by Raine Miller
After I caught my breath, I pegged him with the look. “We need to talk.”
“Before you begin, I ask you to refrain from calling me a liar and desist calling yourself a whore. Neither of these derogatory names is correct and I find it offensive.”
“Fair enough. Do you agree to tell me everything without any bullshit?”
“If I can’t answer your question with one hundred percent honesty, I will let you know. Ask away.”
“If you haven’t had a bloodslave in so many years, why is there a lock on the outside of this door? It was that way when you first put me in here.”
“When I had this penthouse refurbished a few years back I put special locks on several rooms. I believe in being prepared for any situation. I have always lived with rooms like this. It’s something my master taught me many years ago.”
“And where is your master now?”
“I’m not prepared to discuss that. He is gone and you’ll never have to concern yourself with him.”
“Okay, and what about Lia? How did she end up here with you? And what is your actual relationship with her?”
“That’s a long story. Are you sure you want to hear it all?”
“Yes, all of it.”
“Let’s get comfortable.” I followed him over to the couch and sat next to him.
“It was approximately twenty years ago ... the last time I had a bloodslave actually. That’s when I met Lia Nguyen. She must have been twenty-something. Her tale is similar to yours in some ways.”
“Cha, whatever. I am nothing like her. She’s certifiable.” Whatever happened to Lia, it messed her up bad.
“She was born into extreme poverty in Vietnam. Her father, an American GI from the war, was never in her life, except briefly right around the time I met her. She had it rough, probably just as rough as you did. Perhaps worse. She and several of her half-sisters were child prostitutes from the age of eleven.
Being a half-breed, she wasn’t exactly the favored child. The mixed race is fairer of skin with less severe cheek bones and eye slant. She was more attractive, but instantly recognizable. The Vietnamese have no real love for the children of the GI’s.
By the age of fourteen she was physically mature enough to be considered a woman. Her mother was so dirt poor, and a heroin addict to boot. She really had no control over the household. Men came and went, paid for services. Some stayed for a while, most didn’t.”
As he spoke I found myself edging closer, putting my hands on his thigh or shoulder. I wanted to be in his lap. I had to constantly check myself from crawling on top of him. He had my body enraptured. He just smiled knowingly.
“Lia fought with some of the men who attempted to control the flow of money and business in the house. They beat her severely. Eventually she learned to defend herself. They were a family of prostitutes. A man could pick from their mother or any one of four sisters ranging in age from eleven on up. Lia’s brother Tri Nguyen was born in 1985, the first boy in the family.”
I had known of similar scenarios in Colombia. And I knew what that life entailed, personally. Though we grew up thousands of miles apart, we were not so different in our experiences. Suffering is universal.
“As Lia grew into adulthood, she became very fond of infant Tri. She took on a role of surrogate mother. Her own mother continued her descent into addiction and died in 1988 of an overdose.
Lia and her sisters survived okay for a couple years. She looked out for Tri as if he was her own son, but raising a child was difficult in that environment. Tri dashed into the middle of a fight with one of Lia’s sister’s clients. The man was drunk and belligerent, and didn’t want to pay after he’d already sampled the goods. In the midst of the fight, Tri jumped on the guy kicking and screaming. The man fell on him by accident. The police hauled the man to jail to sleep off his drunk, but Tri caught the worst of it with a broken arm.”
My gut twisted. I had seen too much of this life. I found it far too easy to imagine myself in her situation.
“Tri healed quickly, but Lia had made her decision to take him and go. She worked double shifts at a strip club and did some work on her back to save up enough money for the trip to America. In the spring of 1991 she arrived in New York with Tri. After paying for their Visas and travel expenses, she was broke.
She went to work immediately in Chinatown, doing what she knew best. That’s how I met her.”
I shook my head. This strange man was full of surprises. “What the hell were you doing in Chinatown?”
“I paid her fifty dollars for a couple of good bites.”
“Oh.” Another surprise.
