THE INTROSPECTION CHRONICLES 3| A PLACE OF SILENCES 2
The girl stood in the hotel room, tugging the short skirt down some more. She was trying to hide the bottom of her buttocks that peeked from beneath the skirt but when she did that, her pubic hair became open to lewd eyes and there were so many eyes in the room. Samson had taken her shopping as promised. All he had bought her, she was wearing; a small top that stopped at her midriff, the mini skirt, fishnet stockings, heels, a wig and makeup for her face. She had on panties but no bra and the air-conditioning had her nipples poking the shirt. She had been ordered to serve drinks to the men while Samson and two men smoked weed, gambled huge sums of money and grumbled about their wives and girlfriends.
She stood on the side and prayed the men would get so high they would pass out and maybe she would survive the day with her sanity intact. She was so deep in her thoughts that she didn’t hear the exchange of words between the men. She roused herself to find the men eyeing her speculatively.
“She’s young.” One of the men said.
“Sixteen is not young. Besides I have had her and she is sweet.” Samson replied, a smirk on his face.
“Jesus! Men, What are you doing? What if she's your daughter?” the other man said, frowning in disgust.
“Well she's not. Are you in or not?” Samson asked.
He had thought about this for a while. He loved the feeling of having money to spend on the things he loved. At first gambling had been for fun then later he had began to see the potential for more. Cynthia was the first step. Soon he would be hosting big men, providing expensive liquor, cigars and food as well as young girls while they gambled. He could see the money pouring in.
The first man who had called her young studied Cynthia for a while then he shrugged and stood up.
“Some rules. Do not hit her or anything. Just do her and get up. I don’t want her going home with bruises.” Samson said.
“Where's the fun in that? We can't let all that booty go to waste now, can we? Let's slap the chit a little, add more spice.” the man said, grinning at the two men like a buffon.
"I have told you. Do not hit her." Samson replied, his voice harder than before.
The man nodded and turned to study Cynthia. Samson beckoned to the girl. She stumbled to him, her feet still unused to the heels.
“You are going to take care of my friend here. He is paying a load of cash for this and if you treat him right, I might let you alone this week.” He said.
The girl stared at him with blank eyes. Something had died inside her when she heard the words fall from his lips. She knew that this was the tipping point. She would never be the same again. She nodded her head and the man smiled. The other man stared at the table, trying to pretend that he was not seeing what was about to happen.
The girl led the way into the room and began pulling off the clothes still smelling of newness from her body. She entered the bathroom and looked at her face. She cut a piece of tissue and began to wipe the make up from her face. She opened the medicine cabinet and looked at the dust and cobwebs hanging from its interior. The light flickered on and off, on and off, on and off and the girl shivered. Her face was soon clean of the make up and of her self. She willed the body to move back into the room.
The man was already naked on the bed. His manhood stood like an electric pole from the folds of his protruding stomach.
“Take of your clothes and let us see your mouth skills. You’ve got some big titties for a sixteen years old girl.” he said.
The girl did as she was told and walked to sit between the man wrinkled laps. She held the manhood in her left hand and bent her head.
“I am going home.” the man said, raising his head from looking at the cards on the table.
“Why? The fun is just starting. Don’t you want to taste some of that sweetness in there?” Samson asked pointing to the closed room door.
“I don’t want to lie with a sixteen years old girl. That girl is young enough to see you as her father and this is what you give her in return? I wonder what people will say if they find out that the great Deacon Samson is a gambler and a pedophile.” the man replied.
“Are you threatening me?” Samson asked.
“Men, I want none of this. I am going home. Remember you owe me 600k. I will come to collect soon and you better have it or there will be trouble.” the man said, standing up and moving to the door.
“What is that supposed to mean.” Samson asked standing up, his face screwed in a frown.
“Nothing. I am just telling you how it is.” the man replied.
The two men stared at each other in silence then suddenly a scream of pain shelved the tensed silence aside and the men jumped in surprise then they moved. The scream had come from the room where their friend was supposedly having fun. The men ran to the door and tried the handle but the door was locked from inside. The screaming increased in intensity and they could hear furniture moving about as if people were struggling inside, then, without warning, they heard a gurgle and silence. Heavy breathing came close to the door and the door clicked open. The two men looked at each other, afraid of what they would find inside.
The room was a mess; bed sheet tossed to the floor, pillows scattered all over, a lying on its side and the Persian rug, bunched and twisted and it stank of piss, feces and blood, lots of blood. Their friend was lying half on the bed and half on the floor, his hands holding his throat and the other holding between his legs. His eyes were wide with fear even in death, and his blood was still pooling slowly under him. The two friends looked at each other then they stepped into the nightmare. At the far end of the room, her back to the wall, was the girl.
“You told him not to hit me, Samson. He didn’t listen. He hit me, so I bit his proud manhood and when he could not keep quiet, I chewed his throat.” Cynthia spoke, her voice floating like a lost leaf in a storm.
Samson’s friend threw up on the floor as he drew close to the body. He held his nose then jumped as a knock sounded on the main door. The scream must have attracted attention. He turned to Samson but the man stood rock still staring at the girl as if seeing her for the first time. Her face was beat up and swollen, blood covered her lips and nose but it was her eyes that scared him the most. They were bright with excitement and laughter.
“I want to go home. Samson please take me home. Let's go and have a good time at home. You don't hit me. You like me pretty, don't you?” the girl asked.
The man shifted back in fear and stumbled against his friend. The girl studied him then she began to laugh.
Samson’s friend placed his hands on his head and began to cry even as the entry door crashed open, and running feet and querying voices came to the room door.
THE END
Read the previous part here;
Part 1
©warpedpoetic, 2019.
I felt a bit sick reaading this...but am glad she had the power in the end.
Yes she found power at the end. Victims of abuse tend to be controlled by fear more than the reality of their taking control of their lives. Once the fear of their oppressor leaves them or they are pushed beyond breaking point, they'd react.
Thanks for stopping by @riverflows. It is always a pleasure to read your comments.
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