Peepshow Ruffles

Adele closed her eyes as she sat on down on the lumpy mattress. She could smell the Evil Maharajah, the alcohol lacing his breath and skin was tangible and it made Adele want to gag. She almost wished, though, that she herself was drowning in the poison as well. Anything to not be lucid during this.

Her skin felt like fire as he traced something sharp down her the skin underneath her arm. She could hear the sick little chuckle escape his throat and a large whimper racked through her body, causing her to shake. Suddenly, his hand was around her throat. Her eyes wrenched open as she was forced to stare into his dark, greedy eyes.

“You smell different.” His voice was a low, guttural growl. It petrified her. He sniffed the air, coming painfully close to her face. She held her breath as he inhaled deeply. “You smell like a man.” This growl was much different. Darker, more threatening.

In that moment, Adele feared her life. The blade came slicing through the air gashing through her right cheek, causing her to jerk her head to the left. She screamed in agony, clutching her face, blood leaking from between her fingers.

She didn’t understand his fury. She was a prostitute. What did he expect? She looked at him, fear and anger decorating her features. She stood, daringly and clenched her free hand into a fist. She wanted to hit him. She wanted to hit him and run for her life.

He only laughed as he saw the tight line her mouth had become. He grabbed her by the jaw this time, pressing her cheeks together forcing her lips to pucker out. She cried out in pain as he pressed his crusted, chapped lips to hers. He shoved her back onto the mattress and proceeded to crawl over the top of her.

Adele knew the next few steps of this dance. She swallowed thickly before closing her eyes and waiting out the next few minutes of hell.