Chapter Text
During the next few days Aya started to almost enjoy her time. Apart from food deliveries and Fang emptying her bathroom bucket she was blessedly alone. Her time was spent on reading books, exercising and sleeping whenever she felt like it. There was a strange sort of relief in her existence. There were no appointments to keep, no need to cook, no pressure to choose healthy ingredients. She didn’t need to clean up, and she had no deadlines for commissions. No need to fit in. There was no one to look at her or to judge her. She simply floated from one hour to the next - also because she had no other options.
Choosing clothes for the day was also easily done. She had never cared much for her looks, but now that she only had a few pieces of clothing her abusers had thrown at her (she didn’t know where they were from) she found it even easier. Something to cover her top, something to cover her bottom, and she was ready. Some clothes had that peculiar smell of attic. She suspected they were old hand-me-downs, likely collected by the Church of Light to help people in need. Laughing in a slightly unhinged manner, Aya decided that she was a person in need, so it was all okay, thank the Light.
The highlight of her week occurred when Fang promised to take her outside. That evening Aya learned what she had suspected for a while now: her prison was underneath the clinic. A visitor would never find it, since the access hatch was cleverly hidden under a chest of drawers. Because the basem*nt was under the clinic and the clinic was at the outskirts of Sandrock, it also meant that no one walked past her small basem*nt window. All of her shouting and chain-rattling had been a waste of time.
On that calm evening, after the sun had set, Fang took her from the basem*nt into the clinic. Without a word he draped his own coat on her shoulders to shield her from the chill of the night. Before unlocking the door he also carefully chained her with a thin but durable string to prevent her from running away. He held one end tight in his fist, and the other end was tied in a loose loop around Aya’s neck. Even if someone would have been outside at that late an hour they would not have seen the nearly transparent leash.
Once outside Aya walked slowly to savor every step; the hiss of sand under her feet, the remote, earthy smell of Cooper’s yakmels and the fluttering of flying insects brought her simple enjoyment. It felt like going out for the first time after an illness. Ignoring the leash she sauntered to the cliffs behind the clinic and enjoyed the fresh air playing in her hair. Somewhere far away the train whistled, and a rockhyenaroll answered in a high-pitched howl. Looking over the horizon she remotely understood that some people might see this as an opportunity to quit it all. Right now, right here, all she had to do was to jump over the cliff’s edge. If Fang held on, she would hang and choke to death. If he let go, she would fall into the canyon. Either way everything would end.
The thought made her smile: Not because she could so easily choose to die, but because she now knew she did not want to die, and in fact, was quite eager to live. Even if she was locked up, there were colorful bugs outside. Even if she didn’t see them, there were constellations, the moon and the sun creating an intricate play of light through the nights and days. Even if she didn’t hear it, there was birdsong in the world. One day she might hear and see it again - and that was worth the wait.
There was an odd kind of happiness in her as she strolled past Fang, into the clinic and back into her dark basem*nt.
She was not entirely alone: X visited her several times a day. Despite Aya’s attempts the raven refused to befriend her, and instead kept his distance. X’s habit of calling himself the doctor and Aya a bird was simply endearing. Considering it more carefully Aya wasn’t sure how the raven even got in and out when the basem*nt hatch was closed, but she was glad that he did. It was fascinating to watch the bird. Sometimes he made her laugh by flying upside down, and sometimes he just watched her with his intelligent, shiny eyes. She wondered if X still stole shiny items from Vivi and the other Sandrockers. She herself had learned to lock her windows after losing an inherited silver spoon and a pearly-white silk ribbon for her hair. She never had received them back.
“About the ribbon,“ she asked casually when X flew in one day. “Did she like it?”
X cawed, fluttered and perched down on a box labeled “jars”. He blinked.
“Playing coy won’t work with me, sir. I know you took it and that you gave it to that owl.”
