1
I woke to the sound of his voice.
"I picked that one up in Tokyo." He said. "She's not too quick on the draw -- the language barrier sometimes causes an issue -- but there are ways around that."
I watched as Steve -- that was what I'd heard people call him -- tapped on the window of the tank closest to the door. The small Asian woman huddled inside yelled something at him in Japanese. She was crying.
The dark-haired man he had brought in with him leaned closer to the tank, expression unreadable as he scrutinized the girl inside before dismissing her. "Too skinny." He said.
Steve nodded along. "She's pretty, but yeah I agree -- looks like a small boy to me. Still, there are those into that build -- who am I to judge? I stock 'em all shapes and sizes."
As the two men moved on to the second tank, I shuffled to the back corner of my own glass cell. My neighbour, an American blonde, shot me a weak smile through the transparent wall we shared and I did my best to return it. We both knew what was coming.
At least once a day, Steve would walk another man (or sometimes more than one) through the menagerie to select a girl. Menagerie... that was what he and his guards called it. It was the cattle market from hell.
To begin with, we have no privacy. Each of our tanks is constructed with glass walls -- walls much too thick to break even if I could shelve the fear of slicing myself to ribbons in the process of trying. We can stand up or lie down in them, but that's about all the space there is. There are air holes near the top of each tank which also allow us to listen to the goings on of the room. Sometimes the men Steve brings ask us questions; it's made painfully clear that we're expected to speak when spoken to -- and only then. The guards not only feed us and take us to our bathroom and 'grooming' breaks, but they also dole out punishment should we displease one of Steve's buyers.
It's difficult to judge the passing of time with no access to clocks or natural light (the burgundy walls in the windowless menagerie give the impression of unending evening), but I believed the real world had been missing me for about a week. I was walking back from a night out when three men in a dark people carrier pulled over and bundled me inside. I recall kicking and screaming, as well as a vague recollection of a strange sweet scent -- and after that, nothing. I awoke stripped to my briefs and trapped inside a small clear cell within Steve's menagerie. At that point, there were seventeen other women. Since then some have left -- taken away by Steve's enigmatic buyers -- whilst others arrived to take their place. Currently, there are fifteen occupied tanks (my own included).
As Steve and the dark-haired stranger approached my window, I hugged my knees to my chest and scowled out at them; better to look angry than scared.
The stranger smirked and I noted, begrudgingly, that he was quite handsome -- tall, maybe six four, with well defined muscles. His hair was not just dark, but black, and tousled in a fashionable 'bed head' manner. His eyes were very dark -- his gaze languid, and hungry.
"This one." He murmured.
My heart dropped into my stomach as Steve reached for his keys. My back was already pressed against the rear of my cell, but that didn't stop me from trying to scoot further from reach. I shot a desperate glance out to my American neighbour through our shared wall. She avoided looking at me -- I could see the relief in her expression. Better you than me.
As Steve opened the door and reached for me, the true implications of my situation began to take hold; the dark-haired man was going to take me away and I had no idea what for. Shortly after some departures, those of us left behind heard screaming. I remembered seeing a movie once where various rich psychopaths bid on the right to murder captive men and women -- could that happen in real life?
I kicked out as hard as I could.
Steve swore as my foot connected with his jaw, but it was a clumsy blow and did little to slow him down. Anger flashed in his eyes and he grasped my ankle, tugging me out of my cell and causing my ass to smack against the floor. A jolt of pain shot up my tailbone but I had no chance to indulge it -- two of the guards were on me, securing my hands behind my back with a set of cuffs and frogmarching me out of the menagerie and into the next room.
The new room continued with the burgundy decor, but instead of tanks, antique cabinets lined the walls. The guards threw me to the floor in the centre and turned to Steve, as if awaiting further instructions.
"It sometimes takes a little time to break in the new ones." Steve advised the stranger as he rubbed at his jaw. I brightened momentarily at the prospect that I had perhaps hurt him more than I initially believed.
The stranger nodded, his eyes fixed on me.
Steve too then focused his attention on me. "Let me introduce you to your new owner. You'd best be a good little pet as he won't be quite as fucking patient as I am, should you keep acting up."
I shuffled back and one of the guards, a short but muscular skinhead, yanked me to my feet, holding me firmly in place as the stranger came forward to touch me.
"My name is Christian, although you can call me Master." He said, stroking my cheek. "In fact, I insist upon it."
His fingertips danced across my face, tracing my lips and clinging to the line of my jaw. His touch drifted down my neck to my shoulder. "Soft skin." He commented.
"I only stock the best." Steve replied.
I stared past the man that was to be my Master as he removed my bra. Heat rose to my face as he rubbed a thumb across my exposed nipples. Behind him, the second guard licked his lips. I squirmed and yelped as he pinched and twisted the stiffening, sensitive flesh.
"Don't move." He said. His voice was soft but firm.
His hands slipped further down my body, stroking in circles as he took his time to exploring my curves. I gasped in discomfort as he dug his nails into my buttocks. Then, as he slid his hand down the front of my panties and pushed his palm tight against my groin
"Shaved." He said, raising his eyebrow. "And fucking hot. I can feel the heat."
Steve beamed. "Of course. Wet too I bet, soaking those panties already."
He removed his hand. "I'll take her."
2
Steve and Christian had been gone for a good fifteen minutes -- 'completing the transaction' -- when the Skinhead guard first spoke.
"I can't see why we can't have a quick go." He grumbled as he paced back and forth.
The second guard, a tattooed blonde with an Australian accent, scowled at him from his perch. "Devalues the merchandise, Steve says."
"Steve's not here."
I swallowed, remembering the moment when I had been touched her so intimately in front of these men. It was no surprise they were getting ideas.
