by Ella Ford
I moved my tongue quickly, tracing out tight circles on her throbbing nub, relishing the reaction it provoked. I lifted my hands, wrapping my arms around her stockinged thighs, enjoying the soft warmth that I found there. I felt as though I was anchoring myself to her, limpet-like, becoming a part of her body intended only for pleasure. I intensified my motion, allowing myself to become lost in this strange position.
Suddenly, Lydia’s breathing changed. She shifted from from low moans to short, sharp gasps. Her hands tightened once more, pulling me inwards until her pussy covered nose and mouth. I was trapped and unable to breath. I felt my panic return as she thrust her hips back and forth and smeared her wet flesh against my face. I tried to struggle, rolling my shoulders to free myself, but I couldn’t move.
“Oh fuck, oh fuck, oh fuck!” cried Lydia and her entire body fell into spasm. Her hand left my head and slapped against the side of the stall. Her hips pushed towards me one final, overwhelming time. She gasped again and held her breath. I glanced up and saw her head pushed back, long tendons on her neck standing out with chiselled rigidity.
Then she breathed out and her body seemed to deflate. Her grip on my head fell away and I collapsed to the floor of the stall, gasping for breath. I fell into a curled ball, my vision blurry and face still dripping wet with Lydia’s hot juices. I gazed forwards, unable to think of anything, staring at her foot and the complex weave of her sandal around her nylon covered skin.
She stood back and looked down at me, shuffling her skirt down around her thighs.
“We’ll be in touch,” she said dismissively, then turned on her heel and left the stall, leaving me lying there on the cold, hard floor.
Chapter 2
That communication came in the form of a note. A simple, handwritten letter, pushed under the door of my apartment by an unseen hand. It was folded once in the middle, written in ink with a flowery, expressive calligraphy.
Jessica,
A buyer has been arranged. At 8pm on Thursday 8th, come to the parking lot beneath the Metropolitan on Grand Avenue. Dress for a formal gathering, come alone, tell no-one.
Your discretion is of the utmost importance. That cannot be stressed enough.
Your affairs will be settled.
L.
I read the letter over and over, studying every word for a hint or suggestion of my fate. I pored over the phrase “your affairs will be settled”, trying to comprehend the intent and implication behind that sinister words.
I considered ignoring the note, tearing it up, forgetting the sordid encounter with Lydia and returning to my life. But I found myself unable to commit to such a terminal action. Instead, I folded the note and placed it on the kitchen counter.
Over the next few days, I found my mind returning to the coffee shop and my meeting with the mysterious Lydia. I found myself replaying the moment she’d ordered me into the bathroom. There was no doubt in her tone, she had simply told me what she’d wanted me to do, and I did it. I remembered the feeling of utter capitulation as I walked across the bustling shop, the feeling of total obedience as I’d stripped off my top and bra and lowered myself to my knees on the bathroom floor. I found myself unable to escape from the memory of blank mindlessness as Lydia had revealed her sex and her intent to me, how I’d allowed the fear and apprehension to wash over me, but had never let it control me.
And so, unable to escape my desires and needs, I’d selected my favorite little black dress and high heels, and prepared myself for an unknown but intensely compelling meeting.
---
The van drove on through the night and such fanciful considerations seemed a long time ago. My face and hair were drenched with sweat, the air in the rough bag was hot and moist. My wrists were aching, held in place by the cold metal bracelets of the handcuffs. I found it difficult to get comfortable, unable to find a position where my legs didn’t cramp up and I wasn’t sitting on my hands. In the end, I collapsed to the side, curling up into a tight ball on the van floor.
Beside me, my unseen companion did the same, spooning her body into mine. The previously fiery woman had lapsed into a sullen silence, having said nothing since the departure of the other girl. For both of us, the reality of our situation had begun to sink in and I wondered if she was replaying the events of the last few weeks herself, revisiting the strange meeting that had introduced her to this strange world.
