by Marata Eros
No kissing. The heat of his lips touches mine.
I pull away. The bruise on my upper thigh throbs as it begins to deepen, and I search his face. Beyond the tightness around his eyes is care.
Concern for me.
I can't have that. Right now, I feel as though I'm cheating on Mick. It doesn't matter that it's a job, that my mom is the beneficiary of these illicit monies. No, those are emotions. Real, vital, undeniable.
“No kissing!” Thorn barks. “You know the rules, Jay.”
I wonder what his full name is. I'm certain the reason for first names only is anonymity.
Jay's fingers leave my hair and trail down my arms, gooseflesh rising in their wake. He gives a barely perceptible nod, and I run through the “extras” I remember.
Hand job.
Breast suckling.
Vaginal digit penetration.
Anal digit penetration.
There won't be a police raid to save me.
My head dips when I think about anyone but Mick touching me there. I'm selling my soul to the devil. I can't go back. It's bought and paid for.
Being a virgin doesn't mean I’m innocent. There're degrees of compromise. I'm becoming an expert on skirting the inevitable, like swimming against a vortex.
I look into Jay's eyes and move. I’m subtle at first, my upper thigh pressing against his erection. He takes liberties without asking, and I bite my bottom lip when his hand covers my breast. He grips the fullness at the bottom and squeezes it just on the good side of pain. I muffle a gasp. His hand moves to my back, fingers spread wide, and he bends his head over my captive tit. He covers my nipple with his mouth, and my body's confusion surfaces.
Mick's tongue has been on my flesh, and my body remembers. It rejects all other tactile memory and latches onto the one that resonates. My nipple reacts in traitorous spontaneity. It rises as Jay laves the sensitive bundle of nerves, and my head tips back. My cheating mind thinks of Mick, and the thin strip of my panties grow moist.
The shifting of legs and clothes behind us breaks through my fantasy of dancing on Mick's lap. Ten rich, perverted men are watching a young, desperate woman dance on a stranger's lap.
I ignore them all, keeping my eyes shut tight.
I rise up, moving expertly, faster and faster. My legs are more powerful than they once were. The bruise sings like a beacon each time my flesh strokes his penis through the thin barrier of my clothes. Jay's breathing becomes harsh. I hear a distinctive groan behind me and move a little more slowly, grinding in deliberate, arced strokes against his rigidness.
His hands move to my ass and flip up the hem of my dress. The beads slide like cool ice against my flesh. The air glides against my butt cheeks, which are on full display. The slim thong offers no coverage.
Jay's hands slap on the globes of my butt, and my eyes snap to his. I’m startled me out of my fantasy, rudely awakened into the reality of the moment. I hear a symphony of sounds under the music. Primitive and dark, they speak of what's happening behind me. I suddenly realize I'm present. I can't watch from the outside. I begin to panic.
“I need this,” Jay murmurs as he thrusts his hips... and a finger penetrates my anus.
My butt clenches against the invasion, and I fight against moving away. I battle for my shattering fantasy as a stranger takes yet another liberty, stealing one more thread in the fabric of my lost innocence.
His finger breaching that entrance is so unexpected, I fall against him. His finger sinks a little deeper inside me, and I cry out in surprise and horror.
Jay mistakes my intense reaction for arousal. He forces my knees wider in a spreading shove of his knees, and I'm wide open. My panties are totally misplaced, and he crams his stiffening erection against the bare cut-out on my stomach. I feel his hard flesh connect with my soft belly, and I know what will happen.
I'm helpless to move away as he traps me, perfectly unbalanced. With a final thrust, he releases against my stomach.
I feel nothing as I hear the chorus of grunts and moans behind me. The only proof of Jay’s release is the cold edge of my dress as his cum soaks the material.
My heart tattoos a staccato rhythm. Artificial detachment coats me in icy calm as I crawl off Jay's lap. His penis sits like a limp, soggy noodle and provokes my gag reflex. My good hand comes to my mouth as I meet Jay's eyes and choke. He rises, stuffing himself inside his slacks and zipping up. He reaches for me.
