Fulfilling the "arrangement", willing or not

Raj licked his lips as he leered at Ria. "'Hi', yourself."

"Were you able to get my things?"

Now that the matter was at hand, Ria felt conflicted. She wanted her phone, her cards, and especially her passport back, not merely because they might be her only chance of escaping the country, but because they signified that she was who she was- this woman who lived a very different life in the UK, a sophisticated woman with the will and independence to dictate her own fate. The previous night had served as a terrible reminder of how easily all of that could be taken away from her. If no one chose to believe her, as far as the rest of the world was concerned, she might as well be a slightly over-the-hill Indian whore, notable only for what others would choose to believe was an affected posh British accent. The real Ria might simply... evaporate.

But last night had also made stark that men like Clarke were not the only ones who had power over her in her present circumstances. Raj had humiliated her, beaten her, largely tolerated others hitting her. Street urchins. Women of the slums. Raj was a policeman, and as things stood, the pudgy man wielded an authority that allowed him to make clear his depraved intentions towards her without fear of reprisal. She had been almost lucky that he had not taken what he wanted from her by force at the time; who would dig into the complaint of a woman who "happened" to be living in a brothel, against the word of a police officer?

...And if he had fulfilled his part of that hastily-made, coercive "arrangement", she had no doubt of his ability to make sure that she fulfilled her end of it.

If she had lost her passport, not only was her only hope of escape terribly hindered, but she would have to convince the British embassy that her claims required address. Then, if she were to succeed, it became all but impossible that her friends and family would not learn of her humiliations. Including Dan. Her company would never have forced their star employee to deal with embassy bureaucrats at the "peasant entrance" over a stolen passport; the truth would out, and undoubtedly, too much of the story would follow that truth.

But if Raj had it...?

Raj grinned, squatting next to a table in the waiting room that was covered with cheaply-bound pornography, fodder for the men awaiting their turns to make their fantasies real with one of the brothel's prostitutes. As he dragged Ria's backpack out from underneath the table, Ria's stomach sank, and her heart began to pound against the wall of her chest.

He slung the bag towards her, underhanded, and she caught it. It was spotted and grimy, and looked like it had been dragged behind a van for a couple of blocks, but it was unquestionably hers.

"They hocked your phone," Raj commented. "It has probably passed through a dozen pairs of hands by now, or been dis-assembled for parts. And you will want to check to make sure no one has used your cards, but bank security is usually good, especially if someone tries to make a purchase or withdrawal somewhere their owner isn't supposed to be. Since you're in the UK right now, aren't you, baby?"

Ria wasn't sure if the sneer in his voice meant that he still didn't believe her story, or if it was simply that he knew how thoroughly he had her "over a barrel". She struggled with the backpack's zipper, ultimately tearing it free from the teeth on one side to get it open, before establishing that Raj's account was true. There was the little red book of her United Kingdom passport. There was the thin leather sleeve that contained her cards.

"...But I only promised I'd get your passport back in the end, anyway, so I say I've been better than my word. That means your body is mine for the night."

Ria closed her eyes, feeling as though the world was shifting under her feet. She forced herself to take a couple of deep breaths, tried to steady herself. There was no one to appeal to, here; sex as a transaction was literally the business of the place. She told herself that she was in a bad situation, and was doing her best to get out of it. She told herself that it wasn't betraying Dan, because she was trying to get back to him.

"All right," She said, resignedly, running a finger nervously over her lip, feeling the smooth lipstick there. "Follow me, and I'll take you to my bedroom."

She turned to lead him towards the stairway, only to have Raj grab her arm.

"One of the girls passed a message to me from the proprietor when I came in. I was told that since you are, in your own words, 'not a whore', any business of that sort was to be conducted here in the waiting room."

Ria felt the blood leave her face. "You can't be serious!" She looked around the benches and couches of the waiting room, watched the brothel's customers looking at her with the contemptuous lust of men who were certain that their desires would be satisfied. One was already openly rubbing at a bulge in the crotch of his pants, tongue lolling through a mouth full of stained and mis-shapen teeth.

"Normally, I don't care for an audience," Raj replied, "But there is something about the place that causes the idea of fucking you here to make me feel pretty... randy. It's just so dirty."

His hand tightened on Ria's forearm, and she reflexively tried to pull it away, to no avail.

"Take off your trousers, and bend over the table."

