Chapter Fourteen: A Meeting With The Bishop

When Angel woke, Emily was already gone. Riggz, a friend and fellow pimp of Rich, had already come and removed her.

She turned on the coffee pot, and had finished switching out the laundry when Rich came downstairs.

Angel glanced up at Rich as he leaned against the wall, watching her. When she finished folding the last bit of clean laundry, she turned back to him.

He was shirtless, wearing only a pair of loose black jeans. Angel looked over his body. He was very muscular, a visible report of his years of daily workouts. The bruises that covered him from last night’s battle almost blended in with the deep shadows that his muscles cast over his skin.

Gently, Angel reached out and ran her fingertips against a deep purple bruise. Rich winced, grabbing her wrist, and pulling her hand away from his body.

Angel tensed, glancing up at his face quickly, but she saw no anger there. She pulled her hand away. “You should see a doctor.”

Rich shook his head, turning from her to pour himself a cup of coffee.

She watched the back of his blond head as he disagreed with her.

“You may have broken ribs.”

been broken before.”

“I don’t like the look of that />
“It doesn’t like the look of you.”

Angel narrowed her eyes. If she hadn’t of intervened last night, he wouldn’t be arguing with her now. He would be lying on his back in a hospital bed, with nurses swarming around him. But maybe he was sour that she had intervened. Men never liked it when a woman fought their battles. “Remember your gun next time and I won’t have to bring it to you,” she replied bitterly.

Rich’s head snapped to her direction, a bit of anger showed in his face.

Angel ignored him. Instead she walked out of the kitchen to collect dirty plates from the living room. Rich’s anger didn’t intimidate her. He could beat her, rape her, sell her, curse at her, kick her out of the house, but he could never intimidate her. Angel had survived a lifetime of hell; one that would continue into her future. She had come to accept her hell, as it was her fate. Someone had to live this life, go through this hell. Why else would it even exist? Angel was the one who was strong enough to live it, and so the life was her’s.

Angel was once asked if she believed in God. It wasn’t a topic Angel thought about often. “The world is full of demons. Each one of us has our own; is our own. We are hunted by demons by day, and haunted by them at night. The world is cold, unforgiving and uncaring. No one cares if you live tomorrow. No one is happy for you. People are cruel. They’re more interested in watching you suffer than watching you grow. They cheer for carnage. There are only two ways to survive in this world; to give them the carnage and be destructably famous, or keep your head down. As a child, you think life will be easy and simple, and that’s what you’re told. So that’s what you believe. But people lie. Life isn’t like that. Life is that awkward stage between birth and death, where we all are either out for our own pleasure, or a pawn of someone else’s. What God would make a world this dark? There is no beauty here. There is no light or hope. People don’t have faith in this world; they have ego. Every man is a god in his own eyes. We make decisions every day. Our decisions can be the destruction of others, and we make those decisions. We play a god role just by waking up. We don’t decide our own fate, we decide each other’s. A higher being? What can a higher being do, that we as people can’t? No one is going to be saved from ourselves. We’re stuck in this middle ground, waiting for death. No. I don’t believe in God, or heaven, or salvation. I believe in humans and demons, and that they are one in the same.”
So why would she be afraid of Rich? Life was an out of control, spinning whirl of destruction. It was a tornado that could move any way it wanted. There was no stopping fate. If her fate was to be hurt or killed by Rich’s hands, then she would welcome it, because it would mean she would reach the final goal of life: to die.

Silently, Angel gathered up a few plates and glasses from the end tables in the living room. It was common for Rich’s girls to crash at the house on their days off or between long nights of endless clients. Rich always left money and coupons on top of the refrigerator for the girls to order pizza. Despite the life being as bad as it was, Rich’s girls were blessed to be under Rich’s care. He took care of them. He was one of the few pimps who understood that yes, some girls must be broken before they can be built, that punishments must not be taken lightly, and that showing genuine care for a girl resulted in a quicker loyalty from her than beating her into submission.

Angel brought the dishes back to the kitchen and placed them in the sink. When the dishwasher was done, she would put them in to be cleaned.

Rich watched her. His anger had subsided, as he realized he was grateful that Angel was there, and that he would have been in much worse condition if she wasn’t there. He sipped his coffee, watching her stack dishes in the sink. “Is the paper here yet, babe?”

Angel silently retreated to the front door to check.

When she laid the paper on the table in front of him, he grabbed her wrist and pulled her into his lap as he sat at the table. He kissed her neck, murring into the crevice there, his arms wrapped around her waist, holding her in place. He was hungry, and not for any typical breakfast.

It was then that two women stumbled through the front door, giggling and staggering about.

Both Rich and Angel looked up.

They were two prostitutes, yes, but not Rich’s. And they were clearly drunk. Rich must have recognized them, as he didn’t get up and make a scene about two strange women barging into his home.

The two women snickered at Angel and Rich, as if they had caught two lusty teens in the act. “Aw, is the little prossie getting frisky with daddy? Suckle up so he’ll let you slip the street?” one of the women asked, insinuating that Angel was brown-nosing her way out of working on the street by offering sex to Rich.

