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I Don't Belong to You
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Samantha Restrew
I DON’T BELONG TO YOU
Copyright ©2017 Samantha Restrew
The author’s Facebook pages:
https://www.facebook.com/profile.php?id=100014910193134
https://www.facebook.com/Samantha-Restrew-199875693846071/?ref=aymt_homepage_panel
Table of Contents
Title Page
Copyright Page
I Don't Belong To You
FIRST PART | PROLOGUE
CHAPTER 1
CHAPTER 2
CHAPTER 3
CHAPTER 4
CHAPTER 5
CHAPTER 6
CHAPTER 7
CHAPTER 8
CHAPTER 9
CHAPTER 10
CHAPTER 11
CHAPTER 12
SECOND PART | CHAPTER 13
CHAPTER 14
CHAPTER 15
CHAPTER 16
CHAPTER 17
CHAPTER 18
CHAPTER 19
CHAPTER 20
CHAPTER 21
CHAPTER 22
CHAPTER 23
CHAPTER 24
CHAPTER 25
CHAPTER 26
CHAPTER 27
CHAPTER 28
CHAPTER 29
CHAPTER 30
CHAPTER 31
CHAPTER 32
THIRD PART | CHAPTER 33
CHAPTER 34
CHAPTER 35
CHAPTER 36
CHAPTER 37
CHAPTER 38
CHAPTER 39
CHAPTER 40
CHAPTER 41
CHAPTER 42
CHAPTER 43
CHAPTER 44
CHAPTER 45
CHAPTER 46
CHAPTER 47
CHAPTER 48
CHAPTER 49
EPILOGUE
ACKNOWLEDGEMENTS
I steal and pillage your pale skin
While enjoying the short escape from these chains
Chains long years that tie my spirit lost in the meander of the past,
Where life I left and life waits for me.
Beyond the curtain of this perfume, beyond the warmth of these limbs,
beyond the smoky breath of these breaths:
that is my place, the paradise that I covet.
You have no power over me with your femininity,
that you give me loath, yet you tremble in my arms,
drunk of unexpected pleasure.
You’re wrong and still wrong, moaning frightened by the imminent danger.
I know what I’m carving, you know that it’s not you.
Faint illusion fueled by empty passion, you should deny your hope.
I know who I want, you know that it’s not you.
My madness enchants and conquers you. Yours makes you falls, blind in the dark.
I keep my light, that doesn’t belong to you.
I don’t belong to you. I belong to the past,
Where life I left and life waits for me.
R. Vera
Index
FIRST PART
PROLOGUE
CHAPTER 1
CHAPTER 2
CHAPTER 3
CHAPTER 4
CHAPTER 5
CHAPTER 6
CHAPTER 7
CHAPTER 8
CHAPTER 9
CHAPTER 10
CHAPTER 11
CHAPTER 12
SECOND PART
CHAPTER 13
CHAPTER 14
CHAPTER 15
CHAPTER 16
CHAPTER 17
CHAPTER 18
CHAPTER 19
CHAPTER 20
CHAPTER 21
CHAPTER 22
CHAPTER 23
CHAPTER 24
CHAPTER 25
CHAPTER 26
CHAPTER 27
CHAPTER 28
CHAPTER 29
CHAPTER 30
CHAPTER 31
CHAPTER 32
THIRD PART
CHAPTER 33
CHAPTER 34
CHAPTER 35
CHAPTER 36
CHAPTER 37
CHAPTER 38
CHAPTER 39
CHAPTER 40
CHAPTER 41
CHAPTER 42
CHAPTER 43
CHAPTER 44
CHAPTER 45
CHAPTER 46
CHAPTER 47
CHAPTER 48
CHAPTER 49
EPILOGUE
ACKNOWLEDGEMENTS
FIRST PART
PROLOGUE
We remained alone in the same room. It didn’t happen for months. I sit on the chair trying to distract myself with a book assigned by the English Literature’s professor. Maybe reading Amleto, I won’t mind Tracy sitting on my desk, with her crossed flamingo’s legs just in front of my face. This is not the first time she slams into my face her young woman’s body.
