I woke up with a really bad headache and noticed two things simultaneously: it was dark and I wasn't alone. Were we moving? Vision hazy, my eyes rolled around, almost out of instinct, to gain a semblance of balance, recognition of something familiar.

I was in a square room, my body strewn haphazardly across the wooden floor. There was a large, wooden beam right at the centre of the room, with thick ropes around it. Startled, I attempted to move all at once, only to find my movements sluggish and ineffectual. My hands had been tied behind my back, but the ropes were loose. I managed to free myself from the ropes, rubbing my aching wrists. I'd no doubt there were scarred with red welts judging from the throbbing pain. I sat up and rest my back against the wall, my bones protested with sharp pain.

Again, I tried to focus my eyes in the dark. There were no windows, but even in the gloomy darkness I could make out distinct shapes. There were other boys, like me, with their backs plastered against the walls around the room. I counted nine boys, and about the same age as me given by our similar build. Some of the boys hugged their knees, and rocked back and forth. Some whimpered, calling for their moms. I heard quiet pleas and the sound of uncontrollable sobs somewhere in the room.

My first instinct was to scream. That's what you do when you find out your worst nightmare is playing out in front of you. But I clenched my jaw on impulse. I stuffed my fist into my mouth to stop the scream exploding from my throat. I heard the sounds of deep, mournful wailings and I was tempted to join them. The room wobbled and I lurched forward, bile suddenly rising up my throat.


"If you're going to get sick, I'd suggest you use that bucket in front of you." A voice came from my right.

I grabbed the plastic bucket and emptied the contents in my stomach. My throat burned with the acid, my eyes blurring with tears. The world spun around me and I fought not to get sick again.

"Where the fuck are we?" I said as I wiped my mouth with the back of my hand. I shoved the bucket as far away from me as possible, away from the rancid smell of vomit.

"In a ferry, dumbass. Can't you feel it?"

I turned to the boy next to me. He had his back against the wall, his posture looked almost relaxed. But I could tell his eyes were alert and they were bright as a torch. In the near darkness, I could make out the dirt covering his face, and his hair tumbled over his shoulders in messy waves.

"Why are we here? What happened? I . . . I don't know how I ended up here," I said in fright.

The boy snorted. "You really don't know anything, do you? Wake up, wanker. You are stolen. Kidnapped. You're a dead man."

"I'm not dead," I whispered, afraid if I said it louder, then my nightmares would rang true.

"Yet," he replied. "But soon, you wish you will be."

I swallowed hard, tasting the acid bile in my mouth. Around the corner, another boy was wailing at the top of his lungs.

"Where are we going?" I asked.

"Touch your left ear," the boy said simply.

My brows furrowed in confusion, but I complied. My eyes widened as I felt something had pierced through my ear; a band of earring but with something attached to it. It felt like paper.

"What the fuck is this?" Who the fuck pierced my ear whilst I was knocked out?

"It's your number. I'm seventy-two, and you are sixty-four. It's written on your price tag."

"What does that mean?" I asked, afraid for the answer.

"You're going to be sold at an auction."

"What?" I nearly screeched. Panic flooded into my system, drowning me. I was suddenly struggling to breathe. I felt like I was dumped in a movie, but I was the victim, and there was no hero.

The boy looked at me in alarm and clutched my arm hard. "Shut up, will you? Don't make any noise, and don't draw attention to yourself. If you bitch around too much, you're gonna end up dead."

I am already a dead man.

As soon as he said it, the door burst open. Light burst into the room, and I held my arm out to cover my eyes. I huddled back against the wall, trying to make myself as small as possible. A man marched into the room and stood in front of the boy who was wailing miserably.

"Please, please! Get me out of here. I need my momma. I'm scared. I can't breathe." The boy's face was streaked with tears as he crawled forward and grabbed the man's leg.

The man looked at him in disgust before kicking him hard. The boy sprawled on the floor, his arms flailed to his sides. The man walked over and kicked his stomach hard, repeatedly, again and again until the boy's screams turned into a painful wheeze until . . . nothing. I watched in horror as the boy uncurled himself, his body lay at an awkward angle. His eyes were wide and unblinking, and spittles of white drooled out of his mouth.

