NSFW

“People F#cking Suck” – from 1,000 Awesome Writing Prompts by Ryan Andrew Kinder… (NSFW, AC, TRIGGER WARNING)

It’s time once more for a prompt from 1,000 Awesome Writing Prompts by Ryan Andrew Kinder…

This week’s prompt is a darker one, indeed.

#814. Write from the perspective of a people trafficker.

 I’m giving myself 20 minutes to write this. Wish me luck.

**Done with 8 seconds to spare. Thank God. I feel more than a little slimy after writing this.**

***WARNING!!! TRIGGER WARNING FOR THE FOLLOWING FICTION!!! DARK SHIT AHEAD!!! THE AUTHOR WAS ATTEMPTING WRITING FROM A DISTASTEFUL PERSPECTIVE BUT DOES NOT ENDORSE THE BELIEFS FOUND HEREIN.***

Don’t say you weren’t warned.

“People F#cking Suck”

Most people would call me a monster. I don’t know, though. I’ve seen monsters. Real ones. Guys that do things that make even the most hardened badass in some Central American backwater prison have nightmares about. Heavy shit, man. Fucking crazy shit. Me? I just traffic people. Move em from point A to point B, pick up a little green (both the spending kind and the smoking kind) and that’s that.

Yeah, yeah, oh my god, don’t I realize they’re people? Yeah, of course the fuck I realize they’re people. That’s why the job pays so well, isn’t it? Thing is, you live long enough in this world, long enough in my world, and you begin to realize something. People fucking suck. They do. All of them. You, me, and the trembling little girls in the back of my van. We all suck.

I won’t lie, I used to have empathy for them. Most of them. But a lot of these girls? They come from places that would make you vomit just to walk a hundred yards from, let alone live in. These girls aren’t random kidnap victims, enslaved brutally like the movies would have you believe. Ok, well, most of them aren’t. Most of the girls I move were sold to us by their own families. Their own fucking families. You get that? Their own mothers or fathers or siblings or aunts or uncles or fucking grandparents brought them to my employer, who paid a ridiculously small amount of money, and then gave them to me. To move.

You know why they sold them? Two things, usually. One, simple greed. People fucking suck, remember? And greed runs the world, buddy. Greed runs the world. You wouldn’t believe it, but the highest call for these little packages are to some of the richest bastards in the wealthiest, most “civilized” countries. They fucking suck too. So much god damned money they sometimes literally wipe their ass with it. They get bored. They can have anything, so the get anything. Including fresh young girls to play with, till they get bored with them too, and then bam, back in the van, and off to the next dude who can’t quite afford first pick. Sick, sucky people.

Reason two? The place they came from was such a god awful hell hole that there literally was nothing better in the world for them than being sold into slavery for sex. Their families believed, no, fuck that, knew that the only chance they had for a better life was one spent on their back in some foreign city, carted around by some fuckwad like me and staying just a step ahead of the authorities. Sure, some girls get scared. Some find ways to get loose, escape, get to the cops wherever the fuck we are. They ruin things for the rest of em. We have to pack up quick then. Get em on the van and move before we all get fucking hung.

Thing is, that one girl, that one stupid selfish girl who had to run off? You know what she did for her “sisters”? She fucked em, royally. See, when we set up someplace new, when there’s no feds or government types sniffing up our asses, we have the time to vet some of the customers. Not all of them, mind you – go back to reason one if you want to know why – but a lot of em. Enough that the girls we set up don’t have it all that bad. Sure, they gotta spread their legs at someone else’s whim, but fuck, how’s that any different from marriage in the fucking warzone they came from? At least with us, they get cleaned up. They see docs. Gotta keep the good healthy, after all.

But when a girl gets loose, we gotta pull stakes. Yank the other girls from whatever situation they are in, some of them pretty cozy. We gotta hit the road, and more often than not, ditch the merchandise at the first chance we get. That can go one of two ways too. Either we sell them to some cheap fucking pimp who’s gonna use em, abuse em, and then ditch them when they are too broken, bruised, or diseased to be of use. Or we kill them. Simple as that. Take them out in a desert and just leave them in a locked van. It’s easier that way.

So that girl, the one that got away? She fucking sucks. The pimps? Fucking suck. The johns? Fucking suck. The families? Fucking suck?

But me? I’m just a guy who drives a van.

And yeah. I fucking suck.

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My first…

Her name was Ellie, and she was my first real crush.

She was taller than the other girls her age, a little plump, with shoulder length natural red curls blooming from her head, eyes of pale blue-green, and a speckling of freckles that dashed from cheek to cheek and over her nose like a playful flick of tannish paint against her pale white skin.