I take my eyes off the pages and I get stuck by the frustrated rim of her inguinal skirt. She boldly opens her legs and let me see her black knickers. I swallow, imagining the world that lies behind that piece of cloth. She speaks, telling me about her high school day. I pretend to listen to her, but my thoughts are planted there, in that cotton triangle that attracts me like a fly to honey.
Bloody Hell! Why doesn’t she get out of this room and goes to meet the fourth year guy about whom she’s weaving praise? This way I could stop thinking with the lower parts of my body and regain my mental faculties. She should go to be fucked by Luke, Lucas or what the hell is his name. Yet if she did it, I think I would die instantly. She can only slams it on my face.
«Matthew, did you understand what Lou said? That I’m pretty. And he invited me to the school dance, on Saturday.»
«Ok, good for you. Now can you let me study in peace?»
Without adding anything else, she gets down from the desk and goes to the door, but suddenly stops in the middle of the room. I turn my head to control what the hell she’s doing and I meet her back bent down, while she’s fastening one of the heeled sandals. Now my eyes are intent looking every inch of her heart-shaped ass. I don’t have to get up, I just have to wait for her to cross over that door, and I’ll be safe.
One, two... what the hell is the next number? Without thinking I suddenly push the chair back, get up and run toward her. All in one movement, I lift her up taking her by the shoulders.
I begin to nibble her ear whispering with raspy voice: «You joked too much with the fire, Tracy. »
She, instead of running away, stays there motionless and begins to pant yearning, when I lift up that micro-skirt she wears, and stick my finger between her warm buttocks.
When a moan comes out of her mouth, I can’t stop myself anymore. I drag her against the wall, order her to open the legs and with a quick gesture my bloated penis enter the anus, giving a couple of strokes.
«You’re hurting me...» she moans with a voice that hides excitement and pain.
At these words I stop myself, but now it’s too late to break my lust.
«Lie down. »
She obeys and I go upon the vulva humid with desire. One push after another and I lunge my flesh in hers, to reach mutual pleasure. We are too much involved in one another to mind the steps along the corridor. Too much eager to exchange humors, to hear the door of the room opening.
When a lashing scream pierces our eardrums, we understand that we went over and there’s no way to hide the misdeed.
When somebody flings at me and fires a lot of punches, we both think the same: “This time we’re fucked.”
CHAPTER 1
That may he die with a horrific death, that filthy asshole. If it wasn’t for him, I could now overcome this gate and begi
n my new life without him.
Why these things happen all to me? I was so happy with my work in the coffee bar in Rodeo Drive! I’ve never been an envious girl. If a woman came in with a Prada suit and the original Vuitton bag, I surely wasn’t angry for her good luck. I was pleased to observe her in secret and to idolize her in silence.
But now is all finished. If that bastard Fred, that I truly believed the perfect boy, didn’t betray me with Fanny, the owner of the coffee bar where I worked, I would still be there preparing coffees for the wealthy ladies. I would cry only thinking about the stratospheric tips they used to leave me when I allowed myself to compliment them.
Besides I couldn’t pretend anything. They made it just under my nose. I caught them while she rode Fred like a wild she-horse on my bed. I began to scream and throw everything I found, to the two lovers. I wasn’t in me anymore. As soon I calmed down a little, that bitch Fanny, instead of apologizing, fired me at once, saying that she wanted to avoid us the pain of seeing each other again. As not to miss anything, Fred slammed me out of the house, with the excuse that I wasn’t paying the rent for two months, and now I’m in the middle of the street, without a man and without a work.
