My very own sex slave
- 4 years ago
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ASMTD Ch. 11 free porn video
July 3
Why I booked my flight for the day before the Fourth of July, I’ll never know. Every single seat on the plane is filled, and I swear half of them are just obnoxious babies. It takes forever and a day to finally get off the plane and make it through the terminal.
Despite my six hour nap, I’m jet-lagged to hell. A quick stop in the bathroom shows my bun resembling something of a bird’s nest and my eyes fighting to outdo raccoons. There’s a crease on my cheek from the airplane pillow and everything sounds like it’s in a glass jar since my ears still haven’t popped.
All in all, I’m a bag of dicks. But at least I’m not a despondent bag of dicks.
Leaving Leo was the hardest thing I’ve ever had to do, and every step away from him felt like fighting through quicksand.
I love him.
I can’t be with him.
Splashing water on my face, I try not to think about anything. The airport is obscenely crowded, and there is a surplus of people wobbling and weaving as if they’ve never walked in their life. I make it through security and go straight to the pickup spot, happy that I don’t have any checked bags.
The weather is hot and humid even at six at night. I spot my mom standing next to her beat up purple Ford Escort in black jeans and an ancient Pink Floyd t-shirt. Beside her is a brown man in dark blue jeans and a gray v-neck. I would almost say he is Arab if not for his features. Latino maybe.
Moving toward them, I open my arms as a smile splits my face. ‘Mama!’
Her hug is immediate and enveloping, wrapping me up in flower scented fabric softener and peach shampoo. ‘Raiqah,’ she gushes, pulling back and holding me at arm’s length, ‘You look happier, habibti. I see backpacking did wonders for you. Or was that Mr. Backpacker?’
I sidestep my mom and completely ignore her question. ‘You must be Damien,’ I direct to the Latino man who awkwardly steps forward and extends a hand.
‘Yes.’ I shake his hand, feeling the thick calluses brush my palm. ‘It’s nice to finally meet you, Raiqah. Kris thought you might need some help with your bags, so I volunteered.’
‘I thought you’d come back with more stuff,’ my mom defends instantly, looking over the lone backpack.
‘Just call me Rai. And actually, this thing is pretty heavy,’ I say, lifting up the bag and handing it off. Damien takes it and quickly goes to place it in the car, leaving me to give my mother one helluva side eye.
‘What?’
‘My luggage? Really?’
‘I thought you’d have more.’
‘Uh-huh.’
After another minute of awkward inanities, we all shuffle into the car. Damien drives, and my mom shifts around in the passenger seat to talk to me. ‘Tell me everything! Damien is dying to know too.’
Doubt that. I start with Ireland and the program, slowly working through my journey, leaving nothing out but the obscene amounts of alcohol and sex with Leo. The ride is an hour and a half home, and I only make it to Rome as we pull into the driveway and park.
‘So you did meet with Mac?’
‘Yup,’ I say as I climb out and Damien grabs my backpack.
‘And what did you all do?’ my mother asks as twines her arm around mine and leads me up with lattice brickwork to the entrance of the the two story Victorian. It’s one of my favorite houses of hers, all gothic exterior, wrought iron work, and brick. The interior is just as stunning with cherrywood floors and a wide curving staircase leading to the second floor. Double doors with hand-made carvings lead into almost every room but the bathrooms and kitchen, giving the house just that more class.
It took my mother three years and nine contractors to fix up. Her entire life savings went into the home, but looking at her smile whenever she steps inside, I’d say it was worth it.
‘We went on this sketchy bar crawl. And—you know those raves in the middle of the woods that the horror movies always have people getting killed at?’
‘Yeah…’
‘We went to one of those.’
She laughs awkwardly, part ‘you’re an idiot’ and part ‘well, at least you had fun.’ Throwing her keys into a bowl on the side table next to the door, my mom asks, ‘Have you spoken to your dad since the fight?’
‘No.’ I move aside to let Damien through. He sets the bag at the bottom of the stairs and turns around, rubbing the back of his neck.
‘Are you at least going to call him now?’ she presses.
‘And say what?’ I grumble, moving into the living room before flopping on the emerald green, material couch. The house might be old and stuffy, but my mother prefers her furniture comfortable and modern.
‘I don’t know, Rai,’ she rounds, coming to sit on the coffee table in front of me, ‘Maybe that after traveling through Europe and taking a plane across and ocean you made it back home. Safe.’
Damien clears his throat at the threshold to the room, looking as uncomfortable as a clown at a mime convention. ‘I’m going to head out. Let you two relax.’
