If I’d been seen, I’d have whipped… or worse.
I could have shared the same fate I’d saved Danielle from.
There was no question after that – from then on, we’d became fast friends.
“I didn’t leave you then,” I reassure Danielle, as she shudders at the memory of that day, “and I won’t let anything happen to you now.” I tighten my grip on her hands, and stare into her eyes. “Danielle, I promise.”
But I have no idea how I’m going to keep that promise.
I have no idea – but I will. No matter what happens, I’m not going to live with the thought of Danielle under the warty palm of some slimy Bullfrog.
But what if the Toads buy you?
I want to throw up again.
I’m still swallowing the bile as we touch down. Through the tinted windows, I confirm that we’ve touched down outside the Coldstone Amphitheatre.
On other days, grand operas are performed in these hallowed walls – or so I’ve heard. Slaves don’t get to experience such things. I’ve always dreamed of listening to the angelic voices of the choirs, but that’s a dream I’ll never experience.
Instead, my dream of attending the prestigious Coldstone Amphitheatre has been impossibly perverted. Instead of attending a gala or opera, I will be the one on stage – forced to pose for the leering eyes of disgusting, lecherous slavers.
The side door of the limousine opens automatically. On the other side of it are two burly men – come to accompany us directly the stage. Peter Paradooli is clearly taking no chances with his merchandise.
Merchandise. That’s all we are to him. He doesn’t even seem to care that the women who aren’t sold today are never going to forgive him for placing them on stage.
They’re going to resent him for the rest of their lives in his service – and perhaps, Peter might find some comeuppance if any of them decide to do something with that resentment.
But that thought? It doesn’t even cross his mind. Peter Paradooli never saw us as women – just objects to decorate his manor.
We’re just commodities in his eyes.
His bodyguard, Gerard, doesn’t view us that way, though. He sees us as liabilities. He stands, and from the cold look in his eyes, we girls quickly get the hint.
All twenty of us file out from the limousine, onto the chilly rooftop of the Coldstone Amphitheatre. We’re in the cargo dock – not the heated rooftop entrance reserved for guests and high society. We’re literally being loaded in like merchandise; using the same entrance as the freeze-frozen food and barrels of wine and beer they serve during the intermission.
The two men who’d been waiting for us nod at Gerrard. They’ve been leering at us as we filed out of the limousine – eyes drinking in our curves, barely concealed beneath the sleek fabric of the pleasure gowns we’ve all been forced to wear.
“Good crop,” one of the men grunts. “We haven’t had an auction with so many beauties in years.”
The second henchman is practically drooling at us, licking his lips like a dog salivating over pork chops. His eyes find me and I just want to disappear as I see them flash with undisguised lust.
“Gods, I wish we were paid a higher salary.” He steps forward, and his hand sneakily reaches forward, giving me a hard squeeze on my bottom that makes me jump.
I hold back my anger and shame. There’s nothing to be gained by reacting – in fact, I know that’s what this big lug wants. He lacks power or influence – the things that would allow him to bid for ownership of me – and instead wants to feel powerful by groping us instead.
I deny him the reaction he seeks – and the story he’d have had for his mates, as he boasted about the encounter over beer.
The man scowls at me, and follows as we’re led to the huge service elevator. As the doors rattle shut, my stomach plummets. I realize, as that sinking feeling overwhelms me, that the rest of my life is going to be the same as this. Shuffled from place to place. Primped and preened. Groped… and worse.
I’ll have no control – not over my body, or who touches it.
But if I’m sold, I’ll find a way to escape. Gods be sure I will…
But then, what about my promise to Danielle?
The stress is boiling up inside my belly, hotter than the fear. Not a word is said by any of us as we stand in the plummeting elevator, awaiting our fate.
“So… Did you… Taste the wares?” One of the guards looks eagerly at Gerard.
He snorts bitterly in response.
“I like having my balls still attached to my body, thank you very-fucking-much.” He raises a warning finger, and snarls: “You don’t touch one of Peter Paradooli’s girls and then expect to sleep easy.”
The guard who squeezed my bottom suddenly shifts nervously. He’s thinking of the horror stories he’s heard about Peter Paradooli.
Peter might have never touched me inappropriately – but he didn’t rise to the top of this planet’s criminal underworld by being a pushover. He won’t fuck any of his girls literally, but you can bet he’ll metaphorically fuck any man who crosses him.
Normally, such a thought fills me with disgust. Right now, though? I look at the guard who grabbed my ass, and I get a grim satisfaction knowing he’ll not be sleeping easily tonight.
But where will I be sleeping? Or will I even be sleeping at all?
The elevator shudders to a halt, and the doors rattle open – revealing a long, stark hallway.
“Let’s go,” snaps the now-nervous guard, speaking harshly to hide his fear.
My eyes dart left and right as we exit the elevator – scanning for any opportunity to escape. The hallway doesn’t look especially secure. It’s bleak, grey, and poorly lit – obviously made for transporting goods and stage props, not unwilling prisoners.
If I’m lucky, I’ll spot a doorway I can make my
