Sold into Slavery by My Agent

An aspiring actress is kidnapped

by G. Lawrence

I don't write violent Nonconsent/Reluctance very often, but every once in a while a story comes along. This one, conceived three years ago, has harsh elements with little of the comedy I prefer, so a few warnings are in order: betrayal, kidnapping, bondage, and rape are endemic to this story. As a person who grew up in the movie industry and spent several teenage years hanging out on Hollywood Blvd. during the Charlie Manson era., I can say that portions of this story are all too true, though this entry is 100% fictional. All characters are over 18 years old.

Author's note: Literotica is no longer publishing any of my meticulously edited stories. Their AI detector thinks tightly written stories can only be written by a fellow robot, not a human, and so 80% of my new stories are being banned. The errors found here are deliberate, not accidents. It's frustrating but there's nothing I can do about it. The alternative is to not have any stories published at all. Bizarre? That is an understatement. I hope readers can cut me some slack on this.

* * * * * *

I stepped off the bus in Hollywood looking forward to my new career. I'd had a few good roles in local theater back in Indiana, but now that my father had passed away, it was time to move on. My new agent was waiting for me.

"Hi, Terry. Good trip?" Mike Lightman greeted. He took my duffel bag and gave me a peck on the cheek.

"Not so bad, though the food on the train is terrible," I replied, excited by all the motion around me. It was late afternoon, almost dark, and the lights on Sunset Blvd. were coming alive. The sidewalks were busy, the streets filled with impatient traffic.

"My office is being remodeled for a few weeks," Mike said, pointing at the McKeever Talent Agency building on the corner. "Let's get you a bite at the diner."

I am Terry Suzki, 23-years old at the time, with a long deceased Swedish mother and recently dead Japanese father. Directors in my theater company liked my mixed-race exotic looks. I was 5'3, 110 pounds, with nice firm breasts and slinky legs. My naturally dark black hair was dyed golden red.

We walked to Hollywood and Vine, entering a cute old-fashioned restaurant. It was rumored several movie stars had been discovered there. There was a red leather booth in the corner.

"I'm working on getting you interviews, though it could take a while. Unknowns in this town are common," he explained. "You have a reservation at the Big 8 Motel. How are you fixed for money?"

"I have $8,000 in my savings account," I answered.

"That won't last long. Take this until you can pay me back." He handed me an envelope with $500 in it.

"Please, Mr. Lightman, I can't accept this," I said, trying to give it back. He refused.

"Chump change, honey. With your looks and that sexy voice, you'll be making this back in an hour. Have you been to Hollywood before?"

"I've never been west of St. Louis."

"I'll show you around," he offered, which he did, driving a cobalt blue Lincoln Continental.

Mike was about 40 years old, tall and good-looking, with a glib tongue. Though I liked him, it was a relief when he dropped me off at the motel without inviting himself in.

Over the next few days, Mike and I went everywhere. Universal Studios. The Santa Monica Pier. The Dorothy Chandler Pavilion. He wasn't able to find me an interview yet, but assured me producers were interested. Several times, I visited his condo in Pacific Palisades, where he took photos in his private studio. He had me wear suggestive clothing, but nothing over-the-top.

"You are probably wondering something," he said on a quiet evening. We were on his patio overlooking the Pacific Ocean a few miles away.

"What would that be?" I asked.

"You're wondering why I've never put a move on you, even though I find you attractive."

"I must admit, it's crossed my mind."

"I'm not gay, if that's what you've been thinking. Our relationship needs to stay professional. I'm an agent. I sell a product. I can't afford personal involvements."

"That's appreciated, Mike. You've always been good to me," I assured him.

"How are you doing on money?"

"Better, now. My father's life insurance finally came through. Almost $75,000 after the funeral expenses."

"Really? That much?"

I took out my phone, showing him the account balance.

"That's great. It should hold you over until better opportunities come along."

We had a few drinks, and then he drove me to my motel.

"Terry, we need to have a talk," Mike said on a Friday night as we were driving back from dinner at Bon Temps.

"Sure," I responded.

"This isn't something to discuss in a car. Let's go back to my place.

The restaurant had been in Westwood, so it wasn't a long drive. He parked in his private garage, and we entered his house through the service porch.His living room was a bit more disorganized than usual.

"Let's have a drink," he said, sitting me on the couch. "Don't worry, I'm not trying to seduce you."

He made excellent gin martinis with green olives and sat next to me.

"Do you trust me?" he asked.

"Sure, Mike. Of course," I answered. Though as a pretty girl, I knew there were different levels of trust.

"No, really trust me."

"Yes, Mike, I trust you," I assured him.

"Okay, stand over here," he instructed, taking me to the center of the room. I stood there looking at him, wondering what the big mystery was. His expression was grim.

"Take off your clothes," he said.

"What?" I answered.

"I need you to take off your clothes. You said you trust me."

