Trafficked Love Ch.14 - Sex Stories

Trafficked Love Ch.14

... birth and death, where we all are either out for our own pleasure, or a pawn of someone else’s. What God would make a world this dark? There is no beauty here. There is no light or hope. People don’t have faith in this world; they have ego. Every man is a god in his own eyes. We make decisions every day. Our decisions can be the destruction of others, and we make those decisions. We play a god role just by waking up. We don’t decide our own fate, we decide each other’s. A higher being? What can a higher being do, that we as people can’t? No one is going to be saved from ourselves. We’re stuck in this middle ground, waiting for death. No. I don’t believe in God, or heaven, or salvation. I believe in humans and demons, and that they are one in the same.” So why would she be afraid of Rich? Life was an out of control, spinning whirl of destruction. It was a tornado that could move any way it wanted. There was no stopping fate. If her fate was to be hurt or killed by Rich’s hands, then she would welcome it, because it would mean she would reach the final goal of life: to die. Silently, Angel gathered up a few plates and glasses from the end tables in the living room. It was common for Rich’s girls to crash at the house on their days off or between long nights of endless clients. Rich always left money and coupons on top of the refrigerator for the girls to order pizza. Despite the life being as bad as it was, Rich’s girls were blessed to be under Rich’s care. He took care of ...

... them. He was one of the few pimps who understood that yes, some girls must be broken before they can be built, that punishments must not be taken lightly, and that showing genuine care for a girl resulted in a quicker loyalty from her than beating her into submission. Angel brought the dishes back to the kitchen and placed them in the sink. When the dishwasher was done, she would put them in to be cleaned. Rich watched her. His anger had subsided, as he realized he was grateful that Angel was there, and that he would have been in much worse condition if she wasn’t there. He sipped his coffee, watching her stack dishes in the sink. “Is the paper here yet, babe?” Angel silently retreated to the front door to check. When she laid the paper on the table in front of him, he grabbed her wrist and pulled her into his lap as he sat at the table. He kissed her neck, murring into the crevice there, his arms wrapped around her waist, holding her in place. He was hungry, and not for any typical breakfast. It was then that two women stumbled through the front door, giggling and staggering about. Both Rich and Angel looked up. They were two prostitutes, yes, but not Rich’s. And they were clearly drunk. Rich must have recognized them, as he didn’t get up and make a scene about two strange women barging into his home. The two women snickered at Angel and Rich, as if they had caught two lusty teens in the act. “Aw, is the little prossie getting frisky with daddy? Suckle up so he’ll let you slip ...