Angel took the opportunity to quickly slip free from Rich’s grasp and off his lap. She quickly went back to the dishes.

Rich glanced at Angel, but thought it wiser to leave her alone, and instead put the two women in their place. He stood abruptly, and in three strides, towered over the two women. He grabbed the mouthy one, a thin woman in fishnets, purple leotard, and black strappy heels, by her throat. Her dirty blond hair was wild and curly, and her smeared makeup made her look more like a crack-addicted clown.

“Give me one good reason why I should let you go back to your pimp?”

The woman looked terrified, the complete opposite of what she was only moments before. She stared Rich in the eyes, her own as large a saucers, and filled with sheer terror at the thought of what Rich might do to her. “Oy, Bishop sent us to collect the money you owe him! He’ll know if we don’t come back!”

So they were with Bishop. Bishop Bordeaux was one of the more well known pimps in town. Angel had never met or seen him, but she had heard of him. Everyone in the life had. He was one of the few pimps that the cops could never bust. He had many other pimps working under him, and drug dealers as well.

Rich gave her a shove, sending her stumbling back. talk to my girl, Trixie.”

So Rich did know them.

“I don’t own Bishop />
“Well Bish says you do!”

Rich had walked past the two women, towards the living room, but quickly snapped his head back at Trixie. “Why would he send you? You aren’t even one of his bottom girls. You’re just a crack whore he turns out for kicks. Bet he doesn’t even break even from you. Filthy habits, filthy girl.” His eyes were menacing as he enjoyed making her nervous.

Trixie shifted, clearly uncomfortable. The woman with her looked just as uneasy.

Angel turned her back to the three of them as she finished switching out the dishes in the dishwasher. When the dishes were finished, she returned back to the laundry room to grab the basket of clean clothes and take them upstairs.

The house had three bedrooms, one of which was Rich’s office, another his bedroom. The third was a spare room that many of the girls used when they crashed there. In it was two dressers and a closet, all packed full of lingerie, shoes, flashy stage outfits, and other provocative clothing. Most of Rich’s girls who crashed here regularly were pretty good about sharing, so their clothes and makeup belonged to all of them. There were also two mattresses shoved next to each other on the floor, in the corner of the room. You could fit four girls on them if need be. The window in that room didn’t open more than a crack, and it was so dirty that it made seeing in or out almost impossible. Only light seemed to seep through it.

Angel quickly put clothes away in that room before going to Rich’s room and hanging his shirts in his closet.

When she got back downstairs, she heard moaning from the living room. She glanced around the corner, catching sight of Rich standing over Trixie, his hand pressed firmly on the back of her head as she squirmed, no doubt trying to break free from his groin to catch her breath. Angel wasn’t sure how long she stood there watching them, but when she glanced at Rich, he was staring at her. His hand clenched into a fist in Trixie’s hair as he thrust himself quite forcefully into her mouth, his gaze never leaving Angel.

Almost embarrassed, Angel quickly turned away and went back to the laundry room to return the now empty basket. But before they were out of earshot, Angel heard Rich growl and a warning smack, probably upside Trixie’s head, and him sternly warn “quit with the teeth.”

+-+-+

Angel had just applied the last bit of her make-up when Rich leaned against the door frame of the bathroom, his forearm pressed against the cheap wooden frame above his head.

Angel gave him a glance as she checked herself in the mirror. “You wanna tell me what that was about?”

Rich’s eyes narrowed at her as she dabbed at her lipstick. What business was it of her’s? It was his business. He was the pimp, the enforcer, the master. Not her. She wasn’t even a partner.

“Was is about the other night?”

Rich still didn’t answer her. His silence told her all she needed to know.

get on Bishop’s bad side. We both know what he does to people who don’t />
“I didn’t take anything from the truck. I don’t owe him />
“Looks aren’t always free.”

“I have no product, I owe no />
“What was in the truck?”

He didn’t respond.

“What was in the truck, Rich?” she asked a bit more demandingly, now turning to look him square in the eyes, which he avoided. />
he finally caved to her prodding.

Angel gave him an annoyed look. If it was just girls, Rich would have taken more time to look them over. He hadn’t. He had instantly said no.

“Young girls.”

“How young?”

“Too young.”

/>
He nodded “some probably only ten years old.”

+-+-+

Bishop’s men were waiting at the club when Rich and Angel got there. Rich draped his arm across Angel’s shoulders as they entered, clearly marking his territory. Bishop’s men didn’t try to talk to either of them. Nor did they approach them. They simply followed the two around.
Angel recognized the man from the other night, a nice bruise now spreading across the left side of his jaw. She remembered how he had so rudely man-handled her at that very club, how he had baited Rich right there in public, how he broke every code of conduct in the life, and how she decked him good that same night. When their eyes locked, she blew him a kiss, baiting him to try his luck again.

Rich’s arm tensed and tightened around Angel’s neck as he watched her. It wasn’t smart for a girl to look a pimp in the eyes. It was disrespectful to her pimp, and could even cause the other pimps to corner her, and make her “choose up,” – choose a new pimp to work for. But Rich knew Angel wasn’t a domestic pet. She was wild, and this action shed light on that fact.