When Mary told me that she would provide to solve my problems, I had no other choice than to accept her offer. Or an immediate job or a fixed residence under a bridge. I could ask asylum to my parents in their farm not far from Mariposa. They would welcome me with open arms, considering the desperate crying with which my mother had accompanied my intention to move to Los Angeles. But I’m too proud to go back to my steps. The choice to abandon the family land property to move to a large metropolis was well considered. I needed new stimuli, I wanted to try the goodness to cuddle on my own. I couldn’t imagine then, that my agitation and the wrong boy friend would bring me to the brink of bankruptcy.
And so, here I am, in a dark little room, deciding whether to go or stay. I’m not done for this job, I hate claustrophobic situations. Fred knows this. I met him because of an old lift in a big store that stopped working between the two floors. As soon I understood that I was blocked, I fainted on the floor. He rescued me and I still remember the wonderful sensation when I saw this beautiful boy that was lifting my legs up. I thought I had found my Prince Charming. Instead I met a bag of shit.
I slowly undress and swallow. For a few seconds I remain in knickers and bra observing the new uniform. Nothing to do with the short white uniform that I wore in the coffee bar. That one made me perfect shapes. Once entered a man that said he was a film director from Hollywood and asked me to take part in an audition in his villa at Beverly Hills. But I know very well how these things work, and I’m sure that he just wanted to fuck me. I pretended to accept his buisiness card, and tore it as soon as he went off. If I had known what sort of a bastard was my boy friend, I would have behaved differently.
Looking at the shirt and trousers I know that I have an expression of disgust printed on my face. I don’t like brown, and the stars sewn here and there on the uniform or the last name pinned on the chest can’t make it more elegant. I dress, put the belt in the passersby; tie the handcuffs and the transceiver.
«Khyla, hurry up! We are late! You’ve got thirty seconds to get your ass out of there, before I start naming all the saints of the paradise. »
«Yes, Mary! I’m coming...»
A last glance in the mirror, a quick brush to the hair and I’m ready for my first day as a prison guard in Los Angeles penitentiary.
I walk slowly, weighed by the metal objects hanging on my belt. I remember that when I was little, when they asked me what I wanted to do once grew up, I replied that I wanted to be agile and sensual as Catwoman. Instead I am on the other side of the barricade... I’m not a criminal secretly in love with Bruce Wayne. I’m a cop. I’m here to enforce the low, to hardly punish those who dared to challenge the Californian legal system. I’m an invincible police-woman, one of those that never bents.
Yes, just in my mind... I would like to convince myself but it’s a desperate attempt. I have no predisposition for this work. It’s just an attempt to make ends meet.
While I’m trying to be more motivated, Mary explains the differences between the detainees.
«Just look at their uniform and you can recognize them right away. Most are here for minor offences, these wear blue uniforms. Those who wear the orange uniforms, instead, belong to the highest security division. »
«Highest security? » I ask worried.
She reacts to my dismayed expression with a good laugh.
«Are you so frightened? Don’t worry, darling. You’ll work here with me, among the minor criminals. »
I raise a smile, settled down, but Mary disappoints me.
«I don’t mean that it’s just a walk. You’ll have to deal with people used in getting what they want with any means possible. You have to be strong, you do not have to be submitted by neither their flattery or their small abuses...Certainly a physical like yours don’t help...»
I take a quick look and I guess that I’m fine: I’m young, lean, and tall, with all the curves in the right places. If there’s someone who should think to the physical, that is just Mary. She has never been lean, moreover now, because in the last months she put on at least a dozen kilos...and they all went on her belly and hips. I’m about to tell her this, when we approach an automatic gate and we make our entry among the wall of the real jail.
The first step in the structure is enough to make me feel overwhelmed by a sense of oppression, which increases as I continue in the dark and narrow corridor. Even though is full day the gloomy atmosphere is only mitigated by electric lights. Where are the windows? I need air...I look everywhere, but this huge concrete cube has no openings.