The tennis shoes went first, then my pants and slacks, until I was down to my bra and panties. I was really having trouble understanding what this was about. He wasn't showing anything more than a professional interest in my body. The bra went next.

"The rest of it. Everything," he insisted. I dropped my underwear to the floor, hands crossed over my perky breasts. I had recently trimmed my pubic hair in anticipation of wearing a bikini to the beach.

"Mike, what is this all about?" I asked, blushing.

"It will be clear in a moment," he replied. He went around to stand behind me, and suddenly I felt my arms pulled back. I was handcuffed!

"What the hell, Mike," I protested, attempting to struggle.

"I told you, this isn't about sex. Just be patient." He knelt to put steel cuffs on my ankles, only a few inches of chain between them. He put a leather collar around my neck and attached a leather leash.

"Come this way," he said, pulling. I could only take baby steps. We went to the service porch, where he lifted me down the stairs, and went back into the underground garage. I was so embarrassed, looking at him with a thousand questions.

"This should give you a clue," he announced, holding up his car key. A button caused the trunk to pop open. I stared, unbelieving.

"Oh, my god. Mike, no. Don't do this," I begged.

He pulled a ball gag from his pocket and shoved it in my mouth, tightening the straps around my head.

"We're going for a ride. The trunk is padded to prevent damaging that beautiful skin."

He put me in the trunk, hog-tied the cuffs, and put a black bag over my head. It was done quickly and efficiently without any drama on Mike's part. It seemed like just another day at the office.

I don't know how long we drove, but it seemed like hours. The car stopped, the trunk opened, and the cuffs around my ankles were removed. He took off the hood but left the gag. We were in another garage.

"Listen very carefully," Mike quietly said. "You are on a private estate a mile from the nearest neighbor. No one knows you're here, and no one is looking to find you. You will do what you're told. Understand?"

I didn't understand, but nodded, afraid he might hurt me. I was scooped up and taken to a room at the rear of the building. It had light gray walls, a high ceiling, and a tile floor. When I saw a wide oak table with iron rings on the corners, I tried to pull away, butting him with my head. Mike nearly laughed as he chained me spreadeagle to the table.

"Be a good girl," he said, stroking the inside of a bare thigh before leaving the room.

I tested the restraints. Heavy leather cuffs clipped to chains. Pulling on them was useless. I doubt that even a stronger person would have had any luck. After a time, I heard a door open but couldn't see who was entering. Then a man in a black cloak appeared above me, the lower part of his face covered with a scarf. The eyes were blue. I thought he might be in his mid-30s.

With the gag tightly fixed, I couldn't ask anything. He probed my body, rubbed my breasts, and gripped my chin, looking deeply into my eyes.There was curiosity and appraisal. The man went to the end of the table.He was tall and thin.Reasonably athletic.He dropped his pants, wearing no underwear, and climbed on top of me.

I fought, if you could call hopeless twisting fighting. I bucked my hips to keep him off. My curses through the gag were ignored. He entered me, not roughly, but firmly, only going slow for a few minutes before working harder. I felt him climax. Then he got up, zipped his pants, and left the room.

The door opened again. Another man in a cloak, with a scarf covering his face. Brown eyes this time. He was a little heavier than the first man and just as tall. He also ran his hands over my body, focusing on the texture. He ran fingers through my long hair. He briefly examined my vagina, making me squirm. Then his pants came down, but rather than mount me, he began spreading cream in my ass.

No!No!No! I was trying to scream, fighting like mad. But to no avail. He was on me, and then in me, pumping with a casual energy. It didn't hurt as much as I thought it would, but it was no joy, either. He got up and went out, closing the door behind him.

It was a while before Mike came back, sitting on the side of the table. He removed the ball gag.

"Good work, little darling. You passed the audition," he said with an evil smirk.

"You brought me here to be raped?" I asked.

"No, honey. I brought you here to be sold. And I got a good price for you."

"Sold!" I shouted.

"You are the perfect product. No have no friends in the city, so no one will be looking for you. The night you showed me your bank account, I had my phone right next to it, capturing your password. I'll be cleaning your funds out in the morning. I'm paying for your motel, if you remember. I'll pack your suitcase, check out, and donate everything to the Salvation Army. You are about to disappear."

"Mike, please don't do this," I begged, starting to cry. "I'll do anything you want. Anything."

"Terry, you have a great body. Tight,firm,athletic. But my only interest has been how much money it will make me. Between your savings account and my finder's fee, I'm doing very well."

"What's going to happen to me?" I asked.

"I suggest you obey your new masters. They may be a pair of sick idiots, but they are rich and accustomed to having their own way. If you give them a hard time, it won't go well for you."

"Why? Why would you do this to me?"

"I thrive on naïve little bitches like you. I don't even work for a talent agency, I just pointed at the building and you fell for it. I said trust me, and you stripped naked in my living room. Allowed me to handcuff you. The look on your face when I opened the trunk was priceless. It made all the hard work worthwhile."

