Battle Scars Read online

  Battle Scars

  Helen Blacksmith

  Copyright © 2018 by Helen Blacksmith

  All rights reserved.

  No part of this publication may be reproduced, distributed, or transmitted in any form or by any means, including photocopying, recording, or other electronic or mechanical methods, without the prior written permission of the publisher, except in the case of brief quotations embodied in critical reviews and specific other noncommercial uses permitted by copyright law.

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  Chapter One

  Chapter Two

  Chapter Three

  Chapter Four

  Chapter Five

  Chapter Six

  Chapter Seven

  Chapter Eight

  Chapter Nine

  Chapter Ten

  Chapter Eleven

  Chapter Twelve

  Chapter Thirteen

  Chapter Fourteen

  Chapter Fifteen

  Chapter Sixteen

  Chapter Seventeen

  Chapter Eighteen

  Chapter Nineteen

  Chapter Twenty

  Chapter Twenty-One

  Chapter Twenty-Two

  Chapter Twenty-Three

  Chapter Twenty-Four

  Chapter Twenty-Five

  Chapter Twenty-Six

  Chapter Twenty-Seven

  Chapter One

  Andrea:

  The nightmares would come randomly, without warning, but they were always so vivid. It felt like I was still there. I could feel the scorching heat of the desert sun. Smell the putrid air, a mixture of sewage and blood. Taste the dirt. And feel stinging pain the shrapnel. But the screams. The screams were the worst. They were entwined with the sound of the explosions, always three of them, alongside the sound of twisting metal and shattering glass. Just like the nightmares I had lived through.

  When I woke up, my ruined arm would ache in remembrance, and my body would be so drenched with sweat that I would have to change the sheets and my pajamas.

  Tonight, was a particularly brutal night. Both of my nightmares wrapped into one. I could hear my baby's laughter, see his happy smiling face only to have it transform into the grotesque trauma of that night. That night when I lost everything. And then everything around him exploded into fire and shrapnel and pain.

  My eyes snap open as I sit up trying to catch my breath. My short blonde hair is plastered to my head, soaked in sweat just like the rest of my body.

  As I reach towards the nightstand for my pain meds, my hands won't quit trembling. Shaking my hands and wringing them together I try to stop the tremors, but I know it's useless. Nightmares like this always had residual effects, and the tremors were the ones that lasted the longest.

  Carefully opening the bottle, I dig out two Percocet and chew them before swallowing. This is the quickest way for them to take effect, and I use the half-empty beer bottle next to my bed to wash them down.

  I pick up my phone and see that I have five missed calls. Four are from my sponsor Mike and one from my mother. Mike is almost desperate as I listen to his voicemail asking, practically begging, me to call him. It's not like I'm avoiding him but listening to him lecture me right now just wasn't a priority. My mom, however, tells me she's bringing me her chicken soup tomorrow which makes me smile and gives me something to look forward to. There's not much of that nowadays.

  I look at my alarm clock. It's nine o'clock PM. I've managed to sleep for almost three straight hours. A new record. I'm meeting my friend Samantha out, but I have plenty of time to get ready.

  Stretching painfully, I make my way to the shower and turn the water on to the hottest setting before scrubbing my hair and skin. Then I shave everything including my pubic hair. I'm headed to The Indigo tonight, and I don't plan on coming home alone but I probably will. Since I got home six months ago, I always go out with intent but have never been able to follow through.

  I step out of the shower and wrap myself in a towel before going into the kitchen and making myself a whiskey on the rocks, then I go back into my bedroom to get ready.

  After finishing my makeup, I put on a long-sleeved stretchy shirt that covers my scars, but that also comes down and enhances my breasts and cleavage. I then pull on a short black leather skirt and don't bother to put on panties. I take my time spiking my short blonde hair and making it look messy but sexy. When I'm done, I step into my black heels before going into the kitchen and pouring myself another drink which I down quickly. I grab a beer from the fridge and my keys off the hall table as I leave, getting into my SUV and heading to The Indigo in the city.

  Chapter Two

  Raquel:

  I leave his bed and make my way to the shower where I scrub myself clean. I always feel so dirty and degraded after leaving his bed, but it was part of the territory. I preferred to keep an all women clientele, but the boss Jerome, insisted that he was not a part of that stipulation. He didn't care about me. The only thing he cared about is whether I turned a profit, and I was his best girl, so I always did.

  On some of my better nights, I could bring in up to twenty thousand. On an average night, I made at least ten. All his wealthier clients preferred my company, and I was spared from those with the kinkier tastes. The new girls and the girls that were not in his favor got those gigs. The BDSM clients were the worst. I saw the aftermath of what those dates entailed, and I am grateful that I was always favored.

  As I finish my shower, I thank the Gods that he didn't cum inside me.

  That would be hard to explain to my "date" for tonight. Her name was Rose, an older client around sixty who had spent a majority of her life in the closet, and if our earlier dates were any indication, she would be spending a considerable amount of time with her face between my legs.

  I think that's why he spared me this time, but I still felt violated after having his hands on and inside my body.