X pecked at the lid of the box he was standing on. After a few soft, cardboard-piecing sounds came a sharp click of glass. It scared X, who took flight and screamed his confession: “It was X all along! It was him!”
Aya laughed and drained the cup of tea she had left standing since the morning. It was cold but refreshing.
“Can’t blame you, she’s a, how should I say this… splendid specimen. So, did she like it?”
X did not respond. Instead he returned to the box and kept pecking at it until a small strand of white cardboard came loose. He picked it up in a black claw and took flight. Aya sat still and watched in astonishment how the large bird hovered over to her, uncurled his claws to let the strand fall on her head, and used his beak to gently fasten the papery ribbon in her blond hair.
Without a further word the bird flew away.
“Apology accepted,” whispered Aya, smiling.
She was still wearing the paper ribbon when the door opened a few hours later. “Tonight… a visitor arrives,” said Fang after closing the door with his food. His hands held a large tray. On the tray was a plate of steaming buns filled with a spicy paste, a salad of alfalfa, deep-fried tofu with herbs and a large pitcher of crystal clear water. He set it on a foldable table and placed the actual cutlery next to the plate. Aya’s recent behavior had convinced him that she would not hurt herself with a fork or knife the first chance she got.
The doctor glanced a critical eye on Aya. She was wearing a white t-shirt and a red pleated skirt. Her legs and arms were fit, her skin intact and clean. Her hair could use brushing and her face was concerned, but the woman was (for better or for worse) in good condition.
Fang also checked her ankle and applied soothing oils to where the leather cuff had chafed her skin. His hands were soft and gentle as he carefully used a glass pipette to pour drops of warm oil on Aya’s ankle and watched it run down under the cuff. As usual, he did the treatment and X provided the explanation. “Heals bruises,” the bird cawed and rubbed his head against Fang’s cheek. “Calendula. Chickweed. Comfrey. For you!”
Fang stood up and looked directly at her with something akin to worry in his eyes. “They arrive soon. I will … return afterwards. To care for you.”
His words and tone of voice chilled Aya. He said they, she thought. How many is “they”? She did her best to not let her anxiety show. Instead she thanked him for the meal (prisoner or not, she had Manners) and tried to mentally prepare for whatever was to come.
Fang sensed her hesitation. He pipetted a few drops of the medicinal oil on his fingertips and gently tapped it on Aya’s cheeks. He offered no explanation, but soon after he was gone, Aya felt a warmth spreading on her face from the spots where the oil touched her. With revived energy she ate, cleaned her hands and face and set the plate and cutlery neatly back on the table to wait for cleaning. She giggled: with little imagination Fang could be her chamber maid, appearing only when needed and seeing to all of her needs.
Soon after the door opened again. Owen stepped in and took in the room in one quick glance. His entrance brought a whiff of baked onion and peppers: likely he came straight from the Blue Moon Saloon. His eyes locked on the chain on the floor and Aya herself, who looked away to avoid those strangely piercing eyes. He nodded in satisfaction.
“Hey, you got that done quick!” Owen hollered to someone hidden further in the dark corridor. He reached into his pocket and threw a bag (Aya assumed it was to Fang). “Here’s your pay, you’ve earned it!”
He stepped inside. Aya was just wondering if he always wore his work uniform, when she Aya heard several footsteps from the corridor. Who else was there?
“Hold up, friends,” Owen shouted. He reached into his pocket again, and this time brought up a long, blue scarf. “Stand up,” he commanded Aya. The small woman hesitated, so he grabbed her by the hair and hauled her upright. He held her hair in a tight fist until she stood steadily. Then he used the scarf to gag her and cover her eyes. Her hands were tied behind her back with something that itched and bit into her wrists if she tried to move.
For the first time Aya felt real fear creeping up on her. With Logan she had been drugged, and Arvio was only interested in photos. This… this was something else altogether. Carefully she pulled at the rope around her wrists.