«Mary, I’m suffocating. There’s no sun light here. »
«You’ll get used, my dear. Everyone does. »
I’m starting to regret having accepted this job, but now it’s too late to get back. We pass along an empty room that is for common activities. Everything here is silence and desolation. On the floor along the corridor there are lanes marked with colorful adhesive tapes. At some points there is a STOP statement.
«What do these signs mean? » I ask perplexed.
«When the detainees walk along the corridor, they have to stay closer to the wall, respecting the lanes, and when they reach the stop signals, have to wait for permission to proceed. »
All of a sudden I imagine the scene and this idea is enough to understand that whoever is in jail, doesn’t only regret freedom, but also dignity.
CHAPTER 2
«Ehi! Who’s that nice pussy! » shrieks a detainee in the first cell I meet, as soon as I turn the corner.
If at first I was a little bit worried, now I’m really frightened. We reach a narrow corridor and my claustrophobia is at the maximum level. I find myself squashed between the wall and a long row of bars, behind which the detainees are busy in their small business. Someone is sleeping or playing cards. Some are sitting on the W.C. without dignity and look at me impudently, with arrogant defiance.
«But there’s no private loo in this bloody prison? » I ask perturbed to Mary
«Don’t be upset for so little, little princess» she answers amused. «It’s a matter of security. »
Ok, but to me is disgusting the idea of having to watch someone while is shitting off. I keep watching the prisoner faces trying to understand what’s going on in their minds. It’s not easy to imagine the feeling of someone forced to live in a burial plot with bars, without any other opening than the forced air duct, with these neon lights that hurts the eyes.
«What a shity place! I think that when somebody gets out of here, then he’d do anything not to come back again. »
I’m convinced of what I say. Instead Mary shakes her head and surprises me with her words: «I wish it was like that, Khyla! Actually people in jail get so frustrated that few, once out of here, devote themselves to honest activities. The 80 percent of the inmates that finis
h their punishment, within a few months, if not weeks, come back inside. And among those who don’t come back, most continue to commit crimes, but because of luck, they are not captured. »
I’m just a few steps from my office, where I could finally find some relief, when in the sheltered corner of a cell I see a guy, no more than twenty-five years old, sitting on the edge of his cot reading a book. To say it all, he’s a hot piece of tail. His skin is very clear, very different from that of his misfortune’s companions, mainly Latins and Afro Americans. He wears the uniform with the sleeves rolled up. From there emerge tattooed muscular biceps and for a moment I imagine those powerful arms surrounding my waist. I’m almost about to over pass his cell, when I see him looking away from the book and glancing enigmatically at me. He doesn’t say anything. He just put his eyes on me and I feel at the mercy of his look. My God! I’ve never seen eyes of that color. They are grey like a foggy day, cold like ice. I should instantly go if I don’t want to be incinerated, and yet I can’t move. To prolong sight with him, I pretend to have a cramp to a leg. He still looks at me for a few seconds, and then goes back to read his book and I feel lost and insecure as if someone had turned the light off. It hurts me not to be the centre of his world any more.
What a cretin I am! What the fuck...? I’m a security guard and he’s a fucked detainee. He could be here for a million different reasons, all equally abominable. Why should I allow myself to be fascinated? So I try to look away from him and to concentrate on the cover of the book he’s holding. The Amleto by Shakespeare. What is there to say? An acculturated prisoner. Mary drags me away and leads me to our office.
«Why all this hurry? » I ask huffy.
«Listen, Khyla. It’s not permitted to familiarize with the detainees. »
«What are you babbling about? I was walking on the corridor without any particular involvement. I just stopped a moment because I got a cramp in the leg. I didn’t do anything wrong...»
She shakes her head thoughtfully. «Because I stopped you, before you could decide to make the first step. I saw the way you looked at Matthew. »
Matthew... this is the name of the wonderful boy...
«And who’s this Matthew you’re talking about? » I say trying to confuse Mary.
I Don't Belong to You