The Seller: A Dark Romance

by Renard, Loki

  I chose him, in the beginning. I chose him because he had a reputation for being a decent person, as far as traffickers go. People talked about the quality of his goods. The chatter was positive, and the chatter about these kinds of guys is never positive. I had no idea how much I’d end up liking him.

  Wet sounds are emerging from my mouth and my pussy at the same time. They’re lewd. Dirty. They’re all mine. I’m moaning around his dick, that plunging rod of flesh which stretches my mouth the same way it stretched my pussy before. I want him to fuck me. I need him to fuck me.

  But I don’t think he’s going to. He’s taking my mouth and by the sounds of it, and the erotically strained look on his face, he’s going to cum there. My pussy isn’t getting his dick tonight. But I’m going to taste his cum. I grind my hand against my clit, work my hips against my palm. I don’t care how this looks. I don’t care that I’m supposed to be his unwilling captive. There was never anything unwilling about this.

  He grunts and growls and thrusts harder, one big hand palming the top of my head, keeping me in place as his hips stroke that thick rod of flesh in and out of my lips. I am almost as into this as he is, my juices slicking my fingers. I might actually cum at the same time he does.

  He’s close.

  I’m close.

  Right before he spills his semen inside my lips, just as the moment his cock is harder and more completely erect than ever, he pulls out of my mouth and pushes something else in. I think it’s his finger, but it’s not. It’s smaller and harder. A swab. He drops it into a little baggie and I am stuck there, on my knees, my fingers in my pussy, my mind in confusion, and now his cock back inside my mouth, a few quick jerks before he fills me all the way up, my mouth full of warm seed.

  “Swallow,” he says, closing my jaw with one hand and holding it until I do.

  I drink his semen down in a state of confusion, tasting him on my tongue and feeling the thick, viscous fluid as it makes its way down to my belly. I can’t move. I can’t talk. I am furious.

  “What the fuck was that?” I curse as he pulls his hand away and gives me the freedom of my face.

  “That was a DNA test. I’m going to have it run, get to the bottom of your little mystery. I’m going to find out who you are, Siri.”

  Fuck. No. Fuck. No.

  * * *

  “You’re a piece of shit,” she hisses. She has gone pale with fear. The idea of me knowing who she is obviously scares her, I’ve known that all along.

  What she says is true, though. I am a piece of shit. But that doesn’t change my need to know who she is. I’m one step closer to finding out what the hell is going on with her.

  “You could just tell me now. Save me the trouble of having this run,” I say swinging the baggie containing her sample up just out of her reach.

  “Run it. You won’t get any matches. I’m not a criminal.”

  “I have access to extended databases. Not just criminal ones.”

  “Enjoy your science experiment,” she says bitterly. “It won’t work.”

  I think it will work. I think that’s why she’s scared and angry, and rude.

  “You stay there,” I tell her. “Get some rest. Your training resumes tomorrow, once I find out exactly who you are, and what you’re up to.”

  She bites her lower lip and lifts her chin. She’s brimming with defiance and interrupted orgasm. I could fuck her right now, bury my dick in that creamy tight cunt, but the need to find out who she is trumps that desire. We will have plenty of time together once I know who she is.

  * * *

  The rest of my day is busy. I get Siri’s sample sent off, and then I get down to business. For the past few days, my world has revolved around Siri, but there is much more to my portfolio than the girl upstairs. Selling girls is not my primary source of income. It’s more of a passion project, a sideline. Commerce is my profession, in all its forms. I own multiple businesses, selling everything from cotton wool to caviar. I should have stopped selling women long ago. It’s risky and of course, it’s wrong, but there is a thrill to taking raw material in the form of a female, and turning it into a perfect fuck doll. In many respects, it’s a bad habit I’ve yet to shed, like smoking.

  As I work, my mind keeps returning to Siri. I don’t like not knowing things, and she is the most unknown thing I’ve encountered in human form. I have a camera feed to the room she’s in so I can make sure she doesn’t do anything stupid, like try to escape.

