The Hanjub Syndrome



As David emptied the dishwasher it occurred to him he had been spending a lot of time staring out the kitchen window. He was usually wondering why his son was always in a bad mood, or why his daughter liked her imaginary friend more than her own father, or why the hell his wife was always out selling houses without ever making a sale.

CarolLee came into the kitchen, clasped her hands together, bent her head slightly, and said something unrecognizable to her father, her bangled wrists clinking merrily as she passed. Perplexed, David asked, “Did you just call me nasty?”

CarolLee stopped, surprised by the accusation, and said, “No, Daddy. I said, Namaste.”

“What the hell is that?”

“It’s a greeting.” CarolLee paused awkwardly. “An Indian greeting.”

“Well, of course it is. Why didn’t I think of that?” David’s words carried an overabundance of sarcasm. “And what does it mean, exactly?”

“It’s hard to explain,” CarolLee said. “I am acknowledging that you are part of the one ultimate essence.”

“Lucky for me,” David replied. “Do you think in the future you could just say, Hello?”

“Sure, Daddy,” she said, her tone apologetic.

“I suppose that nasty thing is something Hanjub taught you?”

“Yes, Daddy.”

David was torn between keeping his mouth shut as everyone seemed to think was best, or giving words to what was boiling over in his head. It confounded him why the half-wit psychiatrist didn’t just tell her to grow up and knock this shit off. “CarolLee,” he said. “Hanjub doesn’t exist, really, now does he?”

“Yes he does,” she said softly, as though the softness of her voice would make the idiocy of what she was saying more palatable.

“Nobody has a name like Hanjub?” David said, equally softly. “That’s a made up name, isn’t it?”

“It’s not a made up name,” CarolLee said. “It’s his real name, or part of his real name.”

“Part of? What’s the rest of his name?”

CarolLee took a breath, and said, “Raja Kumar Mohan Hanjub Chatterjee, Knight Commander in the Most Exalted Order of the Star of India.”

“What the hell kind of name is that?” David asked, the anger rising in his voice.

“Raja means king, and Kumar means son of, he is the son of a king,” the girl explained, seeming to avoid looking at David directly. “When his father dies, he will become the king.”

David folded his arms, smiled as though he was not ready to hit his heretofore favorite child, and said, “A king. And why is the future king hanging out with a ten-year-old girl?”

“When he becomes the king he wants me to come and live with him in India.”

David’s smile felt out of place given the true nature of his feelings, but the false expression was the last vestige of calm he possessed. “So you’re going to marry a king and be an Indian queen? How grand.” His tone changed abruptly to direct anger. “I have news for you, young lady. You are not marrying an Indian. I don’t care if he is a king.”

“Oh, Daddy,” CarolLee said, as though she was happy she could put her father’s mind at ease. “I am not going to marry him. I am going to be in his harem. He said once I am trained, I’ll be his number one girl.”

David began to tremble. “Trained?” he said.

“Well, sure. Not just anybody can be a harem girl.”

“Why not?” David asked, incredulous.

“You have to learn how to please him.”

“And what does that involve?” he asked, his voice breaking into a kind of whispering rage. He immediately threw up his hands, saying, “Wait, I’m sure I don’t want to know, and it doesn’t matter because I have had enough. You listen to me and you listen to me good, young lady. There is no Hanjub and I don’t want to hear another word about him. No more talking about him, no more sandwiches in the attic, no more bangles, no more nasty greetings, and no more stories about how you are being trained to be in his harem. If you ever mention him again, I am going to tan your hide with my belt. I’ve never spanked you before, but that doesn’t mean I won’t start now. Hanjub is no more. Got it? And you had better tell that doctor of yours to stop looking around for someone who has been doing things to you, that you made it all up. Do you understand?”

CarolLee broke into tears and ran from the room.

David returned to looking out the kitchen window knowing Beverly was going to be furious with him for confronting the girl. Someone had to put a stop to this nonsense, and his wife was never around anymore. He smiled knowing they would all be relieved when they realized Hanjub had moved out of the attic and gone back to India for good.

Beverly could feel the cum oozing through her panties begin to drip down the inside of her thigh as she got out of the car. She tried to enter the house quietly hoping she would not be noticed before she could take a shower. Having just been gang-banged by a busload of Mexican illegals, she felt physically as though she had been stuffed with, and then buried in dirt, and emotionally confused. She wasn’t sure if she should feel good about the dozens of orgasms she had, or bad about allowing herself to be passed around like a bottle of cheap tequila. She succeeded in not being observed by anyone as she entered through the back door and headed straight for the master bathroom. The door was closed and she opened it to find her daughter sitting on the edge of the bathtub.

“CarolLee, what are you doing in here?” she asked, although it was obvious from the fact that the water was running in the tub and the girl was naked.

“Taking a bath,” she said.

“At this time of day? Well turn it off, Mommy needs to take a shower.”

“Why?” she asked.

“Because I feel dirty, that’s why,” she said, the guilt-driven impatience rising in her voice. “You can take a bath afterward.”

Beverly began removing her clothes, then stopped when she saw her daughter had stood up and was staring at her. “What’s the matter?” Beverly asked.

“What’s that?” CarolLee asked, pointing to her mother’s chest.

