Taunt pt 2

Tired but content after a full night, Sandy was finally on her way back to Joel's luxurious apartment. She relaxed with a sigh back into the mini-cab's seat and gazed out of the window at the lights and people of a city that never shut down. She loved London, she really did. She was happy here, on the whole. This was where her daughter had been born and – Sandy couldn't explain it – but there was something about the ancient city that called to her. She felt so at home here it was like she'd lived here all her life. But, in reality, she'd only been in London for four years...

      The young American girl had escaped from Uncle Max only to find herself alone in a foreign city, with nowhere to go, no identification and no idea what to do next. Of course at that time, worries about her future wasn't as important as putting as much distance between Max and herself as possible. Sandy had jogged away from the hotel with the skin between her shoulder blades crawling like she had a neon target glittering there. Sandy had run further and further into the city, instinctively keeping away from the classier areas, and only stopping when the murky dawn light began picking out the details of the buildings she was travelling past. Sandy had no idea where she was but she'd ended up in a small park in an area that had an aura of neglect. Too tired to go any further, the girl had crawled into the shelter of some overgrown bushes and gone to sleep.
       Sandy hadn't slept well, or long, the chill in the air and damp earth had seeped into her bones and forced her to move or risk hypothermia. Shivering, she'd cautiously poked her head out from her hiding place. It was deathly quiet, even the distant sound of traffic seemed muted and flat in the damp air. Sandy crawled out of the bushes and with her arms wrapped tightly around herself in an attempt to conserve body heat, the girl moved slowly out of the park.

Sandy's stomach was growling - she hadn't eaten for hours - but without cash she wasn't going to be able to get any food without stealing. She thought about the jewellery in her bag and wondered for the first time just how good the stuff was. Uncle Max was certainly wealthy enough to afford quality. Oh well, only one way to find out – time to find a pawn shop.

Hours later, tired, hungry and dejected, Sandy trudged down another dingy, rubbish-strewn street. London – well the parts she'd been visiting today – was littered with pawn and second-hand shops, but none of them had been willing to deal with her without any identification.
      She stood for a moment outside this last one, gazing without seeing at the merchandise displayed behind barred windows. If this one wouldn't take her jewellery she'd probably have to steal some food from somewhere...

"Can I help you, love?" The portly man behind the counter smelt strongly of beer and cigarettes.
      "Yeah," Sandy put on her most winsome, charming smile. "I've got some jewellery I'd like to sell."
      He quirked an eyebrow and the girl knew he was wondering about her accent. He didn't say anything, though, unlike every other fucking shop-owner she'd spoken to today.
      "Let's 'ave a look then."
      Sandy laid the delicate gold chains with their jewelled flower and teddy bear charms out on the grubby pseudo-velvet mat. The man picked up one of them and peered at it through a jeweller's loupe.
      "Very nice." He murmured. Sandy tried not to sigh; she'd heard that from multiple sources already.
      "How much can you give me for them?"
      The man gave her a considering look.
      "These yours?"
      "Yes."
      "I'll need some identification –"
      "I don't have any identification," Sandy ground out.
      He shrugged beefy shoulders.
      "Sorry, love, can't help."
      Sandy felt like she was going to burst into tears - she took a deep breath instead.
      "I'll take anything you can give me for them."
      "Sorry, I can't buy goods without some identification. It's the law."
      "Oh fine," the girl snarled, snatching the jewellery back up, "thanks for your help." She flung herself away from the counter and stalked to the door of the shop.
      "Hold on," the man called after her. Sandy glowered back over her shoulder at him. He looked distinctly uneasy and beckoned her closer. Sandy scowled as she stalked back to the counter.
      "What?"
      "I can't take them," he said in a conspiratorial whisper, "but I know someone who might be able to."
      Sandy refused to get her hopes up.
      "Oh?"
      "Yeah, go here – " the man scrawled an address on a scrap of paper and handed it to her, " – and ask for Frisky."
      "Who shall I say sent me?" there was a sharp, sarcastic edge to her tone that made the man frown. Sandy grimaced an apology. "Sorry, it's just been a long couple of days."
      "All right then." Mollified somewhat, he went on, "No names. Just ask for Frisky."
      "Thanks." Sandy sighed wearily. "How far is this place?"
      "Not far – " the man rattled off some directions then half-smiled at the girl's blank look. "I'll draw you a map..."

