A faint smile plays on Black's lips as I stand rooted, his eyes locked with mine. The tension in the room is palpable as I wait for him to speak. But instead of words, his actions speak volumes.
Without uttering a single word, Black gets down on his knees and leans forward, his eyes still focused on mine. He takes my cock in his hand and gently guides it into his mouth, causing my breath to catch in my throat. The gesture is unexpected, and it sends shivers of anger down my spine.
Memories flood my mind, memories I'd rather forget. But instead of dwelling on them, my anger begins to boil over. I'm tired of everyone around me, tired of the expectations and the pretence. I'm tired of feeling trapped and unfulfilled.
So, instead of saying anything else, I let my actions do the talking. I reach for the lube from the bedside table and squeeze a generous amount onto my fingers. Then I reach behind Black and slide one finger in and out of his ass, preparing him for what is to come.
Without warning, I push my cock into him, causing a loud gasp to escape from his lips. But I don't bother acknowledging it. The anger fuels my actions, driving me to fuck him harder.
I pound into him, over and over again, my anger abating slightly but never fully disappearing. I lose count of how many times he came, and I didn't even have the chance to climax myself.
After what seems like an eternity, I finally withdraw from him. The room is silent, the only sound is the heavy breathing of both me and Black. I stand up from the bed and head to the bathroom to clean myself up.
As I step out of the shower, I hear Black's voice behind me. "That was the best sex I have ever had." His words caught me off guard, but I didn't say anything.
His expression is a mixture of surprise and satisfaction, his eyes filled with a mix of gratitude and something else I can't quite decipher.
Without saying a word, I retrieve my clothes. But Black stops me, placing a hand on my arm. "Wait," he says.
I stand still, waiting for him to continue. "I just wanted to say...thank you." He pauses, searching for the right words. "Thank you for being exactly what I needed in that moment."
I look at him, surprise registered on my face. "I didn't do anything."
"Yes, you did. You gave me release, both physically and emotionally. You allowed me to let go of all the anger and frustration that had been building up inside. And for that, I am truly grateful."
I remain silent
One more round, please. He says on his knees, his voice filled with anticipation.
I'm tired. I reply, feeling a sense of weariness wash over me. But he seems determined.
He stands up from the bed, his body radiating excitement. "Follow me," he says, his voice a low invitation that sparkles with mischief. Without waiting for my response, he strides across the room, muscles tense with energy, and swings open a door on the opposite wall.
The room beyond is bathed in the cool, subtle glow of computer screens lining the walls. It's not just a typical office; it's a sanctuary for technology. Wires snake across the floor, and the hum of the machinery fills the air with a steady pulse. Monitors blink to life as he enters, casting reflections that dance across his face.
As my eyes adjust to the dim light, I see him watching everything that's happening in his building. But my attention is drawn to Black sitting at the computer. His fingers move swiftly across the keyboard, typing with purpose. I watch intently as the screen comes to life, displaying an image that fills me with shock and disgust.
It was my mother, her shameless behaviour on full display. The video showed my mother on her knees, crawling and begging. I felt a deep sense of shame wash over me as if I could somehow erase the image from my mind. I wanted to look away, but I couldn't. The image of my mother, desperate and degraded, burned into my memory.
But then something else caught my gaze. The amount of drugs Black had provided her. It was staggering.
Isn't she greedy? Black asks his voice filled with a mix of curiosity and judgment. I didn't answer, feeling too shocked to respond. I just stood there, feeling hollow inside.
Then, he showed me the price of the 2 kilograms of drugs.
30,000 dollars. I recoiled in horror, my voice raising in disbelief. 30,000 dollars! Where would I ever come up with that kind of money? I wanted to scream, but I was too overwhelmed.
Black, still watching the video, spoke again. For every time we have sex, I will remove 500 dollars from your debt. His words hung in the air, causing a mix of anger and confusion. I didn't answer him, my mind racing with conflicting thoughts and emotions.
Frustrated, I dragged him back to the bed and grabbed the lube from the table. Ignoring the lingering tension, I fucked him again. An hour later, when I finally emerged, I slipped into my clothes, the fabric rough against my skin, unwashed and heavy with the night's weight. Black's words echo, haunting: meant to be used. The shame, sharp and bitter, fills every inch of me.
"I will see you tomorrow, same time," Black said, his voice barely above a whisper. I nodded, my mind still consumed by the events that had unfolded. I walked out of the room, leaving the darkness behind.
Walking home, my heart feels heavy, my mind a storm of painful memories. Each step drags me deeper into a sea of dread, where flashes of Meng invade my thoughts. I see her face, the way she would look at me when she was high, taking control and dragging me to her house without any concern for my feelings or my protests. The memory of those nights lingers like a shadow, and I feel sick, wishing I could escape, dissolve, maybe even disappear.
The moment I open the door, my grandmother rushes to me, her face lined with worry. "Are you okay? I was so worried," she mumbles, her hands reaching out, fingers shaking as she takes my hand.
I nod but say nothing, unable to meet her gaze. The words "I'm fine" sit on my tongue, but I can't bring myself to say them; they feel like stones, too heavy with the truth underneath.
