TITLE: Return to Innocence
AUTHOR: Mystic25
EMAIL: yellowrubberduck31@hotmail.com
DISTRIBUTION: Archive..my story..my info..keep same.
GENRES: Story/Angst
RELATIONSHIPS: Max/Logan stuff
CONTENT: violence, abusive sex
KEYWORDS: graphic images of sexual situations.
RATING: R
SPOLIERS: References to "Out" Ignoring all the Season 2 Mess
SUMMARY: A brothel escapee winds up in Seattle, crossing paths with Max
DISCLAIMER: Dark Angel belongs to Cameron/Eglee and Fox. Information obtained
on sexual slavery will be credited at the end of the story. Any songs in here are
credited to their respective singers at the end as well. Title is a song by
Enigma. Please don't sue. Poor girl here, all money needed to pay of student
loans.
AUTHOR'S NOTE: This is not affiliated with my "Choices" series. I read
a lot about this subject researching a report in psychology, and feel
it's an issue that should be addressed.
AUTHOR'S NOTE #2: Boney Lake is a real city in Washington State.
AUTHOR'S NOTE #3: Sorry if I put too many of these, but pertaining to my
content warning of 'abusive sex' I mean just that. There are scenes of
sex used as a pure 'getting off' factor, so this is your warning.
******
The line between sex and slavery is the use of either handcuffs or locks
and chains on the bed.
-my thoughts on sexual slavery
*******
CHAPTER ONE
"Bound"
Boney Lake, Washington
A thin trickle of water wound a path down the fading brick of the
abandoned warehouse. Like a zigzagging miniature river it descended
slowly past the surfaces of graffito tagged bricks, finally ending it's
journey where the wall suddenly stopped, due to years of neglect
and the aftermath of bombings. It there dripped effortlessly onto a
head of black colored hair.
The girl paid no notice to the distraction, focusing all her energy
on the task at hand. Experienced fingers opened the tube of deep red
lipstick. It was melted and glopped on her lips, but she merely pressed
them together, and in the end it hid the general appearance of makeup
used way past its intended years. Her mouth now stained in the crimson
color, she glanced into the large chunk of painted glass that served
as her mirror, when she held it up to the light at just the right angle.
Footsteps boomed and echoed on the concrete floor, and the small door creaked
open. The girl suddenly ceased her actions, dropping the glass and the lipstick
tube simultaneously. She jumped to her feet with such force that her head would've
connected with the copper water pipe hanging precariously above her, but years
of repetitive scenes like this gave her the instinct to move slightly forward
when standing up.
There was bustle all around her, as other girls clamored to their feet, straitening,
combing. The door opened. The pimp leader entered, silently as usual. A man, a tall
one, with sandy blonde hair and eyes that were almost black stood beside him.
They walked closer to where the girls were.
The sandy haired man looked at them all, displayed in the clear
Plexiglas walls of the holding area. He examined them all like
merchandise, there only for the pleasure and desires he came for.
Black, obsidian eyes examined each one, reading the numbers on the tags around their
necks. He uttered words like "Maybe" and "Too Husky." moving down the line of women.
He paused at the last one, the dark haired girl.
"Seven" he read the number around her neck "lucky seven" a fast tongue darted out
to wet his lips.
"I'm on my period," she warned, staring at this beast of a man through
the plastic. Her heart pounded in her chest. Three years she had done
this, but each time it terrified her.
"Liar!" the silence of the pimp was broken "You bled out two
weeks ago.."
"It's longer then before." she lied, trying to convince him
that she was unfit for this man's business.
The pimp pulled a jangle of metal keys from his pocket. He opened
the door to the holding area and snatched the girl by the arm,
dragging her out to the center of the room.
"Show me," he ordered.
"Please, I do.." she begged, feeling the familiar sting of his
hand on her face, and the taste of blood in her mouth.
"If you do, you show me bitch." he growled at her with intense
anger.
She fought the urge to cry as she lifted the skirt of her black
dress. Her hand fumbled down her worn panties, pulling them off.
He snatched them from her, examining the crotch, and looked at
her with rage "You're going to get it for that one." he threw her
underwear at her. "Put them back on." he demanded "And if I catch
you lying again, no underwear, that way if you bleed I'll see it
all over your legs."
She jammed them back on her body, going extremely slow, to avoid
looking at the man with the black eyes.
"How old is this one man?" the customer asked "Looks a little
fresh."
