Tight

Instead I turned, like a good little slave, and faced him.

“What am I going to wear?”

“There’s a dress hanging in the closet.” He touched the edge of my elbow as I passed, my entire body jerking to a stop at the contact. “You look very nice,” he said quietly.

“Thank you, sir.” I intoned, my head down.

The dress was plain, a short black number, Ross tags still attached. I slid it on and stepped in front of the mirror.

“Perfect,” he murmured from behind me, his eyes critiquing every inch of the look, his hand tucking in the tags, smoothing out the fabric.

I kept my eyes down and forced a smile.

***

I don’t think that there has ever been a moment in my life where I knew, with absolute certainty, that my entire life was about to change. I didn’t realize it the night I was abducted. Didn’t realize it, as a baby, the night of my birth. But this night, I knew it. I knew that every action I took would have some form of consequences for the rest of my life. One wrong glance, one misstep... and it could end in death, or worse - a lifetime of torture.

I broke every rule I’d ever made for myself and cooperated. Let him cuff my hands. Stepped from the room and through the parking lot and didn’t scream. Saw my first sky in unknown years and stared. Took a seat in the front seat of a car I had never seen next to a man that I wanted dead. Quietly sat while he drove me through a city whose name I didn’t know. The car stopped, started, accelerated, slowed. Turned twenty-odd times before pulling down a street and stopping.

I’d been down streets like this before. Cobblestoned paths that led between buildings centuries old. I walked down a street like this with Brett before. He bought a flower from a street kid and tucked it in my hair. Pulled me into an alley and kissed my mouth, put his hand up my dress and caressed my thigh.

I shouldn’t have thought of Brett. The man who used to give me strength—just that slight thought of him broke my veneer. Made my hands shake and my stomach twist. I always thought, in the confines of that basement, that he would find me. Now, hours from that home, in a city I didn’t recognize, where I would be sold to a real Master, not some psychotic slave researcher... he’d never find me. Not him, not my father, not the police. I would be lost, I would be a statistic, like so many I had heard about over the course of my training.

The car settled into park and I looked at my hands. Felt the brush of his palm on my bare shoulder and fought the urge to recoil.

“I’ve been very impressed with you, Kitten. Maybe you are smart enough to keep this up.”

I wished he would just shut up. Find a bridge in this country and jump off of it. I stared at my hands and waited for him to come around, open my door, lead me to slaughter.

When we entered the room we were greeted by a voice. I stared at the shoes of the man speaking, shiny and perfect, and wondered if he had a wife who polished them. Polished them and straightened his tie, kissing his cheek before waving goodbye. I wondered if this man beat her or if he treated her like a queen. I wondered, not for the first time, at whether my keeper had someone, a wife or girlfriend who he feigned affection and forced smiles for. I wondered if he carried around a clipboard and bugged her with questions all day.

“There are fifteen buyers here tonight. The rest of the group is in the main room. You only brought her?”

“Yes. And I’m also looking to purchase.” I could hear the eagerness in his voice, a nerd wanting to sit at the cool kids’ table.

“Oh.” Polished Shoes shifted. Ha. I smiled to myself. He heard it too. “Have you been here before?”

“A while ago. We spoke then. I’m surprised you don’t remember.”

“Then you already know the house rules. Please wear these two pins, they’ll indicate that you are both buying and selling. I suggest you make Buyer 43’s acquaintance. He’s always looking for American girls to purchase, though he typically breaks them himself.”

“He’s here? I’ve heard his name before.” I could practically hear him quiver with excitement. This was it. What his months of research, his stacks of journals had led to. I hadn’t had a chance, begging for my life a few days earlier. This was a moment he’d been waiting for, planning for, for a very long time. I’d just been the stupid girl who had given him a key to the city.

“He rarely misses a sale.”

“Well, let’s go in.” He put pressure on my arm and I stepped forward, following his lead, the two of us following the shiny shoes through the doors.

In the entryway, my head down, listening to the conversation of my keeper and the greeter, I wanted to raise my head, look around. See what I was walking into. But, stepping down a wide hall, I suddenly didn’t want to look. Didn’t want to know. Heard, before us, screams of women, cries of terror and desperation. I slowed my steps, felt his hand close on my wrist and tighten. A warning.

My steps increased in speed, my chest hammering as I blew a shaky breath out. Tonight, I would be sold. The further we went, the more my ears understood. There were two groups of sound before us, a division of order and chaos, and when the hall ended, I tilted my head right, raising my eyes enough to see a hallway, the screams of women coming from that direction. To my right, a quiet hum mixed with delicate strands of music.

“Kitten, look at me.”

I lifted my eyes, then my chin, looking into his face.

“Can I trust you to make the right choice?” He held up a handcuff key. Moved his gaze right, then left. “I can take you either place. Two different groups of buyers. It’s up to you.”

I swallowed. Fought the urge to glance right, one woman’s long howl cutting a path through my composure. I held up my wrists. “I will be good, Master. I promise.”

He smiled. Worked the cuff’s lock open as I dropped my gaze. I saw his hand, long fingers that have yanked my hair, slapped my face, violated me...slip the cuffs into the pants pocket of his suit. A suit. I missed that detail, too absorbed in my own fate. Is that the proper outfit to wear when shopping for a soul?

“Ready, Buyer 214?” Polished Shoes had moved left, to the door.

“Please. Lead the way.”

When the door opened, it brought with it the smell.

tight (tit)

(adj.) very firm so as not to let go

“a tight grip”

The smell was of men, a raw animal scent of domination and want. Of competition, them all just a few steps short of beating their chests and howling. We stepped forward, my hands clasped together, head down, the room a quiet roar of conversation, male voices stacked upon male voices, in the background, the clink of metal and glassware, small bits of feminine voices sprinkled in. I listened for screams, but heard none. Relaxed slightly and felt his hand on my back, guiding me through the crowds. Saw Polished Shoes’ departure, the handshake that passed between the two vultures, a bit of cash exchanged in the clasp.