SHF Scribe '10
Post by Toadkiller Dog on Nov 24, 2009 8:51:06 GMT
The humid Brazilian air of the evening left a coating of sweat over Bella's face. This was a rare moment of peacefulness. Sitting with her legs dangling over the edge of a concrete alcove, smoking a much needed cigarette. The alcove was carved into the run down side of the thick wall between Killhouse 8 and Jeorg's mansion. Her bare buttocks still throbbed a bit from the abuse it'd sustained before, redness still showing slightly.
Bella inhaled deeply, closing her eyes, then exhaled the plume of white smoke slowly and deeply, audibly sighing as she did so. The insides of her thighs were still slick with her own juices, and probably those of her last client for the evening. The thought sent a ripple of disgust down her spine, but another deep drag made it slowly slip away. She should, and mostly was used to this now. The life she'd imagined when first coming into a drug cartel involved some unpleasant business, some bloodshed, but it never involved escort services or being imprisoned by a drug lord as his personal go-to trollop.
Didn't matter now though, she was stuck, and didn't foresee being freed from this shithole of a life anytime soon, if at all.
"Bella, that last fellow told me joo got the tightest xana he's ever fucked! He wanted me to tell you that, and that you're a fat fuckin' trollop!"
The jeering man startled Bella, she turned around, covering herself quickly. Francis, a scrawny piece of shit that she'd wanted to beat into a pulp from the very first day they'd met.
"Fuck you, you fuckin' prick." Bella retorted sharply, standing and flicking the cigarette at Francis. It flew wide and over his shoulder, only angering her further.
Her fists balled up as she approached.
"You back the hell back up vaca. You smell like man sweat and cum. You just back the fuck back down, or I'm gonna..."
Francis was cut off as Bella spat in his face. He recoiled a moment in disgust as the sharp, biting pain tore into his face. She'd planted a right hook squarely into his nose. He dropped to his knees, both hands cupped over his bleeding nose. Bella moved like lightning, jerking his left hand away, and wrapped it under her own grip, and she strained the joint, and used to her left hand to snap his pinky finger.
The howl of pain brought a malicious smile to her face, as he looked up into her face to catch it, tears in his eyes and blood running down his chin.
"You fuckin' bitch, you broke my finger...and..and my nose." He shouted, trying to twist out of her wrist lock, and bringing more pain onto himself in the process.
"Shut your mouth Francis, just shut your mouth and I won't continue. I'm fed up with yer shit, and you need to remember that I can kill you in your sleep if I so desire it."
Releasing her hold she turned and began to walk away. Ignoring his cursing and taunting in between the whining.
Bella's private quarters never seemed so invited as they did tonight. The small complex was little more than a shabby bathroom and a bedroom. She sighed deeply as she turned the hot water knob on her shower wall. She had no curtain, just an open basin with a plain shower head mounted above it, and a cracked mirror nearly the length of her body next to the dirty sink on the far wall.
The shower felt wonderful, as if it were washing away all the filth and sin she'd accumulated in her short fifteen years of life. Standing before the large, cracked mirror, she wiped away some of the steam that accumulated with her forearm and took herself in. Her raven black hair short and matted to her face was water dripped from the ends. Her dark skin gleaming in the light overhead. She touched her plump lips, brushing a hand upward over her slightly flattened nose.
Ugly. Tears began to slide down from her large brown eyes as she stared at herself in the mirror. She cupped her breasts in her hands, hoisting them slightly. At least they were more than adequate, she was thankful for that bit, and a smile started to creep at the corners of her mouth at the thought. Golden brown globes ending with dark brown tips. Her one redeeming feature, in her own mind.
Six years later Bella stared at her nude form in the dressing mirror in her clean, pleasant smelling apartment in California. Brazil was far behind her now. She was a fully grown, albeit short woman now, in the physical sense. No more drugs, no more slavery. She'd quit drinking close to a year back, and was closer to kicking smoking by the day. She no longer considered herself ugly, no longer wished for death, and no longer cut herself at night. Merely two weeks after she'd broken Francis' finger and nose that evening, she'd found herself completely fed up with the Cartel. Assaulting Jeorg, and single-handedly created utter chaos amongst the whole cartel.
The main warehouse had been raided by Brazilian freedom fighters, and rescued her. She'd gained some scars that night, and lost a fair amount of blood, but awoke in a real hospital, comfortable and for the first time in what had seemed like an eternity felt at peace. Everything seemed to have rolled into place like clockwork after that. She was cleaned up and sent away to a home for abandoned children, and teens. Eventually picked up by a lonely, friendly middle aged couple from the US. Letters were sent back and fourth and eventually she was flown, first class to meet her new family in the united states.
Life had went pretty smoothly since then for the most part. There had been hardships, like the death of Glenn who succumbed to his battle with cancer less than a year back. Glenn was sweet, warm and friendly her first real friend, as well as her first boyfriend since coming to the US. Also the first man to touch her intimately since leaving Brazil, the only man she trusted her first year in the states. Others would come and go over her teenage years, as hers and Glenn's relationship was far from perfect, and there were on and off times amongst it.