“We hit it off instantly. She related her sad story, talked of her desire to find her father. I met Tri, who acted like her son. She had plans for college. She wanted to make something of herself.” He looked at me, his eyes seeing deep into my soul. He was well aware of the effect he had on me.
A sick feeling settled into my gut. Lia’s life was a mirror image of mine. Different, but the same. And yet she was such a dark twisted woman. I began to fear what Enrique might reveal.
“At the time, I needed tax deductions for one of my corporations, so I arranged for Lia’s scholarship, a full ride. I was being generous, the Good Samaritan. I even hired a detective to find her father.”
He spoke of the very thing I wanted most, to get my education, to become something better, something more than a prostitute. It hurt to listen.
“As luck would have it, he didn’t live very far away. He had a small cabin in the woods at the Eastern edge of the Appalachians.
I’d been visiting Lia regularly, keeping tabs on her, making sure she stayed in school and out of trouble. We spent plenty of time together. We were falling in love.”
Enrique looked down, rubbing his hands together. It pained him to speak of this.
“Her father, Raymond Shuman, had been an Army Ranger stationed in Saigon. He’d survived numerous forays into the bush country, one of their elite. Like so many men in his situation, he’d become a monster, a killing machine who collected trophies of flesh. When the military breeds a creature like that, they don’t teach him how to turn off the machine. Most of them today are on heavy psyche meds with debilitating injuries to show for their service. They encountered a hostile environment here in the US when they returned. People called them ‘baby killers’ and treated them with outright disdain. Being a veteran of Vietnam was a stain on your resume. They were not honored for their service to their country.
Raymond was an extremely bitter man, paranoid the US government was out to get him, take away all his rights and freedoms. A card carrying member of the NRA, he was armed at all times. For him, Vietnam had never really ended. He returned to the bush country in his nightly dreams, and he had flashbacks, what they call PTSD, post-traumatic stress disorder. A loud noise or sudden movement could trigger a vivid memory.”
He pegged me with his intense gaze. Though I couldn’t read his mind, I could see the regret etched into his face.
“I know all this because I read Raymond’s psychiatric treatment file. The man was a dangerous, unpredictable, son-of-a-bitch, and definitely bigoted towards Asians, especially Vietnamese. I never should’ve arranged their meeting. But I learned these things later.
He met Lia the first time at a coffee shop a few blocks from her apartment. They didn’t have much to say. She talked of life in Vietnam post war, which held his interest. Theirs was a tentative connection, just enough to agree to meet again.
Raymond cancelled their next meeting, but eventually, with Lia calling him weekly, he agreed to meet again. They had dinner together at a McDonalds near her college. She was excited for Ray to meet the people that meant the most to her, Tri, and of course, me.”
Enrique never struck me as a family man. He must have cared about her quite a bit to go through the McDonalds scene.
“As I’m sure you guessed, she was a bloodslave. It’s near impossible to have an intimate relationship otherwise. S
he was quite fond of me back then. She wanted me to meet her father, especially since I paid to find him.
We sat outside in the evening air by the playground and talked while Tri played with the other kids. The problem started when an Asian family sat at a table nearby. Ray froze, watching their every move as they settled in. Their children ran off to join Tri. They weren’t Vietnamese, but that didn’t stop Tri, he chattered away at them in his native tongue. Ray had this wild look in his eyes. Watching that family had triggered a flashback.”
My hands were wringing by then. I didn’t want to know, but couldn’t stop him from telling me.
“The kids were arguing. They couldn’t understand Tri. One boy had a black plastic toy pistol, one of those realistic looking ones. Tri grabbed it and wouldn’t give it back.
They chased Tri as he ran to Lia, toy in hand. The other two kids swarmed around the table, a storm of shouts and accusations. Struggling with some vision of events long past, Ray couldn’t handle the noise. He jumped up out of his seat screaming ‘shut those fucking Gooks up!’
