Blood Slave (3 page)
“Was it as good for you as it was for me?”
“Better.” I answered vehemently, still trying to catch my breath.
Lia had plans for something more. She got up and rifled through her tiny postage stamp purse and whipped out a little chrome steel bullet with a screw cap. She had a vial full of blow and an agenda. She advanced on me and unscrewed the cap, which doubled as a tiny spoon.
“Care for a bump?” She offered me an itty-bitty spoonful to snort. I nodded and sat up. One up the left and another up the right. She had good quality coke, about the same as the stuff Faustino brought in. Pretty sure she bought it from us, directly or indirectly. Faustino’s product flowed all through the streets of NYC, from the lowliest back alleys to the upper most penthouse suites of Manhattan.
She took a whiff herself, one up each nostril, as I read her mind to see what new forms of debauchery she had planned. I saw it in her thoughts as she wetted her fingertip, dipped it in the bullet vial, and reached down between my legs.
My oversensitive slippery wet sex reacted instantly to the coke. I came all over her fingers … yet again.
“Oh shit. Oh shit.” I grabbed her arm, and she just kept on right at it.
She took good care of me, plunging her fingers in and out, tweaking my clit with her thumb. The woman played my body like a violin. She made me gasp and squeal with the bombardment of sensations. I really should be paying her for this. After having her fun with me for a few minutes, grinning from ear to ear as I rode her hand, she finally let up.
“Now it’s my turn.” She smiled.
“Good … I need a break.” I smiled back.
She waited, not-so-patiently. A wicked grin of anticipation on her face as I dipped a fingertip painted with cocaine up into her slippery folds. I curled my finger up into her, hitting that
spot
with a ‘come-here’ motion while massaging her clit with my palm. Hips undulating, Lia humped my hand as I worked her.
She really seemed to get off on the rough stuff. She wanted me to dig in hard. She grasped my hand with hers and ground my fingers into her juicy goodness. She came hard leaning her forehead on my shoulder.
“Oh that’s good. You’re … you’re one of the best dates I’ve had in a long time.”
She growled and shuddered on my hand. And then she did it again. She grabbed me and sunk sharp, little teeth into my neck.
“Shit! That hurts!” I panicked.
She’d broken the skin again. But I was overwhelmed by the most phenomenally intense feeling. Better than coke, better than sex, better than anything I’d ever experienced. She returned me once again to the angelic choirs and roaring trumpets of heaven with a back-arching screaming orgasm.
My hand clenched, still buried inside her. I was so absorbed in the moment I didn’t realize I had shoved my whole hand in her to the wrist. By the time she let go her chomp on my convulsing body, she made this freaky snarling noise. She ground down on my hand hard, really hard, humping my whole fist.
She seemed to really get off on the violence of it. I read how much pain I gave her, but she still liked it. She just kept on grinding harder. She had a thing for it, like a real sadomasochist. I went along with it, because she liked it. I aim to please. After a minute or so she finished her grudge-fuck on my fist. It’s a good thing too, my arm had gotten tired. Fist-fucking is serious work.
I pulled my hand out with a wet “plop” sound and a grunt from Lia. She had wet my whole forearm. I think she’s one of those chicks who squirt. The smell of our sex permeated the room. As I walked to the bathroom to wash up, I passed by the mirror and stopped in shock. A thin line of blood ran down my neck.
“You bit me! Look at that!” I pointed at myself in the mirror. “That is so gross!”
I freaked and ran to the bathroom. I could feel the warm blood running down my shoulder onto my breast. “Shit!” I rummaged through the medicine cabinet for the hydrogen peroxide.
I found it and the triple antibiotic with shaking hands. Who knows where her mouth had been today, she was eating me out a few minutes ago.
Before I could begin to wipe up the blood she was on me. “Wait. Let me take care of it. It’s my mess, I’ll clean it up.”
Then her slimy wet eel tongue snaked out and licked from my breast all the way up to my neck. The girl had skills with that tongue. She could take it on the road and make some serious money in a carnival freak show.
