Red Silk Pt. 01-02

“Are you seriously asking me to have unprotected sex with a stranger for money? I am not a prostitute!” Whoever this guy was, he was a serious moron. He would pay an insane amount of cash so that he wouldn’t have to jerk in a cup. Also for all I knew, he could be a walking venereal disease.

“We are aware, Ms Mac Finn. As I mentioned, it is implied. You can refuse. But again...”

“Deal, table, boom. I get it. What is his problem anyway? Is he so old and ugly he can’t find a woman despite his wealth?” I was getting angry, and when angry my polished Southern manners tend to slip away. Having mandatory sex with a random man was disgusting. Having mandatory sex with someone I found repulsive was in another league altogether.

“He is neither and just as healthy as you are. Any other concern?”

“If I agree to this, will I be able to contact my dad while I’m away?” Do they even have smartphones in Scotland? Men wear skirts...

“My client’s property is located in a beautiful, albeit remote part of the country. You may not have any signal or internet but there is definitely a landline, so yes.”

This was getting better and better. No face time and months of boredom.

“He has horses though, quite a few. Rescued from a laboratory I was told. They can’t be ridden, but their presence might help you feel more at home,” he offered, his voice as even as if he were discussing the weather.

“Sure. Well, I can’t think about anything more at the moment...” I couldn’t think, period. This was south of too much, by far.

“I will talk to you in two weeks, then, Ms MacFinn. Please prepare a list of any additional questions, should you decide to accept, so that we can draw the contracts. There will be one for the loan, tied to the two for the surrogacy. Our US partners will take care of them. Good bye, Ms MacFinn. Take good care of yourself.”

Part 2

Dancing shadows surround me. There could be a crowd of monsters out there and I wouldn’t know. There could be anything lurking out of my small circle of light. Perhaps if I make myself smaller they won’t notice me. I grip the sheet and curl against the headboard, my heart running a mile a minute. Staying alone in a medieval castle at night isn’t all it’s cracked up to be.

Something is moving. Maybe. Is it? Or have I just lost my mind? Yes, it’s getting closer. I can see a shape now. It’s male. And tall. Star basketball player tall. Don’t scream, don’t scream, don’t scream. Oh gosh he’s really close!

I squeak and squash my back against the headboard. I don’t care how it looks. I reached full-blown panic five minutes ago.

“Moira... A pretty name. An ancient name. Don’t be afraid. I have no wish to harm you.”

The voice is strange, melodic. Hypnotic. I really want to obey but my brain won’t listen.

“Pl..please, I changed my mind. Let me go.”

“You are not a prisoner, sweet Moira. You agreed to come here. You signed a contract.”

“I’m sorry, I can’t. I don’t know you, I can’t have sex with a total stranger, I’m not that kind of girl. I thought I’d manage but I can’t. I can’t...”

“Then let’s get to know each other, shall we? Ask me questions...” He sits on the edge of the mattress and I scoot away.

Yet he sounds reasonable. I breathe a little easier.

“What’s your name? Why can’t I see your face? What...”

There’s a brief chuckle. I want to hear that sound again. It’s so... enticing.

“You can call me Dour. And I like to live outside the grid. The least amount of people who can identify me the better. I don’t want to have to hire bodyguards or check over my shoulder when I’m out in public.”

Ok, it makes sense. He is filthy rich after all. He must have enemies and armies of mobsters willing to kidnap him. I relax a small bit. “Why me? Plenty of girls would love to do this for less than what you are spending. This whole ‘genetic compatibility’ scam is silly.”

There’s a pregnant pause. “It’s not, actually. I have a rare condition which would result in a damaged child, should I not find the right mother. The remedial gene is carried exclusively by a few women of Scottish Celtic descent. Your surname gave me a hint you might be one of them, and I hit gold.”

“Well, I didn’t. I’m not a prostitute, I won’t have sex for money.”

“I’m paying you for surrogacy, not to have you in my bed. But if this is the issue for you...”

I have no clue what happens next. One minute I am sitting with my thighs to my chest and the next I am on my elbows and knees, unable to move. Soft ropes tie my wrists to the headboard and my ankles are blocked apart. I can’t straighten my legs, I struggle and there is no give.

“What have you done? You have no right!” Fear has deserted me. I am fuming. Who does he think he is, treating me this way. I am no one’s toy.

Another chuckle. He’s finding this funny. I am not amused.

“Take these off me!” I’m becoming hysterical. I can’t stand feeling so vulnerable. He can do anything he wants and I am powerless to stop him.

