Heather (12 page)

“Can you do it? Pole dance I mean. Make the guys want to fuck you?”

“I don’t know.”

“Well, you better learn fast. You got to tease them. Make them yell and clap. You got to make them want to win the raffle.”

“Raffle?” she asked.

“The pole shift lasts four hours, every night from eight till midnight. There’s four bitches take turns dancin’ for the drug runners and anyone else the Colonel gives passes to. Sometimes buyers show up. Each guy gets a ticket with a number. At the end of the night four numbers are picked from a little barrel. The guys with the winning numbers get to choose which of the bitches they want. The bitch goes with the guy who wins her. She goes to his room and stays as long as he wants her to. She does what he wants her to: suck his cock, fuck him, let him fuck her ass, whatever.”

Heather felt the tears well up, “I-I...don’t think...” she began.

“You’re not supposed to think,” Abila interrupted. “You’re supposed to dance and make the guys hot and then go to bed with the one who wins you. I think that’s a fuckin’ lot better than another night in the Doghouse, don’t you?”

Just the mention of the Doghouse sent a clutch of fear through Heather’s body. She nodded quickly, “Yes...yes Abila I’ll do it...dance and...and...go with one of the men.”

Abila stood back looking at the young girl, “I think you can wear what you got on. The gown is easy to get out of and the white fuck me shoes look ok. Fix your makeup.”

Heather sat at the makeup table and reapplied her lipstick, gloss, and mascara. To dance and strip before these drunken, drugged cretins, was abominable, but to return to the rats in the Doghouse was unthinkable. She’d do what she had to do and plan an escape.

As if Abila read her thoughts, the ugly dwarf touched Heather’s collar. “It’s thick,” she said, “and the lock is impossible to break. Inside there is a chip that can tell us exactly where you are day or night. There’s a room with monitors so each bitch is always being tracked. Even if you managed to get outside the gate, you’d be brought back here in minutes and spend two days and nights in the Doghouse. It would take a week for you to recover from what the rats would do to you.”

Heather felt as if a cold hand had squeezed her heart. Escape was no longer a remote option. Surely her uncle would hire mercenaries to rescue her or pay the cartel to release her. Perhaps she could persuade Ruiz to let her go. She felt the only way she could survive in this Hell hole, was to hold onto those possibilities.

A tall black girl, naked except for her stilettos, and glistening with sweat rushed into the room, “I been dancin’ my ass off. Where’s the new bitch?”

Abila pointed to Heather. “She’s right here, Shankra.”

The black girl stood in front of Heather who was still sitting on the makeup bench. Roughly she placed both hands on the back of Heather’s head and forcefully pulled her forward until her face was pressed against the dark sweating crotch. “Smell it, bitch,” Shankra demanded, holding Heather tightly against her. “Because you’re late, you gonna eat it when your shift is over.” She shoved Heather away and, grabbing a nylon robe from her locker, slammed out of the room.

Abila took Heather by the arm and led her down the hall. They could hear men shouting. “Them drunks are probably ready to bust up the room.” She opened a door that led to the back of the stage. Over the speakers came loud music with a heavy Brazilian beat, mostly drums, guitars and trumpets.

Heather turned to Abila, “I-I...don’t...I mean I’ve never...”

Abila grinned up at her, “Move your ass, move your cunt, strip slow, hold out your tits, hump the pole, squat at the front of the stage, spread your legs. They’ll be yellin’ to tell you what to do. Do it. We had a bitch who didn’t and she got gang raped right there on the stage. Took three days for her to recover.”

Before Heather could protest, the dwarf pushed her through an opening in the backstage curtain. Immediately there was an uproar from the men drinking at the tables.

“Goddamn! A fuckin’ white girl!

“And a young one. She looks to be about eighteen!”

“I think that’s the bitch what married the fuckin’ ape up at the doc’s place!”

“Is that right bitch? You married to an ape?” Heather started to move tentatively to the beat pretending she hadn’t heard the question.

Another drunk close to the stage repeated it, “How about that? You been fuckin’ a goddamn ape? We asked you a fuckin’ question!”

Heather paused bowing her head, “Yes,” she said softly.

The men laughed. From the back of the room someone shouted, “After fuckin’ and suckin’ ape cock you gonna love fuckin’ and suckin’ real man cock...ain’t that right, bitch?” Tears welled up as she remembered making love with Namba, his beautiful cock, his gentle ways.

