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*****
Phil pushed Jenny through the door of the sleazy bar and into the mid-afternoon sunlight. The brightness hurt her still weeping eyes as Phil waved over a taxi.
They didn't speak, Jenny just cried quietly as the taxi made its way through the crummy part of East Oakland, which was most of it.
He'd slid close, one arm around her, pushing her head to his shoulder as her weeping transitioned to whimpering. He'd been stroking her hair, whispering quieting words to her in a continual stream since they got in together.
"That's it Jenny." "It's ok." "You'll be ok," and the like.
At one point she said, "My work, I'll be fired." Phil assured her that he took care of it, not explaining further.
The cab stopped in front of what looked like an abandoned hardware store, the large first floor windows covered in bars and graffiti sprayed plywood. A chain held the front doors closed.
Phil paid the fare and helped Jenny out of the cab. They walked a few feet to a side door and Phil got out some keys.
"Welcome to my place," he said, without feeling, leaning her against the building.
Jenny was tired beyond conversation.
Once inside they walked up two flights of concrete steps to another door. Phil punched in codes on a keypad and unlocked dead bolts. He swung the heavy steal door open and gently pushed Jenny forward.
She wasn't in the mood to be impressed with interior design but she was. She stood in a very large room, partitioned by low walls and furniture into several distinct spaces. To her left, at the front of the building, was a wall of glass blocks behind a living area with two brown leather couches, a matching arm chair and a coffee table. Abutting it was a dining area. To the right of that a kitchen, further to the right was a wall and a hallway. At the end of the wall shared with the stairwell they'd just come up was what looked like a workspace with computers. Just in front of her was a sort of shop area with benches, a stool and a row of parts cabinets like in an old Taiwanese apothecary's shop.
"What's this place?" she said wearily.
"This is my home and my office. My dad was a failed real-estate investor and this was one of the few properties he owned outright."
He walked her over toward the front of the building, sat her on a couch and covered her lap with a tan throw that had been draped over the back.
'Is this cashmere?' she wondered.
"Would you like something to eat?"
"Um..." she had difficulty thinking.
"I'll make you a sandwich and some tea."
"Ok," she said languidly.
'Nice place,' she sort of intuited rather than thought.
The sounds of a plate on stone and various clinking and clanking reached her while he made food in the kitchen. She didn't pay attention.
'Why is he being nice to me now?'
She looked around. A soft glow was coming from the wall of glass blocks that gently curved in front of her. It rose to within three feet of the open ceiling of exposed rebar trusses which held up the roof. It nearly touched both walls and had large houseplants on low square wooden tables in the recesses of the curves.
There was a coffee colored rug under the thick black wooden coffee table at her knees.
He returned with a plate, a cut sandwich, a pickle spear, and a mug of tea.
"Why did you have those men fuck me?" She took half of the sandwich in her hand.
"To teach you not to disobey me."
"Do you know what a whore I feel like?" She didn't have the strength to slap him or scratch is face.
"Jenny, if this is going to work, you must obey me."
"If what is going to work?"
"Your transformation."
She didn't really have an interest in what he was saying. All of the shit she'd been through was just too much. She couldn't listen to more of his bullshit.
"Yeah... well listen. Perhaps you could give me some warning next time. I don't have a problem, per se, with multiple men, not even if it's a little rough but I pick my men. And anyway I wasn't expecting it and it scared the shit out of me at first. And I didn't like the abuse."
"You don't pick anything and you'd better get used to it."
"So. You going to have me gang fucked on a regular basis?"
"No. You've learned your lesson I think. You won't forget so quickly next time and I don't like having to do that to you. It's the abuse you'll have to get used to."
"I don't want to be abused."
"But... "
She interrupted him, "I deserve it right?"
"Yes. You've got a great debt to repay and you'll have to repay it with humiliation."
"Do you have any idea how fucked up that sounds?"
"Do you have any idea how fucked up you are, Jenny?"
"Yes."
Her tears began again as she took another bite.
He sat closer to her and began again to stroke her hair and console her.
She pushed his hand away from her face as he brushed away a few hairs that had matted against her wet cheek. Jenny turned toward him with red eyes.
"Don't touch me," she said, "what is wrong with you? How can you have me brutally abused one hour and stroke me and talk to me like that the next?
"I..."
"You're a monster."
"I'm not a monster," he said. "I guarantee you that at the end of six months you will be more appreciative of what I am doing for you than you have ever been. And I'll go further. I'll let you turn me in and send me back to jail if I fail you."
"You are fucking insane."
"Jenny, I am letting you talk like that because of what you went through today, but I won't take it much longer."
She didn't answer. She was too tired to endure any more crap.
"Believe it or not, I don't like disciplining you. I'll be much happier when you anticipate and I don't have to order you around. It's too much like work."
Again, too much bullshit to process at the moment. What could she believe?
She finished her sandwich, which was unbelievably good, ate the pickle, which was awesome and drank a few sips of tea.
Phil had wandered off. She half heard some sounds like plates being loaded into a dishwasher and water running.
"I've run a bath for you," he said, when he returned to her side.
She took his hand and stood from the couch. A bath did sound good, to be clean again sounded like holy salvation, too good to believe. As dirty as she felt cleanliness was a fantasy.
In the bathroom, he stood before her and gently removed her blouse and bra, placing them on a folded towel that was on a chair. She vaguely thought, 'Who has a chair in their bathroom?' Then it dawned on her that this was no ordinary bathroom. It looked like it belonged in a high end hotel but much, much larger. She looked around at the expensive looking tile and dark woods.
He moved behind her and unzipped her skirt. She let it fall, stepped out of it and removed her panties by herself.
She figured she'd get on her knees before he commanded her to, at least it was a small act of will rather than following his orders. She sank to her knees.
"What are you doing?" he asked.
"I figured that since I talked back to you back there you'd be punishing me again. I was just getting ready."
"Get up. Please." The please had been a mistake. Phil could not afford to apologize, not so early. "Get in the tub."
"I'm too much of a whore even for you?" she said, with the most miserable and dejected tone of voice he'd ever heard. She was about to start crying again but just swallowed the rejection and let it join the stack of misery within her.
She slipped into the old fashioned ceramic tub, the kind you see on Pinterest. The warm water, with a scent of roses or lilac or something, was heaven, until the water touched her ass.
"Ouch," she said, "Did you have to hit me so hard?"
"Just slide in slowly," he said, knelling by the tub. "But stand there for a minute."
He brought his hand to the small of her back and began to very gently play his fingers over the flesh of her buttocks. As much as she hated Phil and what he was doing to her life, the feeling of his fingertips on her sore skin was l like a soothing balm. It was gentle and cool and contrasted so wonderfully with the pain that, despite her will, she thoroughly enjoyed it.
He laid his forehead on his forearm which rested on the edge of the tub and stroked her flesh unseen. He continued for a minute or two and then wetted his hand and cupped her buttocks with his palm, making her ready for the warm water. After a few more moments he told her to slide in.
She did, and the water burned regardless of the preparation, even though the water was little more than tepid. Thankfully the pain dissipated quickly.
It occurred to her that she had no feelings of self-consciousness at her nakedness with Phil. In the shit hole bar or here in his bathroom. She wondered why. She was proud of her body until last night's revelation that all of her pride was a lie. Pride was now a burden.
There was no room for two in the tub.
Phil got to his feet and went to a cabinet by the white pillar basin. He returned a moment later and knelt behind her.