"She's seventeen." the pimp informed, "She can do everything a full
blooded woman can do."
"We'll see," he said, grabbing her by the arm. "You got a room
for this?"
The pimp nodded "Massage parlor is in back, but it's cash on the
table first."
The sandy haired man threw three grimy fifties at him.
"Three hours." the pimp informed, folding the money into the
pocket of his black trench coat.
The sandy haired man yanked the girl roughly by the arm to the
back room. The bordered up windows allowed no natural light to
filter in. Lighting was supplied entirely by three lamps standing
on black wrought iron tables. A dusty, molded bed sat in the center
of the room, hastily made up with only one filthy pillow and white
cotton sheet, that had seen it's equal share of hungry moths and
sexual activity.
"I want my money's worth." the man notified, throwing the girl
onto the mattress in a primal gesture.
She didn't have time to catch her bearings, before he was upon her,
ripping off her flimsy dress and panties. He groped her breasts,
raked her hair with grimy fingers. His lips touched her neck, her
nipples. He reached down, tearing a handful of pubic hair from her
vaginal area "I hate too much hair." he growled, scattering the
strands on the mattress.
She bit her lip from the pain that his action had caused, feeling
him climb on top of her. She was glad for that at least...it would
be over soon. He came into her and rode her fast and hard. He was
so large that she could feel herself tearing at each entrance. Blood
speckled the already dirty sheet under her. She came four times.
The fifth time she moaned in agony. The sixth time she cried.
The seventh and eight go around she begged him to stop.
"I'm suppose to give you a bath." she tried to crawl out from
under him "My pimp will kill me if you aren't cleaned-"
He shoved her down "I didn't pay good money for you to talk."
he moved out of her and in her again, quickly.
This time she screamed. "No more, I can't do this any longer."
she clawed at his back, trying to break away from him "The three
hours are almost up."
She had somehow managed to maneuver her way out from under him,
and was crawling off the bed. His hand gripped her leg, pulling
her back "I'm not done."
"Time is over," she cried out "You'll have to pay more money."
she kicked him in the face with her bare foot.
The door opened. The pimp stood there, casting a shadow into
the room. "Session's up. Get lost."
"She's abusive." the man notified "I'd get rid of her before
you loose business." he stood up, and pulled on his pants over
his nude lower half. Grabbing his shirt he made his way to the
door "there are plenty of other rings." he walked back out to the
other room.
The pimp came over to the naked girl on the bed. Yanking her by
her hair he pressed his face right up to hers "If you cannot
perform your duty like it's suppose to be done, I will find a home
in your body for my bullets." He threw her back on the bed "Get
dressed, I've got customers lining up."
Pulling on her clothes was an excruciating task. Her entire body
ached. Her vagina and cervix felt like they were on fire. She slipped
on her panties and walked over to the door. Peering out, she saw
her pimp with his back facing her, and heard the noises of bullets
being loaded into the chamber of his .45 magnum. Her heart beat
frantically in her chest, and she backed away from the door. He was
going to make good on his promise. She listened for the noise of him
rising from the plywood constructed folding chair, and for his
footsteps approaching. But they never came. Someone else was in
there with him. She could hear them talking. Peeking out the door
confirmed her suspicions.
Another man was there, conversing with the pimp. She suddenly made
a rash, and quick decision and slipped out of the room. The two men
were speaking near the old burned out remains of an inner room wall.
They were both a good three yards away from the only door that exited
the warehouse.
She could see the door had been left open a crack, in the clients
haste to get in the building. The opportunity to escape had never
been presented to her in such a simple, almost flawless fashion.
Years of repressed agony and terror fueled her stride as the gateway
to freedom drew closer with each footfall. A shaking hand pulled
open the door, and being old, rusted and decrepid, it creaked, sending
an echo through the enclosure.
The pimp turned "What the hell are you doing?" the gun cocked.
She ran, despite the sounds of her impending capture or possible
death. A old green Oldsmobile was parked by a tree, most likely the
other man's. She ran in its direction, ducking every few minutes
at the countless number of magazines that were being unloaded at
her body.
She picked up a weather worn cinderblock from the base of the
tree and smashed the driver's side window. Unlocking the door
she scurried into the seat, frantically searching under the
dashboard for the appropriate wires. After making the right
connection, the engine roared to life. She shifted the vehicle
into reverse, and floored the gas. The car flew down the long
dirt road, and soon reached the spot where it connected with the
main paved one. Tires squealed as she put it in drive and blazed
down the street, not looking back.