She was a tomboy when we first met. She didn’t have a lot of friends because she had always been the rough and tumble type and other girls picked on her for her weight, and I didn’t have a lot of friends because I was new to town and not into typical boy things like football or soccer, and I was, perhaps, a little immature for my age – more concerned with playing games and imagining then sports and girls and wishing I was old enough to drive. At first, our friendship was totally innocent – playing tag, hide and seek, going on adventures through the woods near our houses, playing at being knights (she didn’t want to be princess), and things like that. She liked to hit me a lot, not violently, but often would punch or pinch or tackle me. Looking back now, as an adult, I realize that this was her way of flirting, much as young boys often do to young girls, but with the genders reversed. As the year went on, the teasing and chasing continued, with free periods involving her chasing me all over the school grounds, until I finally ran to and climbed a tree to “escape” her.  She’d climb up, we’d sit together on a branch, and talk.

She had a lot of daddy issues, that one. Her dad was in the military, like mine, and was often away.  When he was home, he was often drunk and belligerent, and so she spent more and more time with me, wandering the fields and woods when she wasn’t chasing me around the yard. Summers came and went, and then came again. One summer finally came, and for the first two months it was awesome – we saw each other every day, played constantly, and spent more and more time wandering the fields and forests. During one such excursion, I had made some joke or another to her, and as usual, took off running with her in pursuit, her fists clenched and ready to fight. I dodged bushes, ducked under branches, jumped over creeks, and she kept on me as doggedly as any person could. As we burst into a small clearing, she bounded forward in a dash and leapt for me, knocking me to the ground.  She quickly climbed on top of me as I rolled to my back, pinning my arms and legs with her own, both of us breathing heavily as she sat firmly on my pelvis.

And that, silly as it sounds, is when I first noticed she was not so much a girl any more, but a blossoming young woman. I don’t know how I had been so oblivious to the fact before – perhaps it was because I had just started blossoming as well. As she sat over me, her breathe heaving, her shirt hanging low, I caught a glimpse of the perfect half orbs that hung beneath that shirt, and for the first conscious time in my memory, my loins stirred to the calling. I know she felt it, because the instant I hardened, I heard her breath in sharply, but there was nothing I could do but blush.  She blushed as well, but did nothing…just sat there as I came to full hardness beneath the heat of her body, the press of her skin.  Our eyes found each other, and for a moment, time seemed to freeze. The birds of the forest ceased their calling, the wind slowed and died, and it was just her, me, and the warmth of an early summer day. For the first time, I saw how incredibly beautiful she was, how soft her pale, perfect skin seemed, how dazzling the gems that she called eyes were. And I could see in them that, for the first time, she saw (and felt!) that I was a young man, and that she was as amazed as I was at the discovery.

Then, slowly, she leaned forward, her mouth parting, her eyes closing. I remember how she smelled faintly of artificial strawberries, one of those “kiddy” perfumes that girls would sometimes get and pretend they were grownups with. I remember how insanely, almost unbearably hot she was, like she had been set afire in fever, especially where her thighs parted and pressed against me.. I remember the delicate brush of her hair against my face as its curls fell about me, and the sweetness of her lips when they finally met my own…ah, strawberry lip gloss as well. We kissed, soft and sweet, timidly at first, then deeper, more passionate. Her tongue and mine touched, and I remember it felt as if my heart might explode. Her hips ground against me, harder and harder, and she pressed herself closer, the soft orbs of her breasts pressing tightly to my chest.  She rocked and moaned as her tongue darted into and out of my mouth, and I could feel my own passions growing to maddening levels…and then she began to shake, her body tensing and releasing, tensing and releasing.

And then it ended.  The world came back to life, her lips parted from my own. She pulled away, and I saw that she was crying. One of her sweet, salty tears fell into my mouth, wetting my tongue. She got up then, suddenly, and took off running, leaving me there, hard and hurting from a buildup with no release, confused and exhilarated and yes, a little bit scared.  I finally found my wits, rose with a bit of a struggle (thanks to still being quite, um, intrigued down below), and went chasing to find her…but she had run somewhere I couldn’t find. I didn’t see her for a good week after that. I worried to death that I had done something wrong or bad, that I had scared my friend away. But even with that guilt, I thought about her constantly, the feel of her grinding against me, and as I closed my eyes I remembered her taste.

Then, the next weekend, she came over again, and it was as if nothing had happened. I tried at first to talk to her about it, but she never wanted to, and instead tried to chase me and punch me as we always had.  So I resumed the game, though I will admit, I made it a bit easier for her to catch me. For the rest of the summer, we repeated that first moment over and over again.  We never actually had sex, but the kissing, the grinding, the eventual groping (when she finally relented to giving me the use of my hands) lasted the rest of the summer.

Alas, she moved away that summer, when her mother finally left her father for good. There was no warning…I went over to see her, and she was gone, and her father was cussing and yelling at me for reminding him of the fact. Eventually, I moved on.

