Free Distorted Hope by Marissa Honeycutt Page B

before he shook his head slightly and his eyes turned firm. “When I tell you to do something, I expect you to do it immediately. When I ask you a question, I expect an answer, not another question.”
    “Y-yes, Patrón,” I whispered, determined to answer and obey immediately from now on. I never wanted to experience that again. “I-I didn’t understand your question, though,” I said meekly. “I was confused.”
    “You didn’t understand my question about shaving?”
    I shook my head. “I shaved my legs this afternoon.”
    He reached between my legs and tugged on the curly hairs. “I meant these,” he said, frowning.
    “I’ve never shaved there.”
    He arched his brow. “Why not?”
    “I didn’t think I needed to.”
    He grimaced. “I suppose that is an acceptable answer. But I won’t fuck you with that.” He placed me gently on the bed.
    “Y-you’re really going to… fuck me?” I whispered, hating the words. I didn’t want him; I wanted Jason.
    “Why else would you be here?” he asked harshly, picking up the bedside landline and speaking in what I thought it was Spanish. It would make sense. We were in a Spanish-speaking country. “Pasha will be here in a few minutes. Go with her, do as she says, and she will return you to me.” Nathan left me lying on the bed and went upstairs to the sitting area. I watched him as he opened a laptop and began typing furiously.

    There was a soft knock on the door a few minutes later.
    “Come!” Nathan shouted.
    I twisted on the bed and saw a small Latina woman walk in carrying a white robe.
    “I am Pasha,” she said with a slight nod, walking around the bed and holding out the robe. “Put this on and come with me.”
    I glanced up at Nathan, who was ignoring us, and stood, slipping the robe over my shoulders. My rear burned against the fabric and I winced. I followed Pasha out the door, downstairs to the outside, and down the passageway between the house and the narrow building.
    Behind the house was a separate one-story building with a single entrance and multiple large windows.
    “This is where we live,” Pasha explained. The entryway was brightly lit and about six women sat around on comfortable looking couches, talking and giggling.
    They looked up and studied me when I walked in. I nodded slightly in greeting.
    “Girls, this is Kyra. El Patrón wants her readied for him.” I nodded in greeting and then followed Pasha around a corner and into a nearby room that looked like a beauty salon.
    She pointed to a table resembling something seen in a gynecologist’s office. “Lie down on your back.”
    I winced as I did as she told me and watched her plug something in that looked like a slow cooker. She approached me with an electric razor. “Relax. I won’t hurt you with this. I make sure all the girls are kept clean and neat.” I put my feet in the stirrups and moved my robe aside.
    I put my hands over my face, embarrassed. The buzzing began and I suddenly sympathized with the sheep I’d watched being shorn on the Discovery Channel.
    “Now, I will wax you,” she said, standing and walking to the slow cooker.
    “What!” I exclaimed. “No, no, no. Please don’t.” I tried to sit up and winced as my rear scraped against the table.
    “Kyra, I must. I’m sorry. I will call guards if you don’t hold still.”
    I rubbed my face. This was getting worse and worse, but I held still; I didn’t want to cause any more trouble than I already had.
    Pasha showed me where there were handles on either side of the bed and I grasped them as Pasha spread the warm sticky substance on my most intimate place.
    “Ready?” Pasha asked with a sympathetic look.
    “No,” I whimpered.
    “One… two… three.”
    There was a ripping sound and then the searing pain erupted and I screamed. It was as bad as losing my virginity. She did it three more times and I found myself sobbing again.
    “I’m sorry, Kyra. I know it hurts. It will get better, I promise.