Sorrow clutched at her heart thinking of Glenn. She shook the pain away before slipping on her bra. She spent the next hour or so applying makeup and frantically searching for a studded belt. Her and a large group of friends were set to see a local metal show, and she couldn't afford to be late.
Bella inhaled deeply, closing her eyes, then exhaled the plume of white smoke slowly and deeply, audibly sighing as she did so. The insides of her thighs were still slick with her own juices, and probably those of her last client for the evening. The thought sent a ripple of disgust down her spine, but another deep drag made it slowly slip away. She should, and mostly was used to this now. The life she'd imagined when first coming into a drug cartel involved some unpleasant business, some bloodshed, but it never involved escort services or being imprisoned by a drug lord as his personal go-to trollop.
Didn't matter now though, she was stuck, and didn't foresee being freed from this shithole of a life anytime soon, if at all.
"Bella, that last fellow told me joo got the tightest xana he's ever fucked! He wanted me to tell you that, and that you're a fat fuckin' trollop!"
The jeering man startled Bella, she turned around, covering herself quickly. Francis, a scrawny piece of shit that she'd wanted to beat into a pulp from the very first day they'd met.
"Fuck you, you fuckin' prick." Bella retorted sharply, standing and flicking the cigarette at Francis. It flew wide and over his shoulder, only angering her further.
Her fists balled up as she approached.
"You back the hell back up vaca. You smell like man sweat and cum. You just back the fuck back down, or I'm gonna..."
Francis was cut off as Bella spat in his face. He recoiled a moment in disgust as the sharp, biting pain tore into his face. She'd planted a right hook squarely into his nose. He dropped to his knees, both hands cupped over his bleeding nose. Bella moved like lightning, jerking his left hand away, and wrapped it under her own grip, and she strained the joint, and used to her left hand to snap his pinky finger.
The howl of pain brought a malicious smile to her face, as he looked up into her face to catch it, tears in his eyes and blood running down his chin.
"You fuckin' bitch, you broke my finger...and..and my nose." He shouted, trying to twist out of her wrist lock, and bringing more pain onto himself in the process.
"Shut your mouth Francis, just shut your mouth and I won't continue. I'm fed up with yer shit, and you need to remember that I can kill you in your sleep if I so desire it."
Releasing her hold she turned and began to walk away. Ignoring his cursing and taunting in between the whining.
Bella's private quarters never seemed so invited as they did tonight. The small complex was little more than a shabby bathroom and a bedroom. She sighed deeply as she turned the hot water knob on her shower wall. She had no curtain, just an open basin with a plain shower head mounted above it, and a cracked mirror nearly the length of her body next to the dirty sink on the far wall.
The shower felt wonderful, as if it were washing away all the filth and sin she'd accumulated in her short fifteen years of life. Standing before the large, cracked mirror, she wiped away some of the steam that accumulated with her forearm and took herself in. Her raven black hair short and matted to her face was water dripped from the ends. Her dark skin gleaming in the light overhead. She touched her plump lips, brushing a hand upward over her slightly flattened nose.
Ugly. Tears began to slide down from her large brown eyes as she stared at herself in the mirror. She cupped her breasts in her hands, hoisting them slightly. At least they were more than adequate, she was thankful for that bit, and a smile started to creep at the corners of her mouth at the thought. Golden brown globes ending with dark brown tips. Her one redeeming feature, in her own mind.
Six years later Bella stared at her nude form in the dressing mirror in her clean, pleasant smelling apartment in California. Brazil was far behind her now. She was a fully grown, albeit short woman now, in the physical sense. No more drugs, no more slavery. She'd quit drinking close to a year back, and was closer to kicking smoking by the day. She no longer considered herself ugly, no longer wished for death, and no longer cut herself at night. Merely two weeks after she'd broken Francis' finger and nose that evening, she'd found herself completely fed up with the Cartel. Assaulting Jeorg, and single-handedly created utter chaos amongst the whole cartel.
The main warehouse had been raided by Brazilian freedom fighters, and rescued her. She'd gained some scars that night, and lost a fair amount of blood, but awoke in a real hospital, comfortable and for the first time in what had seemed like an eternity felt at peace. Everything seemed to have rolled into place like clockwork after that. She was cleaned up and sent away to a home for abandoned children, and teens. Eventually picked up by a lonely, friendly middle aged couple from the US. Letters were sent back and fourth and eventually she was flown, first class to meet her new family in the united states.
Life had went pretty smoothly since then for the most part. There had been hardships, like the death of Glenn who succumbed to his battle with cancer less than a year back. Glenn was sweet, warm and friendly her first real friend, as well as her first boyfriend since coming to the US. Also the first man to touch her intimately since leaving Brazil, the only man she trusted her first year in the states. Others would come and go over her teenage years, as hers and Glenn's relationship was far from perfect, and there were on and off times amongst it.
Sorrow clutched at her heart thinking of Glenn. She shook the pain away before slipping on her bra. She spent the next hour or so applying makeup and frantically searching for a studded belt. Her and a large group of friends were set to see a local metal show, and she couldn't afford to be late.
