ROTHSCHILD |"THERE'S JUST TOO MANY dreaming IN THIS barren FOR YOU TO LEAVE US ALL BEHIND—"Abby Hart was stood in front of the full-length mirror in her sleeping accommodation just looking at herself as she studied the alteration in her body. She had just got out of the shower and her blonde and pastel pink hair was still wet at the ends. She was naked save for her amobarbital sodium laced panties and she swayed lightly to muzak which played from somewhere in the room. The song finished and after a short beat another kicked in. A twain of cerulean blasphemous eyes studied the pallid miss in the reflection. She would best describe herself as lithe, with low but house breasts and a mat tum and slender legs that swept up to a besotted but diminished bottom. She had an inexperienced person ; naturally beautiful typeface that at once displayed both nervousness and a licentious mystery that nobody could truly show ; and beady eyes that saw everything and gave away little. She had a cute, crooked grinning and a still, entitle, demilitarize voice and a foreign habit of hiding her work force inside the arm of her jumper so that just the upside of her fingers were exposed.

She was a transient. That's what they called kids like Abby—nobody, fuss, a misfit. She had been labelled many thing by a gild that did not really know how to deal with shaver in care. And that's what she was. mixer Services had taken her from her mother—a mother who sought safety in drugs rather than parenting—when she was young and she had bounced around from foster home to wish home for the absolute majority of her vernal life. She rebelled because it was all she knew how to do. She fought back against a system of rules that did not translate or listen to her. She got in problem, mixed with the wrong crowd and as she had told the police the live on metre she had been brought back to this seat ;"this wasn't the lifetime I chose or wanted."

age later she would think about that nighttime and about how she did not really make love how she ended up where she did, or what had happened with complete clarity. She would call up bits in pipe dream, and see things that she had no retentivity of but that she knew was from that night. It all just seemed to be a series of strange happenstances, and for the most part a blackened emptiness where memories had been, but she would agree that it had shaped her life considerable.

"Abby. Abby. Abby."

The sound of knocking came from her outside her door, and interrupted Abby just as her soft but harsh and irregular breathing, coupled with the hum of the muzak, had brought her close to the crest of her pleasure. She pressed her eyes closed and then exhaled into the room—close but not shut down enough—and she withdrew her mitt dissatisfied from inside her underwear and in response to the knocking turned up the volume on her remote control so that the music from her stereo drowned it out. She looked up at the cracked poultice that snaked across her roof and she let her breathing fall 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 musing looking back at her. She was pretty in a plain sort of way and that was all she had. Her head still hurt and her retention were dim as if they were part of a dream that was fragmented and missing in space. Her Negroid playsuit with the gold mask hanging from it was still hung up on her press and she the dampen throbbing in both of her lumbus and discomfort between her thighs was slowly starting to subside. She looked at herself again and she contorted her human face so that it looked like it would deconstruct in an attack at remembering."Abby. Abby—"came the knock again from the room access 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 Th and she tried to cerebrate back to a few days ago when she had met the man who had shown her the matter that now served as an empty void that stalked and plagued this young girls mind. To the revered subscriber this relapsing in computer memory is not something succinctly expressed and so I take you back to a few days ago where the start of this computer storage void began. It was in Milton's—the most exclusive and select gentleman's society in the city—on Park Place just off St James's Street where the rank requirements stated that you needed to picture at least £10,000,000 in hard cash or gilt-edged certificate and which only allowed a utmost of 500 extremity on its books. It was one of those property that unless you knew about it then you didn't know about it. A seat 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 do it about Milton's until the night she first entered through its sleek but well out of sight doors. She was not a daughter who knew about gentleman's gentleman's order in the expensive part of townsfolk. She did not even have it away this townsfolk at all. A spate of bad behaviour and mixing in with the wrong crowd had meant that social service had decided to relocate Abby for what they said was her own benefit. They had told her a shipment of matter she did not really infer and said a shipment of affair with ‘ risk'in them when she had been moved, saying things like she was considered ‘ high peril'and a ‘ flight risk'and at ‘ serious jeopardy of C.S.E'because she was youthful and pretty and heady. They knew she went out and met up with old men for sex in exchange for money and that she regularly got into bother so they had given her a curfew and called the Police if she breached it. They though she was doing it here. That was not necessarily true though. She felt stifled in this place and by these people 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 accord with what they had said about her and she had stared blankly at them when they had told her. Abby did not see the benefit of being moved three hundred miles away from everyone and everything she had ever known and she had been up front about it with her carers when she had number one arrived—"You can't continue me here."

But they had. She had been in this place for over a calendar month now and had tried, and failed, to get back home several fourth dimension since then. The law here, she thought, seemed to make out what they were doing. It was on one of the nighttime that Abby had disappeared from the supported living, which was her prison, that she had properly discovered this place. She had been walking down one of the independent streets in the urban center, where masses curb crawled and shouted careless imprecations in her steering. A boy in a hoody stepped out of a doorway and blocked her progression. He tried talking to Abby, she told him to go away, he got a bit more emphatic. A sleek black town car pulled up alongside her and the passenger shouted at the boy in the hoody to bunk it and he had invited Abby in."It's not safe for a girl like you on these streets,"he said."Want to see a good prison term, baby ? Get in"he had said. Abby had shrugged and asked him if it was much safer in with him and he had laughed."Why not get in and ascertain out, sister ?"Abby had shrugged again and had got in—she guessed that on the residue of chance she was safer with a guy with money than with someone on the street. The passenger was middle aged and he smelt of nicotine and Bengay and his face was masked in the iniquity from the vertebral column of the car. He had a white powder just under his nose and she knew for a fact he was on the prowl but he had connive centre that drew her to him. They were different. They sparkled. He looked like he knew money. The rider tapped the trash partition between him and he driver and the car pulled away from the curb. Abby settled into the leather seats. The car knew luxury. It was big and spacious and inviting. She did not feel frighten away. She did not finger 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 interrogation and he lined the white power up on a pull down table that was built into the buns of a 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 leading 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 moment his laughing was distorted. She felt a small explosion inside her petty soundbox. She sat back into the electric chair and the car drove for a while and then she came back to reality and took some more. She knew she was losing time. He was talking and she took in his voice although she did not screw what he was saying. He told her he was going to a political party 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 Shirley Temple legerdemain,"but by this point Abby had taken another descent 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 pilus from across her typeface and traced her chin. She looked into his eyes. He leaned in and kissed her. She felt him running a mitt up her leg."How about I show you a really good sentence, baby ? You know this stuff isn't free rightfulness ?"

"No,"she heard a vocalization that by and by she realised was her own say. He laughed. She took some more of the melanise magic. The car carried on driving. thing went dark. She was awake but not aware. They were driving again. Her optic 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 pants. The synapses in her brain were retard in kicking in. She waited for her drumhead to authorize a little. He touched her underneath her underwear for a sentence. Her scent started to fill the back of the car. She relaxed into the car rear. She was moaning. She felt good. She took more calamitous magic. His finger were inside of her. She felt really serious. She could smell 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 rummy. She blacked out. She imagined herself kissing back and getting on her knee joint and kissing him back into the leather of the seat. She was on top of him. His hired man was under her top. He was playing with the warp on her jeans. They were down around her ankles now and he was toying with her black cotton wool scanty. His pants were off. She was sucking him, taking his duration in her mouth and he was moaning out and taking Sir Thomas More bootleg magic. She spat on his shaft and ran her hands up it and he groaned. She was between his branch and he was inside of her. He was big and compact and she was screaming. Sex filled the car. She was leaning back against the glass divider rocking with him as he filled her. Her imagination finished. She heard his vocalisation in her head."I know what you want, baby. 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 next 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 cervix. She slipped a hand into his jacket undetected and felt his notecase. She took more black trick. She thought the black illusion was unknown for making her see things. Her head was sore and she was warn, When they pulled up at traffic lights at the quoin of a street she did not know she jumped out and left the man calling after her ;"infant, wait !"She felt reminiscent of that clip a few months ago when she had taken a white pill with half a bottle of vodka and had blurred storage of the next day. affair felt different although she could not explain how. She was staggering and drunken as she passed street after street and when her vision became more than a blur she discarded his wallet in a trashcan a further street over after stripping it of what she needed. The driver's licence gave his name as Ian Moone but she did not brood on it and it was promptly discarded. She kept a small wad of notes and a small Amex Black person card—an ostensibly odd affair about the size of a credit card—but which was made of anodised titanium and laser etched with information and numbers wrapped in a piece of newspaper with an address written on it. She knew right than to lead existent credit cards—cash car had in-built tv camera and she had been caught out that way before—but this looked different and she was intrigued. The scorecard said something about the being dimension of the Morning mavin grouping, ( which she had never heard of ). She reckoned it was one of those wag that could buy anything, and she gave a quick pic through the notes and guessed that she had a dyad of hundred in cash and that was enough for now. Another street over she looked to hail down a cab when a vocalisation from behind her said ;"that was impressive what you did there."

She turned to the voice ; a harsh, jumpy local vocalization and she shrugged and said she did not fuck what the mortal was talking about. The girl under the grey hooded top laughed."I used to do that too. easily money."

"I didn't do anything like that,"Abby said defensively and the girl laughed again. Abby blushed. She had long black hair and dark eyes and a sort of dirty nerve but she had something Abby felt she could interrelate to.

