Open Your Legs for my Family Read online

  OPEN YOUR LEGS FOR MY FAMILY

  (BOOK ONE OF THE INITIATION 2 SERIES)

  By Aphrodite Hunt

  This book is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places and incidents are the product of the author’s imagination or are used fictitiously. Any resemblance to actual events, locales or persons, living or dead, is coincidental.

  Copyright 2012 by Aphrodite Hunt

  Cover art by Aphrodite Hunt

  Published by Aphrodite Hunt at Smashwords

  WORKS BY APHRODITE HUNT

  The ‘Initiation’ series

  Open Your Legs for Me

  Blindfolded and Spread-eagled

  Thighs Wide Apart

  Teacher, Please Spread my Pussy

  The Final Initiation

  The Initiation: A Bundle of 5 Stories

  The ‘Initiation 2’ series

  Open Your Legs for my Family

  Bend Over for my Family

  Publicly Display Yourself for Me

  ‘The Royal Captive’ series

  Prince Miro’s Capture

  Prince Miro’s Submission

  Prince Miro’s Enslavement

  Prince Miro’s Punishment

  Prince Miro’s Escape

  Prince Miro’s Final Confrontation

  The ‘Naughty Nymphomaniac’ series

  I was a Naughty Nymphomaniac

  Officer, Please Spread and Cuff Me

  Gang Banged by the Chain Gang

  Hot, Wet and Steamy (individual stories)

  When He’s Inside You

  My Stepson is a Naughty Stripper

  The Gorgeous Naked Man in my Storm Shelter (Erotic Suspense)

  Her First Clit Ring

  Trapped with Sex-Starved Aliens

  Dear reader, as this list is not always comprehensive due to more stories being churned out after this point in publishing, please visit http://aphroditehunt.blogspot.com/ for more stories and updates

  OPEN YOUR LEGS FOR MY FAMILY

  1

  I’m the youngest member ever to get into Phi Kappa Omega, the greatest club Gifford has ever known. I have a gorgeous blond boyfriend who has a body to die for. I’m the envy of every girl in campus. Yes, even the seniors.

  Sometimes I can’t believe it myself.

  But I have gone through experiences that no other freshman has ever been through. None of it is for the fainthearted. I have been fucked in every orifice, spanked, bound, exhibited, displayed, experimented with and tortured in the name of pleasure.

  I consider myself pretty, but not overwhelmingly beautiful. Not in the way models or even some of the girls on campus are. A girl like me shouldn’t be able to snare a senior boyfriend like Max Devlin.

  And yet I did. He’s mine, every inch of his glorious awesomeness.

  I can’t take my eyes off him.

  I mean, just look at him. How his wife-beater shows off his pecs – his nipples like little damson stones beneath the thin white material. His muscular arms – shaped by doing thirty laps a day in the choppy waters of the campus Olympic-sized swimming pool. His V-shaped abdomen flaring to hips that make me want to run my hands all over. His sinew-packed legs in his tight, tight jeans.

  How can any woman not desire Max Devlin? One look at him, and lust pangs are elicited between my legs. My dreams are filled with him being inside me – his long legs wrapped around me, his cock hard and long within the silky purse of my vagina – thrusting deeply into me, filling me with ecstasy and the frothy, rich pools of his sperm.

  Ohhh. I made that dream a reality yesterday, and I’m going to relive it tonight.

  I hug myself with glee.

  The very object of my desire is in the driver’s seat of his Porsche 911. He looks over to me and smiles. “A dime for your thoughts.”

  “They’re worth just a dime?” I say playfully.

  We’re on our way to his parents. Yes. You heard that right. Max Devlin is bringing me to meet his family.

  And we’ve only known each other for, like, what? Less than two months in total?

  The last couple of weeks have been bliss. More sex than I can dream of – just me and him, intimately joined on his bed. Moonlight walks in the park, our fingers intertwined. Long romantic dinners in pricey restaurants.

