Page 5 of Contention

“Yeah. From behind,” the one holding her snaps with disdain.

Irritated, drunk, drugged, and tired, Kara yanks her head away, baring her teeth in a snarl. “No one asked your opinion, asshole.”

Her voice is probably too slurred to be totally clear, but her intent is obvious. The hand on her neck tightens suddenly, so suddenly that she chokes on the violent lack of air that she’s been hit with. She’s so tired and wants to go home, why is this asshat making her life difficult?

Red alarms are distant sounds in her head.

All the faces in the dream are a blur. She sees suits, men with legs spread wide. Brightly colored socks. Four men? The limo is large, easily seats eight. There’s even two women, but they are behind her. Their hands are busy on the laps of the men they are by, up and down, up and down. Kara glowers upwards, unable to focus, but can still feel the fire in her gaze.

“Mouthy little bitch, huh?” He’s saying it thickly, low, like he’s aroused. “You like to fight, is that it? Fine.”

There are a few sounds of amusement in the limo and they echo in her head like a freakish laugh track.

Clink. The sound of a belt buckle being undone. Somehow it sounds so loud, despite all the noise around her. Like she’s suddenly focused on this one point, this one small act. This small noise that makes her even more uncomfortable and angry.

She’s hauled towards his lap, chest connecting with his crotch. He tells her to just ‘get it done’.

There’s a moment of disbelief. What sort of men are these? They just…pick up chicks on the street and get sexual favors from them? And this is allowed? What world do they live in? Her stomach turns, alcohol crawling back up her throat at the very concept.

“Do it yourself,” she mutters, struggling in his tight grasp.

A new voice from the far end of the party limo chimes in with annoyance. “Look. We’re giving you time off your feet. Just do your job, you’ll get paid, like these other fine…ladies of the night here.”

There’s some female giggling.

Ladies of the night…?

In her effort to get away from the man holding her, Kara’s hand lands on his crotch. She almost crows with laughter. He’s soft, harmless. Ugliness creeps into her voice, because rancor is her specialty. “What am I supposed to do with that?”

She can’t see his face. It’s a blur, her dream is all a fog of war. She can smell him though, lord almighty that part is burned into her mind. He smells good, rich. Above her paygrade. Like, far above. Sweet tobacco. Coffee. Rum. Spicy. She’d lick his neck and eat him alive for that cologne alone if he weren’t such a prick, telling her that he’s going to pay her for…for what?

Like she’s a whore? Indignant rage spikes in her veins again.

Kara can’t breathe again, his hand going stiff around her throat. Oh, he didn’t like her pointing out his soft cock, did he? “Are you nervous?” She grits it out, mocks him. “Do I scare you?”

She always loves a fight.

The dream goes dark, then there’s a flash of red and a splash of pain.

He’s…hit her? In the face? Ah. The split lip. She can taste blood on her tongue and she spits it at him. With a disorientated swing, she lashes out at him, but he grabs both of her wrists and slams her to her knees hard enough to jar her kneecaps.

She groans in muted pain; it isn’t fair how strong he is.

He holds her neck until she sees stars and finally a hint of anxiety creeps into her blurred mind. “Let me go, just let me go home,” she whines, fighting weakly with his grasp when it returns to her wrists.

The harder she fights, the rougher he gets.

He brings her face to his crotch, his fingertips roughly pressing into her jaw, because she swore to bite it off otherwise.

He’s hard now. The violence, the acts of aggression towards her turned him on. She sags in his grip and realizes the mistake she’s made.

This is what he wanted all along.

Kara is going to have the last word, even around his damn fingers. “Is this why a guy like you needs to pay for sex?”

His fingers tighten on her jaw and he moves her face down into his lap.

It’s like suffocating, but worse.

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