I receive an address on my phone screen, you’re not picking me up today. I catch a ride, it doesn’t take long until I find myself at the designated place. It’s a quiet, centrally located street, unusually quiet for an evening on the weekend. I am unsure where to go next, so I stand around for a little while around the corner of a house. Some people pass by but none of them look at me and none of them are you. 

I get a little anxious as you are not answering my texts and I am quite lost without a further direction. However, you usually show up for me so I decide to wait a little longer. It’s getting dark and humid outside. I am standing around in low black shoes, sheer tights, a tiny skirt and a shirt that barely covers anything. You told me to dress that way. The street lights turn on and illuminate just a few patches of ground on the street as darkness falls. It’s become quiet and I can only hear cars passing on a distant street somewhere. 

In a while, I hear footsteps coming from behind me, I am on my phone leaning against a wall and I don’t notice. Suddenly, I can feel a hand on my back push me forward. I turn my head enough to recognize it is you. Instead of a greeting all I hear from you is “Move, we’re late.” I try asking you where we’re headed and what are we late for, but you simply tell me not to worry and push me forward. I step aside to get some distance away from your hand and I feel a stressful tension in my stomach, I inquire you again where you’re taking me, you grab me by my arm instead and complain that I am asking too many questions and that nothing will happen to me. I am not liking your behavior but I allow you to lead me on. 

We walk for a short while, in silence, until I begin hearing some chatter and music close by. I  see some people standing around smoking and I realise we are reaching some kind of a pub or a club. As we approach, you instruct me to go inside and down the stairs first. You tell me that there is a specific table at the back of the bar where I have to sit down. 

“Someone will come to tend to you, you can request a drink, or some, as many as you want, it’s been taken care of. You’ll see me, but you don’t talk to me or acknowledge me in any way, understand?” I nod my head but I am getting increasingly worried and scared. I don’t bother asking you, because I now know someone is there specially for me. I am not in a mood for drinking, but I realise that is probably the only way to calm myself down. 

I enter through the door, you follow me at a distance, there is a bouncer but he seems very uninterested in his job, so I give him a small smile and walk downstairs into the bar. The music is loud and the place is crowded, nearly every seat is taken, except for what I assume is the table you wanted me to sit at. It’s located at the back wall of the basement, near what I thought to be the washrooms and bar storage. The area is dimly lit, the floor under the table is sticky from all the spilled drinks, but I sit down nevertheless. In a minute, I am approached by a clueless girl, who I guess is the bartender. She asks me for my name, and once she hears an answer she was satisfied with, she asks me if I wanted anything to drink. I ask her for some generic cocktail that popped into my mind. I say “you can make it two.” She sighed annoyingly and walked away. I spot you as you occupy a seat at the bar front. You don’t look at my direction, but I am watching you. I tap my nails nervously on the table top. I feel lonely and vulnerable, I map my escape route as I usually do in such situations, just in case. Nothing seems to be happening at the given moment and I begin wondering whether this is just some setup you came up with to scare me.

My drinks arrive. I take a look at my watch, twenty or so minutes have passed, you’re still there, but I don’t exist to you. You’re on your phone, but I can’t tell from a distance whether you’re texting someone or keeping yourself busy with something else. I slowly begin sipping my drinks, I am alert but nobody has approached me or showed any particular interest that I am sitting there by myself. I am scanning the people in the room around me, but none of them seem to be particularly suspicious either. Time is passing and I begin feeling slightly tipsy. The bartender approaches me again and asks if I need a refill, and I just nod in agreement. If I’m going to be sitting here uselessly, I might as well get the free drinks I was promised. As she disappears behind the bar, I make a quick run for the washrooms to look at myself in the mirror. There is no line, I am quick. I fix my hair, check my purse, my make up, and I head back out on the floor. It was just a matter of minutes.

Upon my return, I spot someone sitting at the opposite end of my table. My drinks glasses were cleared up and I came to a conclusion that it was someone randomly occupying the empty space. I do not approach, I check my phone once again, but there are no messages or instructions from you. I glance around hoping to see you in the same spot, but you’re gone. I wonder if you left when you saw me gone from my designated place. I slowly walk up to my seat and try to grab my coat. I want to leave, somehow it did not feel right. The stranger spots me. He addresses me by my name. I tell him that he has me mistaken for someone else. 