Rich ensured Angel got to the dressing room safely before he went up the stairs to watch from the balcony with the other pimps.
Angel was soon on stage, dancing with her usual lack-of-heart. She watched Rich, or whom she thought was Rich, as he talked with an annoyed and angry looking bald man in the balcony above. The bald man soon stepped aside and Rich stepped past him, into the shadows and out of Angel’s view.

Losing sight of him, Angel turned her attention to the crowd. It was filled with the usual genre of men, many of them drinking. Angel glanced at a man holding a twenty dollar bill out at her. As she reached for it, the man snatched it away with a smirk.

Angel tried not to roll her eyes as she got down on her hands and knees, her moves vulgar and provocative. She shook her ass at the man, and he quickly slipped the twenty into her booty shorts, his fingers gracing against her flesh. She spun quickly on her knees, catching his wrist. Quickly she remembered Rich’s constant reminder about not upsetting clients. She placed her mouth over his finger, sucking it entirely into her mouth as she glared at him. Slowly she pulled his finger free from her, “careful big boy, or I might bite off any wandering fingers you’ve got.”

The man looked startled, and Angel released his wrist before sliding over to another man who wanted to put his money in her bra.

+-+-+

On her break, Angel found herself sitting at the bar sipping on an ice water. Many men had offered to buy her a drink, but she had turned them down, telling them to save their cash for the show.

One man had sat down at the bar, next to her, and proceeded to stare at her for quite a while.

“Can I help you?”

The man smiled at her, still staring. “What kind of business do you do?”

“I dance,” Angel said bluntly.

“And when you leave here?”

“I dance,” Angel repeated, uninterested in any business offers he happened to have.

The man stood up, moving closer to her. His body almost pressed against Angel as he stood over her, his breath reeking of cheap liquor and stale cigarettes. “I’ve got a K for you, if you accept. No questions asked.”

Angel glanced up at him, “let me see it.”

The man reached in his pocket and pulled out a roll of cash.

Angel glanced at the money roll, and picked it up. It was a roll of twenty dollar bills.

Before the man could object to Angel taking his money, she tossed it back to him “feels light.”

The man leaned closer to her, his foul breath hot on the side of her head. “Seventy five percent now, the rest when you show up.”

“I don’t do blind dates.”

“Like you can afford to pass this up.”

Angel looked the man dead in the eyes. “I don’t go blind.”

The man sighed before smirking at Angel again. a feisty one. The guys will like that.”

/>
The man smirked again “how would you like to be the star of the show? Good ol’ fashion gangbang. I’ve got five guys and />
/>
“Yeah, one of they guys’ boy. People will pay good money to watch him lick ya.”

Angel took another sip from her water before standing abruptly.

“What do you say?”

Angel glared at him. “I’m not into four legs and fur. Find someone else.” She turned and left the man and his money at the bar. She needed some fresh air.

+-+-+

this about me owing you money?”

The milk chocolate skinned man slowly raised his head to look at Rich.

Rich held his ground as the man peered at him. His left eye was white and ghostly from a deal gone bad many years ago. His right held a solid black contact, making it look more like a black hole.

Rich regarded the man’s attire as mockery more than anything. The man wore a purple suit jacket and bellbottoms that made a seventies themed Halloween costume seem classy. The man always wore outlandish clothing that clearly marked him as a pimp. His left hand rested on a black cane that had rubies and diamonds set into the handle. A purple hat sat on his head, shadowing his face.

“You best recognize who you’re speaking to, boy.”

“I don’t owe you anything, Bish,” Rich almost cut him off. “I took no product, I owe no money.”

skin any man who took looks of your girl without asking.”

“You offered them to me.”

“So pay up.”

“I don’t want your girls. I’m not into kids.”

grow.”

“On your terms. Not mine.”

“Fine, you don’t like the girls. I offer you good, innocent, pure meat. And you spit on my offer. Fine. Don’t take the girls.”

Rich glared at the man silently; he knew that disrespecting a well-known pimp like Bishop Bordeaux, could mean trouble. Bishop had run many pimps completely out of business, and he wasn’t afraid to take lives either. His hands were dripping with blood.

“I’ll tell you what,” Bishop smiled, showing his bleach white teeth, “the annual is coming next week. Show up. Bring your girls. Make a purchase, and we’ll call it even.”

“I won’t promise that.”

“I’ll have something of your tastes. You’re hungry, and I know what you crave.”

Rich’s jaw tensed, but he said nothing to the man. Silently he turned to leave Bishop, hearing a “see you next week” called after him.
He slipped back past Bishop’s henchmen, and looked down at the stage. He quickly found Angel, who was quickly leaving the bar, and heading towards the restrooms. A man she seemed to have been conversing with was close behind her. Was she taking a client right now? She needed to be back on stage in a few minutes. Something didn’t feel right. Abruptly, he turned and headed down the stairs.

story by: ObedientAngel

Tags: fiction blowjob consensual sex erotica exhibitionism male/female job/place-of-work bestiality violence reluctance oral sex slavery authoritarian prostitution sex story written by women

Author: ObedientAngel

Related sex stories: