surfer boy

         She opened her eyes and looked around her. The room was unfamiliar. As she raised her hands to brush her hair from her face, she noticed they were covered in blood.  Her pussy was sore.  Check that; her cunt hurt.  Her jeans were hanging on by an ankle.  Her panties were torn off and missing.  Quickly jumping to conclusions, Shannon inspected her vagina.  Her pubic hair was matted, just not with crimson.  Dried semen had become entangled in her blonde tuft.  No wonder her cunt hurt.  The room was nearly black, illuminated only by the moon light creeping through the blinds on the window.  She was in immense pain, from bruises covering her body.  Somebody had beaten the shit out of her, but where?  And when?  And who the fuck was fucking her?  Just as she was about to fall into a fit of tears, she heard a voice.

         “Ah, sleeping beauty,” a man said mockingly.  His stature was average, probably six feet or so, maybe a hundred and eighty pounds.  His voice was raspy and irritating.  Shannon scurried back into her jeans and zipped them over her throbbing twat.  The man laughed at her modesty.

         “Where the fuck am I?”  Shannon climbed to her feet gingerly.  “What the fuck is going on here?”  She approached the man, expecting to be led to her freedom.  She got a good look at his face, as she drew nearer.  He was not attractive.  His face was scarred and pockmarked.  His nose bent at an unfortunate angle.  He was missing many teeth.  She could smell his pungent odor as close as four feet.  As soon as she got within striking distance, the man slammed his fist into her midsection.  Shannon’s excessive breasts embraced her knees as she doubled over in immense pain.  Her feet gave out and she knelt at the feet of her captor. 

         “Have some respect whore.”  The man waited patiently for Shannon to regain her breath.  Nearly a minute and a half passed before she could breathe, and it was in extreme discomfort.  She sucked in air in three quick successions to catch up what was lost.  That, at least, explained the bruises all over her body.  Tears escaped from the sides of her sealed lids.  She tried so hard not to cry in front of this trashy Anglo fella with the ass crack on his chin. 

         “Motherfucker,” she breathed inaudibly.  The man wrapped her long, blonde curls into his hand, and dragged her toward the only item in the room, a steel cot pressed into the corner and chained to the wall.  The man reached into the front of his filthy, falling apart denim.  Shannon shook her head in disgust.  The man grinned and retrieved handcuffs from his pants. 

         “We have to clean you up, you’s a freak.”  The man handcuffed Shannon to the front leg of the bed.  “Had to put one of you whore’s down last night.  You decided to play around in her mess, quite a spectacle.”  The man abruptly left the room shaking his head, as if he were the one what should be appalled.  Shannon struggled against her cuffs to no avail.  She tried to think back to the last thing she could remember. 

         “Blank,” she mumbled to nobody, “It’s completely blank.” As abruptly as he left, the man returned holding a tiny wooden box.  He opened the box, tied a rubber hose around her arm and injected her with heroin, all the while with a huge smile and an erection poking against his jeans.

         “By the way,” the man leaned in close to Shannon’s ear to whisper.  His finger traced the belly exposed during Shannon’s brief struggle.  She began to whimper uncontrollably.  This cued the man’s hand to slip the t-shirt up exposing Shannon’s heavy breasts.  “That’s mine on yer lovely, large pink nipples.”  He sniggered.  “You’ll have to wash it off, before yer big date, but don’t you worry, Tits, I’ll cover you later.”  He sniggered.  Shannon whimpered. 

         Through her tears, Shannon mumbled, “Why?”  The man sniggered.  He hopped to his feet, returned his paraphernalia to its’ box and left her handcuffed to the bed.  This was the first time she noticed his extremely noticeable limp.  The man favored his right side terribly.  As the smack pumped through her veins, a snippet of information popped into her head.  She remembered being in a bar conversing with a surfer with dreadlocks.  What?  The bar…The bar…Where was that bar?  And why the fuck was she there?  She began to mellow and slumped down as far as her cuffs would allow her to slump.  Why had the limp triggered that memory?

         “Feeling good, no?”  The man returned approximately ten minutes after shooting her up for sedation purposes.  Now, she would have no interest in fighting.  She was given a healthy dose.  Even if she were to throw down, she would be completely ineffective.  The man sniggered.  He squeezed her exposed breasts and let her lose.  He helped Shannon to her feet by her long, blonde curls.  “I like ‘em meaty.  What are you, ‘bout 180?”  Shannon had no response, wasn’t even sure what he said or meant.  She was out of it.  She knew she was thirsty.  She knew she was hungry.  She felt soreness everywhere and hurt badly.  She had no idea she smelled horribly.  She could only follow the man wherever he leads her and hope it’s for the better.  She became transfixed on his THUMP, drag, THUMP, drag.

         When they came to a locker room he stopped thumping and dragging.  Shannon slurred, “What this?”  The man sniggered.

         “Bath time.”  The man grabbed Shannon by her long, blonde curls, although she came willingly.  He walked her past aisles and aisles of lockers toward the showers where a half dozen women scrubbed their bodies.  The man undressed Shannon and nudged her toward the shower room.  Shannon trudged over to a shower head against the wall and turned on the water.  She cringed at the coldness hitting her skin, but was far too gone to move.  “You, black girl, clean her up.”  The African-American woman was in her forties.  She was average in size and weight and had a tiny pooch. 

         “Yes, sir,” she spoke softly and subordinately.  She began to scrub the woman’s body down, first the back, which she scoured thoroughly, then the front.

         “Really scrub that pussy.  Put that thing through the wringer,” the man grinned devilishly.  The African-American woman glowered.  “That’ll get yer ass torn up, princess.  Check that attitude.”  The African-American ceased her stare and soaped up Shannon’s muff.  The rest of the women in the room did their best not to notice or be noticed. 

         Once cleaned up, the man ordered an Asian girl of about twelve to assist with Shannon’s appearance.  The tiny Asian girl dried Shannon’s hair, combed her long, blonde curls and tied it up into a ponytail.  Then, the tiny Asian girl helped Shannon into a naughty cheerleader costume.  After dressing Shannon, the tiny Asian girl applied make-up to conceal the bruises.  “OK?” 

         The man nodded and dismissed the tiny Asian girl.  She ran out of the room.  The man struggled to his knees.  As he knelt before Shannon, he leaned in to her pelt and inhaled.  “Yer ready.”  Shannon momentarily had a thought to jam her knee into the man’s head, but in her condition, there wouldn’t be enough damage done to warrant the attack.  Sober, she’d knock his ass out cold what with her thick, muscular thighs, but she was unbelievably fucked up at the moment.

         The man led her back down the hall THUMP, drag, THUMP, drag with a hand slipped under her skirt cupping an ass cheek.  Suddenly, she remembered the man leading her away from the surfer with dreadlocks in a similar fashion, after they drug her ass out of the backseat of a black SUV.  The man squeezed her bottom indicating her to stop.  He knocked on the door.  “Come in,” somebody answered from inside the room.  The man smiled, opened the door and guided Shannon into the room.  The man shut the door and returned to his chores.