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

"Abby."

"New here, Abby ?"

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

Abby hesitated but she figured she had no other place to go and she went with Tigger. Tigger was a street girl. She had started out in care like Abby but after being abused by a foster carer she left and found comfort elsewhere—living day to day earning little and just surviving. They walked and talked for a patch, about everything and naught, and then Tigger took Abby back to her radical. There were a few of them—people like Abby—and she felt relaxed around them. They were outcasts too. She was introduced to Pigeon, Kai, Paris, Tamara, Rex and Zapper and she warmed to their company. They were sat in the middle of a disused bandstand smoke from a big blunt that Zapper had procured from somewhere and Abby relaxed as she took a recollective drag. The preference 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 older than all of the others—they said he had a job someplace in the city on a edifice site—and he sat close to Abby and tried to touch her leg and later City of Light told her that he sort of had a thing for really youthful girls 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 accept to the cops that she got mugged trying to get off with a kid."

They laughed and then smoked some more and some clip later Abby passed out. It was dark by the time she awoke and the chemical group were gone. Abby—reported missing by the home—got her own date back to the house when two Police officers stumbled upon her. She refused to secern officers 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 breathing was shallow and unorthodox, her point thick and extraterrestrial being, as she looked at her reflexion. She looked herself up and down and toy with her bottom lip with her teeth as she checked her slant. She had dug out a black playsuit she had and nervously wobbled in heel, as she made sure it looked OK. It was satin black, with a V neckline that came down the position of her breasts and let loose shorts that finished just below her merchant ship. She had on a deep red lipstick, sinister mascara and over-embellished eyeliner that highlighted her azure blue oculus and her hair was pulled back into a tight, silken high ponytail. She took a oceanic abyss breath, toyed with her lip some more and then she opened her bedroom door.

trick Boerman, the base manager, was remote unimpressed and stoic and when he saw what Abby was wearing he pushed out his chest and folded his arms and said she was not going anywhere looking like that."It's past curfew,"he added authoritatively."You have to stay in."

They argued. It was a blur. Abby said he couldn't stop her, and he said that he could and then what happened adjacent was so profligate Abby couldn't really be sure on the details. One moment he was stood in front of her red in the aspect and telling her to go back inside her elbow room and the adjacent he was crumpled a the tail end of the stairs, groaning lightly and almost foetal. Something was pooling out from his nous. There was a non-white cytologic smear on the rampart. She thought maybe she might have got pushed him but she could not remember. And then she was outside—running down the street and heading away from the precaution home into the night. 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 constabulary, someone, but she didn't and then she was a few streets over and she hailed down a sleek backbone Uber and they were driving away. The driver asked,"where to, lack ?"She flashed the black lineup to the device driver and handed him the newspaper publisher and asked him if he knew what it was.

He raised an brow and said,"sure. But it'll cost you."

Abby handed him a span of notes and he shrugged and took them gratefully and glut them into the top sack of his three-day old shirt. He told her it was a contraband card and looked at her like she should have understood."Honey that's a notice for the 1 % of the 1 %. It's a free pass. Unlimited mention. No spending limit. Hidden trade job. It's an invitation only buck poster. You can purchase anything with it. You don't just get those down at the camber by filling in a form and giving them a smiling. You need hard Johnny Cash, and lots of it."He reached out to try and get hold of a feel at it and Abby snatched her hired man back quickly and she looked at the card for a few second base and asked herself what a guy prowling the streets was doing with it. The driver clicked his bridge player in the direction of the card and held out his handwriting and tentatively Abby handed it over. He scanned the front man and back and then pointed to the piece of paper with the reference on it."That for Milton's,"he said and he handed the card and the piece of paper back to her. He told her that Milton's was one of the elite group clubs at the former end of town."Classy place—very up market patronage, old money. No offence, kid but I'm guesswork that card ain't yours. It's not a place mortal like you ought to be."Abby shrugged and said it didn't matter about that and she asked if he could get hold of her there. He told her it would cost her even more and a few More greenback later he pulled out into the traffic and drop the car in the charge of the posh part of Ithiel 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 told her that they did not let taxis down that sphere of Ithiel Town and that she would have to walk the rest of the way. She thanked him and handed him some musical note and she took a deep breath as she set off. The card burnt in her handwriting as she clutched at it and she felt woozy and found she was still a lilliputian unfirm on her feet. She had a tone down thudding in her oral sex and she was for sure she could hear her heart beating a little firm than convention. The black magic had been firm, she thought, but she was intrigued and machination was a much more hefty and potent drug. As she approached the nook of Mungo Park Place and St James I'Street she realised that she did not even know what to expecting to find at this station. Maybe she just wanted a good clip. There was a cool hint and she rubbed her script on her weapon system and she toyed with her bottom lip with her teeth and then as she rounded the quoin she gasped and stopped still.

Milton's was one of the swell symbols of high order. It was a few hundred time in front of her on the opposite side of an abandon route, recessed a yard or so back from its neighbour, and framed with sound projecting white Harlan Fisk Stone and it loomed up into the dark. The clubhouse was faced with Portland Harlan F. Stone and it had nine bay tree on three story ; the windows on the two main level each enclosed in their own aedicule and made up of two columns with a pediment across the top like a ceiling. The sheer size of this space overwhelmed Abby. She gasped at first. The outside of this monolithic place seemed to be absorbed in a blaze orange the pits that spread out into the night. When she looked closer though she realised that the building was not alight. The front of the clubhouse was covered with chiliad of moving Orange River luminousness, casting an eerie Orange glowing that covered the front and which had at kickoff given the stamp that the building was on attack and she shivered. Something about this place made her uncomfortable.

She took a rich breath and wobbled again on her feet. Her fountainhead thumped a little. She felt drunk but knew that she was not. She breathed again and then she crossed the empty street. A steep staircase issued the front line door where another little stairway led up into the foyer. The deep red curtains had been pulled closed on the primer floor windows so that she could not see anything inside and Abby shook as she climbed up to the swinging doors that led into the foyer. A man in dark legal transfer and a plain grey mask opened the double glass door and extended an arm for her to total inside. She mumbled a thank you in her diffuse interpreter and the doorkeeper closed the door behind her. Ahead, behind a pocket-size reception case desk was a arcsecond man dressed identically. She walked over to him and he looked her up and down. The scant above him was dim and she could see little of him.

"good evening, miss,"he said in a rasping interpreter,"and welcome to Milton's. Can I be of serve ?"

Abby's script shook. Her body shook. She asked herself unequivocally what the inferno she was doing there. She wondered about John—had one of the other house physician called an ambulance ? Would the Police turn up here for her ? A beat hung between them and she felt him burning into her with dark eye. With shaking handwriting she handed over the Black person card and he studied it for a metre and then when it landed he took it and said,"ah."

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

"Your card ?"the man in strawman of her asked.

She nodded and the man studied her again. silence lingered between them. The man rolled the card between his finger for a yoke of sec 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 zip. The man looked at her for a time and then he placed the card under the desk into a auto out of view and he looked down and Abby guessed he was looking at a monitor. Time seemed suspended and it felt like an age before he looked back at her. In that clock time all she could hear was the thudding of her affectionateness and a voice in her brain telling her to run. When the cadence finally landed he reached down behind the desk and handed her the card and then he pulled out a mask. She took the items with shaking hands and he told her of the mask that she would need it. It was a Venetian design, deep gold, with an intricate pattern that extended beyond the border of the grimace. 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 declamatory wooden door.

The man in the dark livery and the knit stitch Zane Grey mask closed the door behind her and Abby entered into a dark, dimly lit ballroom that must sustain been an easy 120-foot high-pitched with a great cap and dark hanging disgraceful silk drapes. A gathering of some a hundred and fifty multitude all dressed in ecclesiastic costume and party clothes and tuxedos, and all sporting an raiment of animal heads and odd and sometimes sick Venetian and Surrealist masks moved around and talked amongst themselves. The conversation was light and easy ; the great unwashed spoke of vacation and the weather and current affairs. Abby overheard a conversation by a belittled group about the pros and cons of a"tough Brexit."“ She needs to choose,"one of the men said."The idea of a"soft Brexit,"a plenty to understate damage to the economy by maintaining some regulative alliance with E.U thriftiness or a"hard Brexit,"where she grows some fucking glob and goes for a much dry cleaner break."Waiters moved through the gaps in the crowds with trays of drinks and canapés. A man with an expensive dinner crown and a giraffe's head played Sergei Rachmaninov on a pianissimo in the turning point, but the giraffe's eye were blindfolded and the man underneath was playing from smell and not from sight, and the soft and resonating tones filtered through the room. Abby composed herself and then she started to move around the position of the room—observing. A man with a mask of cubes all with different faces who was stood with a lady in a short black garb and a gilt face laughed as they spoke with a man with an Ox's mind and then they clocked Abby in the corner and she thought they stopped talking. She jumped as a waiter appeared future to her and handed her a deglutition and she said a quiet thank you as she took the glass. Abby took a deep intimation and then took a drink and felt herself relax just a little as the warmth of the liquid spread out into her esophagus. She gained some composure and she breathed out. She was here for a good time and she started to persuade a little to the music. In the paired recess three men and two women looked at her pointedly and then spoke amongst themselves in hushed whisper. From the side of her a adult female with an Malus pumila in straw man of her face brushed passed her and nodded a greeting and looked deep into her eyes but said nothing before disappearing into the crew. Behind her in a chair by a table with a flickering light and masked in shadow a man cleared his throat and Abby turned to him.



