The Choices of Evelyn Ch. 07-09

"Wow," she then said. "If that was a drug, she'd be a billionaire." Confused by the remark, Evelyn sank back into her chair. What did the woman mean? There had been an injection, right into her clit. She'd exploded into a never-ending orgasm and had masturbated for days since – rubbing and fucking herself raw, coming and coming until she passed out... day after day. There hadn't been a moment she wasn't brain-numbing horny, aching for sex, trembling for satisfaction.

"It was water, darling," Zelda said, almost whispering. "Just a few drops of plain saline water, filled with suggestions and dreams, needs and desires. But those were all your dreams and desires, and you were amazing." Evelyn stared, not able to find words in the garbled mess her head had become.

"You... lie," she gasped. "You're a liar. She drugged me. How else...?" Zelda shrugged.

"Tea, honey?" she asked, lifting the porcelain teapot. Evelyn just stared, her thoughts in a jumble, her cunt spreading heat, a familiar heat. Did it matter if the woman was lying? Did it matter why her head spun around this growing black hole inside her, like a helpless planet drawn to it by laws of nature? Was she going mad?

The black woman pushed a full teacup her way, ticking its porcelain belly with a long, painted nail to get her attention. Smiling, she nodded.

"Don't be upset, honey," she said. "You're safe with me. I'll be your mommy... would you want me to be your mommy, always there to help you against your horny self? I promise." Evelyn's eyelashes fluttered. Memories crowded her mind of a woman deriding her, pulling her up on a chain, torturing her nipples, exposing her vagina, giving her to friends. And lying.

She'd run from that woman, hadn't she? And that woman had been this woman's friend. The memory added bitter irony to her thoughts. Sure, she'd run – from the frying pan into the fire she'd run. She may have thought things were bad with these women, Zelda, Lilith, but without them, after she ran, hadn't things been sheer hell?

The needle... What about the needle?

Evelyn picked up the teacup. Looking down into the golden liquid, a scent of herbs tickled her nostrils, welcoming her. She pressed her lips against the gilded rim, taking a sip.

Alone.

The word popped up from nowhere. Was it triggered by the warmth of the tea? She'd been alone all her life, even as a child; even with Leila. Being alone had felt natural, she'd never felt like missing out, had she? Does a blind man miss the light? Maybe because people tell him, but does he really know? Does it matter? The tea was slightly bitter.

"You must call me mommy," the woman at the other side of the teacup's rim said. "And you must do what I tell you, lil' cunt, and all will be well." Evelyn stared. They say you always have a choice. Did she? Was there ever a choice?

"Tell me who I am," Zelda went on. Evelyn felt her lower lip tremble.

"You're... you're my mommy", she whispered.

"Louder, girl"

Evelyn freed her throat and said: "You are Evelyn's mommy," wondering why her voice went up into a childish whine. Zelda kicked back her chair and stood.

"Wonderful," she said, opening the robe. "Now eat me, baby. Eat mommy." The woman was naked; there was no bra or panties, just the shining slickness of her purplish-black skin. Evelyn stared in numb silence, her mind empty. She rose and knelt in front of Zelda. She slowly licked the exposed cunt lips, vibrating her tongue on the fat pink clitoris.

Strong hands closed over her skull.

***

Chapter Nine – Evi.

That evening Zelda sent Evelyn to the bedroom she'd said was hers. Evelyn had been sleeping and lounging on the terrace most of the afternoon. Zelda fucked her twice with a fat, black strap-on dildo, before leaving her alone in the apartment.

Evelyn had cried, but not much. Most of the time she just fought to keep her head empty, lining it with furry nothingness. Her eyes were closed behind huge sunglasses, as she explored the numb exhaustion of her body – the eternal throb in her cunt, the weariness in her bones and muscles. There seemed to be an Evelyn and there seemed to be Fate. She decided Evelyn was no match for Fate, so she should stop going out and looking for it. The decision was easy; she just had to close all doors that might lead her out of this moment she called Now.

On the bed were a latex tube top of shining gold and a matching skirt. There was no underwear, no stockings or pantyhose. But there were golden heels and they had neck breaking platform soles.

Zelda had told her to dress up in what she'd laid out for her. She picked up a top and when she put it on, she saw it would just hold her tightly-packed breasts. After jerking and pulling at the tight, awkward material, she saw it would never reach past her belly without exposing her nipples.