"Yi went to look for you? Did you see her?" Grandma's voice is gentle, but the mention of my mother stirs a sharp anger, a long-buried wound reopening. Yi, looking for me? The irony bites. The last person I want to think about is her, the one who chose her own path without a backward glance. My silence is all I have left.
Seeing my hesitation, my grandmother takes a deep breath, holding back her own worry and just lets me explain. I let everything spill, telling her about Black, the unbearable price he's asking from me to settle my moms debt. I feel empty as I speak, the words cold as they leave my lips.
My grandmother doesn't say anything for a long time. Instead, she pulls me close, wrapping her arms around me, her warmth breaking through the numbness. And as I collapse into her embrace, I feel her shake with silent tears. We sit on the floor like that for what seems like hours, letting the silence fill the air until finally, she speaks.
"I'll get a loan," she whispers. "The market manager can help us; I'll pay him back somehow. We won't let Black hold this over you."
My head lowers as I shake it slowly. "He doesn't want cash, Grandma. He... he only wants..." The shame rises, strangling my words.
Her grip tightens on my hand, concern flooding her face. "Did he... did he force you?"
I take a deep breath, the weight of everything pressing down as I find the courage to answer. "No, not like that. He just... it was different." My voice fades, the memory bitter in my throat.
"Oh," she whispers, her eyes softening with realization. "You were on top then?" Her voice is gentle, more curious than judgmental.
"Yes," I sigh, the confession leaving me feeling lighter, though it changes nothing.
She looks at me, sadness clouding her face. "It doesn't make what he did any better. Just because you weren't physically hurt doesn't mean you're okay," she murmurs, reaching out to stroke my back. "You did something you didn't want to, and that's enough to hurt anyone."
I nod, grateful for her understanding, but my body feels exhausted.
"Let me make you something to eat," my grandma says softly, worry in her eyes.
"I'm not hungry, Grandma," I reply, forcing a smile. "I'll just have a bath and sleep."
She nods, understanding but still concerned, watching me. Her love is a quiet comfort, always steady. "I'll be here if you need anything, my dear," she whispers before wrapping her arms around me once more.
I stepped under the open sky, letting Water cascade over me, cold and relentless, like judgment. I scrubbed, trying to erase everything — the lingering touches, the weight of whispered lies. Beneath the harsh stream, I was raw, exposed. The shame clung to me, invisible yet suffocating. At that moment, I wished the water could cleanse my soul.
When I finish bathing I walk back into the house, my grandma still in her chair, and head to my room, sinking into the quiet. Lying on the bed.
The next morning, the weight of everything still lingers like a thick fog, refusing to lift. The entire night, I tossed and turned, every attempt at finding sleep shattered by waves of painful memories. The small space I call my room felt suffocating, and even the slightest noise from the street seemed to stir the hurt buried deep within me.
As I pull myself out of bed, my grandmother is already up, clattering dishes in the kitchen. She's humming softly, a tune I recognize from my childhood. It's something she does when she senses the air is thick with pain, her way of bringing comfort without words.
"Good morning," she says, her voice soft and kind as she sets a bowl of rice porridge on the table. "You didn't eat anything last night. You need to keep your strength up."
I nod, trying to muster a grateful smile as I take a seat. The warmth of the porridge feels like a small comfort, even if it's hard to swallow. My grandmother sits across from me, watching quietly. I can feel her concern radiating like a silent embrace.
"Your mother still hasn't returned," she says after a moment, breaking the silence. "I hope she's safe." There's a tremor in her voice, a flicker of fear she can't quite hide. I know it's not just for my mother; it's for all of us, entangled in this web of shame and survival, holding on by fragile threads.
I lower my gaze, a mixture of anger and helplessness swirling within me. My mother is a constant storm, her choices and absence leaving ripples of pain in their wake. Yet, I know that behind my resentment lies a quiet longing, the unfulfilled wish for something more than what I have.
The door creaks open, and my mother walks in, her clothes wrinkled, her eyes hollow. She meets my gaze for a split second before looking away. My grandmother's expression shifts, a blend of relief and sadness, as she rises from her seat.
"Where were you, Yi? We were so worried," she says.
"I had... things to take care of," my mother replies, her voice barely above a whisper.
There's a silence, thick and uncomfortable, as I look away, unwilling to meet her gaze again. I don't want to know what those 'things' were.
After a while, my grandmother clears her throat and steps back, offering my mother a seat. "We need to talk about what happened. We can't keep ignoring things and hope they disappear."
My mother nods, but her eyes remain unfocused, distant. I can tell she's barely listening, her mind somewhere else entirely.
"Do you have any idea what it's like for him?" my grandmother continues, her voice gentle yet firm. "He's just a child, but he's carrying more than any child should."
My mother's face hardens, a flicker of defiance in her eyes. "I'm doing what I can, Ma. Life isn't easy for any of us."
I clench my fists, anger rising in my chest. Her words feel like an insult, a mockery of the pain I've been through. "Doing what you can?" I echo, my voice sharp. "Why did you lie that you already paid? Do you even know what happened to me?"
Her eyes meet mine, and for a moment, there's something close to guilt in her expression. But it fades quickly, replaced by that same hardened mask she wears so well.
"Life's hard, and we all have to fend for ourselves," she mutters, shrugging as if it absolves her of everything.