Mostly.

Chuck Wendig’s Weekly Flash Fiction Challenge…”We’re all human, even when we’re not.”

This week’s Flash Fiction challenge, from the incomparable Chuck Wendig at http://terribleminds.com/ramble/2014/05/02/flash-fiction-challenge-behold-your-theme/

The challenge? A story with a theme of “We’re all human, even when we’re not.”

One week. One thousand words. I can do this.

Here goes…warning, definitely NSFW…

 

 

I still remember when she picked me up at that party. I had a pretty good buzz going, just grooving to my own beat, and then, there she was, all smiles and giggles and that hint of blush at her cheeks that spoke of either intoxication or embarrassment. Maybe both. It didn’t matter, though. There was a definite spark between us, a vibe that neither of us could have imagined before. I remember the way she gasped that first time she touched me, and the way I felt shivers all over. Man, it was intense.

Even that first night, when most lovers are a little too clumsy or fumbly or drunk to do things right, we clicked. A fucking puzzle of, well, fucking. God, it was amazing. She climaxed at least a half dozen times, and afterwards, we lay there together, basking in that delightful glow of really good sex. She laughed a bit, commented on how she had never known anyone who could last as long as me, but hey man, I’m like the Energizer bunny. I keep going and going, and she fucking loved it.

I knew, of course, that we’d never be exclusive. She made that clear from the start. She was not the kind of girl content with monogamous sex, and while yes, maybe that’s more my thing, she was way too into me and I WAY too into her to care. I can’t lie, we had a hell of a lot of fun together. And even when she did have other lovers, she always came back to me later. I was the best, she said. No one could get her off like I could, and yeah, I was damned proud. Hell, there were even a couple of times when we shared a lover together. Kinky, I know, but damned man…it was crazy. Fun. Sexy. Hot, hot, hot. Let’s be honest, there was no way I could say no. But life, man…life has a funny way of getting in the way of sexy times. We rolled on pretty good for a good year or so, just fun times and lots and lots of play. She even showed me off to some of her friends which was, you know, AWKWARD, but that’s the kind of cat she is, and hey, I got nothing to hide. And then…well, then, the inevitable happened.

She got pregnant.

Funny how something so small can have such a huge impact in your life. It wasn’t on purpose, and I’ll be honest here, I’m pretty confident it wasn’t mine, but we weren’t exclusive, and as close as we’d become, there was no way I was going to ditch her over it. She cried, a lot. She hardly ever touched me, when she first found out…I don’t know if that was guilt or shame or what have you. And when she did, it was always something quick, urgent. Need, not want. Afterwards, she’d cry some more. I’d try to comfort her, but there’s only so much I could do. She decided, at last, to keep the baby. I supported her regardless, knew we could make it work. And for a while, things did get better. I’ll tell you now, some women, when they’re pregnant, they can’t get enough sex…and that was my girl to a tee. We were going at it constantly – she said it helped with her back. I wasn’t going to argue. I thought she looked radiant, stunning. Beautiful. Every time I touched her, every time I made her cry out, I loved it. I loved her. God, she’s amazing.

When the baby was born, things slowed down again, but hey, I knew they would. It’s tough to get intimate time when you have a little one, crying and fussing and eating and shitting. And damned, man, that shit is non-stop. All hours of the night, every day of the week. I knew my girl was exhausted and since she chose to take on all the childcare stuff, the best thing I could do was be supportive and not complain. So I didn’t. I kept quiet, my needs under lock and key. I stayed content with the time we did get, those rare intervals when the baby was napping and we just had to fill that need as quick as possible. I was still her go to guy – the others couldn’t be bothered with baby drama, and lets be real, they couldn’t do the job as good as I could anyway.

Sometimes, I wish things could go back to that time, crazy as they were. Yeah, sexy times were rare, but they were good. Passionate. Intense. For a moment, when she was on the edge of climax, I could see in her that smile, that blush, that giggle from that first night. I’ve never seen anything so beautiful in my life. But things change, man. Babies are hard. And eventually, baby daddy wanted in on the picture. She was reluctant at first, I mean, the fucker hadn’t been there when she needed him most, had he? But now he wanted to be. Now he had changed. And she cried. She wanted what was best for the baby, and what was best was knowing his daddy. I get that.

Dude hated me, though. Felt threatened by me, I guess. He didn’t like when I was around, and got belligerent when she talked about me. He wanted me gone, out of her life. And again…she wanted what was best for the baby. She didn’t even ask my opinion. So here I am. Kicked to the curb like a piece of common trash. Used, abused, and discarded. Wrapped up in some cheap rags and tossed out the door. Now it’s raining, and I am out in the cold.

And fuck me. I think my batteries are leaking.