“I don’t think so,” he briefly answers and turns his phone screen towards me. On his screen, there is a picture of me, just a regular selfie. I feel frozen.

“Oh, your date finally showed up?” I hear a familiar voice behind me, she is carrying a new batch of drinks. 

“He is not my date.” I reply.

“He would not be mine either if I had to wait this long,” she sets the glasses on the table and briskly walks away, she has plenty of work at this hour of the night. No time for chatting.

The man tells me not to be so rude to him, he is just there to meet me. I frantically begin scanning the place for you, but I cannot find you. I have my coat in my hand and I tell this guest that this is probably a mistake. But he seems agitated, he’s half stood on the seat, he tells me to sit down and that I am not leaving. I reluctantly comply as he’s between me and my path to the exit, but I try to keep my distance from him. However, he changes seats faster than I can realise and appears right next to me. He tells me to drink. I don’t want to but I do. He is asking me something but I am not listening and not paying attention. My thoughts are racing, I am wondering why you left.

My mind is distracted and I don’t feel how this stranger’s hand appears on my legs. I tense up. He tells me that he won’t do anything to me, but I don’t buy it. I’m clenching the ice cold glass in my hands. He is telling me that I smell nice and I was worth every Euro as his fingers begin reaching under my skirt. He pushes himself closer to me on his chair and puts his other hand over my shoulder. I feel his hands gripping me tighter as if he knew I was going to try to run away from him, but I had nowhere to go. I’m sure had I tried to escape, I would have got you in trouble. I didn’t want that, so I decided that it’s best to sit it out. 

I can feel him sinking his fingers into my thigh, it hurt, but it was intentional. This guy, he wanted to handle me his way and I have no idea what you had promised him. He digs his nails into my tights, I see them rip. He said I am not supposed to be wearing those, I do not respond. He keeps crawling up my skirt until he could reach for my panties. He felt my pussy with his palm, and at the same time he squeezed my shoulder, I squealed. I swear my bones cracked.

“Shut up bitch.” He mutters under his nose. Either in anger or excitement he proceeds to grip my underwear and pull it up. “I will hurt you if you say another word.” The fabric of my thong is digging into my skin, yet he had no plan of letting me go. I grab onto the edge of the seat trying to lift myself up as it is beginning to burn and painfully scratch me. He feels me trying to get up from the seat and pushes me down. I ask him to let it go, he stares at me with a grin on his mouth.

“I can do anything I want with you for another hour.” I try resisting his grip, squirming on the seat, anything to convince him to cut it out. Then as suddenly as he grabbed me, he lets go of me. I slump on the seat. I am wondering if you are watching or not. I feel betrayed. 

“Spread your legs, come on,” he taps me on my knee, too gently. I barely move. “Don’t play hard to get now.” He steps on one of my feet, his heel is crushing my toes. With his other hand he pushes my opposite leg away. I close my legs immediately. He grabs me by the back of my neck and shakes me, “Open,” he commands. My mind is running through so many possible options, whether anyone is seeing this and letting it happen, or who else is paid to participate in your game around here, but it seems that everyone was going about their evening unsuspectingly.

He is still holding me up straight, I am pressed into the seat. He looks around nervously as he realises I am looking to be rescued. He doesn’t say a word, he takes the opportunity while I am slightly distracted and through the ugly hole he made in my tights, slides two of his fingers into me. As I am sitting on the edge of the chair at a straight angle, I can feel his nails scraping me on the inside. It hurts and I realise there will be blood on his hands. I place one of my hands on his wrist, more so as a reflex to attempt to stop him, but it only seems to amuse him. I try to reason.

“You are hurting me.” I tell him louder than I expected. He ignores me and aggressively moves his fingers deeper into me. I can feel him feeling me around, I am afraid to move. There are two fingers, then there are 3. He seems pleased. Then 4, I can feel him push his hand in, up to his knuckles, it becomes uncomfortably painful and I ask him to stop again. Someone looks at us, but does not show too much of a concern. “I will break your bones if anyone walks up to us.” 

