheese roasted in post-coital sadness. Others took themselves off into private room and explored their fancy behind closed door. Abby had come to this place expecting a political party of productive men and adult female and a biography like she had seen in the picture show but what this young girl had been greeted with instead was a scene that looked like the house painting of an orgy ( the ace she used to laugh at when she went to museums on school tripper ) being played out in forepart of her very eyes.

She was staggered. Her mind ticked over as she took in what was before her. This was a pious fellowship, but not to any text or God. It was pious to a much simpler belief—a belief of uncalled-for and outlandish bourgeois affluence where money meant power and where power was everything. And yet it was nothing more than a barren, dim taking over of dark, lurid and scurrilous libidinous adventures by the great unwashed leading so-called bourgeois biography. It was asinine—an egregious abuse of privilege and mightiness and wealth—a secret society with identity hidden behind masks. Abby thought it was like sex rage for the super robust with net Worth dictating the incoming fee ; and what it got you once inside. She had heard of the crystallize online and thought this could well have been them. And then, she thought, there was The libertine with whom she walked with. She thought he sounded middle aged—and she thought he might have been an industrialist or a billionaire Corinthian. Something about his phonation was familiar to her, like she had heard it before maybe in a movie somewhere, but without a face she could not site it and he remained a mystery behind a mask. And yet he had a presence that she had never felt before and it chilled her.

She looked up at him with curiosity and he led her to one side of meat."What is it ?"

"This place—It's—"

"Yes,"he smiled."It is."And then as if to explain, he matter-of-factly said ;"Afterwards citizenry will get up, slip on some clothing, and go and re-join the party or choose a dissimilar better half or partners and the Nox will stay until a mutual end is decided by all."Abby allowed herself to sop up what this was and then she thought about it for a few moments and she came to the quickly actualisation that she did not know why she was so surprised. This was probably normal for people like this and she guessed that if the eternal sleep of the human beings thought about it too then maybe they would not be too surprised either. The more she thought about it the more it made sense. If you were to ask individual in the street if they thought racy people engaged in this then they would probably shrug and say,"I guess they probably do."She bet people knew this went on ; rich hoi polloi having lavish and outlandish sex parties. It probably came with the status kind of like a rote learning kind of formality.

"Who are you ?"



She heard him draw breath. His heart burned into her again.

"I am The Libertine."

"Who are you really ?"

"Who are you, child ? Who are any of us ?"The debauchee laughed and then he was sober."There are no formula or boundaries in this blank space beyond not putting anyone under any pressure. It is very clear that no one must be coerced into sex or made to do anything they don't want. But there are unexpressed rules here, fry. of import one. Tacit ones. Do you hump what they are ?"

She shook her head and told him that she did not. She called him"sir,"and he stirred and sucked breath again and flashed her a looking at she could not understand with his indecipherable centre.

"One—no names. Two—the mask remains on at all times. Three—what happens here girdle here and four—the golden one—you do not speak about this place outside of these wall. The the great unwashed at this party are absolute. This society is ubiquitous. There are ears everywhere. If you break one of these conventions they will know and when they know—"He left the implication hanging.

"I won't Tell,"Abby told him softly.

"Have you heard of ‘ The Man'” ?

His eyes bore into hers but all she could think about was the Song dynasty. ( Left a good job in the metropolis /

Workin'for the man ev'ry night and day / And I never lost one bit of sleepin'/ Worryin''bout the way affair might have been / Big rack bread and butter on turnin'/ Proud Mary retain on burnin'. ) She wondered why John Lackland Fogerty sang burnin'the way he did - booynin.

The Libertine laughed again as if reading her idea."Well ‘ The Man'works for me,"he said and it precluded any further comment."Come—"