The skirt was just as tiny. It covered her pussy as long as she didn't move too much, like, well, walking. The heels were a disaster. They reminded her of a similar pair holding her up as she dangled from a chain. Once again, she wondered how in the world she could have run in them to reach her car – and not break a leg. The size of this pair was half a number too small.

Zelda was ecstatic. She made her walk and turn, her eyes all over her. She told her to brush her hair into extreme fluffiness. She also should use way more make-up. Evelyn wobbled back to the bathroom and painted her eyes and her lips. Then she blew and brushed her hair into a copper cloud. Pouting her lips in the mirror, she winked and said: "Hello again, Evi. Are you proud of me? Of course, you are."

***

The street corner was in the bar and discotheque district. There were at least five girls walking the sidewalk. Zelda pushed her out of her car. Evelyn protested.

"I...," she said, looking around. "Those are, they are whores. I am not... And I'm a lesbian, I don't..." Zelda guffawed.

"Oh, shut up!" she yelled. "You're nothing. You are what I tell you, you hear? You're my whore, so make money for me. Now get back or I'll run you over." The sports car's motor roared, and soon the lights were gone.

All girls were shades of black. Two of them turned to Evelyn, one wearing a platinum wig. Her red bikini top hardly held her huge silicone breasts.

"Get over there, white slut," she screamed with a razor-sharp voice. "Don't you get in my way, y' hear?" Evelyn obediently moved on a bit. She didn't know at all what was expected of her. Five minutes passed.

So, she was strong, wasn't she? She could choose? Sure enough. She could kick off these whore-hooves and run home. Home, she mused. Why had she done what the woman asked – again? Where was the end? Was there an end, a red line not to be crossed? Look at me: walking the fucking streets for her, dressed like a whore.

Was it because she was a whore? No one had forced her to dress up like she had when she went to that lesbian jazz club. No one had forced her to get into Zelda's car and let her pimp her out. No one. Another few minutes passed. Two men picked up the other black girl. They drove an old, battered car. A blond, very tall woman at the opposite corner, with wide shoulders and bare, very long butterscotch legs, seemed to be negotiating with a bald man in a Volvo. She had hard, pointed tits and ended the talk by cursing him. He sped off laughing.

The girl in the red top lit a cigarette. She walked over and introduced herself as Charlene. Evelyn refused the offered cigarette. She did tell her name.

"You new?" the girl asked. She looked from under her fat long lashes. Evelyn nodded. "Get closer to the curb, darling," Charlene said. "They have to see you before they stop." She let her gaze go up and down Evelyn's body. "And they'll notice you all right, honey!" She chuckled and walked off. Her impressive butt was swaying. A waft of blue smoke haloed her wig. Evelyn went closer to the curb.

She imitated the stance of the other girls, feeling incredibly exposed. Putting a hand on her hip she pushed her tits out. She felt no shame; one of her mind's doors must have closed on that. But there was a slow trickle of moisture sliding down the inside of her thigh.

A stretched limousine left the mainstream of the avenue's traffic, drifting towards the corner. The girls flocked together at once, filling the air with excited chatter. A tinted window slid down at the curb's side of the car. Evelyn saw a male hand adorned with thick gold rings and bracelets. It waved the girls aside. Then it pointed past them at her. The hand turned at the wrist, the finger becoming a hook that bid her closer. Evelyn did two, three steps on her hooves. Then she leant forward to look into the car. Two Arab-like men sat in deep leather chairs. The one at her side of the car spoke in flawless, clipped English. He asked her who she was. She gave her name. The man just said: "Get in."

The door opened. She hesitated, then slid into the limousine. The man told her to sit on the leather seat opposite them. He then told her to pull up her skirt. She should show them her pussy. Cunt, he said. Evelyn obliged, hardly having to pull the hem up much. They stared at her crotch.

The second man was older. He said something in a guttural language – Arab, no doubt.

"He wants you to spread your cunt lips for him," the younger man said. Evelyn felt her fingers tremble when she touched her shaven lips. She opened them, having to spread her thighs as wide as the tight skirt allowed. She knew she was supposed to be humiliated – and she was. But she didn't feel the emotions to go with that – no hurt, no shame. She felt... pride, and she knew how ridiculous that was.

The older man growled a new line.

"Lift your ass. Show him your asshole," the younger one translated. She again did as she was told, spreading her cheeks to make them see better. By now she trembled. Arousal came; her juices trickled past her hands. And to the tiny hole she held open.