AUTHOR: Mystic25
EMAIL: yellowrubberduck31@hotmail.com
DISTRIBUTION: Archive..my story..my info..keep same.
GENRES: Story/Angst
RELATIONSHIPS: Max/Logan stuff
CONTENT: violence, abusive sex
KEYWORDS: graphic images of sexual situations.
RATING: R
SPOLIERS: References to "Out" Ignoring all the Season 2 Mess
SUMMARY: A brothel escapee winds up in Seattle, crossing paths with Max
DISCLAIMER: Dark Angel belongs to Cameron/Eglee and Fox. Information obtained
on sexual slavery will be credited at the end of the story. Any songs in here are
credited to their respective singers at the end as well. Title is a song by
Enigma. Please don't sue. Poor girl here, all money needed to pay of student
loans.
AUTHOR'S NOTE: This is not affiliated with my "Choices" series. I read
a lot about this subject researching a report in psychology, and feel
it's an issue that should be addressed.
AUTHOR'S NOTE #2: Boney Lake is a real city in Washington State.
AUTHOR'S NOTE #3: Sorry if I put too many of these, but pertaining to my
content warning of 'abusive sex' I mean just that. There are scenes of
sex used as a pure 'getting off' factor, so this is your warning.
******
The line between sex and slavery is the use of either handcuffs or locks
and chains on the bed.
-my thoughts on sexual slavery
*******
CHAPTER ONE
"Bound"
Boney Lake, Washington
A thin trickle of water wound a path down the fading brick of the
abandoned warehouse. Like a zigzagging miniature river it descended
slowly past the surfaces of graffito tagged bricks, finally ending it's
journey where the wall suddenly stopped, due to years of neglect
and the aftermath of bombings. It there dripped effortlessly onto a
head of black colored hair.
The girl paid no notice to the distraction, focusing all her energy
on the task at hand. Experienced fingers opened the tube of deep red
lipstick. It was melted and glopped on her lips, but she merely pressed
them together, and in the end it hid the general appearance of makeup
used way past its intended years. Her mouth now stained in the crimson
color, she glanced into the large chunk of painted glass that served
as her mirror, when she held it up to the light at just the right angle.
Footsteps boomed and echoed on the concrete floor, and the small door creaked
open. The girl suddenly ceased her actions, dropping the glass and the lipstick
tube simultaneously. She jumped to her feet with such force that her head would've
connected with the copper water pipe hanging precariously above her, but years
of repetitive scenes like this gave her the instinct to move slightly forward
when standing up.
There was bustle all around her, as other girls clamored to their feet, straitening,
combing. The door opened. The pimp leader entered, silently as usual. A man, a tall
one, with sandy blonde hair and eyes that were almost black stood beside him.
They walked closer to where the girls were.
The sandy haired man looked at them all, displayed in the clear
Plexiglas walls of the holding area. He examined them all like
merchandise, there only for the pleasure and desires he came for.
Black, obsidian eyes examined each one, reading the numbers on the tags around their
necks. He uttered words like "Maybe" and "Too Husky." moving down the line of women.
He paused at the last one, the dark haired girl.
"Seven" he read the number around her neck "lucky seven" a fast tongue darted out
to wet his lips.
"I'm on my period," she warned, staring at this beast of a man through
the plastic. Her heart pounded in her chest. Three years she had done
this, but each time it terrified her.
"Liar!" the silence of the pimp was broken "You bled out two
weeks ago.."
"It's longer then before." she lied, trying to convince him
that she was unfit for this man's business.
The pimp pulled a jangle of metal keys from his pocket. He opened
the door to the holding area and snatched the girl by the arm,
dragging her out to the center of the room.
"Show me," he ordered.
"Please, I do.." she begged, feeling the familiar sting of his
hand on her face, and the taste of blood in her mouth.
"If you do, you show me bitch." he growled at her with intense
anger.
She fought the urge to cry as she lifted the skirt of her black
dress. Her hand fumbled down her worn panties, pulling them off.
He snatched them from her, examining the crotch, and looked at
her with rage "You're going to get it for that one." he threw her
underwear at her. "Put them back on." he demanded "And if I catch
you lying again, no underwear, that way if you bleed I'll see it
all over your legs."
She jammed them back on her body, going extremely slow, to avoid
looking at the man with the black eyes.
"How old is this one man?" the customer asked "Looks a little
fresh."
"She's seventeen." the pimp informed, "She can do everything a full
blooded woman can do."
