She hid the fire blazing in her eyes by keeping them obediently averted. It was only when Guy stood at his full height and yanked on the leash that she broke the rule. Panic filled her chest instead of air as Guy yanked Rosamma to her hands and knees, the collar asphyxiating her airway. Then the pressure was gone, and she was gulping in breath after breath like it would be her last.
With this thing around her throat, and Guy’s unpredictable behavior, maybe it would be. “Rule number four, you with crawl in the presence of your betters.”
“B-but-” Rosamma’s voice disappeared at the same time the air did. Except this time he wasn’t letting go, and the look in his eye said he didn’t want to. Oh God, she would die as a sex slave on a cargo ship waiting to be sold. Sharp, prim, fingernails dug into leather, trying to tear the strangling strip of hide from her throat.
“The more you misbehave, the longer you go without air. Thirty more seconds and it’ll feel like your lungs are about to explode.”
Rules? He would kill her over his stupid rules!? Rosamma tried to scream her fury, only for a wet gasp to slip out. The smug smirk on Guy’s face made her see red, even as gray spiderwebs encroached on her vision. Her eyes pinched shut, and the noose around her throat loosened. When they snapped back open, it tightened again.
Her gaze dropped to Guy’s feet, and her lips cemented themselves shut. “Good girl. Follow me.”
He didn’t give Rosamma a chance to catch her breath before he started tugging. They didn’t have far to travel. Rosamma didn’t dare raise her eyes and get a better map of the surroundings until they were back in the adjoining room.
A small closet sat a few feet from the bed, filled with men’s suits and work clothes. Two outfits for her waited on the bed to be worn. The first had considerably more articles of blue fabric, while the second was a transparent white gown of lace.
In an act of God he grabbed the blue clothing: a snug shirt, a skirt, underwear. What more could she ask for?
“If you act out, I will strip this trash from your body piece by piece, and leave you just as naked as you are now. Do you understand?” The sharpness of his voice warned her away from asking any questions, so she shook her head no instead. With a growl, Guy grabbed her chin and angled it at the door to the hallway.
“Every man on this ship is mine. They’re under my thumb, not your female enhancement. You’ll be accompanying me on a walk to the bridge to meet the captain.”
Blood drained from her face at the announcement. Before she could stop it, her head was snapping side to side in a very pronounced NO! From the twitch of Guy’s foot, Rosamma knew she’d made a mistake already. He grabbed her upper arm and threw her onto the mattress.
“You have permission to look at me. Pick an article of clothing to not go on.” From his hands tumbled swatches of fabric, that pooled on the bed next to her. “Put on the rest. Quickly.”
Without hesitation she snatched up her skirt, panties, and bra. If she had to crawl, who cared if the perverts on this boat saw her bare back? The world saw much more than that in her bikini ads. She’d even posed in tasteful nudes. This was nothing, yet it was a thousand times worse, and drove a spike of anxiety through her chest.
“May I ask a question, Master?”
He nodded.
“Are any of the men… trying to buy me?”
A slow smirk lifted the corners of Guy’s lips as he gestured at Rosamma’s leash (God how did she forget it so soon?) and held his hand open. The idea of his hands yanking away the rest of her clothing numbed her mind against disobedience. She placed it in his hand and lowered her eyes.
“The captain might. He’s been enjoying the show and thinks you would make a good wife for his line of work.”
Marriage? The idea made her want to vomit, but she forced a neutral expression to her face. If Rosamma pretended, this was a photoshoot; if she picked the right character, she would survive this.
∞∞∞
Guy watched his little pet thrive in her new environment. Apply the right amount of pressure and she succumbed to her better nature. The submissive one. Whatever went through Rosamma’s head to rationalize her obedience didn’t matter. With enough time that voice would be replaced with another.
For some it was a scared whimper, warning against Master’s fury. For others it would be a well trained puppy eager for Master’s everything. The latter was getting harder and harder to find. Women nowadays have a backbone. They didn’t accept the idea they were property because it was outdated and archaic.