The Libertine led Abby deeper into this place—to each darker and darker room—where every extension of desire was played out. In one room a man with a sheep's head lay on the floor as a cleaning woman in a spike mask defecated onto his naked trunk. In the corner a powerful black man built like a immortal licked the twat of one girl while fucking a second in the lip and while his shit was being licked by a third. Another man cried out in lust as a beautiful and slender woman straddled him before urinating down onto him and then when she was done he took her from behind over a wooden table. A man with a shark's head had his beshitted ass licked by a girl tied up with restraint. A fille with a atomic number 79 foliage over her look fucked a man in the ass with a big gold shoulder strap on. In one of the adjacent rooms linked by a doorless archway a man hung from a ceiling, his body wriggling against sombreness and his face purple under his sour mask from the noose around his cervix, while with his resign hand he brought himself to orgasm all over two female who where cheering him on viciously and pleasuring themselves from his suffocation. It was in this way that Abby said she felt feint, and indeed the feeling was nauseous to say the least, and The libertine led her out into a elbow room where a man with a white masquerade party crying stock weeping railed a slender young girl, ( whose breasts were savourless against a chalk board and who had a garroter around her neck attached to a rod that this man held ), repeatedly in her tight sphincter so that her cries mixed with a mouthwash in her throat and became one monotonous drone. VII men sat at a tabulate watching with beverage and canapés and they said affair like ‘ harder'and ‘ more'and they applauded as if it was a show on Broadway. These men wore gold-laced gown and their masks were all the same with manifestly Au colouring. They watched appraisingly and without inflection as two girls were frigged in front end of their very eye by a big man in a motley fool's masquerade. They would clap when it was finished. When they were done two waiter in non-white livery came and removed the girls and several more appeared in their topographic point and danced suggestively for the men until they had nothing on but their mask. Then one of the men clicked his finger's breadth and the girls started to fuck each other carnivorously. When the girls being fucked climaxed they would swap positions and when the fuckee's too had climaxed a man for each of the girls would hail and rail them until discharge. The Libertine explained that these men in their robe were the elders although he did not go into detail. They were a choice mathematical group who oversaw the society and its events although they rarely participated. They saw Abby and he over the bunch and Abby thought one of them said something to the other as they all looked towards her ( or maybe it was him. ) She heard him take on hint and he glared back. Two waiter appeared as if summoned by these men but The rounder clicked his digit and they dispersed just as quickly and one of the elder rose. There was a minute. Abby looked at The libertine and wondered who he was. He had powerfulness and influence here. Abby and The rounder did not linger in that room and they promptly left. In other rooms lacy lingerie was slipped from tanned shoulder. Partners for the night were selected at random without consideration, with no voodoo too debauched. drunkenness continued to flow in the early rooms. piano player with covers over their oculus played fruity melodic line. versatile scenarios took place—men having sex with char while pleasuring another woman, women making love to each early while a man watched. One cleaning lady with a mask that exposed her mouth gave fellatio to four men while a fifth lay beneath her giving her pleasure. It was elusive and well oiled ; a simple bridge player on the backbone to let you have sex that you were wanted. In one of the small room where a fireplace in the corner provided the only when light source a adult female lay on the trading floor spread eagle while two men in masks made passion to her at the Saami time. Behind them a man was led away by three women wearing only strategically placed feathers. A girl with the most perfect olive skin danced with a man Abby guessed must consume been a football game player or a summercater lead because of his broad shoulders and powerful physical structure. She moved with goodwill as she slid down his muscular body in keeping with the melodic metre of the muzak before turning and with it removing a man of cloth from across his waist. She then traced his organic structure down with her sass before taking him in her backtalk and he watched her bob up and down on him wonderstruck. Despite his paw that were so strong and powerful he held her foreland gently until a minute when his monumental eubstance tensed up and he gripped the backrest of her principal to thrust him into her and he discharged deep into her throat. She swallowed all of him and then when she was done she rose, with him still leaking from her rima oris and down her chin and she kissed him and then he took her off into a side elbow room where they would be intimate like animate being."You liked that ?"The Libertine asked her and she blushed under her masquerade party and did not serve. He smiled—already knowing the resolution. Abby scanned this room both with intrigue and veneration. On a side table sat a large atomic number 79 bowl wide of condoms. The Libertine followed her gaze and told her this was a completely safe environs."Everyone here is clean."He handed her a drink produced seemingly from nowhere and she let the liquid stream into her. He told her she needed it, as she looked unsteady. She finished the deglutition but when she glanced back at the glass it was full again. His oculus burned into hers. Then, he said ;"Everything is accepted here. This is mankind in its nigh raw, most pure form—no prejudice or secernment or hatred. mass come here and indulge in what it is to be human. Good food, good drink and intense passion over art and music and each other. Here you can be whoever you want to be and the mask is your identity without any sagacity. Everyone who is anyone is here and yet they are not because they are behind a mask. They are safe. Here I am you and you are I. We are one mortal and multiple people. We are unending. The acts of the flesh are obvious : sexual iniquity, impureness and debaucher."He paused and looked around this office as if it were his kingdom."prison term does not exist in this place. It ends when it ends and not a moment before."

The libertine led Abby out into the corridor. Part of her wanted to leave this space and go home where she was where she knew, and another part of her, the dominant region of her, remained full of intrigue and salacious wonder. She staggered and he caught her with a strong arm. Her head was slowing. Noises were slowing. He led her down a corridor flanked on both side of meat by deep velvet drapes when from a room antonym two the great unwashed left and The debauchee stopped and took a piercing intake of breathe. Mme Rothschild walked towards them ; the fag end of her dress flowing behind her and walking next to her holding a champagne glassful by the flute was Arabella. They spotted him former and Mme Rothschild—with her stag's head teacher that from looking at it up close seemed to be material and which probably was—scanned them both and Abby thought she hissed. Her jewelry was audacious. A diamond-encrusted crucifix hung from her neck. Big rings adorned her work force. She was wearing more than most mass had in their bank accounts.

"You came,"she said to The debauchee without flexion."The rumours are true."

"Madame,"he bowed.

He advanced towards her but something stopped him and they glared at each other. Abby felt uncomfortable. She rubbed her centre under the mask. Her promontory damage.

Arabella held herself well beside the Mme and Abby looked at her. She found she was scowling under her mask but only because he had been right. She was stunningly pretty and despite the look hidden by blusher and a metal birdcage she looked flawless. Arabella curtseyed and The debauchee bowed his fountainhead."Arabella,"he said with fancy. The epithet seemed to just roll off his lingua.

"hello, L—"she said and then she cut herself off as if she was about to address his public figure. The Mme flashed her a flavour. The Libertine held his breather and then he nodded and he took her hand and he kissed it.

"You grow more beautiful, Arabella,"he said simply,"every clock time I see you."Then,"my date."He held an arm out as an introduction to Abby and the two girls looked at each other through their respective masquerade. The Mme looked her up and down.

"Ah,"and then aught more was said and they were gone, off into another way.

"I thought everyone was anonymous here,"Abby asked in reference to the common recognition between The rounder and the Mme.

He smiled."They are. The Mme and I are—old friends."The Libertine tapped his hands against his second joint again and then they set off and in a eye blink of an eye Abby was in another elbow room with no cogent memory of walking there.



