A Betty's Pledge: Volume One (17 page)

I was actually surprised Diane allowed Mady to put her mouth so close to Nate’s dick
sliding in and out of her, but I guessed she was so lost in the sensations that she
didn’t argue against it.

“Yeah, tell me how that’s fair,” Brad said in a petulant tone, gesturing toward Nate
with a nasty pout on his face. “Why does he get to play and we don’t?”

“He’s not a Consort,” Jackson replied simply, like his answer explained everything.
Brad just rolled his eyes as Jackson continued as if he didn’t see Brad’s blatant
disrespect.

“I’m sure you all enjoyed yourselves last night,” he said with a smile. “I was sorry
that I wasn’t able to attend. Since I didn’t get a chance to meet your lovely Betties,
I’m hosting a dinner on Friday night after the girls get settled in.”

“Is Brooke going to be here?” Trent asked, finally taking his eyes away from the room.
Mady and the others had finally finished, and now she and Diane and were lying on
the bed under the covers, laughing and chatting like they were old friends as Nate
stretched out on the couch, spent.

Jackson smiled. “Yes, she will. It’s been a while since she’s met a round of fresh
Pledges, so she’s really excited about it.”

“Good,” Trent answered. “I have some questions for her about next week.”

Jackson nodded, a sly smile tugging his lips.

Jackson and his mate Brooke lived on the other side of the hill from the mansion.
It was still part of the vast property, but more private and remote than our current
location. They had the house to themselves, but had enough rooms to accommodate the
Alumni members when they made a trip to the West Coast for a party or such.

The ground belonged to the Grant name, as well as the vast bank accounts that held
the funds to keep the place running smoothly. Jackson had been the owner and proprietor
for over five years now, taking the responsibility when his cousin, Martin, decided
to step down from the job.

Jackson and Brooke had held this honor before. In fact, I’m told that during Jackson’s
last reign as manager, he’d mated every Consort to come through these walls. He had
somewhat of a reputation, so when I’d heard he was going to be our manager, I was
glad.

But after spending countless counseling sessions with him discussing where my faults
were and how to change them, his mentorship was starting to grate on my nerves.

He preached about the benefits of the program and how it was supposed to shape us
into proper gentlemen. Really? I didn’t see that logic at all. I mean, we fuck each
other. We were all a bunch of fuck-buddies, switch-hitting, and playing all the bases
constantly. How the hell was that supposed to make us better men?

“Why do we allow them to call us Consorts?” Brad asked out of the blue, and I could
tell that I’d missed some of the conversation while I was lost in my own internal
struggles. “It makes it seem as if they are the ones choosing us, not the other way
around.”

“You have yet to learn that the female species is the one who controls the male,”
Jackson said, taking a seat next to Brad as he put on his damned mentor hat once again.
“If you understand that one concept, Brad, you will discover just how important and
true that statement is.”

Brad scoffed. “No woman controls me,” he said bluntly. “I don’t know where you’ve
been the last ten years or so, but this program is not all candy and roses, Jackson.
These women are passionate and raw, and just want to be fucked like we do. There’s
no point to it other than that. And if that little display in there didn’t show you
that, then I don’t know what will.”

Brad got up to leave after his statement, his expression frustrated at having to point
out what was becoming painfully obvious to me as well. Jackson ignored the fact that
Brad was walking away, deciding to finish his lecture as if Brad hadn’t spoken.

“I did not teach you to be a Neanderthal, only taking what you need and leaving your
mate wanton. You are a better male than that, but it has to start inside your mind
before it can happen in the bedroom. Otherwise, I’m afraid you will always be subconsciously
seeking a way to fulfill that deep-seated instinct to please your woman, but simultaneously
fighting it due to your stubbornness and male ego. Good luck with that,” Jackson finished
as Brad closed the door to the Deck behind him.

“Don’t mind him, Jackson,” Trent said as he got up to follow Brad out. “I think he’s
having a little bit of a moment.”