This job would have been easier in the fifties. But not nearly as fun. With a gentle tug on her leash, Rosamma slid from the bed down on her knees. Guy slowed his pace from the usual gait that carried him from one side of the cargo ship to the other in record time. Busy men walked fast… unless they were in the process of training a new pet.
Except this wasn’t a new dog for the Missus. No, this was his puppy. And he wanted all the men on this ship to know it. With her eyes on the floor, it’d be hard for Rosamma to retrace their steps as they walked through the narrow halls. A few workers passed by, the slap of their boots driving her to hide behind Guy. They still glued their eyes to her helpless body, cocks growing visible behind baggy pants.
He allowed her hiding only because it usually took weeks to get to this level of obedience. Even for the submissive ones. The bitch who sold Rosamma to him promised a one in a million girl, but they were wrong. She was one in a billion. The half million he’d fork over after her auction was nothing compared to what he’d gain.
When they got to the bridge, only the captain was present. Beyond the windows, the night sky was pitch black and twinkling with stars. The row of computer screens, radars, and flashing buttons were dimmed from lack of use. In his infinite wisdom, the captain had vacated his chair of command for Guy, and was now fiddling with dials here and there.
“Captain Drakos, report.” As the man turned, his grizzled face and gray beard described a man who’d seen one too many battles. The kind that probably wasn’t for the betterment of his home country of Greece. After years of serving with the man, Guy could confirm that enemies found in the illegal transport business mostly did those scars.
“We’ve reached the Îles de Lérins and have been observing Sainte-Marguerite’s per your request. So far there’s no suspicious activity. No lights in the prison at night. And the men sent to scout the rest of the island came back with nothing.”
Guy took a seat in the captain’s chair and yanked Rosamma by the hair into a prim and proper kneeling position next to him. She sat eyes down, hands folded in her lap like the good girl she was. As a reward, he stroked the mess he made of her hair, the captain’s eyes flicking towards the gesture.
“And I’ve received a few confirmations from our guests.” Rosamma shivered under his touch, making him smirk.
With unspoken permission, Drakos strode forward to inspect Guy’s wares. If looking close enough, he’d be able to see the drumming pulse on Rosamma’s neck. This was more test than transaction. She’d be crawling in her pretty white dress in the courtyard of the 17th-century Fort Royal, a former prison ironically located next to a bird watching sanctuary. Guy needed to know she could handle being inspected and viewed like an object. Good thing she was a model. That would help.
“Should I add your name to the list, Drakos?”
“Yeah. I think you should.”
Chapitre Treize
Ekene was on a private flight to Cannes - Mandelieu Airport. It had been his choice to accept the invitation to Rosamma’s auction, and steal his father’s money to win. Faraji was right. He couldn’t let what happened to his mother, happen to her. There wouldn’t be a day where Rosamma was there, only to be stolen by her father’s enemies for whatever nefarious perversions they had without a trace.
The same happened to his mother when he was fifteen. It took two months for her body to wash up on the shores of some beach, tortured, raped, and mangled. As far as Ekene knew it wasn’t for
money. It was a lesson taught by a bad guy, to a fellow bad guy. Who happened to be his father.
It was that knowledge, and those thoughts that kept his resolve firm through the flight. From the airport, a few hours in the back of a limo took him to the hotel he’d be staying at for ‘the night.’ In reality he’d be meeting a private boat after nine pm to ferry him to Fort Royal. At the hotel, Faraji called him to go over their cover story.
Everything was going without a hitch, and that terrified him more than anything. It meant that Guy was on point with his plans, and his security. Fuck. Ekene wanted to see Rosamma again. To ensure she was safe, or that someone hadn’t bought her under his nose. But that would mean Guy screwed over all his other clients. Which wasn’t good for business.
Still, Ekene found himself looking at the burner phone Faraji gave him every few minutes. He told himself it was to ensure no other videos were posted. The disgusting act of touching himself the other night was a fluke. A mistake. And the conversation he and Rosamma had afterward was magical.
