Two Can Play (Celeste and Dominic) novel Chapter 516

"Let me go," I said, my voice cracking. "I don't want to be here. Please. I don't belong here. Emerson did this to me, but you can let me walk out that door, please."

Lola laughed, a low dry sound. "This isn't about Emerson. This is about you and the five years you signed. Sweetheart, what you've been through is just your first day. There are another five years waiting after it. Get used to the shape of that."

The word sank into my chest like cold water. Five years. Every single minute, every man, every slap.

"Now clean yourself up," she said. "You have a customer to see."

"A customer?" I gasped, sitting up straighter, the ache between my legs flaring as I moved. "Please, I can't. You can't. My body is in pain. I'm sore, I'm aching, I'm bleeding. You can't send another one to me."

Lola shrugged, as if my pain required no more than a shoulder's movement. "That's your problem, not mine. After your audition at that stage, most of the men here took an interest in you. They've all paid in advance. So it's in your best interest to get ready for the next client, and the one after, and the ones after that, because there's a long line."

"Please," I begged, as she turned. "At least give me one of my happy pills. I need it.

Also, back where I lived with Emerson, I left a big bottle of special medicine I take every two days. The special medicine keeps me from getting pregnant, and it also keeps me safe from diseases. Please at least let me have that."

Lola looked at me over her shoulder. "Don't worry. The happy pills will do all of that for you and more, sweetheart. They'll keep you from getting pregnant, they'll keep you from picking up a disease, and they'll make you enjoy every minute of what's about to happen. But only if you comply. You don't comply, you don't get pills."

"The pills are already mine," I said, desperate now. "They're in my bag. You just have to fetch them and give them to me. Please."

"Get out," I said.

He didn't. Without the pills, I was too sharp, too angry. I pushed him, shoved him when he reached for me. He grabbed my hair and yanked me forward off the bed, and I landed hard on my knees, my palms scraping the floor.

He hit me, heavy meat hands across my jaw until I tasted blood again, and dragged me onto the bed like I was luggage. He forced himself into me. He was rougher than the first one, half-drunk, careless, and it hurt like being split again. It was worse than the first, because the first man had at least slowed for ceremony; nothing about this one behaved like ceremony. He finished fast, rolled off, and left without a word.

The rest of that day was a nightmare. Different men kept coming. Tall, short, fat, thin, young, old, all of them carrying the same sick hunger and none of them caring. They treated me like an animal. They hit me, they twisted me, they fucked me raw and rough, one after another with no kind of meaning or end. I lay there like a wet rag and just got used. My body ached everywhere. It felt hollowed out on the inside, as if I had been made into a vessel and handed to a long procession of men to pour themselves into.