I stagger back, vertigo hitting me like a released demon.
Strong arms come around me from behind. A man's forearm sinks into the damp mess at my front.
“Pull it together, Faren... or we're going to have some words.”
Thorn.
My teeth sink into my tongue. Copper pennies fill my mouth, and the dizziness floats away. Jay's face comes into sharp focus.
I elbow Thorn in the gut, and his arms release me. I run to the door while men in various states of undress follow me with hooded eyes.
I tear open the door and rush to the bathroom.
I shake as I empty my stomach into the porcelain bowl of the toilet.
I can't do this.
But when Thorn gives me my cut from the twenty thousand dollars, I bend my head as he berates me.
I say yes to negotiations for something more.
With Jay.
Even though my heart longs for Mick, I agree to the deal with the devil for my reasons.
They don't seem as important as they once did.
~ 11 ~
I drop my keys twice as I try to unlock my apartment door. My bad hand trembles so much, I'll have to put a heat compress on it to loosen it.
I move through the door and slam it. I tip my head back, resting it on the solid wood, as I close my eyes. My heartbeat slows as I stand in my soiled dress and cry. Tears run down my face, and I stop the sounds that want to go from whimpers to wailing by sheer will alone.
Memories of my childhood after Ronnie Bunce took over fill me with steel. Nights when he creeped past my door as I feigned sleep. The doorknob wiggling. The kitchen knife in my sweaty grasp, underneath my pillow, that comforted me. Cold metal with killing potential guided me toward sleep in that faraway memory.
I slide down my door, and my soul shatters. Broken sobs tear out of me as I clutch my handbag in my good hand. I cry for what I'm becoming, what I've lost, and how the end of my life is turning out.
At first, I don't hear the pounding on the door. When the noise breaks through my despondency, I rise up on my knees and turn the bolt. I sneak it open a crack and meet Kiki's eyeball.
“Oh my god... Faren! Baby, what's wrong?”
What is right?
My chin sinks to my chest, and my tears soak the bit of material that makes up the bodice of my dress.
The door swings wide, smacking against the wall stop. Strong hands lift me by my armpits. My bad hand thumps Kiki, and a nervous laugh chuffs out of her.
“What the hell?” She kicks the door closed and looks down at the stiff material of my dress. Her eyes rise to my swollen ones.
“Tell me what the fuck is going on.”
I shake my head, tearing off the dress. Somehow, as I trip out of the thing, the fringe comes away and tiny glass beads skitter across the scarred wood floor like rioting gems. The music of their escape scrapes across my raw nerves, and I hitch in another sob.
“Okay,” Kiki says, throwing up a hand. “We're getting you out of this...” She wrinkles her nose and picks up the ruined dress with her long nails. “Dress, and getting you into a hot shower.”
I laugh. Water won’t wash away my crimes, my grief... my sins. Her brows sink low over her brown eyes. She’s so full of compassion that I look away.
She grabs my arm, and I let her herd me into the bathroom. When the pipes stop groaning, I step into the spray. I let the warm water trail over my face, gather in my open mouth, and fall across my body.
Kiki’s silhouette remains a ghost of shadow through the opaque shower curtain.
<
br /> I don't know how long I stand there, but when my fingers prune and the water begins cooling, I raise them in front of my face. My abused left hardly twitches. The steam and heat of the shower had restored most of its function. The bright pink scars crisscross my palm, and I squeeze it.
Kiki's shadow has departed. My hand jumps, and I force it to soap my body. I take my time, putting myself back together piece by piece.
When every part of me is clean, I move out of the shower and towel off. I tuck the edges of the towel underneath my armpits and move to the door, surrounded by a cloud of steam.
I hear low voices and hesitate on the threshold of the open bathroom door. I take a few deep breaths and pass through.
I’m not surprised when Mick greets me from my couch.
He holds up his phone. “You don't answer your texts.”
Oh yeah... midnight. My eyes shift to my clock. It's twelve fifteen.
