No mistaking the way he felt about me. Trash. I was nothing but trash in his eyes, a bloodslave whore.
“You fucking asshole!” I didn’t want to cry. I hate crying. “Damn!”
The son of a bitch made me cry. I can insulate myself against people when I know who they are, where they’re coming from. Their nastiness doesn’t bother me so much, I just consider the source. But Enrique caught me by total surprise. I had begun to trust him.
That little exchange pretty much ruined all the romance of an otherwise decent evening. I had an entire hour to brood on my imminent death. Explained why this room was set up with locks on the outside of the door.
“Who puts locks on the outside of a door? Who does that shit?”
What was I to them, bloodslave of the month? Honored guest until I died in a few weeks? Obviously Lia didn’t care to maintain the façade. She wanted to get it over with now, minus all the pomp and ceremony. Why pamper a girl who’s going to die tomorrow? She seems practical that way. It’s a waste of time and resources to cater to someone so close to death.
I wanted to hate Enrique. I wanted to denounce him to his face, tell him I knew all about the ruse. At the same time I wanted him here, touching me, biting me, making love to me. He made me his slave in every sense of the word. In spite of all the reasons I should hate him, I still needed him. And for that I hated him all the more.
I’ve never needed anyone like I need Enrique. It’s a dependency.
“You asshole!”
The asshole showed up with that sexy confident smile, the one that fit perfectly with his trimmed goatee. What a beautiful man. I hated him for being so appealing. The fucking master of my universe – asshole.
I forced a smile like I do with all my clients. I don’t have to like someone to give a satisfying performance. He hugged me, kissed me in pretense of affection. I kissed him back with the same pretense.
“Ah, querida, you do look lovely in nothing but black silk.” A hungry look in his eyes.
Though I wanted to hate him, tried hard to hate him, it felt so damn right in his arms. It was all a product of this bloodslave shit, but I couldn’t get past it. I wanted him near, touching me, biting me. All my reasons for hating him became meaningless in his arms. God, I’m such a loser. No matter the fact he saw me as filthy trash, he still held this power over me.
“I missed you already. I need you.” I gave into the irresistible desire to be with him. It allowed me to forget all the reasons I should hate him long enough to service both our needs. I untied my robe, and his hands helped remove it. The soft expensive silk flowed off my shoulders like water pooling on the ground at my feet.
He scooped me up into those powerful arms and carried me to the bed. I gave him exactly what he wanted, my body, my blood, willingly.
“I’m sure you’ve heard this before, but you’re huge.”
“Aye querida, and you handle it well.” He had me so damn wet with anticipation. Just knowing he intended to bite me made me wet. And that big hunk of hard meat just slid right in to the hilt.
We both grunted together as he sunk all that cock in me. Talk about ruining a girl. I’d never be satisfied with all those smaller men. I pulled hard on his ass, taking all of it, wanting it, needing it. He played with me for a while, sliding in and out real slow.
“Just give it to me already.” I gripped his ass, trying my best to get up onto all that hard meat. Then he bit me. I lost my mind for about five minutes straight. The asshole could make me come like no other man.
We made such a mess together. He had me soaking wet, the sheets, all over my thighs. I was so raw and sensitive it hurt, but I couldn’t stop humping his monstrous cock, and he gave it to me hard. It seemed like the sex had gotten better, or maybe I could handle it with less pain.
I loved it, every second of it. But I hated that he could make my body feel so awesome and my soul so desolate.
“What’s wrong?” He stared down at me with those intense, piercing eyes that saw everything yet revealed nothing.
My pretense of affection faltered. I rolled over and tried to ignore him, the man who had just fucked me stupid. He waited. When I continued to ignore him he rolled me back over, his face inches from mine.
“Do you want to talk about it?” It sounded like a question, but his face looked demanding.
“What’s to talk about?” Not too subtle.
“Whatever’s bothering you.”
“What could be bothering me? I have a brand new wardrobe. You just screwed me so hard I can’t walk. I’m gonna live happily ever after for a hundred years, right?”