  One telepathic push, and maybe he’ll be able to read my mind and know that I love red roses. In floral arrangements. With a little card that says ‘P/s: I love you’.

  I think, for all my bravado, that I’m a shameless romantic.

  Every day for the last two weeks, I wake up next to him. I turn my head on the pillow and push my nose against his neck to imbibe his wonderful manly scent. I have to pinch myself several times to make sure this is real. I have Max Devlin as my boyfriend, and he is in bed beside me.

  Me.

  We don’t speak of what happened during my Initiation. We don’t speak of the countless of men who have fucked me in every single one of my pleasure holes. My past only comes up during our foreplay, where he displays an affinity for metal clamps . . . to be secured on me. It doesn’t matter. I’ve learned to like the intimate pain, the numbness that flowers every time my nipples or clit or pussy lips are gathered and pinched by the hard metal.

  We speak only of today . . . and tomorrow.

  “What are your parents like?” I ask.

  He gives a short laugh. “Weird.”

  Something in the way he says this makes me think their relationship may be strained.

  I press on. “Do you get along with them?”

  “What makes you think I don’t?” He shoots me a quizzical look.

  Well, it’s the way your father made his security guard strip-search you back in those gardens. But of course, I don’t say this.

  “My father is a philanthropist,” he offers. “He’s also the chairman of a multinational pharmaceutical company, but he likes to be known as a philanthropist. He goes around the world raising funds for causes like Darfur and the landmine victims of Laos.”

  Impressive. And yet this man that we speak so highly of strip-searches his own son. Why? Does Max Devlin have a torrid past outside the Initiation circles? Does his father?

  “And your mother?” I say.

  “She’s self-absorbed. Meaning she’s not a philanthropist.” Max chortles at his own joke. “She runs a fashion empire.”

  Wow. It must be tough being Max, having to live up to such an illustrious family.

  “Any brothers and sisters?”

  “What’s this? Twenty questions?”

  “I just want to be prepared.”

  “Prepared for what? We’re not the Addams family, though sometimes I think we have blood ties.” He smirks.

  “Prepared for – ” I shrug. “Oh, you know. Anything you think I should be prepared for.”

  I let this trail. Max’s silence suggests an ominous note. I meant it more as small talk, but now I’m getting worried. Is the Devlin family all that bad? I mean . . . come on. His father is a philanthropist. How bad can a philanthropist be? Unless philanthropy isn’t all that it’s cut out to be.

  Max finally replies, “Maybe I just want you to be surprised.”

  He leans over and kisses me on the lips to shut me up. The Porsche swerves into the other lane. In front of us, an oncoming car blares its horn. Max spins the steering wheel before we can smash into the car. My heart and ears are pounding with the near miss.

  Being with Max Devlin is like riding the crest of a major surf wave.

  We continue for a little farther (in the proper lane).

  “OK,” Max announces, “maybe there’s a little something you have to be prepared for.”

  Alarm bells clang in my head. “Such as?”

 
“It’s more to do with me,” he hastily says.

  “You?”

  “Yes, me.” He lowers his voice. “There’s something I’ve been meaning to ask you, Gina.”

  Uh oh. This is not ‘the talk’, is it? The inevitable breakup? I mean, why would a man like Max Devlin want someone like me, right, when he can have anyone else in the world?

  I’m nervous as hell, but I make myself say lightly, “Go ahead.” Inside my chest, my heart is knocking against my ribcage. So soon, so soon . . . but I didn’t have enough time with him. I need more!

  Of course, it had never occurred to me that our relationship would last a hearts-and-flowers lifetime. People like me don’t get guys like Max Devlin. It isn’t the natural order of things. It just isn’t.

  He seems almost afraid. Max Devlin – afraid to ask me something!

  “You remember, of course, what happened during your initiation.”

  Oh, he’s bringing that up. It’s my turn to be guarded.

  “Yes?”