Jackson chuckled. “I’m used to Consorts having their doubts.” I didn’t miss the way
his gaze flashed to mine as he said that. “Brad will learn, or he’ll leave empty.
Either way, I did my part.”

Carson and Trent left the Deck, both saying something about heading into town to pick
up a burger or something. I decided to hang back for a minute, observing Mady in such
a relaxed environment as she continued to talk with Diane openly, laughing and smiling
in such a carefree manner.

“He’s right, you know,” I told Jackson, not taking my eyes off Mady. When Jackson
remained silent, I elaborated. “This is about sex for all of us, and especially for
these Betties. And the mates? Well, you saw what the benefits were for Nate clear
as day. Brad had a point. You know how much it kills me to admit that.”

Jackson chuckled. He was contemplative for a couple of moments, and his silence made
me think that he didn’t have anything to add about the matter. I should have known
better, though. He was just organizing his thoughts.

“I think both you and Brad missed the big part of that picture, Isaac.” I raised my
eyebrow in question, almost daring him to find some other reason that pointed to that
scene not being about only free sex. “Who were you watching in that room?”

“I watched the whole thing.”

“No, I don’t think you did. I think you were only watching your Betty. Because if
you watched the whole thing, really took a step back and saw it for what it was, you
would have seen that the entire scene was for Diane.”

“What?” I looked at him, confused.

“Her mate knows what she likes and puts her needs before his own,” Jackson stated.
“She likes the sensual touch of a woman, but she craves her man. He gives her that,
but also respects her boundaries by not touching the other woman.”

I thought about that for a minute, my gaze returning to the room as I replayed the
events of the scene over in my mind, trying to see it from Jackson’s point of view.
It was true that I was mostly fixated on Mady during the whole thing, mainly because
I wanted to see how she reacted to it all. Taking a step back, part of me could see
Jackson’s interpretation. Another part of me, a bigger part, thought that he was grasping
at straws.

I didn’t realize Jackson was watching me until he spoke. “Have you spent some time
with her?”

“Yeah.” I didn’t offer any other details than that because I didn’t want to hear another
lecture. Jackson had a weird way of figuring out my shit, and if I even hinted at
breaking the rules with Mady last night, I’d get an earful.

“Please remember to follow the rules this time, Isaac,” he told me as he stood from
his chair, turning toward the exit. I guessed he’d seen right through me after all.

“But it makes it more interesting to cheat.”

“Those rules are placed not only for your protection, but for those women as well,”
Jackson said. “And you should keep in mind that not all these women come from such
substantial money like our family, Isaac. You could be a little more careful for our
sake as well as your own.”

“But then you’d just blackmail them, Uncle. Isn’t that why you keep all the tapes
of the things we do here behind closed doors?” Jackson looked at me with a quirked
eyebrow, his severely disappointed face making a rare appearance for me. “Or are you
just keeping all that footage for spank bank material? The ol’ wifey-poo not pulling
her weight in the bedroom any longer? I’ve heard we have an extra spot on the Consort
list. Perhaps re-enrollment would be just the ticket.”

I knew I was skating on thin ice with him, but my mind and my mouth didn’t seem to
run congruently lately, especially after my uncle imparted some of his all-knowing
wisdom on me unsolicited.

“I can see it, Isaac,” he said in a convoluted tone. “You can’t hide that shit from
me.”

I looked at him with a shocked expression, a little taken aback. Rarely had I heard
Jackson swear, and when I raised an eyebrow in question, he simply looked back toward
Mady sitting idly on the bed, then at me as if to answer my silent statement.

“Be the badass, Isaac. Be the victim, the martyr, the stud . . . I know that’s what
you think of yourself. And in the meantime, you’ll miss it all.”

“Miss what?”

“The reason for it all,” he said, his smooth, warm tone reappearing. He gave me a
small smile, and turned toward the room for one more glance of Mady sitting so comfortably
in the playroom. He glanced back at me, and there was something in his eyes as he
studied my face that was akin to optimism.