The man closest to the stage slammed his hand down on it, “Goddamn it, bitch, answer and speak up!”

She stopped moving and held on to the pole, “I-I-I’ll like doing it...I mean sucking and...and fucking.”

Several of the men cheered. She began to move again taking a few steps from the pole then back to it. “Hey bitch! This ain’t no ballet school. Shake it up. Show us what you got.”

The tempo of the music increased. She shut them out of her mind and concentrated on the beat, moving more suggestively, lifting one leg up along the pole and sliding against it. “That’s the way, hump it baby!” someone shouted. She held the pole between her legs and slid down it to a squatting position before sliding back up. “Yeah, bitch, fuck the pole. Now let’s see that bare cunt and sweet white ass.” She felt the color rise to her cheeks as she undid the belt at her waist. The men yelled louder. She pushed the gown from her shoulders. It fell at her feet. She stood for a moment naked except for the collar and spike heels. The men hooted and hollered. A slow jazz samba came on. She felt the music. Much as she tried to deny it to herself, dancing naked before these shouting men began to excite her. Her nipples stiffened and her pussy moistened. The men noticed and shouted all the louder.

“Turn around and spread your ass cheeks!”

“Yeah let’s see your hole!” She turned her back to them and bent over. Still moving slowly to the music, she reached back and parted her cheeks.

“We gonna fuck that little rosy hole, right, bitch?” She nodded.

“Can’t fuckin’ hear you!”

“Yeah, bitch, speak up!”

She stood up but kept her back to them, “Yes,” she said.

“Yes what?”

“Yes, you can have me there...fuck my ass.” Saying the words sent a wave of heat to her crotch.

“Turn around and show us your cunt.”

“Yeah,” the guy leaning over the stage said, “squat here right in front of my face and spread.” She hesitated, looking down at him. He was tall and thin as a skeleton.

His face was pockmarked and covered with a dark stubble of beard. His nose was long and thin, his mouth wide and his lips also thin. His piercing eyes deep in their sockets stared unblinking at her. He leaned into the stage his bony hands on top of it. The thought crossed her mind that she could step hard on his hands and drive the thin spikes of her heels through them. Blushing furiously, she squatted in front of him and slowly parted her legs. She knew the men could see how wet she’d become. Her pink nipples stood out straight. The ugly drug runner looked up at her grinning, “You got a sweet pussy there. He leaned closer and sniffed loudly. The men laughed.

“Give it a lick, Diego!” one of the men yelled.

“Smells like a juicy cunt,” Diego shouted. He put a hand on her foot, “Is your cunt nice and juicy? Is you a bitch in heat? Tell the boys.” She looked out at the laughing men but said nothing. He squeezed her foot hard, “Speak up, bitch, is you or ain’t you wet and hot?”

“I-I...am,” she said.

“You am what?”

“I’m like you said...I’m wet and hot.”

Diego turned to face the men, “She says she’s in heat. Her cunt is just about drippin’. One of us lucky bastards gonna have this sexy little white bitch all night long.” The men clapped and hollered. Diego turned back to her and took his hand from her foot. So that the other men could hear he raised his voice, “Is that right? You gonna sleep with the lucky bastard that got the winning ticket?”

Heather backed away and stood up, “Yes,” she said.

“You gonna fuck him all night long?”

The music had stopped. “Yes.”

“You sure ain’t much for talkin’. I hope you’re better at fuckin’ and suckin’ than you is at talkin’. Is you?” Heather nodded. “Jesus, bitch, answer the goddamn question and don’t give us a one word answer.” The men shouted in agreement.

Frightened, Heater backed up against the pole, “Yes...yes, I will...I mean I’m better at those things than talking.”

“What things?” Someone yelled.

“Better at...at...sucking and...and...fucking.”

The music started again. The tall black girl, Shankra, brushed through the curtain at the back of the stage. She paused next to Heather and whispered harshly, “Be ready to come back out here after me and Nina dance and don’t fuckin’ be late. Remember after we done, you gonna eat my pussy.”

Diego heard her and yelled, “We fuckin’ want to watch that.” He turned to the men, “Who wants to watch the white bitch eat the nigger bitch’s black cunt?” All the men shouted.

Holding Heather by the arm, Shankra stepped forward, “After dancin’ for all you motherfuckers my pussy gonna be hot and sweaty, but Bitch Seven’s gonna get on her knees right here and lick it till I cum.” The men hooted and hollered. Shankra turned back to Heather, “Ain’t that right, Bitch? You gonna do me here so the boys can watch?”