"You are a sick fuck," I said, trying to spit on him. He put the ball gag back in my mouth.

"Think of this as a private performance, my aspiring actress. A show that will have an extended run." He slapped my stomach and laughed. "Goodbye now. I'm afraid our professional relationship has come to an end."

And like that he was gone, leaving me alone chained to a table in an empty room.

It was a long time before the door opened again. Both men entered, no longer wearing cloaks or scarfs. Their clothes were casual, khaki trousers and blue short-sleeve shirts. They weren't bad looking. Perhaps a bit edgy, with sharp glances and a subtle satisfaction.

"I am your master," the heavier one said. "When it's just the two of us, you will address me as master. When both of us are present, I am Master Karl. My partner is Master Brandon. Do you understand?"

"Fuck you," I answered, expecting to be punched. They exchanged an amused look.

"You will be punished for that," Karl said.

"And what punishment is that, you fat sick freak? Think I'll suck your pathetic dick?"

"You will learn obedience," Karl promised.

"Let us be clear," Brandon said. "We know you were kidnapped. Do you think we care? We don't. Possession isn't 90% of the law for us, it's 100% of the law. And we own you."

"We don't mind if you offer resistance," Karl added. "No one wants to buy a limp rag. Know that we have high-stressed jobs filled with anxiety, and you are our outlet."

Karl released my arms from the table, locked my wrists behind my back, and got me on my feet. I was still wearing Mike's collar. They dragged me to a room deeper in the building. There were iron rings mounted on the walls and floor, and a chain hanging from a central rafter. A steel dog cage sat in the corner.

"Oh, no," I mumbled. "No, no."

Brandon unclipped the handcuffs, cuffed them in front of me, and hung them over a hook on the rafter chain. I hung there before them, my toes barely touching the floor. Karl slapped my butt. Brandon ran fingers through my bush.

"Now it is time for your first punishment," Brandon said.

I stared at him with a quiet fury, and then reached for the chain above me, lifted myself up, and kicked him in the balls. He howled and doubled over, falling on the floor. Karl stepped back and laughed.

"You said she could resist," Karl reminded. Brandon didn't think it was funny. I was ready to kick him again if he got close enough. They rushed me, pinned my legs, and attached the ankle cuffs together. All I could do now was wiggle.

It took Brandon effort to get back on his feet, eyes filled with rage. "Give me the whip. The bullwhip," he demanded.

"No, only the strap," Karl refused.

"Goddamn it, give me the whip!" he shouted.

"We paid a lot of money for this girl. You're not going to cut her to pieces on the first day. Am I being clear?" his partner insisted.

"Fuck you, Karl, I'm not going to cut her up. You know that. I just want to teach her a lesson," Brandon cursed, still groaning.

"Control yourself. Am I being clear?" his buddy repeated.

"Yes, you're being clear," Brandon agreed, shrinking back.

"Good. Now it's time to calm down and get a drink."

Karl slapped my ass and they quit the dungeon, leaving me hanging in the chains. Clearly Karl was the dominant partner, though their relationship was tight.Gay?Gay, but looking for a bisexual outlet?

I was not a good slave, at first. Disobedience was rewarded with strapping. Interestingly, neither of them ever did use a whip on me, though they liked to strut around cracking it often enough. Even the flogger was made of a soft material, unable to raise a welt. Most of the time I would pretend to submit, to satisfy their egos. At other times, I'd tell them to go fuck themselves. They seemed to like that, and to my shame, I started getting off on it.

Their slave was kept in a steel cage not tall enough to stand in, spending days lying on a gym pad. They wouldn't even give me a blanket. Personal business was performed in a bucket. The food was adequate, rice, vegetables, and fruit, though bland. Once every day or two, I was pulled from the cage, raped on the table, and locked up again. Sometimes I was tied to their St. Andrew's Cross against the back wall, upright with my arms and legs spread. One or the other would quietly sit on a stool, just looking at me, touching sensitive parts from time to time to see me squirm. If I refused to respond, they would leave me there.

For rich sadists, they weren't very creative. I sucked dick while on my knees. Was flogged hanging from the rafter chain, though never bad enough to damage their investment. Brandon would switch back and forth from my ass to my pussy. Karl was pussy only, usually when I was on my back. He liked looking in my eyes as he penetrated me. He would kiss me like I was his girlfriend. Brandon never did.

I insulted them frequently, earning more punishment, and gradually they wore me down. But it took several months.

It may have been Stockholm Syndrome, but I almost liked Karl. He really just wanted a woman to hold, and fuck, without a lot of stress. He would tie me to the bondage table, stroking and tickling until I begged for mercy, and then finish me. And he did insist I reach orgasm, never leaving me wanting in that respect. Sometimes several orgasms. Never having had a boyfriend, or many hook-ups, these experiences were new to me.

