The Fine Art of Torture (Slave of the Aristocracy Book 3)
Page 19
The latter was based on some truth. Somehow, she did manage to understand him, despite the mental confusion caused by hypothermia and oxygen deprivation. It was simple, really. As much as the professor liked her, he needed his friend. It was easier for him to buy a new slave than to find another educated and intelligent man who was happy to share his sadistic avocation.
It was probably best that she didn’t manage to say anything coherent at all.
She choked when Moe dragged her to her feet by the chain. She had to concentrate every ounce of will to force her shaking legs to support her.
“Your new owners are waiting outside,” he said.
He pulled her, nude and wet and shivering and helpless, out of the exhibition hall. The professor stayed inside, attending to the other slaves. He had said his goodbye before he locked her in the water cabinet this morning.
A dozen men were waiting on the sidewalk. Through the fog of her mental confusion, she realized that her new owners weren’t brothel keepers. They were common laborers with calloused hands and grime on their clothes.
She recognized the man in front. It was Jack Everley, the auto mechanic that she had met in Moe’s waiting room. The one who said that he wanted to own a pleasure slave but couldn’t afford it.
Apparently he and his friends could each afford to own one-twelfth of a slave.
They were all staring at her bald cunt with unconcealed lust. It was their cunt, now.
Moe grinned at her. “You like sex so much? These men are going to give you all the sex that you want. More than you want. All day, every day.”
He laughed hard and handed the end of the chain to Mr. Everley.
“Enjoy!” he boomed.
She didn’t know if he was addressing her or the slavering gang who owned her now.
END OF BOOK THREE