Chapter 2

“You have been a good girl this evening. For this, I shall reward you.” He stepped back into the hall and took her in the other direction from whence they came. Along another hall, he opened the second door, stepped aside and invited her in.

She peeked into a feminine boudoir. A beautiful room of mellow pinks and whites, with a white wood dressing table, and vanity mirror with bulbs all around it. The perfect sweet sixteen room. She wasn’t sickened by it.

“This is the good girl’s room. The rental fee is simply being good, adhering to your commandments and trying your hardest at every task you accept.” She had walked further into the room and then leaned down to sense the softness of the mattress. She liked soft mattresses, but this wasn’t one. Maybe mid-strength, she reasoned by her hand weight, push test. It would do.

Still at the door, “I will leave you for now and I will awaken you at seven a. m. I like the mornings better than the nights. Don’t know why, always have. I am sure you will be reviewing your last life tonight. Do yourself the honor of being honest about it. To land where you did, I am sure it wasn’t all that good. Think about your past, then think about what I am offering. Think of the contrast. Think of the pleasure that awaits you. Good night,” he softly closed the door.

There was no obvious lock click to her ears.

There was a central music system throughout the house.

Music could be played in any room, one could even speak over the system if required. It had been, for a few, very bad, girls. He piped into her room a rotation of very sensual soul music. It worked on the mind in the way he wanted.

She had looked in most of the drawers in the room, they were all empty. She tried the closets, but they were empty as well. She tried, what she assumed was a bathroom door but it was locked. She needed a shower and wanted a toilet. She looked around. She was still wearing the stupid shorts and top. At least she had a mattress, sheets and pillows.

She had no idea what time it was, what day it was, really. He had said seven days. He had said good night. She got into the bed with her clothes on. Once she had fluffed the pillows around and stacked them just right, she pulled up the sheet and comforter.

The knuckles of both hands closed, clasping the comforter, nestled into her chin. It wasn’t so bad. A hell of a lot better than the cell or the last bed she slept in at a shelter, amongst the other twenty homeless hopeless.

He was right, she did start to think about her past and there wasn’t much good.

Her father was a wife beater, a middle-class, weekend drunk who demanded his lunches made, his supper hot and on time, the privacy to drink in his own way, in his own home and get laid every Saturday night. He had no interest in what his wife and kid did as long as he got what he wanted.

He was a miserable man. The beatings came whenever her mother did not live up to his standards, if dinner was minutes late or she wasn’t enthusiastic enough on Saturday night.

When she made a mistake, he might just yell, sometimes, but more often, he would bend her over a table and whip her with his belt. He had gotten tired of hurting his hand when Shea was young. It was always the belt now, sometimes fists, when enraged.

Mom became a drug store junky as she lived on Valium. She zoned out more often than not. That’s why she couldn’t get things straight sometimes. She just kept fucking up.

Her dad never struck Shae until her first period. She happened to be sitting on the couch when it happened. It was awful! Her father had asked her to get him another bottle of beer. He only drank beer out of bottles, something about being more manly. Maybe his fifth since Friday supper.

She got up to get it and he demanded, “What the hell is that?” She turned, and saw him pointing, as she looked back and saw red, blood, on the couch seat cover. She was mortified.

Her mother came in from the kitchen as Dad came to his feet. He hit Shea with the back of his hand, screaming something. She no longer remembered what he said. It was a horrifying moment in her life. He had taken his belt to her, telling her she would learn to keep her dirty sex life private. She was thirteen.

From then on, she had to put up with boob rubs, ass grabs, spanks and lots of innuendoes. Only through good instincts and a cheeky way, was she actually to make it to sixteen before he made his first, seriously, aggressive sexual move.

It was a Saturday night. The night before, Friday, he had beaten her mother bad enough, he broke her rib and she was being kept in the hospital overnight. The attending Dr. suspected something wasn’t right in her mother’s life. He kept her over to see a trained sexual assault victim advisor.

It was probably the only Saturday night she had ever been alone with her dad. It started well enough. She knew enough to put supper on the table on time. She kept his beer flowing all night, striving to get him so drunk he would just pass out and leave her alone.

She went to bed at her normal time and he stayed up. She woke up with him crawling into her bed. The stink of beer wafted off of him. He had a hand on her breast slurring something about he deserved a good fuck and if her damn mother wasn’t here, she could stand in. No, lay in. He thought he was funny.

She scrambled out of the bed, out of the room and into the living room. He came stumbling out after her. Cooing out calming words. He was going to try to talk her into something.

She had backed up to the couch. He came at her faster than she expected. They piled onto the couch. She twisted and turned to get out from under him. She was scrambling to grab anything to give her leverage, to pull her legs free, when her hand landed on a beer bottle.

