“I’m so sorry,” she said again. “I’ll get help for you. I promise!”
Chloe unclipped the chain from her collar and shoved Three to the ground. The girl landed hard on the wood floor, but Chloe had no time to make sure she was all right. She slipped through the door and barreled toward freedom.
Chapter 6
September 27, 2011
9/20/11
Ms. Dia Belaire
2717 Straeleni Street
New Orleans, LA, 70130
…His name is Daniel, and he’s everything I ever wanted. Demetrius, I wish you would take some time off and come meet him before the wedding. Even you would love him. I just know it. He’s the sweetest, most gentle man I’ve ever met. And he’s biracial, so you know Mama Dede would have approved. Speaking of Mama, I have something to ask you. You and she were the only real family I ever had. You took care of me and protected me when I had nobody else. It’s been years since you’ve come to visit. I love our letters, but I miss you so much. Please come home. Come, and give me away at my wedding. Please say you will...
Demetrius would never say so aloud, but he vastly preferred oral sex with the twins to penetration. He sat with his back against the headboard of his master bed, his legs lost in a tangle of limbs and black satin sheets. The twins’ heads blanketed his lap, their firm lips gliding in unison up and down the length of him. He sucked in a breath through his teeth, watching the twins work. Faith and Charity moved with perfect coordination, as if choreographed, their noses and lips touching, trapping him between their mouths. They took turns glancing up at Demetrius’ face, an old habit of theirs. They knew they would find no expression in his eyes, but he knew they didn’t care. Faith and Charity were creatures of their own pleasure, selfish lovers. But so was he. Faith took just the tip of him between her lips and swirled her tongue around that so-sensitive ridge before sliding him into her mouth. Demetrius resisted the urge to thrust against the back of her throat, closed his eyes, and focused on the various sensations of sex. He shivered when Charity licked the smooth white seam of his scrotum and his back arched when Faith’s teeth grazed the tip of him, but he did not revel in the flash of teeth or the sway of their pigtails as they did their task. He sighed and wrapped his fingers around the back of Faith’s neck, forcing her to take him down her throat. He was large, but Faith bore him with little difficulty. The twins did not talk about their past, but Demetrius suspected that they had been on the streets of California long, long before he had rescued them from an abusive pimp. They had the expert touch of seasoned prostitutes, but even their skill, even the sensation of Faith’s throat enveloping him, gave him no spark of satisfaction. He surrendered, letting his hands fall into the sheets, and waited for release to take him.
How awful goodness is.
“I still can’t believe you wear that mask even during sex. Really, D, it’s ridiculous.”
Demetrius opened his eyes. The gigantic flat screen on the opposite wall of the bed was on, and the face of a woman loomed large, her lips curled into a smirk. She was nude, and her loose blonde curls doing little to conceal her large breasts. She sat supine on the edge of the bed, white sheets tousled, obviously posing. A muscular young man with light brown hair lay before her, his head resting in her lap. His blue-grey eyes were wide as he took in the sight of Demetrius and the twins.
“Abigail,” said Demetrius, pulling the twins away from their task. He slid past them to sit at the edge of the bed. “This must be urgent for you to override the channel lock.”
Abigail smiled, her dark blue eyes taking in Demetrius’ erection, “I didn’t have to override anything. The channel was open. It looks like one of your twins is an exhibitionist.”
Demetrius felt the twins tense behind him. He knew one of them had opened the channel in anticipation of his meeting with Abigail, but they also knew that he did not like being interrupted during sex. He would deal with their error later.
“I could call back later,” said Abigail coolly, her voice husky and low and theatrical, “when you’ve had a chance to…relieve your tension. Not that I mind the view. I always love watching you work.”
Demetrius clenched his jaw and cut his eyes to the slave in Abigail’s lap. “So does your new favourite, apparently.”
The young man’s eyes widened. He lowered his gaze as he should have since the beginning, but the error had been made.
“I’d hate to think you’ve gone so soft, Abigail,” said Demetrius. “Spoiling your favourite to the point where he looks a Master in the eye? No, no, no, we can’t have that now, can we?”
Abigail’s face was all pleasant sweetness, but her smile sharpened around the edges as she ran her fingers through the young man’s hair. He tensed. He knew the danger he was in.
“Ash knows his manners,” she said. Her nails grazed his scalp, probably a little too sharply, and her slave gasped. “I’ll set him straight. But you are quite the spectacle right now, D, naked with your mask on.”
She was emphasizing the mask today, Demetrius noted. She had probably hoped to catch him without it. In the years he worked with Abigail, she had learned not to pry into his past, but often the mask proved too strong a curiosity for her.
“While you’re interrupting, why don’t you tell me why you called earlier?” Demetrius leaned back. A dull ache crept low in his groin. He had grown accustomed to delaying release, and though it would have to be satiated, he was able to ignore the discomfort with ease.
Abigail sighed, tilting her head back to expose her neck, her hair falling on either side of her breasts. Her nipples betrayed her portrait of perfect ease, hardened to a dark rose pink. Demetrius noticed this and nearly gave a sigh of his own. There was something making her anxious. He braced himself for bad news.
