Dominique: Her Tale of Love

~2~

Unconventional things tend to happen to unconventional people.
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Four years earlier, Dominique lay on the bare floor, which served as the pleasure of bed space. A slight touch came over her bare lap. Startled, she jumped up – only to meet with the dark eyes of eighteen-year-old John.

"John?" She questioned, but John ignored her and began unzipping his brown shorts.

Slapped to reality, she rubbed her eyes, but she was in no dream, John was about to force her. Taking her by surprise, he enveloped her tiny body in his arms, and right under his hot breath.

"You have no idea how beautiful you are," He breathed as he cocked his head to her neck – trailing kisses down her collar bone – his cold lips blistering her soft skin. Working his hands to her back, he undressed her from the pink gown she had on.

Dominique tried to fight his hands off, but they were strong, and her little fights just turned into a wriggling in his grip. Suddenly, his hips found a way with hers, and she gasped. Her body went numb at the alien feeling that rushed through her. Struggling to repress her muffles, her eyes reddened as she felt something hard pierce through her. 

Unable to hold the agony, she screamed out, but John was quick to clasp his palm over her mouth. He continued rocking his hips with hers, and all she could do was weep silently. Her body was stupefied, and all she could feel was the coagulating sensation in-between her legs. Each second, her thighs seemed to stretch and open. All she perceived at that moment was the movement of his body against hers, and the angst feeling in her stomach. 

After an eternity of moans, and muffles from both her and John, she felt something released into her, and the pronounced sigh that followed from John.

Instantly, he rolled off her. She was breathless, and dazed – her tears frozen in her eyes. Her little mind couldn't comprehend what had happened, as she was in shock. From her side, John rose to his feet, gathered his clothes, and left the room, leaving the shaken Dominique. 

When the veracity of what had happened hit her, the waterfalls in her eyes broke, as she wept. Despite her age, and her ignorance of the adult world, Dominique was well aware that sex shouldn't be done to a thirteen-year-old. Alas, here she was, seconds after her first sexual experience with the boy she had long called her brother.

But, despite how hard she cried, she could not rid herself of the burning pain in her chest, and neither could she express how dirty she felt. At that moment, she was despoiled, vulnerable, and different. She hated John, she hated men, and she sincerely hated herself.

After crying her eyes out, she pulled herself to her wobbly feet, and dragged her body to the washroom. For several minutes, she tried to scrub off the feeling, but no scrubbing could wash away the fact that she had just been despoiled. Glancing in-between her legs, she noticed the crimson red stains which stuck to the inner sides of her thighs, but she simply washed it off.

The door to the bathroom creaked open, and through her glassy eyes, Dominique saw Mama Di stride in. "How long do you plan on washing and weeping?" She asked – her voice stern as always – which only softened at the mention of money.

Trembling, Dominique blurted out, "Ma, John forced me." She couldn't keep this to herself. She was scared, and confused. She was in dire need of a motherly advice on what to do.

Mama Di crossed her arms in front of her huge chest, as she frowned. "And, what?"

This slapped Dominique hard, as her heart fell to her stomach. Blinking repeatedly, Dominique tried to convince herself that she was hearing things, but reality whacked her when Mama Di spoke again.

"You should be glad that he was gentle with you, considering your age," Mama Di hissed.

Dominique's face went pale at once.

"When you're through scrubbing, come see me at the balcony," She added before stepping out of the washroom. Dominique's jaws were agape, and her eyes remained frozen as she stared at the door. Mama Di had something to do with John's actions – what's more, she might actually be author of his actions.

Dominique knew that Dinah had never at once loved her, but Dominique did, she loved Dinah all her life. Even though it was obvious that Dinah never reciprocated the feeling, Dominique believed that she cared for her. After all, Dinah was the only motherly-figure she had in her life. But, in actual fact, Dinah had never loved her, and neither did she give a damn about her. Dominique was just another street kid, abandoned and neglected by those who ushered her into the world.

Ever since Dominique was a little girl, she had longed to know and meet her biological parents, but now, she began to wish she never meets them at all. She was alone in this world, and she had accepted that. She was cursed by those who she thought she could love – this is imprinted as a scar in her mind. 

Now, she had been robbed of what little dignity she had left – what more has she got to lose?

Burying herself in the bathtub, she hoped the cool water would fill her lungs and end her tale, but she coughed out almost instantly. That instant, even death didn't seem to favor her.

This was the actuality of who she had turned into and the beginning of her miseries. The following day, Dominique began her journey as a child sex whore, or whatsoever language could be used to describe a thirteen-year-old girl having intercourse with men for cash.

As a full pledged whore, she had to look good at all times. She had to act well, and she had to be obedient to all those rotten dogs, and pigs that patronized the brothel – each paying for a moment to drill someone who might be the age of their child. 

The best was that she actually had to smile – every morning – to the man she hated the most – the one who took her virginity. Even if that sounds blunt, Dominique couldn't think of another word to call what he took from her. 

And, for years to come, she knew that she would continuously have to bathe in this façade for as long as she remained a commercial sex-slave.

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