I heard footsteps approaching my location. They were measured, heavy, deliberate steps that echoed in the otherwise silent space. Each footfall seemed to vibrate through the floor and up into my very bones, a tangible manifestation of the anticipation and dread that churned within me.
It was Damian, his presence announced by the distinctive scent of his cologne – a complex blend of spice and wood that was both familiar and unsettling. The aroma filled the air, a suffocating reminder of his power and control over me. But despite the recognition, I didn't have the strength to speak. My voice felt trapped in my throat, choked by a combination of fear and resignation.
I felt like fate was playing a cruel game with me, manipulating me like a puppet on a string. Every twist and turn of my life seemed designed to inflict maximum pain and suffering, leaving me battered and broken. Was there no escape from this torment? Would I forever be at the mercy of forces beyond my control?
"Aren't you coming down for dinner yet?" he said, his voice soft and laced with a deceptive concern. The words were gentle, almost tender, but I knew better than to be fooled by his façade. Beneath the surface of his carefully constructed persona lurked a darkness that threatened to consume me.
If I hadn't overheard what he said earlier – his callous disregard for my feelings, his willingness to trade me like a commodity – my heart would probably be racing wildly with a mixture of fear and longing. But now, knowing the truth, his words rang hollow, devoid of any genuine emotion.
"Elaris."
That was the authoritative way he called my name, a possessive claim that sent shivers down my spine. It was a reminder that I was his, body and soul, with no hope of escape.
"I don't have the appetite," I said weakly, my voice barely a whisper. The thought of food repulsed me; my stomach churned with nausea and anxiety. How could I possibly swallow anything when my heart was so heavy, my spirit so broken?
He slowly approached my location, his movements deliberate and predatory. An inch away, he captured my lips, his kiss passionate and demanding. It was a violation, an assertion of his dominance that left me feeling violated and degraded.
"Hmm~" he moaned in the middle of the kiss, his breath hot against my skin. The sound was both arousing and repulsive, a confusing mix of sensations that left me feeling disoriented and vulnerable.
This was wrong; in my situation, I felt like a prostitute – a mere object to be used and discarded at his whim. The realization was a crushing blow, a stark reminder of my diminished status.
I noticed his gaze, dark and intense. He didn't like that I pushed him away, that I dared to resist his advances. His eyes narrowed, and a flicker of anger flashed across his face. I knew that I had crossed a line, that I had challenged his authority, and that there would be consequences.
"I'm just going to clean myself up," I said, my voice trembling. It was a feeble excuse, but I needed to escape his presence, to find some semblance of peace and solitude.
I didn't wait for him to speak; I turned and fled to the bathroom, seeking refuge behind the locked door.
With every lash of water from the shower, came a drop of every tear. The hot water scalded my skin, but it couldn't wash away the shame and humiliation that clung to me like a shroud. "Why are you so weak, Elaris?" I said to myself, my voice choked with sobs. Why couldn't I stand up to him? Why couldn't I break free from his control?
I didn't realize how time was passing; I only came back to reality when I felt something from behind me. A cold dread washed over me as I realized that I was no longer alone.
How did he get in? Had he broken down the door? Or had he simply been waiting for me, lurking in the shadows like a predator stalking its prey?
"What takes you so long?" he whispered in my ear, his breath hot and moist against my skin. His hands started to wander again, tracing the contours of my body with a possessive touch.
Without any clothes on, I felt exposed and vulnerable. I was trapped, with no hope of escape.
I remained standing, frozen in place, feeling his hands move towards my womanhood. His touch was both arousing and terrifying, a confusing mix of sensations that left me feeling disoriented and powerless.
A moan escaped my lips – a sound of both pleasure and protest. Not one but two fingers entered me, invading my privacy and asserting his dominance.
Roughly, as if chasing something, he probed and explored, seeking to ignite my desire and break down my resistance.
His fingers didn't last long. A hard length replaced them, pressing against my entrance with a demanding urgency.
"Damn, you're so tight. I'm the only one who's going to wear you out," he said, letting out moans along with me. His words were a possessive claim, a reminder that I belonged to him and him alone.
I felt swallowed by the heat and pleasure I felt with every thrust, his length reaching deep inside me, filling me completely. The sensations were overwhelming, threatening to consume me.
He raised one of my legs, then turned me to face him and captured my lips in a searing kiss. His mouth was a weapon, used to both punish and reward me.
His lips began to travel, leaving marks on my neck down to my chest. He sucked my nipples, alternating, which further fueled the heat in my body while my insides were completely filled with his length. His touch was both arousing and degrading, a constant reminder of my powerlessness.
From gentle, his thrusts became faster and faster, more and more demanding. The sound of our wet bodies colliding was clearly audible, echoing in the small space. The rhythm was hypnotic, drawing me deeper into a state of surrender.
Before long, I felt like I was going to explode, to shatter into a million pieces. But he continued to be rough with me, as if there was no tomorrow, as if he was determined to push me past my limits.
He removed his length, leaving me aching and empty. His lips began to travel again towards my sensuality, seeking to extract every last drop of pleasure from my body.