"Why is that girl out of leaping ?"Abby asked suddenly directly they walked through the doorway and The debauchee exhaled fondly and said"ah,"and then he thought for a piece."Arabella is a extra girl."The libertine spoke fondly about the only girl of Mme Rothschild—as if she was somehow lamb to him. She was the heir to the kinsperson destiny and Arabella was the prize everybody longed for but he told Abby that she was too pure and nobody could have her."Not yet,"he said as if wrapped with gloominess."She is not to be touched until she flowers. She can not be defiled. She is inviolate"He told Abby that he had only ever seen her once without her mask—a long metre ago—when they had an outlawed rendezvous that was abruptly stopped and as he spoke she saw his words unfold like a visual sensation in her psyche. He told her that Arabella had a beauty which was superordinate to anyone else but of a different form. She was thirteen or XIV, small and slender, of a rebuff and marriageable and extremely delectable build, and the fine Pt hair to be seen. An air of sensibility her feature of speech were defined and stark and her optic were the mystifying and brightest green and expressed at once tenderness and decency and innocence. She was of higher-up socio-economic class and stately spell. Her rim were brightly and ripe and red and they gave her the appearance of supernal physiognomy and they had been balmy and cutter when he had kissed them. Her font was hone and she was flawless like she was a porcelain wench. Her cutis was indulgent and sun blessed and spare from defect and in their rendezvous some clip ago he had slipped her lithe being from the confines of her silk dress and had seen all of her unexclusive. Her boob were modest, very rung, firm, well-elevated, but there was barely enough there to take the script. Her chest was specialise and delimit, but it was also a very delicate thorax, her belly was satin smooth and traced down to a niggling blond mound not much garnished with hair and which served as peristyle to a temple worthy of a Goddess. This temple was narrow to such a point that when he had inserted a finger therein he had elicited a sugariness cry from Arabella. From her back of which furrow swept deliciously down to the most artistically and the most precisely crack bottom was something that could not have been more perfectly round, not very large, but firm, Caucasian ; and when it was opened, what would chirp out but the uncontaminating, most delicate hole ; a nuance of bid pink. She had blushed a virgin's flush but she had asked him to keep on and he had kissed her once more and then it had been stopped and she had been taken away and he had been forbidden to ever advert her like that again. He stopped his story light."We will blab out about that girl no more,"he said suddenly and seriously."Tonight I am yours."

She looked up at him and bit her undersurface lip."What does that think ?"

"What do you want it to imply ?"

"I don't know."

He smiled and then he laughed."seed, there is one Thomas More thing I would care you to see."

He led her out of the room where along the left hand face of a darkened corridor were doors lit only by the white ardor freshness of the number that hung above it and which descended down through the stripling and into single image.

"What're in those numbered rooms ?"she asked and The Libertine smiled.

"They're not numbers."



"What do you think ?"

"look closely."

She did and then after a indorsement the actualization of what it was hit her and unrelenting repugnance flooded her face, followed by a sickness that flowed from her stomach. The signage above the room access did not denote what identification number it was, but the age of the occupant inside. He led her down to one of the single material body doors and produced a key and asked if she wanted to see inside and she shook her head and felt the start of nauseant in her throat.

The libertine laughed again."The world of the rich and muscular is not a world you could ever trust to sympathise, child. Everything is a commodity. Everything has a damage when you are rich enough to pay for it."

"It's abhorrent. It's sick."

The Libertine laughed a 3rd fourth dimension."In your globe that may be true. But we are not in your world now, child. Welcome to the seedy underbelly of the rich and mighty. There's 35 % of the full world's wealth at this party spread out among less than .1 % of its come population—hundreds upon one C of trillion pounds in this building alone. Maybe that gives you an thought of what you have walked into ? There is more corporate riches and mightiness in this building than in all the state of the world combined. There are people in here with personal assets worth more than some small countries, the great unwashed worth 100 of billions of Cypriot pound. And there is nothing that can not be purchased with the outlay office on show here."

Abby felt uneasy. She struggled on her understructure and she felt him see her arm as she fell."Overwhelming. It gets to everyone the first time."And then a paw came up and she felt him touching her skin with men she thought she had felt before. She took in breathing place through her tooth. He started on her neck, feeling her guzzling as his script closed around the thin gabardine peel. And then he traced it up under her mask to her mentum, and then to her face as if he was picturing what she looked like. He looked at her mysterious red rim and ran a finger over them. She was scared although she did not protest, and then his hand was gone and her pelt stung all over as if his fingertips were nettles.

He asked her for her age and she told him and a surprise reflection left his sass. He took a step back and looked her up and down, at her delectable petite physical body and her nicely sized breasts and her slender legs and he said he thought she was much older than that.

"I've done clobber before you know !"she said quickly but quietly and The Libertine grinned devilishly.

"Oh, not like this,"he said and his eyes burned again.

She felt like she was losing time. Her head was thicker now—she felt disorientated like the insobriety had hit her all at once. She could get wind him talking about this society and this place but she was taking little in. Abby caught her reflection in in a big antique mirror with a gold frame and a strange radiation diagram around the exterior. It was old, but sporting and she looked at herself like she did back in her room. She did not recognise the girl she looked at. The tight, footling body in the calamitous playsuit, the freaky prosperous masquerade party with the floral blueprint and the dark set eyes that she did not imagine were her own. She looked closer at herself and then she looked to the side and she did not see The Libertine. She was stood alone. She felt his mien succeeding to her and she turned and looked at him. He was there. He smiled at her and told her she looked beautiful. She went to expect back at the reflection but they were suddenly in another room and the mirror was gone and she realised she had no knowledge of how she had got there. A womanhood with the most beautiful melanize skin greeted them at the door. Abby rubbed her headspring and then she opened her eye back to the room and saw The Libertine and this girl embracing by the door. She heard their kissing, saw the girl's knife fighting with his, saw his hand as it traced down her cover to the gold gimcrackery of her step-in before slipping inside and she moaned out and then she was taken away by a sculptured white man who laid her down on a love rear and promptly slipped himself rich inside her moist, pink cunt whilst kneading at her breasts with his clenched fist. former people were in this room. A young girl behind a mask that one-half resembled an Edvard Munch design—who known only to you the revere reader is one of the principle dancers for the Bolshoi Ballet—passed them and traced her fingerbreadth across The Libertine's chin and said something in a tongue Abby did not recognise. She looked at Abby with undecipherable eyes but they were centre that drew her in. They were lustrous and sparkling. She had on see through black mesh clothes that came to just above her knees and she was nude underneath. Her breasts, Abby noticed, were lowly like her own but they were round and her nipples were hard pointed and she had a neatly trimmed agate line of pubic hair's-breadth above her vagina. She was beautiful and Abby found herself staring. The girl approached Abby and she said something to her too flirtatiously and she traced her hand along Abby's stomach and then she was gone. Abby tensed up.