Beverly looked in the mirror, and pulled her blouse open to reveal a large, rust-colored splotch above her right breast. She immediately flashed back to a particularly smelly one of the Mexicans who had sucked on her so hard she thought he was going to swallow her breast. She never saw his face, but she remembered the orgasm so vividly she almost had another thinking about it.

“It’s nothing,” Beverly said to her daughter. “I bumped into something, is all.” She quickly added, “Don’t say anything to Daddy. I don’t want him to worry. Okay?”

CarolLee nodded, turned and bent over to turn off the water.

Beverly watched as she moved with a graceful innocence, without any sign of embarrassment at being stark naked, even when the girl exposed her hairless pink crotch in the process. Beverly thought another girl would have been embarrassed to expose herself, even to her mother. It made what she saw next even more jolting. “CarolLee, what is that?”

The girl turned slightly, “What?”

“That thing sticking out of your butt.”

Now the girl flushed with embarrassment. CarolLee stood, faced her mother, and put her hand behind her as though to cover the thing. “Ahh… well, it’s a… plug.”

“What?” Beverly couldn’t believe what she was hearing. “What kind of plug?”

“It’s a… butt… plug,” she said again, a little more tentatively.

Beverly felt her face bloom with anger. “Where on earth did you get that? And so help me God, if you say Hanjub I will slap you silly.”

CarolLee looked troubled, started to mouth something, then stopped.

“Well?” Beverly yelled.

“I don’t want you to slap me silly,” she said.

Beverly wanted to scream, even clenched her fists in preparation, but told herself to be calm. Dr. Winklebaum had warned her about being overly emotional when CarolLee brought up the topic of abuse. That would only cause her to repress it more. Although Beverly could feel the muscles in her jaw want to clench, she said calmly, “Tell me, CarolLee, why do you have a butt plug?”

“To stretch it out,” she said matter-of-factly. “Hanjub says it will hurt when he sticks his penis in there if I don’t stretch it out first.”

Beverly felt as though she was talking to an alien being, certainly not the impeccant girl she had given birth to and raised for ten years. “Has he… anyone… put his penis in there?”

“No, it takes a long time to stretch it, he says. This one’s only a small one, but they’ll get bigger, until my hole is the right size to please him. Do you want to see it?”

Beverly had heard of butt plugs, but had never seen one. She was surprised Rusty hadn’t gotten around to sticking one in her. Before Beverly could answer her daughter’s question, CarolLee reached around behind, made a funny face, and presented the powder blue object shaped like a stubby arrow to her mother. “I like it,” she said. “Isn’t it pretty?”

Beverly’s mind was still reeling from the gang bang, and the realization that someone had crudely penetrated her daughter with an object was shattering. She had never wanted to believe Dr. Winklebaum was right about her daughter being abused, and she had even agreed with David when he said he thought the girl had made it all up, but she could not pretend this wasn’t real. Neither did she have any idea what to do next, so she deferred any action until she could think. “Yes, yes,” Beverly said, “It is very pretty. May I take my shower now, please?”

A suspicion began to surface Beverly had not seriously considered before that Adam was the one who had been abusing CarolLee. Beverly knew from his cum-stained laundry that he was jerking off all the time, and she knew he liked sticking things in his own butt. He looked guilty all the time, too, particularly when they asked about CarolLee seeing anyone’s penis. Adam probably mesmerized her with one of his frequent hard-ons. She knew from walking in on him while he was masturbating that he had a fat dick just like his father’s. He could be smooth, too, like Rusty when he wanted to. He probably coaxed her into touching, then sucking, then fucking, and now he was preparing her little ass for his fat dick with butt plugs. And Carolee isn’t even upset about it. She thought they were pretty.

“Sure, Mommy,” CarolLee said. The girl spread her legs into a wide stance, bent over, and placed the object back into her butt. She gave a quick smile at her success, wrapped a towel around herself, and put her hand on the bathroom door, then said, “Mommy? You won’t say anything to Daddy will you? About the plug? He’s kind of mad at me right now, and he said I shouldn’t talk about Hanjub any more. I promise not to say anything about your bruise?”

“Yes, that seems fair,” Beverly said, realizing her daughter had proposed the only solution. David would never believe the mark above her breast was the result of a bruise, and she had no doubt his unbridled jealousy would result in a divorce, thus destroying her family. Likewise, if she told him about the butt plug and her suspicions about Adam, he would go into a rage, and probably threaten to kill the boy for harming his precious daughter, which in turn would cause Rusty to get upset that David was threatening Adam, and end in David discovering he was not Adam’s father.

No, she would have to sit on this secret, too, for the sake of the family. She would handle it herself. Soon she would confront the two children, make her son confess, and promise her daughter it would never happen again. When she had the energy. When she didn’t feel like a bag of dirt. “I won’t say anything,” Beverly assured her. “It will be our little secret.”

When CarolLee had closed the door, Beverly undressed and turned the shower on hotter than comfortable and stood under it, ignoring the burn. She was still numb from her own shame and the realization that her daughter was showing every sign of being just as depraved as her mother. Only her daughter was ten-years-old. Beverly had acquired a new reason to hate herself besides being a slut and an absent mother who didn’t recognize when her own daughter was being abused; she carried a bad seed.

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