The older man shook his head. Then the younger Arab called something to the invisible driver. Evelyn felt the car slow down and make a U-turn. The maneuver almost tipped her over on the wobbly soft leather of her seat. The two men started talking together. They seemed to have lost interest. The car stopped.

Through the tinted glass she saw they'd returned to the corner they'd started from. The younger man stuffed a few banknotes in her hand. Then he opened the door and pushed her out. She stumbled on her platforms and fell to the concrete, hurting her knee. The skirt was still obscenely tuck up, exposing her crotch and her ass. Behind her the limo sped off. The girl Charlene helped her up.

"What happened?" she asked. Evelyn shrugged, as she pulled at the skirt. "They didn't want me, I guess," she said. Her hand held ten dollars.

Later that night traffic got thicker, and business looked up. Evelyn stood at the curb. She showed her body and imitated the other girls. Around twelve she got picked up by two business-type men. They told her to get in the back. She should give them each a blowjob, while the other one drove. The cocks were the first real cocks she'd sucked off in years, ever since her last clumsy experiments on high school. She should be disgusted. She wasn't. The cocks earned her her first real money. She put it into her tiny purse.

The next customer was a man as old as her father. He wanted her to masturbate while he looked on and jerked himself off. He'd parked his car around the corner. When they both came, all windows were steamed up. He gave her less than she'd told him her prize was. She protested. He pushed her out of the car and drove off. She hobbled back to her site, cursing under her breath.

After two o'clock things slowed down again. She only had one more client who wanted a blowjob while driving. He complimented her on her skilled mouth. Then he tipped her nicely and told her he'd be back soon.

The night got colder. Evelyn shivered. She didn't know if she was supposed to wait for Zelda. Or when she would arrive, if at all. She asked Charlene. The girl just came back from a turn. She grinned.

"Don't worry, child. Mommy will be here to collect her money. If not for us, she'll be here for that!" She laughed. Then she coughed and lit up another cigarette.

Half an hour later, the silver convertible sports car eased to the curb. Zelda sat in it with a white woman. She was tall, blond and looked rather sophisticated. Not at all someone she'd be expecting her with. The woman took her in with cold, steely-blue eyes; it made her very uncomfortable.

Zelda jumped out, dressed in gold-trimmed sweats. She collected her money with the black girls. Then she came over to Evelyn, all smiles.

"Ah, well, my new cunt. Did anyone find it in his heart to fuck you and even pay for that?" She said it loud, so the blond woman would hear. Evelyn fumbled with her purse. She got out all the money, handing it over. Zelda started counting. It appeared she had made ninety-five dollars. Zelda's eyes flared as she looked up.

"Don't you fuck with me, girl," she said. "C'mon, give me the rest!" Evelyn stared at her. She had no clue what she meant. A sudden slap stung her face. She reeled on her ridiculous shoes. The woman grabbed her purse and shook out its content. Her lipstick and compact clattered on the street. As did her keys and her cell phone.

"You damn cheating cunt!" the woman screamed and slapped Evelyn twice in the face. She fell to her knees, trying to ward off the blows. But Zelda grabbed her hands and beat her in the face again. She felt her lower lip split. Her left eye hurt immensely. She wrung her hands free and tried to crawl off into the dark alley behind them. But Zelda grabbed her by the hair and slapped her again. Now she used her open hand. Evelyn went limp and sank to the street.

All sounds got muffled and died.

***

Evelyn hurt. One eye wouldn't open. The concrete was dirty. There was blood on her hand when she touched her lip.

"Here, honey," a razor-like voice said. Inside the tunnel of her limited vision a hand offered her a paper tissue. She looked up and saw it was the black girl with the red top. What was her name again? The girl also gave her the purse. Then she walked off on her high red heels, tap-tap into the buzzing streets. Evelyn was alone. The world swam around her. She dabbed at her swollen lip and felt her closed eye with careful fingertips. It was thick – too tender to even touch.

Her purse held her keys and a few other objects. She dug up the phone. It was dead, probably broken. Scrambling to her knees she got up. One of the crazy shoes had slipped off. She kicked off the other one and started walking. Another barefoot day, she mused. Her lip hurt. She'd better not smile.

***

In the darkness of her closet the girl lay hidden inside a mountain of discarded clothes, sheets and blankets. She hugged a huge pink toy rabbit. And she croaked into a cell phone: "Mom... mommy... please, save me. Please. They are killing me."

