Amaryllis – Bibi Sesay #2
On the ride back to the club, I ponder what Marty said.
One more job. Really? Is that all it would take?
I find it hard to believe. Marty is not someone to be challenged and he does not like being asked questions.
After asking about my debt, I couldn’t risk it by asking another question about what he meant.
I would have to save that one for later.
I think back to the first time I met Marty.
I was 8 years old and he was 25. I went to the park one afternoon with my nanny, Bella, and I wanted to get some ice cream.
The ice cream man was just around the corner, and all the kids were gathered in front of the cart to get some.
I asked Bella to get me some, but she said she didn’t have any change.
I remember being disappointed and upset so I went to the other side of the playground to hop on the swings.
Bella returned to her phone, completely ignoring me.
This was a common occurrence with her. She’d take me to the park because she couldn't be bothered to play with me at home and then she’d leave me to play by myself.
I tried to make friends with the other kids, but I didn’t know how.
Whenever I tried to say something, they would laugh and walk away.
I sat on the swing and watched the crowd disperse as each kid got their ice cream. I really wanted one.
“You should get one.” A voice said, startling me. I turned around to find this man smiling at me. He had on a pair of jeans and a black dress shirt with a pair of black sneakers.
“Um…” I began, turning to look in Bella’s direction. Stranger danger.
“Oh, sorry to startle you, baby,” he laughed. “I just saw you sitting here alone and wanted to see if I can be your friend.” I did not respond because I did not know what to say to him.
“I’m Martin, but my friends call me Marty. What’s your name?”
I was taught that it was good manners to respond with your name when someone tells you theirs.
“Amaryllis. But my friends call me Lisa. Well, only my Gran and Pops do, I don’t really have any friends…” I trailed off as I realized that I’ve revealed too much.
“Oh? What about your parents?” Marty asked curiously.
Considering my earlier rambling, I decided not to answer this question.
“Do you like ice cream?” he asked after a moment of silence.
This is a question I can answer. “Yes.”
“Then go get some.”
“I can’t,” I replied. “Bella said she doesn’t have any change.”
“Is that Bella?” He pointed to her sitting on the bench and laughing at something on her phone. “It doesn't seem like Bella cares much about you or what you want.”
I took another look at Bella, and I knew he was telling me the truth. Bella only cared about the money she made from babysitting me, but she did not really care to talk or play with me. She’s never even helped me with my homework, which I’m positive is one of her jobs.
“Yeah, I guess so.” I conceded.
“I can get you some ice cream if you want.” He looked at me with that smile still on his face. It’s not the same smile as the ones Gran and Pops gave me, or even Bella. There was something odd about his smile, but I didn’t know what it was.
“No, thank you. I’m good.” I know better than to accept ice cream from a stranger.
His smile vanishes and he takes a deep breath. “Smart girl.” And then he was gone.
Later that evening, Bella and I were walking back from the coffee shop where she got me a muffin after she’d ordered her coffee.
It was a little dark out, but not too dark so the streetlights were off.
Bella was on the phone with someone, and she was laughing and talking loudly.
I walked ahead of her because she was being too loud.
Just as I was about to take my last turn towards our house, I felt an arm grab me from behind with another over my mouth.
I was thrown into the back of a vehicle.
I woke up in a bed with all of my stuffed animals and sheets identical to the ones I had at home, but it was obvious that I was not in my own bed. The room was almost half the size of my room, and it had no windows. I was scared and alone with no idea where I was, but I refused to cry.
A moment later, the door was unlocked and I raised my head to find the man from the park staring at me.
“Hello again, friend.” He had that same smile that felt wrong, but I still couldn’t figure out why. “You and I are going to play together.”
That was fifteen years ago, and I’ve been with Marty since.
For the first three years, all he did was tuck me in and read me stories at night.
I cried for Gran and Pops, but he told me that they had died in a car accident, just like my parents.
I don’t know how he found out about my parents, but it made me fear him more.
When I turned eleven and started my period he changed.
He then started to watch me dress under the guise of teaching me how to use a pad.
Even when I wasn’t on my period, he would watch me.
By fifteen, I was sleeping in his bed every night, naked.
He would hold me close and kiss me deeply every night before bed.
I tried to resist a few times, but he spanked me with a whip before holding and comforting me as I sobbed into his arms. When I turned sixteen, the kissing turned to other things.
His hands wandered to other places on my body that no other person had ever touched before.
Again, I tried to resist and he whipped me to get me to comply.
Soon my body became accustomed to his touch and reacted just the way that he wanted.
As my body adapted to his demands he became more and more pleased with me. It was an intoxicating feeling.
He took my virginity the day I turned eighteen.
We went out for dinner at a hotel, and he fucked me in his suite afterwards.
I resisted initially, because I could feel my body rejecting the act.
This was way past touching and fingering, and I tried to tell him how uncomfortable it felt.
He whipped me until I was broken and pliable, and then he fucked me to my first orgasm.
That was the worst beating that he’d given me.
I remember feeling pain like nothing I had felt before, and he reveled in my agony.
He fucked me like a crazed lunatic that first time and I bled all over the sheets.
“Yes, baby. My prize. My jewel. I’ve been waiting so long for this. Fuck, you feel good. So tight and so sweet. You’re mine, you hear me? Mine!”
When he was done, he dipped his finger into my vulva and licked my blood mixed with his cum. He dipped it again and this time smeared it on my tongue.
“This, is the vow you make to me. To never leave me and to pay me back for everything that I’ve done for you. I raised you, loved you, protected you. You owe me.”
That day began the life that I’m living now. Marty taught me how to have sex and please a man. He did everything to me and made me do it back to him. He trained me for this, to be his most prized whore.
As we approach the club, Marty reaches over to grab my hand.
“Baby.” He smiles that intimidating smile. “I have a surprise for you.”
I’m not sure what to make of this because he has always said he hated surprises. Or maybe he hates when he’s the one receiving the surprise?
“Oh, okay,” I say quietly. “What is it?”
“Well, it won’t be a surprise if I tell you now, would it?”
He’s right. “Yes, sorry.”
We walk into the club hand-in-hand and head to his office.
I have so many memories of this office. Being bent over the desk while getting my ass whipped.
On my knees by the couch while he chokes and suffocates me with his dick.
Hanging from the hook in the ceiling while being brought to the brink of orgasm and denied multiple times.
Marty knows that he’s the only man that can bring me to orgasm and he exploits that privilege every time. I’m not even sure why he can do that. Some days I think it’s because my body senses him as a safe person, which is ironic since he is my captor.
Trauma is a funny thing. Fight, flight, freeze, fawn.
People don't usually consider the last two. I started having recurring nightmares when I was ten and they got more violent and terrifying over time. Nowadays, I have them less often, but they're more triggering than ever. I looked up what was wrong with me once on Micky’s laptop. I wasn’t allowed to have a phone until I was fifteen and I got my first smartphone when I turned seventeen.
My search revealed that I have something called complex PTSD or cPTSD.
It occurs when a person is repeatedly exposed to traumatic or life-threatening situations, or even just a single catastrophic inescapable event.
My cPTSD response, I learned, is fawning.
This shows up as me saying yes to everything Marty asks, even if I don’t want to, or coming to him any time of night or day whenever he calls. No questions. No objections.
I think my body is fawning when it climaxes for him.
I’m asexual – something else I learned from my online searches – and I don’t feel sexual attraction in the conventional way that most humans do.
My sexuality is not a result of trauma, because sexuality is something that you’re born with, so I would have been somewhere on the asexual spectrum regardless.
But I’d be lying if I said the trauma didn’t determine who I became sexually attracted to.