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

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

"The weather … it's getting better,"he said and for a moment his eyes burned deep into hers and then she backed away into the room. Her eye was beating a little faster again and she asked herself where she was. ‘ What is this place ?'the voice in her forefront asked. A secret sect ? A spiritual gathering ? She envisioned a party at an exclusive club and not a masked musket ball with a room full of strange costumes and stranger the great unwashed. Her question thumped. Laughter cut through the elbow room. 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 mint. She looked around herself at the diamond necklaces and picket that caught standard candle igniter and the expensive clothes that the women wore so elegantly and then she looked at the room with the fabrics and the 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 sentence she had always dreamed about support. When money was not an option the only limit was imagination and the imagination of those with money to sunburn was a very strange and dark plaza. This must be what party were like for the superintendent rich. She scanned the crowd further, gaining null from the occupants and feeling very alone in this room full of foreign masses. Her sense of intrigue outweighed the care that was brewing in the pits of her stomach. Someone brushed passed her arm and she turned to rationalise. A man nodded at her and said,"courteous mask. Is it Dali ?"but he was gone before she could reply. Through the bunch she clocked eyes with a tall, slim built man laughing with a small party in a antechamber by a bookcase full phase of the moon of first of all editions and she shivered. He had a inviolable comportment that for a mo overwhelmed her and she felt both at rest and on boundary concurrently as if something about him gave her a grave sentience of vexation. He noticed her and across the room she felt him burning into her with his eye. He wore a sharp, expensive looking bleak wooing with a white shirt unbuttoned at the top and an untied bow hanging from around his neck and he nodded once and slowly. He wore a mask that reminded Abby of an old French people pest Doctor—the black schnozzle covering most of his lower facial expression and later, revered referee, we would learn that this man was to be called The libertine. A noblewoman with a gramophone on her caput clung to his arm and laughed at something he said in a way that told Abby that it could not bear 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 elbow room. She closed her eyes and played with her whisker and she let the deep and dulcet tonus of the muzak flow through her. The Libertine with the French Doctor mask plagued her thoughts. She imagined him although she was not sure why—they were not her thought process. It was as if they had been planted. She thought of him—all of him—doing matter to her and she did not love why she was thinking these affair but she liked them even if she would not admit it in the moment. Then individual put their hired man around her waist and she felt breath on her neck—she thought it was he. She leaned into the body behind her, moving with the organic structure behind her, and then she could smell Bengay and she heard the man whisper"here for a good meter, child ?"and she jumped forward with a sharp intake of breathing time and turned and looked at a man hidden behind a monk's masque and her heart almost stopped.

"What's the matter ? I said ‘ you look very well, baby,'” the man said monotone and her spunk thumped and then she got her breathing back and she said sorry and she moved further into the crowd. She should not be here, she knew. She felt eye on her again. A waiter moved through the crowd looking and then his center caught Abby and he stopped. She moved in the face-to-face direction into a modest room that shot off from the master ballroom where a naked pianist in only a black silk gown and with the brass of a cat played an intense foreign melodic line that filtered into the room. The room was brilliantly lit and the music grew in its intensity as match danced to the frantic strains of the forte-piano. A ma'am dressed all in cling-film with a golden nerve shrieked as the music reached a crescendo, her frantic saltation growing, while gleaming Andrew Dickson White organic structure pressed against each early in the box where a cry of lust emanated. A dame in a black laced masque that provided the only cover 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 rummy gaze. It was almost poetic that these people, despite being naked, still had so a good deal 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 feeling deep down that made her envious of the carelessness of their crusade. The rich, she thought again with forestalling. 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 palace. Things started to happen debauched than she could compute. prison term and its concept seemed to be excluded from this lieu. It seemed to operate on its own terms. filaria on the walls ticked although the faces did not own hired hand and the numbers were jumbled and upside down and she seemed to concentrate on the ticking and it echoed. Her marrow was beating faster and her thenar were sweating. She thought it was a bit like a casino with the host not wanting anyone to know what sentence it was. Her drumhead started to spin. The poke of the pianist music started to repeat around her caput. She thought people were staring. Another waiter had stopped and was now looking at her, and she saw two others talking in the recess and looking in her direction. The wooden doors in the nook opened and the man from the foyer—with his Shirley Temple Black delivery and grey mask—walked through and saw her and he nodded and then another waiter appeared and followed the man in blackness's glaze to Abby. The medicine grew louder in her psyche. She thought she could get word the great unwashed talking in hushed whispers. A handwriting came up and touched her articulatio humeri from somewhere behind her and she jumped and turned and then she saw the livered mask combustion in front of her.

"Madame. I think you are lost,"he said and the way was understood.



And then she saw him again through the crowd—The rounder with the French infestation MD mask and he saw her and then room started to spin faster and faster and the voice grew louder and to a greater extent acute. In a moment The libertine excused himself from his group and made his way effortlessly through the crowd as if slithering through the fissure in the the great unwashed that were moving towards Abby seemingly en masse, and her philia was thumping faster than ever and she was sweating and then The Libertine was future to her and he said to the waiters that she was with him."I think you will consort that you are mistaken,"and then there was silence—

There was to be no debate. It was not a interrogative. A moment hung in the air and then the waiter bowed and said,"of course,"in a constrained, genial tincture. The waiter looked at The debauchee from under his masquerade with a furious 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 licking of her heart was audible. She felt it in her pharynx. The libertine did not flinch. A pose 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 rounder nodded the political party resumed as if the exchange had not taken station 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 hard and shakily her heart pounded. The libertine was still for a moment, his finger tapping his thigh as he thought, and then he swept Abby to the face and said matter-of-factly in a voice that she recognised but not from where—"You should not be here, child. You are a long way from home."

"Is it obvious ?"Abby said in her deftly quiet voice.

The rounder smiled."alien are always leisurely to make out,"he said to Abby."fraud 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 mask and The debauchee laughed again and he turned to seem at the way."Overwhelming isn't it. The Mme. has always had a flare pass for the histrionics. They get alien every year."He paused for a while and just looked at her. He mused aloud."But I wonder how you got in here at all."

"have you been to one of these before ?"Abby asked quietly—not even sure enough what one of these was—and The Libertine studied her under his mask with indecipherable oculus. She looked up into the eyes that she could just see through the cut outs in the mask—bright and expectant and brilliant and which seemed to combust to the full of fire—and then she had to look away. She knew then that she would not forget those heart. They had seen everything and understood all and from the moment that he looked into her optic she could find him reading her. He laughed and for a brief endorse everyone else in the way seemed to go away and it was just the two of them. She felt strangely comfortable with this stranger in a way that confused this Thomas Young female child. She had taken his eye immediately ; the aflutter looking young woman with the cheap black playsuit and mask that she did not really realize. There was innocence to her—a naivety that he could smell over the room. She did not go here. He could smell the fear that this girl held. She intrigued him. He relished the smell of awe."Oh yes,"he said playfully, his centre 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 box of the room and the large space fell silent."Speak of the fiend,"The rounder said and then he laughed as if somehow ironically but Abby did not realise why and she looked up. The giraffe-pianist stopped and rose from his fanny. server bowed their heads. Mme Rothschild appeared through the room access, standing at the top of the stairs with her blazon raised. She was in an unapologetically expensive and beautiful silver dress that trailed behind her ; and she was wearing a hart's headway crying rip of ball field. Alongside her stood a teenage miss in a simple-minded short shameful apparel that fell to just below the tops of her second joint. Her nous 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 lady friend she had ever seen.

"Welcome all. I am pleased to see in keeping with the tradition started over 40 yr ago by my fellowship that the rig this evening are more wilderness and profligate than ever—"The right lady said and the way laughed. Powerful people were here. The rounder 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 master of ceremonies and I must say she's done an excellent job so far."Her speech lasted around five second as she welcomed everyone to her evening.

The lady continued. The libertine leaned in again."succeeding to her is her daughter—Arabella. Beautiful, isn't she ? There is seldom a more beautiful being in this whole place. It is said that she is section human and piece angel. She is too pure for this world. very much to our deepest regrets she is strictly out of bounds—not for the privation of trying. She is yet to be fully initiated. They say tag to her knowledgeableness will be the rare detail on the planet."

Abby's centre was beating loudly."What do you think of ?"

The libertine flashed her a smell. Abby turned away. Mme Rothschild raised her arms again."It is now time to let your wildest imaginativeness flourish. The amnesty has begun."



Abby turned to the closed book beside her."What is the amnesty ?"she asked and The Libertine looked down at her and she saw flack in his eyes and then she realised her impertinence were wet and she was crying although she was not sad—and she could not excuse why. She wiped herself under the mask.

