Sunrise Hotel

I wouldn't do it. They couldn't make me. It wasn't fair. But I had to. I had no choice. I had to do this to save him. Compared to him, my body meant nothing. It was just a lump of flesh and bone. Any mark would fade, any cut would heal. My broken heart would probably remain, but my life would continue, as long as he walked this world. He was the reason I woke up in the morning, the reason I was stood outside The Sunrise Hotel, though why it was called a hotel I had never known. It was more like those crappy motels you see in those cheesy American horror films from the fifties. You know, the ones where the lead actress gets murdered before daylight, usually getting stabbed in the shower or something. Yep, like that. The tacky electric sign was flashing away and half the windows were broken. Still, I was here to do a job and I was going to do it.

My five and a half inch silver stiletto heels clacked against the tarmac drive, the taxi that had dropped me off long gone along with my last ten pounds. I walked up the four large steps to the front door. I was sure that the entrance to this hotel with its slate steps and yellowing columns once looked rather grand, but at this point, the building had withered, grown tired from pollution, years of neglect and vandalism. The chips that covered the pillars made me wonder if it was weathered or simply someone had decided that the kindest thing to do would be to tear them down and rebuild, but stopped when they discovered how expensive the project was going to be. The bushes that decorated the porch appeared to be in full vibrancy under the dim light from the street that barely reached the building. Never mind that the sun was, in fact, still up, I would always say it was the dim light which caused me to miss the fact that the plants were plastic. Looking back though, it made so much more sense. There was no way the plants could be so well sculptured in a place like this. The front door was jammed. The wooden panel was chipped and scraped, the glass panes cracked and smashed, the door handle so loose it jiggled freely in my hand. I grasped it tightly and, rather ungracefully, shoved my weight into the door. It gave in under my weight and I stumbled into the foyer. There was no one at the desk to see me lose my dignity. The wasn't even a computer like there usually is in hotels nowadays to keep track of the guests. All that was there was a small bell and a notebook. I rang the bell and the door behind the counter opened. Another young woman stepped out. Her brown cardigan and skirt were both very shabby, her dirty blonde hair a complete rat's nest. Her face was plastered in make-up and the bright red lipstick that she had pasted over her mouth had smeared across her teeth.

"Good evening, my name is Rose. How can I help you?"

Her smile was so big and fake it could've rivalled a clown's. I had a feeling it was incredibly well practiced.

"I'm looking for Mr Cullen. He is expecting me."

"Ah yes. He comes here a lot. It's room two one three. It's on the second floor turn right at the stairs and go right to the end of the corridor. It's on the right hand side. Don't worry, we've placed the other two guests on the other side of the hotel so that you two will have your privacy. The walls are very thin here."

"Thanks," I said and headed towards the stairs that were to the right of the foyer.

They were incredibly steep. My calves were beginning to ache by the time I reached the second floor, my presence, I'm sure, noticeable to the ghosts and the rats in this place due to the squeaks of the floorboards. The corridor was rather bland; the magnolia walls were peeling and starting to sweat with mould, smelling like my grandmother's feet. The carpet was the typical nineteen seventies retro diamond pattern, red with gold and blue, although the colours had faded to almost pink, brown and grey. Walking up to room two one three, my conscience was running riot.

"You don't have to do this," I thought, "You can find something else. There are other jobs out there. You can make two thousand dollars another way."

There wasn't another way. I had to do this. For him. I needed to be strong and get the money to get him back. Stood before the door, I took a deep breath and knocked. The door squeaked as it was drawn open. There stood a man I assumed to be Mr Cullen. He was tall, I'd have said around six foot four. His shoulders were broad, mirroring the masculinity that emanated from the rest of his muscular body. Only his face betrayed his age, along with his greying hair. I guessed he was around the age of fifty, but it was difficult to tell as his eyes were aged beyond his physique.

"Emma, I presume. Come in."

He stepped aside to let me pass.

"Thank you Sir."

"Would you like a drink before we begin, Emma? Perhaps a glass of wine?"

"Yes, thank you Sir." I needed anything I could get to calm my nerves.

