.She had smoky eyes, and a sweet way of rotating her ass to meet my strokes, and panted soft endearments in Spanish while clutching my arms. She was F...IRLY safe on her back; one or both of us might have thrown his or her back out due to those corkscrew motions. The only blemish on her was her Caesarian section scar -- and I didn't care one damned bit about THAT! Hell, it was probably a badge of honor! I did the best I could for her, but it probably wasn't spectacular if she was used to anything. ”By now she didn’t seem to be breathing in or out, or even blinking. She stared at me, trapped. Finally, she looked down at the table. After a long moment, she spoke, in a barely audible voice: “Yes.”I gently shook her clasped hands with mine until she looked up at me again. I gave her a small nod of encouragement, letting her know she was doing well, then spoke again: “Yes…what?”For a moment there was a flare of anger in her eyes at this deliberate attempt at humiliation. I held her gaze. The days of captivity continued. Each day we were told to shower, given clean undergarments (but no real clothing), and fed meals through a panel in the door. But why were we here? I could hear other women, in other rooms. Some cried, others yelled in defiance. At first I had assumed Alex and I had been taken for ransom. Yet with so many of us held captive I began to think of another possibility, a terrible horrible possibility, something I had read about in the news; female slave trafficking.. I would have asked what I had done to upset her, but I was already beginning to realise that she only wanted me to talk when she wanted me too.Miss Katie told me that I was dirty. I had bathed and shaved before I had set off that morning, but Miss Katie said I was in need of a wash. She told me that she didn’t want to be around me when I was dirty.I was told to go into the bathroom – she pointed at the corridor leading back to the door and said the bathroom was there.I went off at once.There.
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