But then what? Think Ashley! Do you really think they aren’t going to notice two women missing from the twenty assigned to auction?
Even if you do manage to slip away unnoticed – and that’s fucking unlikely, for a start – they’ll search the Amphitheatre the moment they realize you’re missing. They’ll snuffle through every corner of this old building like a mug-mug-worm looking for snails!
And when they catch you…
I shudder, forcing the thought out of my mind. I need to be strong. If I’m thinking about the inevitability of failure already, then I know the odds of escape are too long.
But it’s a toss-up, isn’t it? A gamble – and a trade.
Right now, the risk isn’t worth the reward – but it might be.
I know that no matter what happens, I won’t get taken by a Bullfrog. Those huge, warty creatures would spell a fate that would drive me insane with disgust. The thought of their warty hands on my body, and their slimy cocks in my…
I feel bile rise in my throat.
No, then the reward would be worth the risk. I’d rather die trying to escape than live the rest of my existence owned by one of those leering monstrosities. Such a life – if you could even call it a life – would be a misery that would only end in death, or when I’m finally too old for even a Bullfrog’s personal harem.
“Keep it moving!”
Gerard’s voice is sharp behind us. We scurry forward, struggling to keep up with the two guards as they stride self-importantly down the hallway.
I might have scared one of them with the thought of the consequences of groping me… But aside from that, they’re clearly enjoying this.
They’re clearly enjoying all us women being property.
Gods, men are fucking disgusting.
I wish that one of these guards was faking it – secretly working to release us from slavery. For a moment, I even allow myself the fantasy of imagining that – the possibility that one of the henchmen is undercover law enforcement, assigned to end the tyranny of slavery, and any second he’s going to snatch out his pistol and blast the head off the leering brute who groped me, and then take out Gerard before the towering bodyguard could react.
But almost as soon as that fantasy fills my mind, I shove it aside.
If only the real world worked like that….
It does, sometimes.
When true Aurelians come against slavers – those stupid enough to practice the trade within Empire-controlled sectors – they free the women they liberate.
By the Gods, what curse has befallen me that the only Aurelians I have the misfortune of encountering have gone Rogue?
Rogue Aurelians are dangerous – even more so than their law-abiding brethren. Rogue Aurelians have nothing holding them back – no laws, no morality, and no decency.
The primal Aurelian species already only stops in their endless pursuit to find and rut their ‘fated mate’ if the strict laws of the Aurelian Empire forbid it – drawing a hard line under practices such as slavery, which used to be common under the old Empire.
But even on the periphery of the Aurelian Empire, stories trickle through of unease with the current regime. Once proud Aurelian warriors rankle under the rule of Emperor Reagan’s triad – all because their fated mate, Queen Jasmine, has been using her elevated position as a ‘fated mate’ to push ever-more progressive ideas into forefront for the century in which she’s ruled.
Never before would a human female get so close to the seat of power. Never before would a haughty Aurelian warrior have even listened to one who tried.
But because Jasmine is Bonded – because she can bear the heirs of her triad, and help the Aurelian species continue – she has been vaulted to a position of incredible influence; and yet all the good she’s trying to do risks tearing the Empire apart.
My thoughts stop as abruptly as we suddenly do – in front of a towering set of doors.
“Go on then,” the guard who groped me urges Gerard. “Turn those pleasure dresses on. Let us watch these sluts squirm a little.”
Gerard pulls himself up to his full height. He doesn’t answer the guard, and that is all the answer he needs to give. Disappointed, the two henchmen disappear off back down the corridor; wearing mirrored scowls as they skulk off.
Gerard, meanwhile, walks us onto the stage through the towering doors.
It’s really happening. Oh, Gods – it’s really happening!
We step forward, through the doors and into the darkness beyond.
As we step forward, I gently brush my fingers across Danielle’s hand for support. The poor girl is as white as a ghost, and I’m terrified she might pass out. I thank whatever Gods are watching over me that Gerard hasn’t yet pressed the controls to activate our pleasure gowns. This grim situation would be even worse – even more humiliating – if my trembling body was forced into reluctant arousal right at the height of my anguish.
The darkness wasn’t truly that. We stepped through the doors and were instead blinded – our eyes reacting to the searing spotlights overhead.
As we tread up the ramps, my eyes adjust to the uneven brightness and I realize that the stage in front of us is bare. There are no props there to take away attention from the point of interest.
Us.
We’re the point of interest.
We girls are the main attraction, and even as I think that, the searing spotlights overhead turn to us. I shudder, thinking how different my first visit to the Coldstone Amphitheatre is to how I’d hoped it would be.
Back when I worked for Peter, I’d often clean his house listening to the songs and music playing over his whole-house music system. Through those speakers, I’d overhear women dressed in finery like ours, singing the beautiful songs that they’d perform for a paying audience on this very stage.
I often dreamed of watching them one day – imagining