They backed off immediately, except for Tri. Tri did what feisty, little children who’ve learned to stand up for themselves often do, he yelled back. Tri pointed the black plastic toy gun at Ray and screamed something in Vietnamese. The toy made little pop sounds as he pulled the trigger at Ray as though shooting him.
I’ll never know what Ray was thinking. Perhaps he forgot to take his antipsychotics that day.
Ray swatted the gun out of Tri’s hand and pulled his own pistol and shot the boy point blank in the chest. Lia was in the fray a second later, screaming like a madwoman as she leaped on Ray. He shot her twice by the time I could disarm him and get Lia out of the way.”
“Oh my god! That’s horrible.” I shook my head, wishing I hadn’t asked this question. Some things in this life are better left unsaid.
“I’m not proud to admit this, but I did it. I snapped Ray’s neck and tossed him aside. Lia was a mess, screaming as she crawled to Tri. The boy had died instantly. I had to get away before the police arrived, and I just couldn’t leave Lia behind to die, so I took her with me.
She begged me to go back for her brother, but I can’t be tangled in police affairs. As you’ve probably figured out by now, I don’t do daylight. Being arrested or even detained would quickly become a serious problem. Officers would be killed, very messy. I’m not the kind of man you want to put in a corner.
Lia was dying. She lost consciousness within a couple minutes. I made a decision, probably the wrong decision. But I did it out of love. I did it to save her life. I never asked if it was what she wanted. Truly, I did it for myself. I cared too much. I didn’t want to lose her. I felt guilty for not being able to stop Raymond in time. I brought Lia into the fold, made her what I am, which also made me her master. The process created a link, a psychic bond. She is my servant. The nature of our bond allows me to force her submission.”
And now it all made sense, how he had clamped down his control over her in the limousine. He wouldn’t let her touch me.
“Lia never really survived. The woman I loved died that day. Tri was everything to her. She didn’t want to live without him. He was all that had ever been good and decent in her life. The Lia you see today is a wholly different creature. She seems incapable of forgiveness or compassion. She hates all men. I am merely tolerated. You know she prefers women intimately.
She blames me for not reacting fast enough to disarm Raymond, for not letting her recover her brother’s body, for not letting her die. Her primary grudge now is the power I hold over her, which she forces me to exercise regularly to keep her violent tendencies in check. The old wounds are mostly healed, but a shadow of it remains.
Then there’s you, a whole new reason to resist me, and of course to hate you as well.”
I found myself damn near sitting in Enrique’s lap. I couldn’t stay away from him. I decided to give in to my impulse for the moment. I slid my hands over him – it just felt right.
“Wow. That’s … really harsh, but it does explain things. So … ah … do you to sleep together?” I tried to pretend like it didn’t matter. For some stupid reason it did matter. I already knew the answer, but I had to hear it from him.
“Yes … we do sleep together, and we’re sexual partners, if you could call it that. It’s more convenience than desire. Something like you and I last night – she likes it rough, violent.”
“I’m not like that, and don’t compare me to her! Ever!”
“You don’t like it rough? You don’t want me to fuck you until you can’t walk?”
“I’m not into pain. I can take it, don’t get me wrong. Whatever you dish out I can take, but I don’t get off on it.”
“And how are you feeling tonight? Sore? Tender? A little hard to walk?” He smirked at me. But the funny thing, I didn’t really hurt. Maybe a little sore, but no big deal.
“No … I’m okay … If that’s what you expect from me, I’ll be fine.” I tried to play tough. I was tired of showing him weakness. No more crying.
“For your information, that is not what I like. I don’t enjoy hurting you. And I know for a fact I did hurt you. I did it to show you how dangerous this life can be. I did it on purpose to give you a glimpse of what can happen when we lose control.”
