The General part 9

By the end of the day, I’m eager to get to my tent and clean up. I usually don’t like showering with cold water, but the bucket I have home is very much welcomed by my sex. I’m so tender between my legs that my clit pulses in response to my scrubbing as if it fears The General will take me again.

I use the thin bar of soap on my thighs to clean away the liquids there. Even after I’m washed and dried, it still feels like The General is on me. His nose at my neck, his strong fingers at my hip, his cock in my reluctant cunt.

I feel dirty and crave a second bath. I can’t have another one, though, because I ran out of soap and won’t get another bar for two more weeks.

I have to sit in my imaginary filth and lively humiliation. I know I shouldn’t feel disgusted with myself because I’m a survivor, but I do. I lie on my side with my arms tight around myself in punishment instead of support. I want the rest of my body to hurt.

That night, I don’t sleep. Instead, I stare at the crack in front of my tent. Dark figures pass by as camp members roam. I wonder what I would be doing if I were on Earth right now. Drinking with friends? Hanging out with a boyfriend? Sitting on my couch and wondering if aliens exist?

I’ll never find out. I’ll die on this planet from exhaustion and depression long before I reach thirty years of age.

Exhausted and sore the next morning, I change out of my ripped nightgown and run my rounds. My limp is gone, but I felt an uncomfortable burn when I took a quick break to pee.

Camp is busy today. The Entertainers look prettier, wearing white, silky dresses that cover one shoulder and fall mid thigh. As usual, the dress is adorned with beads that hang from the skirt, and gold chains at the waist.

The girls rush around the center as if awaiting a meeting. I see less Masters than usual today, including Malik and The General.

I don’t think there’s anything special happening today, but I check in with The Headmistress, anyway. She’s reprimanding an Entertainer when I approach, and I cringe when she directs her anger at me.

“Joan, you must change out of that dress. The lessons are about to start.”

“Forgive me, but I’m not sure what’s happening today.”

She sighs, as if I’m a constant headache. It’s not my fault that I don’t keep track of these meetings, though. I’m not an Entertainer, but The Headmistress pulls me into their business because I’m female.

“There is a ceremony six days from now. All females must perform, so practice starts today. You cannot dance in that dress. Go change into something shorter.”

Dancing? Oh, fuck. I can barely lift my knees to walk today. I’m still hurting and tired from yesterday’s waltz with The General.

“But…”

“But?!” she shrieks. Her huge blonde bun, which is usually stiff atop her head, shakes along with her huge breasts that peek out of her dress.

“I miss spoke. Sorry.”

“Good. Go.” She wipes her hand on her large hips as if cleaning herself from our interaction.

I drag my feet on my way to my tent. There, I find a short dress that ends mid-length. It’s falling apart so badly that it could be confused for a rug. Actually, my hairy legs could be confused for a rug, too. I’m so insecure about my neglected skin that I avoid short dresses for this reason, but what choice do I have now?

I shrug the dress on and stare at it. There are no pretty beads or chains for me.

With my sandals back on my feet, I return outside. The Entertainers are already in formation, so I stand in the last row like I usually do.

Maybe this won’t be too bad. I get to be excused from my duties for a few minutes, and some exercise might help my body get back in shape.

The Headmistress shares some words, and then steps away for a beautiful Entertainer to instruct moves.

My hopes of this training being good for my body go up in flames along with my muscles. Everything is hurting me, especially since this dance demands constant leg lifting. Every time I lift, it feels like I’m being torn all over again.

With a wipe to my sweaty forehead, I think about sneaking away. If I’m caught, I can make up a bullshit lie. I’ve been good at that lately.

I execute another sloppy twirl along with the graceful Entertainers, and stumble back.

A sturdy, warm chest connects with me. A male’s chest I know too well.

“What is wrong?” The General asks. His hands are set on my biceps to stabilize me.

I’ve met his gaze a few times now, but it still feels like I’ve been caught committing every crime in the book when I stare.

“Huh?”

My head is overheating because there are too many eyes on us. I thought sleeping with him would keep him on the other side of camp, far away from my boring self. Why is he here, then? Why is he holding me, interacting with me?

“You seem weak.”

Desperate to get out the spotlight this man always puts me in, I tell him, “I didn’t get to eat. I’m not feeling well.”

Neither of those are lies.

“Come.”

Huh?!

He takes my elbow and leads me away. No one gets in his way, not even me.

The knots in my stomach worsen when I suspect he came to me because he wants more sex. He’ll handicap me if he enters me again. I can’t do this a second time.

“The food in my tent should still be warm.”

“What?” I reply.

He spoke to me, met my eyes, took my arm, and now he wants to eat his food in his tent?

“I can wait for later. Truly, I can eat once I’m done working.”

“No.”

No. That’s the end of that. I’ve been shut down for the millionth time.

The General takes me to his tent. I don’t let my eyes roam out of respect, but I can tell it’s clean and steamy with plates and bowls of food.

“Eat. Then, lift your skirt. I will take you again if you will have me.”

No, no, no. I won’t have him again. This can’t happen again.

The problem is that I have no idea how to go about rejecting him. No backbone, no breath in my lungs.

What is it about me that keeps him coming back? I don’t get it. He has a whole camp to fuck, but chooses me. It’s not right.

a/n: how is she going to get out of this?

General POV coming soon