My eyes switch to my mom as a sad wave wash over her face before she covers it up with a forced smile. I interrupt the both of them before their gushy feelings spread to me, ‘Stay. I’m about to crash in a few hours from jetlag and someone needs to keep my mom company.’
When he doesn’t move, I add, ‘If you don’t like Game of Thrones leave now, because I plan to catch up until I pass out.’
His expression lightens before a smile flits across his face. ‘You’ve been gone for almost six weeks. One night is not going to be enough to cover what you missed.’
‘It’s a start.’
‘Call your father first,’ my mom interrupts as Damien settles on the loveseat perpendicular the couch.
We lock gazes, a silent battle of wills before she mouths, Gave. Birth. To. You.
There will never be a day when my mom doesn’t play that card. Holding my hands up in surrender, I move out of the living room, grab my bags, and climb the stairs to my bedroom. My phone vibrates to life as I turn off the airplane mode, notifications slamming into one another.
Throwing my phone on my bed, I rummage through my dresser drawers for sweatpants and a tank top. I get a sniff of my armpit while inspecting a t-shirt and recoil. That’s six weeks of living out of a bag and sink washes if I’ve ever smelled it.
Leaving my phone, I go into my en-suite bathroom and turn on the shower. Shedding my pants and yanking my shirt over my head, I try hard not to look at my body. The plane ride was uncomfortable for many reasons, most of all the bruises and sore muscles from Leo’s particular brand of loving. Three pain relievers can only relieve so much and they wore off a few hours ago anyway.
The sound of the TV blaring filter through the gap under the door, temporarily drowning out everything. It’s quiet. The first moment of pure silence in almost twelve hours. I soak it up, relaxing into the soundlessness. But a niggle of consciousness slips in. Louder than the throbbing between my legs, the bite marks and scratches. My throat is dry. Parched. It feels like a fucking desert as I scramble to turn on the sink and cup my hands to force the liquid down my throat. But the damage is done. Get you a glass of water?
Tears I held back at the airport, on the plane, in the car, stream down my face as I crumple to the bathroom floor, clutching my towel tight to my breast.
‘S-Stop it,’ I tell myself, as if by sheer force of will I can keep my heart from breaking, place all the emotions I never dealt with back into their box and leave them for a more convenient time. Like never.
My eyes stray to the closed bathroom door, wood and white and nondescript. I can almost see it as one of the hostel rooms. Almost imagine Leo on the other side. Him lounging on the bed with his laptop across his thighs, brows furrowed as his fingers fly across the keyboard. The slight tilt of his lips that relays more
than any wide, molar-showing smile as I walk through the door, clear my throat and throw him a sassy wink in one of his t-shirts. His endearment, kultaseni, growled as he sets the computer aside, eats the space between us with his long strides and crowds me against the wall. The feel of him carving a place inside my body as he thrusts in and pulls out, slow at first then savage.
‘Stop. It,’ I growl, beating my thighs to distract myself from the pain in my heart. ‘You’re being dramatic. It’s just a guy.’
But even as the words leave my mouth, as I try to convince myself with lines I delivered to friends in coffee shops who cried over the breakup of their two-week relationship, I know it’s bullshit. Leo will never be some guy. He is the guy. And I know if things were different he’d be my guy.
‘But they aren’t,’ I say, forcing myself up and bracing my arms on the sink. A red cheeked and puffy-eyed girl stare back at me in the mirror. I haven’t been that girl in years. I hate that girl.
‘Move on,’ I grit, starting hard at myself, willing my reflation to change. ‘Deal with it and move on.’
July 10
I’m sick of myself. Despite my determination to move on, my body has other plans. Life, as it understands, has ended. Everything is a chore from eating to showering to talking, and the fucking color of the sky can make me break down into tears because it reminds me of Leo’s eyes.
‘God, I can’t wait for this to be over,’ I mutter, tapping my foot as I wait for Em.
She pulls up in her tiny silver compact, rolling down the window to look at me over her sunglasses. There’s a healthy tan to her skin, a pretty pink, and her green eyes look brighter, clearer. Even her outfit reflects her sunshiny mood: billowy orange camisole and white capris jeans with a dozen assorted silver bangles on her wrists and ankles to compliment the large hoop earrings. ‘Hello, beautiful. You do realize Halloween is a few months away.’
There’s nothing I can do about my tattered black t-shirt, abhorrently stained yoga pants, unwashed hair, and utter lack of giving a fuck so I stick my tongue out at her instead as I climb into the front seat. ‘Hey.’