Then it hit me and turned my stomach over in flip flops. She actually licked up my blood. And I read it there in her mind plain as can be. She loved it. I tasted like a syrup-covered ice cream cone to her. She’d happily lick me all night long if I let her, as long as I kept on bleeding.
“Eww! Gross! Oh God, that’s so nasty!”
I almost lost it right there. I actually gagged for a second, barely swallowed it down. I kinda have this obsessive-compulsive thing about cleanliness, and blood is definitely unclean in my book. Blood borne pathogens. Diseases of the blood. Hospitals treat it like a damn biohazard.
Lia snickered at my gross-out reaction, like it was all some joke. But she couldn’t hide the fact she wanted more. The freak actually thought she was a vampire.
Then she got really weird. She stared intensely without blinking. I sensed her trying to somehow take control of me with her creepy stare. The chick was really weird, a little too weird for my tastes. The sex was fabulous, but I couldn’t deal with the blood thing, just straight up sick. I may be an escort from a third world country, but I do have standards.
She kept staring at me, had been staring at me for some time. Then she spoke in a weird commanding monotone, “Tell me your name.”
The sad truth is I didn’t really want her to be a stranger. As odd as it sounds, I wanted her to come back, and not for the generous tip. I wanted more of those screaming orgasms. I’m not normally a screamer, but she had a way of bringing it out of me.
So, against my better judgment, ignoring the creepy aspects of everything that had gone down so far, I gave her what she wanted. “My name is Hope.”
I have never told anyone in America my real name. Esperanza de Salvador just sounds so south-of-the-border. Hope has a nice ring to it, one syllable. I delude myself into believing that if I can drop my Colombian accent, employ flawless English and use the name Hope, I can somehow rise above my humble beginnings.
Lia started in on me with that eerie command voice. “Hope, you will not remember our meeting or this conversation. You’re feeling tired. You feel like sleeping. You need to rest.”
This shit was getting old fast. “I get it. You don’t need to repeat yourself. I’m not stupid. I’ve been doing this a long time. I know the score. I’ll never tell anyone you were here. We’ve never met before, yada, yada, yada. I know the routine.”
That’s the one thing Rubin used to get on me about – my temper. I have a tendency to let it get away from me. I’ve thought of taking anger management classes, I probably should.
Back in Colombia I gave poor Rubin hell. It started with the nudity thing, but I flipped it around on him. After the first three weeks, he ordered me to wear clothes. I refused. I stayed butt-naked for another three weeks, twenty-four seven. I answered Rubin’s door to receive the pizza delivery nude. I chatted up the cable repairman after a rainstorm messed up our lines. I met the Testigos de Jehovah–
Jehovah’s Witnesses
at the front door, they couldn’t leave fast enough. I even met his mother for the first time in my birthday suit.
Rubin learned a healthy respect for my temper after that episode. His mother trying to rip his ear off probably had something to do with it. A naked fourteen year old girl with an attitude can wield a terrible power.
Lia didn’t care for my attitude, either. She came at me again with that same monotone crap. “You will not remember our meeting. We have never met before. You will not remember that I bit you and tasted your blood.”
“Whatever. It was gross. But don’t worry about it. I’m not gonna say anything to anybody. It didn’t happen. This is our little secret. I respect your privacy. Actually … I was hoping you might want to see me again …”
I’d given this speech to dozens of cops, business men, politicians, even a priest. Everyone who’s someone of importance out in the community needs reassurance their freaky romp with an escort will remain confidential. I’m not into blackmail or extortion or anything stupid like that. It’s nasty business that never ends well. I have seen it done by the cartel to others less fortunate. Plus, being illegal, it wouldn’t be hard to get me deported.
She did not look pleased. I tried to put her at ease. “You already gave me a two hundred dollar tip, so I’m cool. And I really would like to see you again …”
She started looking at me funny, her head turned sideways, like I was the freak. I dug into her mind to see what the hell. She’d become extremely irritated over something.
“You’re a special kind of girl, aren’t you?”
She was trying to defocus her vision to see something else, off to the side of my head. Some kind of hazy color spectrum.