She grabbed it up and swung around, swung the bottle as hard as she could and clocked him right upside the temple. He folded like a cheap lawn stair. The bottle had surprisingly broken. She had swung with an adrenaline punch that gave her more force than anyone would have thought.

He was bleeding badly. She tried to wake him up, but couldn’t, so she called 911.

The police came and an ambulance. There were hours and hours of interviews, and interrogations. The DA and the doctors put together her mother’s hospital history and figured out the abuse she had suffered.

On being told her husband had been arrested for trying to rape her daughter, it was finally too much mentally. She would never leave the hospital setting again.

Her father got seven years. That was all, after all the pain and misery he caused them. She fell into the welfare system. The first home they placed her in was a small farm out of the city. The farmers just wanted the government support cheque and the extra labor. Shea just wanted to be left alone.

The neighbor’s Middle Eastern farm hand wanted her.

He caught her behind the barn one afternoon. She had just finished pitching hay and was washing down with an outside hose when he came around the corner. She was bent over letting the hose water flow through her hair. It was a hot day. He walked right up to five feet from her.

Bent over as she was, her button-down work shirt had fallen in a way that allowed Mani to get a good look at a bra-cupped breast.

She sensed him and stood up. He moved fast. He slammed into her, his hands went for her shoulders and pushed her back to the barn wall. Then he punched her in the stomach, hard. He knocked the air out of her and she doubled over.

He grabbed her hair, lifted her head, pulling her out of her crouch and snarled, “Take your shirt off.” She was trying to catch her breath so he hit her again in the gut. “Now!” He was pulling her hair hard. She couldn’t breathe but made an effort to start to raise her shoulders to get the top off.

To undo the buttons, he just grabbed the front of her shirt and tore it. The buttons flew and her bra-covered tits were exposed. He tried to pull her bra off as she tried to grab his arms and stop him. He slapped her, hard!

The clap should have been heard for miles, in her mind. Bells were ringing, her vision blurred. He spun her around, grabbed the collar of her shirt and yanked it off her back. She had to twist and turn to allow the shirt off her shoulders and down her arms.

He grabbed her bra strap from the back and stretched it a couple of feet before something snapped. The middle bracing material between the cups and it came free. He spun her around again and snapped, “Pants!” He raised his hand to slap her again as she fumbled to open her pants.

Then she wiggled out of them. As she pulled the last leg clear of her foot, he threw her against the wall again. Then he grabbed her head between his hands and bounced her head off the wall a couple of times. She fell to the ground and he smiled down at her.

He scrambled to get his pants off, hopping around on one leg to get the other pant leg clear. Finally, he was free. His underwear had come off with his pants. She was laying on her side on the ground, looking at him through the haze the head banging had exacerbated.

He stepped up to her, pointing at his semi-hard cock, “Get to fucking work, Puta!” There was no fight left in her, so she lifted her head to take him into her mouth.

As she sucked him, he reached down and began fondling her tits. Squeezing her nipple, he started fucking her mouth at speed. He started squeezing her nipples more and more, it really hurt. She pulled off his cock and tried to scream.

He slapped her again, then pulled her head back and drove his cock into her throat. She gagged but he didn’t give a shit and just kept driving. Her gags got worst. Little pieces of her lunch were bubbling out her lips. He pulled out, slapped her again and told her to get on her knees. He entered her from behind.

He started slapping her ass as he drove in and out of her. He felt like a fucking stud, a raging a bull who was impregnating a cow, planting his seed.

He drove and drove into her. Trying to force his cock through her cunt and out her mouth. He didn’t give a damn about her pleasure. It was all about his. He finished with a few strokes hard enough that she wondered if she’d be bleeding. There was no pleasure in this at all for her. She wanted him out of her, off her and gone.

He finished. Got up from his knees and walked around in front of her. She was on her knees, head bowed, forehead laying on the dirt. In front of her he reached down and grabbed her hair again once more lifting her head.

His softening cock was hanging in front of her mouth, “A good Puta cleans a man’s cock after her pleasure. Get on it.” She didn’t move immediately.

He gave her a half-powered slap to get her attention. She took him into her mouth. “Use your fucking tongue, Puta.” She worked to clean all her own juices from him. He pulled back and went and put his pants on. He threw ten dollars on the ground in front of her. Laughed and walked away.

The farmer’s wife found her beside the barn. Shae had tried to cover herself a little with the torn material. She had managed to get her pants back on. The farmer’s wife saw her state, the ten dollars on the ground and started berating her immediately. She grabbed a straw broom from just inside the barn door as she came past it and started swinging the broom at her saying the worst things imaginable.

No one would hear her side of the story. She was judged and called a slut from that day forward. The other farmhands started taking liberties. Calling her names and groping her at every chance. On Saturday night three farmhands and the Middle Eastern guy grabbed her again and used her hard for hours. She ran away the next day.

