His hand slid around my legs. Cupping my mound through my panties, he squeezed. My fingers twitched. I hadn't had to fight the urge to slap him, bite him, gouge his fucking eyes out for a long time.
But I did just then, praying he'd be done soon. I suppressed a shudder, holding in everything until he finally pulled his hand away.
“Go shower now, girl. These guys aren't the real patient type. I'll be watching today, keeping you safe, so no worries. You never know what these biker assholes can do.”
Keeping me safe? It was so sick I wanted to laugh.
Bikers? Ugh. I remembered the last time I had to service them, the hard, vicious men from the Deadhands MC.
Their VP, Big Vic, was the only man who managed to scare me besides Ricky. The bastard grinned the entire time as he slammed my face into his crotch, hard enough to leave me sore for a couple days. Once, he leaned down and cursed in my ear between his ragged breaths, told me how much he'd like to shoot Ricky in the head and take me away forever.
I feared the day he'd actually come back and do it. The pimp was bad, but there were bigger bastards than him in this world, and that included everyone with a Deadhands' patch on their leather cut.
Ricky hit me with his dead-eyed what-the-fuck-are-you-waiting-for? stare.
I gave him another fake little smile, a nod, and then retreated into the bathroom. I heard my cot creek outside as he settled into it, humming lullabies to himself while he flipped his gun in his hands.
Those tunes made me think he had a soul once. The first few times I'd heard them, I thought maybe I could convince him to let me go once he was done with me. Maybe this was just business to him, money, and he didn't really want to hurt me unless he needed to.
Of course, the real Ricky wasn't like that at all. It was the ultimate wishful thinking. I had too many bruises and scars to prove it, too many nightmares that broke the only peace I got from hard labor in this miserable trucker whorehouse.
How many months has it been? I wondered, leaning into the shower to clean myself, loving the way the hissing shower head temporarily drowned out the horror of my life.
I couldn't figure out how much time had passed since my first day here, and I doubted I ever would. It had to be months, maybe years.
My reflection told the full story. The beautiful, confident, playful girl who used to stare back at me in the mirror turned into a dead-eyed whore with sunken cheeks, one I hated to even acknowledge.
Megan the socialite, the flirt, the dreamer, was dead. Long live the whore.
“Hey, Fresh! Hurry your sweet ass up! Don't bother with the fucking fishnets.” He yelled it so loud I could practically feel the tremor in the tile underneath my feet.
Wincing, I dried myself quickly, and then slipped into a fresh change of clothes he'd laid out the day before. Calling it an outfit would be generous.
The purple lace bra was too damned tight. The Johns who managed to break them open always did me a favor, lending some relief to my poor boobs. Not that it mattered.
He had a near endless supply of the same cheap, suffocating lingerie for all the girls, including me.
“Yo, lady, hurry the fuck up!” This time, he slapped the wall. “I wanna get this show on the road. We don't got no time to dilly-dally, bitch, you hear me?”
“One more minute, Ricky. Almost ready. I promise.”
The nervous bite in his voice made me smile. It never took much to upset him, really, and nothing did more than dealing with the Deadhands MC.
I couldn't completely blame the bastard for being worried. Hell, I wondered if this would be the day they decided to burn this place down and take the girls for themselves, including me. My heart pumped terror every time I remembered Big Vic's big, ugly grin, the nose ring in the middle of his fat face twitching every time he roared some new humiliation.
Bitch! Cunt! Whore!
Ricky called me all the same names as the biker, but he didn't have a tenth of the wicked outlaw's hateful energy when he said them.
Shimmying my panties up one more time, I slid into my heels, and stepped outside. Ricky leaned on the frame leading into the hall, making hushed words with some man I couldn't see.
“Look, buddy, you can have her tongue any way you want. Grab her hair and fuck her 'til she gags. If you haven't heard our Fresh is the best little cocksucker this side of the mountains, then you've been living under a rock. But I need to be there for security.”
“Security.” A low, dark voice repeated the word, dripping sarcasm. “What the fuck do I look like, pimp? Some chump who's going to stand there getting sucked off while you watch?”