I freeze when a cool hand brushes the small of my back and slides down to my calves. Then it climbs, hiking up the soft fabric, revealing my thighs, the lower part of my ass...

“Stop,” I beg, “please, stop.”

“No.”

My whole buttocks are uncovered, and he stills.

“Lovely,” he breathes, and his fingers graze my exposed skin.

I shiver, and buck to dislodge them. “Don’t do this, please, please.” My eyes fill with tears and I sniffle.

“You are safe, I simply removed your will from the equation. You can’t be selling yourself if you have no choice. Calm down, Moira, I won’t eat you. Although, maybe I will...”

The mattress dips and something slides between my legs. Something silky, rounded. His head. Oh God. This is bad.

His forearms spread my knees farther while his hands drag my hips down. I resist with all my might but he is strong. Too strong.

He’s not even brutal. He simply keeps pressing until my muscles run out of steam. The most intimate part of my body is locked in place, just above his mouth. Warm, moist air scalds my flesh.

I tense, bracing for contact and...

Nothing happens.

Then he hums, a strange melody that rises and falls, swells and breaks. It sinks into my head, soothes my worries. I forget why I was upset. Cold lips vibrate against my skin. It doesn’t alarm me. I’m at peace.

His tongue feels like a branding iron when it finally touches me. This man is a glacier wrapped volcano. Must be Icelandic. I giggle at the notion and the song grows louder, lulling me back into complacency. I retain my awareness though, and the first slow, exploratory lick has me moaning.

He knows what he is doing. He starts at my opening and slithers between my folds, lingering when he reaches the top. I wait for him to move. I need him to move. The lower half of me rocks and shakes, and he simply follows, the tip of his tongue scalding the most sensitive part of my anatomy. I can feel the fragile tissue engorge and dilate. How can someone be so hot and not delirious with fever? I whimper and it’s his clue to press his lips on the spot.

I jolt backwards. It stings as a splash of liquid nitrogen. He alternates sucking and kissing, and the heat-cold succession sets my nerves on fire.

Without warning, an icy finger slots deep into me. The effect is cataclysmic. It hits me stronger than a lightning bolt, and I howl and claw at the ropes as it surges through my body.

It seems to last forever. It must have been a minute. I slack in my bonds, exhausted. What just happened? I’ve had orgasms before, but this was a hurricane to a breeze. Leon, my one and only lover, was skilled and patient, yet he never achieved this. I never achieved this. Am I a freak? Was it the bondage? I’m not naive, some people are into kinky stuff, but the thought of it never turned me on. I’m so confused.

The reprieve is short lived. His mouth finds me again, this time focusing lower. I just let him, I’m too tired to fight. A second digit joins the first and I groan. The stretching is uncomfortable. Then he curls them and... I recognize the technique. He is going for my G-spot. Good luck with that. Leon tried it a few times, I appear to be immune to it. I might not even have a G-spot. He’s pressing on my bladder instead. I need to pee. I must hold it. I can. I will...

He launches a surprise attack at my neglected pearl and I lose concentration. I arch and spray his wrist as a delightful sensation spreads to my womb.

A sigh of bliss escapes me. This is different, deep and fulfilling and emotional. I have a sudden urge to snuggle, to be held and cuddled.

I’m so stupid. And I wet the bed. I hope I ruined his expensive mattress.

He doesn’t allow me to dwell on it. His tongue is back, and a third finger is trying to join its peers.

“Stop, it hurts!” I buck and lurch forward to escape his invasion.

“It’s necessary. You’ll tear later otherwise.”

“I’m going to tear now if you keep this up.”

The humming returns. I want to resist, but it’s a lost battle. I melt into his will.

He is cautious though. He teases me, keeps me on edge. Massages the tense muscles. Pushes forward a fraction more when I groan in frustration.

I’m sweating and trembling when, finally, the third digit slides in. I’m slightly sore, but nowhere near the level I feared. As I pant in relief, he sends me over the metaphorical cliff.

I plunge deep.

When I emerge he is on his hand and knees, caging me. The second hand is stroking my cheek, brushing away the sweaty strands.

“Are you ready?” His breath tickles my ear and I shake my head.

“No. Not that you care. How would you feel if you were in my place?” My anger is seeping back through the endorphins.

“I’ve been in your place. But you agreed to this.”

His answer takes me by surprise. I’d like him to elaborate, yet now is not the time. “I changed my mind. Women are allowed to change their mind at any stage when it comes to sex. It’s my right, and you, sir, are a rapist.”

