A family Christmas

We approached the final leg of the journey back to the estate via Velocicarriage. As we approached, we passed a group of carolers leaving.

"Thank fucking God." Mr Drake said under his breath. "There certainly can't be a better symbol of the futility of trying to tame this world than that of grown adults singing "Silver Bells" during a damned Monsoon." Wayland had his jacket off, and I was quite surprised to see him strapping a large, curved knife to his back, and his plasma pistol to his hip. It was when he tucked his pantlegs into his boots that it dawned on me.

"You've served in the military, haven't you?" I said. He looked up at me, and nodded shallowly. Seems there was much that I didn't know about my mad scientist.

"Clara, I must take my leave before I enter the party. I have much to prepare. Remember, you absolutely must keep Prescott here till midnight, no matter the cost." Wayland said, looking into my eyes.

"No matter the cost?" I repeated, acknowledging what he was asking of me without speaking the words. He couldn't even reply, but rather looked down at his laces and nodded.

"The entrance to their lair is not far from here via Velocicarriage, but I'll need several hours as well. Do what you must, child." Drake said, sliding a cleaning rod through his ridiculously large rifle. About a mile from our front gate, they rapped on the separating wall, and the carriage came to a halt. Both of them exited, leaving me alone with this most unsavory task.

I glanced back at them as the carriage sped forth, Drake skulking into the jungle and disappearing almost immediately, Wayland winding the gears of what had to be a remote signaling device judging from its polished copper broadcasting dish. The bumps and curves of a road I once welcomed sent shivers through my body. One isn't supposed to feel the presence of Death near Christmastime.

As we approached the final stretch, I could see a dozen Velocicarriages already parked at our estate, a few of a type that I did not recognize. They were aggressive, angular, and menacing. I closed my eyes, and tried to remember what all I was to do. When the door opened, I accepted the offered hand of a hired Hindu I did not immediately recognize. Sanjay must have decided we'd need more help. As I approached, I could hear "Little Drummer Boy" being sang rather loudly inside.

When the doors opened, I was initially surprised to see that the Christmas tree was so large this year, and a proper Christmas Pine. Atop it was an amazingly beautiful star that glowed with Aetheric light. I remembered being a child decorating the tree with Glowbulbs and Luma vines till the entire parlour was bathed in beautiful blues and violets, Cordelia chasing me around as we wrapped the garland and laughed and played. There was no Glowbulbs to be seen on this tree. Just a stark green with lazily wrapped garland, and no presents beneath. I nearly broke down and cried.

The servant led me towards the source of the singing. Sir Prescott sat at the head of the table, my father on one side and a rather handsome man in the dark blue dress uniform of the American Empire. His chest was covered with ribbons and medals, all won taking British lives. This wasn't General Bradshaw. Something was wrong. When he saw me, he stood. At least they still teach some etiquette in our lost colony.

"Miss Hughes." he said with a bow. Prescott's gaze left the group of American soldiers who were making quite a show with their "RUMPUMPUMPUM. RUMPUMPUMPUM!" and fell on me. It felt as if the Devil himself were flaying me with his infernal gaze. It was then that my Aunt decided to assault me with praise.

"Oh Clara, how you've grown!" she said. My Aunt Genevieve, Cordelia's mother, is stunningly beautiful woman with her curly mane of fiery red hair and brilliant blue eyes. Her figure is a bit more curvaceous than her daughters, more similar to my mother's. She hugged me tightly, and as she looked me up and down, her hands sliding over my bare arms as she cooed, I couldn't help but laugh as it all felt right for the first time in ages. I took my seat at the table next to mother, who greeted me with a warm smile.

