Escape From Paradise

by Gwendolyn Field

  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.

  My stomach couldn’t take much more. We were watching a live porn. It felt wrong. The worst part was the way the people in the room watched them. The lust. The crotch rubbing. The crazed eyes. One of the men at our table unzipped his pants and pulled his slave girl’s head to his lap, all but choking her as he surged deeply into her mouth. I shuddered and looked away, swallowing bile.

  Jin skipped onto the scene in her mini dress and mini red cape, hood up, carrying a basket. When she entered the room and saw her grandmother being ravaged, the music screeched and her basket went flying. She tried to escape, but the wolf ditched the grandmother to catch the girl and pull her back, kicking and screaming. Her hood fell, revealing two long black braids and red lips. The grandmother hobbled over, trying to protect Little Red, but the wolf backhanded her, sending her sprawling. He held the girl down on her back with her hands over her head. She grabbed on to the chair legs of one of the patrons, jostling the man, and everyone laughed. Josef dislodged her hands, held them to the carpet, and pushed himself deep into her.

  Jin’s face was so expressive as she arched her back. She looked blissful in her state of fear.

  If only. Rape was nothing like that. Tears welled behind my eyes for the lies and injustice all around me.

  The show went on, a display of fighting and fucking, back and forth between the grandmother and girl, until they were able to overpower him with a bash to the head. He fell to his back and the two females decided to give him a piece of his own medicine by using him instead. Little Red climbed onto his hips and lowered herself onto his dick. She crouched above him, moving her hips all the way up and down for the crowd to see. The grandmother lifted her skirt to her waist and straddled the wolf’s face. He grabbed her thighs and lapped voraciously at the offering.

  As the music crescendoed, all three seemed to come at once, heads lolling, eyes closed, hips bucking. The room cheered, laughing and praising their performance to one another.

  Marco looked down at me, a smile on his face, and all at once it disappeared. His eyes roamed my face angrily and I realized the tears I’d felt welling had spilled over and were running down my cheeks from underneath the mask. Before I could lift my hands to wipe them, Marco wrenched me to my feet and was shoving me toward the door.

  My breathing went ragged. I knew I was in big trouble, and all I could do was frantically whisper, “I’m sorry. I’m sorry!”

  Marco pushed me toward Luis at the doorway and said in Spanish, “Prepare her for punishment. I will be in momentarily.”

  My silent tears turned to sobs as Luis gripped my arm and yanked me from the room.

  I would come to think of this day as the worst day of my life. The day my true brokenness began. The day I learned I’d do just about anything to avoid pain. The day I stopped thinking of my body as my own and gave in to the fate of my new life. I think that’s the part I hated most…how easily I gave in, and what a relief it had been. I’d only been there a day. I was weak, and I hated myself for it.

  It felt like Luis was dragging me clear across the villa. I mumbled pathetically, “No, please. I’m sorry.” He shushed me and led me through a set of black, ominous doors into a darkened room. My eyes adjusted and an icy fear leaked into my blood.

  It was a room of sexual torture. A rack table with wrist and ankle cuffs, chains hanging from the ceiling and walls. A frightening layout of whips and dildos. I shut my eyes against it all, as if that could make this long nightmare go away. I would open my eyes and be home again, and I could tell my friends about the horrible, vivid dream I’d had. I wouldn’t even care if they laughed and call me a freaky perv for dreaming it, because I’d be home and safe, and I could laugh with them.

  But that didn’t happen.

  Luis pulled me to a rounded piece of equipment that looked like a vault or horse, covered in brown leather.

  “Take this off.” He motioned to the dress.

&nb
sp; I grasped my shoulders, crossing my arms over my chest, and scrunched inward. “Please, Luis. I didn’t mean to cry. I won’t do it again!”

  He actually looked a little sorry for me.

  “Please,” I whispered.

  “You must never upset your Master, ‘specially in front of patrons. Never cry.”

  I nodded. “Okay. I understand. I won’t—”

  “You must be punished. Take off the clothing.”

  I held back another round of tears. I wanted to fight back, wanted to fight so hard, but I was scared. Fear and fury dripped like a numbing solution through my system.

