Weak as she was, she held the leash firmly.
The first thing Brigit wanted when they gained their room was to pee. She’d sat for hours, unable to do anything but watch the activity in the opulent room. With impatience, she waited while Fatima lifted the sack-dress and untied her hands. Then, after she’d relieved herself, she remembered Fatima had not only been captive the same length of time, she’d been used over and over. Shame flowed through her.
"What can I do to help you?" she asked when Fatima removed the leash and collar and pulled the black sack over her head.
"I am fine, but thank you for offering." She smiled. "I do think I can sleep." With a shyness that surprised Brigit considering the way she’d just opened her body to be taken in every possible way, she took care of her toilet.
"Fatima, how can you stand doing this? Those men didn’t care about you—they exploited you. They treated you like a whore."
Fatima’s gaze fastened on Brigit’s without embarrassment. "That is what I am. You have whorehouses in your country. I heard of them when I lived there."
"Yes, but—"
"Here we are better. Our clothes are lavish. Our food is good and nourishing." Smiling and raising her brows she added, "You see it must be, because we need energy to be good at our work. But best of all, our guests are special. They all ensure we gain our pleasure while they take theirs. This is highly unusual, as I understand the business. Can you tell me different?"
"No. But I don’t have experience in this field." Brigit thought back to what she’d seen, heard, and read about prostitutes in the States. Her impression was that a hooker provided what the customer wanted and didn’t worry about herself. She’d always thought the sexual goal was quantity, not quality, for her or the man.
"I am safe here. Do you see? I am alive and cared for." Fatima’s eyes softened. "I can think of better ways to live, but I can think of worse also."
Brigit couldn’t keep her eyes open, and she didn’t know what to say to contradict Fatima. Her family didn’t want her, and so maybe this seemed like a viable alternative. Brigit did have a family, however, and friends, and she knew they would walk through fire to find her. If she wasn’t too far up the earth’s asshole, they would find her. Her job was to stay alive and well so their efforts wouldn’t be in vain. She’d fall apart and give in to despair when weeks passed with no word of rescue. Then she’d know Omar and his employers had hidden her even from God’s eyes.
"You’re right. There are worse places to be and lots worse things to do than what you—we—do. I’ll try my best to keep you from being punished. I’ll try not to get either of us punished."
"Good. And now let us sleep."
"Good night," Brigit said. Hurry, Daddy, Mama, whoever. Please hurry and get me out of here.
Posted by JackFD, with Francis Drake’s permission.
For more my Francis Drake and others go to www.nomadauthors.com, have fun.
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