My heart dropped to my feet, and I wanted to vomit again. I watched in fear as the boy lay unmoving on the floor. I never knew what fear was until I experienced it now. Fear cuts deeper than pain. Fear is the unknown but also knowing the inevitability of prolong suffering. I knew I was going to be broken.

The man whistled and shortly after, two more men appeared into the room.

"Which little bastard is it?" The biggest one said.

The man pointed to the boy on the floor, and they grabbed the boy by the legs and arms, and took him out. I saw the light streaming from the outside. There was a narrow corridor, before the door is slammed shut, and darkness once again invaded the room.

Sometime later I regained consciousness, or some state of being, similar to consciousness. I jerked. I felt pain everywhere. My head throbbed, my neck was stiff to the point of searing pain. I had no idea how long I was caged in this room, but I knew my parents wouldn't alert the police for my disappearance. They probably thought I got high in some other shit hole somewhere. Anyway, they wouldn't give a shit even if I was kidnapped to another fucked up life.

The door swung open and a different man appeared. He looked every bit like a ruffian; tall with oversized muscles as if they were pumped full of iron. He had an ugly scar cut through his lip. He was so fucking ugly.

"Get the fuck out all of you and follow me. Disobey and I will cut you up and fish out your intestines for the dogs, get it? Now let's move," he commanded and turned toward the corridor. I looked at the boy next to me and we both scrambled to follow the large brute. The rest followed suit.

My heart hammered wildly in my ears, and I was afraid it was going to explode like a time bomb. We passed through another set of corridors with rows of doors on the right-hand side of the wall. We climbed on a fleet of stairs onto the top. I shivered underneath my shirt as wind blasted through us. It was night time, and were out in the middle of the river, saved from a lone building filled with lights on the left. The wind carried the distant sounds of car horns and street noise, and I looked around for an escape. But the place was lined with guards, dressed in black. Judging from the bulge in their pants and jackets, I knew they were not without weapons.

I looked at one of the guards warily as we walked onto the dock. His eyes were dangerous, as if they contained daggers. I wonder if I suddenly make a run for it, would they chase me down, or would they simply shoot me in the head?

I shuddered hard and pressed on, keeping in file with the rest of the boys. We came nearer to the back of the building. There were sounds of soft music and laughters. My eyes gazed at the warm-lit window with hope. If I could just escape . . . maybe I could ask whoever inside to help me. Maybe this was all a mistake. Maybe they have misunderstood me for someone else. I was still on a string of maybe's when a man grabbed the nape of my neck and shoved me forward. I stumbled before I hastily regained my balance, my heart suddenly out of my throat.

"Move the fuck on. We don't have all day," came the gruff reply.

I hastened my footsteps and followed others into the back door of the building. We climbed onto more stairs into one large room. There were other boys in full nude in different color and sizes, but we all had something in common: fear.

A tall man dressed in a fine tuxedo came to assess us. I could feel his eyes scrutinizing each and every one of us, before his lips curled into a faint smile.

"Not a bad batch," he said.


"The finest. Each of them will fetch a good price," the man who took us here replied.

The tuxedo bastard looked at us again, this time he smiled wider.

"Greetings, gentlemen. I'm sure you're wondering why you are here. Believe me when I say, this is not personal. It's simply business."

"Fuck you, bastard! You kidnapped us! What you're doing to us is illegal!" one of the boys said in anger as he pushed forward. But before he could take a step, a guard punched him in the jaw, making his head snapped back.

The tuxedo bastard simply looked amused.

"Ah, disobedience will do you no good. Not in this world. You will learn to cower. You will learn to beg. You will learn to submit."

After that, we stripped as we were told, and scrubbed ourselves inside a makeshift shower at the end of the room. We were dried and naked, my hands trying to conceal my private parts. One by one, a boy left the room, until there was a few of us left. I didn't ask where they went. Somehow, I knew I would find out when it was my turn to leave. I hated this place. I hated this new turn of events, but I feared what was outside that door. I knew when I leave, I would never come back. I was in purgatory waiting to go to Hell, and the devils were just outside that door.

When my turn came, they strapped my neck with a metal collar, and a long chain attached to it. One of the men dragged me by the chains and I followed out of the door like a dog on leash. Maybe that was what I was reduced to. I was simply an animal to them.