Sandy smiled hopefully at the thin, pock-marked face just visible through the scarcely open door.
      "What?"
      "I'm here to see Frisky."
      Shadowed eyes narrowed suspiciously.
      "Why?"
      Sandy contrived to look as earnestly honest as possible.
      "I've got some stuff I'd like to... pawn."
      "Where'd you get my - the name?"
      Sandy managed not to grin at the slipped information.
      "A guy in a pawn shop, not far from here."
      "Who?"
      Jeez, what was this? Twenty questions? Sandy smiled sweetly.
      "He said 'no names'."
      The man continued to stare guardedly at her but didn't speak. Sandy's nerves were frayed after almost a day of no food or water.
      "Please, please let me speak to Frisky," she said urgently, then out of desperation played her trump card. "...I'll let you fuck me."
      "What?!" the man snarled, disgusted, "You're just a kid! You think I'm a fucking nonce?"
      The door shut firmly in the girl's face and Sandy almost howled in disbelieving frustration. The door jerked open again, wider this time and the pock-marked man scowled out at her.
      "Well fucking come in!"

She followed him down a dim, narrow corridor, the dull brownish carpet muffling their steps as he led her into a cramped little kitchen.
      "Well show us what you've fucking got!" the man, Frisky, snapped irritably. "I don't have all fucking evening." Sandy delved into her bag and spread the jewellery out on the table.
       "Yes, it's all mine, no, I don't have any ID." she said, tersely forestalling the questions. The man smirked at her.
       "Like I give a fuck."
       Frisky's hair was short and liberally sprinkled with grey, the flesh on his face sagged into deep creases either side of his thin mouth. His clothes were new and expensive, though they probably would've looked better on someone a little less scrawny or bow-legged.
       "What 'ave you got, Frisky?"
       Sandy jumped at the deep, smooth voice behind her; a second person, a tall woman, had joined them in the small space. She was slim and elegant in a blue silk cheong-sam, her lustrous black hair piled on top of her head and held in place with what looked like gold and black chopsticks. She was wearing a minimum of makeup; not that she needed it, Sandy thought, her smooth, coffee-coloured skin glowed with natural beauty. She wasn't negro, or Asian, but something in-between and – Sandy frowned – there was something not quite right about her...
      "'s not bad." Frisky replied absently, intent on his appraisal.
       "What can you give me for it?" Sandy asked eagerly.
       "Now hold your horses, missie," he growled, "I haven't said I'd take them yet!"
       Sandy subsided, reigning in her impatience. The beautiful woman sauntered around the table to stand beside the man and Sandy suddenly realised what she was looking at.
       "You're a guy!"
       "Not quite, honey," the woman – man – grinned broadly and dropped a significant glance at her silk-encased breasts. Sandy was intrigued.
       "Do you still have your dick? Oh, sorry..." she faltered at the scandalized look on Frisky's face. The wo/man laid a long-fingered hand on his shoulder, squeezing gently, then gave Sandy an amused, tolerant smile.
       "Yes, I do."
       "Wow," the girl breathed, "you'd be real interesting to fuck."
       Frisky grunted in an aggravated way and there was silence while he finished his assessment. Sandy couldn't help stealing glances at the wo/man though; he – she, whatever – was gorgeous and the girl was itching to know how the bits fitted together. She'd heard of trannys - transsexuals - but to her knowledge had never met one.
      Frisky stirred then, dropping the piece he'd been scrutinizing back on the table. He named an amount and Sandy frowned; she had no idea if it was reasonable or not, but what choice did she have? She nodded, sitting back in the cheap chair and feeling like she could suddenly breathe again. Frisky shot the wo/man a look and she glided from the room to return a short time later with a cash-card.
      "There you go, honey," she handed the untraceable cash substitute to the girl.
      "Thanks," Sandy stood up to go, then on an impulse, stopped and looked directly at the bony man. "I need a job – you got anything I can do?"
      "No." Frisky said shortly.
      "Oh, right then," Sandy sighed then being careful not to overdo it she added. "Guess I can always go back on the streets..."
      "What?" Frisky exclaimed, his expression one of almost comical dismay.
      "I'll go back to selling myself," Sandy shrugged matter-of-factly, "'s what I did before."
