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Elise has never felt so small and fragile and alone.
Knocked down naked on all fours on the patio behind the tall woman’s house, she examines the heel of her scraped palm. Then glances to the top of the stairs where Mule, the dusky-haired girl, stands with her hands on her hips and glares down as if she has never seen something so pathetic and useless before.
“Get up,” says Mule.
There is no warmth in her voice, no sympathy in her eyes. No patience. There is no time for delay or feeling sorry for oneself or especially to be angry. Mule looms above in her pretty blue summer dress and sandals, her feet and legs dusty, shoulders freckled, commanding and cruel.
“I said, get up.”
Elise gets slowly to her feet, tries to keep herself calm and under control, suppress that part of her that would challenge, defend. She’s experienced much worse on the football pitch, from women much more competitive and aggressive than this dusky-haired creature.
“You’re clumsy, slow and stupid,” says Mule.
“I—”
“Shut up. Turn around. Face the gate.”
Elise does as she’s told. Feels the gentle throb of pain at her palms, her knee. Naked in front of this girl outside, she feels a wave of conflicting emotion. “What have you gone and done this time?” she tells herself, “what have you gotten yourself into?”
“Stand straight!”
Elise straightens, her breasts jut out and her buttocks tighten. She dares not glance behind her. Keeps her gaze on the white picket fence ahead, the rusty gate, the dirt road beyond and the fields stretching to the horizon. Listens for the sound of Mule behind her, for any signal as to what might be coming next.
Which is a tugging at her hair as Mule works roughly at Elise’s bun, undoing it, lets the hair down over her shoulders, tickling Elise’s naked back.
“Hands on your head,” says Mule.
Elise intertwines her fingers atop her head. Mule adjusts Elise’s elbows out parallel to the ground, seems satisfied with the effect.
“You wear it like this now,” says Mule. Then runs the back of her hand over Elise’s pubic hair, plucking a long curl off with a sudden jerk. “Get this under control!”
Elise starts. Clasps her hands more firmly to calm herself as Mule shows her the plucked hair. Then lets it go to drift away in the still air. We will know all your secrets, the tall woman had said. All your secrets.
“You have bayburt escort something you want to say?”
“You—”
“Be quick!” says Mule, “No one cares what you think. If you have to talk, make it short.”
Stung by this, Elise only shakes her head, no.
“Good girl,” says Mule. “Now we’re going to the field. Move.”
A little shove at Elise’s back and Elise steps forward off the patio into grass that is more weeds than anything. As they pass through the rusted gate, Elise has the sudden sense that all her life is behind her now, that what will come will be utterly new, utterly uncertain.
“Left,” says Mule, closing the gate behind them, pulling a bamboo garden stake from a stash of them leaning against the fence.
“Will anyone see?” Elise wonders, hands clasped tightly on top of her head as she walks a pace ahead of Mule, exposed in a way she has never been before. About a hundred yards from the house, they turn to the right and head out into the fields on the rutted path the tractor uses.
Elise gives a little jump as something bites at her lower back.
“Stay off the grass,” says Mule, tapping Elise again with the bamboo stake.
And from that moment on there is a constant tap-tap-tap of the bamboo at the backs of Elise’s bare legs, her hips, her ass. A slap here, poke there to correct Elise’s little missteps, never painful but Elise’s annoyance starts to build.
“Eyes front. Keep those elbows straight.”
“Who does she think she is?” Elise asks herself as Mule drives her on, “Megan never said anything about this!”
They walk to the west, the sun just touching the distant tree-line, the long shadows behind them. To Elise’s relief, there is no sign of habitation, just the fields extending to either side as far as the eye can see. The only sounds their footsteps, a far-off crow and the smack of bamboo on bare skin, taptap-tap-slap.
“Stay on the track,” says Mule. Tap-tap-tap-slap.
Elise hesitates so as not to show her annoyance. “Trying,” she says. Continues to walk with her hands on her head, her breasts jutting out, leading the way.
For some reason, she thinks on … walking out… that first time in a bikini. Lorna and Amy’s parent’s house on the lake. She’d forgotten to pack the one-piece she always wore. Nineteen and so shy about her body, her pink and stubbornly bartın escort erect little nipples, her slim tummy, her outtie. Persuaded to just wear her underwear but when she came out of the house and back down to the floating dock … those boys were there. Their eyes on her, stripping her of who she was, seeing her as just a thing to be devoured—”
“Turn here.”