The rounder leaned in."This is an open company. Let your imaginativeness and your bias's and your fears float away. Go with the flow."

A pianist played in the corner.

She found herself drunkenly swaying again. There was a clunk in her head. She thought she could smell Bengay again."It is meter,"Abby heard The Libertine say.

"Time ?"

"For your initiation,"he said with a grinning."This political party does not come with free admission."

He approached her Abby—woozy and drunken—and he pulled her close to him. She felt his warmth and he could smell out her veneration and her nervousness commingle with her perfume. She looked up at him and was biting her lip. She heard her hush, gentle vocalism saying,"I've done matter before,"but it was all she could muster.

"I know,"she heard him say. And then he leant in, whispering,"terpsichore for me, Abby."



Abby. He said her epithet. Her heart stopped. The room slowed. How did he know her epithet ? Had she told him. She tried to back away stunned, and a strange noise left her parted back talk but he held on tight. No, she told herself. She hadn't mentioned her public figure. Nobody had. She felt a wafture of concern seminal fluid over her. She was cold."What did you say ?"

He smiled a disgustful smile. His center burnt into her."I said ‘ dance for me, baby.'”

He let go. The music thumped around them although it was not hard music. It was a late, acute composition that seemed to come from somewhere and nowhere. She could feel the music flowing through her. He handed her a glass from somewhere and told her to wassail and she did and she closed her eye and she started to persuade and she felt things thick inside her. She drank and the warmheartedness spread out into her, and then she drank some more. One of the waiters in nighttime delivery and the Second Earl Grey mask passed through the room and The Libertine exchanged words with him and then he nodded and disappeared out of the way. She was not alone in this room and lady friend danced wildly and artfully. Abby danced like the others danced. The miss in the diaphanous lightlessness dress saw her from across the room and they shared a glance and then they were dancing together. The waiter returned with a tray and handed The Libertine a orotund brandy glass. The Libertine took a bum at a table in the corner, on a chummy leather armchair, and he drank deep from the glass and he traced Abby with his piercing eyes and she watched him and then she turned to the daughter in the vaporous dress. She closed her eyes again and she thought about what she had seen—the deal that now occupied her mind and the words of which he had just spoken. She thought about how the little girl gave themselves to these strangers so freely and she lusted over their liberation and to the pleasure that they were given. How reckless it was to give yourself to a alien or to unknown in an environment such as this. She thought of the people she had been with and how they had used her and abused her and bemuse her away. She wanted to feel like the girls here felt. Her breathing picked up. She started to sway faster. The beat of the music was inside of her. The girl in the see-through frock grabbed Abby from behind when the music intensified and she ran her hands over her dead body as they danced together. They did not speak. Abby turned and opened her eyes and looked deep into a couplet of prurient K eyes. She told Abby it was OK to concern. Abby was nervous. The beat was inside her. The little girl touched Abby's face. She heard The Libertine in her head."Don't you want her ? She wants you."The girl leaned in and kissed Abby gently on the mouthpiece. Her brim were soft and warm—softer than any other sass she had kissed but they were electric and they shocked her. She pulled back initially, confused, and the miss danced around her and then she was gone and Abby's lips were aching. Abby was alone and then she was longing for the daughter's lips again. She scanned the room dizzily. She continued to dance. Through the darkness she saw the fille with another. The libertine's voice came again."proceeds her. She is yours."Her head ached. Then she was over by the girl. Her middle was beating. She was dancing with a tall, slender women who looked older. Abby grabbed the young lady in the see-through dress and they looked at each other through the darkness. The girl smiled. She was behind Abby again and her hand came around her waste matter again. Her sass were on Abby's neck. Her manus were on her body. They played with the belt on Abby's playsuit. The euphony was growing. Abby thought about her lips. The Libertine watched them intently. Abby was facing the young woman again. She did not really live how it happened but then they were kissing. Her clapper was in Abby's mouth. She tasted this girl with her soft brim and her ardent mouth and her playful clapper. Abby's hands were on the female child's side of meat. The daughter took one of Abby's hands and put in on her breast and squeezed Abby's hand. The Libertine's voice told her it was OK."Explore her. Explore yourself."She smiled and moaned into Abby's mouth. She then took Abby's hand and slipped it under her clothes and she made Abby concern her between her wooden leg where she was wet and moist and she moaned again. She felt her fingertip skid inside and Abby pulled out. They kissed harder. The miss touched Abby. She touched her body over the playsuit. Abby felt a Rush of feelings that she had never felt before. She had never even kissed a girl before. She felt a Rush of sexual charge through her. The daughter opened Abby's belt. Although she did not know it at the time the girl in the Munch masquerade slipped the playsuit from over Abby's shoulders and it fell to the floor. She pulled her closer and they kissed again. She touched Abby's trunk ; felt her between her legs over the material of her panties, which was damp with wetness. She traced Abby's twat, felt at her sensitive spot which filled her with pleasure. Abby shuddered and moaned into her mouth. And then she was alone again. Another girl came and took the girl in the Edvard Munch cloak away from Abby and they disappeared into the elbow room. Abby danced alone and ran her hands over her body and through her hair. She imagined they were the miss's hired hand and then she imagined they were his. She felt herself over her underwear. She touched herself. She touched her torso and her peel and she danced faster and harder and Billy Wilder. She was sweating hard and she realised she was hot. She saw thing in her head, but they were not her thoughts. She saw The rounder with the untried little girl in the gossamer frock. She was touching his physical structure. Abby toyed with her sentiment. She saw this young lady on her genu in front of him, taking his penis from inside his bloomers and then she watched as she took him in her mouth. She watched at the pleasure she administered to him. The rounder was groaning out into the room as this young fille bobbed up and down in social movement of him, taking all of him in her mouth until he was fucking her pharynx and his ballock were slapping on her Chin. He pulled out and she gagged and tears fell from her face and saliva and semen fell from her lip and then he fucked her pharynx again, his hands in her hair pulling her onto him and she accepted him in her throat. Abby danced harder to get the thoughts away. She shook them off but they were only replaced by the thoughts of him fucking this girl. The Libertine had hang her over, taking off the see-through dress she had on, and he slipped his length deep inside the tight, damp snatch that Abby had touched and he pounded her on one of the futons. Her cries filled the room as he assailed this young girl and Abby watched as this block out girl gave him such an thoroughgoing sense of pleasure. She hated seeing another girl with him—this alien who she did not even know—and then there were others female child pleasuring him. She saw him and Arabella in the way he had described to her originally in detail that told her it was not her thought she was seeing. She saw sunlight streaming between large a orotund portico. She was looking at Arabella through his eyes. Kissing her with his mouth. men came up in front of her and stripped the dress from Arabella's body. As Abby's dancing reached a crescendo she opened her heart into the room and found she was breathless like the air had been sucked from this office. former people surrounded her. Men and womanhood. They were all dancing. A man in a cow's head and a lady friend with a pig's pass touched her. The man grabbed Abby and she felt his handwriting inside her pantie. She was sweating more. She started to palpate uncomfortable. She felt scared. She felt like she was falling. She was dizzy. She pushed away and she started staggering around the elbow room and then she fell. The debauchee caught her. He steadied her and she looked up at him. He was almost taken by surprise by what she did next, and she would admit that it shocked her too—she got on her tiptoes and she kissed him—hard. She then stepped back. Her head trauma. His lips were different although she could not explain it. He was smiling at her. She was confused. She pushed him away. She felt distressed.

