Chapter Six
The Silver Spur Motel was one of those seedy places where men with beer guts went to bang other men’s wives, promising them the world and giving them nothing but an hour or less of sweaty sex. A fight was going on in the room next door, and a couple more screaming matches came from the rooms down the hall.
Sitting in a straight-backed chair, Misty looked down at the parking lot where weeds grew through the cracks on the asphalt. Bobby stood there, arms crossed, talking to a guy with a moustache and huge biceps. From the look of his body, she figured the dude must be on steroids.
She was nervous. Bobby was up to something. Since they’d arrived in Colorado, he’d been stepping outside the motel room to take his calls, not wanting her to hear his conversations. The sourness in her stomach had been on overdrive, and she’d been living on antacids for the past week.
She’d googled the distance between where she was and where Paco lived—it was about seventy miles. Only seventy miles separated her from seeing him again. I should call him. Maybe he’ll come see me. Bobby’s loud voice made her heart skip a beat. She stared at him as he uncrossed his arms and waved them around while the big guy glared at him. Paco probably doesn’t even think about me. Why would he? Bobby whirled around and ran up the metal stairs. Please don’t let him take out his anger on me. She folded her legs underneath her butt and wrapped her arms around her as if trying to make herself smaller.
The door burst open. Bobby’s face was mottled in anger as he paced back and forth, his eyes darting everywhere but on her. She knew better than to speak to him when he was like that, so she sat still, wishing she could disappear.
Abruptly he stopped. “We gotta get going. You’ve got a private party tonight. The guy giving the party wants you to be especially good to his friends.”
Fear twisted her insides. “What does that mean?”
Glaring at her, he said, “It means you do what the fuck they want and act like you enjoy it. Anything goes tonight.”
“Are Crystal and Amber Jade gonna be there too?” Placing her fingers against her lips, she tried to stop them from trembling.
“You’re flying solo tonight. That’s the way he wants it, and the customer always gets what he wants.”
“Where’s the party?”
“His house. From the way I heard it, he lives in a mansion. You’re moving up, slut.” He laughed as he went over to the dresser and opened the top drawer, taking out a baggie filled with white powder. As he set up his snorting station, she looked back at the parking lot. What does he mean ‘anything goes’? Images of handcuffs and whips swirled in her head, and she gripped the windowsill to steady herself.
“You better go in the shower and get ready. I gotta drop you off in a couple of hours. You’ll want to look your prettiest.” He bent his head down and snorted the white powder with a rolled-up dollar bill.
Numb, she walked to the bathroom. For the past eight years she’d been someone’s property. Bobby was her second owner. Her body belonged to him, not to her. He rented her out so men could do anything they wanted to her. For the allotted time, they took temporary custody of her body.
After turning on the water, she stepped into the tub and unpeeled the bar soap, wishing Bobby had bought her some shower gel when they’d gone to the store the other day. He told her it was too expensive, but she knew he was just being mean. Sometimes he acted like he was her boyfriend and he loved her, but other times he was cruel and demeaning and made her feel insecure.
She let the hot water roll off her back, pretending she was getting ready for a date like a normal woman. Sometimes, if she concentrated real hard on what she wished her life was, she could forget what she was doing with different men, and then it wasn’t so bad.
Squeezing out some shampoo, she closed her eyes as she brought her hands to her hair.
* * *
Lying on the cold floor, bruised, naked, and bound, Misty tried to moisten her cracked lips but her mouth was dry. The ball gag she’d had on for what seemed like hours had split the sides of her mouth, leaving them sore. Her arms burned and throbbed from being suspended by a rope from the ceiling. She stiffened when she heard hinges creak, a metal door click shut, and then heavy footfalls on the stairs leading to the dungeon. The footsteps stopped, and the scent of mahogany, lavender, and musk wafted in the room, and she knew he was there, watching her.
She’d learned the owner of the house was the mustached and muscular man Bobby had been talking with in the parking lot earlier that day. She’d heard a few of the men call him Victor, but he’d told her to call him Sir. He’d been brutal, and she hoped he wasn’t coming in for another round. It seemed like the rest of the men had all left; it’d just been him and her for the past two hours.
“You did good, fucktoy.” His words felt like slime on her skin. She lay there silently, knowing better than to answer without permission to speak. Heels clacking on the concrete floor, the odor of his cologne grew stronger as he came closer. The sensitive skin on her lower back itched when his wool pants rubbed against it. Leaning over, he trapped her nipples between his fingers and rolled them back and forth then pinched and pulled them roughly. Her body tried to resist the flurry of pain, and she twisted and squirmed in her bondage, trying to keep from crying out. Muffled squeaks erupted from her clenched teeth, and he laughed while he palmed her breasts with his smooth hands. Feeling his weight as he pressed against her, she scooted away but his arm yanked her back. “I didn’t give you permission to move, slut,” he snarled, freezing her in place. Silence weighed down on her and her nerve endings snapped in feared anticipation of what he was going to do. Bending down, he licked her behind her ear. “Now that’s a good fucktoy,” he whispered. Then he ran his fingers up her arms, her skin pebbling from his touch. “You like that? You may answer, slut.”
“Yes, Sir.” The truth was she hated him touching her, but sometimes her body would react even when she didn’t want it to.
He untied her and turned her so she was on her back. The chilling coldness in his eyes made her shiver. “Get dressed and get out of here, slut.” He stood up and walked away.
She slowly got up and went over to a metal cabinet to get her clothes. Wincing when her bra straps touched the cuts on her shoulders, she flung off her bra and slipped her dress on. Deciding to forgo the stiletto heels, she walked barefoot up the stairs. The house was quiet, and Victor was nowhere around.
She opened the large wooden front door and stepped out into the cold air, seeing the RV parked on the street. The tip of Bobby’s cigarette glowed in the dark. Misty made her way down the long driveway, feeling someone staring at her. Pausing, she looked over her shoulder and saw a pretty woman in her thirties watching her from a window on the second floor. For a single moment, their eyes locked, and then Victor came into view. He tugged the woman to him, and she broke eye contact with Misty and hooked her arms around his neck. The couple kissed deeply as Misty turned away and hurried down the walkway.
She slid into the passenger seat and stared ahead. From the corner of her eye, she saw Bobby looking at her, but she didn’t move a muscle or say a word. The RV started up and they rode in silence back to the motel. She scrambled up the stairs, anxious to get inside and forget about the evening.
“What’s your hurry?” Bobby asked, ambling toward the door.
“I have to go to the bathroom,” she lied. He smirked and let her in.
She rushed inside and locked the door behind her. For a while, the room would be her refuge. Taking off her clothes she stared at the reflection of her body in the mirror: bruises, welts from the cane, thin lines from the flogger, and red marks from the paddle covered her skin. Biting her lower lip, she turned away and went to the shower, turning the water on. The hot spray stung and made her eyes water, but she didn’t flinch. She took it like a good girl.
After soaping up the washcloth, she scrubbed her skin over and over, trying to rid herself of his scent.