***
CHAPTER 9
“I know you did it on purpose. I was the one underneath you getting pounded. And it did hurt, but I’m okay now. I can handle it. I prefer to take a good pounding, knowing it’s for real. I prefer that to lies. If you want to hurt me, then do it. Don’t lie to me. Don’t pretend you really care. I’m the Energizer Bunny, takes a lickin’ and keeps on tickin’. All I ask is that you tell me the truth, keep it real. I’ll take a grudge-fuck any day of the week over death.”
He shook his head at me. I had climbed into his lap completely, sitting spread-eagle on him. I rotated my hips back and forth to grind down onto the lump in his crotch. As usual I was in my silk bathrobe with no underwear. My uniform. Nothing had changed much in my life. The only major difference, my body was Enrique’s exclusive property now.
“Hope … you’re missing the point, several points.”
“I have the point right here, and I’m about to get it good.” I shoved down hard onto his erection. He pitched a tent in his pants, obviously ready to pound me again.
“Oh you’re gonna get it all right. Let’s get a few things straight. One, I’m not going to kill you. Two, I don’t enjoy hurting you, you provoked me. Three, you should be in pain right now, but the benefit of my bite allows you to recover quickly. That’s why you’re still tickin’ and headed for another lickin’.”
I was so damn hot for him. I can’t get near him without wanting him to fuck me and bite me. It was so much more than desire. I needed him, like a priest needs donations.
“Please! Stop talking! Give it to me!”
He had mercy on me. In a flash we were up off the couch and down on the floor. A second later his pants and everything else came off. Before I could take hold of him he slammed up in me. All the way to my limit. God it was so wonderful! I wanted him buried in me for eternity. He so owned me. I wanted to be fucked to death.
He gave me the most intense sex, like nothing I’ve ever known before. I couldn’t get enough of him. I loved every minute of being his slave, wished it would never end. I wished he’d never leave my side. It seemed different this time. Forceful, but he held back just a little. He cared enough not to hurt me. Though he knew I’d let him, and I suspect he wanted to, he was careful to avoid hurting me.
Well, it did hurt a little, the good kind of hurt. The kind that had me screaming, clawing his back, begging him not to stop. Then he bit me, the icing on the cake, the cherry on top, the whole purpose of my existence.
“Don’t stop! Don’t stop! Don’t stop!”
And he didn’t, not until I fainted. I woke up sometime later with an IV tier setup next to the bed. Two bags hung in the air, a clear bag o
f saline-glucose, and a little red pouch of blood. No sooner did I wonder where Enrique had disappeared to, I had a sense he was coming to check on me. He walked through the door to my room – very freaky how well we were connected. But I still couldn’t read a single thought in his head.
“So I suppose you’re gonna try to convince me this was all an accident. You don’t really want to kill me.”
“I thought you couldn’t read my mind.”
“Ha! That’s funny. If I wasn’t so busy dying I might have time to laugh.”
“Damn it, Hope! If I wanted you dead it would be over!”
He moved so fast I could barely see him until he stopped at the point his fist smashed down in a hammer strike on my beautiful oak coffee table. The table exploded into pieces, shattered, splinters. Nothing but firewood now – kindling. He stared at me with that intense look, a fierce animalistic thing. I squeaked in surprise and shock, but still stupid enough to poke at the lion – and this one wasn’t caged.
“I’m harder to kill than the coffee table – furniture doesn’t hit back!”
Luckily for me I made him laugh. He chuckled. The intensity dropped a few notches.
“What am I going to do with you Hope?” He shook his head. “I’m sorry. It was an accident. I get caught up in the moment. You’re a little too passionate for your own good. This is the risk I spoke of when you overheard that nasty conversation with Lia. Your health could be compromised unintentionally. You understand this was not planned? Nothing with you has been planned. It all just happened, and here we are. We have to make the best of it.”
He slid his hand across my cheek. “Stop provoking me. Stop with the accusations. I’m going to do everything in my power to keep you healthy. Look how quickly you’ve recovered. I’ll bet you feel fine right now, a little dehydrated, but none the worse for wear.”