“Did… did you meet Lydia?” I whispered, breaking the monotony of the van’s droning engine.
There was silence for a few seconds and I feared that she wouldn’t answer. “Yes.”
“Where? How?” I asked, wondering if the coffee shop was a standard routine that Lydia employed.
There was quiet once more, for longer this time. “I met her in a bar. She… we... “ she started, then trailed off to silence.
“Do you know anything about our… our buyer?” I asked.
“No. Lydia just said she had someone perfect in mind for me,” she replied. There was a hint of something that I couldn’t identify whenever the woman said Lydia’s name. Was it reverence? “Probably some rich business man or Saudi prince.”
I considered her words, realizing for the first time that I had barely considered the identity of my potential owner. I’d never even thought of what he would be like, how he would treat me. It seemed absurd, this crazy notion of ownership, and it brushed up against my feminist, educated upbringing. I’d been raised to believe that women are equal, that they are more than just sex objects or possessions. Even now, that notion felt right to me.
Yet, paradoxically, I felt a strange acceptance of this peculiar, degrading transaction. That there existed men who would pay money for women didn’t surprise me, it didn’t offend me. Instead, it thrilled me. I felt a surge of excitement that seemed entirely at odds with the situation we were in. The pain in my wrists and the discomfort in my legs faded. The chill air that bit into my bare legs and arms lessened, replaced by an inner warmth that began deep in my core.
I was out of control, no longer in command of my life. Everything that I was, everything that I’d achieved, was being swept away with every passing mile. As the van drove deeper into the night, my affairs were being settled. What did that mean? Was my apartment being surrendered? Was my employment being terminated? Were my friends receiving emails telling them that I was going travelling? I wondered how much power Lydia possessed. Could she really end an existence like this?
I found myself strangely unconcerned about the erasure of my entire life, experiencing only a momentary pang of regret. I was owned now.
---
I sensed that we were driving out of the city. The van took fewer corners and picked up speed. The sound of passing cars became rare and fleeting, suggesting a remote country road.
After another thirty minutes, the van turned to the left, slowing to a crawl and driving over a rough, pebble strewn surface. Then it came to a halt and the doors of the driver’s cab opened and closed in a hurry. Seconds later, the rear doors opened and the van bounced as someone entered the rear compartment with us.
The pair of us struggled to an upright position, both huddling together, pushing as far back into the van as we could. I struggled to see through the thick, hessian bag, but it was too dark and my vision was blurred with the sweat that had run down my forehead into my eyes.
“Get number three, I’ll get one,” said the familiar voice of the senior male.
I felt a rough hand grab my arm and pull me up. I thrashed about, trying to find purchase on the slippery floor of the van with my precarious heels. The strong hand yanked once, lifting me off the floor in a single, powerful motion. I found my footing, stumbling like a newborn giraffe on weakened legs, unable to use my arms for balance.
Beside me, I heard the other woman protest as she was forced upright. But before I could think, the man holding me bent down, shoved his shoulder into my stomach and then stood up straight lifting me up on his shoulder as though I weighed nothing at all. I squea
led in surprise, utterly helpless and unable to do anything. I felt my panic return, suddenly desperate to free myself from the bag and the cuffs. And then what? Run?
The other woman cried out once more, presumably tossed over the second man’s shoulder as I had been.
I felt myself swing around, then a sudden jarring jolt as the man carrying me stepped down from the van. I tried to struggle, thrashing my lower legs up and down but offering little meaningful resistance. My heart was hammering and my breath was coming quickly in short gasps. The air in the bag was hot and stifling, low on oxygen and unable to sustain my frantic panic.
I tried to calm myself, tried to focus on the idea that this was what I wanted. The way these men were handling me and my companion, the way we were being tossed around like sacks of meat. This was what it was like to be owned, to be a possession, an object. But the animal part of my brain found it difficult to concentrate on such abstract concepts as consensual submission and an overwhelming fear of the unknown caused my adrenaline levels to rise and my heart to jackhammer in my chest.
