The Prodigy Slave, Book Three: The Ultimate Grand Finale (Revised Edition 2020)

by Londyn Skye

  “And don’t let all these gospel preachin’, bible thumpa’s make you feel an ounce ‘a regret about fuckin’ eitha’! I don’t care what they say! Fuckin’ a man is natural! Them holy books was surely written by a bunch ‘a repulsive men, who could neva’ get any pussy … or men who were actually smart enough to figure out that pussy is a man’s ultimate weakness! They’ll sell us anything to put the powa’ back in a man’s hands. But God didn’t give us this kind ‘a powa’ between our thighs for nothin’!

  “So, I’d advise you to stop lookin’ at sex as somethin’ that can ruin your life and start viewin’ it as a way to get whateva’ the hell you want. Money, a home, food, love … if you believe in that bullshit,” Ryla snickered. “Whateva’ tickles your fuckin’ fancy.” She looked Bella up and down. “Hell, ’specially a woman like you, with them sparkly eyes and angelic features … Put yo’ youthful pussy on a man right and you could rule this fuckin’ world.

  “Just take a moment and put it all in perspective, Bella. Ol’ stankin’ goat cheese, Atticus, is the one who has to work his ass off to afford buyin’ top shelf pussy. And all we really eva’ have to do is lay on our backs, spread our legs, and let ‘em elevate his body into pure bliss for seven seconds every few days. In exchange, he’s crazy enough to let us drink fine wines, lay in fine linens, and wear even fina’ clothes, all while livin’ in the luxurious house he paid for. Hmph … seems like a fair trade to me. This life we livin’ furtha’ confirms my belief …” Ryla took a sip of her wine, leaned back into her natural seductive pose, and smirked. “Pussy is quite simply God’s most immaculate masta’piece.”

  Ryla paused for a moment, intently examining the expression on Bella’s face as she waited for a potential reply. Bella only stared at the floor, seeming to search there for another defiant response to fire back at Ryla. When she found nothing, she slowly raised her head and met Ryla’s eyes. When Ryla saw the look of defeat in her expression, she smirked and drank the last of the wine in her glass.

  Ryla exhaled when she finished her drink, stood up, and walked over to a serving table full of various wines and wine glasses. She continued purging the thoughts on her mind as she worked to open a new bottle of Chardonnay. “Look, I know there’s neva’ any genuine glory or pride to be takin’ in fuckin’ a man you don’t truly wanna be fuckin’. Like I said, Bella, it’s neva’ my intention to make light of a man forcin’ himself on a woman. But, unfortunately, that’s an inevitable truth for women like us. It’s not a matta’ of if … it’s only when and with who. Anytime that happens to a woman, it’s wrong and evil. That’s a stone-cold fact. But it’s also a stone-cold fact that, before we came here, we had no food, no clothes, no shoes, not a sip ‘a wata’ … not a damn thang. Atticus could make you leave here just as empty handed…” She turned and looked seriously at Bella. “With a hellish whore house as your final destination.

  “So, while you’re stuck in this situation, you do what you gotta do to tolerate ol’ goat cheese. When you find yo’self nauseated by the whole ordeal, the best thing you can do is pour yo’self a drink, numb yo’ body, and let yo’ mind drift into anotha’ world. Fantasize and escape to your wildest, exotic dreams. Use Atticus, just the way he’s usin’ you. In yo’ mind, don’t think of ’em as Atticus, the lowlife, cheatin’ snake. Make ’em the man ‘a yo’ dreams. Pretend he’s some man you once loved, or the sort ‘a man you dream will love you one day. Hell, pretend he’s some ol’ masta’ you thought was handsome enough to fuck. I don’t give a damn which method you choose, just do what you gotta do to stay within these walls, and tolerate the pretty side of evil, until you’re certain you have a far betta’ option than bein’ sold to a filthy whore house.” Ryla stopped twisting the corkscrew and waited for Bella’s eyes to meet hers. “You unda’stand me girl?”

  Mortified by Ryla’s speech, Bella finally conceded. She swallowed hard and slightly nodded her head.

  “You can thank yo’self for it lata’ or forgive yo’self … whicheva’ makes you fuckin’ feel betta’,” Ryla added as she finally popped the cork on the chardonnay. She filled two wine glasses and walked toward Bella. With wine glasses in hand, she stopped and loomed over her as she sat quietly on the bed, her body slumped in a defeated posture. “Besides, that pussy ain’t yours anyway. Accordin’ to our backwards laws, Atticus Atkins owns it. Ain’t shit you can do to leave here right now any damn way. So, for now, you betta’ heed my warnin’s, rub some sandpaper on those sensitive emotions until they’re calloused, and keep the tears off ya’ cheeks … Look at me!”