Brandon was rough at first, dragging me around, using the flogger, pounding me hard as I lay bent over on the bench, but as my resistance faded, he eased up. I didn't know why.

There is a difference between being mean and being cruel, which some may not understand unless they find themselves in my position. Sometimes my masters were mean, venting frustrations, though I didn't feel they were directed at me personally. Even when I insulted them, their punishments were not vicious. What they didn't do was withhold food and water, keep the basement cold, or mock me during my monthly cycle. They were even careful about what threats they made. Punishment, yes, but they never threatened my life.

Nevertheless, it was a difficult existence. I'd spend long hours taking care of my dying father, cooking for him, cleaning soiled sheets, keeping the house on a small budget, but at least I had my computer for company. As the days folded into months, I stopped making any efforts to do anything, not even eat. I would just lie in my cage washing all thoughts out of my head. Except one. I dearly wished to avenge myself on Mike if ever I had the chance.

Something in the attitude of my masters changed. The less I cared, the more they sought to keep me engaged. Their punishments grew increasingly ineffective. They tried upping the stakes, making them more tiresome, but got little satisfaction in return. If they wanted a stronger reaction, they would need to dramatically escalate the pain. I was almost looking forward to it, in a sad sort of way. At least it would be something different.

"Come with me," Karl ordered one morning. He took me out of the cage still wearing the cuffs, but he didn't clip them together or use the leash. I followed him out of the dungeon, up a flight of stairs, and found myself in a gym. A table to the side was filled with eggs, toast, and fruit.

"What is this, master?" I asked.

"Brandon and I have been talking. You are growing thin. Your muscles are weak," he replied. "From now on, you will be brought here each morning for a full meal, and use the exercise equipment.If you resist, you will be punished."

"With what?That feather duster you like beating me with?" I boldly challenged. Karl frowned, and then laughed. I smiled and sat down, eagerly eating everything on the plate. Food had never tasted so good. And I noticed Karl getting aroused. Apparently a naked girl sitting in a folding chair chowing down was engrossing. Every once in a while, I'd lift my butt off the seat, watching him begin to sweat.Finally, he couldn't take it anymore, flopping me on a mat and ferociously relieving his frustration. I felt like I'd won the game. He sent me back to finish eating, looking embarrassed.

"I am going to supervise you most of the time," Karl said, opening his tablet. "Brandon, sometimes. Though he gets distracted easily. At times, you'll need to perform the exercises by yourself. There is a chart on the wall."

I liked the idea of being alone in something other than a cage, but even more intrigued by Karl's computer. Having done part-time accounting when my father was sick, I knew my way around many of the programs.

"What do you do?" I asked.

"Should I tell my slave?" he answered.

"You've made it clear I'm not going anywhere."

"Brandon and I are corporate raiders. We find companies that are in trouble, corner the stock, and then break them up. The pieces are usually worth more than the whole. Why? What do you know about real estate?"

"Nothing, master. After high school, I worked as a waitress," I lied.

Weeks went by. One day, it was Brandon who had a surprise for me.

"We can't keep escorting you to the gym every day," he announced.

"I understand, master," I said, kneeling in my cage. He saw I was disappointed.

"We have isolated the staircase and hallway," he announced. Then he threw the padlock key into my cage. "Reach through and open the lock."

"What? What did you say, master?"

"I said to open your cage. By yourself."

It wasn't hard, the bars not terribly close together. I lifted the end of the lock, put the key in, and heard it pop open.

"On days we have no time for you, the key will be left in your cage," Brandon said. "You will free yourself, go up to the gym for your meal and exercises, take a shower, and then return to the cage. Have I made myself clear?"

"What am I supposed to do with the key when I return?"

"Throw it from the cage, to show respect for our authority."

"Yes, master, I will obey," I agreed.

"Yes, you will," he pressed. Though he sounded doubtful. I loved the confusion in his eyes.

No one came to get me the next day. I went up the stairs by myself. The gym had a refrigerator filled with fresh food. A microwave oven. Plastic forks and spoons. I sat down to eat like a civilized person for the first time in as long as I could remember. I was on the treadmill when Karl and Brandon entered, causing me to stop and cover myself with my hands. Which was ridiculous, seeing that there wasn't an inch of me they hadn't seen a hundred times.

"We need to make adjustments," Brandon sternly said, which had me worried. I jumped down from the treadmill and knelt before them, head pressed to the floor. I couldn't see them, but heard sighs of satisfaction.

"Have I been bad, masters? I accept punishment," I offered.

"You have not earned punishment today," Brandon replied. "Our estate has high walls, topped with barbed wire.There are many cameras and alarms.Leaving the grounds without us knowing is impossible."

I said nothing. I had not been asked a question.

"Come," Karl ordered. He did not put a leash on me. My hands were not bound behind my back. They led me into a grand two-story mansion I had never seen before. There was a vast desert visible beyond the stone walls. We entered a guest room on the second floor.