He nodded his head, still waiting.
“Why don’t you tell me more about how long I’m supposed to live? All those ‘benefits’ you were talking about.”
“I don’t think that’s what you really want to hear. Tell me what’s on your mind.”
“That’s exactly what’s on my mind. I want to hear the tone of your voice and see the look in your eyes as you lie to me some more about how long I’m going to live. Maybe I can learn to detect your lies without reading your mind.”
“Chingao.”
All of a sudden he moved on top of me, pressed up between my legs. It was so damn unfair. I wanted him there, his hands on me. I wanted him to fuck me and bite me all night long, even though I was too sore for it. I wanted him to screw me until I forgot those horrible words.
“What did you hear? What gave you the idea I lied to you?”
“I heard it all, or enough of it. I heard your little talk about me outside my door after you locked me in. How much time do I have?” I did good, so far, no tears.
“I’m so sorry, querida. I wish you’d never heard a word of that. And I wish I’d never said those things. I can explain if you’ll listen.”
I tried so hard not to cry. God I was sick of crying. I looked away from those intense eyes boring into my soul. I didn’t want him to put me under his spell any further.
He grabbed my face with strong hands, forcing me to look at him as he lied to me again.
“I know it sounds disingenuous. But I didn’t mean what I said to Lia. I spoke of you in a very derogatory tone. I was attempting to combat her animosity towards you and our relationship.”
“Oh I feel so much better now.” I couldn’t move my head, but I could still roll my eyes. “So you didn’t mean it when you said I’m nothing but a whore, trash, a bloodslave, and I’m gonna die soon anyway so who gives a shit.” There was no way to say those words without crying from the hurt, anger, frustration, and sense of impending doom.
“Oh how I wish you hadn’t heard that. Querida ...”
“Don’t querida me! You may have me, my body, my blood, but I’m not your querida!”
“Hope, you don’t understand the complexity of Lia. It’s very difficult to control her at times. She has become extremely jealous of the time I spend with you.”
“What does any of that have to do with how long I will live? You’re planning to kill me, aren’t you? It’s true, I’m gonna die.”
“No, querida. You must believe me when I promise I’ll never hurt you intentionally, and I won’t allow Lia to hurt you. It’s … complicated. This life with us can be very dangerous. The position you are in is very high risk.”
“Would you try to make some sense? Give me a straight answer. Am I gonna die soon or not? And why.” I needed to see his eyes, to see if I could detect the lie. I had lost my enchantment with Enrique’s blocked mind. I really needed to know for sure if he told the truth.
He sighed in resignation. “There are many risks associated with your condition. I have never seen a bloodslave live past a few months. The risk is that Lia or I may feed too much, too often. It’s very serious. We could kill you easily, accidentally. You could go into cardiac arrest from low blood pressure, anemia. For that reason you will require plasma and blood transfusions regularly. You also have to drink lots of fluids constantly. There are some supplements that will help you recover
from anemia.”
“Why did you tell me I could live a hundred years, and now admit to something totally different? How is that not a lie?”
“You should be able to live a very long life, if we’re cautious, if we take pains to keep you healthy. There are certain … side effects of regular exposure to our venom. You will see some … changes.”
“Stop playing me. I’m not an idiot. I know when I’m getting a bullshit line. You still haven’t explained how this is possible if you’ve never seen a bloodslave live for more than a few months!”
“That has been my personal experience, but I avoid bloodslaves for that reason. You’re the first one I’ve had in over twenty years. Lia’s not accustomed to the arrangement. She has never dealt with this before, and she isn’t adapting to your presence very well.”
I stared at him, waiting not so patiently for the answer that he skirted and danced around.
“It was my own master who lived far longer than I, several hundred years longer, who told me tales of what is possible. He once had a bloodslave who lived to a hundred and thirteen. That was before any of the modern medical miracles of today. I truly believe it’s possible for you to live a very long, happy life. But it’s not a certainty, no guarantees. I promise I will do everything in my power to keep you happy and safe.”