"No!" Ria snapped.

His hand lashed out and struck her across the face, first forehand, then backhand. Her field of view snapped back and forth, dizzyingly; her cheeks burned. The backpack fell from her grasp. She gasped, raising her hand to her cheek in disbelief.

"We had a deal! Take them off!"

When Ria just gaped at Raj, he drew back his fist and punched her in the belly. The breath went out of her, and her upper body jerked forward as her midsection was swallowed by the shock of it; grabbing her shoulders tightly, Raj was able to push her down onto her knees, bent over the table.

Ria choked for air and shook as she felt Raj's hands insert themselves into the waist of her trousers, began trying to push against the table and buck him off as they skirted around her hips and began fumbling for her fly.

She heard Raj raise his voice. "Does anyone want to help me hold the bitch down?"

Several of the "anyones" did. Hands pressed down on her shoulders, neck, and back, several taking the opportunity to paw at the sides of her breasts while Raj was occupied with her trousers. She fought them, helplessly, uselessly, getting flashes of color as her head jerked back and forth before being pushed down again, images of laughing, taunting faces and bursts of breath sour with tobacco and betel nut.

The catch at the front of her trousers tore open, and she felt Raj jerk her trousers down to her knees, felt the men holding her shift their weight as they craned to get a better view of her ass, heard the whooping and jeering of the men, the general approval of what he intended to do to her. Her nylon knickers followed her trousers to pool at her knees, to more approving vocalizations of the men in the waiting room.

There was a warm, wet splat against the crease at the top of her buttocks, and she felt Raj's thumb probe between them, slicking his spit down between the cheeks of her pert ass to her-!

She struggled anew, to more laughter from the men.

"No, Raj! No! I didn't agree to that! I don't want that!" She screamed.

He laughed a cold, humorless laugh. "You agreed to give me your body. I warned you I like it rough. This is what you get for trying to wiggle out of a deal, you prissy bitch!"

The head of his cock wrung against her anus. Finding his cock too soft to penetrate the straining ring, Raj drew back a hand and slapped Ria's writhing backside, raising a cry from her and another approving chorus from the men. Raj struck her flanks again and again, and Ria was terrified to feel his cock surge and buck between her buttocks, growing harder and harder as her out-thrust backside began to swell and flush from his assault.

"No...! God, no...!"

If he could even hear her over the rising noise of the men watching the tableau, Raj paid her no heed. The head of his cock was again set against her anal sphincter, and this time found purchase as he began to push.

Ria groaned as she felt the tightness of her backside beginning to stretch open to his insistent pressure. She somehow got one flailing arm free, in front of her, and her fist struck the table in a helpless expression of opposition.

Someone responded to the "thunk" of her hand striking the table by clapping their hands. He clapped his hands again as Raj continued to strain his body against hers, and that clap was joined by others; soon, it seemed the whole waiting room was clapping in unison, faster and faster, urging Raj on, rallying him to conquer the bitch's asshole.

For a long moment he seemed to be unable to make further headway, and then something shifted, and Ria's body gave way. His cock forced open the muscles of her asshole as he drove his cock deep into her rectum, his body following to press its weight into her backside. Raj moaned in pleasure as Ria screamed, and the waiting room erupted in cheers.

He pulled back part-way, then drove himself into her again. She felt her thighs slam into the edge of the table, the breath leave her body as his male organ pierced deeper into her guts, feeling as though his cock had somehow managed to hit her in the diaphragm. She coughed and moaned, her now open hand trembling in front of her, a sad image of a woman wracked amidst the lurid covers of the table's pornographic magazines.

"Make some noise, you tight little Hindi slut!" Raj barked. "A proper young miss of the Empire shouldn't be so placid about getting buggered!"

Another burst of laughter from the men, but Ria felt Raj's hands tighten on her hips, and understood that he really wanted to hurt her. That some sick part of his masculine pride demanded that he hurt her. And he was well-positioned to accomplish that goal, as the raw burning in her backside and the sick, cramping tug in her abdomen could all too easily attest.

She sobbed into the table as he began to fuck her harder, deeper, working to force himself into the parts of her that could least endure the abuse, the most tender and vulnerable parts of her tract where he could inflict the most pain. She tried to put on a performance for him with the sounds that she made, to make it clear how badly he was hurting her, with the dim hope that he might achieve satisfaction sooner. But with every thrust the last moan or sob that burst wetly from her lips was less an exaggeration and more an inadequate answer to just how cruelly he was abusing her.