“In your world, maybe. In mine, a deal must be honored at all costs, and you elected to sign.”

His words unsettle me. Does he mean the business world? Doesn’t change the laws.

“What are you then? An alien? Earth rules don’t apply to you? “

“No. Enough talking.”

He grips my waist and guides himself to my entrance. My mouth opens in shock; he is unbelievably thick. And warm, which is a relief. Still, I don’t want THAT in me.

“Relax,” he says, and I laugh hysterically. And cry. I’m a mess.

The song again. I embrace it. I won’t survive without it. He’s going to destroy me.

He doesn’t.

He stays put, caressing my back and thighs. Then, when I expect it least, he bends and sinks his teeth in the crook of my neck.

I scream and don’t notice him popping in. He pauses and I sag on the bed, resting my silk wrapped breasts on the cushy surface.

Long fingers sneak under me, take over the territory claimed by his mouth, just as expertly.

I moan under his touch, welcoming the coolness on my abused flesh. My reaction spurs him on, and he steadily ruts forward, until he can burrow no further. There is still a sizable portion of him I fail to accommodate, as I can tell from the absence of contact on my backside. This guy is hung like a horse. Any more and I would pop. I’m no size queen. Average suits me fine. Just my luck.

Little by little he moves, setting a gentle, leisurely pace, to match the motion of his hand and the rhythm of the melody. My discomfort lessens and morphs into something else. Something intense. Nearly too strong to be called pleasurable.

I bite the pillow and shatter, every inch of me shaking violently. I barely register him following suit as he bursts against my womb. I’m in pieces, I’ll never be whole again.

“Thank you.” He sounds genuinely grateful. He glides out of me and off the bed. “You must sleep now, replenish your strength for tomorrow night.”

He steps away and vanishes in the shadows.

“Wait!” He didn’t free me. I pull on my arms in despair. I don’t want to be stuck here.

I nearly slap myself. The ropes are gone. How did he do that?

Carefully, I sit up and stretch my legs. I ache everywhere.

There’s something on the bedside table. I reach out and pat it. A glass of water. It wasn’t there before. Or was it? I don’t care. I’m parched. It’s still fresh and I down it.

My eyelids weigh a ton. I fall asleep.

The first week after the call I spent searching for an alternative solution to my plea. I lost track of how many banks and brokers I called, how many curt rebuttals I received. I considered bankruptcy, but our loans were secured on the house and ranch and we would lose both. And what about the Scottish debt? US laws wouldn’t apply in a foreign country.

A payment plan wouldn’t help either, our income wasn’t high enough. What we couldn’t afford now, we wouldn’t afford then. And the stress and shame of it all might just kill dad.

By the second week, I had to acknowledge that the lawyers’ offer was the best I would get. Scratch that, it was the only one I would get.

And it would fix EVERYTHING.

I checked the English law. In this particular type of surrogacy, the baby would be half mine and I might be able to claim visitation rights to the child, should I want it. The guy might even be amenable to it once he got to know me. After all, a newborn needs a mother and he didn’t have one handy.

There was the small issue of getting pregnant, by having sex with some elusive rich jerk. Paid sex. I couldn’t wrap my mind around it. It went against all my values.

I’m fine with other girls having one night stands with boy they met on some app. I don’t judge those who do it for gifts or money voluntarily. Their body, their choice.

I just don’t share their views.

I couldn’t turn to my friends for advice, I knew what they would say. Some would call the deal a no brainer and push me to go for it, others would be horrified and call it blackmail. I was well aware what it was, and left on my own I would have told the Scot creep how to fold the papers and where to shove them. But I wasn’t alone in this boat and I couldn’t let dad sink.

So after fourteen excruciating days of will I-won’t I, I said yes.

Seven more weeks were needed for all legal documents to be drafted, reviewed, and signed, and for the acquisition of a passport and visas.

I fed my father a fable about a fabulous job, teaching literature to the daughters of a Middle-East prince in England, and that I would only be able to do landline calls because my employer required absolute discretion about his identity and whereabouts. That part at least wasn’t too remote from the truth.

I said I had negotiated for help on the ranch to compensate for my absence. He wasn’t keen on this.

A couple of days later, two seasoned farmhands showed up, one of them a sweet yet energetic woman. The man fit right in with Bo, and I could see straight away that my dad was in awe of Clara. His eyes were glued to her whenever she was around, and she didn’t seem to mind at all. I felt better knowing he would have someone to keep his spirits up during my absence.