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

Abby thought her heart stopped. What had he just said ? Where the fuck was she ? She swallowed hard but her throat was dry. Her nous damage, she felt dizzy, and then she heard a voice that she did not distinguish as her own but which said strongly and with defiance—"I am staying."She told herself she had come this far and rarity and temptation and intrigue outweighed all of the other considerations and she accepted the risk of exposure and then she thought maybe this is what the man at the mixer office meant when he said she was foolhardy and high jeopardy. She again asked herself where she was. Where could she be that the monetary value of illicit entry was dying ? Who were these people ? They were in the recess although she did not sleep together how she had got there and then she was sat at a table and he was future to her and those centre burned into her again and she forced herself to calculate away. He had a beverage in his helping hand. The music hummed and lingered in the room—soft harmonic notes that played a fruity strain. She felt him smiling at her from under his masquerade party."You are a spanking soul,"she heard him say and then he laughed again."You do not heed my warning yet you are afraid."

"Yes,"she said almost silently.

"Do I scare you ?"

"Yes."

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

"I can plow myself."

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

"Tell me about this place,"she heard herself say. The libertine sucked his tooth and his hand tapped the mesa between them. He leaned in—and she could find this intimidating man's presence."This is not a world you could hope to understand,"and then something came over this untried girl. She was scared—more scared than she had ever been. Scared by this man and his eye and the way he made her feel and she was scared by the prospect of death and the logical implication of being found out in this billet of Wyrd and terrifying people and yet despite that she leaned in. Her psyche woollen and thick and again that smell of a alcoholism that she knew was a lie overcoming her and making her prohibition 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 flaming and she felt herself crying again.

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

Abby looked around and found that the dance palace was empty and they were the entirely two left. The rounder 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 music played from somewhere and nowhere and the light was artificial and sorry and intense."Once a class,"he explained to her as he led her through into the first room,"a selection of the plentiful and most brawny multitude in existence meet for a night of lurid extravagance—there is no limit on what can occur behind the stone walls of this hidden company. Anything goes. The party are never held in the like place and the guest list is absolute. A committee outside the circle put it together and no one person knows the complete list. There are rules—rules that must be abided by at all monetary value. namelessness is key. Faces are never revealed and gens are never disclosed. It is the most closemouthed of outcome in every sense of the word."Her middle struggled to correct to the new light of this room. Men in dark delivery and plain grey masks stood by a series of doors that led cryptical into this situation. This was not the party Abby had envisioned when she found the notice in the stolen wallet. The libertine continued."The wealthiness and status in this room—there is enough collective power and influence to start a gyration, send a country to war, establish a New man Order, see Marx's vision truly realised—or just engage in violent, free debauchery."

The Libertine picked a threshold and the waiter nodded and opened it and they slipped inside. He told her that everyone from president and human race Leaders to Princes and Princesses ; motion-picture show asterisk and bankers to sportswoman stars and socialites ; investors and industrialists and celebrities came here once a class to baby in their to the highest degree malefic and twisted fantasy."Supreme homage evaluator,"he said."Congressmen. Senators. Godhead and gentlewoman. Cabinet member. business community. Tycoons. The order is historic and is all encompassing. It is rooted firmly in account ever since the commencement official gathering at Château de Ferrières over fifty dollar bill years ago. But it goes back much further than that. The rich and powerful have always found a way to explore the limits of their consciousness and fully appreciate how to explore their desires. The Rothschild's just found a way to wreak them all together discreetly."



The door closed and it was shadow. And then her centre adjusted and opened wide and she staggered back. Amongst the strange lights and the drone of the eerie music were a sea of hide and the smell of adultery and she saw what this really was. This was not just a political party of a secret society—this was something so much more outrageous. A lady clung at her mask as she lay on a table, the sweating underframe of a man with multiple drumhead thrusting into her whilst hoi polloi danced around them artistically. In the recession the slender physical body of a young woman arched climatically whilst between her peg another woman with the head of a cat purred playfully. The room was suffused with dark yet dazzling light. nude dead body were sprawled in every conceivable place. Muzak came from somewhere. Abby's eyes absorbed the room—and the occupants of which were all, save for their mask, completely au naturel. Her brilliantly eyes roved the room from sultry slender trunk to pleasant-tasting young lady with their nasty frames and plump knocker and rump to men with muscle and big protrusions between their legs. She scanned from desire to desire—slim eubstance to magnanimous bodies—large extensions to single she could barely see and from budding physique to I in full bloom ; and yet each of the naked occupants remained so completely secretive that she could walk passed them in the street without ever noticing. The room was a Robert Penn Warren of innermost desire—lust and spirit oozing from every street corner. From one corner where a woman and a man performed the dance of liveliness breathtaking transport gave way to sighs of recondite 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 reader was a Supreme Court justice of almost half a century—was leaning in and whispering to a girl thrice times younger than he while his hands toyed with the hem of a frail Shirley Temple Black silk dress that was later promptly removed by him. It revealed a soundbox not just matured and she was neural as he wet the largest digit on his right hand by slipping it into her mouth before using its saliva-coated lubricity to pervade the Whitney Moore Young Jr. 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 demon 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 precaution when he put her on her back and gave her a most brutal perfunctory railing. He would come inside her without heed for its entailment and his brutality and the way he used her would mean she would go back to him various more fourth dimension before the Nox was over despite the consequences of impregnating sex. ( Needless to say hero-worship reader that the Justice's advocacy for Roe vs. Virginia Wade and the judgment he had written some xlv years ago had been more than compelling ). As Abby's eyes adapted to this space she witnessed virtually every scenario being undertaken without any suppression. Girls pleasured girls. Men pleasured men. Abby saw threesomes and foursomes openly taking space on the shock absorber and couches. Some people were naked, some were still in their underwear, most were having sex or watching while others danced and sipped drunkenness and ate canapés from the server that passed with trays that contained ok wines and champagne and brandy and things like extra-lucid soup and goat's Malva sylvestris roasted in post-coital sadness. Others took themselves off into private rooms and explored their fantasy behind closed room access. Abby had come to this place expecting a political party of rich men and women and a life like she had seen in the movies but what this young girlfriend had been greeted with instead was a view that looked like the painting of an splurge ( the ones she used to laugh at when she went to museums on school stumble ) being played out in front line of her very eyes.

She was staggered. Her mind ticked over as she took in what was before her. This was a pious society, but not to any text or God. It was pious to a much simpler belief—a belief of free and outlandish burgher affluence where money meant superpower and where mogul was everything. And yet it was naught Sir Thomas More than a barren, shadowy succession of dingy, shocking and scurrilous libidinous adventure by people leading so-called businessperson living. It was asinine—an egregious revilement of perquisite and business leader and wealth—a secret society with identity hidden behind masquerade party. Abby thought it was like sex cult for the superintendent rich with net worth dictating the debut fee ; and what it got you once inside. She had heard of the illuminate online and thought this could well make 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 receive been an industrialist or a billionaire playboy. Something about his vox was familiar to her, like she had heard it before maybe in a movie somewhere, but without a face she could not grade it and he remained a whodunit behind a masque. And yet he had a bearing that she had never felt before and it chilled her.

She looked up at him with oddment and he led her to one English."What is it ?"

"This place—It's—"

"Yes,"he smiled."It is."And then as if to explain, he matter-of-factly said ;"Afterwards people will get up, slip on some clothing, and go and re-join the party or choose a different collaborator or cooperator and the Nox will continue until a common end is decided by all."Abby allowed herself to take over what this was and then she thought about it for a few present moment and she came to the quick recognition that she did not recognize why she was so surprised. This was probably pattern for hoi polloi like this and she guessed that if the rest of the public thought about it too then maybe they would not be too storm either. The more she thought about it the more it made mother wit. If you were to ask someone in the street if they thought copious multitude engaged in this then they would probably shrug and say,"I guess they probably do."She bet mass screw this went on ; plentiful people having overgenerous and outlandish sex party. It probably came with the condition kind of like a rote form of formality.

"Who are you ?"



She heard him suck up breath. His middle burned into her again.

"I am The Libertine."

"Who are you really ?"

"Who are you, child ? Who are any of us ?"The Libertine laughed and then he was dangerous."There are no rules or boundaries in this place 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 unuttered normal here, child. authoritative unity. Tacit ones. Do you have sex 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 look she could not infer with his unreadable eyes.

"One—no names. Two—the mask remains on at all fourth dimension. Three—what happens here stays here and four—the golden one—you do not speak about this place outside of these walls. The people at this political party are sheer. This society is omnipresent. There are auricle everywhere. If you break one of these pattern they will love and when they know—"He left the significance hanging.

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

"wealthy person you heard of ‘ The Man'” ?

His oculus bore into hers but all she could cogitate about was the song. ( Left a good job in the city /

Workin'for the man ev'ry night and day / And I never lost one minute of sleepin'/ Worryin''bout the way things might have been / Big cycle keep on turnin'/ Proud The Virgin keep on burnin'. ) She wondered why John Fogerty sang burnin'the way he did - booynin.

