Irritated I watch the warlord get up and turn away from me after he releases my ravaged intimacy. Mocking me he leaves my exhausted figure down on the ground as he starts picking up his clothes to dress himself again.
Breathing heavily I barely manage to sit down on my knees again. My muscles shaking violently as the overexertion washes over me in an unstoppable wave I can't even keep my head up anymore.
I look down at my trembling fingers, dirty from the ground and wet with sweat. The cool air wheezing through the tent from outside is making me shiver as the wind strokes over my sweaty, naked body and through my soaked hair plastered against my neck and face.
Totally beat I force my aching muscles to turn my head and look at the warlord. Smiling at me in his disgusting cheerful delight he is still putting his clothes back on.
I swallow hard to ask the question that frightens me the most.
"W-what is to b-become of me now?" I whisper weakly. "I w-will never be your w-whore!"
__________________
The Life and Death of Sam Crow
- How the Sons of Anarchy lost their way
|