Lucy Was A Lesbian

Lucy

Lucy was a lesbian. She was never into guys. Especially when those guys were wedged deep in-between her thighs. At that the best she could do was just to roll her eyes. Either that or to close them, and pretend she wasn't dead inside. It took all her acting skills to make out as if she cared, and when it was all over all she did was stare, but never for too long. Lucy was closed even to herself, her heart entirely without song. That initial sly pride was now withered and gone. 

The money was good, that never changed, but the hours were long and more often than not it felt wrong. Though at first just a means of supporting her habit, that murky brown sludge in the jags as she stabbed it, now there was something else in the act. She was essentially a slave to a man who called himself 'Jack'. 

Jack was a pimp who sweet talked the girl, then just another in the street-walking sprawl. Lucy's pale flesh stood out amongst the rabble, and Jack wasted no time in beginning his babble. He spoke for a minute and he talked for a mile, and before not a while Lucy found herself already under his guile. Jack promised riches as a result of her talents, hinting also at the fact that her life hung in the balance. The streets were indeed harsh for a little thing like her, especially without such a burly protector. Jack's muscled arm hung around the young girl, and the pimp drug her down into a deeper, darker world. 

The heroin she got was now much, much stronger, and she was glad to be safe from the fentanyl mass slaughter. The stuff felt far cleaner than what she was used to. The high Lucy got almost felt too good to be true. However before very long, there were things she was expected to do. The drugs weren't free, and the girl… she knew. If she weren't to obey, she feared what it might undo… How it might anger Jack, and what he might do. 

Lucy agreed to the increasing demands, down in a cellar, amongst the buzzing of wands. The sound echoed and slapped against the concrete dungeon walls, it was that first night that she found out that the pimp's erect penis was not quite so small. Lucy grit her teeth and squirmed in the restraints. The pain got so bad that she thought she might faint. But soon it was finished, and the leather was undone. Jack whispered his pleasure. The sultan had won. 

So Lucy agreed to participate weekly, never protesting much more than lowly and meekly. Her holes were in pain, and her mind full of strain, but worst of all the effects from the smack had begun to wane. She sent Jack a text and hoped for an answer. The reply that she got was tantamount to terminal cancer.

Lucy arrived outside of the old burnt-out factory. Inside Jack waited, his lies were a mastery. The girl went inside, expecting her fix, but all that awaited was a room full of hard pricks. The men behind Jack, a horde of panting horned-up hicks, slavered eagerly; licking their lips. 

Jack grabbed the girl by the length of her hair before proceeding to tell her why she really was there. That text she had sent went to a compromised phone, a crime for which there was absolutely no chance to atone. Lucy cried and begged and screamed for her life, but it was no use at all. Jack presented a knife. 

He did things with that blade that aren't good to mention. Especially if you've just sat down to a nice fish luncheon. However suffice to say that his actions were brutal. Lucy's attempts to fight back were pretty much futile. The men then all took turns fucking the mess. What used to be genitals were now anyone's guess. After round seven and the whole pack was done, Jack doused her in kerosene, lit it, and run. 

Lucy's last thoughts as she writhed in the blaze were of the message she'd got, just in the past few days. Her mother had finally decided to reach out. She wanted her home. But now, Lucy knew… that her hope was all done.