Soon it was time for me to go. I cried at the airport, both in sadness for leaving the people I loved and in apprehension for what lay ahead. I had a business ticket to London, then a connexion to Inverness on a smaller plane. The keeper of the estate would collect me there, a man by the name of Eoghan Dubhghlas. I stared at the haphazard line of letters, unable to figure out how it might sound. I guessed I’d have to ask.

I savored the comfort of the red-eye flight with bed, pillow and blanket, and delicious food. I was quite rested for the connecting leg, despite the jet-lag.

I had wondered how I would find the guy sent to pick me up once in Inverness, but I shouldn’t have worried; the place was tiny. As I rolled my carry-on through the exit doors, I spotted a tall man in tweed with my name on a cardboard. I waved at him and he came closer, relieving me of my luggage.

“Welcome to Scotland, Ms MacFinn. I’m Eoghan Dubhghlas. Did you have a good trip?”

I hid my sigh of relief. His name was pronounced Owen Douglas, with a rolling Scottish accent. Why he felt the need to spell it in this convoluted way, I couldn’t fathom. “Good enough, thank you. Please, call me Moira. Ms MacFinn sounds like my mother’s name.”

He grinned wildly. “Call me Eoghan then. Should I go look for your case, Moira? It wasn’t lost, was it?”

“No, I was told to bring just enough for the trip. Everything else will be provided, I hope.”

“Oh, that explains all the deliveries we’ve been getting the past few days then. I was wondering what it was for. Shall we?”

He made a grand gesture towards the gates and I nodded and followed him out. We climbed into a large SUV and hit the road.

At the start, he acted as a guide, pointing at the sights and buildings of interest. Then he asked me the usual questions, where I was from, my occupation, what hobbies I had. When I mentioned the ranch and horse riding, he lit up.

“We have quite a herd of horses on the estate. They are feral, rescued from some God awful place where they were used to make serums or something. All of them have a bald patch as a reminder. Not the black stallion though. The proud bastard would not let anyone close enough. Kicked two lab coats to death and escaped, he did. The boss learned about it and offered an insane amount of money to have them all brought to his place. That’s what I heard, anyway.”

“Do you know him well? Your boss, I mean.”

“Better than most. My family has been working for his kind for a few centuries now. The salary is nice, he paid for my studies and the housing is cosy and free. And whichever kid of mine is willing to take over will carry on the job for the next generation.” He glanced at me. “That’s where you come in, I guess...”

I blushed and stared out of the window. We were on a small road, up in the hills, quite scenic. Rolling greens and browns mixed with flowers, a river in the valley led to a glistening lake. “Are we in the highlands?”

“That we are.”

“How is he? Can you tell me his name?” I was dying for information.

“He is a good lad. A bit of a ‘mother earth’ nerd. The organic, eco-friendly, anti-technology type, you see?”

“That’s not so bad.”

He chuckled. “No, it’s not. He comes and goes a lot, for his business. He isn’t there much.”

“So, his name?”

He grinned. “Well tried, lass, but as you surely figured I can’t tell you.”

“Can you describe him then?”

“Nope, can’t do that either.” He seemed to have great fun.

I frowned. “Is there something wrong with him? A disability?” Not sick, not ugly meant he could be missing a limb or have a palsy. I would be ok with that, but I’d like to be prepared.

“No, nothing of the kind.”

I was mulling over my next question when he stopped the car.

“Sorry, lass, from now on you must wear a blindfold. I have orders.” He fished a length of black cloth in his pocket and handed it to me. “Put this on, will you? It’s only another hour before we stop at my house. I hope you’re hungry, the missus has been cooking all day. We don’t get so many guests in these parts.”

I shrugged and obeyed. I wasn’t afraid, my hands were free. At this stage, I wanted to be anywhere that didn’t move.

It felt longer than announced, but then losing my eyesight seemed to upset my stomach. Time flies slower when fighting the urge to puke.

Finally, we slowed to a halt. I could hear gravel under the wheels. I removed the scarf to gawk at a perfect English cottage, clearly ancient, but well maintained. Flowers climbed on the light pink walls and spread all around the front yard.

A plump middle aged woman stormed out of the door, curly strands of red hair springing out of a low bun, so utterly Scottish I half expected her to start dancing a gig.

“Hello, love, you must be Moira. Come in, come in. I’ve got cookies fresh out of the oven and my best haggis ready to serve.”