Half of his hand is still in me, he’s leaning closer to me, I can feel the pressure of him trying to twist and turn his fingers in hopes to shove them deeper into me, but he soon realises it’s not working out as well as he’d hoped with me sitting down. He retrieves his hand and wipes it on my skirt. It leaves a stain. I can feel sweat forming on my skin. 

He begins fidgeting with his belt, I’m sitting frozen next to him staring off into the distance. 

“Under the table.” He says to me. His other hand is still holding me by the neck. He tries pushing me out of the chair, but I’m holding on. He shakes me a couple of times and I lose my balance for just a second. He manages to bend me over his lap. I am holding onto the table to not fall out of the chair completely. I can see him holding his dick in his hand, he pushes my face closer to it. I hear him asking me to open my mouth. I don’t have a choice, so I do. He forces himself into my mouth. His fingers are now gripping tightly on my hair. He is moving my head up and down violently and I can feel him hitting the back of my throat. My head is spinning from the drinks and more so from being bent over this way. I am trying to get him out of my mouth but he doesn’t stop. My saliva is dropping from my mouth onto his jeans, it is getting into my nose and it is making me cough and gag. But he seems to be enjoying the show. He goes on for a while as I continue to struggle. Finally, I hear him saying it was worth the price before he pulls me away. 

I sit back up, my hair is messy. He tells me to wipe my mouth and hands me a questionable napkin. I do accept it. I am gasping for air, but I am trying not to attract attention to myself.

As I fix myself up, he forces me to finish the last drops of my drinks. I am getting drunk and dizzy, but I can still react adequately to my surroundings. However, I slowly stop noticing people around me and the bar background is becoming a blur. He obviously takes notice of it. 

“Get up, time to leave.” he says as he gets a hold of my elbow. He pulls me up sharply out of the seat.

“I am not going anywhere with you.” I have no intention of going anywhere as you haven’t instructed me to leave. I try to stay seated. 

“Stop wasting my time and get up.” He pulls me once again and I stumble. I unwillingly get up, he grabs my coat hanging on the back rest and begins leading me towards the stairs. He has me in front of him. I trip over myself a few times and I realise that I am more drunk than I think. As we are rounding the corner, I convince myself that I saw you and you have retreated to a table at the complete opposite end of the room, and I was hoping that you are seeing what is happening to me. Unfortunately, I do not have time to process anything after that because I am being pushed up the stairs. I hear this man from the back saying that he is taking me home because I was too intoxicated and whoever is talking to him does not seem to object. I try to break away again, unsuccessfully. 

As we reach the top of the stairs he kindly throws my coat over my shoulders and gets ahead to open the door. He is putting on a good show to raise no suspicion. It is cold outside and I am not sure where we are. He is leading me around a corner of a building, there is no lighting. The alley is dark and smells of old leaves and garbage. I attempt to tell him that I am not willing to do anything with him, but he grabs me by my wrists and pushes me against a damp wall at the first opportunity as we disappear into the dark and out of sight. 

He now steps in closer to me, his hand is placed on my chest, he is pushing me against the wall. His other hand is violently trying to get my skirt out of the way and rip my tights off my legs. My coat has slid off of me and now it is trampled on the ground under me. I try calling for you but he quickly places the palm of his hand over my mouth. I can hear his trousers slumping on the ground. He is trying to turn me around to face the wall, but I resist. He grabs me by my throat instead, as he realises it’s more efficient to choke me out to make me obey. I quickly become disoriented and I am flipped over. He runs his fingers over my back, he stops on my ass, he is now leaning over me and I understand that I am about to get fucked on a dirty street. He again pulls my underwear out of the way and guides his cock towards my pussy. He forcibly inserts himself in me. He is rough but I am too afraid to scream even though he is hurting me. He bends me over and grips my hair. I ask him to stop a few times but give up as it is completely futile.

Even though it feels like an eternity, it is only a matter of a few minutes until his phone rings in his pocket. He suddenly stops, pulls out and steps away from me. He dresses himself back on in a blink of an eye. He looks me up and down as I am still standing backed against the wall, he says nothing and hurriedly walks away, around the corner out of my sight. I slowly pull myself up and gather my thoughts. I am not sure what to do with myself. I realise I look quite ridiculous, so I take off my tights and toss them on the ground, step back into my shoes, I check my clothes, adjust and put my skirt back on, check my purse, and walk away. You’re nowhere to be found.