Heather nodded, then said, “Yes...I’ll do it.”

The music started. Shankra released her hold on Heather’s arm and moved to the pole. Heather slipped through the back curtain and hurried to the dressing room. Nina, a young Mexican girl, was putting on her makeup. “How’d it go?” she asked.

Heather sat down and, putting her hands over her face, began to cry. “I hate it, “she sobbed, “I hate them, all of them.”

Nina finished glossing her lips and patted Heather’s shoulder, “We all hated it at first, but after awhile you get used to it and pretty soon it ain’t so bad.” She waited until Heather had cried herself out. “When you’re dancin’, just listen to the music. Don’t pay them assholes no mind. When one of them wins you for the night just hope he ain’t a mean one.” She paused then continued, “They ain’t allowed to hurt us bad. Just slap us around a little. The worst part is bein’ on the line. You gotta kneel there for four goddamn hours and most of that time there’s a prick in your pussy or your ass or your mouth, sometimes two at the same time.” She saw that Heather was about to start crying again. She smiled,” “The good part about bein’ on the line is the dwarf comes around and gives you a line...you know, a line of coke. It kind of makes the rest of the shit go away.”

“I won’t do that. I won’t take drugs,” Heather said.

“Yeah, most new girls say that. After a couple hours on the line they’re lookin’ for Abila to come by and lay a rail for them to snort.” Nina turned back to the mirror and began applying mascara. They could hear the music and occasionally the shouting men. As Shankra’s set was about to end Nina stood up and faced Heather, “That black girl’s mean. She’s the boss of all us bitches.” She’s a special bitch for Colonel Ruiz. If she gets pissed off at you and goes to him, he probably make you spend a night in the dog house. You don’t want no more of that, right?

Heather’s eyes widened and she felt as if she might burst into tears again, “Oh God, no. I was all cramped up and those...those...rats!”

“Yeah, I know. They feel like big rats but they’s only little ones.”

“I think I’d die if I had to spend another night in that horrible box.”

“Well, you better do what Shankra says. Don’t give her no shit.” She stood and smiled at Heather, “You be ok. Just takes awhile to get use to the routine.” She started toward the rec room as Shankra entered.

The black girl sat next to Heather, “Them douchbags is all jacked up tonight. Probably cause they all wishin’ to win you in the raffle.” She shoved a jar of cream in front of Heather. “My fuckin’ feet hurt.” She pointed to the floor and swung away from the mirror crossing her bare legs and dangling one foot. “Take off my shoes and rub my feet.” Heather waited a moment, then got to her knees and removed Shankra’s stilettos. The black girl’s feet were long and narrow and sweaty. Her toenails were painted dark red. Heather dipped her fingers in the cream and began to coat the foot Shankra extended toward her. “Rub it in, bitch,” the black girl ordered. “A massage, know what I mean? And do each toe and between them.” She leaned back watching Heather closely. A slight smile crossed her face. “I think I got me a personal little white bitch,” she said. Heather didn’t look up. She continued to knead the bottom of the foot she held and work each toe. Shankra kept her massaging her feet until it was almost time for Heather to go back on stage. “Put my shoes back on,” Shankra ordered, “then get yourself ready for the boys.”

Quickly Heather slid the open toed heels on Shankra’s feet and was about to get up. “Not yet,” Shankra said. Heather still on her knees looked up. “Kiss them,” Shankra grinned down at her.

Heather frowned, “I-I...don’t...” she began.

“Do it,” Shankra demanded. Heather bent her head to press her lips to the black girl’s left foot. Shankra nodded, “Other one, too,” she said. Heather lowered her head to the toes of Shankra’s left foot. “That’s right. You learnin’. You gonna be my personal bitch?” It was a question.

“Yes.”

“Yes what?”

“Yes, I’ll be your personal bitch.”

Shankra patted the bench next to her, “Fix your makeup and get your ass out on the stage,” she said.

Chapter Nine

When Heather went back on the stage it was strangely quiet except for the throbbing music. The men seemed subdued. She quickly became aware of a young Mexican in a white suit. He wore a white Panama hat. Even his shoes were white. As he moved toward the stage the men stepped back making a pathway for him. Heather stood still watching him approach. She didn’t know whether to begin to dance or not. He stood at the edge of the stage looking up at her. His lean face was deeply tanned, his eyes blue. “You are Heather, the American?” His voice was soft, gentle.