“Yes you are …” Her voice trailed off. She flipped like that into a raging-bull hatred. She pegged me with this totally wicked I-want-to kill-you-and-dance-on-your-corpse look. “You Bitch! You’re digging around in my head, you bitch!”
I caught it a split second before she hit me, and I reacted. I flinched away, stepped back out of her reach, except she hadn’t moved.
“Gotcha, didn’t I? I knew it.” Her lip curled into a snarl.
“What? What’s your problem?”
Then I finally understood. She had been trying to hypnotize me into ignorance. When she realized it wasn’t working, she began to suspect I had some kind of psychic sensitivity, a telepath, or clairvoyant. I had just proven her right by reacting to her thoughts rather than her actions.
Staring at me with her head cocked sideways, she recognized something about this weird color she thought she could see, something yellowish-gold in my aura. That decided it for her.
“You already know way too much about me don’t you.” She had this half-smile, but it didn’t reach her eyes.
“I have no idea what you’re talking about. But I think it’s time you should go.”
Her dilemma was this: if I couldn’t be hypnotized into forgetting, and I had read her mind, what to do with me? The thought entered her mind instantly. A toothy grin slid across her face. She would probably have to kill me to contain the situation.
* * * *
“Okay. You’re creeping me out. This is over. It’s time to go now. And I changed my mind. I don’t want you to come back, ever.”
I pointed her towards the front door while I shoved her clothes into her hands. She kept giving me these peculiar looks as she slinked back into her underwear and clothing. I watched her slide into her skirt, buttoning up her blouse. She stared back, smirking.
Then I caught it. She was gonna break my nose as soon as she finished with her clothing. And she wanted to do it
soooo
badly. She wanted to see blood flying through the air as my head snapped back.
Three buttons left … two buttons left … last button. Ding. She twitched and I jumped back two paces, and nearly toppled back onto the bed.
“Gotcha again.”
She hadn’t done a thing other than a little twitch. Another test. I had failed miserably. And she wouldn’t leave.
I knew she was trouble, but my options were limited. I could probably kick her freaky little ass, but then I’d be in a world of shit with the cops. Probably end up deported. Being in the country illegally really put me at a severe disadvantage. Exactly the way Faustino wanted it. Great for him, shitty for me.
I could call Arana. But he always took twenty to thirty minutes to get here from his place in Corona. Overall that was probably the best solution. I hated being in this position, under Faustino’s thumb, but there were some side benefits to the arrangement. I could get the purest coke in NYC any time I wanted, and Arana dealt with anyone who threatened me.
I’d once seen Arana break a guy’s collar bone because he donkey punched me in the back of the head right in the middle of screwing me from behind. A star tennis player in college, guy thought his shit didn’t stink, thought he could beat on an escort and get away with it. Arana caught him on his way out the door. He scared the guy so bad he pissed himself. Arana had him down on his hands and knees begging my forgiveness. A broken collar bone is especially painful.
Arana got off on it. He’s only five foot seven, but he’s two hundred pounds of muscle and straight up psycho. It’s like flipping a switch. He goes into super evil mode. The guy really scares me sometimes. I’ve seen what he can do, and I do not mess with him. He could kill me with his bare hands, and would probably enjoy every second of it. Violence is his thing. I guess that’s the kind of man that does well in the cartels.
I didn’t want to hurt Lia, but the chick wasn’t quite right in the head. Crazy people can be dangerous, unpredictable. I hoped Arana would scare her off without any real confrontation. But I couldn’t be certain how far he’d go. Like an attack dog on a chain, there’s no way to be sure what he’ll do when he’s unleashed.
Hoping for the best, I grabbed my cell and sent Arana 911 text. Our problem code. Not exactly original, but it served the purpose. Since I didn’t send an address, he’d show up here at the apartment.
I barely hit the send button when I felt cold steel up against my left temple. From somewhere, I don’t know where, Lia had managed to pull a little black pistol. The gun was so small she could’ve had it up her ass. It happened in the blink of an eye, I never even saw the bitch move.
She snatched my cell from my hand and dashed it against the wall. It fell in pieces. In one move my whole life had been smashed to bits and laid out on the floor. Every connection I had on this continent was programmed into my cell phone.