"Some nights you will sleep here. Other nights, you will sleep in the cage so you will not forget your place," Brandon said."You might join us for breakfast, on occasion."

"May I make breakfast, master?" I requested.

"Make it?" Karl said.

"I cooked for my father for many years.I'm very good," I explained.

"You will remain naked at all times," Brandon warned.

"Of course, master," I agreed. "Though I would like an apron while frying bacon."

"We will think about it. For now, you will take a bath and then return downstairs to your cage."

"Yes, master. Thank you, master," I replied, rushing into the guestroom bath. It was very nice, and the tub was great. They had left bath salts, skin lotions, and shampoo.

My masters wasted no time testing their new plan. I slept in a large bed under silk sheets and a comforter. Karl came in, tied me to the bed, spent an hour playing with me before fucking me, and untied me before leaving. I went back to sleep. Two nights later, Brandon entered, tied my hands behind my back, and made me kneel on the plush carpeting to suck him. After which, I took a shower in my private bathroom and went back to bed. I went from sleeping in my cage three nights a week to one.

I started making breakfast every morning, being allowed an apron in the kitchen, and obediently sat on the floor while they ate. Brandon declared he was tired of Karl's cooking and wanted me to make dinner, too.

It can't be said that I never considered escape. In the basement, it was an impossible dream. Having freedom to move around the house created new options, but I gradually gave up on them. The walls were high, as the men said, both to keep me in and intruders out. Beyond the walls, there was only a dirt road and miles of empty desert. If I tried to escape and failed, I would never leave the basement again. And in their anger, terrible things might happen. It was a risk I refused to take.

Karl's office was on the ground floor off the dining room. One day I was vacuuming and saw him going through financial records. It was a standard brokerage account like the one I had maintained for my father. I studied what he was doing, then quickly resumed cleaning before he noticed.

That night, I deliberately spent the night in my cage. The men had gotten spoiled, ravaging me in the comfort of the bedroom in the evenings and only venturing to the basement during the day. I needed time to think without distractions. I wouldn't say I possessed a photographic memory, but my retention was good. It made memorizing lines for school plays easy. I liked the plan I eventually came up with. It would probably get me killed, and in a terrible way, but there wasn't much to lose.

In the week that followed, I spied on Karl several more times. Brandon's office was in a separate building beyond the patio, so there wasn't much chance of being discovered. During one brief moment, when Karl got up to use the bathroom, I was able to access his computer. For some strange reason, calling for help never occurred to me, only my plan.

The guys were certainly rich. Their businesses were worth $140 million dollars. I went through several screens gathering the information I wanted, and by the time Karl returned, I was in the kitchen making lunch.

The day was approaching, and I was getting scared.

"Slave, what is it with you lately?" Karl asked, lying on top of me in the guest room.

"What do you mean, master?"

"You are making love like you mean it. Like you expect the world to end."

"We aren't making love, master.I am your property.Love requires choice, and I have none."

"I can't say you're wrong," he agreed, growing more aggressive. But he was right about the sex.Now it was my anxiety, my frustration, that I was trying to release. I was using Karl more than he was using me.

Friday arrived. I needed to wait until the markets were about to close, and make sure my masters were distracted. I went to the pool, just outside Brandon's office window, and played the water nymph, diving off the board, and then lounging on the deck dripping wet. Brandon emerged, filled with curiosity. I let him chase me around the yard, laughing at his attempts to catch me. Which he finally did, taking me on the grass. Hard and passionate. It was missionary style, which he almost never did. He wanted to see his exciting capture writhe in his arms. I moaned, and cried, and pleaded for mercy. It tired him out so much, he went back to his office and took a nap. For my part, it wasn't all an act. I was playing a role, and I took satisfaction in my performance.

Karl was a little tougher, so I played an old trick on him. Using pliers from the service porch, I loosened the vent on the clothes dryer. Then I ran into his office, nearly in tears, saying the dryer was broken. Being a man, he went to fix it.

In an instant, I had his office door closed and the computer booted up. Mike had told me he would transfer my bank accounts to his own, stealing my father's life insurance, and thinking I was gone forever, he hadn't bothered to cover his tracks. Now I had his account numbers, used them to establish his identity, and began transferring his money. $24 million dollars. The money was soon buried deep in a secret overseas bank account.

But I didn't stop there. He was working on a big deal, one that involved leveraging his house and investment property. Using his personal DocuSign account, I borrowed against all of it, agreeing to high interest rates and piling on heavy debt. My quick estimation was that Mike was out $45 million dollars and would soon be facing bankruptcy. He had no assets to cover the obligations.

Karl opened the door, wondering why it was closed, and found me frantically trying to wrap everything up. I punched the last key just before he grabbed my arm.

"What the hell do you think you're doing?" he demanded.

"Getting even," I replied.

"What was that? What did you do?"