  “Did you like what happened to you?”

  Well, that’s a difficult one. I endured some of it, I enjoyed the rest. It was simultaneously pleasurable and painful and humiliating and degrading and stimulating and exhilarating. I had multiple orgasms. I was in unbearable pain.

  What can I say?

  “I liked most of it,” I finally tell him as an appeasement. It’s true. I did like most of it.

  His Adam’s apple moves as he swallows. “Would you like to revisit some of it?”

  He lets this hang between us for a while.

  “Revisit?” I say.

  “Yes.”

  “You mean . . . as a participant?”

  “Yes. As a submissive.”

  Of course it will be as a submissive. I can never be a dominatrix, however much I try.

  I lick my lips. “You mean the bondage?”

  “I mean all of it. And more. Much more.”

  The implications float ominously in the stilted atmosphere of the car.

  Dismay creeps into me. Dismay – because I thought Max Devlin in his real life is a normal guy with (mostly) normal vanilla tastes and desires. OK, he has the occasional predilection for ornamentation. And everything that he does during an Initiation is because he has been indoctrinated to do so as a senior of Phi Kappa Omega.

  Or so I would like to believe.

  A lump comes to my throat.

  “You don’t have to answer now, of course,” he says. “You can sleep over it.”

  “Yes. Thank you.”

  My mind is exploding with the possibilities. Max Devlin wants me to be a submissive again. Is this how it’s going to be in our relationship? Just when I thought we were doing so well. I have so many questions, and yet my tongue is frozen to the roof of my mouth.

  If he wants it – really, really wants it so badly –

  Me as a submissive. Again.

  Oh God.

  Do I want Max Devlin that badly? Do I want him to keep on being my boyfriend?

  The answer is as clear as daylight.

  Yes.

  I think I may even be falling for him. He mustn’t know that. Not ever, ever, ever.

  Oh my God.

  “I’ll tell you later, Max.” My voice is hoarse. I think I already know what my answer will be, but I still need to sleep over it. Toss and turn and fret myself silly.

  “OK.” He seems to be satisfied with this.

  We drive on for a few miles more before he remarks, “You can say ‘no’ anytime, you know.”

  “’No’?”

  “During the submissive play. Even during your Initiation, you always had that option.”

  And lose out on Phi Kappa Omega? Yeah, sure.

  “Sometimes, it didn’t seem as if I was given a choice,” I say slowly.

  “Well, you always had a choice.”

  If you say so.

  “There’s a safe word you can use if you don’t think you can take it anymore.” He glances at me, his bright blue eyes full and alluring.

  A safe word. Now he tells me.

  “What is it?”

  “You can choose your own.”

  My mind goes blank all of a sudden.

  “What did you have in mind?” I say.

  He grins. “‘Yellow’.”

  “Huh?”

  “The word is ‘yellow’.”

  This strikes me as funny for a reason.

  “Why ‘yellow’?”

  “It’s not normally a word that people would say unless you have a reason. It’s not like ‘No’, or ‘Please stop’.”

  Yes, I get the drift.

  “Unless you don’t like ‘yellow’,” he hurriedly says. “You can choose any other word you like.”

  “No, I’m fine with ‘yellow’.”

  It’s clear to me that I’m on the verge of agreeing. This bothers me for a reason. Am I really such a doormat? Am I so afraid to lose Max Devlin if I don’t say ‘yes’?

  Inwardly, I groan.

  It rankles me how much I need Max Devlin. The thought of losing this blond Adonis for any reason at all is almost unbearable.

  “Well, let’s meet my family,” he says.

  “OK.”

  I’m nervous as hell, but I try to maintain a straight face for Max Devlin.

  The man I’m head over heels in love with.

  2

  Why am I madly in love with Max Devlin?

  Good question.

  He’s amazingly, incredibly handsome, no doubt. I can stare at him for hours – those perfectly shaped lips, as full and lush as a woman’s. That patrician nose. That wonderful profile, as ethereal as a Michelangelo’s bust.

