Kira Tales Ch. 04: Kira's Pleasure

I tried to side-step the harmful stuff but Body eventually led me astray. There were just too many side tracks on a path that was going nowhere anyway -- one that bounced between so many different needs and desires and people with different motives. Body led me to what my pastor would call debauchery, depravity. ...Self-indulgence, wickedness, immorality, corruption, degeneracy... He was full of adjectives and examples.

Treacherous dead ends, in other words.

I knew I was in big trouble one morning after the drugs wore off.

I had no idea where I was. No idea where my clothes were or why I was alone. I remember it was a cold, rainy day and I woke long enough to know I was nude, scraped and bruised, lying on a filthy mattress laid out in what looked like a tiny, rat infested, pay-to-fuck trap house boarding room. Something I would have seen on one of those TV detective shows. Somewhere on the city's North Side, I guessed, peering out the single filmy window at a ring of beat up brick brownstones staring back at me. Blankly. Like, they were just there. No lights, no sounds, no signs of life.

Exactly the way I was feeling. Blank. No thoughts, not even reactions. No feelings, barely sensations.

I could hardly open my eyes, the lids were so swollen. A layer of dried cum covered my lips, tasting like iron. Like old blood. I rubbed at it with the back of my hand.

Heart still beating. Breathing. Smell of mildew.

Where the fuck am I? How did I get here? How long has it been?

My hips were stiff like they'd been overworked. Old blood, not my own but the real stuff, was smeared across my thighs. Nits moved across my scalp as I pushed back matted hair so I could see...

Light against glass broken in the lower corner.

Sense of... god, is this what pending death feels like?

I tried not to panic. To reason things out. Mind stuff...

What woke me, I realized, was a distant hollow sound. A door knock followed by muffled voices and the slow cryyy of rusted door hinges not too far away.

Footsteps approached from behind, then went still.

An empty voice said 'Yeah, she'll do.'

I swiveled on the mattress. ...Made my head hurt.

'Twenty bucks,' said another.

I couldn't focus on either voice, either face; halos were glowing where clear sight should have been.

~ huh! ~ ...the space of a breath: two rough hands pushed me back, turned me over, spread me open, pinning me face down atop the dirty convict blue striped mattress. Coiled springs poked upwards before something fleshy-hard pushed into the brittle cunt that used to belong to me. It pushed harder, scraping drywall all around. Burning. I shouted out and was smacked from behind.

'Shut up,' my offender yelled.

So I did. Ragged breathing was the only sound. Besides his huffing... huffing...

He was off of me a few strokes later, leaving sour smelling juice between my legs. A hand smacked my ass -- electric-hot -- once, twice, again.

I kept silent.

'She's good. Price is right. I'll do her again tomorrow if I can busk another twenty.'

'Sounds good man.'

'Maybe clean her up a bit, I'll do her ass.'

'Ass will be forty. Better hit the streets early.'

'Forty? Shit... Ok, never mind. What about a face fuck? How much is that?'

'Face is ten. She can do that shit all day, all night; I seen it. I make the same either way and it don't take as long. Cum on her face then. Or in her throat. I like that more with this one.'

'Alright. Shoot her up. Keep her quiet. I'll be back.'

More footsteps on the floor and I was alone again. Conscious but... Groaning. Thirsty. Starving. Cold.

I raised my head to look around. There was nothing to cover up with so I curled my back against a pee-stained pillow trying to get warm. Trying to retreat. The smell of rain came through the broken filmy pane of glass. I slept.

... ...

*PRICK* ...Something sharp jabbed between my toes. I blinked and jerked back.

'Gotcha,' that same voice said, tying a needle roll with a string. Saliva drooled from the corner of my mouth.

Next to me on the floor was a McDonalds bag. The smell of French fries caused me to retch. A paper cup next to the bag sweated beads. I lay on the floor and watched them join. Watched them run.

Footfalls echoed away to dull silence.

A Coke!

