My Master shrugs carelessly. “Her mother died a couple of months after I brought her here,” he says dismissively. “Drunk driving accident. No other relatives. No one is looking for her.”
My heart stills and I cry out inwardly in anguish. The barest whisper of sound escapes my mouth. I know that I must control myself around Dylan. He hears me though and shoots me an impassive look. “Do I need to remind you of what I expect from you, cunt?” he asks me coldly.
I kneel immediately and rest my forehead on the floor. “This unworthy cunt begs forgiveness, Master,” I whisper. My mind is tearing apart with sorrow. My mother, imperfect as she was, was all I had. And now she’s dead. She’s been dead for two years and though he knew the entire time, Dylan never saw fit to tell me.
Once again I repeat my promise to myself. It is the only thing I can do. The only way I can endure. One day, I will hold up a gun to Dylan McAllister’s face. One day, I will kill him. One day, I will have my revenge for every bit of cruelty and pain.
The men are watching this little exchange with fascination. “She’ll do,” they say finally. “How much?”
The haggling begins and I stay prostate on the floor, doing my best to both pay attention to what I need to know and to repress my fear. I shiver slightly at the fate in store for me. I’m about to be sold to a brothel in Lagos. My pain tolerance – learned through many repeated applications of the cane, the whip and the riding crop, is a bonus for which the men are willing to pay extra. Their clients like to beat up their whores. My ability to withstand my beatings will be useful.
I struggle to keep my emotions flat. In my head, I chant the speech that will be the last words Dylan McAllister will hear before I kill him. “Remember me?” I will ask. “My name is not slave. Not girl, not cunt. My name is Ellie Samuelson. And you are not my Master.” Then I will pull the trigger and Dylan McAllister will die at my hands.
The price has been determined. I’m allowed to pack the few clothes I own into a suitcase under the watchful gaze of Sam Green. I’ve already hidden the money Mrs. Olusola has given me, all fifteen thousand nairas, in the hem of my dress. A dangerous chance to take but I have no choice.
***
Today is my twentieth birthday and I’ve been sold to a brothel owner. I am to live out the next few years of my life as a whore until my body is no longer an object of desire.
No.
Today – I will escape or I will die trying.
Chapter 1
Ellie / Jenny:
It was frighteningly easy to buy a human being. There were many options for those who were interested, in parts of the world where the arm of the law wasn’t long and could be easily distracted by a well-placed bribe. If you knew the right people, you would be allowed admittance to a slave auction in some remote destination. There you could sit among other men, smoke your cigars and sip your scotch, while young girls who had been unwillingly torn from their families were paraded in front of you. You would be allowed to look and even touch these girls. Grope a nubile breast, stick your fingers between their untried legs. You could find yourself aroused by the terror in their eyes.
What Madame Lorraine offered was something far rarer and correspondingly much more expensive. The consensual slave auction. The billionaires of the world still came to bid, but this was a more refined gathering. In this crowd, the slave wanted her subjugation. She craved humiliation. She needed to serve.
A three-month contract was the norm for this particular operation, run only twice a year. However, from the dossier that we had accumulated on Madame Lorraine, I knew that she also offered a shorter one-week term for people newer to the lifestyle.
Money didn’t exchange hands in the one-week version. The house charged a token fee for its expenses and the Dominant made a donation to the charity of the submissive’s choice. Those exchanges were farces, meant to attract the men and women who experienced a sexual thrill at the idea of being purchased as a sex slave. They were glorified vacations where a willing man and a willing woman got together for the purposes of having consensual, kinky sex.
The three-month auction was a darker animal. There were checklists and protections built into the system for the safety of both the clients and the slaves. But three months was a long time and anything could happen. Especially when the slave’s list of hard limits was as short as mine.
On the checklist, I’d indicated that I would do anything. I would perform any act of debasement. Take any amount of torture. Obey any order.