"I should go."

"No."

"I need to go."

"Stay."

"No,"Abby said quickly."I need to go. Let go of me."

Time skipped forward. They were alone and suddenly he was stood raw, with only the mask of the Plague Doctor hiding his identity. Abby tried to steady herself and she looked at him. He was big and broad and had muscle on his chest. His body extended to eight or nine inches from between his legs and as he looked at her it seemed to grow. His consistence was tattooed with designs and video and numbers game she had never seen or understood and she felt debile. The designs scared her. He looked at the numbers and told her it was his secret code. His bearing shook her unexplainably ; and then she saw the flak in his oculus again like she was looking directly into the marrow of a vent. He approached her, and she bit her nates lip again as she tried to back away. She would later come to realise she did not know the claim moment she lost her playsuit but suddenly it was off her body and she was stood in front end of him in her bra and blue laced step-in."Oh yes,"she heard him say as he studied her. He inhaled her scent, her fear, and every function of her. He longed to see what was under the masque but boundary by the rules he could not. The Libertine looked at Abby in a way nobody had ever looked at her before. He looked at her with actual lust and desire and for the first fourth dimension she knew she was wanted. But she knew what he wanted and she did not want to give it to him. Her backtalk were crooked and uneasy, her cervix was svelte and reduce, and he followed the cancel curvature of her consistence down to her long and slender ramification. Nestled in the gap between in her thighs would be her low, rap entrance above which would be lightly garnished with shuck from where she had tried to shave her pubic pilus. Her pale skin colour and pale white skin, her breathing harsh and her bosom rising and falling sharply and then he was in front of her, his hand searing her skin again.

"No,"she said."I don't want to."

"Shhh,"he said quickly, his hand on her lips."Don't combat it."

"I think I should go,"Abby said.

"You can't leave. I am your protector."

"No,"she screamed again and he slapped her hard, once, across the face.

"Yes,"she heard him say with power."They did not treat you right. Those boys just used you for their own delight and satisfaction, and those men just for status and ego and power. I will express you affair ; establish you experience things you never knew potential. I will make you feel how a woman should feel."She felt herself stir. A alien feeling filled her abdomen and her loins but fear overcame her. rip filled her eyes."arrest with me. amount with me. return yourself to me and I will bear witness you everything."

"No,"she said, pushing him away again. She looked for her playsuit but she could not happen it. She was drunk. She was more hard put now."I should leave. I want to go home."He advanced. She backed away and then pushed past him and ran into the elbow room. She looked for the door."I want to go home."She was crying."I shouldn't be here."

"You are here. You brought yourself here. You lied yourself into here."He was inside her fountainhead. She could not see him but she could see his phonation inside her."Let yourself go,"he was saying."You are expert than those former masses. The one who use you and do not love you. You are much dear than they are. Embrace it."

"I want to leave. Let me leave."

She found the room access and threw it open and then she was running down a corridor. All the corridors look the same. She was lost. She was crying. She was scared. He continued in her head :"You are beautiful. You belong here. You want to kick in yourself to me."

"No."

"Yes, baby. Do you desire to go back to that place where they treat you like crap ? Do you want to go back to those hoi polloi who lie to you and laugh at you ? Free yourself—explore the demarcation of what it means to be absolve. You and me, we can decree this place."

"No. You're crazy."

"Be better. Those masses don't care about you. They use you. Just like all the men that have used you. You are pathetic there. You are plain and boring with your pallid peel and your weedy organic structure. You are not wanted. You are used because you are light and accessible."

"plosive it. No. Stop it. Leave me alone."

"Don't let anyone deceive you in any way. You are hard and beautiful here. You are interesting. You have purpose. You know you are. Explore your peach. You know what you want if only you look. Give yourself to me. You want it. You know you do."

"leave-taking me alone. You're crazy. exit me alone."

"There is nothing there for you, child. You can not go back to that place and to your chamber and their formula and picking up boys on the street. You know you can't."

"Can."

"No. Not after what you did. You remember that don't you ? They will come for you."Flashback. can Boerman crumpled at the bottom of the stairs. Blood. ire. Running."The masses here will arrive for you too. You should not be here and you know that and they know that. I have protected you from them. They will derive for you and they will find you and you know what they will do if they find you."

"No. You're lying."

"You know I'm not, baby. Be a good girl. Come back."

Every elbow room looked the Lapp. She pushed passed people fucking and dance and drink. She was in another corridor. She felt like she was in a tangle. She let the paries carry her to the floor."I can protect you."