I grabbed the cup and sucked down the contents despite the roiling bubbles against my dry throat. The left over ice was soo good... but it didn't quench the layered thirst I felt.

I retched again... greasy potatoes were making me sick...er. I pushed the bag aside... and...

... ...

Woke lying on my back, a hard cock pushing between my legs. This was gentler and the hands that came with it worked my clit. Light swam between my eyes; I mean left eye to right eye then back. Bewildering. Thoughts would not form in my head. Voices in the room were dim. Clit was on fire!

A horn honked on the street outside the window.

Jittery. Hollow. Blank.

But I came anyway. Not a big cum but enough to make me cry out loud and grab at his shirt. The cock kept fucking me. Swish, swish, swish... I was slick by then. It lifted high against the back of my cunt then pulled out almost all the way. Oh no! I instinctively clutched at the head, pulling till it plunged back in. I cried out a second time.

...Breath like oil fumes. Hands on my tits. A grunt. A pause. Hot cum in me. So much it ran onto the mattress. Mouth on a nipple...

I came again, this time tears running down my cheeks.

Oh my goddd... can't it ever NOT do that?

My rapist pulled himself up. I heard a zipper and a belt fastening. 'She feels good. Pretty too. Nice body. I like it when they cum.'

'Twenty bucks.'

'Yeah, yeah. But I only got ten I think. Wait... here's another five.'

'Twenty bucks. You know the deal.'

'I only got fifteen!'

Scuffling, shouting.

'Gimme twenty bucks. I'll break your bones.'

Fists hitting flesh. The fighting spilled out the door into the hall.

My eyes squeezed open spying a dark blue sweater laid across the back of a nearby chair.

A junkie chair. A watcher's chair. A pimp's chair. With something warm on it.

I barely made it to my elbows to crawl the few feet it took to reach the sweater. Pulling on it, I rolled over so my arms could fill the sleeves. Sat up. Maybe I can get out of here. I didn't think I could stand up but I was ready to use hands and knees if I had to. The nearby chair seat braced me. I raised up some. Then, one foot underneath, hands pulling at the back of the chair, I managed to sit.

I'm soo tired... Can I stand?

Could I? How long had it been since I walked on two feet? I raised up from my hands. I pushed from below...

...and did it!

Off balance. Head swimming. Heart beating hard between my breasts. Still alive.

The sweater had only two buttons. In the middle. I covered myself best I could, stumbling across the wooden floor into the scat-house hallway. A rat ran off into the shadows. I spied a broken glass EX T sign over a distant door. I leaned against the wall following the rat's footprints laid out perfectly in fine lint on the linoleum floor. To the stairwell...

Down two dizzying flights...

OUT the side door!

Daylight in my eyes! I shielded my face with an arm. I collapsed on concrete. It was raining still. Twilight. The alleyway was empty except for a big black trash bin. There was no way I was going to hide inside it; forget the rain soaked stench rolling out, I couldn't lift the lid, couldn't climb in.

Look! An empty niche behind the bin... Large enough for me to squeeze behind?

I pushed aside a half-empty paper bag. Trash spilled out. There at my feet was the little sack of fries from a few days ago. Ugh. But it was something. I hugged the sweater and crouched low between the bricks and cold black metal. The fries tasted like moldy cardboard.

Rain dribbled down.

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There are plenty of trap house whores like I once was. How they... we... got there differs from woman to woman. Some were this, others were that, before we fell into hell.

What matters more is how we survived.

My Sir.

It wasn't in his money or the way he dressed. It wasn't in his aged look -- the grey edges at his temples, beard and mustache, the crow's feet, the furrows between his eyebrows. It wasn't even in the way he obsessed over stupid things like sports or art or which rock was which in his impressive mineral collection. It was in his stance and stature. His confidence. His quietude.

And the way he looked at me.

My brothers and father used to look at me as if they wondered what it would be like if... They only knew me as the fuck girl I was, growing up.

