He smacked again, a growling laughter bubbling up when I yelled again. He seemed to love when I vocally responded to the pain, so I gave the sadistic bastard what he wanted. Five times he smacked my already-sensitive bottom and hips. Then he bit my ass cheek and I screamed. It wasn’t a skin-breaking bite, but his sharp teeth hurt. He did it on the other side and then buried his face in my ass crack. I squirmed, wanting more than anything to scream for him to get his face off me, but it wasn’t necessary. He was finally so worked up that he went up to his knees and pushed his dick into me.
“Ah, apretado!” He called me tight and began to thrust faster, smacking my hip every few seconds like he was riding a horse. I made a lot of noise for him, praying it would end soon. He reached down and grabbed a handful of my hair, wrenching my head back. Freaking-A, that hurt! He was fucking me super-fast now and with a hard yank of my head his deep voice went up a few octaves and I felt him coming inside me.
I breathed, relieved it was over.
That hadn’t lasted long. Maybe fifteen minutes. Fifteen unpleasant minutes.
I thought about the soft little mattress waiting for me in the slave quarters.
He pulled out of me slowly, and turned me to my back.
“Now for dessert,” he said in Spanish.
My heart sunk. Why couldn’t he just be happy with his orgasm and leave me the hell alone? My head spun—I was feeling loopy now and I wondered if it was from the drug or the day’s experiences crashing down on me.
He pushed my thighs apart, holding them up with his hands and squeezing so hard I’d probably have fingertip bruises. I yelped when his face went to my crotch and he began lapping at my hole, at his own come. And then he latched on to the sensitive nub of my clit and sucked with abandon, flicking the tip of his tongue. Every nerve ending came to life and blood rushed between my thighs. I panted.
No. No!
I orgasmed violently, my hips bucking from the unexpectedness of it. It didn’t last long, brief and intense, but my scream and obvious pleasure were enough to make him hard again. He raised my ankles to his shoulders and slid into me, pushing my legs toward my chest so he was close enough to grab my nipples and pinch them, twisting.
Hot shame and regret filled me. That orgasm had come out of nowhere—I rarely ever came, even during good sex. Maybe the drug had relaxed me too much. Whatever the reason, I was mad at myself for making him think this was all okay. I hated my stupid body for reacting. It hadn’t been enjoyable in the ways that counted to me. In that moment I swore to myself I’d never come again for one of Marco’s patrons. I might not be able to keep anything else from them, but that would be mine.
Round two lasted longer than round one, but by the end he was tired out and I was sore all over. Luis came to get me, shedding my blindfold as we exited the room. I crawled back to the slave quarters with remnants of my first patron seeping down my thighs. The crawl of shame.
I felt like I’d died and gone to hell.
This is not my life, I chanted in my head. This will all be over soon.
I had to keep saying it or I’d lose myself. The moment this all became my “norm” would be the end. I’d truly be Angel instead of Angela, and I could never let that happen. I couldn’t fight the people here, couldn’t control them, but I could fight my own mind and control it.
I had to.
Something was going on the next morning. Something big.
Luis got me out of bed early, wrapping a bandana around my mouth to gag me and slipping a blindfold over my eyes. He didn’t even make me put my collar on. I still wore the see-through negligee from the night before, seeing as how this place had no pajamas, but I wished I’d had time to put on underwear. Luis pulled me through the house, speed-walking. My heart pounded. Did I do something wrong? Had Marco’s friend been unhappy with me? I ran through the night, trying to remember any “rules” I may have broken.
But then I realized it wasn’t just me. The whole house had a nervous ring to it. The workers were all quieter than normal. I heard someone whisper in Spanish about policía and news reporters. At the sound of those words, I dug my bare heels against the floor, a rush of exalted longing to escape rushing through me. Someone is here! They’re here for me! A scream ripped from me, its glory muffled by the cloth in my mouth. Luis grasped me harder and another man grabbed me from the other side. I went into full freakout mode.
The men lifted me by the arms and rushed forward despite my kicking and thrashing. I didn’t care if I was punished; all I knew was this was my chance.