  My hands shook as I slowly pulled the stretchy dress over my head. Luis took it from my hands and tossed it toward the wall. Then he gave my back a push until I was bent over the rounded table. My whole body trembled uncontrollably now as he raised chains from the floor and bound my wrists. I felt him to the same to my ankles, tightening everything so I couldn’t move. I whimpered, feelings of panic rising.

  “Oh, God,” I called out, trying and failing to get any wiggle room.

  “Don’t move,” Luis said. He took a black cloth from his pocket, maybe a bandana, and wound it through my mouth, tying it behind my head. I bit down on it to keep my teeth from chattering. I heard him move to stand by the door.

  Then the wait began. Every few minutes panic and terror would set in, rolling through my body like a maniacal wave. I panted and made frantic noises, but I didn’t cry. If tears were the thing that got me in this position, I never wanted to cry again.

  I stilled when low voices and footsteps sounded from the doorway behind me. My heartbeats seemed to stop as a chill of apprehension seeped through my bones. Nobody spoke, but I could hear the shuffle of feet and wondered how many were in the room, looking at my naked backside. What were they going to do to me?

  When a hand pressed against my back I let out a small scream through my clenched teeth.

  Marco’s voice was measured and calm when he said, “Silencio.” His hand went slowly over the bulb of my bottom, rubbing down my thighs and back up, his fingertips grazing the crease of my ass. “You disappointed me, Angel. I do not tolerate tears. I will not allow you to upset my guests.”

  I wanted to apologize—to swear I’d never do it again, but I couldn’t with the gag. My body was tensed, on high alert, waiting.

  A hard smack landed on one of my ass cheeks. I gasped and clenched my muscles until the resounding sting waned.

  He came around to stand in front of me, hands behind his back, a disappointed look on his face. I tried to plead with my eyes, but he wasn’t having any of it. He smacked me across the face and it hurt on several levels. Besides the ringing in my ears and watering of my eyes it caused, being struck on the face was a shameful feeling.

  “Lower your eyes,” he demanded, and I did.

  Another man came to stand at his side, also in a suit.

  In Spanish he said, “Thank you for asking me to oversee her first punishment, Señor Díaz.” I recognized the deep voice of the man at the table who’d been so interested in me. “You know how I enjoy a good whipping.”

  “Of course,” Marco replied.

  Whipping. The word echoed in my head, morphing into a pounding headache.

  “Cinturón,” Marco said. Belt.

  My heart seized. God! Please help me...

  From behind me I heard the clink and whir of a belt being unbuckled and pulled from its loops around someone’s waist. My breathing quickened.

  Two seconds later a loud thwap followed by a vicious stinging rose up across my butt and I cried out. The pain of it was stunning. Before I could process it another landed a bit higher. I took jagged breaths, the kind you’d take during a sobbing fit.

  “Don’t you dare cry,” Marco whispered.

  Thwap.

  I screamed with each strike against my flesh. My ass was on fire, but I was too terrified to cry. I tried to focus my eyes, only to see the man next to Marco adjusting the growing bulge in his pants. So I shut my eyes and lost count of the stinging hits. I’d never been in pain like this. I lost control of my body as I tried desperately not to cry. I shook all over, and a childlike babbling rose up from my throat—a begging sound.

  “Enough,” Marco finally whispered.

  I felt my heartbeat in the wounds across my lower back, butt, and thighs. I flinched against the bouts of throbbing pain. And like a dog I panted through it.

  Marco walked to my side making soothing noises and running a gentle hand over my arms and upper back. I heard something plastic opening, and then Marco was rubbing a cooling salve against the welts.

  “This is your reward for not crying, pretty girl.”

  My head hung limply, and I was grateful for my reward.

  “Jesús y María, I need to fuck her,” said the man in front of me.

  “Not yet,” said Marco evenly. “Tonight. I have something else I need to do with her before then, but you will be my first patron to have her. She is too green to be trusted, so she must stay gagged and bound.”

  “Fine by me.”

  I couldn’t work up the necessary disgust and fear warranted by the man’s lascivious chuckle. I was too relieved that Marco wasn’t letting him have me now. How sad that I’d come to a point where I was thankful for any small reprieve, even when I knew something vile awaited me later.

