Escape From Paradise (9 page)

The tiny girl was in a purple mini skirt and a black lace bra. She looked like she’d had implants like Perla because they were too gigantic for her small frame.

Both of them wore the black collars. The taller woman gave me a sly smile as she looked me over.

“A new one? And shy, too, no?” Yes, her accent was definitely something European, but not very strong. She had to be at least thirty, which meant she’d probably been with Marco a while.

The other girl glared at me with something like contempt, and I felt myself shrinking from her. She was about my age, maybe even younger. I didn’t want to make any enemies, so I dropped my eyes, trying to show respect. Josef stayed at my side. I felt the warmth of his arm next to mine.

“Sea amable…” Perla warned the girl as she passed her.
You be nice.

“Jin,” said Josef. “This es Angel. She speak only Inglés.” He nudged me and I looked up, nodding at her. “Angel, this es Jin, y this es Mia. We make her feel welcome, yes?”

Mia nodded, and Jin rolled her eyes. She actually rolled her eyes! What was her problem? Her immediate attitude toward me made me want to lash out. I didn’t want to be here and I didn’t deserve to be treated like shit from another slave. It wasn’t right. None of this was right.

“Angel,” called Perla from the bedroom area. “Ven aquí...come here, por favor.”

I passed the two girls, giving them plenty of space, and heard them enter the bathroom for showers. I went to Perla in the closet area while Josef fell naked onto his mattress for a rest.

Perla dressed me in a long-sleeved cotton dress that went to my ankles. It scooped low on my chest and back. She made a face at my chest.

“I tell Master you need bra. To lift.” She cupped her hands under my boobs and pushed them upward and inward, smiling at the small bit of cleavage that appeared. I fought the urge to move away or cover myself. She let them drop and pushed me onto a stool to do my hair—again in an elaborate, sophisticated bun. She powdered me and blushed me and painted my lips red, then looked at my fingers. One of my nails had been bitten off and was jagged. She filed it, giving me a gentle admonishment.

“You no bite.”

“Okay,” I whispered. It felt nice to let her take care of me, even if her boobs were swinging in my face half the time. I felt the overwhelming urge to hug her, but I didn’t.

She painted my fingernails and toenails red, just like hers. While I waited for them to dry, the door to our quarters opened and Luis stood there. My stomach dropped and my heart rate spiked. He was looking right at me.

“Angel,” he called. “You come with me.”

Perla quickly slipped my feet into a pair of open-toed black high heels and handed me a beautiful black masquerade mask lined with black feathers.

“You wear at lunch. Okay?”

“Thank you,” I told her, then walked up the step to meet Luis. I accidentally flinched away when he reached out and he shook his head,
tsk
ing.

“You must wear always except in this room.” He took a thin, black leather collar and put it around my neck. As he secured the buckle my eyes watered. I felt constricted, like I couldn’t breathe, though I knew it was only in my head. But fuck! I was being collared like a dog!

Luis reached for my arm and I pulled away, panicking.

Would they make me have sex with him again? Or someone else? Please not Marco. My stomach clenched and my feet wanted to dig into the floor to keep myself planted. Then my eye went to the gun holstered at Luis’s side, and a too-familiar sense of weakness washed over me, doing crippling things to my mind and will.

When he reached for my arm again I let him take it.

I wasn’t blindfolded or cuffed as we left the slave quarters, which brought me great relief, even if Luis did hold my arm in a vise grip. As if I could possibly outrun him or his gun.

I soaked in every detail of the house as he led me through it, and for a moment my terrible circumstances were not at the forefront of my mind. Calling the villa a house wasn’t really accurate. It was too massive and elaborate for that—more like a Mediterranean mansion or resort. Rooms that faced the ocean had floor to ceiling glass walls on one side. Some areas felt cozy and warm with tiled floors and seating areas, while other parts were wide open with grand ceilings and art of every assortment: paintings, sculptures, and hanging tapestries. Vibrant colors sprung from every direction.