“You took your time,” came a familiar female voice from nearby. The voice echoed around the space we were in, implying some kind of large room or warehouse.
“Sorry Lydia, we had to stop on the way. Number two freaked the fuck out, lost it big time. We had to ditch her by the side of the road,” said the other man, the one carrying my companion.
My handler took two more steps and then we came to a halt. I felt my panic levels subside slightly, somehow calmed by the presence of Lydia.
“Ah shit, the buyer specifically wanted three,” replied Lydia. She sounded displeased, on the verge of anger. The room fell silent for several seconds and I felt the man holding me shifting nervously from foot to foot. Lydia sighed. “But you did the right thing. The last thing we need is one of them changing their mind after she’s seen her new owner.”
I heard the tapping of footsteps on hard floor and sensed Lydia approaching my handler. She walked around to where my head was resting against the man’s back and grabbed the bag, pulling my head up with it. “How are the other two? One and three? Did they give you any trouble?” she asked, as though inquiring about how a family pet had behaved for a sitter.
“No trouble Lydia,” said the man holding me. I could feel his deep voice vibrate around my body. “Usual struggles and tantrums, nothing major. Bitches knew what they were getting into, right?”
“Indeed,” replied Lydia and I sensed her leave my side and step over to my left. “Set them both down. On their knees, side by side. The buyer will be here shortly. I want them calm and docile by then.”
The two men grunted their understanding and I felt my handler bending down and lowering me to the floor. Once again, my heartbeat quickened with this change in circumstances. I felt strangely dizzy and lightheaded. As my feet touched the floor, I swayed to the side. It was impossible to get my balance with the damned bag on my head, but the man who’d been carrying me reached out a steadying hand and gripped my shoulder.
“You okay? You gonna faint?” he said. There was a hint of fatherly concern in his voice, a suggestion that he actually cared about our wellbeing. For the first time, I found myself wondering about these two men, Lydia’s henchmen. Who were they? What was their part in this enterprise? Did they have lives? Families? Who greeted them when they went home after such a sordid expedition?
“I-I’m okay… It’s just…” I started, but couldn’t add anything meaningful. The source of my distress was obvious.
I felt the hand on my shoulder press down forcing my legs to bend. I lowered myself to my knees, unable to use my handcuffed arms for balance. The man’s grip prevented me from toppling over, and I rested back on my heels.
The floor on which I kneeled felt cold and hard, rough like unfinished concrete. I shuddered involuntarily, wondering where the hell I was and what the hell I was doing. Beside me, the second woman, who I had yet to even see, kneeled down. I could feel the soft skin of her upper arm brush against mine. She was cold and covered in gooseflesh, but her presence was reassuring.
Suddenly, I heard the noise of a distant engine approaching, then the slow crunch of gravel as a vehicle pulled up outside the building we were in.
“Joe, go and check. The last thing we need is the cops looking in,” said the man who was carrying me. There was a palpable tension in the room, something tangible that could be felt without being able to see.
Joe grunted and I heard the quick tap of footsteps running across the space. “We’re good,” he shouted across the room seconds later and the tension lifted, but only slightly. I sensed that Lydia and her henchmen were nervous about meeting this buyer. Hardly surprising. I would imagine that the kind of man who would buy girls like this was not the kind of person you wanted to disappoint, I thought to myself, then suppressed a little giggle as I realized how absurd it was to think about this strange human trafficking enterprise that I’d become involved in. My momentary mirth subsided quickly, replaced again by fear and nervousness.
From across the room, I heard a side door of some kind swing open, then quickly shut. Several pairs of footsteps marched quickly in our direction. Heavy thuds and light taps, suggesting the approaching party contained different builds of people.
I struggled to keep track, desperately wanting to know what was happening just inches from where I was kneeling. Beside me, I felt the other woman fighting her own internal struggles. I wondered how she felt, whether she regretted her choices yet, whether a part of her felt a strange thrill at this inhuman treatment - as I did.