“Don’t,” said Owen simply. The usual warmth in his voice was a red-hot furnace. His tone made it clear that any further attempts to resist would be met with much more than words.
After Aya had stood still for a few moments Owen turned around and called his friends over. “Come on in, gentlemen! The Blue Moon Saloon has story nights, but here is where stories come to life.”
Aya strained her ears. She heard two, perhaps three more people enter the room. They were followed by one last pair of silent footsteps and a question too quiet for Aya to hear. Suddenly she felt how someone grabbed her breast and squeezed it. It hurt.
“We never agreed to any exact number of guests, doctor,” Owen said amusedly. The silent voice replied something. Her other breast was squeezed and a male voice hmm’ed. Apparently her chest passed muster.
“Relax,” Aya heard Owen say. “I brought these fine people here to have a good time and to enjoy themselves. I only want to show them some true Sandrockian hospitality.”
Two hands pressed against her ribs and hips, tapping at her like a yakboy checking the condition of a suspicious horse. Her chin was pulled down to open her mouth. A finger was roughly inserted deep into her mouth, which made Aya gag. She bit it - if they treated her like a horse, she might just as well act like one. The finger was quickly pulled out and followed by an open-handed slap on her cheek. Aya’s head whipped violently to one side and a quiet whimper escaped through her lips.
At that Fang, for it was he who had followed the visitors and challenged Owen, raised his voice. “Owen, please! She is-”
“She is paid for,” replied Owen in that quiet tone of someone tired of negotiating and ready to get serious. “Don’t you forget where her food comes from, and who fed you when you had but rags and a raven to your name. Do you remember what real hunger feels like, Fang?”
There was no response that Aya could hear. Only retreating footsteps. A wooden creak and a thump as the door was closed.
Aya was on her own.
Someone walked around her, took hold of her hips and rubbed themselves against her butt suggestively while someone else laughed.
“Sorry about that,” Owen said soon in his usual, cheerful voice. “Enjoy yourself at the courtesy of Blue Moon Saloon. I’ll just set up your drinks and refreshments right here. Do we need to go through the rules again, or are we good?”
There was no response, so likely all of Owen’s guests nodded.One of them finally spoke.
“Ya going to tell the rules to her, too? The slu*t bit me.” The voice was clearly masculine, and had a whiny, nasal, sound to it.
Owen laughed heartily. “Keep talking, and our little friend here will for sure recognize your voice. As for the biting, though…”
The voice had an edge to it. Aya’s body reacted to it by tensing up before she even heard the footsteps coming towards her. For a second it was still. Then, without a warning, strong fingers bent around her throat and blocked her breathing. Aya instinctively tried to grab the arm choking her, but her hands were tied. The rough rope tore welts into her wrists.
Owen squeezed until Aya’s ears were whooshing, after which he pushed her backwards until she fell hard against the back wall.
“You do not bite, bitch,” Owen stated as Aya struggled to get back up. It was difficult with her hands tied behind her back, but of course no one helped. “You do not kick.” He gave a half-hearted kick which smarted her shin and made her fall back down. “You do not whine, scream, or resist, unless you want this to really hurt. Do you understand?”
Aya nodded and bit at the scarf in her mouth. She was surprised to feel more angry than hurt. It must have been the lingering effects of Fang’s oil, for on her own Aya would never have rebelled even in her mind.
“Come on, man, is that necessary?” asked a new voice. This one was also a man, but his voice was deeper, and had a calm, almost jovial tone. “Sorry,” the man whispered sheepishly after remembering he wasn’t supposed to talk.
The next moments were quiet. Aya managed to stand again and tried to focus on listening. She heard glasses clinking and the bubbly sound of liquid being poured. Probably the drinks Owen had mentioned. A sharp scent of strong liquor wafted in her nostrils, soon followed by the sounds of swallowing and empty glasses being slammed on a surface.Clothes rustled as people moved about and came closer to her.