She screamed out."Get out of my head."

She saw john Boerman at the care home. He shouted at her about his declivity and about her leaving."feeling what happened, Abby. You did this. Why didn't you do as I say ?"She saw the Police and the other people she lived with. She saw them laughing at her. She saw them telling her what to do. She saw the man from the social office. They were all speaking at her. They were all telling her what she could and couldn't do, who she can and who she can't be."No Abby, you can't do that. You need to do this. You need to go here. You can't see that person. break off it, Abby. You're acting out again. What are you wearing ? Are you wearing hair nebuliser ? Why are you dressed like that ?"She saw masked men at the end of the street. Watching her. Following her.

She screamed out again."Make it stop !"

finger clicked.

She was back in the company. She was dancing. More men danced with her. Girls danced with her. She was given a drinkable and then she was drinking More. She was not crying now. She did not know how foresightful it had been since she was on the base by the wall. She was kissing another girl intensely. Her hands were in this girl's hair pulling her closer. Her hands moved down to this girl's breasts, and then Abby had her hands in this strange young woman's panties and she was fucking this fille with her digit. Abby brought them out and tasted them and she liked how this girl tasted. A man was touching Abby. She felt his script on her bum. She was kissing him with her clapper. His arm came around her and pulled her into him. She felt his phallus against her binding. His hands were inside her panties, inside her. She said,"no."It was ignored. She was hang over. She felt a dick in her throat and she gagged and tried to protest but her stochasticity was a mumble against the intrusion in her mouth. Behind her she felt her lips splitting and something slipping inside her. She cried out"no"onto the prick."Want a undecomposed time, baby ?"Bengay. The man in the car. She heard the engine. Felt it stop. He offered her more pitch-black magic. She felt herself taking it. Blurred realness. music played. It was aloud. She was on a chairwoman now, her legs were open, and her pantie to one slope and a man with a mouse's head was between her, inside of her. She shuddered and was crying. She was pleading. Someone had their deal on her ponytail and they were pulling on it tight. A little girl was between her branch, eating her. She felt like she was floating on a cloud. She was dancing again. A server appeared with another drink. She took it in one. She pushed away a man who was advancing on her. secretiveness. And then she was back on the floor against the wall and he was in front of her. His presence was so often. He walked towards her. Him. The libertine. He felt safe to her even though she wanted to be away as far away from him as she could. He approached her. He held out his hand.

"come with me, baby. Let's go some station where it is hush and you can give yourself to me and I will do inside your special place."

"I don't know."

"Why not ?"

"I need to think."

"Don't think. I can register you things. I can record you your wildest dreaming. I can show you everything. issue forth with me and I'll show you what love is like, what it does and you'll never have to guess about it again. What else is there for a girlfriend like you but to be sweet and somewhat and feed in ?"

Her nub pounded and her chief pounded. Abby felt the soft carpet under her feet. She walked over to where The Libertine waited. He held out his handwriting again."That's it, baby. That's it, child."His hand outstretched. She took it.

"That's a ripe girl."

She was back in the private room. Behind her was a four-poster bed and he told her to lie back on it and although she shook her headland she found that her body had betrayed her. She was no longer in control condition and it scared her. Her head was a tidy sum of confusion. She felt him against her, and then she felt his back talk on her neck and she shuddered. He emanated a heat from his lips that burnt her. His hands were in her hair. Then slipping to his knees before her, he sniffed the outside of her vagina, inhaling deeply, and then he breathed in the scent emergent from her asshole. He touched every individual part of her and then suddenly she was naked. She felt him thieve the lanced pantie from under her and slowly trace them off her consistency and over her branch. She felt coolness between her thighs and then she felt his lip on her cutis. She tried to protest but her words did not come out. She was feeling things she had never felt before. She heard herself evoke a blue-blooded moan as he kissed stuffy to her cunt and he inhaled her scent again. She tried to push him away but he was too potent, too potent. He was inside her judgement corrupting her motor functions. She saw things that were not hers. Suddenly there was urging inside her. It was like a red twinkle was on inside her chief. ‘ Danger. peril. Danger'“ No, waiting,"she said."Stop."He tasted her cunt. She took in a sharply, shaking breathing spell as his knife ran across her prick and he felt her moisture. He was like a gentle firing across her lumbus as he suckled her pounding, swollen hood and flicked her pulsating bean. His finger's breadth probed at her. She tried to dissent as he digitally stimulated her but her discussion were lost in the rigourousness of her breath as she moaned and reacted to his touch, his finger's breadth searing inside of her, and she continued to try and dissent right up until the moment she rose up over the sharpness of a burning flower that gently rippled through her lithe young body, a physical structure which had been writhing and twisting against the mattress and his solid unloosen hired hand that was clamped across her navel to stop her from moving. Even as she reached the crown and saw over the sharpness of the mountaintop he continued and her blossom rose further and more pronounced and more herculean. The patrician ripple turned into a harsh turmoil. Her body was writhing as a tsunami tore through her followed by another. The libertine withdrew his finger from inside her, now coated with the light glistening of her sexual climax, and he wrote something she could not make up out on her body with her cum. She took a keen intake of breathing place when he ran his clapper over the writing, tasting her, and then he whispered in her ear ;"I'm going to come inside you where it's all privy and you'll spring in to me."

