of her jacket. A
wall-mounted clock loudly ticked away the seconds.
“Hello Lana,” he said without
glancing up, away from the images of bondage and humiliation. His long thin
hands turned the pages, his dark eyes consuming rather than seeing what they flicked
across with an animal intensity. “How can I help?”
He’d said the same thing when she’d
first approached him for money: it was his catchphrase; an ironic combination
of words that she could see amused him on some level that she could not even
begin to fathom.
“I’ve come here…to ask for mercy.”
Bright looked up from the magazine, setting
it aside on the disturbingly neat and tidy desk top. Thoughtfully, he steepled
his fingers under his rounded chin and examined her, as if seeing her for the
first time. His teeth were short and pointed; his tanned face was unmoving,
like a photograph, but as soon as he smiled the illusion wavered. “I see. Is
this regarding the little visit my boys paid you this morning? I see they went
against my orders and roughed you up.”
“That doesn’t matter. All I care
about is my daughter. I’ll do whatever you want, just cancel the debt and let
her have a real life.” The request came before she’d even begun to formulate
it; deep down, this was the cold truth of her heart.
“Anything, Lana? Anything I want?”
He opened a drawer and took out a bottle of whisky and a small shot glass. His
hands were beautiful.
She glanced at the magazine, with
its lurid cover. Black leather. Pink flesh. Red wounds. “Anything,” she agreed,
knowing that she had already sealed her fate, but hoping that her daughter’s
might be better.
****
First he watched her
strip naked and bound her to a chair. He did not even take her to a private
room, just called a handful of his men into the office and told them to watch.
The straps he used where thin and tight; they cut deep into the skin of her
arms and legs. Blood ran freely down her shins, along her forearms. She tried
not to scream but could not stop herself from moaning. The pain at this point
was mild but she knew it could only get worse.
“This one’s a looker, Monty. A real
babe.” She did not see who spoke; the leather mask prevented peripheral vision.
She closed her eyes and thought
about Hayley, knowing that she was securing her daughter’s future. The pain she
suffered here would guarantee that Hayley’s life would be pain-free, at least in
the extreme sense of the word. Any agony Hayley experienced would constitute
the normal, everyday hurts, the small wounds of the masses.
She didn’t even call out when he
started with the whip. Nor did she weep when they took turns to rape her, using
her like a slab of meat as they entered her body in so many ways and via so
many different routes that soon she became numb to the tireless invasion.
****
“Are we done?” She
buttoned her blouse, retaining a small sense of dignity even after what had
been done to her. Her hair was wet and smelled of semen; they had not allowed
her to bathe afterwards, just laughed at her pathetic request, as if in confirmation
that she would never be clean again.
“For now.” Bright sat in his chair
smoking a cigar. His narrow hands were dwarfed by the fat Cuban, looked comical
even. His bare feet were resting on the desk as he reclined in the seat,
content in her debasement.
“What do you mean?” She stood and
faced him, terror creeping upward, moving in waves across her defiled body.
“You promised.” But any promises this man made were subject to the whims of his
radical personality. She’d been a fool to let herself believe this would make
any difference to her situation; but what else did she have to cling to other
than foolish belief?
“I promised nothing. Consider this
visit a down payment. The way I figure it, you’ll have cleared the debt in,
say, fifteen to eighteen months. Even quicker if you bring the girl along next
time. What’s her name, Hayley? Nice
wall-mounted clock loudly ticked away the seconds.
“Hello Lana,” he said without
glancing up, away from the images of bondage and humiliation. His long thin
hands turned the pages, his dark eyes consuming rather than seeing what they flicked
across with an animal intensity. “How can I help?”
He’d said the same thing when she’d
first approached him for money: it was his catchphrase; an ironic combination
of words that she could see amused him on some level that she could not even
begin to fathom.
“I’ve come here…to ask for mercy.”
Bright looked up from the magazine, setting
it aside on the disturbingly neat and tidy desk top. Thoughtfully, he steepled
his fingers under his rounded chin and examined her, as if seeing her for the
first time. His teeth were short and pointed; his tanned face was unmoving,
like a photograph, but as soon as he smiled the illusion wavered. “I see. Is
this regarding the little visit my boys paid you this morning? I see they went
against my orders and roughed you up.”
“That doesn’t matter. All I care
about is my daughter. I’ll do whatever you want, just cancel the debt and let
her have a real life.” The request came before she’d even begun to formulate
it; deep down, this was the cold truth of her heart.
“Anything, Lana? Anything I want?”
He opened a drawer and took out a bottle of whisky and a small shot glass. His
hands were beautiful.
She glanced at the magazine, with
its lurid cover. Black leather. Pink flesh. Red wounds. “Anything,” she agreed,
knowing that she had already sealed her fate, but hoping that her daughter’s
might be better.
****
First he watched her
strip naked and bound her to a chair. He did not even take her to a private
room, just called a handful of his men into the office and told them to watch.
The straps he used where thin and tight; they cut deep into the skin of her
arms and legs. Blood ran freely down her shins, along her forearms. She tried
not to scream but could not stop herself from moaning. The pain at this point
was mild but she knew it could only get worse.
“This one’s a looker, Monty. A real
babe.” She did not see who spoke; the leather mask prevented peripheral vision.
She closed her eyes and thought
about Hayley, knowing that she was securing her daughter’s future. The pain she
suffered here would guarantee that Hayley’s life would be pain-free, at least in
the extreme sense of the word. Any agony Hayley experienced would constitute
the normal, everyday hurts, the small wounds of the masses.
She didn’t even call out when he
started with the whip. Nor did she weep when they took turns to rape her, using
her like a slab of meat as they entered her body in so many ways and via so
many different routes that soon she became numb to the tireless invasion.
****
“Are we done?” She
buttoned her blouse, retaining a small sense of dignity even after what had
been done to her. Her hair was wet and smelled of semen; they had not allowed
her to bathe afterwards, just laughed at her pathetic request, as if in confirmation
that she would never be clean again.
“For now.” Bright sat in his chair
smoking a cigar. His narrow hands were dwarfed by the fat Cuban, looked comical
even. His bare feet were resting on the desk as he reclined in the seat,
content in her debasement.
“What do you mean?” She stood and
faced him, terror creeping upward, moving in waves across her defiled body.
“You promised.” But any promises this man made were subject to the whims of his
radical personality. She’d been a fool to let herself believe this would make
any difference to her situation; but what else did she have to cling to other
than foolish belief?
“I promised nothing. Consider this
visit a down payment. The way I figure it, you’ll have cleared the debt in,
say, fifteen to eighteen months. Even quicker if you bring the girl along next
time. What’s her name, Hayley? Nice
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