  I walk out into the bedroom and begin getting ready when I hear him come up behind me.

  "Three thousand - minimum," he says, his tone of voice forceful and cruel as he grabs the back of my hair by the nape of my neck and pulls roughly.

  "Anything less than that and... well you know the consequences," he states as he runs his hand over several deep scars that run across the middle of my back. That had only happened once and after I understood what the punishment for that entailed it had never happened again.

  He reaches over to the dresser and pours a small amount of cocaine onto a mirror then makes fine lines with a razor.

  "Here," he says handing me a rolled-up dollar bill.

  "Two lines."

  I do what he says as I feel the burn of the drug sting my nose.

  "Good girl," he praises as he does the other two lines himself.

  It wasn't always like this.

  This thought sticks in my mind as I enter the enormous walk-in closet and choose a red sleeveless dress with matching high heels. This lifestyle had started off so glamorous. I could pick and choose my clients, and a majority of the profit went into my pocket. I didn't even have to sleep with any of them if I didn't want to.

  But then things changed. He became greedier and more violent. His fifteen percent soon became twenty and then fifty and finally seventy-five. All the girls had a minimum quota to meet for the night. Some, like mine, were reasonable and easily attainable. Others were unfair and set with failure in mind. This was reserved strictly for girls that had fallen from his good graces, and they were beaten in ways that were not visible to their clients almost daily.

  And now I was stuck in this cruel cycle of sex and violence, and even though I was treated better than t
he other girls, this was still no way to live.

  I finish getting ready and look at myself in the mirror. One would never know the kind of life I lived by just looking at me. I didn’t look abused or exhausted or broken. And I thanked God that I at least still had that.

  Chapter Three

  Andrea:

  As I take my seat at the bar, I order a forty-two oz. draft beer and a shot of tequila. My friend Samantha looks at me like I have lost my mind. We have been friends since meeting in the playground of St. Josephine’s Kindergarten, and she is like a sister to me. But I’d be lying if I didn’t say that our relationship changed after what happened before I left and what has happened since I returned from overseas. It wasn’t strained so much as it has been distant, and at times she was clueless as to what to do about me and my often-reckless behavior.

  "You might want to slow down there. Don't you have work in the morning?"

  "It's an office job. And I already called out."

  "Isn't that like the sixth time this month??"

  "It is, and I don't care. Who the hell wants to sit behind a desk for the rest of their lives? I'm just biding my time until my arm is healed. And it's not like I need the money. The government gives me a lovely stipend for getting shot and hit with shrapnel. Plus, I still have most of the money from Lara’s life insurance policy and as a state employee that was pretty hefty."

  I feel my heart crack as I say this, and I raise my glass, drinking a large amount, causing Samantha to sigh disappointedly.

  "What you need to do is get your mouth off that beer bottle and between the legs of one of these hotties here."

  "How about that one?" I ask pointing to a caramel skinned woman with an abundance of brown curls in a red dress at the end of the bar. She's is so stunning she makes my mouth water.

  "No. No. You do NOT want that one."

  "And why not? You know how much I love chocolate," I smirk.

  "Yes, I do but..."

  "But what?"

  "I don't think you can afford her."

  "She's a hooker?"

  "Escort."

  "Ok, how about that one over there with the nice tits..."

  "Shit, that's Brenda!"

  "Brenda? Stage five clinger Brenda?"

  "The one. Stay here. I'm going to go hide."

  I laugh as Samantha runs off, and I finish the rest of my drink. As I do this, I continue to watch the curly haired brunette across the bar. I just can't seem to take my eyes off her. I see her out of the corner of my eye walking towards me, and I look ahead pretending I don't see her. Putting my hand up I wave the bartender over and order another beer and another shot. As the bartender sets them down, I see and feel the brunette come up next to me.

  "I could feel you eye fucking me all night," she whispers quietly into my ear causing me to shiver before standing up straight and smiling at me like she wants to have me for dinner.

  "Just put it on my tab, Laura," she says before turning to me and putting her hand out. "Michelle. Michelle Adams. And you are?"

  "Surprised by your boldness," I laugh shaking her hand.

  "Was that too forward? My apologies if it was." She puts her hand on my shoulder and runs her fingertips down my arm as she says it.

  "Actually, not at all. That was smooth. But not as smooth as me anticipating you coming over here and ordering you a shot,” I say with a wide smile which elicits a sexy, throaty laugh from her as I hand her a shot glass. “I'm Andrea. Andrea King. But everyone calls me Andy."

  "Thank you! Nice to meet you, Andy,” she says as we tap glasses and throw our shots back. “What brings you here?"

  "I'm here with my friend Samantha who ran off because she's hiding from her ex. So now I'm just sitting here drinking alone, you know, trying to dull the pain," I say half joking but mostly serious.

  "And what kind of pain are you talking about Miss King?"

  "It's a long story. So, what brings you here?"

  "Well, I was supposed to meet someone here at ten, but my date canceled on me."

  "Your date?"

  "Yes, my date."

  "So, you're looking for a new date?"