He took me into a small room with high ceilings. He pushed me in the middle of the room before stepping backwards few feet away, with the chains still in his hand. I look around bewildered, my eyes gazed upon the dark tinted windows around the walls of the room.

I jumped slightly when a soft cultured voice spoke through the speaker.

"Item number sixty-four. Six-foot-two European male. Speaks English, Arabic, and some French. The bidding will begin at $100,000."

My body shook uncontrollably, goosebumps raising on my flesh. Oh God . . .

The collar was choking me, but it was the least of my worries. I was in an auction. No more movie references. No more fictional characters to relate to. This was real. It was destiny. I was . . . a thing, a commodity.

"I have 100. 150. 200. 250. 3-350. 4, 450, 500-sold at $500,000. Thank you for coming. You can collect your purchases directly."

The words echoed dully in my head. I heard them, but my mind failed to register. I was not crying-eyes water. Crying is for pussies, but men are pussies. I became wretched and I didn't care if I was being a pussy right now. I felt a sudden wave of vertigo and I nearly collapse as the spoken words weighed on me like stacks of bricks.

I was sold for half a million.


I woke up to the smell of vomit. My whole body felt sluggish, my bones creaked in protest as I tried to move and worse, when I tried to open my eyes I discovered I couldn't. There was a blindfold over them.

It came to me in flashes. Dark room. Black windows. Footsteps. A syringe in my arm. Dark. Vomit. Slave.

Summoning every ounce of strength and resolve I attempted to lift myself. Why couldn't I move? My limbs wouldn't budge. My mind was telling my body to move, but my body wasn't responding. A new wave of panic rushed through me.

Fearing the worse, I attempted to remove the blind-fold by moving my head. Pain shot down my neck, but my head barely moved. What did they do to me? I stopped trying to move. Just think, I told myself, feel.

My head rest on a pillow, and my entire body lay on something soft, so I was probably on a bed. A shiver ran through me.

Which sick fucker bought a boy to his place? Was I going to be sex slave and raped by paedophiles?

Fabric around my wrists, fabric around my ankles, it wasn't difficult to figure out I was tied on the bed.

That's when I heard her voice.

"Good. You're finally awake. I was beginning to think you'd never wake up."

My body froze at the sound of the sound of a female voice. I had to instruct myself to breathe. The voice was eerily gentle, like a mother putting a child to sleep. But her voice was too young, there was still a child-like tone to it, yet cold and detached.

I shuddered thinking how she had been sitting in the room; she had been watching me panic.

"Who are you?" No response. "Where am I?" My words and voice seemed to be on some sort of delay, almost sluggish, like I was drunk.

"I am your mistress." A small, cold hand pressed against my sweat-slick forehead. "You are where I want you to be."

"You bought me?" I said incredulously. "What are you, some sick bitch?"

No response.

"Just let me go. I won't tell anyone. I just want to go home," I pleaded.

"I'm afraid I can't do that." Just like that a sea of despair dragged me under its crushing waves.

Her voice was devoid of many things: compassion, inflection, emotion, but there was one thing that wasn't missing and that was certainty. She smoothed my hair back from my forehead, an intimate gesture that filled me with foreboding. Was she attempting to soothe me? Why?

"I don't want to be here," I whimpered. "This is all a big mistake."

"Your entire life is going to change. You should try to accept that, because there is no possible way to avoid it. Like it or not, fight it or don't, your old life is over. It was over long before you woke up here."

"What's going to happen to me?" I asked quietly, almost hoping she hadn't heard. I wasn't sure I wanted an answer.

There was no answer – then, "Whatever I wish."

There was coldness in that statement, as if a monster was speaking from underneath that beautiful voice. My blood turned to ice as cold dread seeped into my brain. For a moment there was silent, apart from my harsh breathing as I tried to inhale air into my lungs.

Her breathing, my breathing, together, in empty space.

"Tell you what I will do, I'll untie you and take off your blindfold," she calmly said, as if she had done this many times before.

All I could do was whimper as much as I tried to clamp my lips shut as she untied me. My arms and legs were stiff and numb: they felt too large, too heavy, too far away to be a part of me. Was my entire body asleep? Again I tried to move, I tried hit her, to hurt her. I'd never hurt a girl before, but I would gladly make an exception this time. And again my efforts reflected in twitching, jerky movements. Frustrated, I lay inert. I wanted to wake up. I wanted to run away. I wanted to hurt her. And I couldn't.

She made me sit up on the bed, with my legs dangling on to the cold floor. I could feel her arms. Feel her clothes against my skin.

"What's wrong with me?" I asked in frustration. My body felt like it had aged fifty years. My movements were slow and heavy as I tried to flex my arms. At least my mouth was working fine.

"They gave you a little something. Don't worry, it'll wear off."

I felt her arms around me, her soft breasts on my face as she worked the knots of the blindfold. Strangely, my captor didn't smell evil. She smelt of honeysuckle. I couldn't help but to inhale her lovely scent. How could someone so evil be so lovely?

I felt a tug and the fabric loosened. Light burst into my eyes and I squinted, trying to adjust to the light. Once my eyes were focused, I blinked to see my captor for the first time. My mouth opened slightly as my eyes feasted on her. She looked like she was the same age as me. She was smaller than me, with her petite frame. She had long waves of jet black hair that framed her face. The ends curled over the mounds of her breasts. She was wearing a baby blue dress, with hem just above her knees. She was stunningly beautiful, almost ethereal like a girl painted on a canvas.

How could that beautiful face could do such heinous crime?

"What is your name?" she asked.

"What is yours?" I said warily.

There was silence and I almost didn't expect her to respond when she said, 'Olivia Ruiz.'

Beautiful name for a beautiful woman, but too beautiful for the monster inside her.

"I'm Caleb."

"Hm, like Keleb. Fitting name for a dog." There was amusement on the surface of her voice.

I couldn't help but to scowl. She was right. My father named me Caleb, for I was nothing but a dog to him. He reminded me that everyday, how I was useless. I wasn't even a human.

"Let me go," I said quietly.

"I told you. Your life is over. The quicker you learn to adapt to this new one, the better for you to survive," she said casually.

I staggered off the bed and rushed toward her. My movements were sluggish but I managed to grab her throat before she could move. Her hands clawed my arms as her body shook like a fish out of the water.

"You have no power over me, bitch. I'm going to leave and you cannot stop me. I'm not afraid of you," I growled at her.

But Olivia only laughed with whatever air she had left, as if finding my statement to be absurd.

"It's not me you should be afraid of. I'm here to train you. But the person who will break you is someone else. You cannot escape. There are guards everywhere."

"Who should I be afraid of?" I asked angrily. I wasn't in the mood for this crap. So this girl wasn't my captor? Someone else bought me?

I heard a door burst open and an older man filled the doorway.

"My father," she whispered.


The man was bald, saved from strands of silver hair jutting out like miserable roots. His body was large, like an oval-shaped egg in a cream tuxedo suit. There were rows of large gold rings on his fingers.

He casually entered the room and Olivia immediately shrugged herself off from my hold. She stood in front of me and I had one insane moment, thinking that she was protecting me from her father.

"Father, what are you doing here?" she said carefully. Her body was tensed, and I knew she was afraid of this man. I suddenly had this wretched need to protect her from him.

The dad was obviously drunk and I had a feeling that made him more dangerous. His eyes raked over my naked body and his lips curved in a covetous smile.

"I see my whore is awake."

Whore? Me? I was too absorb in my thoughts that I was too late to realise the man staggered toward me and wrapped his filthy hand around my arm. I couldn't help but whimpered as I tried to pull away from his stronghold.

"Get away from me, you bastard?" I spat at him.

"Oh, so the whore has tongue. We'll remedy that immediately. I like my whores mute." He pulled me forward and punched my jaw hard. I wheezed and choked up blood. His long rows of rings acted like brass knuckles, and it hurt like a bitch. Tears streamed down my face as I winced from the pain.

"Father, please." I heard Olivia's soft pleads as she clutched on that bastard's arm. "Let me do my job. We had an agreement. I will present him to you when he's ready. He will be your perfect toy once I'm done with him."

The man only grunted in response, but his grip on my arm loosened.

"I'll hold you up to it, daughter. Teach him, tame my slave. I don't want him so easily broken when he comes to me."

