Charlie, Revenge and Redemption

Charlie is the only witness as a teenager to her mother’s death after a severe beating from her father, knowing that she saw he hides her away in one of his brothels and inevitably as time passes she becomes a sex slave, but Charlie is not resigned to her fate. Providence has given her the means to escape but it will take all her courage and resolve and a murder to enable her to escape the man’s evil clutches. Desperate to flee she hitches a ride in a car. Our story follows the relationship between her rescuer and herself, but her path will surely cross her persecutors once again, this time its Charlie's turn to be the aggressor, and she will have her revenge

She stares up at the ceiling, her eyes fixed on the dirty water-stain. It has grown bigger since the last time she looked at it. It was once a small mark, a few inches across but now it is larger. Looking up at the stain takes her mind away from reality, the reality that is the man grunting over her body as he rams his cock into her with incoherent grunts. She hadn’t bothered to look at his face when he walked in, not interested. He is just another punter spending his money on a quick fuck with a woman he doesn’t even know; a woman that has absolutely no interest in him or his money after all she’ll never see any of it. She thinks of her childhood; sunny summer days, childish games, now so long gone that she barely remembers the names of her friends. This is now her life such as it is; a sex doll at the whim of any man who has the money or inclination to lay her. She hears the man’s cries grow louder as he reaches his short strokes, his sweaty body smelling cigarette sour as he uses her for his own gratification. His stupid endearments meaningless as he seeks completion at her expense. She hopes he’ll soon finish, then she can at least rest after washing herself to remove any traces of the man’s presence from her body. He is the third that evening, the third to take her. True they have to wear condoms, after all she is property. Not an investment, merely an instrument of profit for the man who keeps her in such abject surroundings. She feels the customer finish, his eyes at least averted from hers as he climbs off of her slender body. He pulls off the condom, rinses his softening prick in the sink in the corner, buttons up his pants then leaves. She rises to her feet wearily. There will be more, more men who see her as an object of satisfaction. Some big, some small, some young some old, black, Asian and white, but all with the same slightly apologetic look as they see her there on the bed. Yet that doesn’t stop them using her body for their own satisfaction. There are other women in other rooms. She doesn’t often hear them, just hears their screams if they are beaten for their disobedience. That is how it has been for a long time but now she has a plan. A plan that will, she hopes, set her free of the monster who has turned her into little more than a possession of abuse. She crawls back onto her bed. The sheets need washing, the light in the room is dim. It hides the bruises she’s suffered from her captors; bruises that have faded as she grows more pliant to their wishes. It is the best way to hide her plan from them. To lull them into believing that she has resigned herself to a future without hope but now there is hope. The door opens and he comes into the room. Not a big man, but a cruel one, given to punishing the girls at his whim. He switches on the light, throws clean sheets on the bed then stares down at her with a disdainful look. He is not the one who put her here, but he runs the girls.