“Well,” she began, “Konri just received another application for purchase from a former client. We spoke about it, and we both think it would be best for business if we allow him to bid this year.”
Her nipples were even harder now, and her foot, crossed so demurely over her ankle, began to bounce. Demetrius rolled his eyes. Only one person would make her so nervous to discuss with him.
“No.”
Abigail frowned. She sat up straight. “I haven’t even given you the name. How can you say-”
“Dr. Ghede has been banned from my client list for the past two years,” Demetrius snarled. He shoved the twins away from his thighs, their proximity now irritating. “You and Konri shouldn’t even have bothered speaking with him.”
Abigail pushed her full lips into a pout, “He’s a very high bidder, D. The last slave we sold him was mid stock at best and he paid more than twice her worth.”
Demetrius worked his jaw. He was not in the mood for Abigail’s histrionics today. He just wanted to satisfy the ache in his loins and get back to training. He lowered his chin and looked up at Abigail, smirking when she tensed under the threatening gaze. Abigail was a very skilled Mistress, despite her rather amateur habit of keeping favourites, but her flair for the dramatic was a weakness. She enjoyed holding meetings scantily clad or completely nude, often surrounded by her slaves of the season, to entrance and distract those with whom she did business. She did not realize that her little goddess act didn’t translate from head to toe.
“I don’t spend six months training slaves so they can be starved and strangled two weeks after auction,” he said. “We won’t have this conversation again, Abigail. We don’t do business with that necrophiliac.”
Abigail sighed, tossing her shoulders. “I don’t see why you care what happens after they’re purchased, but you’re the boss, D.”
Her face and voice suggested apathy, but her nipples remained stubbornly hard, her chest flushed with red, revealing her anger. He would keep a careful eye on the client list this season for any names affiliated with Dr. Ghede. Abigail would not directly disobey him, but she was not above underhandedness, especially when it came to money.
Abigail’s cell rang from somewhere in
the bed sheets. Ash scrambled to retrieve it and handed it to his Mistress.
“That’s the warehouse,” she said, shutting off the ringer. “They need me. We’re suspension training this week.”
She snapped her fingers and Ash scrambled off the bed, disappearing off camera for a moment. He returned with a stack of clothes. Abigail held out her arms and allowed her slave to slip a lace bra over her bare breasts. Ash was certainly spoiled and his etiquette was nowhere near what it should be at this point in the season, but he did seem attentive and eager to please. Demetrius never understood how Abigail made slaves fawn over her so. Over the years of working together, her every carefully constructed mannerism grated on him.
“I’d like to stay in the upstairs suite when auction time rolls around,” said Abigail as Ash buttoned her cardigan.
Demetrius nodded. He had originally planned to wait a while to tell his partners about Chloe, after she had been broken, but something about Abigail’s smugness made him want to rattle her. Chloe would break easily, he could sense that already, so there was really no point in waiting. A weak justification, but he indulged.
“The suite is currently occupied for isolation,” he said, “but the slave should be fully broken by December.”
He watched Abigail process his words. She waved Ash away from her.
“You have a new slave?” she asked, “In September?”
“Yes,” said Demetrius, keeping his reply short. Abigail was his partner, but like the twins, he needed to remind her that he was in charge. He didn’t owe her explanations. Abigail was often under a different impression, as she seemed to be today. She and Konri had spoken about Dr. Ghede amongst themselves. They had not approached him about it until they had planned some course of action, figured out a “best way” to win him over. The attempt at manipulation was a warning sign that Abigail had grown too haughty. This new information rattled her, as he had hoped. He watched her think, probably calculating the best way to proceed with him.
“Did you lose a slave this season?” she finally asked the same perceived safe question that the twins had asked earlier. “I know you’ve been having trouble with one of them, but I didn’t think you’d eliminate such good stock.”
“Seventeen is alive and improving,” he said. “Elimination won’t be necessary.”
Abigail folded her arms, “Well would you care to clue me in on your plans for this new addition, boss?”
Demetrius smiled behind his mask. She was snide, but she had acknowledged his status.
“I’m revisiting the idea of a Model Slave,” he said. “We’ll have a meeting about it when I have time.”
He motioned to Faith, who handed him the remote for the screen as Abigail protested.
“Wait, wait,” she said, holding up a hand as if to prevent him from shutting off the screen. “A Model Slave? I thought of that years ago. You said it was pointless.”
Demetrius lifted the remote. “We’ll discuss it later.”
A frantic knock at the door stopped him from turning off the screen. Faith and Charity slid off the bed to open the door, but Three scurried into the room without permission or protocol.
“Master-!” she cried out in her soft, high voice.
“Slave,” Charity snapped. “On your knees. How dare you come in without-“
“Shut up, Charity.” Demetrius rose from the bed and reached for his clothes. Three was not only perfectly trained, but timid and fearful. There was only one reason for her to break protocol.
Demetrius raised the remote and switched off the screen, ignoring Abigail’s curious face. He turned to the twins.
“Sound the alarm,” he said. “We have an escape.”