“Sure, I’ll be happy. All I need is for you to fuck me and bite me. I’m just a trashy whore right? I don’t need much.”
“NO! … I don’t expect you to believe me, but the truth is that I said those words to placate Lia. Our problem is that Lia suspects the truth.”
“What truth is that?”
“That I like you.”
“Of course you like me. I put out on command and I don’t wear much in the way of clothes around the house. Sex and blood every night. What’s not to like?”
I reached down to his semi-hard cock resting against my thigh and tugged on him. He quickly grew solid in my grip. I pulled and guided him in.
“Fuck me. Bite me. It’s what I’m here for. It’s what I want. You don’t have to lie or pretend it’s anything more than that.”
Enrique tensed.
I’d made him angry, which was the goal. I hoped to strip away the pretense to get to the underlying truth. No more lies. Of course, that didn’t stop him from shoving that huge thing back up into my ribcage harder and rougher than ever before. He trapped my hands above my head with one of his strong arms and the other hand held my jaw. He slammed me harder and harder, harder than I’ve ever been fucked before. I was gonna have bruises from this one. He assaulted me with his cock, glaring angry the whole time. A hardcore grudge-fuck from hell.
“Is that what you want? You want to be treated like a whore?”
He kept ramming me hard, fast, deep, painfully deep. I lifted my knees up high to rest on his chest. The perfect angle for punishing penetration. He took it all and then some, hitting home inside me over and over. It hurt, but I could take it. Even if I wouldn’t be able to walk the next day I could take it. I’m a survivor.
He went off on me, growling and pounding, his powerful hands trapping me underneath him to ride his punishing wave of fury. It was the most violent sex I’d ever had, but he didn’t hit me. He didn’t smack me or punch me or call me names. He abused me with his powerful hips and that massive piece of meat between his legs. Somewhere in the pain and pleasure flurry he reached his own peak and actually said my name.
“Esperanza!” And then he bit me really hard.
“Oh shit!”
It hurt, a lot. But then it didn’t hurt anymore. That bite of his wiped away everything else with sheer joy, and love, and wonderful euphoria. The sex hurt too much to get me off, but the bite made up for it. I wished he’d never let go, but he did, after only a few seconds.
As he slowly got up from atop my bruised thighs he cursed.
“Shit! God damn it, Hope! Is this what you wanted?”
I didn’t want to see what I already knew was true. I looked away. I’m kinda squeamish about blood.
“No, it’s not what I want … but I don’t want to live a lie. And I don’t want to die. You can do what you want with me, I’m your whore, your bloodslave. Please don’t kill me, don’t let Lia come near me. She wants to kill me. If she had her way I’d have died last night.”
Crying, again. God I hate crying.
He sighed. “Hope, I made you a promise. I can’t help it if you don’t believe me, and I don’t blame you. I am sorry for those harsh words. I truly did not mean them.”
“She wants me dead, Enrique. She wants to tear my body to little pieces and bathe in my blood. I’ll take a grudge-fuck over death anytime. My body is yours. You own me, just please don’t let her near me.”
“I understand how you feel. We’re not getting anywhere with this conversation. Tempers are too high. You’re not listening. I said I wouldn’t hurt you and neither will Lia. A promise is a promise, and I keep my word.”
He looked down between my legs, shook his head and left the bed.
“We will talk about this again tomorrow.”
He slipped into his robe and headed for the door. As he left me in bed, bruised and sore, he had missed the big picture. His promise came too late. He had already hurt me.
***
CHAPTER 8
I had ample time to think about last night’s revelations when I awoke at four-thirty in the afternoon, three whole hours before Enrique would arrive to visit me in my gilded cage. It’s so maddening that all I’ve ever wanted was to be free of the chains of fate by which I’ve been bound all my life. Here I am, seemingly free of Colombia and all its influence, but I have no freedom at all. I’m bound worse than ever.