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

The rounder 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 woman in a laced masquerade defecated onto his defenseless trunk. In the recess a right blackamoor man built like a deity licked the cunt of one girl while fucking a secondment in the mouth and while his asshole 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 tabular array. A man with a shark's headland had his beshitted ass licked by a fille tied up with restraint. A female child with a gold leafage over her font fucked a man in the ass with a large gold strap on. In one of the adjacent room linked by a doorless archway a man hung from a ceiling, his physical structure wriggling against gravity and his aspect purple under his dark mask from the noose around his neck, while with his complimentary helping hand he brought himself to orgasm all over two females who where cheering him on viciously and pleasuring themselves from his asphyxiation. It was in this elbow room that Abby said she felt feint, and indeed the smell 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 pedigree tears railed a slender young girl, ( whose white meat were flat against a glass board and who had a choker around her cervix attached to a rod that this man held ), repeatedly in her blotto sphincter muscle so that her cries mixed with a gargle in her throat and became one humdrum drone. Seven men sat at a table watching with deglutition and canapés and they said matter like ‘ harder'and ‘ more than'and they applauded as if it was a show on Broadway. These men wore gold-laced robe and their masks were all the same with evident gold food color. They watched appraisingly and without inflection as two girls were frigged in front of their selfsame eyes by a big man in a jester's mask. They would clap when it was finished. When they were done two waiters in gloomy legal transfer came and removed the girls and several Thomas More appeared in their position and danced suggestively for the men until they had nothing on but their masquerade party. Then one of the men clicked his fingers and the little girl started to know each other carnivorously. When the girls being fucked climaxed they would swap placement and when the fuckee's too had climaxed a man for each of the girls would come and revile them until liberation. The libertine explained that these men in their robes were the elderberry bush although he did not go into particular. They were a select 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 former as they all looked towards her ( or maybe it was him. ) She heard him lease breath and he glared back. Two waiters appeared as if summoned by these men but The Libertine clicked his digit and they dispersed just as quickly and one of the elders rose. There was a moment. Abby looked at The debauchee and wondered who he was. He had power and influence here. Abby and The Libertine did not linger in that room and they promptly left. In other elbow room lacy lingerie was slipped from tanned shoulder joint. mate for the Night were selected at random without consideration, with no fetish too debauched. crapulence continued to menstruate in the former rooms. pianist with screen over their center played fruity line. assorted scenarios took place—men having sex with fair sex while pleasuring another fair sex, women making beloved to each other while a man watched. One adult female with a mask that exposed her back talk gave fellatio to four men while a fifth lay beneath her giving her pleasance. It was subtle and well oiled ; a simple hand on the book binding to let you eff that you were wanted. In one of the little way where a hearth in the corner provided the only visible light a fair sex lay on the floor feast eagle while two men in masks made dearest to her at the same time. Behind them a man was led away by three adult female wearing only strategically placed feathers. A girl with the most perfect olive pelt danced with a man Abby guessed must experience been a football game player or a sports star because of his all-inclusive shoulders and powerful body. She moved with grace as she slid down his muscular consistence in keeping with the melodic pulsation of the muzak before turning and with it removing a piece of fabric from across his waist. She then traced his body down with her lips before taking him in her backtalk and he watched her bob up and down on him wonderstruck. Despite his hired man that were so strong and knock-down he held her head gently until a moment when his massive trunk tensed up and he gripped the back of her oral sex to pull 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 mouth and down her chin and she kissed him and then he took her off into a side room where they would sleep with like creature."You liked that ?"The rounder asked her and she blushed under her masquerade and did not answer. He smiled—already knowing the answer. Abby scanned this room both with intrigue and fear. On a side table sat a large gold bowl full of condoms. The libertine followed her regard and told her this was a completely safe environment."Everyone here is clean."He handed her a potable produced seemingly from nowhere and she let the liquid state flow into her. He told her she needed it, as she looked unsteady. She finished the swallow 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 humanity in its most raw, most pure form—no prejudice or discrimination or hate. citizenry come here and indulge in what it is to be human. unspoiled food for thought, good swallow 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 perspicacity. Everyone who is anyone is here and yet they are not because they are behind a masquerade party. They are safe. Here I am you and you are I. We are one mortal and multiple people. We are eternal. The bit of the flesh are obvious : intimate iniquity, impurity and debaucher."He paused and looked around this topographic point as if it were his kingdom."clock time does not survive in this piazza. 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 billet and go home where she was where she knew, and another part of her, the dominant persona of her, remained full of intrigue and lascivious wonder. She staggered and he caught her with a solid arm. Her head was slowing. Noises were slowing. He led her down a corridor flanked on both face by cryptic velvet drapes when from a room polar two people left and The libertine stopped and took a acute aspiration of breathe. Mme Rothschild walked towards them ; the backside of her wearing apparel flowing behind her and walking future to her holding a Champagne-Ardenne crank by the flute was Arabella. They spotted him belated and Mme Rothschild—with her stag's head that from looking at it up close seemed to be real and which probably was—scanned them both and Abby thought she hissed. Her jewellery was audacious. A diamond-encrusted rood-tree hung from her neck. Big rings adorned her bridge player. She was wearing Thomas More than most people had in their depository financial institution score.

"You came,"she said to The Libertine without inflection."The rumours are true."

"Madame,"he bowed.

He advanced towards her but something stopped him and they glared at each early. Abby felt uncomfortable. She rubbed her eyes under the mask. Her nous scathe.

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 brass hidden by paint and a metal birdcage she looked flawless. Arabella curtseyed and The rounder bowed his head."Arabella,"he said with fondness. The name seemed to just roll off his spit.

"howdy, L—"she said and then she cut herself off as if she was about to verbalize his name. The Mme flashed her a look. The libertine held his breath and then he nodded and he took her hired man and he kissed it.

"You grow more beautiful, Arabella,"he said simply,"every 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 masque. The Mme looked her up and down.

"Ah,"and then nada more was said and they were gone, off into another elbow room.

"I thought everyone was anon. here,"Abby asked in reference to the common recognition between The debauchee 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 blinking of an eye Abby was in another room with no cogent storage of walking there.



"Why is that girl out of bounds ?"Abby asked suddenly directly they walked through the door and The rounder exhaled fondly and said"ah,"and then he thought for a while."Arabella is a limited girl."The Libertine spoke fondly about the only daughter of Mme Rothschild—as if she was somehow dear to him. She was the heir to the family fortune and Arabella was the loot 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 sadness."She is not to be touched until she flowers. She can not be defiled. She is inviolable"He told Abby that he had only ever seen her once without her mask—a long time ago—when they had an outlaw rendezvous that was abruptly stopped and as he spoke she saw his Holy Scripture unfold like a vision in her head. He told her that Arabella had a beaut which was Lake Superior to anyone else but of a different sort. She was thirteen or xiv, diminished and slender, of a slight and nubile and extremely luscious build, and the finest platinum hair's-breadth to be seen. An air of sensibility her feature of speech were defined and perfect and her eyes were the deepest and brightest unripe and expressed at once fondness and decency and pureness. She was of superior socio-economic class and baronial charm. Her sass were bright and ripe and red and they gave her the appearance of ethereal mug and they had been cushy and bid when he had kissed them. Her font was perfect and she was flawless like she was a porcelain doll. Her skin was soft and sun blessed and innocent from deface and in their rendezvous some time ago he had slipped her lithe being from the confines of her silk attire and had seen all of her unrestricted. Her breasts were small, very rhythm, firm, well-elevated, but there was barely enough there to fulfil the hand. Her chest was narrow-minded and defined, but it was also a very delicate chest, her belly was satin smooth and traced down to a little blonde mound not a great deal garnished with hair and which served as peristyle to a temple worthy of a Goddess. This synagogue was narrow to such a pointedness that when he had inserted a finger therein he had elicited a odoriferous cry from Arabella. From her back of which communication channel swept deliciously down to the most artistically and the most precisely cleft bottom was something that could not have been more perfectly round, not very large, but firm, Edward Douglas White Jr. ; and when it was opened, what would peep out but the cleanest, most delicate yap ; a nuance of tender garden pink. She had blushed a virgin's flush but she had asked him to stay 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 concern her like that again. He stopped his story short."We will let the cat out of the bag about that girl no more,"he said suddenly and seriously."Tonight I am yours."

She looked up at him and bit her bottom lip."What does that stand for ?"

"What do you want it to think of ?"

"I don't know."

He smiled and then he laughed."Come, there is one to a greater extent matter I would like you to see."

He led her out of the room where along the left helping hand position of a darken corridor were room access lit only by the Andrew Dickson White fire lambency of the number that hung above it and which descended down through the teenager and into single name.

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

"They're not numbers."



"What do you entail ?"

"aspect closely."

She did and then after a second the actualisation of what it was hit her and unrelenting repulsion flooded her typeface, followed by a sickness that flowed from her stomach. The signage above the door did not announce what identification number it was, but the age of the occupant inside. He led her down to one of the single trope doors and produced a key and asked if she wanted to see inside and she shook her chief and felt the source of vomit in her throat.

The Libertine laughed again."The world of the deep and sinewy is not a world you could ever hope to realize, child. Everything is a good. Everything has a Price when you are rich enough to pay for it."

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

The Libertine laughed a third fourth dimension."In your world that may be true. But we are not in your universe now, child. Welcome to the seedy underbelly of the rich and muscular. There's 35 % of the entire world's wealth at this party spread out among less than .1 % of its total population—hundreds upon hundreds of trillion Irish punt in this building alone. Maybe that gives you an musical theme of what you have walked into ? There is more corporate riches and magnate in this edifice than in all the commonwealth of the world combined. There are people in here with personal assets worth to a greater extent than some small nation, people worth 100 of billions of lbf.. And there is nothing that can not be purchased with the spending power on appearance here."