One man stepped behind Aya and started to bump his groin against her butt and chuckled. He took hold of her hair and pulled it, luckily not hard enough for it to hurt. This man, riding her butt like a drunken teenager, smelled slightly of raw wood. The scent made Aya name him the Carpenter. As he moved, Aya could hear a slight clink - maybe a belt or a necklace coming from behind her.
The Carpenter lifted the skirt she was wearing and threw the hem over her butt. Aya felt her cheeks starting to burn when the rough fingers pulled at the elastic of her panties.
“Dang, that’s a nice ass,” the man hissed, peeking inside her panties. “Let’s see if you feel as delicious as you look.”
He pulled her panties to her ankles. Aya was glad of her skirt, which at least covered her front from the others in the room. She felt him kick her ankles further apart to spread her legs. She heard again the rustle of clothes, felt him grab her hips, and then a hot, cutting sensation when he thrust inside her dry orifice.
“Ow! She is as dry as the Eufaula,” the man said quietly to cover his true voice, and chuckled.
Aya blushed again and fought very hard against the feeling of having disappointed him. She heard more laughter, footsteps, a bottle being opened and then a juicy, slushy sound as the Carpenter penetrated her again. This time his member was covered in something that acted as a lubricant. It still hurt, but less than first.
It was hard to remain standing still when someone was constantly pushing and jolting her from behind. Frustrated at her constant stumbling, the Carpenter pulled out. He grabbed Aya’s shoulders to turn her, and then kicked her lower back hard enough to make her lose her balance. She yelped and fell face first on the double mattress. The man kneeled behind her, lifted her hips up and proceeded to ram himself inside her.
Aya lay down and tried to relax her pelvis. It helped with the discomfort.
Luckily the first onslaught didn’t last long. When the Carpenter soon pulled out and (by the sounds of it) closed his pants again the next man kneeled behind her. Again she was entered without any preamble. This man had a longer member, and every thrust caused a dull spike of pain deep inside her. Aya tried to move her hips to avoid the worst of it.
“I think she likes it!” someone whispered from further in the room.
“Yeah? You like that, c*nt?” the man behind him asked. “I’ll give you some more, then.”
His next thrust was harder and deeper than before. No amount of back arching seemed to help. The pain inside her radiated to her back, which still smarted after the previous kick. Aya tried to breathe deeply and to embrace the pain. It was difficult: The man using her smelled of alcohol and sweat, which burned her nose.
Aya thought she felt his stomach bumping against her with every thrust. When he finally climaxed (grunting like a boar) he pushed deep and stayed inside her, Aya could feel the weight of his belly resting over her butt. When he was done with her, he simply stood up and joined the rest of the men.
Aya could hear them talking to each other in low voices. It was hard to make out what it was about, but she did make out words like hammer, shop, customer and several euphemisms for female genitalia. She lowered herself on the mattress to rest her back. Her opening was burning. The cool air felt good, but it also spread the smell of sem*n into the room. She started to feel nauseous.
After a while one of the men returned to her. Aya didn’t see anything through the scarf, but she heard footsteps stopping next to her mattress. A whispered voice and the toe of a shoe in her ribs commanded her to turn around and to lie on her back. She was too slow to obey: the steeled toe was applied again on her ribs and her shoulder.
“On your back, lazy bitch!”
Aya turned, biting back a whine. Laying on her back was difficult with her arms behind her back. Either her wrists pressed against her back and pushed it into an uncomfortable arc, or she pulled her elbows as wide as she could and let the rope bite deep into her wrists. She was still busy trying to find a solution when the man started to poke at her opening with his member. It bumped against her thighs and the pubic bones. Finally she felt it press demandingly against her anus.
The sensation sent a jolt of fear through Aya. Desperately she bent her knees and pushed with her heels to angle herself so that the offending co*ck slid into her core instead of the other one. The sharp pain it brought was lessened by the relief of not having her backside violated.