      The man's sallow skin flushed dark and a vein in his neck bulged noticeably; the wo/man watched the exchange from one side, unsuccessfully hiding her huge grin behind a slender hand.
      "How long - ?" Frisky grated.
      "Have I been a prostitute?" Sandy helpfully finished for him and he jerked his head in a nod. "Less than a year, though I only spent the first few months working the streets, the rest of the time was with one rich, old guy." Sandy's cool, nonchalant pose slipped for a moment and she shuddered. "I've only just got away from him."
      Frisky was grinding his teeth together so fiercely Sandy thought they were going to crack. The wo/man frowned pensively.
      "Can always do with an extra hand in the club. Whaddya think, Frisky?"
      Club? Oh that's right - Sandy remembered – the address she was given was a sex-club or something, she'd been directed to a laneway around the back.
      "We don't know her from shit, she could be a cop!"
      The wo/man looked Sandy up and down then quirked a sardonic eyebrow at him.
      "They've lowered the age requirement for Hendon then, have they?"
      Frisky glowered at her for several seconds then growled in frustrated defeat.
      "No sex." he snapped, "she can clean the bogs or something. And if anything fucks up it's your fault!"
      Sandy blinked then squealed happily.
      "You're giving me a job?!" The girl couldn't believe her luck. "You guys are the best!"
      "It's not going to be glamorous, or well paid." the wo/man warned.
      "Don't care!" Sandy laughed. "It's not sex with creeps for money!" Up until she'd been given a choice, Sandy hadn't realised how little she wanted to go back to it.
      "I'm Janene," the wo/man smiled and held out her hand.
      "Sandy," Sandy grinned and shook Janene's hand, "thanks so much." She bit her lip, "I hate to push my luck, but I need somewhere to crash..."
      Frisky groaned, loudly and Janene chuckled, ruffling his short locks, making them stand up in greyish spikes. He growled at her and hastily began smoothing his hair back down.
      "There's a small room here you can use." Janene said.
      "You don't go into the fucking club when it's open for business," Frisky snapped, "and if anything goes missing you're going to end up floating face-down in a canal. You understand?"
      Sandy nodded, not smiling; Frisky may have a soft spot for kids but her gut was telling her he was deadly serious in his threat.
      "I'll do as I'm told, sir, I promise..."

Sandy slid easily into life in the London underworld. While Frisky was hardly a luminary of the criminal class he was 'known to the police', as the phrase went, and the club he and Janene managed was popular with a fair number of minor and major 'villains'.
      Janene hadn't been kidding when she said the work Sandy would be doing was unglamorous. Scrubbing down toilets that someone had been carelessly sick into wasn't fun but the girl worked hard and willingly. Janene was pretty friendly with her right from the start and as time went on, little by little even Frisky unbent enough to grace her with a tight smile occasionally. He wouldn't touch her though, wouldn't come within six feet of the girl if he could help it. Sandy quietly quizzed Janene about his behaviour.
      "I don't know," the she-male frowned thoughtfully, "he won't tell me why he's so dead set against kiddy-fiddlers. I guess something bad happened in the past."
       As she was effectively sharing a house with them, Sandy gradually found out quite a lot about Frisky and Janene. That they were lovers went without saying. Their shared bed was evidence enough even without the very obvious sounds of sex that frequently woke Sandy up. The girl was frankly intrigued about that, wondering just who was fucking who. The pair had been together for years, according to one of the club's regular strippers, and it showed – Frisky and Janene bickered and argued like any other long-term couple Sandy had ever observed. It was kinda sweet...
      Frisky was a puzzle though. Not only had he forbidden Sandy to come into the club when it was open but he'd also been adamant she not have sex at all – with anyone – until she turned sixteen. Sandy grumbled about it to Janene. The girl thought he was going too far - what was he, her father? – but 'nene just smiled and told her to be patient with him. It was hard though; the forced abstinence made Sandy realise how much she liked sex and there were times when the need to be fucked was overwhelming. Listening to her benefactors enthusiastically screwing each other didn't help and Sandy spent a lot of time pleasuring herself.