  I see that as soon as I left, she closed the curtains again and re-dressed herself. When my servants bring her food, she eats. She goes to the bathroom. She takes a shower. She goes through the closet I had prepared for her ahead of time and she picks out a blouse and a skirt to wear. If I didn’t know better, I’d say she was settling in, but I do know better and I know she has some end goal in mind that lies outside Athens.

  In the end, she retreats to the bed and covers herself, as if the blankets might provide additional protection from whatever lurks outside the walls of my home.

  My work is mostly tedious and I find myself checking my email repetitively, hoping there is a missive related to Siri, even though I know her DNA sample hasn’t even been sequenced yet. Around dinner time, I eat, then retire to bed early. My room adjoins hers, not that she knows it. I am just a few feet away from her as I lie in my bed alone, tempted yet again to have her join me.

  I never let my material sleep in my bed. I never share true intimacy with the girls I train, that is for their new owners to enjoy, or not. I lie there all too awake and I think about Siri, who I might sell her to. Usually I have someone in mind for a girl within hours of meeting her. There are men who like blondes or red heads, some who prefer tall, or short women. I’ve gotten to know my client’s types very well over the years. I can’t think of a single person to match Siri with, but not because she wouldn’t suit my clients’ tastes - because she suits mine.

  The implications of that thought are complicated, much too complicated to explore as the night grows later and darker. One thing at a time. As soon as I know who she is, I can start to make decisions. Tomorrow should bring that revelation.

  I close my eyes and go to sleep, feeling that old feeling of satisfaction which comes with being in control. Siri might have her secrets, but I have my ways of uncovering them, and soon I’ll lay her bare in every way possible.

  Chapter 5

  Stavros

  The clock by my bed is blinking 2 AM when I am jolted awake by gunfire and the sound of Siri screaming. I am out of bed and across to her room before I’m even fully aware of what I’m doing. Thank fuck I kept her close. If she was anywhere else in the house, there would be a hail of bullets between her and I right now.

  “He’s coming for me! He’s coming!” She’s screaming almost incoherently.

  “Shhhh, nobody’s getting you,” I reassure her as I drag her from the bed and back into my room, throwing open the doors on what is usually a hidden bank of camera feeds.

  Multiple screens reveal that we are under attack. There are people fucking everywhere. The main doors have been rammed open. There’s a small armored vehicle parked in my vestibule, and there are mercenaries pouring in through every accessible spot on the lower floor. Windows are broken. There’s glass everywhere. I have dozens of armed guards on site, but there are more than three times as many hostiles pouring in and my men have no fucking chance at all. My beautiful, ancient home has been turned into a war zone, marble statues blasted to smithereens by high powered weapons which destroy everything in their path. This is my worst case scenario multiplied. My house is a fortress masquerading as a common home, and that means I have some defensive capabilities, but nothing equal to this onslaught.

  Fortunately, I designed my bedroom for the worst case scenario. Not because I expected an invasion force, but because with my sideline of work police interference is always a possibility. My bedroom has not one, but two hidden exits, one of which emerges in the house next door, the other which des
cends into the catacombs of Athens. We’ll take the latter one.

  I grab Siri and together, we escape through the back of a closet which opens up and descends down a ladder. I pick up a go bag stashed inside, sling it on my back and pull Siri to my chest before sliding down the ladder, my hands and feet on the outside of the vertical bars so we slip down as quickly as possible. Every second counts right now. My men held off the attackers until we could get out of the room, but they won’t be able to hold them for long.

  Siri is terrified, clinging to me with desperate fear, her arms and legs wrapped around my body as we descend, holding on like a monkey.

  Even I’m being affected by fear. I can feel adrenaline coursing through me, making my muscles bulge with tension. I don’t want to be running. I want to be grabbing weapons and fighting. My men are fucking dying up there, and I’m dodging down into the tunnels like a rat.

