Damascus

Vincenzo wheeled his chair back away from me and stood up. He walked towards the door, out of my line of vision. From behind me I heard him command, "Spread your legs." Awkwardly I walked my feet out so that they were slightly wider than my waist.

For a moment there was silence. I felt the cold of the desk penetrate my whole body, starting with my cheek and going all the way down.

Suddenly Vincenzo's hand was between my legs. Involuntarily I scooted my legs together, Vincenzo's hand squished between my thighs.

Vincenzo's voice was both fire and ice. "This is the last time you will disobey me without being severely punished," he said. "Open your legs immediately and keep them open." I struggled to obey, opening my legs wider than they had been before. I was crying and could feel snot dripping from my nose.

Vincenzo turned the palm of his hand towards my crotch, so that the heel of his hand was at the top of my crack and his fingers curled around the lips of my vagina, his middle finger resting on my clitoris. I burned with shame and struggled not to move. Then, with his index and middle finger he began to play with the inside lips surrounding my clitoris, one finger on each side. Without meaning to I straightened my legs, but did not dislodge his fingers.

Slowly Vincenzo lifted his hand and drew a line with his index finger from my clitoris down through my slit to my vagina. He pushed his finger into my hole. I felt dry down there, and stretched. I was crying in earnest now, tears and snot and drool forming their separate puddles on the desk. Vincenzo paid no heed, prodding and poking me. I was sure that his finger was all the way in, and I could feel him testing the walls of my vagina.

"Do you wear tampons?" he asked.

"Yes, sir," I said, my voice gravelly with tears.

"What size?" Vincenzo demanded.

"Medium," I whispered. "Sir."

Vincenzo continued to prod. "No harm done, I suppose," he said. He pulled his finger out slowly and its dryness scraped against me painfully.

Vincenzo rested the tip of his middle finger against my asshole. Slowly he started to push, a hangnail catching me painfully. I moaned, and bit my cheeks to stop myself from moaning again, but the sound came out my nose instead. This was much worse than before. My asshole grabbed his finger and puckered around it, clenching it in place. Vincenzo rotated his finger. I could stand it no longer. "Please," I begged. "Stop." My voice was a low, ragged whisper. In reply Vincenzo pushed his finger in much further. Burning pain seared me. I whimpered but did not beg again. He pulled his finger out, prodding the walls of my asshole as he did so.

I think it had been over for some minutes before I even realized it. I could only hear my breath in great, raspy gasps as I fought hysteria, frantically searching my mind for some memory of normalcy, of a life that was not what mine had suddenly become. At first I could think of nothing but my terror and shame. Then, in the corner of my memory, I found a vision of a fallen tree on the outskirts of some wooded lots near my house. When I was a little girl I used to walk that log from one end to the other, memorizing the spot where my weight would make it shift. No one ever knew that I went there, or that for a time I considered that log to be my best friend. Remembering it let me catch my breath, feel the coldness of the metal desk against my face and body, my knees beginning to ache from their unaccustomed position.

At that moment Vincenzo told me to stand up. I obeyed so hastily that I felt dizzy and had to put my head down again for a moment. Again, that twitching of one corner of Vincenzo's lips, indicating his amusement.

Vincenzo picked up his gold cross pen and set it to the contract. But before he signed he hesitated for a moment, looking at me with the exact doubt that I had so hoped to see in my father's eyes. Then, in a rush, he signed his name. "Very well," he said to the room in general. Then, to my father, "You'll get a copy in the mail. Your daughter will have access to her copy whenever she requests it. I, of course, will keep the original."

My father jumped to his feet and stuck out his hand to Vincenzo. Vincenzo merely looked at it disdainfully, and I noticed it was trembling. "A signed contract is better than a handshake between us, Mr. Lambert," Vincenzo said, and turned to me.

"On your hands and knees," he ordered. I fell to the floor immediately, stray dirt biting into my knees and palms.

Vincenzo opened the door to the office. "Crawl," he commanded me, and I crawled through the door, my wrists and knees immediately beginning to ache.

To my father Vincenzo said, "You will watch your daughter crawl to the end of the corridor. You will not avert your eyes. When we reach the door, you will turn and go."

I heard my father sob, "Let me say goodbye to her," but Vincenzo had already ordered me to crawl forward, toward Damascus.