The Heavy Date Part 4
15 Aug 2017Mhera Bathana
Exotica, Clair Dock, TjakiriMhera’s room was dim, casting the surfaces in dull pinks and oranges, and the shadows crept along the floor. The bed was a disheveled mess, sheets piled on the floor. The weight of fat hairy bear of a man heavy upon her. His thick stomach pressing her uncomfortably in the bed. He stunk of sweat and cologne.
Face turned away and buried in a pillow she kept her savage thoughts to herself.
Get off of me… He still had five minutes, and he seemed hell bent on utilizing them. She found her foot, ticking away the time. One hundred and twenty ticks to a minute. The man’s wooly chest scratched her as he shifted his weight. He gave a soft grunt and rolled off of her.
Finally…
He tried to look into her eyes, but she focused hers between the brows.
The fat man's voice was a lazy drawl. “Darlin’ that was amaizin’.”
Mhera didn’t think so at all, but she knew it was best to agree, and sweetly at that. “The best.” she lied.
The butterball stood, and awkwardly hitched his underwear up. The bulge of his belly flopping grotesquely over the waistband. “Next time I make a delivery here, I’ll be sure to ask for you.”
Fainting the same sweetly fake smile, she nodded. “You do that. I’ll be looking for you.” she touched her fingers to her mouth and blew him a small kiss, as she led the half naked man out of the room.
Enamoured, the man stuttered. “Darlin’ if there was a way I could take ya….”
Mhera continued her smile. “Then I wouldn’t be here, to help with all that pent up energy from those long hauls.” she tossed the rest of his clothes at him. “But, sadly your hour is up.” she said blowing him another kiss and closed the door on him with a soft click.
She found her back against the door, and slid down hugging her knees to her chest sobbing. At first she didn’t know why and hadn’t in quite some time. She had became hard and numb to the whole affair just as the other girls had taught her. So why this now?
She thought of Stryker. His bloodied face materialized into her mind’s eye. He had said that he was working to get her out of here. But it had been a better part of two weeks, and not a word from him. She shook her head in disbelief and disappointment washed over her.
How naive of me. To think, that he would actually do something. This is all part of some sick game. Mhera clenched her fists, the nails bit harshly into the skin and her whole body shook with silent rage. She rode the wave of anger until it had dissolved upon the shores indifference. Standing she started to fix up the room. Removing the stained linens she tossed them haphazardly into a chute to be cleaned. Next she pulled the plastic like cover off the bed and tossed it into the small hole then turned her attention to the various knick-knacks on the dressers and counters which served no real purpose except to give the room some charm. She thought of a shower.
It was required that all the girls showered after they had a client. Hygiene was important. But in a way, it helped her to feel clean. To wash away all the filth. She let the hot water rush over her. She thought about the biochemical process that occurred during a synaptic response from one glial cell to the next. She recalled the structure of acetylcholinesterase, and gave a silent sob. All that schooling, wasted. She had no real purpose to better mankind. She thought about her dear friend, Camille and felt fresh sobs rack her body.
She found herself dressed, and in the commons with some of the other girls. It was lunch for her, as Exotica kept its doors open every day, and every hour. She sat with her plate, a piping hot dish of baked chicken, with melted cheese and spicy marinara sauce. So long as she was maintaining her figure, she could eat whatever she wanted. But each girl was measured once a week and the dieting routine, was sever. She lifted a cup of tea, steam wafting from the brim of the cup licking the air above.
A thin dark skinned, yet well defined man with neck length black hair sat next to her. “Hello, my darling Mhera.”
She looked up at him, and tried to smile. “Hi Marco.”
His face drew an expression of sadness. He touched her hair with the back of his hand. “I can see you’re still hurting. I guess we all do.”
Mhera nodded. Marco was one of the “girls.” The term was used loosely and defined any prostitute regardless of the sex.
He wrapped an arm around her and gave her a loving squeeze. “We may never find that true love, but we have each other. Keep a stiff upper lip. Things won’t get better, but you stop caring as much.”
She knew he spoke the truth. She very much enjoyed Marco. He had been in the game for some time. Flamboyant, he used humor to cast a mask over the pain. But he was also deeply caring. Looking at her plate, she heard him yelp.
Looking back to her right, she saw his head was tilted back. A large rough hand had grabbed Marco’s hair and was pulling it pack, careful not to leave any marks.
Marco reached up instinctively to grab at the hand, as he was pulled up from the seat, and tossed to the side.
Borkus was a large man. Muscle under a thick layer of fat, his golden, sharply cropped hair, and mutton chopped face was twisted in rage. He glared down at Marco with his dark eyes, than to Mhera. “You're plans have changed, again."