"No,"she heard herself saying shakily. She did not want this. She felt his lips on hers and her body now felt alien to her. She wanted to resist but was kissing him back even though her drumhead was shaking. Her manpower were free but she did not push him off. She felt him, felt his skin and his body and she went up into his mask and she traced the raggedness of his face. She took in his scent. Musk. Sweat. Cologne. She thought she could smell Bengay on him. She tasted him, felt her oral fissure invaded by his knife and suddenly he was a drug to her. She kissed him tough and moaned into his oral cavity. He let her contact him for a while and then his men came down and pulled her arms back up over her psyche. She blinked. The room was gone and she was in a car. The Libertine was now a man with powder around his nose and a facial expression she could not see. She tried to get up but a script came across her human face and she fell back. Her cheek stung. She was crying. Her eyes stung. She closed them and when they opened the car faded away and she was in the moody room with the red silk drapes and the big bed and filled with libidinous sordidness. She could feel the bulb of his penis against her chest, throbbing with longing as he guided it towards the wet sassing between her stage. His rigid heat brushed against her opening and an involuntary shudder rippled through her. She resisted again, she told him no. Her mind was conflicted, fracturing. The Libertine continued forward, splitting the wet lips of her sex with his member, drenching his length with her juice. Back and Forth he goes, teasing her entrance, forcing her body to accept him and release more of her ambrosia for his pleasure. She whimpered in veneration and a speck of foreplay and she cried out into the room suddenly as he thrust up into her into untouched field and she felt immense and bloated like she was being forced apart and she conceded and she gave herself to this stranger. A attack burned inside of her. Her body rose up to meet him and he kissed her gruelling and then pushed her back. She heard herself protesting still but the voice sounded extraterrestrial being. She felt tears on her nerve and she was crying again—harder. He settled against her womb and then he started to tease apart at her nipples. Her little T. H. White breasts and pink ring of color seemed lost in his big deal. He stroked the soft skin underneath her breast until they tingled and he toyed with her mammilla with his pollex, pinching them between his fingers until her pap stiffened and began to ache. Her miserly erogeneity opened up for him. She tried to squirm but his hand held hers above her oral sex. She felt him kissing at her organic structure and her tit. He thrust up into her again and again and again and he groaned out into the emptiness of this dark post at the parsimoniousness of this unseasoned missy's promise. Each fourth dimension his pelvis slapped against her she moaned out and a soft, gentle, still feminine whimper left her lip. Her back arched as he slammed into her hard and he groaned out as their pubic bones crunched, and then he started to rock his hips, faster and harder until he was pounding at her, assailing her. She had been with hoi polloi before but she had not known this. She had not known a man to use and taint her like this and he leaned in and told her he was going to do everything he had ever done to a woman to her. His eyes were filled with concupiscent wonder and concurrent fear and affright. His eyes were filled with so very much anger and flak and rage. She heard herself asking him to discontinue but her speech were lost in the guttural consonant auditory sensation of her moaning and then she found herself kissing him, kissing at his lips as if they were air and she needed him to breathe. She felt his hand come up and clasp around her throat and then she felt him closedown in and she struggled for breathing space. Muzak played from somewhere and above it she heard her own groan and the slapping of his balls against her ass. He fucked her. She started to feel something beginning in her toes, a tingle that quickly rose up through her organic structure and then something peaked and tore through her like a pyrotechnic rising up before exploding and when it popped her soundbox vibrated and she shook violently as a searing tsunami of orgasm took ascendancy of her and her trunk convulsed in stark hedonism. She was gone now—her mind was a mess of feelings and emotion. She had fractured. He was taking her in every way that he could. He continued to choke her until she felt light headed. Her hands clawed at The libertine, pulling him harder into her, and he did not stop. He continued his assault on her young dead body, feeling her niggardliness accepting the cinch of his extension and he groaned out as her oily secretion covered the electric light of his phallus. She was breathless but he continued to fuck her with unconstraint as a moment moving ridge tore through her and then a third and then she panted, her breather shaking. His hand around her throat tightened still. She was illumination headed now. Limp. She did not know how many times she had cum. She was drained, and then she heard him groan out as he exploded inside of her, and she felt a burning inferno from within his rogue member as his seed plastered her womb and then the hell on earth began tearing through her body, spreading to every undivided cheek ending and she was burning up, sweating from her pores. She was like that for a while—she did not get laid how long—suspended in a drained emptiness like she was the only mortal in the earth. She drifted in and out. She felt his seed leaking out of her and running down her thigh and pooling on the bed. She had a benumb throbbing and tenderness between her thighs. She heard noises but she could not make them out. He said something to her but she could not sympathize what it was. She felt a sharp electrocution hurting in her bum and then affair went dark…

She felt herself falling through darkness and then she was somewhere and nowhere, like she was suspended in nothingness. She saw things. Heard voices that were familiar to her. She saw a burning at the stake inferno engulfing the dark. She saw a rush of visual sensation of her life. She was sometime. She saw people she did not recognise. She saw happiness and success. She saw clear blue skies and endless ocean and sandy beaches. She felt more joy than she had ever felt. She heard music playacting and waves crashing against the Rock. She heard laugher. A baby cried. Someone was telling her it was a boy. She felt drown happiness. And then she felt pain and excruciation. The sun went behind the disconsolate of swarm and the waves became harsher and more potent and she heard a wind so warm it was like a 100 hurricanes all in one. She saw centre in the sky. A man with fire in his eyes. She looked into them and thought she understood the oculus. He was the wind and the rain and the darkness. He was the fervor and the morning star. He was the blaze hell. He was every bad dream she had ever had. He was all of Abby's worst nightmares. He was lust and jealousy and covetousness and envy and overeating and pride and ira and acedia. He was the poisonous Sir Herbert Beerbohm Tree and the fruit that fell from it. He was pestilence and war and famine and death. He was every night thought in her head, every awful moment and every worst fear. He was the end of everything. She felt a pain inside her like she was being torn apart. Her body stung and nervus screamed and her muscles ached. She was doubled over in botheration. She felt like her body was going to fragmentise outwards into a million fiddling pieces. She felt loss. She heard a infant in distress. She heard screaming and then the scream rose like a tenor voice to a pitch so unbelievable, so unbearable that she thought her head was going to explode.

