”I hear voices, but I can’t make out the conversation.I’m lying down on something soft. There’s a blanket covering me, though I’m not cold. ... smell the faintest hint of vanilla, like someone has made cookies. It’s a barely remembered fragrance, one I haven’t smelled in years, but sweet and somehow calming and refreshing at the same time.My head aches like someone is pounding on it with a hammer. When I try to rub my face, I can’t lift my hands. I breathe deeply, trying to calm myself. Why am I. Then I heard the sounds of men running through the building, of hammering on doors, of furious commands being shouted in Arabic. I was scared, but I dared not wake my master, who was by habit a deep sleeper - especially after having thoroughly made use of one of his slave girls. I was chained to the foot of his bed, nude. There was little I could do.He woke up when the door of the room burst open and four men rushed in, wearing assorted, mis-matching military fatigues and carrying what looked. In fact some people would say he was pretty rather than handsome. He was 5’7′ and weighed a slim 150 pounds. He had light brown hair that he liked to wear long covering his ears and his neck. He was fit from hours of swimming and he had an ass that most girls would kill to have. It was that ass that first got him in trouble and convinced him that he liked guys more than girls. He had dated a few girls in high school and had sex with some of them that were legal age. Most of his experience was. "You don't look like you'vegained any weight, if anything, your waist looks smaller than ever." Thanks," I say with a snort of laughter. "It- ugh, I dunno. Maybe whenwe were in rehearsals with Phil... I- I talked to him over Facebook. He-he called me a 'fat transvestite'..." Ugh," Megan spits, a look of pure disgust creeping across her face. "Didyou tell your counsellor about this?" What can she do?" I protest. "She can't sew Phil's lips closed..." No, but she can tell you how to deal with.
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