The man leaned down and supported himself on his elbows. His hips pumped against Aya. Something light clicked and poked her nose rhythmically; she assumed it was a necklace or a scarf of sorts. She also smelled the scent of wood again: the man working her must’ve been the Carpenter. Each movement felt like a wound being opened inside her, and the shaky back-and-forth-movement brought Aya’s nausea right back. She tried holding her breath and swallowed to keep her lunch inside.
“I’ve always wanted to try something,” said someone. Aya heard a man kneeling behind her head. She smelled sweat and the scent of underwear every time her head bumped against his knees.
“Sit up, man,” the one behind her said. “This treat isn’t for you.” There was a disgusted complaint followed by laughter and movement above her.
Aya bit her lip trying not to be sick as the mattress waved under her and her body was being jolted back and forth. Her opening was on fire. The sharp pain inside her was growing worse by the thrust. She tried to embrace the pain (she remembered reading about in books), but only succeeded in focusing on each part of her body that was hurting.
“Please stop,” she begged. It came out as “ees top”.
“You want to be on top, baby?” the Carpenter laughed. “Maybe later.”
Aya heard a smack above her, likely caused by the two men high-fiving each other. Then she just heard groans and a slick, pumping sound from above her. She assumed that the other man was jerking off while watching her being raped. A calloused hand caressed her cheek and squeezed her breast.
“She does have a mouth on her, you know,” said Owen from the other side of the room. “Unless you like your five girlfriends more.” He laughed at his own joke.
Thick fingers ripped the scarf away from Aya’s mouth. The cloth over her eyes loosened just a tiny bit, letting her see a tiny line of light above the scarf. The light disappeared as the man behind her head sat up on his knees and slammed her face with his erect penis. He shuffled closer to her: Aya felt hairy thighs pressing against her cheeks. Two hanging balls brushed against her lips and tickled her chin.
“Lap it up, kitty,” suggested Owen. “But if you bite… you will really regret it.”
Aya opened her lips. Prickly, hairy balls were dangling in front of her mouth. The smell and taste made her gag, which caused another round of laughter around the room.
“Suck it,” a man whispered. She did: the hanging piece of anatomy filled her mouth and for a moment she was sure she would choke. Soon she found out that by pressing her head down into the mattress she could create more room for herself to breathe. Aya licked at the balls, trying to breathe in rhythm with the Carpenter’s thrusts.
The pain inside her was changing from irritation and burning to cutting, slicing kind of agony. The Carpenter was f*cking her fast and hard. Above her the pumping grew faster, as the other man clearly enjoyed the scene. When she heard an animalistic roar above her she realized at least one of the men must’ve org*smed. The world stopped shaking. Immediately afterwards the balls were removed from her face. Another moan sounded and sticky, sweet-smelling sem*n squirted over her face and cheeks. Some of it entered her mouth, and she turned her head around, spitting furiously.
“f*ck! That was good,” one of the men praised. “Good job, bitch.” Someone patted her shoulder.
I should paint the kitchen wall light green, Aya was suddenly thinking. She shuddered: was this how it happened? Is this how you lost your mind? I am on a mattress, but I do not understand what a mattress is. This is a room. I am not sure what a room is and where this room is in the space-time-continuum. Fascinating. I hear sounds and words. Words are strange, aren’t they?
Get a grip!
She tried to listen to the sounds around her to ground herself back into reality. The men were eating and drinking again, while she was slowly bleeding into the sheets. The sem*n on her face was drying up and started to itch.
Remotely she heard the door open. Someone entered. Aya was helped up in a sitting position, and her face was gently cleaned with a soft towel. She recognized the sounds of Fang’s coat and X’s feathers ruffling against the doctor’s cheek. She leaned against Fang’s chest. He did not recoil from her.
Helpless sobs rose from her chest. Aya bit her tongue as hard as she could, but the tears had a will of their own. The first tears were dried by the scarf. Soon, however, wet streams ran down her cheeks and her entire body shook with sobs. It was not just because of the pain. It was because despite her pain, the way she smelled, her naked, bleeding core and the things she had been put through, Dr Fang was not afraid of her.