  Bella slowly raised her head again and met Ryla’s serious eyes.

  “Tears are for weak bitches. You don’t strike me as weak … maybe a little soft from time to time, but definitely not weak. But if I’m wrong, don’t let that weak shit show around here, ya’ hear? Put on a fake smile and pretend to be a happy memba’ of Atticus Atkins’ elite harem of colorful nigga’s. You’re one of nine of the finest handpicked nigga’s any slave trada’s have to offa’,” she said, extending her hand to give Bella a glass of wine.

  Bella hesitated for a second before removing it from her hand. She then just stared at it.

  “Oh, go on and drink it, girl. Don’t be a sissy about it,” Ryla said. “That shit’ll calm your nerves.”

  Bella drank slowly at first, then tilted her head back and finished it all without stopping. Having not eaten in a while, the alcohol immediately warmed her entire body.

  Ryla snickered. “Good lord, girl! You definitely ain’t no weak bitch!” She took the glass from Bella and handed her a handkerchief. “Get outta that bed and go on and clean ya’ face up.”

  The alcohol hit Bella so hard, she nearly lost her balance when she stood up to walk to the mirror.

  “I told you!” Ryla laughed, taking hold of Bella’s arm to keep her from falling. “Top shelf wine for top shelf pussy. That expensive shit’ll hit you quick. You’ll get used to it, though.”

  Bella glanced at herself in the mirror. Had she not been violated less than an hour ago, she may have considered the hair, dress, and makeup a wonderful sight. But it only reminded her of the way in which it had all aroused a disgusting man. She dipped the rag into the water and began wiping all the makeup away, wishing she could wipe away the memory of that disgusting man’s actions with it. She scrubbed hard, the way she planned to do to her entire body later. Ryla understood all too well what the hard scrubbing was about. It led her to quickly refill Bella’s wine glass and hand it to her. Bella swallowed it all without stopping again. She sat the wine glass on the dresser with a hard thud, opened her eyes, and saw two of herself in the mirror.

  Ryla stood nearby and waited patiently for Bella’s spinning mind to settle. “Well, now that you’re feelin’ all warm and fuzzy, lemme give you a grand tour of … the whore floor,” she announced, mocking the hospitable southern dialect of a Texas socialite.

  Bella nodded after regaining her balance and walked alongside Ryla.

  “You eva’ ate pussy befo’?” Ryla suddenly asked as they walked to the corner of the room.

  Disgusted by the thought of such a thing, Bella whipped her head around and looked at Ryla like she had just spoken in tongues. “God no!”

  Ryla laughed. “Oh, don’t be such a prude, girl! You might wanna acquire a taste for it. Ol’ goat cheese won’t let you go anywhere fo’ sho’ then. He keeps all his best whores until their pussies dry up. But it don’t matta’ how old I get. He ain’t neva’ gonna get rid ‘a me. I eat pussy and suck a cock like nobody’s business. Hell, I’ll be far more valuable to ’em the day I lose all my teeth.”

  Bella suddenly burst out laughing. She was shocked that she was capable of such a thing after her ordeal earlier. She knew for sure then that the top shelf wine had indeed taken full affect.

  “Just preachin’ the truth, girl!” Ryla replied as they arrived at a set of double doors. She opened them and revealed a closet the size of a small bedroom. Ryla looked Bella up and down. “You loo
k to be about a size four. The clothes on this side’ll fit you,” she said, pointing to the area. “You can use anything here you’d like, until Atticus’s designa’ brings you some more custom dresses.” She looked down at Bella’s feet. “Shoe size is six.” She pointed to an array of footwear lining the wall. “All these in this row will fit ya’.” She then turned to look at Bella. “Don’t eva’ once ascend these stairs in pajamas, hair undone, teeth unbrushed, or lookin’ like hell just woke you up. Primped, pressed, and smellin’ fresh before your feet hit the first floor. Lingerie is a must unda’neath your dress at all times. Atticus’s designa’ will bring you a custom collection of lingerie as well. Got it?”

  Bella nodded.