"I see you have paid attention to the shopping list, Emma. You have done well." He said, looking up and down my body, inspecting his purchase as he handed me a glass of white wine.

"Thank you Sir."

He removed the blue shawl I was wearing over my shoulders and revealed my white dress which was strapless and wrapped tightly around my waist. The skirt fell to the middle of my calves. Mr Cullen requested that I wear this to make me look like the virgin I was. He liked his women to be wholly innocent so he could sully them. He was a disgusting creep, but he was also the only way I could save him, so I gave him what he wanted. I was twenty-three years old and had never been touched by another man. We were waiting until we were married. That idea's gone out the window because of my desperation. Also, to get married, the groom has to be alive. Mr Cullen was willing to pay the full two grand if I did exactly as he wanted for one night. Which is why I was standing barefoot, in the middle of the room, with him circling me, inspecting me, prodding and pulling at my dress. The dress that I was going to declare my eternal love in, dance my first dance as a married woman in, and give my most valuable gift to the man I love in. None of that was going to happen in this dress now. I would give my most valuable gift to a man I didn't know, in exchange for the life of my fiancé whom will never want to see me again. In the end, my wedding dress didn't matter.

Eventually, the first part of his inspection was done and he ripped my dress at the seams, allowing it to fall to the floor, leaving me completely bare. I immediately brought my hands up to cover myself as a reflex, but remembered my instructions and dropped them to my sides. He studied me once again, squeezing my buttocks and breasts before inspecting my core.

"Very nice," he said, only speaking to my breasts, never once looking into my eyes.

"Thank you Sir," I refocused my gaze onto the floor, where it should have been the entire time.

He took my hand in his and led me to the bed. I took the opportunity at this point to look around the room. It was quite large, the same magnolia colour from the corridor adorned the walls. The bed was in the middle of the room. It was a large four-poster bed with a wonderfully crafted if not neglected headboard. There was one painting either side of the bed of kittens, each playing with various objects. He pushed me forward so I was bent over, my elbows resting on the mattress, my head bowed. He put his hands on the insides of my thighs, forcing me to spread the. He left me in that position for a moment and stepped back. I felt the blood rush to my cheeks as the embarrassment of being completely exposed to a man who I knew nothing about overcame my body. The shame of what I was doing crippled me. I was nothing but a two-bit whore. After a few minutes, I wasn't entirely sure how long, he came back over to me and caressed my backside. The change from the roughness of before to the gentility he was currently exuding caught me off-guard, and suddenly, the room that was horrendously dark and dingy, became filled with an inescapable erotic charge. My entire body shuddered with arousal as moisture appeared between my legs. His fingers moved gradually closer and closer to my now soaking core. He caressed the lips of my vagina with one finger before gently inserting it. I felt so full, that one intrusion causing me to have doubts as to whether a full-sized penis would fit, as I highly doubted from his stature that his manhood would be lacking in anyway.

"Tight. Perfect."

I didn't respond to this comment as I didn't know if I was meant to. I quickly learnt I was wrong though when his strong hand met my behind with a resounding THWACK!

"Thank me, Emma. Or have you lost your tongue?"

"No Sir, sorry Sir. Thank you Sir." I kept my head down as I said this to make sure I didn't transgress again. I focused on the green floral pattern on the bedspread.

He slowly moved his finger in and out of my heated core, occasionally adding a second and stretching me with it.

Eventually he pulled out of me entirely and walked round to the other side of the bed. He pulled my chin up so I was looking at him, my hands clasped together. I was sure it looked as if I were begging him. Begging him for mercy, for freedom, for the satisfaction of sweet release. He didn't say anything, just lifted his right hand. Two of his fingers were glistening in the candlelight. The shame and guilt I felt at this point knew no bounds. I was enjoying it. I shouldn't have. The man in front of me was sick and twisted, just like the men who had taken him. He was taking away the one thing I had that I held any value to. My innocence. It was going to belong to him. He was going to take it. But that wasn't fair, it wasn't right. I didn't want him to have it. But then, I couldn't understand, why was I aroused? It didn't make any sense. I hated that man so much for what he was about to do to me, yet the idea of him stopping and not going through with it was almost as abhorrent. I began to feel an ache in my lower abdomen as he continued to stare at me. He moved back around so he was behind me again and pulled me up so I was on my feet again, my naked back pressed against his clothed chest. He brushed my long brown hair over one shoulder and kissed down my exposed neck, his hands pulling my hips towards him so I could feel his erection pressed against my backside.