She was blackmailed and raped by a cop. She was used by her welfare coordinator. She ran away again and again. At seventeen, claimed by a street bully, turned onto drugs and she recently ran away to avoid being turned out as a street whore. Her tough guy turned out to be a pimp who was grooming her.

She was living in the park now in a pup tent. For her eighteenth birthday, she was in a shelter seeking the first meal she had had in three days but in bad need of another fix. She had been dying inside. Now she was here. Reborn. A new life. Yea, right. Somehow, she finally managed to fall asleep.

He woke her the next morning. She had needed a good sleep, she had been sleeping for ten hours when he woke her. She opened her eyes and yesterday came flooding back.

He had walked into her room and tossed the bed covers off her. Encouraging her to rise. She slowly did, still in yesterday’s stupid gym clothes and she needed a shower, more she needed to pee.

She was about to ask for a washroom, looking up at him.

He shook his head and put his index finger to his lips.

She remembered immediately that she wasn’t allowed to speak. She climbed out of the bed. He was walking away saying, “Come with me, Baby,” heading out the door. She needed to pee, needed a shower and needed to speak.

The door directly across the hall from hers was open and she could see a small bathroom. As she entered, she noted a single sink with two taps. On the other side of the door, behind her facing the sink, was a toilet. With gratitude, she took a seat.

He was waiting in the hall when she finally came out. She had had a sponge bath with toilet paper since there being no amenities in the room beyond the single roll of toilet paper. Which was three-quarters gone now. She had thought of putting it into his toilet, as she used it, but she didn’t know if he might even kill her for something like that. It wasn’t worth the risk so the tissue was set in the sink.

He directed her into the dining room. There was the smell of cooking breakfast wafting down the hall as she entered it. Her tummy rumbled as she was hungry. She looked left and right for an escape route but saw nothing but closed doors and a couple of archways.

He was standing at the archway to the dining room. She approached him, he was off to the side directing her into the dining room. She came and chose not to acknowledge him as she turned into the dining room. She came to an abrupt stop.

There, in the kitchen, was a dumpy, middle-aged woman fussing away in the kitchen. Her back was to them. Kitchen sounds abounded. She held back. Actually, tried to step back, wanting to hide around the corner.

He wouldn’t let her. With his hand on her back, he lightly pushed her into the room, “You may take your seat.”

There were two table settings in the same placements as last night’s seating. She went to the chair, the same chair she sat in last night and took her seat.

The cook spotted them. She immediately brought a skillet to the table and served them both scrambled eggs, bacon and hash. It smelled delicious. The woman didn’t say a word. She served them both and set a jug of orange juice on the table along with two pieces of toast for both.

Then the cook returned to the kitchen. She placed the skillet in a sink. A door opened which was behind a shelving unit between the dining room and kitchen. She went through the door. ‘I knew there was a door’, Shea noted a potential escape route.

Not a word was spoken and he dove into his breakfast.

She decided to do the same. It was just what the doctor ordered. He finished first but she wasn’t that far behind him. He burped. She smiled at that and he noted it. It was time to continue. He sat back in his chair, extending his legs under the table as she was waiting.

“That was great! How did you sleep?” his tone was friendly. She was going to answer him when he offered a snide smile and raised his hand to stop her from speaking. He put his other hand into the pocket of the jacket he had on and set something on the table. Black and red.

Black straps attached to a red ball. A ball gag. She had seen pictures of them. She didn’t want that fucking thing anywhere near her mouth.

Watching her he said, “You are being very well-behaved, Baby, but I thought I would show you this little setup. I have had to deploy it on some of my quests, especially after the second recycle. You remember, speaking results in your return to the cell and we start this entire process over again. Understand me, you will not speak to anyone in this house until you earn the privilege.”

“You are wondering about the cook? She’s our housekeeper, cook and one of your trainers. Her name is Greta, she’s from Denmark. She knows how I make my living and has no concerns about it all. She has a well-earned distaste for sluts as she lost her husband to one.

“She has been a lot of help to me over the years, especially with recalcitrant girls. She doesn’t have a lot of patience. Is a skilled disciplinarian. You will learn.”

His guest was wondering about the door Greta had exited. Wondering if that was her escape route. He rose from his chair and asked her to come with him. She rose to follow him. He went out the same door Greta had. She followed as they walked out into a beautifully sunny day. The sort of day one thinks, it’s good to be alive.

They had walked out onto a porch. The house sat atop a hill. Looking down and off, about fifty yards, sat a pretty wood frame cottage then out across the valley. She couldn’t see any houses beyond the cottage at all. If there were any, they were dappled throughout the intermittent forest.

There was nothing in the spotted scrub bush and grasslands, not even a cow. He walked her slowly around the entire house. There was the porch, they had come out to, then, through a screen door, around the corner of the house and it became a covered deck.