I nod and turn away, heading to my bedroom. I shut the door softly. I can't handle Mick tonight. I feel like the worst kind of human being. I’m losing everything that's ever mattered to me. Mick can't fix it, and he can't take away how he makes some of his money.
Nor can I stop my feelings for him.
I jerk on sweatpants and a cami, leaving my feet bare. I walk out of my room with my dripping hair and face free of makeup.
“What are you doing here?”
Kiki blanches.
“He was worried... and so was I.” She gives him a covert glance.
God, they're ganging up on me. “There's no reason to worry.”
I turn toward the stove. It's pretty easy to act emotionless when I'm so numb. If I can perform one normal task, I have a hope of getting past this recent batch of misery.
I feel Kiki behind me. Her soft-scented vanilla body spray heralds her arrival.
“Faren,” she says in a low voice, “just tell him. Maybe he can help.”
Does Kiki think I don't want his help? That I haven't rolled the obvious around in my mind 102 times? I have, and I won't. I need Mick's money, but he has something I want more. I have almost enough to erase my mom's debt from the clinic. One more stint of laps, and I'll be free of that. It won't stop the pole dancing after the laps are through, but if I never see another lap in my life it'll be too soon. I'll still need the cash from a few times per week at the pole for my mom's monthly care. Or that debt I've danced so hard to get rid of will come back to take a second bite out of my ass.
“No,” I answer just as quietly.
Kiki lays her face between my shoulder blades and sighs. “I can't make you, but he's not stupid.”
“She's right, I'm not.”
Just his voice makes warmth spread from places that had been dry and quiet moments before.
How can I respond sexually to anything after what happened only a couple of hours ago? I can't answer. I don't know.
Kiki slips away from behind me as my hand grips the kettle.
I feel Mick’s heat behind me, radiating through my thin cami. I shiver as his hands drop to my shoulders.
His fingers dig in almost painfully when he leans forward. “Let me in, Faren. Please.”
I can't fight them anymore, my best friend and this man who is wealthy beyond my wildest imaginings. He can have anyone he wishes, and it’s me he pursues. My grip leaves the kettle, and Mick feels my subtle shift. I turn, and his hold on my shoulders softens just enough to allow it.
When I face him, he crushes me tight. I shake in his arms, and Mick lifts my chin with a finger. Tears leak from my eyes all over again.
“Hey, hey,” he says, kissing each eyelid. “What's wrong?” When my tears become too much for his lips, he chuckles and wipes them away with the pads of his thumbs. “I can't stop this, but I want to try.”
I look at him through the waterworks and see Kiki behind him with her arms folded. Her eyes beg me to accept help. From him, from her... from anyone.
I put my forehead against his chest so I don't have to meet his eyes. His hand strokes my spine, his fingertips going from the top of my backbone to the bottom and trailing up again.
I speak into his chest, “I don't want to use you.” The truth eases out of me like a feather on the wind.
“Use me, Faren. I want you to,” Mick answers.
“Yeah, use him,” Kiki pipes in, and I smile through my sadness.
Mick chuckles. “Listen to your best friend.”
I tilt my head back. “You mean listen to you?”
His eyes search mine. His fingertip brushes away the last of my tears, and he nods.
“Yeah, that's what I mean.”
I feel my arms creep around his waist, and Kiki claps.
“Thank god,” she squeals in a whisper that sounds like a hushed shout.
“Yes.” Mick doesn't ambush me with his mouth but sips slowly, awakening me anew.
I rise on my tiptoes and press back.
I hate that a small part of me clings to a hope I don't have, that I don't deserve.
It's wrong.
Except, in Mick's arms, it feels so right.
~ 12 ~
Thorn
I can't quit. I need one more lap gig to make that last ten thousand. One more horrible, soul-sucking dive into the abyss of loss.
Of who I am.
I don't have a penny. I've paid every dime to my mom's debt, and the balance stands at only ten thousand. Only. I sigh. My thinking about money has become so skewed. This last gig will tip the scales, and she won't be moved to the state facility. I breathe through my nervousness as Thorn stares holes through me.
