Street Rats Ch. 02

"But not like this! Please!"

"You would rather we settle things like Shogo wanted?"

Sniveling, she gave in. She did what they wanted—what he wanted.

The last man, when he took his turn, made her come. He fucked her standing up from behind while she supported herself with both hands against one of factory's huge machines. She leaned her forehead on the corroded metal too, between her palms. The surface was peeling and scaly. The man clung to her hips and held her lifted on her toes. He took his time when he fucked her, making it last quite a while. She whimpered and wept the whole time—the street rats didn't mind. The man probably enjoyed it better that way than if she'd been silent or even participating more enthusiastically. And despite her misery, his cock reached where she was most sensitive and most vulnerable, and so his thrusts forced pleasurable responses inside of her, until she eventually and perhaps inevitably reached climax. At first she didn't want to let him bring her off, and then she changed her mind. It was the first climax she'd got since her escape attempt. Maybe if it wasn't for her magic unicorn tattoo, she wouldn't have proved so susceptible in spite of her unhappiness, and she wouldn't have given in to the need—she wouldn't have felt it as strong. Or maybe all it ever did was provide her an excuse. Before her escape attempt, the street rats had been giving her dozens each day for several days running. It's the kind of thing that isn't easy to lose or to forget, once it starts happening. The climax wasn't as good as the ones Stathan and the others used to give her, but it wasn't bad either and it was better than nothing. "Huuugghhaarrhh!" It soothed her shameful craving for a short time.

"I am a slut," she had said to herself (but silently), "I'm not only a whore, I'm a slut. A whore gives her body for money out of desperation or laziness—a slut gives her body because she can't control her craving and she can't concentrate on anything else."

She tried to make herself accept it. She tried to believe she didn't have to be ashamed of what she liked, what she needed. Especially since she wasn't to blame for what had happened to her. Evil men had forced her into this situation—her body and her spirit had adapted to accommodate the circumstances so she could survive, making the best of things, making her captivity as easy on herself as possible. When they took her prisoner, the street rats would have fucked the hell out of her whether she got orgasms along the way or not—so surely it was better to have had the orgasms. All this sounded like a fairly strong argument, but all the same she couldn't quite convince herself. She couldn't purge herself of guilt and shame.

"She's a fine piece of tail, Stathan," said the man when he was done with her, "But she weren't never no witch. It's a good story, and I don't know where you really found her, but I'll never believe she was a Favored. I'll never believe you could make a pet of a proper witch."

Stathan had shrugged and laughed like it didn't matter either way. Maybe it didn't.

The very next day Stathan took her to the bathhouse and sold her to the owner. "Why are you doing this? I thought you were done punishing me. Why are you leaving me here?"

"Hush. This is best for all of us. I'm not abandoning you. Every member of our group contributes. This is where you'll do us all the most good."

The woman that ran the bathhouse pretended not to recognize Chade. The first couple days, Chade kept pressing her on the matter, trying to win her over. "Do you still have my belongings stashed somewhere? The papers I was carrying? I don't blame you for what happened to me—the Pillars were responsible, and the street rats, not you. I was robbed and I was ... I was abused. Will you not take pity on me? You mustn't keep me here if you know who and what I really am, or what I was, at least. My sisterhood will pay you a handsome reward if you'll help get me safe out of this city. Let me write a letter—they'll pay you in advance. They'll send someone to help me. You won't have to do much—just send the letter for me, nothing more. I swear on my honor, my sisterhood will put no blame on you or your establishment for any of my tribulations. Please help me restore my position!"

The woman never responded directly to any of these entreaties. She pretended for the most part not to hear them or comprehend them. But finally Chade exhausted her patience and a couple of burly men were summoned. They guarded the place and guarded the girls. They also, when instructed, applied discipline.

They grabbed Chade's arms and dragged into a cellar. In the middle of the room was a set of wooden stocks exactly like the ones the Pillar witches had erected in the public squares. Chade's clothes were torn away—the flimsy tunic she had just been issued earlier that morning—and the men clamped her neck and both her wrists into the stocks and used paddles on her bottom.

"No! No! Don't do this! You don't have to do this! Don't you dare! When my sisterhood finds out about this, you'll wish you'd never been born! You can't do this to me! Don't! Just don't! Please don't. Please!"

There was no reprieve, of course. It wasn't as bad as the Pillars would have done to her. It happened in private, rather than outdoors before a jeering crowd. And the Pillars would have used whips or rods to punish her instead of paddles, which the men did not apply as severely as they might have done. The punishment she received was on the whole relatively light and quick. After they had finished, the redness of her buttocks soon faded. The men hadn't left any bruises on her. They knew exactly how hard to hit without hitting hard enough to leave lasting marks.