  Ryla nodded back, shut the doors to the closet, and continued taking Bella on a tour. “Go anywhere you like in this house, except for Atticus’s den, and his masta’ bedroom, unless the housekeepin’ slaves need extra help with cleanin’. Same with his children’s rooms. His kids are away at boardin’ school, except some weekends, summa’s, and any otha’ school breaks. You’ll meet the spoiled little heathens then, but their rooms are usually off limits too. We’re usually only responsible for keepin’ this floor tidy, and providin’ service at all dinna’ parties,” she explained as they exited their bedroom. “Speak freely amongst us slaves, but outside ‘a sayin’ good mornin’ or good night, you only speak to the Atkins family, or any of their guests, when you’re spoken to first, unda’stand?”

  “Yessum.”

  The pair carried on their conversation until they reached another set of double doors at the end of a hallway. Ryla opened the doors and revealed a massive bathroom with a garden tub. “In this house, we keep clean asses and fresh pussies at all times. Your makeup and nails should always be done and your hair should smell sweeta’ than fresh cut flowa’s.” She opened a small closet with dozens of soaps and shampoos. “Choose any scent to your likin’. Atticus is fine with any ‘a these. Makeup and nail polishes are kept in these vanity drawers,” she said, showing her. “I can help you apply it, if you don’t know what the hell you’re doin’.” She walked over to a rack near the tub. “All clean towels are kept here. You can bathe as often as you like, but minimum once a day and twice in the summa’.”

  “Yessum,” Bella replied as they were leaving.

  Ryla suddenly stopped walking. “Look here, that yessum shit ain’t necessary with me. Save that for shit for crazy Devilyn.”

  “Who’s Devilyn?”

  “Atticus’s wife. Her name’s Evelyn. But she’s an evil, two-faced bitch. I’m convinced she’s the devil’s daughta’. So, I can’t help but call ’er Devilyn. She don’t speak to people she deems beneath her, and beneath her doesn’t even begin to describe the way she views us. She wouldn’t wipe ’er feet on us if we were floor mats. We’re lowa’ than a pig pin full ‘a shit in her eyes. You’ll see the ugliest side ‘a her two faces wheneva’ she’s hostin’ her grand social events. She’s as sweet as apple pie to all her rich snooty guests, but the devil will raise up outta her in a millisecond when us servants don’t meet her high service expectations … which seems to always be the case.”

  “I can’t believe Atticus is married,” Bella stated, looking bewildered.

  “Mm-hmm. Been married twenty glorious years,” Ryla replied sarcastically.

  “Does she know about ’er husband’s, umm, you know … his activities?”

  “Know about it? Honey, she’s the one who purchased me and the first two girls for him!”

  “What?!”

  “Mm-hmm, she surprised ’em with his little playroom. She designed everything down here, and affectionately named it the whore floor. When she was done, she lined all us ladies up, dragged Atticus down here, and danced outta here like an exhausted motha’, who gladly left ’er baby sucklin the titty of a wet nurse.”

  Bella’s mouth gaped open as her eyes widened in disbelief.

  “I tell you no lies,” Ryla added.

  “As bad as Atticus smells, I guess I can’t blame ’er for buyin’ someone else to do her dirty work,” Bella joked.

  Ryla burst out laughing. “Chil’ preach! I’d spend every dime I had not to smell that stankin’ ass man eva’ again!”

  “I certainly can’t wait to meet this lovely wife ‘a his.”

  “Well, ya’ won’t catch ’er down here … eva’! Hell, you may not even lay eyes on ’er until she’s screamin’ in your face at one of ’er dinna’ affairs. I guarantee, she’ll show you every reason she well deserves her nickname.”

  “Sounds like fun. I can’t wait,” Bella replied sarcastically. Considering what had happened to her less than an hour before, Bella was stunned at her ability to even get out of bed, let alone conjure up the strength to speak. There was just something about Ryla that had eased her emotional pain … temporarily anyway.

  Ryla continued filling Bella in about the odd dynamic between Evelyn and Atticus on their way to another room down a long hallway. When they arrived, Ryla opened yet another set of double doors, and walked inside of what looked to be a luxury lounge. Fancy decorations were lining the shelves on the walls, and expensive sofas and lounges were strewn about the room. A billiards table was the centerpiece of the room, and a bar sat just off to the right of it. Ryla walked behind the bar. “Most of the wine and liquor is kept here. The liquor is for Atticus. We’re allowed red or white wines only. No hard liquors allowed in your system. Help ya’self to any of these, but don’t eva’ exceed your limits. Just enough to calm your nerves and moisten your pussy … and your mouth for that matta’,” she joked. “This is also the room where we all meet for Atticus’s nightly selection.”

  “Nightly selection?” Bella questioned, looking puzzled.

  “Mm-hmm. Atticus chooses who he wants to fuck for the night,” Ryla answered nonchalantly, like such a thing was not the least bit odd. “We have to be in here by nine o’clock p.m. sharp, or ten p.m. when Atticus’s kids are back from boardin’ school. We line up ova’ here accordin’ to our complexion,” she further explained, pointing out the area. “More than likely, you’ll be in between Olivia and Esther. We’ll know for sure when we line up tonight.”

  Bella followed Ryla with a dumbfounded look on her face as they exited the lounge. Ryla then guided her to Atticus’s “playroom,” the very place Bella had her first unwanted encounter with him. “Don’t eva’ once let ol’ goat cheese finish his business inside ‘a you, ya hear? No matta’ how drunk, or outta control, forgetful, or stupid he may get when he’s in the throes ‘a fuckin’ you. You need to always make sure he’s wearin’ one ‘a these,” Ryla explained, opening a drawer full of custom-made, sheepskin prophylactics. “Clara, the girl you just replaced, slipped up and got pregnant. We ain’t seen ’er since the day Devilyn found out she was carryin’ her husband’s baby. We still don’t know what happened to her or the baby. But if hateful Devilyn had anything to do with it, I’m convinced she condemned her and that baby to suffa’ for the rest ‘a their natural lives in some shithole.”

  Bella was barely able to comprehend what Ryla was saying. Her eyes were suddenly fixated on the bed that Atticus had her tied to earlier. She suddenly felt her body temperature rise, along with a surge of tears, as flashbacks began torturously replaying in her mind. She stood there paralyzed by the memory of struggling to free herself from the silk ties around her wrists, while a stranger invaded her body.

  Showing empathy for the first time, Ryla placed a comforting hand on Bella’s shoulder when she saw tears cascading down her cheeks. “Look at me.” She waited patiently for Bella to turn toward her. “The day Atticus Atkins ceases to breathe, he’s goin’ straight to hell. For every injustice he’s eva’ committed, the devil will derive the utmost pleasure from drivin’ a pitchfork deep into the pit of his ass, until the end of eternity. He will suffa’ dearly for what he did to you, and every otha’ woman within these walls … make no mistake about that.”

  Bella glanced back at the bed she was tied to just an hou
r before and swallowed back another sudden surge of tears.

  Ryla gently touched Bella’s face, and turned her back toward her before speaking again. “Atticus Atkins is a weak and broken man. Don’t you dare give him the victory of breakin’ you too. You unda’stand me, girl?”

  Bella suddenly commanded her mind to turn off the horrible memory of Atticus. She then wiped away the very last tear that she would allow to escape her eyes. “Tears are for weak bitches…” She looked directly into Ryla’s eyes. “Right?”

  A prideful expression illuminated Ryla’s face. “Damn right,” she nodded.

  With a renewed sense of strength, Bella held her head high and walked out of the playroom. Side by side, she strolled confidently next to a unique woman, who took pride in empowering the minds of the oppressed.

  Atticus’s arrogance led him to believe that it was his expertise as a lover that had suddenly caused the women in his harem to willfully reciprocate his affections. But the credit for their transition actually belonged to Ryla and her abrasive, no nonsense speeches. Her harsh, vulgar words had an unorthodox way of quickly penetrating their minds. She empowered them not only with her words but by being the shining example of a woman with strength and resilience. Had it not been for Ryla and her zero tolerance for emotional weakness, Atticus Atkins may have found many of his slaves hanging by the neck, from the end of the silk ties he had used to bind them with.

  Whether or not Bella had truly been empowered by Ryla’s words was about to be put to the test as the nine o’clock hour neared. Like the backstage chaos of getting into costume for a show, all of Atticus’s women had gathered in the bathroom together. Some were scouring themselves in the garden tub, some traipsing around naked, some sitting at the vanity tables with towels on, doing their hair and makeup. No matter what stage of preparation they were in, everyone was guzzling wine, thoroughly numbing themselves before the show was set to begin.

  “I don’t know why the hell all of us are botherin’ to get ready tonight. You know who Atticus is gonna choose,” Lola complained. She was standing in the corner naked, swirling the wine in her glass, glaring at Bella through a set of jealous eyes.