It started early in my teens. My path had been predetermined by my mother. She worked in the floral farms. I loathed the idea of working my fingers raw in the floral farms and coming home to smell like her. I still hate the smell of most flowers to this day.
The floral farms of Colombia are massive corporate greenhouse operations employing over a hundred thousand people, mostly women, and more underage than the world would care to know about. The savannah bordering the Andean mountains on the fringe of Bogotá supports one of the world’s largest cut-flower export industries. My mother served twenty years of her life in those places, from the age of thirteen till she died at thirty-three. All my mother’s friends were floral workers, all her cousins, virtually everyone she knew. The crappy little cinderblock house we lived in was part of the sprawling housing tracts paid for by floral farms. It was a forgone conclusion my destiny would be that of a floral laborer, cutting, stacking, and arranging flowers for eight-ten-twelve hours a day till I died.
I begged my father not to make me do it, but he did. At the age of twelve, a job like that seems like the seventh circle of hell. My budding floral career was cut short by an incident with a supervisor.
A sweaty little man in his late twenties, I still remember how bad my supervisor smelled. He had his eye on me, and I caught his thoughts as he stood by admiring me. I smiled nervously. Such a thing is so easily misinterpreted by depraved men. He advanced on me with a head full of raunchy sexual imaginings, things I never knew men could do to little girls. I screeched, dropped everything, and ran like the devil himself chased me.
I escaped the creep easily enough, but I made the mistake of telling another girl at work. Women gossip, the news spread at the speed of a viral YouTube video. The resulting scandal led to immediate termination of my employment. They demoted him to a laborer. My father beat my butt raw. The man was an acquaintance of his.
That was the first time I made accusations against a man who technically hadn’t done anything. I avoided the horrendous fate of a flower laborer by the dumb luck of my peculiarity. I pestered my father endlessly not to send me back to the farms. He agreed it was perhaps unwise.
The second incident, two years later when I caught my priest checking me out, was the last straw. My father decided I had reached womanhood and it wa
s time for a change. In my father’s mind, I could see how he considered Rubin an attractive man, a good prospect for me. They had met at a bar. My father bragged me up and showed off a picture to Rubin.
In Colombia, many a young girl fantasized of being swept away in the arms of a wealthy adventurous Traqueto, like something in one of the novellas – soap operas. These men were actually respected in the community. Meeting a handsome man who had taken an interest in me didn’t seem horrible at the time. I’d only begun to know what it meant to be a girl, little perky breasts popping up out of nowhere, boys staring at me more often. I agreed to meet Rubin based on the idea that he wanted to marry me, would provide for me without putting me to work in the floral farms.
I was totally unprepared for the harsh reality of the transaction that passed between my Father and Rubin. In my father’s perception, his anger had justified everything. He saved me from the floral farms, paid off all his debts, and provided me a reasonably comfortable lifestyle through Rubin. But Rubin lied. He had no intention of dating me, let alone marrying me. I was his latest acquisition, earning my living in his household. One of several girls he owned. My father didn’t care enough about Rubin’s intentions to listen to my protests. I tried to tell him Rubin was lying. He simply wouldn’t hear it.
Life with Rubin was nothing like it should have been. And Faustino proved the same with his constant demands for payment on a never-ending bill. As far back as I can remember, I’ve had men running my life, siphoning off my body, my money, my time and affections, and constantly lying to me. I made up my mind to confront Enrique. I wanted it all, the whole truth and nothing but the truth. No more lies.
I twiddled away three hours like a good little bloodslave, drinking lots of water and Ensure along with vitamin water and my dose of Suboxone to calm me down. It seemed like my antsy cravings for Enrique – his bite – were getting worse. I couldn’t sit still and I’d begun to sweat with nervous tension. It felt like I’d drunk a whole pot of coffee. I was wired, but my head hurt, my stomach felt nauseous and I started sweating as I paced the room back and forth.
Spice Box; Sixteen Steamy Stories Page 207