He left without a further response. Olivia bent down on her knees as she assessed my broken lip.

"What do you mean, his slave? What the fuck just happened?" I wanted to yell but my voice was hoarse.

"My father likes men . . . well, his particular interest lies with young males like you. But my father is a vicious bastard, you will not last if you're handed to him as you are now. He will break you and you'll end up in a body bag at the end of the day. So my job is to train you; how to please him, how to succumb to him, how to submit as the perfect whore."

"You're turning me into a whore for your father?" I said in panicked voice. "I will not be raped by-by a man! Especially that slimy fat bastard."

Olivia reared her hand back and slapped me hard. I was too stunned to speak. For a small woman, her slap was painful.

"Don't talk to my father like that," she said through gritted teeth. "You will die if you continue speaking this way. Wake up! This isn't a fairy tale. You're not a Cinderella boy in distress and I'm not the fairy godmother come to save you. You are my slave, and I am your captor, your tormentor."

"Go fuck yourself," was my reply.

She let out a burst of laughter and I didn't know why I found her beautiful. Her laughter was cruel, and her eyes glinted with coldness. She was fucking crazy.

"Well you're nothing if not interesting." She came closer to me and when she spoke, her voice was cold but velvet, "But you know . . . I'd much rather fuck you with this." She took out a long-shaped item made out of silicone from one of the drawers. It was a motherfucking dildo.

"What the fuck?" I sputtered.

"You're an ass virgin, aren't you?" she muttered as she held that cursed object in her hand.

"What the fuck?" I repeated louder.

"We need to loosen up that asshole. My dad will go rough on you and you will break if you're not used to it."

"You are fucking crazy." I shook as I tried to scramble away from her.

The door opened again and I nearly squeaked at the thought of seeing Olivia's father. Light, soft and low, filtered through, casting shadows across the floor. It was a different man. Much younger, but he was big and his muscles bulged under his shirt. He looked like the Devil himself, dressed in black slacks and a black button up shirt, stepping slowly, deliberately.

Olivia stood up to face the stranger in the room.

"Mario," she said curtly.

The man did a small bow. "Mistress."

He placed a plate of food on the table and my stomach gnawed as I smelled the meat and bread. I had not eaten for days.

"Do you want to eat?" Olivia asked.

"Y-yes," I stammered. I noticed Mario took his position near the wall, with his hands clasped at the back. He looked like a butler but only more dangerous. I was strangely more wary of him than Olivia.

I turned my gaze away to find Olivia sitting next to the food.

"Come here," she said. Her sharp voice startled me, but I moved to walk toward her. "Stop. I want you to crawl over here."

Defiance roared inside me. Crawl? Who the fuck does she thinks she is?


Olivia sighed. "I do not tolerate disobedience, dog. I believe a human being can only be motivated by the carrot and stick. Meet Mario, the stick. Every time you disobey me, he will use his dick to loosen up your asshole and mind you, Mario may not be as bad as my father, but he is also a terrifying lover. So watch what you say to me. I am capable of things you can't imagine. Provoke me and I'll prove it."

I wanted to vomit. I eyed Mario on more time and I knew why he was dangerous. Olivia wanted to hurt me, but Mario wanted to rape me. I saw the thick lust swirling behind those dead eyes. He wanted me.

My knees hit the floor. My knees and my palms moved across the ground until I reached the tops of her shoes. I was trapped. I was naked. Weak. Scared. I was hers.

And she stood above me, as if she was a goddess who had torn the sun away and soaked the sky with dark ink. "Address me as Mistress. Every time you forget, I will be forced to remind you. So you can choose to obey, or choose punishment. It's entirely up to you."

My eyes flicked to Mario. Was he my punishment? Rape by men?

Rather than risk a fight I couldn't possibly win, I returned my eyes to the ground. I was going to get out of here. I just had to be smart.

"Do you understand?" she said.

"Yes, Mistress."

"Good." She brought the plate onto the floor in front of me. My mouth watered immediately. There was a roasted chicken leg on a bed of pilau rice.

"Eat, dog. Fill your belly. It's going to be a long day."

I jumped toward the plate and grabbed the chicken leg, before tearing the meat with my teeth. I didn't care how savage I must've look. There was only satisfying the hunger. I could feel her eyes on me, but my mind was too busy on the food.