  “Shall I send Jin to care for you in the meantime?” Marco asked the man.

  “No.” I could feel his eyes on me, hear the dark lust in his voice. “I will wait for this one.”

  “Bueno,” Marco said. “Enjoy your afternoon, Señor Feliz.”

  The deep-voiced man left the room and silence pervaded for many minutes as Marco cared for my wounds. The wounds he’d ordered. I couldn’t even muster the deserved contempt for him at that moment. He was messing with my head, hurting me then caring for me. And I was falling for it, actually feeling thankful for his tenderness. What was wrong with me?

  He commanded for me to be unchained, so Luis swiftly undid the clasps, leading me by the waist down to the floor where I held myself up on all fours. Marco crouched next to me.

  I was so tired.

  “Don’t move,” he said. He removed his suit jacket and handed it off. Then I felt his fingertip slowly circling the bud of my anus with lubricant.

  I tried to say, “No,” but it came out as a low moan with the gag in my mouth. I shook my head. He landed a warning smack to the side of my hip, a spot that hadn’t been harmed by the belt. I bit down hard and stilled, fighting back the stinging behind my eyes. Marco’s voice was clear and matter-of-fact.

  “Never tell me no. I will do with you what I please, and you will take it. If you’re smart you’ll also learn to enjoy it.”

  His finger pushed in halfway and I sucked in a breath at the stretching invasion. He gave a low hiss and whispered in Spanish. “So tight…”

  To me, in English, he said in a stern voice, “You are compacted, Angel. You must take better care of your body. Do you understand?”

  I nodded, but I loathed that he was bringing up my personal business, prodding me like he’d palpate an animal.

  “I know all that happens in my home, Angel. All that goes on with my slaves.” He turned his head and called, “Perla. The enema.”

  Enema?!

  I hadn’t known Perla was in the room. She came to my side and gently pushed my shoulders down as Marco removed his finger.

  “To your elbows,” she said, molding me so that my upper body was close to the floor and my bottom stuck up in the air. “You feel better after.”

  Something plastic touched my butt hole and I dropped my hips with a whimper, clenching my muscles. Perla and Marco both grabbed for my hips, pulling them back up.

  “Don’t move,” Perla gently warned. The plastic piece pressed in, and to my relief it was small, a thin nozzle. Then a cold, rushing feeling entered my bowels, causing an almost immediate bout of cramping inside me. I groaned and curled my body tighter as my
stomach contracted. They were going to force me to shit. In front of them. This was the ultimate gross shame. I moaned, wanting to die and disappear. Perla rubbed my upper back, but Marco stopped her, speaking in Spanish.

  “Don’t comfort her. She must learn.”

  After another minute of the cold solution coursing into me, a horrible overwhelming need to use the restroom overcame me. I raised my head, breathing faster and making urgent little sounds.

  “Here,” Perla said. She motioned to a bucket against the wall.

  The dreaded fucking bucket.

  My momentary horror was overridden by another painful stomach cramp. I crawled in a rush to the container. Perla dropped her eyes, but Marco, Luis, and another of Marco’s gigantic lackeys watched me as by body expunged its contents.

  It was the most awful, degrading moment of my life. The skin on my backside shouted its anger, so I tried to hold myself up, grasping the sides of the bucket. Another wave of cramping came and I squeezed my eyes shut, cursing myself when I felt a tear slip from my eye. Without hesitation, Marco’s big man whacked the side of my face with his open palm, effectively drying my tears and nearly throwing me off the bucket.

  Everything I thought I knew about myself and life, all of my views, shifted and changed in that room on that day. Ideas of privacy and entitlement and freedom slipped away. The meanings of strength and weakness morphed and failed to matter anymore. All that mattered was survival with minimal pain. Maybe pain made some people feel alive, but not me. Pain made me feel hated and ashamed, like a dog tucking its tail when its master kicked it. If survival without pain meant obeying, that’s what I would do.

  When I was finally done my arms shook from holding myself up.

  “Stand,” Marco said.

  I pushed myself, wobbling and unable to stand straight from the leftover pain in my abdomen and backside. He pulled the bandana down from my mouth and caressed my jaw with his thumb.