She didn’t know how long she sat there leaning against Fang. The tears dried out, and her breathing calmed down. Fang raised a cup of something to her lips. Aya drank in tiny sips. Her nausea returned for a moment, but dissipated as soon as the water settled into her stomach.
“Alright, doc, that’s enough,” said Owen. “I’m sure you have patients to look after.”
“You made her my patient,” Aya heard him whisper to himself. The crying threatened to start again. She twisted her wrists until the rope cut into her skin again. She knew first hand how well pain helped to stop emotions.
Fang stood up. “I have… an oil for you,” he said to the men waiting to use Aya again. His voice was calm, and Aya found herself wondering where this was going. “Enhances the sensations. Tingles. Very… pleasant.“
“Owen, you want to have a go?” someone asked.
“I have some ideas for later,” Owen said, and Aya heard a smile in his relaxed voice. “But thanks. You go ahead.”
“Don’t mind if I do,” said someone. They walked towards Aya, gagged her again with the scarf and tightened the cloth around her eyes. The world went dark. Her hand was grabbed and someone pulled her up to standing. She was tugged forward - until the chain in her ankle reached its full length and she nearly fell on the floor.
“What are you doing, man?” whispered someone curiously. “You want to take her for a romantic walk?”
“I wanted to f*ck her on the table, but the stupid chain ain’t long enough.”
There was laughter. “I’m surprised you still have some power in your tool!”
“Shut up, old Geegler. Here, push that table over here, will ya?”
Aya heard furniture being pushed around. Something cold bumped painfully against her stomach and pushed her over. Her chin hit the hard top of the table and rattled her teeth. She tasted blood.
“Yeah, bend over, bitch. Let’s see what this oil does.”
Aya heard the whisper of cloth, bubbling and the wet sound of lube being applied. Her legs were spread apart and she yelped at the pain.
Her stretched opening offered no resistance as the hard member was pushed in. The sharp pain was now accompanied by acidic burning. What was in that oil?” she thought frantically and tried to kick the man away from her.
A hand grabbed her hair and slammed her face against the cold surface. “Stay still.”
The burning was so intense that Aya could not stop the groans. It felt like her groin, lips and insides were full of liquid fire. The man was thrusting in and out. Her body was being pierced by a hot poker. She screamed into the scarf as the tears started rolling again.
Just as suddenly as the pain had peaked, it started to dissipate. The burning lessened from infernal to almost pleasant warmth. The cutting sensation diminished into scraping and finally into nothing. She was nearly numb.
Her tears dried. The oil, she thought. It had burned at first - probably it was both antiseptic and numbing. She still felt the pumping and the pressure of the edge of the table. The pain was only a memory now.
Relieved of the intense and immediate pain her mind resumed its wandering. As her entrance was being used by another man again she thought of the different types of welds. When she was thrown back on the mattress, someone sat on her chest and stuck their dick in her throat she tried to design a new bookshelf for herself. She could build lights into the bookcase so the backs of the books would always be visible. She’d also add a small, narrow drawer only meant for storing bookmarks. Somewhere would also be a secret compartment for the more saucy books she loved, but didn’t dare to admit reading.
She didn’t know how long it lasted and how many times it happened. Aya only came back to reality when the scarf was removed and a bright light blinded her. Slowly a darked blob in the center of her vision resolved into Owen. Her tongue was dry and the corners of her mouth were chafed, but it felt good to breathe normally.
“Just the two of us, now, “ he said thickly. “I have something for you.” He threw a bag at her and told her to get cleaned up and dressed.
“Oh, wait a minute,” he said and pulled a long, shiny knife from his belt. Before Aya could scream he stepped over her, turned her around and cut the rope around her wrists.