But Chade had never experienced anything like it, nothing even close. She knew as it was being done to her that it could have been much more dreadful; that didn't make it the slightest bit easier to endure. She thought the agony would kill her when they started to paddle her bare bottom; by the end she was hoping that it would.

"I'm sorry! I'm SORREEE! Please no more! I'll be good! I promise to be good! Please don't beat me anymore! Please stop it! It hurts so much! It hurts! I'm sorry!"

Chade kept quiet after that. When she was given instructions, whatever they were, she obeyed them. Very soon she became the kind of attendant they wanted her to be, a perfect specimen. A popular favorite of the clients.

4.

Her arms were getting sore. She wasn't cranking him with much intensity, but she'd been doing it at a steady and determined pace for a considerable time, using both her hands at once with a tight grip as she stood to one side of him on the table. The standard finishing technique—the "polish", they called it. Didn't normally take clients more than a minute or two before they went off. Stathan, however, didn't seem close to completion. From the expression on his face, he was enjoying himself well enough, but was nowhere near orgasm. He wasn't lying flat, nor was he sitting all the way upright. He was propped up halfway on his elbows, watching her hands do their business. He had that sly smile she'd grown so familiar with. She hated how fond of that look she'd become.

Her heart was thundering and she was short of breath. Ridiculous for this kind of activity to become so stressful. She didn't want to keep doing the polish to him. It had gone on too long and she was worn out and furthermore, she wanted to do other things instead. There were better ways to finish. Better finishes.

"Are you close to coming, sir?" she asked him.

"I like when you call me 'sir' like that, as if I were a proper gentleman. But don't hurry me along, even if it's what you do with your regular clients."

"I didn't intend to try hurrying you. I only thought if you weren't finding this treatment entirely satisfactory, perhaps you might consider an alternative activity."

"You trying to hustle more money out of me? They've trained you well in here, it seems. I guess that's good."

"I assure you, the thought hadn't crossed my mind, sir. But I'm afraid my arms are tiring. I grow worried that I might not be able to continue this task with the same level of ... of consistency. Might you grant me a brief respite, to recover my faculties? Your endurance has proved too much for me, sir. Most men cannot withstand this level of sustained stimulation for nearly as long."

He chortled. "That's flattering."

"It's perfectly true, sir. I must apologize that my hands alone are not capable of pleasuring your cock enough to earn the discharge of its seed. Men with the virility you are demonstrating require more significant engagement in order to achieve complete satisfaction. Since my hands have failed, perhaps you would prefer the use of another part of my body that is more suited for the task?"

"Your mouth?"

"If you like, sir. If that is your preference. But permit me to mention, I had another part of me in mind which I think you would enjoy even more."

He chortled again, louder that time. "Feeling randy, my girl? Is it really my satisfaction you're pursuing, or yours? Tell the truth now. I know how you get, once you're stirred up inside. I know it embarrasses you, but there's no sense trying to hide it from me. Do you want a fucking? It's been a while for us, hasn't it?"

"I am entirely at your disposal, sir, whatever you desire."

"But what do you desire, Chade? My desire is to know yours. Well, that's one of my desires. Not the sole one but the principal, at this moment."

"I ... I would like to ... to couple with you, sir, if you would like to couple with me."

"To couple?" She'd known he wouldn't like that word, and she'd known he wouldn't accept it in place of the other. "Is it really coupling you want from a street rat like me, or is it something else?"

"I want ... I want to be fucked. I want you to fuck me, sir."

"Well, shit. I hear you say the words, but I don't know if I can believe you. You're telling me what you know I want to hear. That's your job, after all. I'll never be able to believe you really mean it, not anymore."

"I do mean it, sir. I promise you, I mean it."

"Of course, of course. Shit. This is my own fault. I put you here. Now look what they've turned you into. A perfect serving girl. Doesn't matter who comes in here, you'll do whatever you have to, whatever it takes. But despising us all the entire time, of course, in your heart, deep down. Carefully hidden where no one can see."

"Nothing has changed, Stathan, between you and me. I always hated you. I never pretended otherwise. From the very beginning, I despised you."

"Oh yeah?"