"We'll see," he said, grabbing her by the arm. "You got a room
for this?"
The pimp nodded "Massage parlor is in back, but it's cash on the
table first."
The sandy haired man threw three grimy fifties at him.
"Three hours." the pimp informed, folding the money into the
pocket of his black trench coat.
The sandy haired man yanked the girl roughly by the arm to the
back room. The bordered up windows allowed no natural light to
filter in. Lighting was supplied entirely by three lamps standing
on black wrought iron tables. A dusty, molded bed sat in the center
of the room, hastily made up with only one filthy pillow and white
cotton sheet, that had seen it's equal share of hungry moths and
sexual activity.
"I want my money's worth." the man notified, throwing the girl
onto the mattress in a primal gesture.
She didn't have time to catch her bearings, before he was upon her,
ripping off her flimsy dress and panties. He groped her breasts,
raked her hair with grimy fingers. His lips touched her neck, her
nipples. He reached down, tearing a handful of pubic hair from her
vaginal area "I hate too much hair." he growled, scattering the
strands on the mattress.
She bit her lip from the pain that his action had caused, feeling
him climb on top of her. She was glad for that at least...it would
be over soon. He came into her and rode her fast and hard. He was
so large that she could feel herself tearing at each entrance. Blood
speckled the already dirty sheet under her. She came four times.
The fifth time she moaned in agony. The sixth time she cried.
The seventh and eight go around she begged him to stop.
"I'm suppose to give you a bath." she tried to crawl out from
under him "My pimp will kill me if you aren't cleaned-"
He shoved her down "I didn't pay good money for you to talk."
he moved out of her and in her again, quickly.
This time she screamed. "No more, I can't do this any longer."
she clawed at his back, trying to break away from him "The three
hours are almost up."
She had somehow managed to maneuver her way out from under him,
and was crawling off the bed. His hand gripped her leg, pulling
her back "I'm not done."
"Time is over," she cried out "You'll have to pay more money."
she kicked him in the face with her bare foot.
The door opened. The pimp stood there, casting a shadow into
the room. "Session's up. Get lost."
"She's abusive." the man notified "I'd get rid of her before
you loose business." he stood up, and pulled on his pants over
his nude lower half. Grabbing his shirt he made his way to the
door "there are plenty of other rings." he walked back out to the
other room.
The pimp came over to the naked girl on the bed. Yanking her by
her hair he pressed his face right up to hers "If you cannot
perform your duty like it's suppose to be done, I will find a home
in your body for my bullets." He threw her back on the bed "Get
dressed, I've got customers lining up."
Pulling on her clothes was an excruciating task. Her entire body
ached. Her vagina and cervix felt like they were on fire. She slipped
on her panties and walked over to the door. Peering out, she saw
her pimp with his back facing her, and heard the noises of bullets
being loaded into the chamber of his .45 magnum. Her heart beat
frantically in her chest, and she backed away from the door. He was
going to make good on his promise. She listened for the noise of him
rising from the plywood constructed folding chair, and for his
footsteps approaching. But they never came. Someone else was in
there with him. She could hear them talking. Peeking out the door
confirmed her suspicions.
Another man was there, conversing with the pimp. She suddenly made
a rash, and quick decision and slipped out of the room. The two men
were speaking near the old burned out remains of an inner room wall.
They were both a good three yards away from the only door that exited
the warehouse.
She could see the door had been left open a crack, in the clients
haste to get in the building. The opportunity to escape had never
been presented to her in such a simple, almost flawless fashion.
Years of repressed agony and terror fueled her stride as the gateway
to freedom drew closer with each footfall. A shaking hand pulled
open the door, and being old, rusted and decrepid, it creaked, sending
an echo through the enclosure.
The pimp turned "What the hell are you doing?" the gun cocked.
She ran, despite the sounds of her impending capture or possible
death. A old green Oldsmobile was parked by a tree, most likely the
other man's. She ran in its direction, ducking every few minutes
at the countless number of magazines that were being unloaded at
her body.
She picked up a weather worn cinderblock from the base of the
tree and smashed the driver's side window. Unlocking the door
she scurried into the seat, frantically searching under the
dashboard for the appropriate wires. After making the right
connection, the engine roared to life. She shifted the vehicle
into reverse, and floored the gas. The car flew down the long
dirt road, and soon reached the spot where it connected with the
main paved one. Tires squealed as she put it in drive and blazed
down the street, not looking back.