Sandy didn't risk Frisky's ire by going into the club but she did lurk around backstage with the strippers. She was fascinated by the whole issue of exotic dancing; being able to sexually excite someone without letting them near her? She'd be into that! Frisky, naturally, hit the roof when she broached the subject with him.
       "Absolutely fucking not!" he'd raged, "Having you parade yourself up there is as bad as putting you on a street corner!"
      "No it's not!" Sandy countered hotly.
       "She won't be taking any customers," Janene had mildly interjected, "just dancing."
       "Don't you fucking take her side!" Frisky rounded on his lover, "Having a kid stripping will bring the nonces in and I will not fucking stand for that!"
       "With make-up she'll look older," Janene coaxed. "And we won't let it be known she's underage."
       "No!" Frisky growled, folding his arms across his thin chest.
       "Please, Frisky, I just wanna try!" Sandy pleaded with him, big hazel eyes wide and imploring.
       "You haven't got the knockers for it anyway." Frisky grunted, wavering.
       "The… what?" Sandy frowned, perplexed again by the idiosyncratic language – didn't these people speak English?
       "Tits, girl, you don't have the tits to be a stripper." Frisky smirked triumphantly.
       "They're not that small," Janene arched an eyebrow, "and Magda's not much bigger – she does all right."
       Frisky growled inarticulately, a sound of frustration which Sandy knew from experience meant he was close to giving in.
       "Please, Frisky, let me at least have a go! I really wanna do this."
       "Yeah, come on," Janene urged with a smile, "let her put an act together – the girls will help – see how she does."
       Frisky's shoulders slumped and he glowered at the two of them.
       "Orright, but I'm not happy about it." He scowled as Sandy and Janene squealed and hugged each other. "Women! Feh! Be the fucking death of me!"

Sandy's first routine wasn't the most original but even Frisky had to admit the girl had... something. She was beautiful without appearing unapproachable, real girl-next-door stuff and to his relief she didn't look, or move, like a child.
       "Yeah," was his reluctant response, "you'll do."
       "Thanks, Frisky," Sandy, naked except for a pair of sharply-heeled shoes, grinned at him, "I told you I'd be okay at it." She shrugged into the loose cotton gown Janene handed her. "I'm young, not a kid. There's a difference."
       Frisky glowered sullenly.
       "I 'spose you wanna go onstage now?"
       "That's the whole point, duh." Sandy rolled her eyes.
       "Okay, one show a night – you get the standard fee – and you don't fucking pick up any clients, understand?"

Sandy loved stripping. She loved being up there in front of the punters, teasing and provoking them and sometimes it was almost as if she could feel the lust she stirred radiating back to her...

Life finally seemed to smooth out for the American girl; she had a job, a place to live, friends. She got back in contact with her parents - she'd not been able to do that while she was with Max - and they were overjoyed to hear from her, having suspected the worst for many months. Naturally they'd been curious as to how she got to England. Sandy glossed over the facts, easy to do in emails, and just as deftly side-stepped her parents' enquiries about when she was going to come home. Sandy didn't want to go back to America, she was happy in London.