  "I'm always looking."

  "How much?" I asked glancing over at Samantha who has found herself a beautiful blonde that she is grinding with on the dance floor.

  "How much for what?" she asks feigning innocence.

  "I know what you do Miss Adams so let's not beat around the figurative and literal bush... how much?" I bring my glass to my lips and drink a good portion.

  "Well, that depends on what you want to do."

  I lean close to her and whisper in her ear, "Everything. I want to do everything."

  "Two thousand," she answers pulling back and looking me in the eye.

  "And how much for the night?"

  "Thirty-five hundred."

  "Deal. You want to get out of here?"

  "Lead the way."

  Chapter Four

  Raquel:

  After stopping at an ATM, I take her to the suite I have reserved at the Hilton San Diego Bayfront. Jerome didn't run a two-star motel gig. He may not have treated his girls with class, but he made sure that his clients got the star treatment. It was also helpful that the owner of this franchise was one of his best customers that preferred things of the kinkier variety that his wife refused to provide, and Jerome used that as leverage to get a flat weekly rate.

  I open the door, and it leads us into the parlor area. Andy walks over next to the sofa and looks around as I lock the door behind us. I can’t help but to watch the way her hips sway, taking in how smooth the back of her skirt is, and I feel myself start to get wet at the idea that she probably wasn’t wearing any panties. I have to remind myself to keep it together. She’s just a client. But good God, she was a sexy one.

  "Do you want a drink?"

  "Whiskey?" she asks.

  "Baby, that's all I drink. Straight up or on the rocks?"

  "Honey there is nothing straight about me."

  "Now that's what I like to hear. I also have a little coke if you like. Would you like a bump?"

  "Sure," she says as she sits down.

  I bring her drink over to her then go into the bedroom to get Jerome's coke. He'd kill me if he knew I was doing this, but what he didn't know wouldn't hurt him. Or me.

  I walk over to her and kick my heels off before taking her drink and putting it on the table then hiking my skirt up and straddling her. Her hands immediately go to my ass and pull me closer to her. I take the bottle of coke and unscrew the cap as she hooks her fingers into the top of my dress and pulls it down a little roughly, ripping the material, so that my tits are exposed. She holds my ass with one hand, pushing me tightly against her, as she begins flicking my nipples back and forth with the tip of her tongue. I grind my hips against her as she pushes them together and alternates back and forth between sucking them hard, grazing them with her teeth, and pulling almost my whole breast into her mouth.

  “You have gorgeous tits,” she says sliding one nipple between her teeth and biting down gently. I hiss in pain and pleasure as I carefully pour a small amount of coke on the top of my tits and then give her the okay with my eyes. She leans forward burying her face as she snorts the drug off me as I move my hands to either side of her face and pull her up to look at me.

  "What do you want?" I ask.

  Her hands creep up along the side of my thighs up towards my hips, and she stares at me while she thinks.

  "I want to fuck you,” she says pulling my nipple into her mouth, and twirling it around with her tongue. “But I won’t kiss you. On the mouth at least."

  "Well, that definitely can be arranged."

  "Do you have a strap on?,” her words muffled as she asks between sucks of my other nipple. “The one with two dildos?"

  "That's my favorite,” I say, my words low and husky. “And the one I have? Has an extra little surprise," she smiles.

  "I only have one stipulation though besides no kissing: I wa
nt to leave my shirt on."

  "For thirty-five hundred, baby you can do whatever you want," I say as I take her hand and lead her towards the bedroom.

  Chapter Five

  Andrea:

  I put my drink on the dresser as she goes in the closet and takes out a strap on that has a six-inch toy on one side and a smaller one on the other side. She hands it to me along with a small bottle of lube. She hikes her skirt up to her waist and pulls her panties down before sitting on the bed and handing me the strap-on.

  "Do you want to be on top?" she asks.

  "No more talking. Not another word," I say unzipping the side of my skirt and pulling it down.

  "Shouldn't we... -"

  I put my hand roughly over her mouth before she can say anything else, and just shake my head no. Slowly I move my hand off her mouth rubbing across her bottom lip with my thumb as she darts her tongue out to lick it. I sigh before I step back and uncap the bottle of lube. I start with the smaller side and smile as I realize that it has a vibrator in it.

  “Now that’s a pleasant surprise,” I husk as I lower it between my legs and slowly insert it inside myself before fixing the straps on the side. I have not had sex, not even masturbated since I returned home six months ago, and the sensation is a little overwhelming. I give the lube to her and watch her coat the other end of the toy.

  Pushing her onto her back, I spread her legs open and place her right ankle on my shoulder. Looking down, I can feel myself becoming wetter as I look at her pussy completely open to me. I reach between us and graze between her lips softly with my knuckle stimulating her to the point she begins to arch up against me. I pull my hand away, and I hear her sigh quietly in disappointment, most likely something she’s trained herself to do as a means of survival. But I just take a second to lick my fingers then resume touching her, dipping down into her opening to get more moisture, than circling her clit repeatedly until she lets herself go as quietly as possible.