Once the plate was empty and I was still chewing on the chicken bone, Olivia stood up.

"Wash yourself in the bathroom, dog. Your first lesson is next."


I was strapped on a bed with my hands and legs tied to each bed post. My arms were stretched over my head and my legs were spread wide. I tugged the fabric but they refused to yield. I was trapped, and the monsters loomed over me looking frighteningly human.

There was mechanical buzzing noise as Olivia switched on that fucked up dildo, about to fuck me up inside. I squirmed as she came closer, my eyes wide as I stared at the object in disgust.

"Please," I resorted to begging. I'd rather get beaten up bloody than being raped like an animal.

"Shh, it'll hurt a little when it's in for the first time, but don't worry, it'll feel good." Olivia brought that vibrating dildo up my ass and my legs shook. I tried hard to close my legs but I was bound on the bed, my thighs helplessly parted to reveal my balls.

Her other hand reached out and stroke my cock, her dainty fingernails scrape the length in a slow gesture. I whimpered slightly, my nipples perked. My back arched and I found myself pushing my dick into her hands, allowing her to fist my cock and pump it. Thick waves of arousal caused my cock to stir before it lengthened further and stood erect like a proud stallion.

I was disturbed at my sudden erotic thoughts, but when your dick is in a girl's hands, it stir our animal instincts to fuck.

"There's a good boy," she whispered as she continuously pumped my cock with her little hand. She looked almost hungered as she saw the thick shaft beading precum at the tip.

Taste it. Taste my cum, I wanted to say, but I was too lost in my haze of arousal.

"Ah fuck!" My back arched as I felt something foreign at the entrance of my anus. I squirmed further feeling its head entering me, pushing itself against the tight slick walls.

"N-no, please!" I cried out as it continued to drill its way through and I felt its vibration vibrating my entire ass. My cock moved with the vibration. I was so hard and it hurt. It hurt so damn much.

"Please, Mistress. Please, it hurts," I was sobbing more loudly now and I didn't care if I looked like a pussy.

The dildo pushed further into me until I was so full. My buttocks clenched hard, squeezing it tightly, my slick juices lubricated the metal shaft. Through my haze, I saw Mario took out his cock from his pants and stroke it with his hands, pumping his cock up and down in response to Olivia's touch. He came close to me and I had a sudden wave of revulsion seeing that thick purple veins around his thick cock as he pumped himself furiously.

"No. No, please, no," I whimpered.

With a scream I let go. Spurts of hot cum squirts from my cock, drenching Olivia's hands with my seed. My ass screamed with the invasion and the metal shaft slipped out followed by a burst of sticky liquid. Mario joined in as he moaned, working his cock faster and faster until long ropes of milky cum shot over my body, all the way from from my torso to my dick.

I hurt everywhere. I wanted to cry and curl myself into a ball. Mario looked at the mess on my body with satisfaction, his hand still fisting his cock.

"Next time, your lesson is to swallow my load without gagging." His voice was thick with lust and I wanted to vomit.

Olivia dipped her fingers into my anus and smiled a little. "See, it's loosening up. You might be able to survive this after all." She bent down and kissed my forehead.

I turned my head away from her. I hated her for hurting me, and I was more confused to see her treating me gently. I wanted to keep labelling her as a bitch-that-needs-to-die, rather than a gorgeous woman with a smile of an angel.

I had no idea how long I've been as a slave. A Keleb. Olivia gave me lessons everyday, and each day, my asshole widened up bigger and bigger. Sometimes it wasn't the dildo who fucked me. Sometimes it was Mario. Sometimes it was other men. I wanted to scream but they loved to hear my tortured cries. I prefered the dildo than their cocks. At least the dildo was inanimate, but the men . . . I could feel their cocks pulsing inside my ass, as if they were living inside me, becoming part of me. Each day I was more vulnerable than the last. Each day Olivia and her men stripped away more of my sense of self. And now she'd taken the last of it, the last of me, as she allowed men after men to take their turns on me. She would always watch, her eyes devoid of any emotions. But who did that make me? An extension of her? Of them? I didn't know. Didn't want to know.