The lurid images splayed across the table pushing towards her face with every thrust, Ria contemplated with misery that she really was no different from any of the other girls of the bordello plying their trade, trying to do whatever was necessary to make a client cum, to make the defilement and the disempowerment of a man using her body without the slightest interest or care for her as a person come to a conclusion.

"Yeah! Right up the bum, you piece of street-trash! Unnhh! Unnnh! UNNNH!"

Around the waiting room, the working girls watched Ria being taken in the ass with detachment, even amusement. Ria's early declarations about how she was above them had made the rounds, along with fact that the response had come in the face of kindness and hospitality; when word had spread that she had been responsible for bringing a police officer to their place of work, for most of them, a door had closed. She had existed in their minds in a strange place, part guest, part the special focus of a rich man: a courtesan, compared to their status as whores. Now it appeared that whatever protections Clarke and Sumil had extended the new girl had been withdrawn, and with interest. Any tentative respect they owed the strange woman in their midst had been withdrawn along with it.

Raj's fist tangled in Ria's hair, jerking her upper body away from the table as the men holding her pulled away, a sharp ache jarring through her back at the suddenness of the movement. Her voice no longer muffled against the table's surface, Ria made one last helpless attempt to plead to Raj's humanity.

"Raj, it hurts...! You're hurting me so much...! Please! Please!"

Any lingering hope of respite was denied as Raj clawed at the front of her kurta, wedging some buttons free of the loops on the placket and tearing others to roll away across the table and floor. He pulled the garment to gape open, exposing Ria's slender bust beneath her clean white cotton bra, then jerked the brassiere up to mash his hand against her breasts, continuing to savagely pump into her backside from behind.

"Don't lie to me, you lower-caste cunt," He huffed, grinning as he ground his crotch against her buttocks. "I can feel your nipples getting hard, just like any other whore!"

Yes, her nipples were getting hard, an effect such continuous stimulation might have on any such sensitive tissues. But the rough pawing at Ria's breasts was anything but a pleasure. The way Raj's hands wedged the taut peaks back and forth was not erotic; it was agonizing.

"Go on, you slut. Tell me that you love it!"

Ria responded only with a keening whimper, biting her lip to keep from screaming.

His hand moved away from her breast, and the shock of air against the mauled, sensitive mound was itself enough to make her gasp. But then it came back, hard, slapping the tender swell, and her repressed scream burst in her mouth as a pathetic little shriek.

"I said, tell me that you love it!"

Anything, anything to bring this nightmare to an end!

"I love it...!" Ria mewled, sobbing. "I love it...!"

He struck her breast again as he rammed himself into her clutching asshole, and she desperately tried to cover her breasts, only to have Raj relinquish his hold on her hair to twist her right arm behind her back. One of the waiting-room men happily grabbed Ria's other hand to prevent her from resisting Raj's savagery as he continued to gleefully slap Ria's increasingly sore and swollen right breast.

The watching men were clapping again, now in time with the slapping of Ria's flushing breast. Raj was bathing in their approval as he crushed Ria's hips against the table. There was no demeaning act that he could perform upon the pretty woman, it seemed, that would not be greeted with sanction from the men of the brothel.

When he stopped slapping her breast, she felt a surge of fear, knowing it could only get worse. She didn't have to wait long for confirmation. Fumbling with one hand next to her side, Raj grabbed one of the pornographic magazines next to the table. Ria got the briefest of glances at two slender, pretty Thai girls with come-hither expressions before Raj pulled it behind her, frantically rolling the magazine into a tube.

The tube appeared, horizontally, before Ria's face, pressing against her lips.

"Open your mouth. Open your mouth and bite it, you posh English cunt!"

In a daze of stupefied pain, Ria obeyed, wondering at Raj's words. What was she? A Hindi slut, or a posh English cunt? A lower-caste, street-trash whore, or a respected UK citizen?

Oh, God, what was she?

The paper smeared her lipstick, and she tasted the bitterness of the cheap ink as it almost immediately began to dissolve in her saliva. Raj seized the rolled magazine at either end of her mouth and began to use it like the bit in the mouth of a horse, jerking her head back as he drove his cock into her asshole. Ria moaned hoarsely into the magazine with every punishing thrust as he ass-fucked her.