Mule guides her with the bamboo to a spot just a few feet from the road and has her face the house in the distance.
“You don’t move until the lights come on in the house at night. Then you can eat, use the bathroom, sleep. You start again when the rooster crows.”
Elise nods, fights back the anxiety of being alone and naked out here, the annoyance at the bamboo smacks. She doubts she’d get any sympathy from Mule anyway.
“You’ll feed at noon. Bathroom is over there (Mule points with the bamboo stake to a place beside the fence). There is water to drink and you clean yourself there. Otherwise, you’re on your feet. If you move, you’ll be whipped. Got it?”
Whipped!? The word stuns her. Whipped! But Elise looks at Mule and knows she is deadly serious; manages a little nod “ok.”
“You’re lucky in a way,” continues Mule, “most of the girls start in the barn, tied up, flogged. It’s how Mistress strips away who you were.”
“Did—did you—?”
“Start that way? Yeah. It fucking hurts if you want to know.”
Elise shudders.
“My advice. Use this time. Learn how to control yourself. If you cry and scream she’ll only give it to you harder.”
But she won’t really, Elise tells herself as she tries to stay calm. This is all Mule trying to scare me, make me fail. Onward and forward. “I’ll be okay,” she manages in a soft and tremulous voice. But saying it aloud makes her almost believe it.
Mule gives a scoffing, scornful snort. “You’re soft,” she says, “they’ll hear your screams all the way out here.”
Elise says nothing, flinches as Mule brings the bamboo to her breast. Tap-tap-tap near her nipple, then the end of the stake teasing her nipple erect.
“So pretty,” says Mule, “so sensitive.”
Yes, Elise knows. Funny-looking, little pink nipples. So embarrassing to be exposed like this! The smoothed end of the bamboo stake rubbing. She tries to calm her breathing. The bamboo traces down to Elise’s bare hips. Tap-a-tap.
“Squat ığdır escort and pee now,” says Mule. “Then get in position.”
“I—”
“Do I have to say everything twice?”
Elise cannot make herself move. How naïve she already seems to herself! Not six, seven hours before she had been hurrying up the tall woman’s driveway afraid to be late! To be late! As if that was the most important thing in the world! And now this humiliation.
“Last chance,” says Mule.
Elise takes a deep breath, squats in place, tries to make herself do it.
“Don’t look away like a dog,” says Mule. “Eyes on me.”
Elise humiliated, pees. It splatters the hard earth. But Elise sees only Mule, the eyes like little blue buttons. When she’s done, she stands.
“Good girl. Stand in it.”
The warm and damp earth in-between her toes.
“Straight and tall! Arms at your side,” says Mule, the bamboo stake under Elise’s chin, forces her head up. “Be proud of what you are.”
Proud, yes.
And with that, Mule retracts the bamboo, turns and heads back to the house, whipping the stake every so often over the tall grass on the side of the trail until she is just a small shadow in the distance.
And then Elise is truly alone.
She re-settles her bare feet in the wetted dirt, gets herself into as comfortable position as a naked girl can get standing in a cornfield, and heaves a sigh. Scarecrow. A scarecrow now.
Her shadow is long on the ground before her. The setting sun is yet warm on her bare back. She imagines that the dusky-haired girl has reached the house by now. That the tall woman and she will lock up the cottage and depart. Or, no, one of them must stay, right? To turn on the lights at night?
“Or it could be on a timer,” says Elise aloud. Her voice giving her strength.
She tries to focus on other things. Thinks on her father hooked up to the oxygen tanks. Her sister: She’s probably on her way home from work right now. A paralegal. Funny, full of life and that earnest expression, the crease around her eyes she gets when she’s serious or worried. “My old life,” Elise tells herself.
It already seems so long ago. She fights to remain still, fights the urge to scratch here or there. Fights to ignore the pain in her knee. Feels the pins and needles tingling in her right foot but dares not move.
Wonders what is in store for her. Decides to focus. Just get through the rest of this day. Then the night. Then tomorrow.
I am a strong person, she tells herself. I won’t be scared. I’m pretty and smart and strong and I can do this.
A crow caws overhead. A breeze comes up from behind. Elise stands still.
Fights to avoid looking to the horizon, to the old and quiet barn.
Ben Esra telefonda seni bosaltmami ister misin?
Telefon Numaram: 00237 8000 92 32