Moving carefully Aya shuffled to the water basin and cleaned herself. Her hands came back red with blood. There was still no pain. When she removed her shirt (now torn) and skirt (dirty with blood and sem*n stains) she saw a few budding bruises on her ribs and legs. Tomorrow she would be a sorry sight to behold.
She reached into the bag and screamed as something hairy tangled into her fingers. Shaking, she pulled out a brown wig. The hairs were long and had a deep, shiny shade of dark brown. Inside was a small label with the name “Pablo’s Parlor”. Aya pulled the wig over her own strawberry hair. As she reached back into the back the dark curls rolled over her shoulders. The next item she found was a necklace of gold and lapis lazuli. It got caught in the wig and it took her a while to fasten the lock. Lastly, she took out a dress of white and purple. It was too long for her, but she donned it anyway.
When she stepped out from behind the curtain and into the light, Owen had replaced the bright light with a few oil lamps. Even in the dim light Aya saw how his eyes became round and his lips parted in a satisfied sigh.
“That’ll do,” he breathed huskily. “Turn around.”
Aya did. The hem of the dress twirled together with her, creating a gorgeous contrast against her slim waist. Her long, brown hair shone under the light. The jeweled necklace clinked quietly. Even without a mirror Aya knew that in this dress, with the wig and under the dim lights she did look like Arvio’s sister.
Owen had turned her into an Amirah-doll.
“Come here,” he commanded. Aya stepped daintily until she stood right in front of the tall barkeep.
“Kneel.”
She did.
Owen opened her trousers, pushed his briefs down and cupped Aya’s chin.
“Suck it, Amirah. I know you want this.”
Aya stared at the throbbing, angry red member standing at attention in front of her. The shaft was wide and curved slightly to the left. The tip was not soft red, but furious pink, and it throbbed against Owen’s lower belly. Dark, curly hair surrounded the base. The hairs continued upwards to his navel in a thin line, which under different circ*mstances could have been sexy. The hairs and the penis pointed to his chiseled abs.
“Like what you see? I thought you would. Go on, baby. Take it in.”
Owen placed his palm against the back of Aya’s head and pressed her face against himself. With his other hand he pointed his member down and into Aya’s mouth.
For a moment Aya considered biting. If she bit as hard as she could, Owen would be crippled from the pain long enough for... For what? For her to run as far as the chain allowed? All she would accomplish would be to get soundly beaten up.
She opened her lips. Instead of the deep, violent thrust she expected Owen started to move his hips gently and slowly. His warm skin glided through her lips like the waves of a pond. In, and out, calmly and caringly.
“That’s it, Amirah. Try to take it deep, now, love.”
Aya obeyed. It seemed the safest course. Her suspicion was confirmed as Owen gasped in pleasure, and the hand behind her head started to caress the wig.
Aya closed her eyes. If Owen wanted her to be Amirah… she pulled her head away and reached out her hand to grab the shaft.
“I appreciate your help, but I'd best take care of this myself,” she said, imitating Amirah’s soft accent, as her fingers closed around the member.
“f*ck, yes,” Owen breathed.
Aya twirled her tongue over the tip before taking the entire member into her mouth again. She felt Owen’s legs shaking and assumed the man would not last long. She was glad of it, for the pain inside her was starting to make itself known again, and sitting down was hurting her legs, back and sides.
Owen laid both of his hands on her head and kept her still. His hips were now pumping fast as he thrust himself into her mouth over and over again. The back of her mouth was stretching and starting to hurt.
“Take it, Amirah. Let me come inside your pretty mouth. Yeah, just like that.. Ohh...”
Owen tensed up, roared and pushed himself so deep Aya lost the ability to breathe. Thick and warm sem*n flowed into her throat, forcing her to swallow it before she would suffocate. The taste made her gag and cough until her eyes watered.
Owen had already pulled out and cared little for her troubles.
