Carole Remy: Twelve Nights

Rough hands grasped the twin globes of Angel’s rear and pulled the flesh apart.

“Use a condom,” Angel gritted through clenched teeth.

“I’m clean,” the man boasted.

“Maybe I’m not,” Angel insisted. “There’s a condom in my purse.”

The hands left her backside and a moment later Angel heard the rip of a foil pouch. She sighed in relief. Beside the safety factor, the condom was well-lubricated and would make his entry easier. She braced herself as the uncouth hands again parted her rear. The man thrust hard and missed the opening by a fraction of an inch.

“Go slower,” Angel gasped. “Guide it in.”

“Glad you’ve decided to be cooperative, girlie.”

The man eased the tip of his cock into Angel’s anus and she breathed deeply to contain the pain and pressure without struggling. Then he clenched his fists on her hipbones and thrust hard. Angel cried out as the sudden assault stretched her beyond silent endurance. The man’s hands were a vise, pinning her bottom to the unholy shaft.

“That’s it, girlie. Fight a little,” the man encouraged.

He stroked out once, too far for comfort, and slammed back in too quickly. Angel bit her lip and tasted salty sweet blood. She tried to focus on the sting and the blood and to block out the greater pain of the lower assault.

“Pretty big, huh?” the man bragged.

“Yes,” Angel gasped.

The man pumped in and out, each time too much, too fast, too brutal. Finally his cock swelled in Angel’s rear and she prayed for an ending. The last strokes were beyond her endurance and she cried out with each until her scream became a continuous whimpering protest. She never felt the feeble spurt of cum as he continued pumping until his cock wilted. At last he withdrew.

Angel sighed and slumped forward into the chair though the man’s hands still cradled her hipbones. His fingers would leave long yellow and purple bruises. She would not be able to work until they faded. Angel stopped short. Work? If there was a God, she’d never work again. She breathed deeply as she waited for the man to undo the handcuffs.

Instead she felt the hands clench on her bruised bones. She shifted with discomfort and tried to ease away from the pressure. The man lifted her buttocks so that she perched on her elbows and toes, then sank his teeth into her bottom. Angel cried out at the unexpectedly sharp pain. The man licked the bite mark.

“Like that?” he asked.

He bit her again and Angel could not suppress the whimper that rose from deep in her throat.

“Please don’t,” she begged. “Please.”

She felt the teeth sink in and the tongue suck as the man wrenched her flesh. Would he bite out a piece of her buttock? Tears of pain and terror ran down Angel’s face and dripped onto the brocade seat of the chair. Then mercifully the teeth lifted, leaving only the throbbing ache of mangled flesh.

Angel waited for the next assault. Her knees buckled as she heard the rip of another condom wrapper. She turned and sat in the chair.

“No,” she protested.

Angel watched as the man walked toward his briefcase. Thank God. Just pay me and let me leave. But what did he want with the condom? Visions of sadistic sex toys shriveled the breath in her chest. But the man withdrew only a wad of cash. He peeled off three bills and waved them at Angel.

“Three hundred dollars, girlie,” he sneered. “You didn’t last long.”

Just let me out of here, Angel thought, but her voice protested, “You said a thousand dollars.”

“You don’t have any stamina, bitch. Be glad I’m paying you at all.”

He rolled the bills tightly and pushed them to the bottom of the uncoiled condom as Angel watched in growing horror.

“Back in position, girlie,” the man directed.

“No,” Angel refused.

“I can make you,” the man reminded her.

“I don’t want the money. Just let me leave.”

The man raised his hand to slap Angel’s face.

“Get in position.”

Angel stood and bent over the chair.

“Say ‘yes, sir, Captain,’” he ordered.

“Yes, sir, Captain.”

“Beg me to give you your money.”

Angel was silent until she felt warm breath against her buttock. As the teeth pressed slowly into her bruised flesh, she whispered, “Please give me my money.”

“Say, ‘Please put the money up my ass.’”

Again the words resisted in Angel’s chest until she forced them through her teeth.

“Please put the money up my ass.”

She felt the fingers as they separated her buttocks and then the slim greasy rod as it slid inside. Not too far, she silently begged. The man pulled her buttocks further open and slid two fingers in behind the condom-wrapped bills. He pushed and the rod scraped as it moved deep inside her. He withdrew his fingers, then inserted one again as he tucked the loose ends of the condom deep inside her.

“You can shit your money, bitch.”

Angel barely contained the gorge that rose in her throat.

“Can I go now?” she whispered.

“Put on your clothes.”

“Could you undo the handcuff?” Angel asked. “Please.”

“Put on your clothes first.”

The man lay back on the bed. Angel struggled to pull the slip dress over her body. The bodice, sticky with blood from her wrist, stuck to the side of her breast in a foul wet kiss. She sat down and pulled on her panties. The small packet in her rear was a barely felt reminder of further indignities to come. Last she attempted the macramé skimmer, but could not get it over her unbound shoulder. She looked at the man.

“Will you undo the handcuff, please? Captain, sir.”

The man unlocked the cuff and Angel stood and reached for the macramé covering.

“Leave it,” the man ordered.

I’m too bare, Angel thought. I don’t want to leave you a souvenir. But she dropped the skimmer without protest and walked awkwardly to the door. The little obscene packet shifted in her bottom and she clenched her buttocks. A moment later she took a deep breath as the elevator door closed behind her. Never, she vowed. She would never sell herself again. She turned her eyes away from the elevator mirror.

Outside, Angel took in great gulp of New York’s smoggy downtown air. Then she took a cab to an all night medical clinic. The nurse cleaned her cut lip, bound up her still bleeding wrist and gave her a tetanus shot. Angel found at the last moment that she could not ask the woman to remove the condom and money from her ass. Later. She would deal with it later.

The next morning Angel left her apartment early. The captain wouldn’t have recognized her in her morning persona. Her hair was swept back in a loose pony tail. Her eyes were their true color, an indiscriminate gray/hazel/blue that assumed the tint of whatever she wore. Today her sweatshirt was a faded gray and so were her eyes. Still her cheekbones rose gracefully high and her nose, now red tipped, was slim and straight. Her lips had lost their carefully applied pout and met the world battered but unadorned.

Turning out of her apartment doorway, Angel strode off briskly down the sidewalk, swinging her arms to keep warm and stretching her legs to ease the ache in her buttocks. She rounded the first corner and stepped into an ornate doorway. She dropped three hundred dollars in the collection box of the open church, though she didn’t stop to kneel or pray. Her stomach rumbled and she decided to walk to a diner for a bagel and coffee. On the corner before the diner was a familiar newsstand.

“Angel!” the proprietor greeted her. “You’re up early today.”

Angel shrugged and reached for a New York Times.

“Hey, check out the personals, Angel,” her friend advised. “Some nut case is offering a hundred twenty thousand dollars for a twelve-night stand. Takes all kinds, huh?”