I didn’t try to challenge Jackson’s words, or even question them. I kind of liked
that they hung in the air around me, churning with the musky air and adding to the
cacophony of thoughts swirling in my head. I had so much negativity, and I seemed
to put on a defensive mask around the other guys, stating that I didn’t believe nor
want the Grant program to work for me. It was only Jackson who seemed to be able to
see through that wall and say the perfect words to me that added just the right amount
of
hope
.

Maybe there was a higher purpose to all of this lying deep beneath all the depravity.
Perhaps I was still seeing things in one way because I hadn’t met her yet. But as
I watched Mady dress slowly and stand to leave the room, I felt a strange pull in
my chest. And with Jackson’s words in my mind, I decided that Moving Day couldn’t
come quick enough.

The Movers

~ Madeline Cain ~

If I had to sum up my first day at the mansion into one word, I’d probably find that
a hard feat to accomplish. Even given the option of two words, it would still be hard,
but my choice would probably include some sort of raunchy expletive.

Expressions like ‘fucking unbelievable’ or ‘holy fuck’ didn’t seem to quite cover
it. Maybe some creative description laced with enough blasphemy to make a priest seek
his own confession just might’ve been the only thing to give that experience its due
diligence.

Going into my time with Diane—during the whole five-second prep time I had—I didn’t
know what to expect. The first time I was intimate with both a man and a woman simultaneously
had been something I’d never forget. Well, I guessed I was pretty much only with Diane,
since Nate all but ignored me the entire time, except for the few sly glances he’d
given me.

Being with Diane in that way was intimidating and thrilling all at the same time.
During the whole experience, she never made me feel threatened or uncomfortable. She
would pause her actions for just a moment in order to gauge my response, making sure
that I liked what she was doing and assessing my cues to see if I was okay with going
further.

That was another difference that I noted being with a woman versus a man. Diane was
more attentive. She made sure to put her pleasure on the back burner, focusing on
my experience like it was her responsibility to ensure that my time with her was positive
and fulfilling before she’d sought out her own satisfaction.

None of the men I’d been with—despite the short list—had ever been that generous.
They were always so wrapped up in themselves, concentrating on that golden race, blazing
down the fast track until they crossed the finish line. It was always a wham-bam-thank-you-ma’am
kind of a deal. They’d already be sated before I could even get worked up enough to
find enjoyment.

And that was when the all-consuming tension and irritability would kick in. The funny
thing was I didn’t understand where it was coming from.

I knew the mechanics of sex: you stick one part into another part and make them move.
How could I possibly screw it up so bad that I was left desperately wanton? I honestly
thought there was something chemically wrong with me, that maybe my body wasn’t built
to orgasm like other women. That thought left me seriously depressed, and looking
back, I could see a lot of resentment in my attitude toward other chicks.

Seriously, I was surprised I had any friends left who would speak to me due to the
fact that I would become this crazy, raging bitch for weeks after a night of unfulfilled
sex.

I honestly didn’t realize I was being that way until Mina called me out on it. She’d
asked me what was wrong, but my answer would always be the same: I didn’t know . . .

It wasn’t like I intentionally lied to her. I didn’t know what sexual fulfillment
was, let alone the source of that nagging ache I couldn’t place.

I finally figured out that I was just sexually frustrated when Mina introduced me
to the concept of the glorious vibrator. Discovering that little gem and what I could
do with it was like witnessing the second coming, except in a dirty, totally hedonistic
way. Before then, I had resolved myself to the fact that I would probably grow up
to be some bitter harpy who hated life. And having that designation at the ripe ol’
age of twenty-five was remarkably pathetic. I was buried in some sort of depressive
state, going through the motions of life with a fat chip on my shoulder. Who knew
that lack of sexual satisfaction tied directly into one’s mood?