I refused to say. The transfers and loans were in progress and wouldn't clear until 6 o'clock eastern time the next morning. By the time Mike discovered what happened, it would be too late. The only flaw was that the trail would eventually trace back to my old bank account, revealing the source. Me.

Karl pulled me from the swivel chair, throwing me on the floor. He clearly wanted to hit me, which was something he had never done. I was dragged by my hair down to the basement and locked in the cage.

"Tell me what you did? Goddamn it, tell me!" he shouted. "Did you call the cops?"

"The cops? No, master I did not call--"

I stopped. Part of my plan hadn't been thought out.

"If I called the cops, you'll need to get rid of me, won't you?" I asked.

"Get rid of you? What do you mean?"

"You know what I mean.You don't want to be arrested for kidnapping and rape.You need to get rid of me now. Bury me in the desert."

I had never seen Karl so shocked. And disturbed. He fled the dungeon, slamming the door.

The following hours gave me time to think. Too much time. I felt the fear welling up in me. By the time Karl and Brandon entered the basement, I was shaking. When they opened the cage, I crawled out on all fours before them.

"Please make it quick, masters. I beg you, make it quick," I pleaded.

"Make what quick?" Brandon asked.

"You know. There are no secrets here," I responded.

"There are too many secrets here," Brandon disagreed. I was dragged to the St. Andrew's Cross, trussed up with my arms and legs spread, and slapped across the face.

"Tell us what you did," Brandon commanded. "We've monitored the police channels. You didn't call them. It doesn't look like you called the FBI. Who did you call?"

I didn't answer. I was grabbed in an uncomfortable place, my bush having grown out. I thought the months of punishment would help me persevere, but it was more difficult than I thought. Could I bear being tortured? I wasn't looking forward to finding out.

"You can't keep me anymore, and you can't let me go," I said, breath short."Please make it quick.I've been a good slave.You owe me that."

"What is owed here is an explanation," Brandon pressed.

"Do you want to spend the rest of your lives in prison?" I asked.

"Of course not," Karl said.

"Then do it. Let's get this over with," I urged.

They retreated into the outer room, talking for fifteen minutes. When they returned, Karl came up to me while Brandon lingered in the doorway.

"Terry, we're not going to kill you," he gently said. "If we spend the rest of our lives in prison, then so be it. We may be criminals, but we are never going to do what you're suggesting. Not ever."

"You've never called me Terry before," I responded.

"We all need to be serious here. This is no time for games," he insisted.

I squeezed my eyes closed, fighting back tears. They wouldn't kill me, but someone else would.Horribly.I felt the terror growing. Beeathing became so hard that I began to pass out.

"Brandon, come here! Help me!" Karl called out in a panic.

They took me down from the cross, carried me upstairs, and put me in a warm bath. Karl gave me a glass of wine. I began to calm down, feeling defeated.

"No police are coming. That's not what this is about," I told them.

"Then what is it?" Karl asked.

"I can't say. Not until tomorrow morning. I will tell you everything in the morning. I promise."

"There will be punishment if you don't," Brandon cautioned.

"Master, there is nothing you can say to frighten me anymore.We are past that now," I answered.

"I don't understand," Brandon said.

"You will. In the morning."

They put me in my bed instead of the cage. To my great surprise, I fell asleep instantly.

I woke up alone, a bit groggy. After washing my face in the bathroom sink, I wrapped myself in a blanket and went downstairs. My masters had ordered me to walk around the house naked, but I was shivering. They said nothing of my disobedience as I sat down at the kitchen table. Karl had made breakfast. Not the best way to start the day, for his cooking skills were weak.

"Yesterday, I hacked Mike Lightman's financial accounts and stole all of his money," I revealed, sipping orange juice. "He'll need the code number to get it back, and he'll think I have it."

"He's not going to like that," Brandon needlessly warned.

"Mike will torture me, and then he'll kill me.I know that.I've known it all along.I wish you had killed me last night like I wanted.I'm not afraid to die.Not anymore.The thought of being tortured has me very afraid."

"Do you have the code number?" Karl asked.

"No, I scrambled the account keys, but he'll never believe it. That will make his torture longer, and even worse."

I shuddered.If the table had something sharper than a butter knife, I'd have plunged it into my heart.

"We won't let him hurt you," Karl swore.

"He won't give you a choice," I disagreed."He can turn you in to the FBI. Reveal records of you buying me. He's probably kept recordings of every conversation you ever had. He has all the power. Except one. He's never getting his money back. I've made sure of that."

"This is more important than your own life?" Karl asked.

"What life? A life in a cage?"

The men fell silent. I doubt either of them had even considered such a situation. They were infants, as I had once been.

"Brandon and I need to talk about this," Karl said.

"I will be in my cage," I told them. I stood up, dropped the blanket off my shoulders, and went downstairs to the dungeon. After locking the padlock, I threw the key across the room. And then I cried.

It took Mike two days to discover who stole his money.What a fucking moron.I wasn't in the cage the whole time, but most of it.Curled in a ball.Knowing what was coming.

