Vincent Kane's Rise From Ash

9: Doxies

They put a sack over her head so she couldn't see who gripped her or where they took her. She heard distant voices, rough and aggressive, but nothing was said about anything in particular. At least, not to her hearing.

“Please…” Tamar whimpered fearfully, “let me go.”

She felt a hard push by the shoulder that was followed by a man telling her to keep quiet. They led her down the stairs, with music playing in the background until they stopped after a minute of walking. Her breaths were short and heavy, and she felt beads of sweat trickle down from the intense heat of being covered. Then, they removed the sack from her head and she saw a door in front of her. 

Two heavily guarded men stood by her sides, hands tightly clutching her arm so that she could not run away. One of them knocked once on the door and waited. Seconds later, the chains rattled behind and a bulky man who looked like a bouncer opened the door. His gaze went from her to the two men holding her and nodded. 

When they went in, Tamar noticed the dark and neon lights of the interiors of a night club. They pushed her forward through a crowd of sweaty bodies and partly naked strippers until they reached a private area of the place. The changing room was medium in size and it was filled with girls who looked younger than or about the same age as Tamar, each putting on makeup in front of the dresser. 

One of the men signalled to a young blonde girl and she stood up immediately. Moments later, a haggard looking middle aged woman came up to them. She had orange dyed hair and roughly applied lipstick that held a thin cigarette.

“Didn’t I tell you boys to use the backdoor everytime you pay me a visit?” she nagged.

Her breath smelt of liquor mixed with something minty. A horrible combination that would've made Tamar throw up if she wasn't already in such a predicament. 

“Look what we brought in,” one of the thugs said with a grin. 

The orange haired woman looked Tamar up and down with scrutiny. “Hmmm,” she said, examining. “A new pet.”

They forced Tamar further into a seperate room that reeked awfully of drugs and something rotten. On the centre table were bottles of alcohol and a tray of some white powder. The woman walked around like a vixen- and if it weren't for her ugly make-up and short dress, she could've been a model. 

She turned around and gripped Tamar by the chin, sizing her up. From her face to her breasts, to the way her waist was curved and just how round her hips were.

“She's a little thin for a new pet,” she leaned in and sniffed Tamar's scent. Tamar flinched backwards from the sudden inept approach. “But I guess she'll do. Strip her.”

Before she could fight back or even utter a word, the two men had their hands on her and ripped open the blouse she wore, exposing her chest.

“No- stop…” she wanted to use her hands, to swing them as hard as she could and hit at least one of them across the face. One of the men grabbed her by the chin and leaned in.

“Let's not make this harder than it already is,” he warned.

Tamar looked at him with defiance and threw a spit in his face. The woman laughed from across the room, watching Tamar with a subtle admiration. She moved closer to Tamar, cigarette in hand and then suddenly impressed it onto the skin of Tamar's breast. Tamar screamed from the inflicted pain but the woman only slapped her afterwards and covered her mouth forcefully with a gag. 

“Why isn't she tied up yet?” She asked the thugs with a hint of annoyance. 

They kicked Tamar to the ground until she was down on her knees crying. Her hands were bound together in minutes and they continued to strip her of everything she wore until her skin ached from being on the icy floor. 

“Well, gentlemen,” Tamar heard the madam say. “As a token of my appreciation, I'll leave you two alone with the new girl and let you have your fun first.”

With a smile, the woman walked out, closing the door behind and leaving the three of them alone. Ugly grins appeared on the men's faces first before they began to unbuckle their pants. Tamar's eyes widened with horror and she watched the men reveal their throbbing parts as they inched closer towards her. She tried wriggling away, but her hands were bound and her gagged mouth made it impossible to breathe well.

She cried out in pain as one of them inserted himself into her, arching her back over the floor. The other one stood, jerking off at the sight of her misery.

She shut her eyes and hoped that she was only dreaming, that she would wake up any moment from now. But with every painful thrust she felt, a sense of hopelessness washed over her. She could not escape it now.

The men took turns, changing positions. She felt too sore to move and gave in to the pain until they finished with her. When they left, the madam walked in and crouched beside Tamar. 

“Oh dearie, you don't need to cry,” she said without emotion. “You'll get used to it eventually… these things don't take time once they start.”

She placed a hand on Tamar's cheek, wiping her tears and cooing the girl with what could've been mistaken for motherly affection. But Tamar was limp now, and she didn't feel when the madam gently rubbed off her tears. 

“When you've learnt obedience, I'm going to untie you so we can get you cleaned up for the next job, okay?”

She got up and left with those words, leaving Tamar alone in that detestable state. 

Tamar didn't know how much time had passed but when she was certain no one was watching, she looked around for something useful. A knife, a blade, a forgotten piece from a broken mirror. Something sharp enough to cut through the cloth that bound her hands together. An hour went by when she decided the room was emptied of any form of support.

In the multitude of dark thoughts that filled her mi

nd, she could only think of one.

“Vincent… please ….find me.”