  “Get to your exit points now!” I grab the walkie talkie which is attached to the front strap of the go bag, and locked to our emergency channel and issue the order.

  There’s crackling and gun fire as a few of my men respond. Jesus. This is fucking awful. Everyone I hired to work for me is ex-special forces, I don’t fuck around - but still, being caught off guard like they must have been… how did nobody notice a fucking armored vehicle slamming up the garden path?

  There are too many questions, and there’s no fucking answers to them right now, like, who the hell authorized a full scale attack on my home? Athens law enforcement turns a blind eye to a lot of organized criminal activity, but even they can’t pretend they don’t notice a house on fire, exploding with gun shots in the middle of one of the most affluent suburbs of the city. This is going to send ripples across the entire city. This is going to get tongues wagging and tensions rising. People are already dead, but more are going to die before this is over. I can feel that in the air.

  “What is this!?” Siri gasps in surprise as we land in the ancient tunnel below my home.

  “Getting out of dodge has been fashionable for a long time,” I tell her. I’m keeping as calm as I can. She doesn’t need me to start freaking out. She needs me to keep my head about me and get the pair of us to safety.

  We’re already getting ahead of the game. The distinct lack of armed men in the tunnel tells me it is still secret. These tunnels aren’t connected to the popular Athenian catacombs which all the tourists know about. They’re smaller, more private. My house may be modern, but it sits on a site which has been occupied by housing since before the time of Christ. Many rich, corrupt men have lived where I now live, and have fled where we now flee. Most of them didn’t have a jet boat waiting at the private bay we’ll emerge into shortly, but their little ships would have served the same purpose.

  As we run, Siri scurrying along by my side, keeping up the pace impressively well, I’m mentally going over the images I saw on the security screens. It looked to me like there were police, military, and if I’m not mistaken, mafia on the ground. Someone influential wanted what I had inside my house tonight, the girl who is at my side right now, cursing softly under her breath like a mantra.

  Panting for breath, we finally get to the bay where the jet boat is waiting just as it should be. This is one of several escape craft I have dotted about the city. It gets checked once a week, re-stocked with supplies, just like the rest of the cars and boats I have. Until now, these were the actions of a paranoid man, but being paranoid doesn’t mean people aren’t out to get you.

  I toss Siri into a seat and slow throttle into open waters. Now is not the time to get caught because our craft looks like it’s manned by people panicking and fleeing. The slow pace of escape gives me a chance to think.

  She’s been warning me since we got to Athens that it wasn’t safe. She was vague about it, and I didn’t pay any attention to her warnings, but she has my attention now.

  “Siri,” I say, idling the throttle and letting the boat dance lightly on the water. “Who were those people?”

  She gives a little shrug. Her nipples are hard underneath the sheer slip of fabric which passes for her clothing. It’s going to be damn hard staying incognito with a girl like this on board. Under the moonlight, she’s a stunning nymph, all curves and sin.

  “You don’t know, or you don’t want to tell me?”

  She shrugs again. My blood is still rife with adrenaline, and I am not in the mood to be defied. The world is shifting beneath my feet, just like this damn boat swaying on the water. I prefer to be on dry land. I like things to be certain, but she’s denying me the knowledge which would explain it all.

  “Siri, now is not the time to fuck around,” I say, giving her a hard look.

  “I told you we should get out of Athens,” she says casually.

  What the hell does that mean? It’s not an answer. It’s almost a threat. It’s definitely a smug statement which gets me nowhere.

  “Who the FUCK are you!?”

  I rarely lose my composure, but I’ve lost it now for sure. I scream the question like a mad man, my voice deep and resonant with anger, my entire body fraught with strain. It has to be terrifying, but she doesn’t even blink.

  Siri

  There is no way I ever tell him who I am. The moment I do that, I lose everything. He can yell, scream, beat the shit out of me if he wants to, that’s not a question I’m going to answer.