Evelyn's face was a mess. Streaks of mascara ran from under her sunglasses. Her hair was wild and messy; it stuck with the same sperm that flaked from her face's skin. Her hands trembled, as did her cracked lips. Blood caked on her bare tits. Her knees were chaffed. She shook all over. A metallic voice answered from the little box in her hand.

"Is that you, honey?" it said. "Are you all right? You sound so... scared?" The girl sobbed. Tremors kept her from shaping words. She took a shuddering breath and said: "Please, mommy. Please, come and get me." There was an agonizing pause. Then the metallic voice said: "Don't be afraid, sweet thing. Stay where you are. I'll come and get you. Mommy will get you and take you home."

When your skin is scorched, and your throat parched, all you really need is to believe that the images of the cool green shadows of an oasis in your head are real; as should be the clear fresh tingle of ice cubes in a glass of cold, clear water. Evelyn just breathed her raspy breath, clinging on to the small plastic phone. No choice, she knew there was no choice. All choices had been beaten and fucked out of her life.

The sweet voice dripped into her ear and soothed her bruised and bleeding mind. At last it put an end to the trembling of her limbs and the shaking of her body. The dry heaves stopped. The aching of her abused muscles seemed to lessen.

"Forgive me, mommy," she whispered. "I have been a bad girl.

***

Earlier that morning, Evelyn had dragged herself from the street-corner to her apartment. No one saw her, except a few garbage collectors and a paperboy. Maybe they wondered about the beaten-up girl in her outrageous outfit. But they hardly responded. Her feet hurt as much as the rest of her body.

She opened the door to her flat. After all she'd been through, the quiet cuteness of the apartment was almost surreal. It was like stepping into a time machine – as if going through an airlock. It separated bad dreams from an almost forgotten reality.

Evelyn stripped and dumped the top and the tight skirt in the waste chute. Then she showered for half an hour until the water turned cold. She scrubbed her skin and shampooed her hair at least five times before she drowned herself in moisturizer and treated her bruised eye and the numerous scratches on her body.

She couldn't think. She wasn't hungry, just dead. She slept till the early afternoon. Then she was startled out of her state of near-unconsciousness by the doorbell. Groaning she tried to ignore it, but it kept on ringing. After holding her ears for minutes, Evelyn slid out of bed and into a robe. She walked to the door and looked through the spy-hole. She saw the black girl. What was her name again? Chanel something? The girl held up a purse, pointing at it. She didn't recognize it. It couldn't be hers. The girl smiled; it got her curious. So, she opened the door leaving the chain on. At that moment, it exploded inward, tearing the chain with it. Two, three tall men entered. They pushed her against the wall. Her heart raced. Before she could cry out, a huge hand covered her mouth. Other hands grabbed her and lifted her up. Then they dragged her into her apartment.

It all went too fast to even register what happened, or to see who the men were. One dark-in-dark face wore a wide white smirk, producing a deep baritone voice. He called her obscene names and threatened her with things worse than death.

Before she knew it, Evelyn lay on her bed. Her wrists and ankles were tied to its corners. Her robe was torn off her body, so was the T-shirt she'd slept in.

Of course, it was rape. It was brutal rape when the first huge cock entered her. And of course, the second one was rape too. The third. She would have screamed and protested if she'd not been gagged with her own panties and stockings. But it would have been indefinitely easier if her body had agreed it was rape – if there hadn't been this helpless response, this sick glow spreading, this wetness flowing.

She was appalled by the betrayal of her body, the treachery of her slut's soul. 'You're a slut, admit it,' Zelda had said, and the other woman, the big pale one. 'You're a whore.' She was ashamed of her pussy... her cunt. How it humped to meet the thrusts. How her back arched. She thanked God for the gag – it kept her mouth from betraying her too.

***

There were two black guys. They badmouthed her while they fucked her pussy. Then they took out their cocks and sprayed their come over her belly and breasts. A third one, a white redhead, ran his cock in one hurtful thrust into her asshole. Things went on after that. A calloused hand tore the gag away and a hard cock entered her mouth, gagging her all over. By that time the shame of repeating orgasms had long since morphed into a constant, senseless buzz. Her cunt was past tenderness, as were her ass and mouth. They were beyond rawness, beyond any feeling at all. Evelyn passed out. But that may not have stopped them.