LucasWhen I looked into her eyes, a rosy blush spread across her cheeks. I chuckled and gently pressed my lips to hers."Too late to feel embarrassed," I whispered against her breath."I... I'm not embarrassed," she mumbled, her eyes blinking. She averted her gaze, as if making eye contact was too strong for her. Her eyelashes danced like the wings of butterflies.I smiled. A surge of joy bubbled up within me. "Remember what happened last night?" I asked.Valerie's eyes widened, her blush now turning a deeper shade of red. She cleared her throat nervously and stammered, "W-What?""It seems that you don't remember," I said, "Well, I don't mind helping you recall. First, you touched your body to seduce me. Then—""No more details!" She extended her hands hastily and covered my mouth, stopping me from continuing.Teasing her always gave me a lot of enjoyment. I gently grabbed her wrist and brushed her skin as I started kissing her hand. She tried to pull away, but I wouldn't allow it."
"Lot 005. Ladies and gentlemen." "Showing here." With a flash of light pouring on the stage, the audience saw a small cage. There was a little girl squatting on the floor. She was completely naked. Tears dried on her dirty face. Her hair was shining with scraps of light and her lips were red like blossoming cherry. Every piece of her skin was breath-taking. "Ooohoo!" Someone whistled with wicked smiles and uncovered lusts. "A perfect sex slave. Blood type AB- negative." The auctioneer seemed to be satisfied with their reaction. He raised up his jaw and looked around. Everyone's attention was caught by the beautiful little creature on the stage. "So, let's start from a fair price." He announced," From $5000 I'm bid?" $5,000?! Whispers and murmurs quickly grew among the chatter. Who'd be spending $5000 on a fucking slave? This one might be beautiful. But slaves were just slaves. Those poor little things were everywhere in the sla
Valerie I was dragged by the chains bonded to my waist, eyes covered with a think blinder. It was the first time I was allowed to leave the cell ever since I got here five years ago. I had nearly forgotten the views of the outside world, like how blue the sky was or how warm the sunshine could be. The place I stayed was forever dark and cold. Sometimes, I even started to think if my old house was just my imagination and this slave cell was the actual place where I was born in. Perhaps if the old memories were unreal, my life could be less miserable. But every time I closed my eyes, the image of that night would be replayed vividly in front of me. Blood soaked table cover, desperate eyes and Mathilda’s scream. They were undeniably real. "Keep moving!" A deep voice forced me back to reality as I felt a sting on my hip. I tried to walk faster to avoid another whip, but in frog-marching posture and bare feet, my sores were
Valerie Auction? My brain went blank for a second. Then I realized what that meant. I was the one who’s going to be auctioned tonight. As a sex slave. How’s that possible? Slaves had been discussing it the whole day yesterday. They said it was going to be a special one. But I had never paid attention to that. The first time Ava talked about auctions, she told me they were looking for girls with flawless beauty, which obviously excluded me for my peculiar birth mark on lower belly. So how is it possible that they chose me? The auctions were usually held at the end of each month, where they would pick a virgin female slave for the rich to bid on with other gems or jewelries. Slaves had debates on that. Some believed it was an evil ritual of monsters. But most thought it’s a chance to seek new lives. “You don’t have to stay at those filthy slave stalls for weeks until someone
Valerie “Oh you must be Val!” Mrs. Johnson crouched down and gently touched my hair, “nice to meet you!” I followed Mrs. John with my parents and walked into the living room. The decoration here was simple and warm. A three seater sofa in blue velvet was placed near the window sill, allowing the sweet sunlight to sneak in between curtains and to form different shapes on our shoulders. A large vintage rug lying flatly on the floor that was comfortable to walk on with bare feet. “Here you are. Hope you like it.” Mrs. Johnson put a plate of cookies on the coffee table and handed me a glass of orange juice, I guessed. I looked at mom in hesitation. “That’s fine, Val. You can drink it.” Mom nodded to me. Mrs. Johnson laughed, “Oh dear. Wolves drink orange juice just like you humans.” I forced a smile and felt embarrassed about myself. “That’s fine. Just get yourself comfortable darling.” Mrs. Johnson s
Valerie I had never known why Mrs. Johnson would be there in my nightmare. We lost her contact since the war began and when my parents were looking for a shelter, they tried best to reconnect her. But we never succeeded. The summer we spent at Mrs. Johnson’s holiday house near a seashore was the best one I’d ever had. My parents went there for doing some research related to their work and they brought me with them. I was lucky. Because they considered that I was too young to be left behind at grandparent’s house like Mathilda. We indulged ourselves in sun’s nourishment and strolled leisurely along the beach while mom and dad were off-work. Mrs. Johnson showed great hospitality to our visit. She volunteered to help look after me while mom and dad were busy with their works. She brought me to a small amusement park in vicinity and we had a lot of fun there. Mrs. Johnson was a widow. Her husband died many years ago and left her with no k
Valerie The peculiar mark on my lower belly, for what I had been told, was a birth mark. It had been there since I was born, as my mom said so. But it’s very odd to have such a birth mark which was shaped as a solid cross. I had once observed it careful through mirror and I was surprised to find that the two intersecting lines were exactly at the same length. I raised my doubts to mom but she told me that might be God’s bless because I was an angel to them. Well, they never believed in God. The truth was that I couldn’t remember if it had always been there since my birth. Literally, I didn’t have any memories before the age of 5. That used to confuse me a lot. When my friends were chatting about some funny stupid mischiefs they did in kindergartens, I would be the one who lost speech. They always consoled me. They said it was normal, that I might have a slight childhood amnesia but that’s not big deal. I didn’t conside
Valerie “Happy birthday! Val!” Whenever we had my birthday celebrations, mom, dad and Mathilda would give me a big hug before I blew out the candle light. On occasions, if I had invited a few friends to the party, mom would looked at us in a distance with an assuring smile. “My little girl was growing up into a beautiful lady.” She would say something like this, while my dad, on the other hand, would say, “No matter where you go, Val. You’ll always be our little girl.” Whatever wishes they blessed with me counted for a naught now. I sat on bed, staring numbly at the closed door where the master had left. It was until tears fell onto my laps that I realized I was crying. I hadn’t shed a single tear after being captured, even when I was brutally whipped by the guards. But now, I felt like suddenly being caught in the tide of pains that I had buried deeply into my heart. The tide pulled me out to the sea of sorrow, where