Sir looked at me as if he already knew the woman I would become.

He had undressed hundreds of women before me. He had wrestled with their demons and twisted thinking. He had traveled them, wined and dined them, soaked up their beauty, fucked them... He had learned from them.

But he knew me.

Our first date we talked about his interests. His business. He explained the difference between a pinot and a merlot. I didn't talk much. Didn't see how he could possibly be interested in the hollow eyed ragged hair husk I had become. Except for, you know... Except for the sex I was sure he wanted.

Only he didn't. He took me back to the parent's house. They had given me a room -- out of pity... Sir kissed me on the cheek as I slid out of his Lexus. Asked if he could see me in again in a day or two. I said sure but didn't expect him to call.

Second date, a movie, he held my hand for a while. Afterwards we went to get a drink. Sitting across from each other at a booth he was impressed that I ordered a double whiskey. Wasn't I in recovery? I argued the point before the exchange between us turned on a dime. Out of nowhere he said,

'Kira, please take off your bra for me.'

He was looking into my eyes and not at my tits.

'What?' Where did that come from?

'Why?' I asked. I downed the rest of my drink. I'd been on countless braless dates in years past. Fuck dates, every one of them. All the sudden I was really nervous.

'Because I want to see the line of your breasts and the shape of your nipples. You have a lovely figure. I want to see some of the details.'

My eyes blinked. I wasn't used to people being so direct. So honest about what they wanted. Okay, I thought. Maybe he wants me after all.

'I'll be right back,' I said.

'No,' he said. 'Do it here.'

I paused. Here? At the table?

'Here? At the table?'

'Right here. While I watch.'

I looked around to see who else might be watching. There were a few people at the bar maybe 20 feet away. A couple having burgers and beer at a nearby table, but their backs were to us. A couple of waitresses wandered back and forth across the floor. That was it.

I didn't say a word but held his gaze. My fingers went to the five buttons on my shirt. I started at the bottom and worked upwards. At the top button the shirt opened enough for my hand to slide the strap off of one shoulder. Then the next. You should have worn the front-closure bra, Mind said. It would be tricky to reach up underneath the shirt from behind, with the entire thing gaping open. And the sleeves... there was no stretch to them. No way to wriggle my arms up so the strap could slide away.

Fuck it. Let people look if they want to.

I pulled the shirt off entirely. Sat there in my lacey black bra for a moment... to let him SEE... then slipped out of the straps. I rotated the bra so the hook was in front of me. My big boobs spilled out the sides. Hook undone, the bra came off. I folded it into my hands. Sitting topless in the booth, I took a long few seconds to find the shirt, arrange it, then slip it back over my arms and shoulders. My eyes never left his. I left the shirt fully open, breasts revealed. His eyes never looked down, not even for a flickering moment, to see the dark, wide areolas or the tight cherry red nipples I loved to give away.

He simply studied my eyes in return.

I blinked. Looked around the room. The barkeep was staring back at me, polishing shot glasses with a clean white towel. I didn't move an inch to cover up or turn away.

'May I button my shirt, Sir?' I asked.

'Yes, please do. But first...' He reached into his jacket pocket and brought out two small rubber bands. 'Put these on the tips. Your nipples. At the base. Make sure they are on tight enough not to slip off.'

I could feel my face flush bright red. The heat tingled at my ears.

Good thing I'm sort of in the shadows. He would know that he has me now, hook line and sinker.

Rubber bands tight on my nipples? I had never done such a thing before. Never even imagined doing such a thing. Forget doing it in public for Christ's sake. So fucking daring. I had to do it! Had to! I looked around the room again. The barkeep was staring. Fuck him.

A rubber band in one hand, heavy breast and thick, distended nipple in the other, I pulled thin elastic tight against the nubby skin. Wound it around once, twice. Let go of it to test the tightness...

'Three times,' he said. 'Tight.'

