Free SHAFTED: an erotic thriller by Rachael Hayden Page A

night, regardless of whose body was fucking me. I was their toy and I’d become too numb to care about that. It just… was.
    But, at dusk that day, just as the staff had signed off, as I walked through my almost completed house and decided the sacrifice of my dignity seemed worth it. Despite my lack of input, I had to admit my little manor looked amazing.
    The front gate had been rehung and restored; a job that had taken the specialist a month just on its own. My hard work on the gardens had tamed the 30-years of overgrowth and now the back and front landscaping was a graceful old-English grandeur. Large swaths of slowly-recovering lawn wound around enormous, ancient trees which were dotted with seats to relax on. An outdoor work-out area of wooden equipment sat in a perfect circle of gravel – it would also be an outdoor area for sex if the guests wished for it. The tennis court had been mended and the pool was sparkling next to a cabana with a new bathroom. There were also two oversized cubby houses built for clients; one contained harnesses and hammocks, the other a standard bed. All the outdoor sheds, laundry and big barn had been cleaned out and fixed up.
    I closed the backdoor behind me and gazed around the sparkling stainless steel L-shaped kitchen benches. The beautiful 300-year-old central workbench was gleaming from its latest coat of polish. Two glassed-fronted fridges lined the opposite wall and the larder had been fixed and now contained assorted shelf food.
    On the other side of the room, directly in front of me, a simple table was surrounded by eight matching chairs, along with a small lounge, shelves, cupboard and a TV mounted on the wall. This would be the staff room. This room had a paint of soft tan on the walls with white trims and ceilings.
    Down the white corridor from the staff room, the three tan bedrooms had been decked out with queen-sized beds and plain furniture, similar to a standard hotel room. I presumed they were for the ladies who would soon be in residence.
    The ground floor bathroom had been remodeled into a men’s and ladies’ toilet blocks with entrances opposite the kitchen door and a small, locked one into the corridor behind for staff.
    I walked past the library, now in a dark shade of royal blue. It’d been turned into a small dance room with soft couches, several poles and ambient lighting. It would also be here the girls will be introduced to each client for their choice.
    The conservatory now hosted a large octagonal, wooden bar surrounded by stools and t wo large flat-screen TVs were mounted high to broadcast the latest sports matches, should the patrons desire to see them.
    The dining room confused me because I was expecting smaller tables for the guests; however, perched in pride of place was a magnificent Georgian-period table with matching chairs, all of which had been restored at a hefty price.
    “Still don’t think it’s worth it,” I said out loud. It did look lovely, but would guests really want to sit together? I was too scared to ask.
    The formal lounge had been decorated in the heavy , leather furniture and dark colors, as Candice had planned. Three two-seater dark leather lounges sat in a U-shape facing the fireplace. To the side were two single chairs flanked by small tables.
    “No wonder I’ve got no money left,” I said to myself again, the furniture in this and the dining room alone costing 3 1K.
    Back in the entrance hall, t he staircase swept evenly towards the second floor, its white bannisters gleaming. At its base was the small reception desk now outfitted with a small computer, credit card machine and registration books. Gazing around me, the reception hall was outfitted with light yellow walls, white trims and ceiling with black and white tiles polished crisp.
    My footsteps tapped on the plastic safety strip that enclosed the front of each of the wooden st eps as I ascended to the first level. On the landing, all the carpet had been ripped up and