"You were right," Karl said, coming downstairs and kneeling next to me. "Mike figured it out, and he's on a rampage. Brandon and I are headed to prison if we don't give him what he wants. And what he wants is you."

I could only nod, feeling myself shutting down.

"We might make a deal. Get his money back for him," Karl suggested.

"Master, I totally screwed up his accounts.Even if he understood where the money was, he'd lose millions trying to straighten it out. And the tracks will eventually lead to a Federal investigation. He's never going to forgive that."

Karl grew quiet.He knew I was right.

"Brandon and I have grown fond of you. We don't want this," Karl said.

"Life can be unfair," I responded. "I spent years taking care of my sick father. Working part-time. Getting into local theater and coming out here with big dreams. And a sick asshole took everything from me. Now I've taken away the thing he loves most. His goddamn money. I'm not sorry I did that, but I still wish you would kill me before he gets here. It would be okay. I know you'll be gentle. If you do it, I won't be afraid."

Karl choked up and fled the dungeon. I wondered if Brandon might have more guts.

Wednesday afternoon. Karl and Brandon entered the dungeon looking dejected.

"Mike will be here any minute," Karl said.

"You were right about the evidence," Brandon added. "He's threatening to send files to the FBI. He'll claim you are a prostitute hired out for a role-playing assignment, and that it was us who kidnapped you."

"It's a strong case, too," Karl said. "We floated it past our lawyer, very vaguely. He didn't provide much comfort."

Sitting naked in the locked cage, none of this sounded good to me. From their expressions, it looked like Mike had already won.

"You can still kill me before he gets here," I urged.

"No, that will just make him angrier. He thinks you can get his money back for him," Karl said.

"I can't. I scrambled the key," I insisted. That wasn't entirely true. It wouldn't weaken my resolve. I had decided on a course. Nothing was going to change it.

"Again, it's like you said.He's never going to believe that.We're sorry,Terry.Very, very sorry," Brandon consoled.

Being sorry wasn't going to help me. The thought of what Mike would do was terrifying. Would he torture me with knives? Fire? Cut off my fingers and toes one-by-one? I remembered his joyful expression in the garage, that night when he opened the trunk of his car and saw how betrayed I felt. He would want that again. Nothing was going to stop him from seeking revenge.

"It's almost time," Karl said, looking at his watch. "Mike made certain demands."

They opened the cage, drew me out, and strapped me to the St. Andrew's Cross. Spreadeagle.Naked before them, completely helplesss. Karl put a ball gag in my mouth. I fought for a few moments knowing it was useless.

"We will plead your cause to the end," Karl said, as if it was going to do me any good.

They disappeared. Probably going out to the courtyard. I imagined Mike driving his Lincoln Continental through the gate, self-righteously anticipating getting even with the woman he sold into slavery.

I heard them in the outer room, passing the bondage table where Mike had last seen me, and then they were in the dungeon. He was still good-looking, though haggard from having his world ripped away from him. Karl and Brandon were close on his heels.

"You fucking bitch," Mike said, stopping ten feet short of the cross where I was bound, naked and totally helplesss. "You are going to tell me everything I want to know."

"She can't tell you anything with that gag in her mouth," Karl pointed out.

"I don't need to hear anything from her now. Not for the first hour or two," Mike replied.

He drew a 6" knife, waving the silver blade. And then he took out his cigarette lighter.

"What are you going to do?" Brandon asked. "You can't kill her."

"I am definitely going to kill this goddamn scheming little bitch," Mike answered. "You have a big desert. Plenty of space to bury what's left of her. But first I'm going to carve her up. One piece at a time."

"You can't go around killing women," Karl objected.

"Do you think this is the first one?" Mike shot back. "What do you think happens to the girls I sell? You fucking idiots. Just because you didn't put this one in a ground doesn't mean the others were that lucky."

"Mike, let's talk about this," Karl said. "You need to calm down. We'll figure something out."

"Let's go upstairs. Have a drink," Brandon urged.

"I don't need advice from sick pathetic fucks like you," Mike countered. "If you'd kept this bitch in a cage where she belongs, none of this would have happened. You're going to pay for that. But she is going to pay first."

He glared at me with pure rage. Despite my terror, I felt a final satisfaction. His house, his money, his investments, and even his lifestyle were all gone, and I had taken it from him. Regardless of what he did to me, that made it all worthwhile.

"Are you smiling?" Mike shouted in disbelief. "Are you goddamn fuckking smiling? Let's see how funny you think this is with your pussy on fire."

He stepped close, lit the lighter, and reached down to put it against my bush. I struggled frantically knowing I would fail and closed my eyes.

There was a noise I didn't recognize. A startled grunt. And then clattering. I opened my eyes to see Mike waving his arms, the knife and lighter fallen on the floor. Brandon was standing behind him with a rope around Mike's neck. Karl rushed to pin Mike's arms as Brandon twisteded harder. Mike's eyes began to bulge. He fought desperately. The three of them went down, landing on the floor. There were grunts and groans. Brandon and Karl said nothing. Mike couldn't say anything. The battle lasted five minutes.