I was thought of pain next. A man straddled me as he repeatedly whipped my back with a leather crop over and over until I felt my skin sliced open and blood ran down my back. He brought my ass up as he slammed his dick inside me, getting more turned on as more blood spilled from my body. I bit my lip from screaming out. They loved it when I screamed. It made them harder.

I lay at night on the dirty sheets, my face caked with dry tears. I was left alone at last, alone and broken. Some stories aren't black and white. They are the color of your heart. For me, my stories are painted with blood and pain. Crimson and black.

I heard Olivia's footsteps as she approached closer. Her cold hands brushed my fevered skin. Her touch was as gentle as a mother. She placed a basin of water by the side of the bed, before she drenched a white towel in the water. Olivia washed my dirty face with the towel and she softly wiped my body covered with semen. I let her wash my back, and the towel was soon dyed with my blood.

"Sing to me," I whispered. Her hands stilled on my body. Then soft hums filled the sad room. It was eerily beautiful and sad at the same time. It was consoling. I closed my eyes to her quiet humming. She ordered those men to rape me. She ordered them to hurt me. Then she came and tried to heal me from the wounds she'd inflicted on me. She was my tormentor and my solace; the creator of the dark and the light within.

I'd accepted it then. That the only way to truly be safer, was to accept the dark, to walk in it with eyes wide open, to be a part of it. To keep your enemies close. My body racked with dry sobs and I tried hard to keep the sounds inside me. But Olivia must've heard it then, as she wrapped her arms around me and I clung to her as hard as I could.

"I'm sorry," she whispered as she kissed my hair. I didn't answer. It wouldn't change a thing. She kissed my scars and she created new ones for me. She was still my tormentor. I didn't care that she would undoubtedly hurt me at any moment, right now; I just needed somebody to hold me . . . to tell me these exact words. It's going to be okay. It wasn't of course, I knew that. But I didn't care, I needed the lie.

Sometime later, we lay on the bed with our faces inches apart. We stared unblinking at each other's eyes. Her eyes were deep chocolate brown. Sometimes those eyes held no emotion, sometimes they were cold but tonight, just for tonight, her eyes were warm. I stroked her soft cheek and she allowed me. In the dark, my mistress let down her guard and she was just a normal girl. She was just Olivia. Livvie. She didn't punish me. She didn't push me away emotionally. She held me until the nightmares passed. She cleaned my broken body, she kept me from falling into insanity. In the dark, she seduced me. I didn't want the seduction to end.

"Why are you doing this?" I asked her.

"This?" She frowned in confusion.

"This." I gestured with my hands. "Why couldn't your father do it himself instead of you having to buy men for him? Why involved you?"

Olivia's eyes cast down but I saw a twinge of regret in those chocolate brown.

"I've seen so many dead bodies because of my father. He's just . . . brutal when it comes to fucking. So I took the role as trainer and tame the men before presenting them to him. At least I gave them a chance to survive. They can endure better with him."

"And you want me to go to that kind of bastard who raped others until they're dead?" My voice raised few octaves higher.

"It's not about what I want." Olivia shook her head.

"But you allowed it."

"I have no choice! If I ignore this, men will die. My father is also a very influential man. I would die if I leave," she said bitterly.

I sensed sadness radiating from her and realised one thing, that I wasn't the only victim. Olivia may be the perpetrator in my story, but she was a victim in her story. She didn't do this out of her own free will, but did that make her innocent? She was an associate to her father's crimes. I wanted to get angry at her. I wanted to hurt her so badly that my palms twitched at the thought of it. But when she lifted her sad eyes at me, all I wanted was to hug her close to me and never let her go. I moved forward and kissed her softly. Her eyes widened by a fraction before she tugged me closer and opened her mouth. I took that chance to enter her, my tongue exploring her, tasting her. She felt soft and warm, and delicate like a fragile flower in winter. She wasn't as cruel as the rest of my captors. She wasn't kind either, but at this moment, I allowed myself in her soft embrace. I wanted to forget that I had been violently violated by men, and I would soon serve to her father as his whore.

She nestled on my chest, our hands clasped together. Tomorrow I would be presented to her father. I dread to think of that moment so I tried to focus on to the beautiful girl next to me.