Sandy's sixteenth birthday was marked with a little party in the club before opening time - organised by Janene - with the biggest cake she'd ever seen and a small mountain of presents. But best of all, when Sandy had finished her set for the evening Janene swayed up to her in the dressing room, planted a lingering kiss on her lips, then to the good-natured jeers and whistles of the other performers led the girl upstairs to one of the 'business' rooms.
      The she-male grinned fondly as Sandy hesitated.
      "Come on, I know you've been dying of curiosity all year!"
      Which was true and Sandy was delighted with the idea but…
      "Is Frisky okay with this?" From what she'd observed, Frisky and Janene were happily monogamous.
      "He is." Janene smiled softly, more to herself than Sandy, then she grinned again and prowled to stand in front of the girl. "Can I show you what I like?" she reached out to gently stroke Sandy's cheek.
      "Uh, yeah, thanks." Sandy found herself leaning into the touch, absently amazed at how the simple, affectionate caress had started a delicious ache in her groin.
      "Well, I really like being undressed, slowly, starting here." Janene guided Sandy's hand to the simple clasp holding her lustrous black tresses in place, sighing happily when the girl unbound her hair and ran slim fingers through the wavy mass. "And now - " Janene took hold of the girl's wrists, turning her hands over and nuzzling her palms, " - you start at the top, and work down." Wide-eyed, Sandy gently tugged on the zip running down the front of the she-male's dark purple, leather cat-suit. Janene was nude underneath it and Sandy unconsciously licked her lips as full, soft breasts were leisurely revealed. In her stiletto-heeled boots, the she-male was much taller than Sandy, in fact the girl's nose was just about level with tempting chocolate bud nipples. Never one for stoically resisting temptation, Sandy leant forward and took one of the hard little peaks in her mouth, experiencing that weird but satisfying rush as Janene's arousal seemed to rebound on her, enhancing her own.
      Greedy for skin contact after a year of nothing more than the occasional hug Sandy sampled Janene's tawny skin with licks and kisses as she pulled the cat-suit down. The girl relished the shivers rippling over her friend's body as she moved lower, ending up on her knees in front of the she-male. Janene wasn't terrifically endowed but that was hardly cause for complaint as Sandy sucked the rigid cock into her mouth. Her time on the street, and with Uncle Max, had enhanced a natural talent and the girl now happily lavished all her skill on her friend.
      "No, wait, too soon – " Janene gasped for breath, her hands fisted in Sandy's hair while she fought to stave off a climax. It was an uneven battle though and soon enough the she-male was groaning through gritted teeth as she came, much to Sandy's satisfaction.
      "Haven't lost my touch then." She smirked impudently at Janene who'd collapsed back onto the bed, leather cat-suit loose around her knees.
      "Cow." the she-male panted, "I told you to stop."
      "Why?" Sandy was still on her knees: she busied herself removing Janene's boots before attempting to tug the cat-suit completely off her friend. "Afraid you're not going to get it up again?" She giggled at the look she received. "I mean, I know you're not so young anymore but it'd be a shame if you couldn't fuck me."
      Janene growled and before the girl could react she found herself sprawled across the she-male's slender body.
      "I'll give you 'not so young anymore'." And then Sandy was squealing and giggling as she was mercilessly tickled.
      By the time the girl was reduced to a helpless, gasping lump of giggles begging for mercy Janene was erect again, and smirking. Before Sandy had fully recovered her breath she was deftly manoeuvred on to her back and her thighs nudged apart. Janene quickly positioned herself over the girl, propping herself up on her elbows. Deep, ebony eyes smiled down at Sandy and she could feel the tip of the she-male's cock nudging the entrance to her body.
      "Happy birthday, honey," Janene said softly and slid smoothly into her cunt...

"Might be better if you slept in your own bed," the she-male gently nibbled the skin between Sandy's shoulders.
      "'Spose so." She sighed and bestirred herself enough to turn over. "Thanks." Sandy smiled fondly at Janene.
      "My pleasure, honey…"
      It was the best birthday present Sandy had ever had. Janene was a tender, generous lover, as happy to give as receive and the pair had spent a wonderful few hours together. Sandy knew it wasn't going to be a regular occurrence but that was fine, she was damn grateful for the opportunity and it was so nice having sex with someone who actually cared for her.