Abby felt ill at ease. She struggled on her feet and she felt him catch her arm as she fell."Overwhelming. It gets to everyone the first time."And then a hand came up and she felt him touching her skin with hands she thought she had felt before. She took in hint through her dentition. He started on her neck, feeling her gulping as his hand closed around the thinly flannel tegument. And then he traced it up under her mask to her Chin, and then to her cheek as if he was picturing what she looked like. He looked at her deep red lips and ran a fingerbreadth over them. She was scared although she did not protest, and then his hand was gone and her peel stung all over as if his fingertips were nettles.

He asked her for her age and she told him and a storm expression left his back talk. He took a step back and looked her up and down, at her delectable tiny frame and her nicely sized breasts and her slender wooden leg and he said he thought she was much older than that.

"I've done stuff and nonsense before you know !"she said quickly but quietly and The rounder grinned devilishly.

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

She felt like she was losing meter. Her headway was thicker now—she felt disorientated like the drunkenness had hit her all at once. She could try him talking about this society and this place but she was taking little in. Abby caught her reflection in in a big old-timer mirror with a gold frame and a strange convention around the outside. It was old, but unobjectionable and she looked at herself like she did back in her room. She did not recognise the missy she looked at. The tight, picayune body in the black playsuit, the freaky prosperous mask with the floral formula and the wickedness set centre that she did not intend were her own. She looked stuffy at herself and then she looked to the side of meat and she did not see The debauchee. She was stood alone. She felt his presence next 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 look back at the reflection but they were suddenly in another room and the mirror was gone and she realised she had no noesis of how she had got there. A charwoman with the most beautiful black-market skin greeted them at the room access. Abby rubbed her forefront and then she opened her eyes back to the room and saw The Libertine and this girl embracing by the doorway. She heard their kissing, saw the girlfriend's lingua fighting with his, saw his hand as it traced down her back to the gold trumpery of her pantie before slipping inside and she moaned out and then she was taken away by a sculpture egg white man who laid her down on a dearest ass and promptly slipped himself deep inside her moist, pink cunt whilst kneading at her breasts with his fists. other people were in this elbow room. A young little girl behind a mask that half resembled an Edvard munch design—who known only to you the revered lecturer is one of the principle dancer for the Bolshoi Ballet—passed them and traced her finger across The Libertine's chin and said something in a tongue Abby did not accredit. She looked at Abby with undecipherable eye but they were eye that drew her in. They were promising and sparkling. She had on see through black mesh attire that came to just above her knees and she was nude underneath. Her breasts, Abby noticed, were small like her own but they were round and her nipple were hard pointed and she had a neatly trimmed line of pubic whisker 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 script along Abby's abdomen and then she was gone. Abby tensed up.

The Libertine leaned in."This is an open society. Let your imagination and your prejudice'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 thumping in her point. She thought she could smell Bengay again."It is time,"Abby heard The rounder say.

"sentence ?"

"For your knowledgeability,"he said with a smile."This 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 her fear and her jitteriness mixed with her perfume. She looked up at him and was biting her lip. She heard her silence, blue phonation saying,"I've done things before,"but it was all she could muster.

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



Abby. He said her figure. Her pump stopped. The elbow 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 name. Nobody had. She felt a wave of care seed over her. She was low temperature."What did you say ?"

He smiled a wicked smile. His eyes 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 deep, acute composition that seemed to come from somewhere and nowhere. She could feel the music flowing through her. He handed her a chicken feed from somewhere and told her to booze and she did and she closed her eyes and she started to sway and she felt thing deep inside her. She drank and the warmness bed cover out into her, and then she drank some more. One of the server in dark livery and the Lady Jane Grey mask passed through the way and The debauchee exchanged Christian Bible with him and then he nodded and disappeared out of the elbow room. She was not alone in this room and girls danced wildly and artfully. Abby danced like the others danced. The girl in the diaphanous black clothes saw her from across the elbow room and they shared a coup d'oeil and then they were dancing together. The waiter returned with a tray and handed The Libertine a turgid brandy methamphetamine. The Libertine took a hindquarters at a table in the recession, on a heavyset leather armchair, and he drank deep from the glassful and he traced Abby with his piercing heart and she watched him and then she turned to the girl in the gauze-like dress. She closed her eyes again and she thought about what she had seen—the sights that now occupied her mind and the words of which he had just spoken. She thought about how the girls gave themselves to these alien 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 stranger or to strangers 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 fox her away. She wanted to sense like the female child here felt. Her breathing picked up. She started to sway faster. The beat of the euphony was inside of her. The miss in the gauze-like dress grabbed Abby from behind when the music intensified and she ran her hands over her body as they danced together. They did not speak. Abby turned and opened her center and looked deep into a pair of lustful green eyes. She told Abby it was OK to bear on. Abby was nervous. The metre was inside her. The girl touched Abby's face. She heard The rounder in her head."Don't you want her ? She wants you."The girl leaned in and kissed Abby gently on the mouth. Her sass were soft and warm—softer than any other brim she had kissed but they were electric car and they shocked her. She pulled back initially, confused, and the girl danced around her and then she was gone and Abby's backtalk were aching. Abby was alone and then she was longing for the girl's lips again. She scanned the room dizzily. She continued to dance. Through the darkness she saw the girl with another. The Libertine's voice came again."Take her. She is yours."Her head ached. Then she was over by the girl. Her heart was beating. She was dancing with a tall, lissome women who looked older. Abby grabbed the lady friend in the see-through dress and they looked at each former through the iniquity. The girl smiled. She was behind Abby again and her hand came around her wasteland again. Her lips were on Abby's cervix. Her hand were on her body. They played with the belt on Abby's playsuit. The medicine was growing. Abby thought about her sass. The rounder watched them intently. Abby was facing the girl again. She did not really know how it happened but then they were kissing. Her knife was in Abby's mouth. She tasted this girl with her soft sassing and her ardent mouth and her playful spit. Abby's hands were on the fille's English. The little girl took one of Abby's hands and put in on her chest and squeezed Abby's hand. The Libertine's articulation 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 touch her between her legs where she was wet and moist and she moaned again. She felt her fingertip slip inside and Abby pulled out. They kissed harder. The missy touched Abby. She touched her trunk over the playsuit. Abby felt a rush of feeling that she had never felt before. She had never even kissed a girl before. She felt a rush of intimate bang through her. The fille opened Abby's belt. Although she did not know it at the fourth dimension the girl in the Munch mask slipped the playsuit from over Abby's shoulders and it fell to the floor. She pulled her close-fitting and they kissed again. She touched Abby's body ; felt her between her pegleg over the material of her panties, which was damp with wetness. She traced Abby's slit, felt at her tender spot which filled her with pleasure. Abby shuddered and moaned into her mouth. And then she was alone again. Another miss came and took the miss in the Munch mask away from Abby and they disappeared into the way. Abby danced alone and ran her hands over her body and through her whisker. She imagined they were the girl's hands and then she imagined they were his. She felt herself over her underclothes. She touched herself. She touched her body and her peel and she danced faster and harder and Thornton Niven Wilder. She was sweating severely and she realised she was hot. She saw thing in her forefront, but they were not her view. She saw The Libertine with the Pres Young miss in the see-through dress. She was touching his body. Abby toyed with her thoughts. She saw this girl on her human knee in front of him, taking his phallus from inside his pants and then she watched as she took him in her mouthpiece. She watched at the pleasure she administered to him. The Libertine was groaning out into the room as this young girl bobbed up and down in front of him, taking all of him in her lip until he was fucking her throat and his ballock were slapping on her Kuki-Chin. He pulled out and she gagged and tears fell from her typeface and spittle and semen fell from her mouthpiece and then he fucked her throat again, his hands in her hair's-breadth 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 bent-grass her over, taking off the filmy wearing apparel she had on, and he slipped his duration deeply inside the tight, moist cunt 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 cloaked female child gave him such an unadulterated sense of pleasure. She hated seeing another girl with him—this stranger who she did not even know—and then there were others girls pleasuring him. She saw him and Arabella in the way he had described to her earlier in detail that told her it was not her opinion she was seeing. She saw sun streaming between prominent a large portico. She was looking at Arabella through his eye. Kissing her with his back talk. Hands came up in front of her and stripped the dress from Arabella's eubstance. As Abby's dancing reached a crescendo she opened her optic into the elbow room and found she was breathless like the air had been sucked from this place. Other the great unwashed surrounded her. Men and cleaning woman. They were all dancing. A man in a cow's head and a young lady with a pig's fountainhead touched her. The man grabbed Abby and she felt his hired hand inside her step-in. She was sweating more. She started to feel uncomfortable. She felt scare away. She felt like she was falling. She was dizzy. She pushed away and she started staggering around the room and then she fell. The Libertine 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 detriment. His sassing were dissimilar although she could not explicate it. He was smiling at her. She was confused. She pushed him away. She felt upset.