I was taken to a small room that looked like a clinic or nurse’s station. Sterile. Medical stuff was lined on the counter. Luis led me to a paper covered exam table and I climbed up, sitting with a shudder. What was I doing here?

An older man in a suit entered and looked me over briefly before going to cabinets and doing something with his back to me. My pulse quickened as he pulled on rubber gloves with a snap and turned to me.

“Español?” he asked in a no-nonsense voice.

I shook my head. “No.”

“I give you exam.” He pushed my shoulder until I was laying, hesitant and unsure. I tried not to pull away or fight him as he lowered the front of my dress and prodded my breasts, or lifted the fabric and nudged open my legs. He felt around, and though one spot stung a little, it didn’t feel too bad.

“You are good,” he said.

He listened to my heart and did all the checks: throat, eyes, nose, and ears before turning and grasping a syringe. I shrunk back.

“You get shot. Every three month. No baby.”

At first I thought he was telling me not to be a baby, but then I realized he was talking about a birth control shot.

Birth control. Because I’d be having unprotected sex with strange men. My stomach rolled and I fought a bout of nausea. This was really happening. It all came crashing down at that moment and I clutched the edge of the examination table. If I let myself imagine the possible things to come, I would be snowed under by fear and panic. I had to breathe and take everything one moment at a time.

As much as I hated to let them have this kind of control over my body, I really didn’t want to get knocked up by some rapist sleezeball either. So I stayed still when he injected my arm. Then he took two vials of my blood.

When he was done, Luis was nice enough to take me by the other arm to lead me through the house. We ended up in a rectangular dining room with workers bustling around to set the two long parallel tables. A large gap was between the tables with an oriental rug, almost like a staged area. Luis stopped me.

“This es your Master’s seat, yes?” He pointed to the chair at the end of the table. “You stay on your knees and you don’t leave his side.” I nodded and he kept going. “You don’t speak. You do
nothing
unless he say. Understand?”

“Yes.” But I felt jittery. What would happen if I messed up?

“Lunch es soon,” he said. “You stay here.”

He led me to the wall behind us, which I hadn’t seen when we first came in. It had a line of ten lightweight chains attached to the wall. Luis motioned me to my knees, and then to my horror pulled one of the chains and attached it to the collar around my neck. I reached up instinctively and grasped his wrist as he was securing it.

“It won’t hurt,” he said, securing the collar lock with a key.

I sucked in a breath, and reached up to feel how tight it was. I could push my fingers between the leather and my neck—snug, but not strangling. Still, this wasn’t safe. What if there was a fire or something? I almost laughed at myself and my stupid thoughts about safety. As if anything in the entire place was “safe.”

“Hands down,” Luis said. I dropped my hands to my thighs.

Two of the worker women glanced at me, then whispered to one another, making me self-conscious. I couldn’t believe I’d be sitting there, chained like a dog as people came in to eat. I swallowed another lump in my throat.

“Put on the mask,” Luis said.

I’d been holding the mask this whole time. I brought it to my eyes and tied the ribbons behind my head. Being partially hidden brought me a measure of comfort as people began filing in, chatting and laughing as if a chained woman against the wall was okay. I kept my head down, kneeling in the position Luis showed me. After a few minutes I felt a warm, dry hand against the back of my neck and the clinking of a key unlocking my collar.

In a low voice Marco said to me, “You will crawl by my side and remain there silently the duration of the meal. Do not meet the eyes of my patrons. Try to relax and enjoy the entertainment.”

Crawl? I hesitated for one moment as he walked to the table, then I followed behind him on my hands and knees, feeling the eyes of the people around him as their conversations hushed. I knelt at his side with my head down.

“Una nueva chica?” asked a man with a deep voice.
A new girl?

“Sí, sí,” answered Marco, sounding almost bored as he spoke in Spanish. “It was time. I’m still breaking her.”