Lifting the breast again, I wound the band a third time. Oh shit, jesus mary. It slipped out of my fingers and popped against the nipple. Fuuukkk..! I know I inhaled too loudly. A slight smile came into a corner of his mouth.

Lifting the second breast, I went through the same ritual. This time he stared at my body. My breasts, both of them, the tortured nipples that stung like bees were swarming. Shocking white-hot bolts flew from side to side, nipple to nipple. I had my hands flat against the vinyl seat, my arms stiff. I couldn't keep from arching my back. The shirt folded away from my bare chest baring both breasts entirely in the half light of the room. The nipples... ohmygod the nipples! Were now the size raspberries.

My hips began to buck, my thighs quiver. I pressed them together to keep from shaking...

And gushed a flood of juice inside my jeans, silently, head bowed, eyes watering... quiver-cumming for him for the very first time. Shaking from it...

For my Sir.

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Dawn came slowly. I had shiver-slept on and off through the night, the sweater soaked-to-dripping long before the sun began to rise. It felt as if a dull hollow cone hovered over my head, my curled up arms and legs. I wasn't sure what to do. Was there somewhere to go? I was exhausted. Maybe hypothermic.

Should I go back inside? God forbid I give over to that hell again, but...

What else was there to do?

Was that Body talking?

No, he will probably beat me to death if I go back in there. I won't do it.

Mind to the rescue.

But no other ideas came into my empty head. I was half-naked and barefoot in a freezing spring rain, going cold turkey from something still in my bloodstream... what, heroin? Meth? Fentanyl? ...FUCK!

God I've made such a mess of things. Fucked things up so bad. I'll never turn this around. NEVER get clean.

That's it... I'll just stay here. They say freezing to death isn't so bad. You just fall asleep... they say...

... ...

There came a harsh grinding noise of heavy gears. A BANG startled me. The black metal dumpster was hoisted into the air leaving me exposed in the half-light of early morning. The sun reached out beneath grey globular clouds layered with unspent rain. I lay curled up on wet concrete inside a 2-button navy blue sweater.

'Hey, hold on!' a distant voice called. 'Somebody's in the alleyway!' The grinding gears came to a halt. A guy in a blaze-yellow vest jogged my way.

'Shit she could of been killed,' he yelled out. 'Get on your phone, Ben! Let somebody know.'

The guy named Ben, driving the truck, spoke to somebody half a life away. The younger guy was giving me his vest.

'Just some junkie. A she, I can see that much from here.'

I tried to cover up more. The vest smelled like coffee.

'Headquarters says stay with her, they're sending somebody over.'

'Somebody over' sounded like just a few minutes' wait. No such luck. Was it a half hour? An hour? I was clueless. They two men had moved me into the cab of their truck. They were standing next to me in the rain. An official looking car, white with an emblem on the door, finally pulled up alongside. A man got out. I couldn't tell much about him with raindrops rolling down the windows. He said a few words to the other two, held out a clipboard for Ben to sign, then walked over to where I was sitting. He opened the door and looked up. I looked down, a cat-dragged-in twenty nine year old junkie hungry for a fix and ready to do whatEVER he asked. God I meant it too. Whatever he wanted, if only... if only...

'Hello, Miss,' said an older man. 'My name is William.' I was instantly taken by the groomed, salt-n-pepper beard. 'I'm with the Community Hospital very close to here. Can you tell me your name?'

I had to think for a moment or two.

'Kira,' I said.

'Kira, I'm here to help you feel better. To help you feel safe. Will you come with me, please?'

Yes, I was happy to do that, to go with him. I couldn't tell if it was Body or Mind reacting.

I slid off the plastic seat of the rolloff truck, at perfect eye level next this nice man named William...

...I opened my legs wide, making sure he would see. See maybe the real me, Caucasian white thighs revealing a sloppy wine-colored pussy. Ready to be filled. My big boobs jiggled beneath the soggy sweater as I hit the pavement.

He did see. All of that. And me.

And he knew.

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