"Is he dead?" Karl asked, out of breath.

"No, the goddamn motherfucker is still breathing. Just like we planned," Brandon said, gasping for air. "We need to move fast."

"The slave needs to be dealt with," Karl said.

"Take care of it," Brandon ordered, dragging Mike's unconscious body from the room.

Karl stood before me, his expression impossible to read. I had seen them take Mike down. Were they going to kill him? Was Karl going to get rid of the witness? He unstrapped me from the cross and put me back in the cage, securing the padlock. Then he dropped the key inside where I could reach it and left.

My emotions jumped from elation to fear. I wasn't sad that Mike was being dealt with, especially after he confessed to selling women to murderers.

They were gone for hours. I used the key to leave the cage, went upstairs for a shower, and stole a bottle of Brandon's wine. My nerves were steadier than I would have thought. They returned after dark to find me back in the cage. The key had been thrown across the room.

"I thought you left the key with her?" Brandon said.

"I did," Karl replied.

Brandon unlocked the cage, letting me crawl out. I knelt before them with my head down. Despite my best efforts, I was shaking.

"Thank you, masters, for not letting him torture me," I quickly said. "I'm ready now."

"Ready?" Karl asked.

"For what you need to do. I know you'll do it kindly," I responded.

Brandon knelt and lifted my chin. "Do you think we're going to kill you?"

"You must," I said. "I saw everything."

"I don't know what you're talking about," Brandon answered. "Mike Lightman hung himself in his condo. Depressed over making bad investments. The police are ruling it a suicide."

Karl knelt next to him, stroking my arms, and then my thighs, but nothing beyond that. I was trembling. Confused.

"You are our slave," Karl gently said. "No one is going to hurt you. Not now. Not ever."

"Except when you need to be punished," Brandon chimed in. "You got us in a lot of trouble stealing Lightman's money."

"Yes, master," I said with no hint of apology.

"We're sorry he scared you so badly," Karl said. "We tried to avoid what happened until the last minute, but he gave us no choice."

"I'm very grateful you didn't let him--do what he wanted to do," I answered.

"Have you sufficiently recovered from your ordeal to make dinner?" Brandon asked.

"Yes, master," I replied.

"Wear your apron. And you'll be sitting at the table with us from now on, not on the floor," he instructed.

I jumped up and ran from the dungeon, not asking any questions.

My world changed over the next week. My cage was padlocked, the key was missing, and I wasn't in it. Brandon enjoyed punishing me, hanging me up for a flogging, but it was more of a tease. He was smiling. I'd never seen him more relaxed. Then he laid me on a massage bench, worked my muscles, applied lotions, and had sex with me like he actually cared.

Karl had always been nice to me, in his own way. His punishment was to put me on the table and passionately ravage me until I begged for mercy. I tried not to giggle.

"We're going shopping," Brandon announced Saturday morning at breakfast.

"What are you going to buy, master?" I asked.

"You are going to buy a new wardrobe, and the lady things we guys aren't good at knowing about," Brandon replied. "Maybe a pet, too. Would you like a dog? Or a cat?"

"Master, I don't understand," I responded.

"We found Mike Lightman's money," Karl said, showing his tablet. "You transferred everything into our accounts. Over $40 million dollars. Why did you do that?"

"The money had to go somewhere, and I wasn't going to spend it from a dungeon," I honestly replied.

"You are going to start spending it now," Karl said. He placed a document on the table. It looked like a deed of trust. I looked up, wondering.

"It's the deed for our estate," Karl said. "Look."

He pointed at the ownership line. It read Karl Maxwell, Brandon LaJean, and Terry Suzki.

"You're giving me a third of your house? This giant wonderful house?" I asked.

"In a way, we feel like you bought it," Karl said.

"Don't mistake this, we still want you to be our slave," Brandon warned. "But if you want to leave, we understand."

"Leave?" I questioned.

They were looking at me very seriously. They'd reached an important decision, one that was hurting them to make. I needed to think about it, but it didn't take long."

"I don't want to leave, masters," I replied. They let out their breaths with relieved smiles. "There are conditions, however."

"Conditions?" Brandon asked.

"You can still tie me up and fuck me, but I'm running this house from now on. You guys really don' t know what you're doing. I'll assign each of you chores to keep it clean. I'll do the budgeting. And I want to know if the village has a dramatic arts club."

"When we're out in public, you can't call us masters," Brandon warned. "You'll need to call us Brandon and Karl."

"I will think about it. Master," I impertinently responded, daring them to challenge me They didn't.

"On other subjects, I think we've been cooped up here for too long," Brandon said, pouring each of us a glass of wine. "Let me ask, Terry, have you ever been to Paris?"