Em pulls out of the driveway and onto the street with a squeal of tires, twisting the wheel as if we’re in a racing movie. ‘So we good?’
‘Yeah,’ I mumble, sinking back into her seat as the Fugees wash over me. ‘Sorry for being a horrible bitch.’
‘We all have our moments.’ She flashes me a smile. ‘Sorry for saying all that shit.’
‘Meh,’ I shrug, turning the radio station when a love song pops on and my eyes start to water. ‘It was true. And true friends tell you when you look fat in jeans.’
‘Or scarier than a zombie. Which you hella do in case you missed the Halloween thing.’ She raises a brow, ‘So how was backpacking?’
‘Good.’
‘And Leo?’
‘Good too.’
‘Is or was?’
‘Later.’ Since I tear up every time I get near my phone or clothes, I refrained from unpacking or answering calls. I’d tried to use my mom’s computer, but after an email from Leo, I’d decided a technology free diet was in order, which basically included anything with a screen. This morning was the first time I’d touched a phone in almost a week and it only happened because Em called to confirm our ‘check up on Kate to make sure she’s not dead and still game for seeing a therapist’ thing and my mom had held the receiver to my head.
‘So you two stopped talking?’
‘Basically. I mean, it’s hard to talk when I’m doing a technology free diet.’
Em is quiet for a long moment before she lets out a gusty sigh and mutters under her breath, ‘Uh-huh’
There is so much more than ‘Uh-huh’ in her voice. ‘Not now, Em,’ I whine. ‘I’m in a crap mood and I’ve been PMSing for a week’
‘No one PMSs that long.’ She pauses, and I think she’s debating with herself whether to say what’s on her mind or let sleeping dogs lay. But Em’s a natural shit stirrer. ‘Look, Rai, I’m not saying what you did was wrong, but you and Leo had something. Something good. And he might be halfway around the world but that doesn’t mean you can’t try to work it out.’
‘Ya done?’
‘Not even close,’ she laughs, fingers tightening around the wheel. ‘I want you to be happy, Rai. Leo makes you happy. Honestly, I don’t see why you can’t just apply for undergrad there and go live with him.’
‘Woah, woah, woah.’ I hold up a hand. ‘Dude, it was a month. A fun month, but a month. Am I the type of woman who uproots her whole life because some guy has a nice cock and knows how to use it?’
‘I don’t know. Are you?’
‘Come on, Em,’ I say. ‘Leo was fun. But that doesn’t mean it needs to turn into some harlequin novel. My bosoms never heaved and I can promise you his cock was never as hard as a steel rod.’
‘Dude,’ she punches me in the shoulder, giggling. I laugh along with her and the seriousness of the moment is lost, my armor and walls aren’t back up, and for the first time in days I can’t feel a hint of moisture in my eyes.
It’s nice. And when Em punches the radio on and our favorite song to sing-scream blasts through the speakers, I feel like myself again. For a moment. The song eventually dies down and we question each other about our schedule for next fall during the commercials.
‘Switch to Hofter’s class if you can,’ I tell her as we pull up to Kate’s apartment complex. ‘His tests are hard, but he grades on a curve. Zell doesn’t.’
‘I heard that,’ she says as we climb out, ‘But what if this is the semester he decides not to do that?’
‘I’d take that chance. Like thirty percent of students fail Zell’s class.’
‘Seriously.’
‘Yeah, dude.’
She rounds the car and we step over cracked asphalt, careful not to trip on the roots that have broken free, unto the equally cracked sidewalk. Kate’s building is a joke. It’s two story brick that look like they’re going to crumble at any second. Em and I are taking bets on when the city or university will condemn it.
We make it to the screened in porch—well, a partially screened in porch—and open the storm door. Pressing the buzzer for apartment 2b, we wait for Kate to either answer or let us in. A few minutes pass and neither happens.
Em depresses the button forcefully as I shoot off a quick text to Kate.
Rai: We’re here. Get your ass in gear 9:14AM
Lucky for us, a girl comes stumbling out of the door, obviously frazzled. Em and I slip past as she runs down the steps, pulling down her t-shirt while unlocking a beat-up white compact parked in the small driveway. It takes us less than a minute to climb the narrow, uneven steps to the second floor and knock on Kate’s door.
‘Think she’s sleeping?’ I ask after a few minutes of nothing.
She casts me an irritated look, rolling her eyes as she pounds on the door harder. ‘I did not wake up at five on a Friday and take off work for her ass to be asleep. Wake up, Kate!’ She yells the last bit.