Now that Sandy was legally of age, Frisky had grumpily informed her she could take clients if she wanted to. He was obviously unhappy with the idea but that wasn't the only reason Sandy decided against it. To be honest, she didn't need to prostitute herself anymore, she earned more than enough stripping to keep body and soul together. And, way deep down in her heart, Sandy yearned for someone special, a proper boyfriend; she believed she'd have less chance of finding him if she was working as a prostitute.

A month on from her sixteenth birthday and a guy she'd never seen before came into the club. Sandy was certain he was a newcomer because she'd sure as hell have remembered him! Drop-dead gorgeous, tall and lean, broad-shouldered with a tight little ass - he sure was something to feast your eyes on. He was important too, or at least influential, going by Frisky's obsequiousness to him and his cronies. Sandy was intrigued and the next time she was on stage she directed her routine squarely at him. The eye-contact and coy little smirks paid off - after her set Janene came back stage with a message for her.
      "I hope you're pleased with yourself." The she-male's face was like thunder.
      "What?"
      "Joel Canly wants to talk to you."
      "Good." Sandy smirked and Janene swore quietly.
      "No, not good, you stupid little girl." she hissed. "He's a first-rate prick, he's just got back from doing a stretch for GBH, and his uncle is one of London's most vicious crime-lords!"
      Sandy folded her arms obstinately across her chest.
      "So? He's cute."
      Janene stared at her then scowled, throwing her hands in the air.
      "You're obviously not going to listen to me." She stalked away from the girl, then stopped and growled back over her shoulder: "I reserve the right to say 'I told you so' when - not if - he fucks you over."
      "I'll make a note." Sandy instantly regretted the sarcastic twang to her voice but by that time Janene was out of the room.

In hindsight, the only reason Sandy could think of why her normally reliable gut-instincts failed her concerning Joel was because of the drugs she infrequently used. On her first meeting with the crime-lord's nephew, Joel came across as a perfectly reasonable guy and his attention was flattering. Sandy resolutely ignored Janene's stony face and let herself be charmed by the attractive man.
      Joel was very pleased to find out that Sandy wasn't a prostitute - a slag, in his words - and he asked her out for a drink that night. They'd gone to another, flashier club where Joel was greeted like a hero. He kept the girl close by his side, and she secretly delighted in the furious looks she got from the other women who tried, and failed, to get his attention. The fawning manager found them a small table in a corner and said they could have what they liked, it was all on the house. Joel ordered whisky for them both and Sandy didn't demur, even though she'd never liked the strong spirit.
      They chatted - or rather, he talked and she listened - until he'd downed the last of his four drinks, then Joel smirked at her.
      "You're very young - you legal?"
      "Yes I am." Sandy said with a shy smile.
      "You a virgin?" He shoved his hand underneath her tight skirt and between her thighs to probe her groin. Sandy relaxed her legs apart just a little, and tried to gauge his reaction from his expression. If in doubt, tell the truth.
      "No, sir," she said softly.
      "Good, virgins are too much hard work." Joel leered at her and unsubtly pushed her panties to one side to fuck her with his finger. Sandy gasped, aroused and embarrassed at the same time - a couple of Joel's friends were watching with knowing smirks. Joel removed his finger then held it against her lips. Keeping her eyes locked on his, Sandy licked up the finger, winding her tongue around the tip of it. Joel's grey eyes darkened with lust.
      "Let's go."

There was no tenderness to the man at all and Sandy was feeling bruised by the time he'd finished. But he was bound to be a bit… enthusiastic if he'd only just out of prison, right? Who knows how long it'd been since he saw a woman? Sandy was willing to make excuses for him but even so she was disappointed when he called one of his mates in to take her home. The man had been silent in the car but he'd looked at her with an unnerving familiarity and Sandy was only too glad to get away from him.
      Janene barely spoke to her the next day except to ask tersely is she was all right. Sandy smiled sunnily and said she was fine but later in the evening, as she was getting ready to go onstage, she noticed a large bruise on her hip where Joel had gripped her particularly tightly. The girl hastily covered the blemish with make-up, not wanting Janene to see it, and hoped for the best.
       Joel was in the club again that night, and again he asked her out, only this time they went straight back to his apartment. It was a little better this time for Sandy but she soon found out her own pleasure was entirely up to her; Joel either didn’t know, or didn't care, if she came or not.