Abby woke suddenly. Her hair was matted to the pillow and her forehead and for the first few moments—when she was awake but not aware—she was the depiction of contentment. She was in those valued few bit when you first wake up, the one where your eyes struggle to accept the igniter that comes in that burning White River blur and that makes you to agitate to keep back them undecided. The import where everything is peaceable and staring and where you could own been anyone and anywhere, and then Abby came back to herself as her consciousness woke up and the day had started and her surroundings came to her quickly. She wondered where she was and then she took a sharp uptake of breath and in those first off few moments her diaphragm went into spasm and she struggled for breath and she lay, her sass heart-to-heart, gasping for air until it came in a wave and she took as a lot in as she could. She shot up and rubbed her beady middle and they scanned the room quickly. Her breathing settled. Her lightlessness playsuit was hung up on her wardrobe. She was home base. Her respiration started to square up just a footling bit. Her throat was dry and her back talk were sore and had that white crusting like she had been out for a night on the crapulence. Her head thumped with a pounding as if someone with a jackhammer was inside working on her cranium. The bed sheet below her was damp with the wetness caused from her sweating. She was in a thin white nightgown that was stuck to her back and her belly button and she had on a pair of plain white cotton panties underneath. She had a throb between her legs and discomfort in her thighs that she could not attribute anything to. She tried to remember but her computer storage were black as if they had been erased and the more she thought the more she was greeted with emptiness—as if mortal had put a tape recording in the machine that was her header but when they had pressed play it was just gray-headed and total darkness atmospherics like it had recorded nothing at all. She contorted her fount hard as if trying to remember but she could not, and then she found she was crying in thwarting at what eluded her. It was surrealistic. She knew something should receive been there.

For a time—the exact length she was not entirely sure—she sat in the heart of the bed, leg crossed and the sheets pushed down—just thought and looking into void. She combed her fuzz back with her hired hand. Her pallid complexion was stained with the tracks of her tears that ran down her fount and dotted around the bedding. Her last cogent computer storage was of music playing from the speaker in the corner of the room. It was of being out on the streets walking to somewhere. It was a flowing black car check creeping. It was the flavor of Bengay. A part :"Looking for a goodness time, infant ?"The more she tried to think the more her oral sex hurt. After a spell she breathed out and she looked up into the way. Grey morn lightness was streaming through the gap in the drapery. moisture was on the window but the rainfall had abated. molecule in the room floated as if existing in their own time frame. Time. Something thumped in her head. She felt like she had lost time. A clock ticked in the niche of the way. It was 09:23 AM. She pictured a clock with no work force ticking. She heard something in her head saying time did not exist. The headache returned warm. She started to look around. Something caught her eye, a glint of something favourable, and she turned and a howler got lost in her pharynx and she just ended up making a frightened randomness. She jumped up. Sitting on the pillow next to where she had been sleeping was a mask—golden and bright and covered with a gold floral pattern. She thought it comrade but she did not get it on where she had seen it before. She reached out and touched it. She whipped her finger back suddenly as if an electric shock tore through her and she saw herself wearing the mask in a strange room. dark drapes covered the window. She was stood with soul but she could not see his or her observation. They were saying something but the vocalism sounded aloof like it was being spoken under water. The thought disappeared. She reached out again and picked it up and she ran her hands over the design. Her head thumped. She turned to see who she was stood with but the memory was too nimble and then it was lost and no affair how lots she tried she visual sense eluded her. Her headspring hurt again and it forced her eyes closed. She rubbed her forehead.

Abby stood in the shower melancholic. The water cascaded down over her nude dead body. She turned up the temperature and let it sear at her skin. She liked to sense the burn as it washed all the stain and effort from her body. There had been blood line in her panties when she had taken them off. She had started menarche a couple of years before but she did not remember she was due her cycle for another few week. Her bum was sore. She felt bloated as if she was swollen. She stood under the pee and let it pour down over her question. storage were ilk flashbacks, quick and insufferable to decrypt. She saw the mask in her chief. She heard fruity music. Voices she did not agnise but they were not weighty and they did not make sense to her. She ran her hands over her physical structure ; she felt her tegument tingle and combustion. She closed her eyes and she could hear a voice talking to her but it was too far away. She heard someone outcry her"baby."She touched her backtalk and they were seared and dry. She was picturing a young woman kissing her but she could not see her face. She screamed out into the urine and then she started to cry again although she did not make out why.

She had been laid on her bed looking up at the snap poultice on her cap for a farseeing time before the knocking on the doorway disturbed her. She took in hint and then looked up for a little foresightful.

"Abby. Abby are you in there ? Abby."

With a lethargy she attributed to whatever she had gone through the old night she pulled herself up off the bed and walked across to the room access. She felt tired. Her body ached. She was in a loose tee and some black leggings. She caught her contemplation in the mirror and thought she looked unwell. She opened the doorway and gasped and staggered back. John Boerman was not an old man. He had kind oculus and a unit of ammunition human face and he was probably around thirty. He smiled at Abby and asked if she was OK and she remembered—rage and anger and aggression. She saw herself out of body, arguing, fighting and then she was pushing him back down the step and he tumbled and fell until he lay in a silent heap at the foot of the steps. She could see the blood pooling from his head. She saw the smear on the bulwark from where his psyche had hit it. Her hands were shaking.

"Abby what's faulty ?"

She tried to mouth but discussion did not bequeath her exposed sass. He smiled at her again."The police just have a few follow up questions, Abby. It's procedure. It won't take long. They're just really concerned about you after what happened. You were in quite a res publica when they found you. Are you feeling any better ?"

She was confused. Her principal hurt even more. She looked at him. He did not exhibit any wound. His capitulum looked together and goodish and bruise-less and clean. How could that be ? She studied him silently."I'm so dingy for what happened,"she said after a moment."I did not mean to bruise you go night. I'm so sorry."

He looked at her quizzically but he did not directly answer him."Come on, Abby. You've been through a lot this stopping point few days."

He led her towards the steps by his big arm and she went with him, shakily. Few day ? What did he mean ‘ few days ?'When they had found her ? Found her where ? She apologised to him again and promised him that she would change and then as they started to go down the stairs and he looked at her with that funny story, quizzical look again and said—"But Abby, I don't know what on ground you're talking about…"

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