His chair creaks as he tips it backward, his muscular weight forcing it to accept his movements. He ignores its protests and taps an elegantly appointed lighter on his desk. “Faren... you know how much I enjoy you.” He tips the lighter upside down. Tap. Flips it right side up. Tap.
I cringe. Yeah, I know.
He smiles at my obvious discomfort.
I nod but say nothing.
Flip. Tap. My eyes key in on that lighter, the silver winking as he flips it. I hate it. Hate him.
He tosses it to the desk with a final resounding tap.
Thorn swivels to the side and stands. He walks around the desk, sets an ass cheek at the edge, and folds his huge arms in front of him. “We can't have a repeat performance of what happened with Jay.”
My hands twist in my lap. “I... I wasn't expecting...” Heat bites my skin like a colony of fire ants.
“Your little starfish to get a tap?”
Thorn's so vulgar. I think I hate that about him the most.
I glare at him, letting all the loathing I feel fill my expression.
He barks out a laugh. “I should make you give me another lap dance because I know you hate it. Hate me.”
I stay silent. I can't speak because I can't contain myself. I keep looking down, trying not to out myself.
“Look at me.”
I raise my eyes to his. His dark face is perfectly sculpted, every feature beautiful separately, even better together. Thorn works hard on his physique. The tattoo sleeves that cover both arms are mere shadows against his dark brown skin. But his eyes are vacant of understanding, compassion... feelings.
“You have one chance to redeem yourself, or it'll be off with your head,” he says, laughing manically.
I seethe but nod. “You looked green at the last venue, and that can’t happen again.”
“Even with your behavior, you're a favorite.” Thorn's eyes bore into mine.
I lift my chin. This big, beautiful man with a black heart will not cow me. I can't allow even the finest crack in my composure. I need this.
Tannin Mitchell needs it.
So I wait, my breath held as he lets me stew.
“An associate of mine has thrown his hat in the ring, so to speak,” he says, letting out another dark chuckle. But his amusement overrides everything.
“Who?” I ask, hoping for Jay. Gross as our dance was, I'd rather have the evil I kn
ow than one I don't. One more time.
“Ron.”
I feel my mouth open and close like a fish out of water.
Thorn nods, spreading his hands apart. “You should be happy. He paid the big bucks and the cops came. He didn't get his piece of the pie.”
My eyes flip to his. I wish I'm wrong, but I know I'm not.
“The Faren pie.”
When I stand, my handbag falls to the floor and the contents spill out. My hands fist as I hiss, “I am not food.”
“You're what and who I tell you to be. If you want to suck up the cash, you need to do the deed. Period.”
Thorn makes me sick. But sicker still is being forced into dancing for my assailant. “Does your boss know how you get girls to participate in your pathetic merry-go-around?”
Thorn jerks his chin back. “McKenna? You think Mr. Bleeding Heart is aware of this?”
I stumble back. I think over my interactions with Mick, how certain things didn't fit.
Thorn's perfect inky brows pull together, and he laughs. “What? You thought that McKenna...”
I nod, and he scrubs the short black nap on his skull. Thorn shakes his head, palming his chin. “No. Jared McKenna plays everything above-board. He does not have a bead on this... game.”
“It's not a game. We're people, Thorn.”
He shakes his head. “You're a bunch of girls who give rich dudes what they need. You can't play innocent when you rub your kitty against the pony.”
I kick up my chin. “I could tell him.” I lay my fingertips over the lips he'd kissed. If I tell Mick, then he'll oust Thorn and I can come clean.
“I know,” Thorn says with a smirk.
“What? What do you know?” My eyes become slits as I glare at him.
“I know you're McKenna's new plaything. Why do you think I don't force you for personal laps?”
His words are a slap in the face. My thoughts scatter like dandelion seed on the wind.
I stare, my hands loosening, and dizziness seizes me again. I grip the chair behind me with my right hand. I fight against it, hoping I won't get a headache to remind me of my short path.
Thorn sees me sway, and his arm reaches out to steady me. I jerk back unsteadily.