  I won’t even get started on his body.

  But . . .

  He has abused me, shared me with his friends (and gardeners) – all in the name of the Initiation. I was his slave.

  Now I am his equal.

  In these past two weeks, he has made me feel like I’m the only woman in the world. No one else seems to exist for him. No one else matters. How can any woman not fall wantonly, violently in love with such a gorgeous man who puts her in the center of his universe? Especially since the past is a manufactured situation – a situation I wholly agreed and submitted to?

  Now I’m submitting myself to another such situation. The Porsche winds through a private road flanked by cedars. We pull up to a pair of humungous wrought iron gates, gilded in gold. A pair of stone angels bedecks the pillars. A security guard sits in a booth beside the right pillar. As the gates open noiselessly, he waves us in.

  “No strip search?” I raise a quizzical eyebrow.

  Max grins. “Not for the homestead.”

  The driveway seems to go on forever, and I feel like I’m visiting the richest family this side of the Eastern seaboard. Through the crowded trees, I glimpse something shimmering and shining in the distance. I gasp.

  “Oh my God, we’re near the ocean.”

  “Yes.”

  The trees begin to thin out and I see the magnificent body of water for myself. The main house (no, mansion) rises on the crest of a cliff overlooking the ocean. It is festooned with gables and turrets like some medieval castle. I almost expect to see gargoyles rise from the rafters like a Gothic church, but the roof is thankfully clear. Birds wheel in the sky, giving the entire vista a French postcard quality.

  So I have a rich boyfriend.

  Superrich.

  I’ve always known Max is quite a catch, of course, but it never really occurred to me to desire him because of that. I have never been into Max’s money. I can honestly say that. It’s always been about Max himself – his body, his looks, his entire heavenly being. The money is an afterthought. A nice afterthought, I will admit, but still an afterthought.

  “Wow,” I say. “Just, like, wow.”

  He grimaces. “OTT, isn’t it? It’s my great-grandfather’s idea to build the house that way. We’re old money. Or at least, my father is. Whether we’re going to see a dime out of hi
s kitty depends on how we behave.”

  “Behave?”

  “Ah well, maybe you’ll find out later.”

  We go up a winding hill road towards the cliff. It’s like visiting a tourist attraction. I almost expect someone to collect our tickets at a gate, but we rev up a driveway where plenty of luxury cars are parked.

  “How many brothers and sisters do you have?” I ask as he parks the car at an empty berth.

  “Three more than I’ve asked for.”

  A butler is standing at the wide curving steps that lead up to the double doors. He comes down as Max exits his car door.

  “Welcome back, sir.”

  “And good day to you, Heathcliff. This is Gina Wesley.”

  The butler bows to me. “Welcome, young miss. Let me help you with the luggage.”

  Max proffers his arm and I take it. You see, it’s these little couple things that I like. Handholding and car door opening. With a little trepidation, I enter the house. The hall inside has a vaulted ceiling and has the immediate effect of impressing the hell out of me. Elaborate crystal chandeliers dangle from the ceiling, and there’s a fountain as a centerpiece, with rivulets of tinkling, silvery water spraying out of the mouths and fishtails of mermaids.

  The whole place looks more like the interior of a hotel than a house. Max is right. It’s splendidly OTT.

  “Where’s everyone?” Max asks Heathcliff, who is struggling with our bags.

  “Your father has been called away unexpectedly to New York on an urgent business matter, sir. Your mother is in Antigua.”

  “What’s she doing in Antigua?”

  “I’d rather not say, sir.”

  “Oh, is she with one of her boyfriends again? Or is it a girlfriend this time?”

  “As I mentioned, I’d rather not say, sir.”

  I turn to Max, amazed.

  He rolls his eyes. “Yeah, my folks have an open relationship. Now that we’re all grown up, they fuck who they want and they don’t even try to hide if from us.”