The sun shone most of the time here. You wanted access to shade as much as possible There was an open sky above the deck. The front desert garden extended about sixty feet to terminate at a small stone wall that stood three feet high. Beyond it was the driveway up to the house. She couldn’t see it but there was a four-car garage under the garden.

The next was a faraway mountain view, twenty miles away. The rolling hills leading to them were a deer haven, a cause of constant irritant for security reasons. He did enjoy watching them now and again. The women he took for walks that way, always got to see some deer, they always oohed and awed. Got warm and fuzzy. He enjoyed those walks.

The fourth, or back side of the house. The back yard if you may, held an outdoor swimming pool, hot tub and a pretty eight-sided gazebo off to the one side of the yard. The table within the gazebo sat eight comfortably.

It was all beautifully manicured. Stone tile formed the patio and rock walls encased the area, right up to the house on both sides. A truly beautiful home, in a beautiful valley, in the middle of nowhere. He hadn’t spoken a word as he walked her around the property. He simply allowed her to take it all in to make her own judgements.

She couldn’t see an immediate escape route. She wasn’t sure if this scared her more or if she should just take in the beauty of the place and relax. He made the choice for her as they walked up to the pool’s edge.

“I bet you’d love an early morning swim, wouldn’t you?” What she wanted was a shower but a swim would help as well. She serendipitously raised an arm to get a sniff of her armpit. She nodded her head. A swim would definitely help.

He pointed to a wicker pool chest. There were three. She opened the one. There were towels, some balls and other water toys. He closed the lid. Beside the chests, there was an empty clothes hamper. The woven wood kind.

He pointed at the hamper, “Remove your gym clothes and jump in. Enjoy.” After a lifetime of training to never let anyone see her naked body, she had to take one additional glance around, just to be sure no one else would see her. She stepped over to the pool and put a toe into the water and then stepped back to the pool chests.

She turned her back to him. Then she pulled the tee off, slid the crotch-pinching shorts down and threw both pieces into the hamper, without fully turning to him.

She walked back to the water. Placed her toe into it a second time, he said, “Dive.” She dove, practically a belly flop. She didn’t trust the water depth. She swam a couple of lengths and enjoyed the effort. The pool was all of fifty feet long. He called her over to his point on the edge of the pool. When she got to him, she stood up, covering her breasts with her hands. The water was five feet deep. Very refreshing.

“How about say, ten laps and then we will continue your tour.” She nodded and again, began laps. The sun shone down and it was just beginning to get warm. She moved through the water like a dolphin, she had always enjoyed the breaststroke. She swam like she knew what she was doing. He added this skill to his mental list. Maybe he would have her swim more than dry exercise. Both would deliver the figure he wanted. Note taken.

On completion of the ten laps, she came back to the lip of the pool. Hung onto the sidewall concrete ledge and looking up at him. A thousand questions were on her mind.

Swimming always brought her clarity of thought. It had been a long time since she’d swam. She had fond memories of swimming in early high school. She had wanted to join the swim team but her home life didn’t allow such. She had to be home right after school to make sure her mother was able to make dinner and if not, to do it herself, to save them the grief and violence a late dinner caused. She never joined anything after school.

Holding onto the edge of the pool, stomach down, her body flat on the water, an occasional kick of her feet kept her buoyant. He was sitting in a lounger. He had watched her come up to the edge and he motioned her to get out. He threw her a towel as she rose onto the pool deck.

She turned and started drying her hair. She was quite a fine-looking specimen, if he did say so himself.

At her 5-foot ten-inch height, her legs didn’t stop. They might be her best asset. Although the 36C breasts on her tall frame weren’t her worst feature either. Her worst was her bush. She had so much crotch hair that he could be forgiven if he’d thought she had a midget between her legs, it was that much. She, apparently, hadn’t cared but he did.

He told her to drop the towel into the hamper. She was naked again. She made an effort at modesty, he smirked, and she gave up. Once again, he had her follow him by directing her from behind.

They entered the back of the house. He showed her the way to the basement stairs, he motioned for her to head down. She hesitated, he smiled, “I am just showing you some more of the facilities.”

They went down past what she thought was the cell. He opened this next door. She did hear a very soft click. He had fingered something in his pocket. The doors were electronically locked. He stepped back and invited her to enter.

She stepped into the room a couple of feet. It was a smallish room. Cell-sized, she realized. The walls were painted a soft white. Overhead fluorescent lights provided sunlight brightness to the room.

A table and chair with a 24-inch computer monitor, alongside a large Apple iPad, and even a lined writing pad with pen, sat along the back wall. There was what looked like a comfy office chair in front. A red leather couch along one side wall. A cork pin board on the other wall. Nothing on the door side wall.