The door across from hers opens with a bang, and a black girl with a head wrap and a sleep mask riding her forehead glares murder at us. ‘Keep it down. Some people are trying to sleep.’
‘Do you have the landlord’s number?’ Em asks instead, striding toward the woman. ‘Our friend’s in there and she’s not answering.’
A scowl crosses her face as she pushes past us and drops to her knees. I watch as she peels back the corner of the once-white-now-gray linoleum tile a few feet from Kate’s door and produces a key. Throwing the little piece of silver at Em, the women climbs back to her feet and slams her door shut.
Em and I share a questioning eyebrow raise as we unlock Kate’s door, and step inside. ‘Oh God,’ Em hisses, hand shooting up to cover her nose and mouth, ‘What the fuck is that smell?’
‘Stale sex, take out, alcohol, and B.O.,’ I reply nasally, having mimicked Em.
The curtains are drawn tight, le
aving the small one bedroom nearly dark. Stepping over the empty alcohol bottles and takeout containers I can see and tripping over everything else, I reach the windows and push aside the curtains before opening them, letting in some much needed fresh air. Em gasps sharply as I move to the next window and I spin around quickly, fear gripping my chest. ‘What? What it is?’ If she saw a rat, I swear to—
I find Em on her knees, body shaking beside an unconscious Kate splayed behind the couch. Kate’s skin is paler than I’ve ever seen it, hair a wild, stringy mess around her head and face. The only thing covering her is a stained lilac tank top riding beneath her breasts. There’s a half empty bottle of cheap vodka in one of her hands, bruises on her thighs, and what looks like dried semen on her stomach.
My stomach rolls as fear shoots through my imagination at all of the awful things that could have happened to her.
Em yells at me, feeling frantically for a pulse, ‘Call 9-1-1!’
Snapping myself out of my own thoughts, I look away and try to focus on my phone. The numbers blur together, fingers shaking so badly it takes me several tries to type the three digits.
Placing the receiver to my ear, I talk to dispatcher, giving her as much information as I can while trying to hold it together and keep my voice steady. Tears stream down Em’s face as she covers Kate with a blanket from the back of the couch and gently tries to wake her. We’ve both been to enough emergency preparedness seminars on campus to know never to shake someone or move them when they’re unconscious, but her hands flutter like she wants to do that very thing.
Long minutes pass and I can feel myself detaching from the situation, pulling away, retreating to that numb place inside me when things become too overwhelming. Sirens grow closer, until they’re right on top of the complex, medics pushing through the door, placing Kate on a stretcher, tucking another blanket more firmly around her until she looks like a burrito, carrying her out.
‘They’re here,’ I mutter to the dispatcher whose name I can’t remember as Em follows the ambulance and demands to go with them. Her screams and pleas filter through the open window as I look around the bustling apartment. Gloved hands touch my arm and I flinch, blinking up at the uniformed man in front of me.
‘Are you okay?’ he asks slowly, peering into my eyes. ‘Have you been drinking?’
‘No, no. I’m fine.’ My voice is strange to my own ears, quiet, barely more than a whisper. ‘What hospital are you taking her to? I need to call her parents and pack her a bag and—’
‘You’re in shock,’ the man says matter-of-factly as if I couldn’t figure that out for myself. ‘Why don’t you come downstairs and we can get some fresh air?’
Irritation sparks through me. He’s treating me like I’m porcelain, but I’m not the one on a stretcher with a room full of empty bottles and the stain of what looks like rape on my body.
‘Maybe you didn’t hear me,’ I say coolly. ‘I need to pack my friend a bag and call her parents. If you’re not going to help then move.’
Pushing past him, my numbness, and the other million emotions coursing through me, I go into caretaker mode. Throwing everything I think she’ll need into a backpack I recover from the back of her small closet. I find her phone, dead of course, take a picture of the shit sty she calls a home, and head down stairs. Em’s car is there with her keys on the front seat and a hastily penned note on a napkin: St. Joseph.
Climbing into the front seat, I start the car as the first pinpricks of tears slide from the corner of my eyes. No. Not now. Wiping them away, I force myself to plug in Kate’s phone and start the engine. I’m halfway to St. Joseph Mercy Hospital when Kate’s phone comes alive with a series of notifications. Ignoring them all, I go hands free and tell the little device to ‘Call Mom,’ hoping Kate doesn’t have her parents programed as something else.
The phone rings and I let out a grateful sigh as I drive. ‘Kate? Sweetheart, where have you been?’
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