"I'm still your girl, you know. I promised you I would. I wanna kill you but I can't. I belong to you." Chade pulled her tunic off over her head and tossed it aside. It was a great relief, almost empowering. But that was foolish. She wasn't empowering herself, she was demeaning herself, exposing her body, stripping nude for the man that had ruined her, further enticing his lust. Further enflaming her own. Then she delved with her hand between the lips of her sex, scooping moisture from the passage as it clenched in reflex and made her legs jolt. She held her drenched fingers aloft, webbed with shining goo, flicking them at Stathan's face. "See? See this? The mouth it came from can't lie like the other one. You're a vile shit and I hate your guts, but I belong to you. That's why I wanna kill you and that's why I can't! Do you believe me now, Stathan? If you don't, you're an idiot. Because all those things, ALL those things, will never change."

Stathan swung himself off the table on the opposite side of it from her, then slapped his palm on the top of it as soon as he'd vacated the space. "Get your pretty butt up here, bitch. Hands and knees, like you like best. Ass towards me."

"Yes sir," she said, and followed his instructions. She was clumsy as she clambered into the position he wanted, because she moved too quickly and because he entire body was shivering all over and her heart was thundering and she couldn't catch her breath. At first she kept her head down, hiding her face, her forehead pressed against her knuckles on the tabletop in front of her so she could look back at Stathan between her wide-stretched knees. But then reached over top of her and grabbed a fistful of her hair at the back of her head. He dragged her head back 'til she was facing forward and didn't let go. The strain on her hair was very painful and very satisfying. He held her fixed in place. He had absolute control of her body.

"You got a beautiful little ass, girl," Stathan said, "Do you know that?" He slapped it hard, and made her grunt. He slapped it again, and made her whine and whimper. "You got a beautiful little snatch, too. It's dripping—you're so stirred up I'm watching it drip on the table."

"Fuck me," she said, "I want it. I want your cock. I'm your girl. I'm your slut and I want your cock. Fuck me hard."

"Every little part of you is beautiful, Chade. Your back, your shoulders, when you flex and when you quiver. Hell, your little ears—even your little ears fire me up, especially when you blush and they turn red along the tops. And then as if all those parts weren't enough, back here we have your little feet sticking out at me, your little toes wriggling. Adorable."

"Why are you holding back? If my body excites you so much, why aren't you fucking me already? Don't make me wait for it anymore. Stick your cock in me! Do it! Just do it, damn you!"

"Ask me nicer, bitch. If you want to come, ask me nicer. Do you wanna come or not?"

"I wanna come, yes. I wanna come. Please! Please do it! Please fuck me! Please!"

Part of her—a small part, alas—hoped that when he fitted himself into her, it wouldn't feel as good as it used to. That would mean he had lost his power over her. Most of it, at least. She had fucked, or more accurately been fucked by, close to two dozen different clients during her time of service in the bathhouse. Chade had taken no pleasure in any of that sex. Well, very little pleasure. Certainly there had been no orgasms. She hadn't got to come for weeks and weeks. Even when she tried to masturbate, it was ineffectual. It wasn't what she wanted. It hadn't felt good enough—intense enough, real enough—to bring her satisfaction. Also since all the bathhouse girls slept in a single room, it was hard to do that sort of thing any good without the others noticing. You had to be very furtive and keep quiet or someone would report it to the boss and she'd be punished again. It was a rule of hers that they were all supposed to save their "sexual energies" for their work. No coming except with the clients. For Chade, so far, that had meant no coming at all.

She was very ready for that to change. Desperately eager. At the exact same, in complete contradiction, part of her was hoping Stathan wouldn't be able to do it. That somehow he would have lost the ability to fuck her like he used to do. Then she wouldn't belong to him anymore. Not totally, not in the fundamental physical way established before.

It wasn't an even division in her mind. Not even close. The part of it yearning for his failure was very tiny compared to the rest of her, wanting what it wanted instead. Wanting it to be exactly like it had been.

The question was answered the second he pushed himself inside of her, or rather, when he started to. Before he finished filling her, before the completion of his first thrust, she knew how it was going to be.

Guards came running to the doorway, summoned by her screams. But at the entranceway, they held back. Watching the pair on the table, it was immediately clear that no further intervention was necessary. Chade had screamed like she was being killed—she continued to scream like that, over and over. But the other men could see that she wasn't really being killed, or if she was, the guards could tell from the look on her face that she didn't want it to stop, she didn't want to be rescued. The guards backed off through the curtains.

Stathan was so intent on his work he never noticed their presence. Nor did Chade. She was facing the doorway when the guards looked in, and her eyes were wide open when they did—her eyes were bugging out of her head. Didn't make the slightest difference. She never saw them. Stathan was fucking her so hard again, so good, so hard and good, she wasn't seeing anything but flashes of light. Exploding stars.