Mhera knew he was in a mood. If she said something, she would be in pain. If she didn’t, she would be in pain.
She decided to speak up. “I uh...” then gasped in pain as Borkus wrapped his large hand under her arm, pinching the skin and flesh
“I’m getting sick of all of your schedule changes.” He roughly let her go.
Like I have control over that. She fought back tears and was startled by a loud slap of his hand on the table-top. It clattered her plate, and sent the fork sliding off. Borkus removed his hand, uncovering a holoslate. He gave her one last hard stare before trundling off. Slowly, she hopped out of the chair and knelt by Marco who was was holding the side of his head in a hand, trying to smile.
She set her jaw trying to hold back the anger of injustice. This isn’t right...
“It’s okay, I’ll be fine. He must be in one of his better moods today,” Marco said. And Mhera knew he wasn’t joking this time. Borkus, could be a right terror. Knowing the right places to inflict pain, that left little to no markings.
She helped him to the table, empathy washed over her for her friend. “I’m sorry.”
“I know.” He smiled sweetly and pointed to the slate. “So what did you roll?”
Picking up the device, she looked it over. It didn’t give the name of the client, but detailed any and all preferences, the time, and attire. “Uggh, an all nighter.” she said, setting the slate down with a clack.
She felt Marco rub in the small of the back. “Well, maybe it’ll be an outing?” he said cheerfully.
“Or, some pig that wants to cuddle and…” her body gave an involuntary shudder. “At any rate, I have some time to spare. Finish with me?”
Marco nodded taking a seat next to her. They talked about a few things, but nothing deep. Once she was finished eating, she found herself back in her little room. Mhera took her normal greeting position on the corner of the bed, legs crossed, foot ticking away the time. There was a rap, and she responded in her fake sweet voice.
“Come in.”
Styker pushed through the door. His broad torso was covered in a tight black muscle-T, laying bare his massive arms. A wide strip of fish netting cut horizontally around the chest and back exposing the muscle. The thick forearms were covered and wound in a leather strip with metal clasps and the hands in fingerless gloves with spikes jutting from the knuckles. His powerful legs, in tight fitting mylar like material, and a spiked belt. Feet protected in the same armorer plated boots he usually wore. The eyes were darkly shadowed and lined with black liner and a thick leather choker collar embedded with long sharp metallic spikes
Confusion drew over her face and she mouthed something. Coming to her senses she spoke. “What?”
“Sorry,” he said. “I know it’s been awhile. Busy and whatever. But I managed some time to mess about and thought it might be fun to take you out to club. So long as you’re willing to behave yourself.”
She was cautious, and her tone mirrored it. “Is this some sort of game for you?”
“Yes.” he said simply.
She narrowed her eyes. That was not what she had expected.
He tossed some clothes on the bed, and faced her with a serious expression. “You have to understand something. Here, everything is a game. A deadly one. You play, or you die. It’s that simple.” He pointed to the bundle of clothing. “Put that on.”
She plucked out a short black and white pleated skirt. “Can I ask how you seemingly know my dress sizes?”
“You can.” he folded his arms about his chest.
She huffed. “Okay. How do you know my dress sizes?”
“It’s all on your file.” he said.
Mhera crossed her arms. “So, I’m your dress up doll then?”
“If you want to wear that lingerie, by all means.” he shrugged.
“Good point.” She pulled each article of clothing from the pile, and looked at it. “I don’t think I’ll feel comfortable wearing this.”
Stryker ticked his head. “Where we are going, everyone will be wearing this stuff.”
She pulled the clothes on, and stood in front of a mirror, appraising the image. The shirt was black, with a stylized skull with wings printed low and to the left side. Under that was a long sleeved shirt, banded tightly with strips of alternating white and black. The skirt was short, reaching halfway down the thigh covered in black fishnet stockings, and high heeled boots of solid white. She let her strawberry blond hair down, and placed a pleated black and white fabric cap with shallow brim on her head.
Stryker came up behind her, latching a thin leather collar about her neck, and affixed a leather leash to the metal ring.
Annoyed, and nervous she looked at the man from the mirror. “I don’t know how I feel about this.”
He shrugged. “I’ll let you manage your own leash.” He dropped the end over her shoulder. Opening the door he led her out.
Again they took the tram. A short ride and they were standing in front of a flashy establishment. The neon lights flashed "Darkwire" and bass thumped rhythmically from the walls. There was line, and a head of it, a surly looking bouncer. Stryker strode up to him, and flashed some sort of credential. The bouncer lowered the red vine balustrade and waved them in.