Chapter 7
September 27, 2011
Chloe only heard the sound of her own breath and her pulse pounding in her ears, though she was sure she was making noise as she sprinted down the metal spiral staircase just outside of the door to her prison. She had to keep calm enough to find a way out of this place. Her best bet was to get outside and flag down a car on the road. She tried to breathe deeply, reciting her plan in her mind.
The staircase emptied into what appeared to be a study with a desk and mountainous bookshelves, all haphazardly stocked with countless books and scattered with loose papers. Marble busts decorated the blank spaces between the shelves. She scrambled across the room toward two large doors, her bare feet sliding on the smooth hardwood floors. She didn’t know which door led to an exit, but she had to get out before Three recovered and after her. She grabbed a door handle, but a muffled sneer from the other side stopped her from opening it.
“Spoiling your favourite to the point where he looks a Master in the eye? No, no, no, we can’t have that now, can we?”
Chloe ripped her hand from the door, her skin prickling with dread. Demetrius’ voice was as startling as it was the first night she’d heard it. A mere pane of wood separated her from her captor. She pressed her ear against the other door. Hearing nothing, she slipped through and shut the door as quietly as she possibly could.
Chloe spotted white French doors that led outside and broke into a run. Outside! She hadn’t seen the sky in days. Her feet pounded against white marble, and there were marble pillars on either side of her. The suite and the study had given her the impression that she was in a home, but this room was wide open with high ceilings and almost reminded Chloe of a chapel. She ran past a massive dining room table and stumbled onto a large raised platform that looked like some sort of stage. Chloe nearly paused. What was this place? But it didn’t matter. She would never see this room again. Get outside, stop a car, get help. That was all that mattered. She made it to the French doors. They opened up to a wide yard bordered by trees. A stone building, too large to be a shed, stood between the yard and the woods. In Chloe’s panic she almost didn’t notice the doors to the building opening and a crowd of people coming through. The crowd was a blend of women, all nude, collared, and beautiful, and men at their sides, most of them young, all dressed in black jeans and plain black shirts. The women filed into a line, directed by occasional smacks from long black crops in the men’s hands. The crowd headed toward the French doors. Toward Chloe.
Chloe’s stomach dropped. She looked for somewhere to run. There were a few doors on either side of the marble room, but she didn’t know what could be behind them. She had to stay as close to the outside doors as possible. They were her only chance. Chloe slid behind the nearest pillar. It was large enough for her to hide behind, but if Three came out of the study, she would be able to see her. She could think of nothing else to do. Were there more men with crops behind the closed doors? More naked women bound and caged in bedrooms? The thought made her nauseas. How many women had been ripped from their homes and terrorized by the masked man who had taken her? What sort of hell was she in?
The French doors opened and the sound of footsteps and male voices flooded the room. Chloe pressed her back flat against the cool marble pillar, afraid to breathe. If she was caught…no. She couldn’t even think about that. Get outside. Find a road. Flag down a car.
Two chatting voices moved too close to her. Chloe made herself as small as possible, her arms flat at her sides, fists clenched tight.
“Looks like we just missed the rain.”
“Shit, it’s raining? I just tied Seventeen out there.”
“You’d better get her before she gets struck by lightning.”
“In a minute. I gotta take a piss.”
“Vaya con Dios, bro.”
Footsteps too close to her. Chloe didn’t have time to move before a tall, large man walked past her pillar, so close she could see his tan face in profile. If he turned his head even slightly, it was over. Chloe braced herself, every muscle in her body ready to run. The young man barreled ahead without a passing glance and slipped through the door closest to her.
Chloe didn’t dare move until the groups’ footsteps faded. She glanced around the pillar. They were partway down a corridor on the
other side of the room. She wanted to wait until they disappeared, but Three could come down the stairs at any moment, and the man who had passed her could return from the bathroom.
Demetrius was only a couple of rooms away.
Chloe pushed off from the pillar and went through the French doors as quickly as she could, too frightened to look at the descending group. She heard no outcry, no one running toward her.
She was outside. The cold autumn air struck her so fiercely that she could not move for a moment. Thunder rolled across a sky swollen with rainclouds. She heard the rain collide with the forest trees like a thousand staccato drum beats just before it hit her, stinging her exposed back. She wrapped her arms around herself and eyed her surroundings. There was no driveway that she could see, no road. She couldn’t tell if the trees were a shallow patch or a forest, whether it led to a road or some vast wilderness. She weighed her options. She could run around the perimeter of the house and search for a driveway, but that would risk discovery. Should she brave the woods? She scanned the line of the large yard for a path of some sort. She caught sight of a patch of large wooden X-shaped crosses, Saint Andrew’s crosses, as she knew from childhood Sunday school, rooted to the ground beside the stone building before the trees. She froze. There was a woman bound to one of the crosses, her head down, long black hair soaked with cold rain.
“Oh, my God,” Chloe whispered. She broke into a run toward the cross. She had to get out, but she had already left Three behind in her attempt to escape, left the group of women she saw in the hands of men with crops. This woman was bound, helpless in the rain. How could Chloe simply run past her and leave her there?
Slick grass tickled Chloe’s feet. Rain pelted her face, her breasts. She kept her eyes on the woman. No, she couldn’t leave her. She had to at least try to help.
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