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climaxes…I think. Her body shimmies from side to side beneath me, almost like the undulation of a serpent, and she makes a strange soft laughing sound created by inhaling instead of exhaling. But she’s relaxed and cuddly afterward, so I figure, what the hell. Everyone gets off in their own way, right?
    We lay holding each other in the dark, and I’m starting to drift off when she begins talking. She almost whispers, as if she doesn’t want the men upstairs to hear.
    “They were nice to me at first. They always are. But before long they begin to act as if they own you. They want to keep you for themselves. They say it’s to protect you, but really it’s about control. You have something they want, and they’re determined to maintain their access to it, no matter what it takes. You go along with it, tell yourself that this is the way it’s always been, the way it’s supposed to be. But deep down inside you don’t believe it. You dream about leaving, going off on your own, but you’re so afraid. What if they find you and take you back? What if you discover you really don’t want to be free? What if they’re right and you can’t take care of yourself? That you do need protecting?”
    It’s the most she’s ever said in one stretch to me, and she pauses almost as if the effort of speaking so much has wearied her and she needs to rebuild her strength. I feel I should say something to fill the silence, but I can’t think of anything.
    I imagine I can hear breathing above us. Heavy, as if they’re sleeping. Or maybe awake and turned on by their voyeurism.
    She continues.
    “I remember the first time. I was barely a teenager. Still a girl, really. I was taken to a hotel by a man. A nice man, someone I trusted, although I was scared just the same. I had a pretty good idea what was going to happen to me, but I was turned on too. After all, this was my purpose, wasn’t it? What I was made for?
    “Once we were in the room, the others arrived. They took off my clothes and…my memories aren’t very clear after that. I just remember men gathered around the bed, doing things to me.”
    Every muscle in my body tenses, and a cold pit yawns open in my stomach. I try not to imagine the scene Liana has created for me, but it’s impossible. The visuals and sounds my mind conjures to bring to life the scenario Liana has painted are bad enough, but what really hurts, what cuts like a jagged rusty knife sawing through my guts, is the thought of what thirteen-year-old Liana must’ve felt as the men went to work on her. Trapped, dirty, used, helpless, debased, small, worthless save for what pleasure her body could provide to men…
    And defiled her with their whoredom…
    I don’t realize I’m crying until I feel Liana wipe a tear from my cheek.
    I can see well enough in the bedroom’s darkness to know that Liana puts her finger to her mouth to taste my tear. Before I met her, I might’ve found this strange. Now I find it touching.
    “I can’t cry right now,” she says.
    “That’s okay. I’ll cry for both of us.”
    She rolls over on top of me and begins licking my tears, like a cat lapping spilled milk. My penis swells and soon we’re making love again. This time I forget all about the men upstairs, and it’s the best yet. And when I come and I feel her vagina clench around my cock in a strange way, if I feel something round, slick, and fleshy bump against the head of my penis, I don’t worry about it.
    * * *
    I’m drowsing in the afterglow when I hear Liana’s soft voice close to my ear.
    “You’re not like them, Richard. I’m more to you than just something to look at, something to touch. For the first time in my life, I feel like someone really sees me.”
    She snuggles closer, and I want to reply, but I’m so sleepy…
    * * *
    My eyes fly open and I’m instantly awake, heart pounding in my ears. The clock on the nightstand says it’s 3:14. Liana’s sound asleep beside me, curled up on her side, naked