His Dirty Massage Secret - Chapter 3: Chapter 3
You are reading His Dirty Massage Secret, Chapter 3: Chapter 3. Read more chapters of His Dirty Massage Secret.
My stomach twisted into knots, a cold wave of despair crashing over me.
I hammered on the door until my fists ached, screaming until my voice cracked. "Help! Someone, please!"
Vincent had taken Damian to the hospital. My only hope was that my coworkers would hear me and call the cops.
But no one came. The hallway outside was dead silent—no footsteps, no voices, nothing.
This room was nothing more than a flimsy partition, not even a window to let in light. If that door stayed locked, I was trapped.
A deep, gnawing dread settled into my bones.
When the door finally creaked open that evening, a middle-aged woman stormed in, her face caked with makeup, and slammed the door behind her.
She was livid. Without a word, she struck me—once, twice, three times—each slap landing harder than the last.
"You little bitch!" she hissed. "You're the one who kicked my husband, aren't you? And these scratches on his face—that was you too!"
I pressed a hand to my burning cheek. "He tried to rape me. He hurt my baby."
Gwendolyn's fingers dug into my arm like claws. "You should be grateful he even looked your way. Ungrateful trash."
I stared at her, baffled. "Aren't you mad he cheated on you?"
She curled her lip. "You white trash are just toys to him. Why would I care about worthless playthings?"
Her cold indifference sent a chill down my spine. But right now, she was my only shot at getting out of here.
I forced my voice to soften. "Please, ma'am. Just let me go. My baby needs me."
She let out a sharp, mocking laugh. "Why would I free someone who hurt my husband? That brat's your problem, not mine."
Panic clawed at my throat. "He betrayed you. What if he leaves you for someone else?"
Her eyes bulged. "You dare curse me? Vicious little snake!"
She yanked my hair so hard my scalp screamed, her nails raking down my face like knives. Fire erupted across my skin, and I cried out.
The pain only worsened as she twisted my hair, agony searing through my skull.
"Poor little white trash can't handle pain?" she sneered. "My husband suffered worse because of you! Over what? Some pathetic resistance? You have no conscience!"
I choked out, "He tried to rape me. You're a woman—how is that nothing to you?"
Gwendolyn looked at me like I was something she'd scraped off her shoe.
"Please. You were begging for it. Don't compare your trashy self to me."
Her nails dug deeper, drawing blood. When I grabbed her wrist, she shrieked.
"Don't touch me!" she spat. "You'd never speak to someone like me without my husband's mercy, you bottom-feeding scum."
Her disgust was thick in the air—like I wasn't even human.
I worked hard. I earned my keep honestly. But to people like her, poverty made me less than dirt.
So I bit down on her arm—hard.
Her scream tore through the room as she clawed at my face. "Let go! Unless you've forgotten about your bastard child!"
I released her instantly. My baby was still their hostage. I couldn't risk it.
She cradled her arm, her face twisted with rage. "You dare fight back? That bite? Your brat will feel it tenfold."
Terror flooded me. "Please—punish me instead. Don't hurt my baby."
Gwendolyn gripped my chin, her laugh dripping with cruel amusement. "Too late for regrets. After I discipline your little bastard, I'll show you the video. You'll watch her pay for your defiance."
As she turned to leave, I grabbed her from behind. "Beat me all you want. Just spare her."
She pried at my fingers, triumphant. "Pathetic. We could've done this the easy way."
Pain shot through my hands as she bent them backward, threatening to snap them.
But I couldn't let go.
Then I remembered the hair ribbon.
I hammered on the door until my fists ached, screaming until my voice cracked. "Help! Someone, please!"
Vincent had taken Damian to the hospital. My only hope was that my coworkers would hear me and call the cops.
But no one came. The hallway outside was dead silent—no footsteps, no voices, nothing.
This room was nothing more than a flimsy partition, not even a window to let in light. If that door stayed locked, I was trapped.
A deep, gnawing dread settled into my bones.
When the door finally creaked open that evening, a middle-aged woman stormed in, her face caked with makeup, and slammed the door behind her.
She was livid. Without a word, she struck me—once, twice, three times—each slap landing harder than the last.
"You little bitch!" she hissed. "You're the one who kicked my husband, aren't you? And these scratches on his face—that was you too!"
I pressed a hand to my burning cheek. "He tried to rape me. He hurt my baby."
Gwendolyn's fingers dug into my arm like claws. "You should be grateful he even looked your way. Ungrateful trash."
I stared at her, baffled. "Aren't you mad he cheated on you?"
She curled her lip. "You white trash are just toys to him. Why would I care about worthless playthings?"
Her cold indifference sent a chill down my spine. But right now, she was my only shot at getting out of here.
I forced my voice to soften. "Please, ma'am. Just let me go. My baby needs me."
She let out a sharp, mocking laugh. "Why would I free someone who hurt my husband? That brat's your problem, not mine."
Panic clawed at my throat. "He betrayed you. What if he leaves you for someone else?"
Her eyes bulged. "You dare curse me? Vicious little snake!"
She yanked my hair so hard my scalp screamed, her nails raking down my face like knives. Fire erupted across my skin, and I cried out.
The pain only worsened as she twisted my hair, agony searing through my skull.
"Poor little white trash can't handle pain?" she sneered. "My husband suffered worse because of you! Over what? Some pathetic resistance? You have no conscience!"
I choked out, "He tried to rape me. You're a woman—how is that nothing to you?"
Gwendolyn looked at me like I was something she'd scraped off her shoe.
"Please. You were begging for it. Don't compare your trashy self to me."
Her nails dug deeper, drawing blood. When I grabbed her wrist, she shrieked.
"Don't touch me!" she spat. "You'd never speak to someone like me without my husband's mercy, you bottom-feeding scum."
Her disgust was thick in the air—like I wasn't even human.
I worked hard. I earned my keep honestly. But to people like her, poverty made me less than dirt.
So I bit down on her arm—hard.
Her scream tore through the room as she clawed at my face. "Let go! Unless you've forgotten about your bastard child!"
I released her instantly. My baby was still their hostage. I couldn't risk it.
She cradled her arm, her face twisted with rage. "You dare fight back? That bite? Your brat will feel it tenfold."
Terror flooded me. "Please—punish me instead. Don't hurt my baby."
Gwendolyn gripped my chin, her laugh dripping with cruel amusement. "Too late for regrets. After I discipline your little bastard, I'll show you the video. You'll watch her pay for your defiance."
As she turned to leave, I grabbed her from behind. "Beat me all you want. Just spare her."
She pried at my fingers, triumphant. "Pathetic. We could've done this the easy way."
Pain shot through my hands as she bent them backward, threatening to snap them.
But I couldn't let go.
Then I remembered the hair ribbon.
End of His Dirty Massage Secret Chapter 3. Continue reading Chapter 4 or return to His Dirty Massage Secret book page.