Sandy had been seeing the crime-lord's nephew for a few months and she believed she was having a moderating influence on him. True he still didn't seem to care much if she enjoyed herself but he wasn't rough all the time either and when they were out in public he was flatteringly attentive. It wasn't the best relationship Sandy could've hoped for but it was better than any others she'd had. He'd started letting her stay the night after they'd fucked, instead of packing her straight off home, and Sandy begun to think of Joel as 'her boyfriend'. Finding out she was pregnant to him seemed a natural progression.
       Joel's reaction to her news was disappointing; he'd wanted her to get rid of the thing. Sandy had been horrified at his callousness and refused to have an abortion. This child - her child - was a precious gift that she wasn't about to throw away. They'd argued, hotly, and Joel had threatened to throw her down the stairs, force her to miscarry. Sandy had fled back to Frisky's, genuinely scared. Help had come from an unexpected quarter though. Raymond Canly, Joel's imposing uncle, paid her a visit. He'd sat with her in the flat's tiny kitchen and explained to the frightened girl that his nephew was hot-headed, and young. Obviously the thought of becoming a father was worrying to him but he was sure Joel would come around to the idea. In fact, Ray Canly was so sure of this he moved Sandy into Joel's apartment that evening. Joel was sullen but resigned, he wasn't going to go against his uncle, and Sandy did her best to be the perfect girlfriend for him.
       Right from the start there were problems. Joel refused to have sex with her and many nights he came home boasting of some other woman he'd fucked. It hurt, it really hurt, but Sandy held on to the beautiful belief that when their baby was born, he'd see how perfect she was and fall in love with both of them. Delusional? Probably, but it stopped her from getting depressed.
       Needless to say Sandy wasn't able to work, and she wasn't allowed to go anywhere on her own, but she had the best medical care available and Ray Canly and his wife were frequent visitors. Mimi, Ray's wife, was a dried-up stick of a woman, so intimidated by her husband she barely breathed without his permission. The only time Sandy ever saw a spark of life in her was when she talked about the baby. Sandy felt sorry for Mimi, she had no children of her own, so she indulged the woman's almost desperate need to be part of the pregnancy.
       But even with all the crap Sandy was thrilled to be pregnant, relishing every stage and eagerly anticipating the time when she could hold her child in her arms.

Ray and Mimi had come with her to the hospital when she went into labour but Sandy had gone into the delivery room on her own. Joel had made himself scarce the moment her pains had started, but Sandy didn't have time or energy to be upset about that for long. Her daughter was delivered safely after a short sharp labour. The midwife had laid the baby in her arms and smiled, commenting that first-time mums usually had a harder time of it, but because Sandy was so young - she was a few weeks off her seventeenth birthday - it had all gone very smoothly.
      Sandy gazed at her daughter in wonder, marvelling in the fluff of dark hair on her head and the tiny, perfect little fingers. Filled with a warm soft glow of love, the American girl felt like she'd done something worthwhile for the first time in her life.

Unfortunately, Joel didn't fall in love with either her or their daughter and he complained endlessly about the noise and smells associated with a baby. In the interests of a peaceful homelife, Sandy acquiesced to Ray's suggestion that he and Mimi take little Winnie every now and again to let her and Joel have some time alone together. Sandy did not like being separated from her daughter, liked even less that she'd been forced to stop breast-feeding her after only a couple of weeks to make it easier for Mimi and Ray to look after her. And as for time alone with Joel? Yes, he was fucking her again but they weren't often alone. He frequently called in one or more of his mates and gave her to them, then sat back getting stoned and jerking off while he watched her being fucked. It rapidly became intolerable and Sandy knew she had to get out.