"Nice to meetchya, Ms Hughes. I am Robert Jackson. Sorry, I forget my manners. Capt Robert Jackson, and I must say Drake's description of you failed to capture how Angelic your eyes truly are." he said, kissing my hand. "These are my men. Do worry your pretty little head about them. They are under strict orders to behave themselves." I nodded to him, and attempted a smile. "Uhm. Well then I'll leave you in peace. Oh, one final thing, Sir Drake implied he would be in attendance tonight. The boys and I love his stories that he's been telling at the embassy, and let me tell you I've never seen a Brit that can drink a Texan under a table like that. Do you know when he plans on arriving?" he asked enthusiastically.

"I am not sure, Capt. Oliver is very unpredictable. I assume he'll storm in with a freshly shot bristleboar for tonight's dinner or some other outlandish thing. The American laughs, and slapped his thigh. He was like a 14 year old boy in a man's body, or at least that was the image he was attempting to convey.

"Mrs Hughes, thank you so much for your hospitality. You have a lovely family. Is there anything we can help you with?" the man said. She shook her head.

"No, I believe Sanjay hired enough help that we won't have to lift a finger for the rest of the night." she said, a smile on her face. "Will you and your men be staying for dinner?" she asked. The American looked to the head of the table. My father and Prescott were talking quietly. I could see something was troubling him. Prescott had that predatory grin back on his face.

"Well, I reckon so. Sir Prescott tells me that we should stay to unwrap the gifts that Mr Hughes has purchased for us. I'm not much of a diplomat, but life takes so much from you that you'd be a damned fool, pardon my French, to not accept a gift now and then. Don't you agree?" he said, his large mustache bending with his huge friendly smile.

"Speaking of which, Clara, its time for you to get dressed for dinner. We'll be wearing our emerald dresses to celebrate the season." My mother said, drawing my attention.

"Both of us?" I asked. Her eyes met mine, and she nodded. "Both of us it is, then." I said, sipping a glass of eggnog. I coughed. The Americans had fortified it with their whiskey, it seems. The captian chuckled, making some remark about different tastes, and took his seat with his men. I excused myself, and ascended the stairs.

There, lying on my bed, was that fateful emerald dress. If I was to aid in the plan, I couldn't rely on drink or drug to see me through this. I slipped my dress from my shoulders and stepped out of it. Somehow, Sura was able to get all the stains out of the evening gown. I slid my underwear down my smooth legs. I doubted I'd be needing them tonight. I piled my hair atop my head, giving no distraction for my bosom, and was pinning it in place when the door creeked behind me. I could see an eye, and a glittering medal, in the mirror.

I stood there, nude but for my stockings with my arms above my head, my breasts arching out as my back was slightly bent and my bum pushed out. "Here on Rajah, if you catch a girl changing you can watch, you know." I said. The sounds of terrified flight and heavy footsteps filled my ears. Brave Americans, indeed.

I made my descent to the parlour, my mother and Aunt already there in their own emerald dresses. The Americans were quiet now, favoring recorded instrumentals of holiday music to their boisterous singing. Prescott's eyes lit up, and my father's head dropped low. "Ahh, you ladies are just in time for us to play an American Christmas parlour game. The good Capt will explain the rules." Prescott said, popping a sugar plum into his mouth.

"Well, its pretty simple. You divide into two teams. Two people have to stand still, and each team takes turns puttin' them in silly poses. First one to lose their balance wins." Sounded similar to our own version of the game. "Very well. Sir Prescott, shall we play Brits versus Americans?" he asked.

"No. Lets play Mother versus Daughter. Its nice and symbolic of our colonies. Samuel, who do you want to pose first?" he asked. He looked up, his grimace deep on his tired looking face.

"Clara, I suppose." he said, standing up and walking over to me. I looked up in his eyes, and hardened my heart as to what was about to happen. He held my hands up, posing them like a ballerina. Next, Prescott chose my mother, who was moved closer to me. The Capt looked me over, and decided to spin me around so I was facing mother. I could see my father walk up to my mother, and bend her forward so that she was about the level of my chest. Next, Prescott leaned me foreward as well, my arms now draped over her shoulders.