"Squeeze me with your ass, whore! I want to feel your butt try to fight my cock. I want to feel it try to stop me from stabbing into your guts, and lose!"

Through squinted, tear-blurred eyes, Ria looked out at the waiting room of the brothel. Looked out, and saw men grinning, pumping their fists, clapping, masturbating to the tenor of her sodomy. Looked out and saw the whores, immeasurably more dignified and collected in their saris and lehengas, watching her get fucked in the ass, with expressions ranging for boredom to glee.

Why not? Perhaps she deserved it. Her teeth bearing down on the drooling paper, she clenched the aching, burning muscles of her ass. Raj's elbows tapped against her back as he gathered himself, marshaling his strength before jerking her head back and stabbing his cock into her bottom, piercing the squeezing muscles.

Ink-swirled saliva drooled over her scarlet-painted lip as Ria's scream of pain was swallowed by the magazine, and the watching men cheered. Raj slowly pulled his hips back, the friction of the withdrawal a second insult to the inflamed tissues of Ria's asshole.

"Yes! Again!"

Raj slackened his arms on the crude bit, and Ria bowed her head, gathering her own resources to clench her hurting ass again, the better to let Raj punish her. When he felt her ass clenched upon the tip of his cock, he drove into the straining ring again.

Ria's eyes were wide as her mouth brayed around the magazine. He was going to turn her intestines inside out. He was going to rip her apart. Her stomach felt like someone had dropped a cinder block upon it; her ass had been wiped with sandpaper. The hot, hateful truncheon twitched inside of her, in a place where nothing should ever be, and started to scrape back.

"Again...!"

...Who was she, who had been judged, to deny her punishment? Gagging on ink, Ria sucked in her stomach, pushed together her thighs, and clamped down with her burning, aching, cramping ass.

How her backside bounced, when Raj rammed his hips forward.

The cheer started loud and got louder. Ria wailed brokenly, and Raj called out in jubilation as he pressed against her, his murderous cock bucking in her guts as he pushed his foul semen into her. The men could tell, could tell that that stuck-up whore was getting the man's scum planted in her backside. That would show her. That would put her in her place. It was good, to see Ria being hurt. It was good, to watch Ria being shamed.

The magazine slid from her mouth, and Ria looked dully at the curled back page, the scrawls of Thai writing with phone numbers and illicit promises next to the pictures of golden-skinned men and women. It was a long moment before she even thought to spit. Her tongue was coated with blue and black, and the taste lingered in her mouth. She didn't doubt that she was poisoned, she just wondered how badly.

Breathing hard, Raj jerked his softening cock out of Ria's backside. Ria slid onto the table, not caring any more. She would take any surface that would let her rest, no matter how crude the material, no matter how hostile the surroundings. She had never felt so broken in her life.

It was a girl's voice who spoke up, next. Ria thought her name was Divya, or Diya; she hadn't learned most of the names of the girls of the brothel, and she supposed that it was too late, now. Whatever the girl was saying to the men in her lilting, obsequious Hindi, it raised an even bigger explosion of excited pleasure than the outburst that had risen from Raj pumping his load into Ria's ass.

Except, that was, from Raj, who greeted the announcement with a snarl and a bark of Hindi of his own. She saw his finger jabbing at her, and struggled to rouse herself from her pained quasi-stupor. Perhaps deciding that his outburst was not having the desired effect, or perhaps for Ria's questionable benefit, he switched to English.

"I don't care that they'll use condoms! This woman is supposed to be mine for the night, not gifted out to patrons like some kind of free sampler!"

Realizing the implications of what was being discussed, Ria felt a cold shudder go through her body. A wet fart exploded from her backside, and Raj's cum began to leak from her ass.

The cheering quieted, and Raj was faced with the stares of dozens of horny men. Some were perplexed, some were indignant, but a few were clearly getting angry. Magnanimity suddenly seemed the better part of valor.

"Ah, what the hell, I'm not up for another go right now, anyway. Just make sure I get a couple more goes at her before the night is over."

Then there was a susurrus of clamoring voices, arguing over how to determine the pecking order. A free whore was a very good thing, as far as the men were concerned, but most could only wait so long; some had to get up for work, some return home to wives or girlfriends before they came looking for them.

Ria tucked closed the front of her kurta in her fist, crying, tightening her shoulders, praying to any deity that would listen that the night be over.