"Lay on the bed."

I crawled onto the bed and lay down in the middle and unsuccessfully tried to look away as he began to unbutton his shirt, revealing his hairless chest. He had a small tattoo of a Cullen on the top of his left arm. I'd seen that tattoo before, on them. Each of the three men who had ruined my life had that same tattoo in the same place. He was one of them.

Mr Cullen took his trousers off, exposing himself to me fully. I had been right about his manhood, he was very large. My fears came back as I was absolutely certain that he'd split me in half. I had no choice but to lay still as he joined me on the bed. He was clearly ignoring the tears that were streaming down my cheeks, as he moved my legs into a comfortable position for him. He lay down between them and thrusted. He pierced me. The pain overtook any emotion I felt. I was being ripped open by a human jackhammer. Over and over he pounded into me, making me scream out in agony. He leant forward and grabbed the skin of my neck between his teeth and sucked whilst tugging at my nipples. My body began to shake at the combination of excruciating pain and unbelievable pleasure. My body was on fire, every nerve ending was tingling as the pain in my womanhood began to subside, making way for the waves of ecstasy that ran course through my body. Then, mercifully or mercilessly, I never did decide which, he stopped and pulled out of me. My vagina was throbbing out of control with the need to be sated. Then he reminded me why I was there.

"Clean me."

I looked at his length in disgust as our arousals mixed and combined with the last remnants of my virginity, my value, my self-respect. I crawled to where he was standing and knelt before him, tentatively licking him before taking his entire length into my mouth. The salty taste of arousal combined with the rusty taste of blood almost made me gag. He grew tired of my efforts and grasped my hair, forcing my pace to increase. His penis was now hitting the back of my throat with every thrust, choking me. I felt light headed and dizzy from the lack of oxygen until he finally stopped and allowed me to catch my breath. He still had his hand wrapped in my hair and started to beat my face with his member, smearing the juices across my face. He started to stroke himself, getting faster and faster. I didn't realise what he was doing until it was too late. His seed spattered all over my face, coating my nose, cheeks and mouth. Spurt after spurt he came over my face, sometimes hitting me in the eye. The shame that I felt reached an all-time high, I'd never felt more disgusting or worthless in my life.

"Get out whore." Mr Cullen spat on me and threw the rags that were once my best dress at me.

"Don't you dare wipe that cum of your face bitch; wear it as a badge of honour so that as you walk home, everyone will know that you are a worthless slut. Rose has what you want. It's in an envelope. She will only give it to you if you ask her on your hands and knees." I nodded.

"Thank you Sir."

The door slammed behind me. I quickly tried to cover myself with the scrap of material that he had given me. I'd only just managed. I walked back down the stairs to the foyer and rang the bell again. When Rose came out she had a shocked look on her face, but then I must have looked disgusting. My hair was matted, my face stained with tears and ejaculate, my breasts and backside barely covered by one scrap of white lace and I was barefoot. I bowed my head and dropped to my knees. The scrap of material fell, revealing my bruised and shameful body to her.

"Please can I have my reward?" I asked in a mousy voice I didn't recognise as my own.

She silently handed me the envelope and got up, trying to recover any dignity by covering myself up. I thanked her and walked outside, hiding behind one of the pillars as I opened the envelope. There was no money inside, nor was there a cheque for the two grand I had been promised. There was just a picture of a man I barely recognised, my fiancé. He was lying lifelessly on the bed where I had just performed the most heinous act I could ever imagine. I turned the photograph over, where there was a small inscription, just two words. Two words which changed my life forever.

TOO LATE.