It was like they were in the same room, Ekene looming over her as he barked each command. Her pussy got so wet at each of his commands, and that was through a chat room. In person the rumbling timbre of his voice would have her dripping before he brought the crop to her ass. No, no, that was not the reason he was doing this.
He was saving her, not buying her. There’d be no trying her out. There’d be an exchange of cash for her leash, and that’s it. When they were a safe distance away, he’d reveal what was really happening. Rosamma might be so relieved she’ll jump into his arms and kiss him. No, damnit. He couldn’t be having these thoughts.
And yet they continued to come for the rest of the day. As the sun descended, and the moon rose, she was all he could think about. When he left the hotel, he gave the doorman a tip that said ‘I never left’. The subtle nod of understanding was all he needed for one knot in his stomach to unwind. Too bad there were a million more.
This time there was no limo to take him where he needed to go. On beach front property, all he had to do was take a thirty minute walk to small cove hidden by rocks. Speed boats sat anchored in the water, with a rowboat coming to shore for any who needed a ride. Visitors to the auction were instructed to wear masks, although Ekene’s dark skin and long locs almost defeated the purpose.
Another man stood waiting on the sand as one of the speed boats drove away, kicking up a wall of spray. The elaborate design of his mask identified the man as one of the buyers. No less than mid forties, grey was sprouting up the sides of his hair in a pattern Ekene vowed to remember.
Every detail of tonight would be seared into his memory. No one would escape his wrath when he tore down the trafficking ring trying to sell someone under his protection. Piece by piece, brick by brick, until his fingers bled and his nails were torn off. Ekene held out a polite hand for the mystery man to take, offering the same charming smile that created the half billion dollar security firm he ran.
Despite the firmness of the other man's shake, contact with his skin felt more like slime than flesh. “Excited for the auction?” he asked. Casual. Stay casual. A whiff of something wrong would send the buyers, and Guy, running for the hills. And he already knew what Guy’s clean up consisted of. A lot of dead slaves.
“Extremely.” the man chuckled, eyes glimmering as the row boat got ever closer. “I’ve already made arrangements to share the Unicorn package should I, or any of my friends, win.”
Ekene folded his arms behind his back as he laughed, hiding the way his hands clenched into fists. If he could, he would smash the man’s face into blood and dust. But a buyer no showing would no doubt alert Guy to a problem. “I have a thing for untainted clothing. Something not worn by another.”
“I’ll wear everything first if I win. If I lose, at least I get to try on my favorite outfits.” the man chortled. When the row boat finally touched land, Ekene’s new ‘friend’ offered to share the ride. Friendly, for someone about to buy a woman to torture and rape. As they spoke on the boat ride to Sainte Marguerite, it turned out this man was one of the few buyers who managed to log into the live feed yesterday. The initial he went by was L. Sadistic fuck, he was the one who couldn't get enough of Rosamma's screams.
It took twenty minutes to arrive at Îles de Lérins, L’s calm chit chat filling the silence and forcing Ekene to speak. When L learned Ekene was the mysterious E who managed to get Rosamma to figuratively, and literally, open up, he was full of praise. He tried to hint at the same deal he made with his other ‘pals’, but Ekene wasn’t having it. Even if he really was the same as all the despicable people coming to by Rosamma, he’d never share.
At least it was good practice in keeping his calm. He’d need God’s strength to hold himself back when Guy brought Rosamma out for all the buyers to inspect. When they reached the sheer cliff walls of Sainte-Marguerite's island, Ekene’s chest squeezed.
In the black of night, the sea was a frothing cauldron of darkness as it kissed the rock. All but hanging from the edge, Fort Royal sat overlooking the sea. Good care kept the stone walls white, and the three hundred year old stucco red. Up close, as he and L were escorted by armed guards to the party, the old prison appeared quaint.
It was mostly a collection of one story barracks surrounding a large courtyard of well trimmed grass. Torches lit the area, bringing a spotlight to the buffet and live music instead of the lone helicopter sitting on the right of the lawn. The fact that this event was being treated like the party of the season made Ekene sick.