“Is she very green?” the man asked. He seemed too excited about the prospect.

“Sí,” Marco answered. “Muy verde.”

“A virgin?”

“No.” Marco sighed, though I couldn’t get a read on his mood. It was beyond disconcerting to have two men talking about my sexuality in front of me, so crudely, and not be allowed to say a word.

I found myself inching closer to Marco, the devil I knew. He reached down and smoothed a hand across the top of my head, a sensation that made me feel oddly safe and claimed in the room full of scary people. I kept my head down as I’d been instructed, too afraid to look up even if I were allowed.

The meal began with a clinking of glasses and silverware against plates. A well-mannered crowd, it seemed, until you listened in on their conversations about
buying people
. I’d never been more nauseated as they regaled one another about their recent trades and sales, how one slave’s ass had widened too much with age, so she was replaced with a fifteen-year old from Mongolia who was as tight as a sailor’s knot. Laughter and appreciative murmurs followed. Marco managed to dodge questions about where he’d acquired me, turning the conversations back to other guests with ease.

Not everyone present was a slave owner. Some of them were there to “vacation” and enjoy the luxuries Marco had to offer. I’d never heard a group of people kiss someone’s ass the way this group did to Marco, complimenting everything from his suit to the view to the food to the beauty of his slaves, as if they feared him or craved his approval. His powerful position became more and more clear to me throughout lunch, filling me with dread.

Marco wasn’t the only one in the room with a slave at his side. There were two other slave girls kneeling next to their owners, men even older than Marco. Both girls were naked, making me grateful for my dress.

When Marco touched my chin and lifted it to meet his eyes I was not feeling well. He held a morsel of steak on his fork. The thought of eating disgusted me, but my fear overrode it. I opened my mouth and the meat practically melted. He fed me two more equally delicious bites and I prayed he would stop.

A group of workers bustled in, looking crisp in their black and white uniforms, and cleared off all the plates. They set out desserts and coffee, then disappeared once again. A spattering of excited whispers rose up, and without meaning to, I looked around. At the edge of the oriental rug were three people kneeling in slave positions. It took a moment for me to recognize Josef, Perla, and Jin because they were in costumes—a wolf, a grandmother, and Little Red Riding Hood. I think the other guests figured it out at the same time as me, because a few laughed with delight.

Marco gave someone in the corner a nod and Perla crawled to the middle of the floor. She wore a long, billowing white nightgown of lightweight material and a gray curly-headed wig. At first it was comical to see her in it because you could tell it was a beautiful body underneath the old lady getup, but then I felt disgusted by the spectacle they were making of her. She curled up in the middle of the floor and pretended to sleep. Music started overhead.

It began as a lullaby. And then the music sped up and darkened to alert us viewers of danger on its way. Josef prowled onto the scene on his hands and knees, moving with slow sureness. He wore a wolf-skin over top of his body. It looked authentic. The fur was strapped onto his arms, waist and thighs, and he was naked underneath. The frightening head with all its teeth came down over Josef’s own head. I got a chill as he slowly crept toward the sleeping figure and the music quickened.

He circled Perla, sniffing her, then nudging her nightgown up with his nose until his face was between her legs. Aroused chuckling sounded across the crowd. Josef lapped at her slowly and she raised her hips, still sleeping and peaceful as if dreaming. Then Josef threw back his head as a howl sounded in the music. His cock was hard and long. Perla’s eyes popped open and she saw the wolf above her. She mimicked screaming and tried to escape, but he grabbed her and held her down.

The show was pantomimed—they made no sounds, and their movements were slow, magnified, practiced.

They struggled. He overtook her, flipping her to her hands and knees and ramming into her from behind, grasping around her waist like an animal. A few people clapped and smiles shone around the room. Josef’s strokes were long, rocking Perla forward with each thrust, her face looking pained and scared. I was ashamed of the throbbing that began between my legs, despite my total revulsion at the whole thing.