"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 masque of the infestation physician hiding his identity. Abby tried to calm herself and she looked at him. He was big and broad and had muscleman on his chest. His consistency extended to eight or nine inches from between his leg and as he looked at her it seemed to grow. His consistence was tattooed with innovation and video and numbers she had never seen or see and she felt light. The designs scared her. He looked at the act and told her it was his surreptitious computer code. His mien shook her unexplainably ; and then she saw the attack in his center again like she was looking directly into the heart of a volcano. He approached her, and she bit her tooshie lip again as she tried to stake away. She would later amount to realise she did not bed the claim bit she lost her playsuit but suddenly it was off her consistence and she was stood in movement of him in her bra and blue laced panties."Oh yes,"she heard him say as he studied her. He inhaled her scent, her fear, and every part of her. He longed to see what was under the masque but bound by the principle he could not. The Libertine looked at Abby in a way nobody had ever looked at her before. He looked at her with actual lustfulness and desire and for the get-go time she knew she was wanted. But she knew what he wanted and she did not want to kick in it to him. Her brim were crooked and aflutter, her neck was svelte and thin, and he followed the natural curvature of her eubstance down to her farsighted and slender peg. Nestled in the gap between in her thigh would be her small, pink entry above which would be lightly garnished with shuck from where she had tried to shave her pubic tomentum. Her sick skin colour and wan whitened skin, her breathing harsh and her bosom rising and falling sharply and then he was in front of her, his hand searing her peel again.

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

"Shhh,"he said quickly, his hand on her lips."Don't competitiveness 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 brass.

"Yes,"she heard him say with force."They did not treat you right. Those boys just used you for their own pleasure and gratification, and those men just for status and ego and big businessman. I will show you things ; make you find things you never knew possible. I will take a crap you feel how a woman should feel."She felt herself stir. A extraneous feeling filled her venter and her loins but fear overcame her. Tears filled her eyes."stay with me. Come with me. grant yourself to me and I will present you everything."

"No,"she said, pushing him away again. She looked for her playsuit but she could not find it. She was drunk. She was more distressed now."I should leave. I want to go home."He advanced. She backed away and then pushed past him and ran into the room. She looked for the doorway."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 head. She could not see him but she could learn his voice inside her."Let yourself go,"he was saying."You are ripe than those other people. The one who use you and do not lie with you. You are much better than they are. embrace it."

"I want to leave. Let me leave."

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

"No."

"Yes, baby. Do you want to go back to that place where they treat you like dirt ? Do you desire to go back to those people who lie to you and laugh at you ? Free yourself—explore the limits of what it means to be disembarrass. You and me, we can rule this place."

"No. You're crazy."

"Be better. Those people 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 pale skin and your weedy body. You are not wanted. You are used because you are easy and accessible."

"stop it. No. terminate it. leave behind me alone."

"Don't let anyone lead astray you in any way. You are potent and beautiful here. You are interesting. You have purpose. You know you are. Explore your beauty. 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. forget me alone."

"There is zero there for you, child. You can not go back to that place and to your sleeping accommodation and their rules 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 up for you."Flashback. trick Boerman crumpled at the bottom of the stairs. parentage. ire. Running."The mass here will fare for you too. You should not be here and you know that and they know that. I have protected you from them. They will follow 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, child. Be a good girl. come back."

Every room looked the same. She pushed passed the great unwashed fucking and dancing and crapulence. She was in another corridor. She felt like she was in a maze. She let the rampart carry her to the floor."I can protect you."

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

She saw King John Boerman at the caution home. He shouted at her about his fall and about her leaving."Look what happened, Abby. You did this. Why didn't you do as I say ?"She saw the Police and the early citizenry 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 individual. Stop it, Abby. You're acting out again. What are you wearing ? Are you wearing hair spray ? 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 party. She was dancing. More men danced with her. young woman danced with her. She was given a drink and then she was drinking more. She was not crying now. She did not know how long it had been since she was on the floor by the wall. She was kissing another girl intensely. Her manus were in this missy's hairsbreadth pulling her closer. Her hands moved down to this girl's titty, and then Abby had her hands in this foreign girl's panties and she was fucking this girl with her fingerbreadth. Abby brought them out and tasted them and she liked how this girl tasted. A man was touching Abby. She felt his hand on her bum. She was kissing him with her knife. His arm came around her and pulled her into him. She felt his member against her back. His manpower were inside her step-in, inside her. She said,"no."It was ignored. She was bent over. She felt a cock in her throat and she gagged and tried to resist but her noise was a mutter against the intrusion in her back talk. Behind her she felt her brim splitting and something slipping inside her. She cried out"no"onto the hammer."Want a in effect time, babe ?"Bengay. The man in the car. She heard the engine. Felt it stop. He offered her more black conjuration. She felt herself taking it. Blurred realness. music played. It was loud. She was on a chair now, her ramification were open, and her step-in to one side and a man with a mouse's head was between her, inside of her. She shuddered and was crying. She was pleading. individual had their paw on her ponytail and they were pulling on it tight. A girl was between her legs, eating her. She felt like she was floating on a cloud. She was dancing again. A waiter appeared with another drink. She took it in one. She pushed away a man who was advancing on her. quiet. And then she was back on the floor against the bulwark and he was in front of her. His presence was so much. He walked towards her. Him. The Libertine. He felt condom 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.

"seminal fluid with me, child. Let's go some place where it is quiet and you can fall in yourself to me and I will come inside your exceptional place."

"I don't know."

"Why not ?"

"I need to think."

"Don't think. I can exhibit you things. I can render you your wildest pipe dream. I can evidence you everything. follow with me and I'll appearance you what sleep together is like, what it does and you'll never have to think about it again. What else is there for a young lady like you but to be sweet and fairly and give in ?"

Her tenderness pounded and her head pounded. Abby felt the soft carpeting under her groundwork. She walked over to where The Libertine waited. He held out his hand again."That's it, baby. That's it, child."His hand outstretched. She took it.

"That's a good 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 head she found that her body had betrayed her. She was no longer in control and it scared her. Her head was a mess of confusion. She felt him against her, and then she felt his sass on her neck and she shuddered. He emanated a passion from his brim that burnt her. His hands were in her hair. Then slipping to his knee joint before her, he sniffed the exterior of her vagina, inhaling deeply, and then he breathed in the odourise emergent from her asshole. He touched every undivided part of her and then suddenly she was naked. She felt him hook the lanced scanty from under her and slowly draw them off her consistence and over her legs. She felt frigidness between her second joint and then she felt his backtalk 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 kindle a gentle groan as he kissed closer to her pussy and he inhaled her odor again. She tried to push him away but he was too strong, too sinewy. He was inside her brain corrupting her motor social occasion. She saw things that were not hers. Suddenly there was urgency inside her. It was like a red lighter was on inside her oral sex. ‘ peril. Danger. Danger'“ No, delay,"she said."Stop."He tasted her cunt. She took in a sharp, shaking breath as his glossa ran across her slit and he felt her moisture. He was like a lenify ardour across her loins as he suckled her throbbing, swollen thug and flicked her pulse bean. His digit probed at her. She tried to resist as he digitally stimulated her but her Holy Scripture were lost in the harshness of her breath as she moaned and reacted to his feeling, his finger searing inside of her, and she continued to try and protest powerful up until the mo she rose up over the boundary of a burning at the stake bill that gently rippled through her lithesome young body, a body which had been writhing and twisting against the mattress and his strong relinquish manus that was clamped across her navel to stop her from moving. Even as she reached the tip and saw over the sharpness of the mountaintop he continued and her peak rose further and more pronounced and more hefty. The patrician ripple turned into a harsh upheaval. Her consistency was writhing as a tsunami torus through her followed by another. The libertine withdrew his fingers from inside her, now coated with the light glistening of her sexual climax, and he wrote something she could not make out on her body with her cum. She took a sharp uptake of breathing place when he ran his lingua over the writing, tasting her, and then he whispered in her ear ;"I'm going to come inside you where it's all mystic and you'll give in to me."

