As the sun began to rise, the bar was finally empty. The last man zipped up his pants, patting her on the cheek with a slap that echoed in the quiet. "Good girl," he said, his voice thick with satisfaction. "You're going to make us a lot of money."

Candy lay sprawled on the sticky floor, her body a canvas of bruises and semen. She couldn't move, couldn't think, couldn't do anything but breathe. And even that was a struggle, her lungs burning from the cigarette smoke that had filled the room. But she could feel the warmth between her legs, the pulsing need that hadn't abated despite the countless orgasms she had been forced to endure.