A contract.

The sheet of paper he holds in front of you looks like a giant wall of text. You really hope that he isn't expecting you to read it all or offer an insightful comment. You go to shy back under your silken hair when something catches your eye, your own name standing out amongst a garble of legal terms. It confuses you, and as you pick out the words 'transferal of ownership' your gut twists further and suddenly you feel very trapped beneath Mr Williams' arm.

"Wh-what is it?" You ask, clinging tighter. Seeking comfort in him as much as you are growing afraid of him.

"It's one of the paper's you brought with you today, Kiddo." His roaming hand strokes and squeezes as he talks. "It's a contract to transfer you to me."

"Like... as a," you swallow. "I'd be your assistant instead of Daddy's?"

"Not quite like that," he smiles, tightening his grip on you.

Your mouth is going dry and your head is turning light. This is becoming far too big for you to think about but Mr Williams isn't lowering the piece of paper, and he isn't letting you go. So you **** your next though out of your pretty little lips, very aware of how good a time you've been giving him.

"Am... am I a whore?" The tears in your eyes surprise you a little, and you don't even really understand why.

"You could be," he admits. "But I'd rather prefer to think of you as being chattel."

You don't know the word, but it sounds enough like cattle that you think you get the idea. Images of cow bells and branding irons fly through your head and your shudder feels a little too good.

"Your Daddy needed to offer me a real good incentive for this project, and he knows how lonely I've been all these years. And... he understands the need for an heir... a real heir to all that I've built."

He lays down the paperwork, putting it all to one side and rolls over, shifting your positions so that you're now beneath him, the tent formed by the sheets helping with the claustrophobic feeling that makes each of your little panting breaths feel deafening.

"Your Daddy raised a beautiful girl, and now I'm going to be the one to make you into a woman." His hand reaches down and trails between your legs and up to your abdomen, pressing against your flat stomach. "My 'assistant', my whore, my chattel... or even as my bride."

"D-did Daddy really sell me?"

"He did..."

Your lips purse as Mr Williams hangs over you, filling your vision, dominating your world. It's a lot to take in, and you don't understand why Mr Williams is explaining it to you, but you feel maybe he's giving you a choice here... or at least, he's deciding what to do next... what you'll be... based on what you do or say next.