"I can pose them however I want?" The captain said, sweat on his forehead. Prescott nodded. He chewed on his mustache, and pushed our heads together so that our lips met. We stood there, motionless and blinking, my mind recoiling as I felt her lips upon mine. My father walked up behind me, and pulled my breasts out of the corset. "Good God, man!" the American said.

"Calm down, sir. We are all adults here. Let us show you the Rajan way of playing this game." Sir Prescott said, and placed my mother's hand on my breast. I could see out of the corner of my eye that my aunt, Cordelia's mother, had a smile on her face, her arm jiggling. The American next to her was red, and trying to keep his composure. Another had walked up behind her, and had slid his hands under the top of her own emerald gown.

And so the moves went, our hands placed upon each others bodies, our gowns stripped from us. It was when I was pushed down to my knees and my mother's hips tilted foreward that I knew the "game" was over. "Well, it seems Lillian is the victor!" Prescott declared to the applause of the Americans. "Now that the gifts are unwrapped and a winner declared, go on and reward your mother, Clara." Prescott said, sipping his drink. I looked up into her eyes and her into mine. We stared at each other until she gave the slightest of nods. I slid my tongue out, and tasted her tenderness. It was like ringing the dinner bell. I didn't have to look to tell that everyone at the table was approaching, apart from my Aunt who simply planted her hands as the American lifted her skirts.

Prescott approached her from behind, and pulled my head into her crotch while savagely sliding his penis into her. My lips were pressed at the meeting of their union. It was too much. I pushed her thighs away from me, and ran up stairs. The bastard laughed. "Go retrieve your daughter, Hughes. I'll attend to things down here." he said to my father as her fucked his wife right in front of him. When I looked back, I could see that an American had bent my mother forward as was brutalizing her mouth while a great crash of silverware and plates brought my attention to my aunt, who was plugged in every orifice and servicing two Americans with her mouth, going back and forth between them, precum already staining her emerald satin gloves.

I ran to my room, and nearly lost my lunch. It was then that my father burst through the door, and slammed it shut behind him. He ripped his belt from his pants, and held it menacingly as he approached. "Get back down there, you little whore! Do you know what you may have just cost me?"

"No! I'll not be a part of this!" I said, attempting to cover my nudity. He stomped over, and pulled me to my feet before pushing back down on the bed. I tried to rise, but the belt cracked against my tender bum. I let out a shriek as it struck again on the other cheek, and then my back. "Father! Stop! Please!" I begged him. He seized my wrists, and looped the belt around them so that the were behind my back. I heard him take position, and a tear fell down my face when I felt his member at my exposed sex. As he slid it in violently, I stopped struggling. He grunted as he fucked me like a dog, roughly pushing his fingers into my bum before ripping his penis out of my womanhood and painfully pressing it against my ass. I winced as he grabbed a handful of my hair and whispered harshly into my ear.

"I'm not your father, and thank God for that." He said, driving his dagger into my bowels, a betrayal every bit as brutal as Caesar's. His hand covered my mouth as he violated me worse than any I'd experienced before. Not even the damned arachnirilla was as shameful as this. He tensed up, driving deep and hard, and I felt him empty himself into me. It had all only lasted a minute and a half.

""Now then, clean yourself up and get back down there. If Prescott wants you fuck the dog, you do it, understand?" He said, stuffing his shirt back into his pants.

"Yes father." I said quietly. He smiled, and sighed. Clearly he'd wanted to do that for a long time. "Father" was not the right term for him, a fact that he admitted. Monster suits him much better. I ccleaned myself of his shameful seed, and on shaking legs made my way back to the balcony. He didn't even untie the belt. I was going to be easy prey.

Prescott had my mother laying across his lap, an American sodomizing her while he spanked her as another one used her mouth. My aunt was barely visible under a pile of them. It was then that a great crash was heard below, terrible and loud. The entire house shook. My father looked down in shock as a huge drill erupted from the floor, covered in blast marks and glowing with raw Soma ore.

Sir Drake had arrived at the party.