When Aya stopped gagging and drier her tearful eyes she only saw Owen’s back. He didn’t even look at her anymore. She was nothing. She was not Aya, she was not Amirah, she was no one. He merely threw the empty bag at her.
“Put everything back inside. Hurry up, I have work to do.”
Aya took out the dress, the wig and the necklace. She dumped it all into the bag and threw the bag by the door.
Without a further word Owen cleaned up the empty glasses and empty bottles, cleaned up the remains of their food, stepped outside and locked the door after him.
Words are funny things, Aya thought distantly while tugging at her hair. Her naked arms and legs were covered in goosebumps as she lay on her back on the stained mattress. Pain. Such a short, simple word, starts with a sharp exhalation just like pain itself. Only the word doesn’t last that long. Pain. Pain pain pain. Isn’t there another language where pain means bread? I’ll have pain for breakfast.
A knock echoed in the room. She pulled at her hair hard enough for it to hurt.
Breakfast is also a weird word. Break-fast. Break a fast. Pretty smart actually, as you don’t eat during the night, so in the morning one breaks their fast!
Another knock, now followed by a whine as the door was pushed open. Fang remained at the doorway, watching at Aya. The woman lay on the mattress and stared at the ceiling. Her mouth formed words as she talked to herself, while her eyes were fixated on nothing at all. She had a swollen cheek and a cut in her lip. A chain of small bruises ran around her neck like a strange necklace. Her left breast had scratch marks on it, and a large, red bruise was starting to appear over her right ribs. Both wrists were chafed raw and had tiny bleeding wounds. Her thighs were streaked with blood and sem*n. The skin on her knees were chafed and she was only wearing one sock.
“X,” Fang called softly. The bird flew soundlessly into the room. His dark eyes scanned the room, until he found what he was looking for. Diving down he closed his claws over something and made his way over to Aya. His break groomed her disheveled hair. Fang watched, unmoving, how the raven picked up a torn piece of white paper and weaved it into her hair.
For a while all was silent. Then, finally, Aya turned her head towards the raven. “Thank you,” she whispered. Slowly her eyes fixated on Fang.
Without a word the doctor rummaged in the boxes behind him, and gathered an impressive collection of jars, wooden boxes and flasks on an empty table. From his duffel bag he took out bandages and soft towels. When all of his items were ready he meticulously started to do what he could for Aya.
“I’m sorry,” whispered Aya to no one in particular. She gave her hair one last tug before her hand let go and returned to her side.
X was quiet, so Fang took over. “... Why?” he asked.
“For causing all this work for you.”
“Please, be silent. You are… not well.” Fang massaged a bitter-smelling yellow paste on her bruises. It would reduce the bleeding under the skin, easing the pain and reducing any swelling. He proceeded to place a small, sticky tape on her lip to keep the wound closed.
“He dressed me up as Amirah.”
“I know.” Done with the bruises, he cleaned up her thighs and applied the same green and black paste he had used before inside her. He smeared the same paste on her wrists. With each substance he used the room slowly started to smell less like sex and alcohol.
“Am I Amirah?”
Fang wiped her chest and face clean with a disinfectant. He then pulled out a small bundle from his bag and rolled it open. Needles, all thin but with various lengths, shone under the lights.
“No, Aya,” he said and chose the best acupuncture-needle to begin with. With great care he inserted the thin needle into her lower lip. It represented her womanly areas, and Fang hoped it would ease her suffering.
“You are Aya. A builder. Not Amirah.”
He picked up more needles. Fang chose a few other acupoints on her cheeks to try to balance her hormones and bring peace within her.
Slowly Aya’s naked body started to relax.
“Aya…” she whispered, voice full of suspicion and wonder. She closed her eyes.
“Aya,” Fang agreed. He watched as the woman drifted away into sleep. Only then he slowly removed the needles, so Aya would not hurt herself if she moved in her sleep, and wiped her face again with a soothing herbal water.
A long while later, by the time he and X left the room, Aya was in deep, dreamless sleep.