A few of the other buyers were waiting to greet them, some clasping hands with L, and others introducing themselves to Ekene as an initial. His skin crawled at the familiarity these like minded monsters displayed. They were a pack of wolves, and he was pretending to be one of them.
∞∞∞
Anywhere else in the world, and Rosamma would have been beautiful. In this moment she was nothing short of a tragedy. Locked in a cell tower overlooking the French sea, it’s easy to imagine herself as trapped princess awaiting rescue. Guy left her a little food, a dress, a mirror, and some makeup. Evil step mother was too nice a title for him.
No matter how she tries to ignore the world as she got ready, the reality of her situation broke through the flimsy escape of her imagination, over and over. She’ll be the horror story that gets blasted across the world, not the fairy tale. The cautionary tale that makes those safe in their ivory towers cluck their tongues. Rosamma thought when she became one of those people, her walls would keep the bad things out.
Because of that, she was dolled up in a dress that costs more than some people's salaries about to be sold. If she appreciated irony, which in this moment she couldn’t, Rosamma might chuckle about the meeting of her two lives. When Mama was selling herself, she vowed to never fall into that line of work.
Turns out she didn’t have a choice. Which made it fitting that her future would be stolen in a prison. As time ticked by and the moon rose higher in the sky, she knew Guy was preparing or possibly already hosting her auction.
The metaphorical shackles of her childhood living in Rome's slums were broken off by Theoabald. They’d be replaced tonight by Guy and whoever bought her. Five years ago Rosamma thought nothing could be worse than trash strewn streets, and pale concrete buildings that looked like they needed a good cough.
When Guy entered the room with her pink collar, the truth of how wrong she was crushed her beneath its weight. Eyes lowered, she jerked as he stepped forward, leather open and ready to wrap around her throat. A look of genuine concern flicked over his face, making her want to wretch. So he was playing Nice Guy for tonight.
“Do you really want me to drag you by the throat to the auction block? Because you will be naked. You will be whipped. And your pussy will be leaking..” The warmth in his voice didn’t mix with the poison spewing from Guy’s lips. “Behave slave, and your humiliation will be minimal.”
Panic welled in Rosamma’s chest demanding she fight
, or flight, or freeze. He stepped forward and tightened the collar around her neck, giving a firm tug to warn against misbehaving. Then he stepped out of the way, allowing her to slide onto her hands and knees.
It’d been three days, and she was already a stranger in her own body. These actions weren’t her own. They were archaic survival instincts and cowardice. But no matter how her mind screamed and roared, Rosamma couldn’t stand. She’d been taught from a young age to take orders, and keep your mouth shut.
Do as I say, not as I do. Mama was fond of saying. When she was twelve, Rosamma wanted food and a roof over her head so she didn’t argue. Now she didn’t want Guy to punish her, or worse, decide she was a bad investment and dump her cold lifeless body into the ocean. Even with her reasoning, his “Good girl,” burned like acid on her ears.
They began their trek through what Guy revealed was Fort Royal in Cannes. Knowledge like that hurt worse than any of his punishments. Good people who would help were twenty minutes away. They felt close enough to touch or hear a high pitched scream. But that was just her over active imagination.
All the police officers and witnesses on land might as well have been a thousand miles away. This was it. There was no escaping the hard slab of flooring, or the wheathed stone walls stained a dripping green and brown from age.
The feel of grass on Rosamma’s palms earned a soft sigh of relief when they entered the courtyard. She’d have bruises on her knees despite the short trip outside. A collection of fancy shoes turned in her direction, causing bile to rise in her throat. Or was that a scream?
Biting her tongue, Rosamma tried to come up with a story to tell herself. A way to make this all better in her mind, but nothing came. Guy was speaking, except his voice was a garbled puddle of nonsense. She couldn’t understand a single word he said. Then magic happened, and a single tug on her leash stole a seconds worth of breath.
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