"I always see you dressed. You're not a prude, are you? I've seen plenty of naked men and women milling around, but you are always fully clothed," I said.

She chuckled slightly, and her soft laughter made my cock stir hard.

"I don't trust anyone to see my body," she replied.


"Because baring my body would be like baring my soul."

I looked at her in surprise.

"You never showed your body to anyone before?"

"Not since I was fourteen," she whispered.

"Livvie, I have one last request before I get sent off to be your father's chew toy," I said.

"If it's within my power to grant you that request, then I will," Livvie said.

"Reveal yourself to me. I want to see you naked." Mentioning the word naked brought my cock alive again and it jutted out trying to find a vagina to pound.

Livvie immediately sat up as she looked at me with a guarded expression.

"That's what you want? To fuck me?"

I ignored my hard dick as I plowed on. "No, you've misunderstood. Sex is a bonus but I just want to see your body. I want to see an angel before I get sent down to Hell and get fucked by the Devil. Please, Livvie," I said.

Her body trembled for a moment and I knew my instincts were right. There was something about her that made her afraid for people to see. And I wanted to know her secret before I leave.

"Okay," she said with a wavering voice. She slipped off the bed and walked to the center of the room. I propped my elbows as I watched her, trying to figure out her secret but I came up empty.

She stood still for a moment with her back turned toward me, before she slowly turned around, half her face was casted in shadows while the rest of her body was bathed under the moonlight.

Olivia took a deep breath before she untied the ribbons on her dress with shaky fingers. I felt bad to see her terrified face. I wanted to hug her and scoop her back to bed and fuck her senseless, but I knew I needed to see this, whatever it was.

"Behold, the circus' finest freak," she muttered. As the last ribbon was untied, her dress unravel itself and pooled to the floor.

I jolted out of the bed, ignoring the pain on my back as I stared at her in horror. She was the most beautiful woman I've ever seen. Her pale skin glowed under the moonlight, making her look like she was from another world. Her long waves of jet black hair tumbled over her delicate shoulders, just barely concealing her pink nipples and perfectly mound breasts. She was perfect. She was exquisite, the finest creature I've ever seen.

But the thing that was horrifying was the marks on her skin. They started from her crotch; hundreds of tiny butterflies and they grew more sparse and bigger as they traveled across her abdomen, her breasts and shoulders. I saw the perfectly winged shapes marking her creamy skin. They were stunningly beautiful, a work of art. But they were horrifying because the butterflies weren't inked on her skin. They were carved out of her flesh, as if she was a piece of wood and someone carved out these butterflies on her skin. They were scars, beautiful, horrifying scars. Olivia was a living, breathing sculpture of art.

"What happened to you?" I said in aghast.

She looked at me from her thick heavy eyelashes and smiled painfully.

"My father was a carpenter. We were very . . . poor. My father's work didn't sell well, and it caused him to stress a lot and became abusive. I remembered my mother and I huddled together when he came home every night, angry like a demon raising from Hell. He was like a time bomb ready to explode. Then one day, he grabbed me and took me into his shed where he kept all his tools. My mother tried to stop him but he locked the door. I still remember the way she pounded her fists against the door screaming at the top of her lungs. But my father ignored her and strapped me on the table. He spent days carving me. Sometimes he got angry and stuffed my mouth with dirty cloth to shut me up."

"Oh god," I whispered in horror. I couldn't breathe when she told me her tale. I felt like I had jump into her memories and living inside her skin, experiencing her pain. I suddenly felt violent for the man who had hurt her. I wanted to break him with my hands and gave him a slow death. How could he do that to his own daughter?

"Anyhow, I was his most prized possession. He sold me at an auction. I wasn't bought for half a million like you. They paid twenty-three million for me. I was a living doll and everybody wanted me. To taste me. I've been a whore all my life, until my father bought me back after he was successful with his dealings in the Underground"

I jumped out of bed and wrapped her in my arms. I knew Livvie was my tormentor, but in my arms, she was just a small, frightened woman. She was someone I had to protect. I felt a fierce need to cocoon her from the world. From her father. I vowed to save her. I vowed to save us both. We needed to get out. I racked my brain figuring out how to escape with my captor. The captor who I fell in love with.

One thing for sure, we needed an escape plan.