  His fists are clenched, but he’s not threatening me. His anger is directed at the people who invaded his home, stole his sense of security and superiority in gunfire. I guess he doesn’t like to feel vulnerable, or weak, or be at the mercy of unknown forces. I’d point the irony out to him, but something tells me he’s already aware of it.

  “You should sell me,” I tell him. “Virtual auction. No pictures. Highest bidder wins.”

  “What? Why?”

  I can’t help the pitying tone which sneaks into my voice. He really thought he was in control. Men always do. With their big muscles, and their hard cocks, and their total lack of morals, they think they rule the world, turning women into products. In the end, they’re nothing more than tools.

  “Why? Because that’s what you do,” I say. “You sell women. And it’s time I found a buyer.”

  I see him tensing up. He doesn’t like this. He’s confused. He’s off balance. He’s not used to being on the back foot and I can see how much he hates it. That’s why I’m giving him an out.

  “Get rid of me. Make your money and be done with me. I’m betting there’s already an offer waiting for you.”

  He kills the engine completely and just lets the boat drift. There’s no lights in this thing. There’s not even a below deck. We’re completely exposed, and drifting further out into the ocean all the time. I hope he’s as good a sailor as he is a pilot, or he’s going to get us both killed when we hit open water and face the wrath of Poseidon.

  “What do you think you’re doing, Siri?” His voice is calm and dangerous.

  “I’m offering you the most logical resolution to this situation,” I tell him. “I’m telling you to do what you were going to do all along anyway.”

  “My home was just raided. We could have both been killed…”

  “You could have been killed,” I correct him.

  “Not you?”

  “No. I’m too valuable,” I sigh. “Listen. You wanted to go to Athens. I told you not to. Now I’m telling you to check your email as soon as you can, and take the offer you find there. You can refuse to listen to me again and take your chance with the inevitable men with guns if you like.”

  “That isn’t how this works,” he growls.

  “It’s not?”

  “No,” he says. “You don’t determine your buyer. Hell, there was no way for you to even know you were going to be on the market…”

  He trails off as the cogs in his mind start to whirr. Oh, yeah, little bits and pieces are starting to fall into place for him now.

  “Or did you,” he says, his dark eyes narrowed on me. “Did you, s
omehow… some-fucking-way, manage to get yourself picked up and taken to me?”

  “That seems unlikely,” I deadpan.

  “I don’t think so. I think that’s the most logical thing I can conclude.”

  I fall silent. I’ve told him what he needs to know. If he wants to waste time and fuck around and get himself killed, that’s on him. It would be a pity, I suppose, of sorts, but my life is on the line too. I’m so fucking close to getting what I’ve wanted for years. I’m not going to go and blow it all now by falling for some guy and spilling my guts and ruining everything.

  Stavros seems to have made a decision too. He activates the motor again and heads the boat along the coastline. I press my lips together to stop myself from talking. Anything I say now is going to make things worse.

  I’ve become attached to him over these few days in spite of our chaotic energy. There is a spark of lust between us which makes his touch welcome even when I hiss and spit at him, and I do not expect to find it with any other man. No doubt, it is his ruthless, reckless, lawless nature which makes me respond to him. He is everything I shouldn’t want. Everything I refuse to need.

  He has been in charge since the beginning, but I’m the one who is getting my way. Now his place has been raided, I’m certain the offer will have come through. When I was making sure I’d be sold, there were several trigger conditions for the email to be sent. Massive fucking firefight in residential Athens definitely counts.

  We reach a quiet backwater an hour or so later, where a moonlit path winds up to a small house on a hill. The quaint exterior belies a technologically advanced interior, containing, among other things, a laptop.

  Stavros checks his email while I lounge in a chair outside, looking up at the stars and trying to stay calm.

  “Siri!” He calls my name, summoning me to my feet. When I walk into the cottage, I see him sitting at a table which is too small for his bulk, drumming his fingers on the olive wood table top.