He licked and sucked, as if my flowing womanhood was an ice cream – a sweet treat to be savored and devoured. Every bit of juice was cleaned by his hot tongue, leaving me trembling with a mixture of pleasure and shame.
After finishing in the hallway, he slowly inserted his pointed tongue inside me, probing and exploring with a relentless intensity. I didn't know; I couldn't stop my fierce moans, my body betraying my will.
He laid me down and entered me without warning, his thrusts deep and demanding. Deep inside, quickly, perhaps he was close to the peak of pleasure.
He let out a long moan, a sound of both pain and ecstasy, along with the eruption of his seed at the opening of my womanhood. The sensation was overwhelming, a release of tension that left me weak and trembling.
After the heated battle, he left me as if nothing had happened, as if I was nothing more than a discarded toy. His callous disregard for my feelings was a crushing blow, a stark reminder of my diminished status.
Another tear fell from my eyes, 'I'm just a toy for him,' I thought, my heart aching with a mixture of pain and resignation.
The whole night ended without me seeing Damian again. I got ready early to leave his place with the help of Manang Linda, seeking to escape his presence and reclaim some semblance of control over my life.
I was dripping with sweat when I arrived at school, my body still trembling from the night's events. Gazes greeted me, judgmental and unkind, piercing me with their unspoken accusations.
"I can't believe she's a prostitute!" a woman whispered, her voice laced with venom.
Not far away, I could hear their hushed whispers, their condemning glances. I just bowed my head, trying to shield myself from their judgment.
I have to endure it, just a few more weeks until graduation, until I can escape this suffocating atmosphere and start a new life.
"El, don't pay attention to them!" said Lior, who had just arrived, her voice filled with concern and defiance.
"Aren't you disgusted with me?" I whispered, knowing she could hear me, my voice barely audible above the din of the hallway.
She gave me a mischievous smile, her eyes twinkling with warmth and understanding. "So what if the rumors about you are true? I know you, Elaris; you're a good person. The people who judge harshly are the disgusting ones, not the people who fight fairly in life just to save their loved ones."
I looked at her tearfully, my heart swelling with gratitude for her unwavering support. "Don't cry, it takes away your beauty," she said, teasingly, trying to lighten the mood.
Liorraine is a good friend, a true friend who sees beyond the rumors and the accusations, who recognizes the goodness in my heart.
The day ended with constant whispers about me, men ogling me and offering money for me to give myself to them, their words and actions a constant reminder of my objectification.
With every burden I felt, I remembered what Lucas had told me – his words of encouragement, his belief in my strength.
I changed at home before leaving for work, seeking refuge in the familiar surroundings of my small apartment. I didn't know where Papa was again with his first love, his absence a constant source of disappointment and pain.
"Elaris, why did you even come in?" said Yassi, her voice filled with worry. "Martha is seething with anger. I'm afraid of what she might do to you."
A small, bitter smile touched my lips. "It's okay, Ate Yassi; Claire needs medical treatment more, and I can still endure everything."
Her lips parted in a silent gasp, but she couldn't do anything, her hands tied by her own circumstances.
"How dare you show your face here?" Martha shouted, her voice filled with rage and contempt. All the customers' eyes were on us, their gazes a mixture of curiosity and judgment. "You pretend to be clean, but you're dirtier than the people here. What a hypocrite!"
I just grabbed the hem of my dress, my knuckles white with tension. Before I could speak, "Boys, I'll give you this woman if you just double the price," said Martha, and the men rushed to outbid each other to get me, their eyes filled with lust and greed.
Carla and Yassi were helpless, held by Martha's men, their faces etched with fear and concern.
"Just give her to me; I'll pay a million for one night," a baritone voice said, dangerously, his words laced with menace. It was also older, a voice that spoke of power and control.
"Perfect—" Martha began, her eyes gleaming with triumph.
"It seems my last warning didn't suit to make you stop harassing that woman," a familiar voice cut through the noise, sending a shiver down my spine.
Damian.
A figure approached us, his presence commanding and intimidating. It was Mr. Armstrong, the owner of the bar, his face etched with disapproval.
"What's happening here?" he shouted, his darkening gaze suddenly lit up when he saw Damian, his expression shifting from anger to deference.
"You know what to do," he said coldly and dangerously before going up to the second floor, his words a veiled threat.
I heard a slap, followed by gasps of shock and pain. Trembling with anger, with a dark aura, Martha's reign of terror had come to an end.
"You're fired, Martha. I'll make sure you can't find a job again," said Mr. Armstrong, his voice filled with contempt. He followed Damian, his footsteps echoing in the sudden silence.
Trembling, Martha sat weakly on the floor, her face contorted with rage and humiliation.
Everything went back to normal, as if nothing had happened, the customers resuming their conversations and their drinks.
The man in shades was still focused on me, his gaze intense and unwavering.
"One thing is not enough, helping to cover up what's spreading about you," he said, his voice low and mysterious.
"Who are you?" I asked, my voice barely a whisper.
"Friend or foe, it's up to you," he replied, his words enigmatic and unsettling.
Before I could ask again, he walked away, disappearing into the crowd.
Do I know you? The question echoed in my mind, a haunting reminder of the secrets and dangers that surrounded me.