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I looked around in the darkness and pushed back at the fear. I stood, unsteady on my feet, and turned and smiled at my beloved tormentor.I asked him, ’What now?’’Funny you should ask, puta,’ he said. He lowered himself to pick up my clothes from the floor. He said, ’March, out the back like you came.’I walked in my nakedness to the back door and turned there to reach for my clothes. He refused to hand them over. ’Walk out naked, puta.’I was shaken, and I begged, ’Papi, don’t be mean.’’I am not your papi. I am your master. I own you, bitch.’I felt now that this was enough of games. I insisted that he give me my clothes. He instead opened the door and pushed me outside. And there by the back door was his son. ’Lie on the grass and open your legs for the boy, puta,’ he said to me in a voice that I had become familiar with; he was deadly serious.I felt a moment of light headedness. I felt a moment of shame. Then I shrugged. What was fucking a minor in the grass compared to what I had done. Orry I haven't been writing... Here's something I whipped up, with a help of a wonderful person
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