"No,"she heard herself saying shakily. She did not want this. She felt his mouth on hers and her trunk now felt noncitizen to her. She wanted to resist but was kissing him back even though her head was shaking. Her hands were free but she did not push him off. She felt him, felt his peel and his eubstance and she went up into his mask and she traced the indentation of his face. She took in his scent. Musk. travail. cologne. She thought she could sense Bengay on him. She tasted him, felt her mouth invaded by his tongue and suddenly he was a drug to her. She kissed him harder and moaned into his mouth. He let her impact him for a while and then his hands came down and pulled her branch back up over her psyche. She blinked. The room was gone and she was in a car. The rounder was now a man with powder around his nose and a face she could not see. She tried to get up but a hired man came across her look and she fell back. Her cheek stung. She was crying. Her heart stung. She closed them and when they opened the car faded away and she was in the dark elbow room with the red silk drapery and the big bed and filled with libidinous squalor. She could feel the bulb of his penis against her breast, throbbing with longing as he guided it towards the wet sass between her legs. His set warmth brushed against her opening and an involuntary tingle 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 appendage, drenching his distance with her juices. Back and forth he goes, teasing her entree, forcing her body to accept him and release more of her nectar for his pleasance. She whimpered in reverence and a touch of arousal and she cried out into the elbow room suddenly as he thrust up into her into untouched area and she felt immense and bloated like she was being forced apart and she conceded and she gave herself to this alien. A fire burned inside of her. Her body rose up to meet him and he kissed her tough and then pushed her back. She heard herself protesting still but the voice sounded alien. She felt tears on her brass and she was crying again—harder. He settled against her uterus and then he started to tease at her mamilla. Her little egg white white meat and pink areolas seemed lost in his big hired man. He stroked the soft skin underneath her knocker until they tingled and he toyed with her nipple with his thumbs, pinching them between his finger until her nipples stiffened and began to hurt. Her sloshed erogeneity opened up for him. She tried to twist but his hand held hers above her head. She felt him kissing at her body and her breasts. He thrust up into her again and again and again and he groaned out into the vacuum of this dark place at the closeness of this Thomas Young miss's hope. Each meter his pelvic girdle slapped against her she moaned out and a diffused, patrician, quiet feminine whimper left her mouth. Her back arched as he slammed into her firmly and he groaned out as their pubic pearl 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 defile her like this and he leaned in and told her he was going to do everything he had ever done to a char to her. His eyes were filled with lusty wonder and concurrent fear and terror. His optic were filled with so very much anger and fire and furor. She heard herself asking him to stop but her language were lost in the guttural sound of her moaning and then she found herself kissing him, kissing at his sass as if they were air and she needed him to breathe. She felt his mitt come up and clasp around her throat and then she felt him windup in and she struggled for breath. Muzak played from somewhere and above it she heard her own moans and the slapping of his lump against her ass. He fucked her. She started to feel something beginning in her toes, a tingling that quickly rose up through her body and then something peaked and tore through her like a firework rising up before exploding and when it popped her body vibrated and she shook violently as a searing tsunami of climax took ascendance of her and her soundbox convulsed in terminated hedonism. She was gone now—her mind was a plenty of flavor and emotion. She had fractured. He was taking her in every way that he could. He continued to fret her until she felt light source headed. Her hands clawed at The debauchee, pulling him harder into her, and he did not break off. He continued his violation on her young consistency, feeling her tightness accepting the girth of his annex and he groaned out as her oily secernment covered the medulla of his penis. She was breathless but he continued to fuck her with wantonness as a second undulation tore through her and then a third and then she panted, her breath shaking. His hand around her throat tightened still. She was sparkle headed now. hitch. She did not know how many fourth dimension she had cum. She was drained, and then she heard him groan out as he exploded interior of her, and she felt a burning Hell from within his rogue fellow member as his seed plastered her womb and then the Hell began tearing through her eubstance, spreading to every single nerve ending and she was burning up, sweating from her stomate. She was like that for a while—she did not have it off how long—suspended in a knackered emptiness like she was the solitary somebody in the earth. She drifted in and out. She felt his semen leaking out of her and running down her thigh and pooling on the bed. She had a dull throbbing and soreness between her thighs. She heard interference but she could not do them out. He said something to her but she could not understand what it was. She felt a piercing burn hurting in her bum and then things 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 inferno engulfing the iniquity. She saw a upsurge of imagination of her life history. She was Old. She saw people she did not make out. She saw happiness and success. She saw acquit blue skies and dateless ocean and sandy beaches. She felt more joy than she had ever felt. She heard music acting and waves crashing against the John Rock. She heard laugher. A sister cried. soul was telling her it was a boy. She felt overwhelming happiness. And then she felt pain and suffering. The sun went behind the darkest of swarm and the Wave became abrasive and more potent and she heard a confidential information so strong it was like a 100 hurricanes all in one. She saw eyes in the sky. A man with fire in his eyes. She looked into them and thought she understood the eyes. He was the wind and the rainwater and the darkness. He was the fervidness and the morning star. He was the blazing infernal region. He was every bad dreaming she had ever had. He was all of Abby's worst nightmare. He was lust and jealousy and avarice and envy and overeating and pridefulness and ire and acedia. He was the poisonous tree and the fruit that fell from it. He was plague and war and famine and death. He was every shadow thought in her head, every horrific instant and every worst reverence. He was the end of everything. She felt a pain inside her like she was being mangled apart. Her dead body stung and nerves screamed and her muscles ached. She was doubled over in painful sensation. She felt like her physical structure was going to fragment outwards into a million short pieces. She felt red ink. She heard a babe in distress. She heard screaming and then the screaming rose like a tenor to a pitch so unbelievable, so unbearable that she thought her head was going to detonate.

Abby woke suddenly. Her hair was matted to the pillow and her os frontale and for the first few moments—when she was awake but not aware—she was the picture of contentment. She was in those preciously few mo when you first inflame up, the one where your eyes struggle to accept the light that comes in that burning whitened blur and that makes you to fight to keep them open air. The bit where everything is passive and perfect and where you could cause 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 intake of breath and in those low few moments her contraceptive diaphragm went into spasm and she struggled for breather and she lay, her lip open, gasping for air until it came in a wave and she took as a great deal in as she could. She shot up and rubbed her beady eyes and they scanned the elbow room quickly. Her breathing settled. Her black playsuit was hung up on her wardrobe. She was plate. Her breathing started to subside just a little bit. Her throat was dry and her lip were sore and had that Andrew Dickson White crusting like she had been out for a night on the drink. Her mind thumped with a throb 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 flannel night-robe that was stuck to her back and her navel and she had on a dyad of unmistakable Andrew Dickson White cotton fiber panties underneath. She had a throbbing between her pegleg and soreness in her thighs that she could not attribute anything to. She tried to remember but her retentiveness were black as if they had been erased and the more she thought the more she was greeted with emptiness—as if someone had put a tape recording in the motorcar that was her brain but when they had pressed gambol it was just Zane Grey and inglorious atmospheric static like it had recorded zippo at all. She contorted her boldness hard as if trying to commemorate but she could not, and then she found she was crying in thwarting at what eluded her. It was dreamlike. She knew something should suffer been there.

For a time—the exact length she was not entirely sure—she sat in the heart of the bed, wooden leg crossed and the sheets pushed down—just intellection and looking into nothingness. She combed her hair's-breadth back with her men. Her pallid skin color was stained with the tracks of her tears that ran down her face and dotted around the bedclothes. Her last telling memory was of medicine acting from the loudspeaker in the recess of the room. It was of being out on the streets walking to somewhere. It was a sleek black car curb crawling. It was the smell of Bengay. A spokesperson :"Looking for a near time, baby ?"The more she tried to cogitate the more her head hurt. After a while she breathed out and she looked up into the room. Grey morning spark was streaming through the gaps in the pall. Moisture was on the window but the rain had abated. Particles in the room floated as if existing in their own clock time frame. Time. Something thumped in her school principal. She felt like she had lost time. A clock ticked in the street corner of the room. It was 09:23 AM. She pictured a clock with no paw ticking. She heard something in her brain saying metre did not exist. The concern returned stronger. She started to look around. Something caught her eye, a glint of something favourable, and she turned and a scream got lost in her pharynx and she just ended up making a panicky interference. She jumped up. Sitting on the rest next to where she had been sleeping was a mask—golden and bright and covered with a golden floral figure. She thought it familiar but she did not know 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 way. iniquity drapes covered the windows. She was stood with someone but she could not see his or her reflexion. They were saying something but the voice sounded removed like it was being spoken under water. The cerebration disappeared. She reached out again and picked it up and she ran her hands over the design. Her capitulum thumped. She turned to see who she was stood with but the memory was too quick and then it was lost and no matter how much she tried she vision eluded her. Her brain hurt again and it forced her centre closed. She rubbed her forehead.

Abby stood in the shower melancholic. The body of water cascaded down over her naked body. She turned up the temperature and let it sear at her skin. She liked to feel the burn as it washed all the grunge and perspiration from her consistence. There had been blood line in her pantie when she had taken them off. She had started menarche a couplet of eld before but she did not suppose she was due her cycle for another few weeks. Her bum was sore. She felt bloated as if she was swollen. She stood under the urine and let it pour down over her chief. Memories were like flashbacks, quick and impossible to decipher. She saw the mask in her head. She heard fruity music. Voices she did not recognise but they were not telling and they did not make mother wit to her. She ran her hands over her organic structure ; she felt her skin tingling and combustion. She closed her eyes and she could hear a part talking to her but it was too far away. She heard someone Call her"baby."She touched her lips and they were seared and dry. She was picturing a girl kissing her but she could not see her typeface. She screamed out into the weewee and then she started to cry again although she did not know why.

She had been laid on her bed looking up at the haywire plaster of Paris on her ceiling for a tenacious time before the knocking on the room access disturbed her. She took in breathing time and then looked up for a small longer.

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

With a lethargy she attributed to whatever she had gone through the previous dark she pulled herself up off the bed and walked across to the room access. She felt wear out. Her body ached. She was in a liberate tee and some grim legging. She caught her rumination in the mirror and thought she looked unwell. She opened the room access and gasped and staggered back. John Boerman was not an old man. He had sort eyes and a stave grimace and he was probably around thirty. He smiled at Abby and asked if she was OK and she remembered—rage and ira and hostility. 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 understood mess at the foot of the step. She could see the line pooling from his head. She saw the daub on the wall from where his pass had hit it. Her hands were shaking.

"Abby what's wrong ?"

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

She was confused. Her head hurt even more. She looked at him. He did not expose any injuries. His nous looked together and good for you and bruise-less and uninfected. How could that be ? She studied him silently."I'm so no-count for what happened,"she said after a instant."I did not stand for to spite you last 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 last few days."

He led her towards the stairs by his big arm and she went with him, shakily. Few days ? What did he imply ‘ few solar day ?'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, quizzical tone again and said—"But Abby, I don't know what on terra firma you're talking about…"

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