“There was a change of plan,” said Lydia. She was trying to sound confident and assured, but there was a nervous timbre to her voice. “These two are number one and number three, you have their details in the envelopes I supplied you. The doctor and the PA.”
My companion was a doctor? I thought to myself, feeling an irrational shock at this revelation. Why would a doctor want to give up her life like this?
A male voice replied. “And number two? The waitress?”
Was this our buyer? His voice sounded rough and gravelly, hardly the cultured accent of sophistication that you might expect from someone with enough wealth to be able to afford such a forbidden transaction.
“Number two panicked. Couldn’t handle it. We had to let her go, otherwise she’d jeopardize the operation.”
There was a moment of whispered conversation. “Okay, you did the right thing. Though we asked for three. Your price will be lowered accordingly. Take off those bags, let’s see what we have.”
Oh god, oh god, oh god, I thought. My mind was racing at a thousand thoughts a second, unable to focus on one particular thread. I was about to see the man that was going to own my life, the man who would use me for his pleasure, who held my entire existence in the palms of his hands. I was thrilled and terrified at the same time. An urge to run mixed with an urge to plunge myself into this mindless existence of obedience and quiet servitude.
One of Lydia’s men moved behind me and began to fiddle with the cord that was tied around my neck. He finally loosened the knot and, with a single stroke, lifted the bag from my head. Immediately, I screwed my eyes shut, blinded by the harsh, white, halogen light in the clinical, dilapidated space. I managed only the briefest glimpse of three figures before me before I was plunged again into darkness. I gasped, relishing the cool air in my lungs after the cloying warmth of the bag.
Beside me, I heard another gasp, an echo of my own as my companion’s bag was removed from her head. My first instinct was to turn towards her, to see who it was that I’d been brought here with - the doctor, number one. Gingerly, I opened my eyes, blinking rapidly to clear away the salty tears that stung them. Gradually, the woman beside me swam into focus. She looked slightly older than me, with raven black hair that was pulled back in a tight ponytail. Her skin was pale, though her cheeks were flushed a rosy red after so long in the back. She was quite beautiful, with pale blue eyes and full red lips, accented
by high cheekbones. She turned to look at me, obviously driven by the same need for camaraderie as I was. We made eye contact as she studied me, and a momentary communication passed between us, an unspoken bond that would endure through the difficult weeks and months ahead.
“Very nice. What do you think?” said the male voice. As one, the doctor and I both turned to look forwards. I blinked several times and the buyer’s party resolved into clarity. There was three of them; two burly men in matching black suits and ludicrous sunglasses and one other.
I gasped audibly and the doctor did the same, sharing my shock. Standing between the two men, was a third figure. It was instantly obvious that this person was the buyer, not the man who spoke, or his burly companion. The central figure radiated an authority and a presence that was almost palpable, a tangible sense of power and command. I found myself wanting to lower my head in this presence, to cower and whimper, suddenly realizing that this person was going to own me and subject me to their every whim.
The central figure, the person who I would come to know only as The Buyer, was a woman.
She was middle-aged, and distractingly tall. At least as tall as the men who accompanied her - men who were clearly the equivalent of Lydia’s henchmen. She had ice-blonde hair, cut alarmingly short in a close crop. Her face was chiseled and serious, with emerald green eyes and full lips, but there was a stark beauty there. As I studied her, the corner of her mouth curled up in a venomous smirk, a hungry leer that sent shivers of trepidation down my spine.
She stepped forward, a single stride. She was wearing a black pant suit with no blouse. Her cleavage was visible beneath the tailored jacket, drawing the eye and giving her powerful demeanour a feminine edge. She stepped forward again, until she was standing before me. I peered down at her feet, unable to stand that siren glare any more. Her shoes were expensive, open toed black pumps, and her feet were covered in sheer black nylon, revealing her perfectly manicured toenails through the thin mesh of her hose.