Janene never did say 'I told you so', but opened her arms and her heart instead to her friend, listening with compassion and dismay as Sandy poured out her woes.
       "I have to get away from him, 'nene. I have to take Winnie and go."
       "Do you have any idea where?"
      "No," Sandy said grimly, "but I'm not going to just up and leave. I want some money behind me this time, I want to be organised."
       Between them they hatched the plan of getting Sandy back stripping. Joel would have to know about that but he didn't need to know that his 'girlfriend' would also be picking up customers. It was the quickest way either of them could think of to raise the money Sandy needed.
       It was easier than expected to get Joel to agree to Sandy going back to work, the only trick was keeping him out of the club while she was working. There'd be hell to pay if he found out she was hooking, but fortunately it seemed he'd more or less lost interest in the girl and he never came into Frisky's club. Sandy slowly started to put together her 'escape-fund'…

Sandy let herself into Joel's apartment and grimaced, she could smell the sweet, narcotic smoke from here. Great, just what she needed.
       "Hey, Joel, I'm home." She smiled at the man sprawled inelegantly on the leather couch. "Is Winnie with your uncle?"
      He swung his head towards her, focussing with difficulty on her face, and smirked.
       "I've got some friends coming over - "
      Sandy's heart sank.
       "Oh, baby, not tonight, please, I'm tired."
      "Get yourself cleaned up," he leered at her, "and wear something sexy."

Sandy rested her forehead against the cool, blue tiles lining the shower stall. Fuck Joel! She really wasn’t in the mood for this. She showered quickly and thoroughly, then eased herself into the shortest, tightest little skirt she owned; for Joel, 'sexy' equalled 'trashy'. A skimpy, tight crop top and a pair of stiletto heels finished the ensemble; she didn't bother with underwear, it would only slow things down and she wanted this over with as soon as possible.
      There were three unfamiliar men standing in the living room when Sandy strolled out of the bedroom. Big guys, rough-looking - Sandy's gut-instincts pricked insistently at her.
      "There she is, the little slut." Joel slurred. "She's all yours."
      Sandy backed away from them; there was something menacing about the way the way they were advancing on her. One made a grab for her and she dodged his meaty hand only to stagger into another one who'd moved to cut her off from the side. She struggled in his grip, her arms pinned painfully behind her back by one hand, his other arm held tightly against her throat.
      "Do what you want with her, just make sure she doesn't come back," Joel smirked, "if you know what I mean…"
      A cold wash of sick fear swept over the girl.
      "Joel?" her voice quavered.
      "Uncle Ray wants to adopt the brat, but he wants you outta the way first."
      Sandy couldn't believe what she was hearing.
      "No, he can't - you can't - she's my baby!"
      "I don't want her and I don't want you!" Joel roared, struggling gracelessly off the couch. "Get the fuck out of my sight or I'll kill you myself!" Sandy struggled, whimpering with terror but was effortlessly manhandled towards the door.
      "Oh, and fellas - " Joel's voice sounded unpleasantly from behind her, "make sure you fuck her arse, she hates that."
      "No!" Sandy yelled, struggling in earnest now.
      A voice growled in her ear "Oh fucking stay still!" then something large and heavy impacted with the back of her skull and she lost consciousness…

Water… there was water nearby… she could hear it lapping rhythmically against something… Sandy moaned as she forced herself slowly back to consciousness.
      "Shit she's awake. Give her the stuff!"
      "Don't we want her alive while we do it?"
      "Does it matter?"
      There was a pause then:
      "Guess not."
      Sandy wriggled feebly, too groggy to do much else when she felt a slight sting on her wrist.
      "That'll keep her quiet. Right, let's see what we've got."
      Whatever it was they'd given her was already taking hold so when her skirt was ripped open it was like she was hearing it from a distance.
      "Very nice. Who goes first? Toss for it?" The voices became fainter, fading to nothing as she slid away into the darkness…

© 2003 September 21^st Lutra


Darkside

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© 2003 WordWrights