A cab ride later found her standing in front of a gray granite office building on Park Avenue . Once inside she found the placard by the elevator and read the words, Kramer Studios, second floor . Laura felt a sudden tug of trepidation pull at her innards. What did she really know about this man and his operation, other than what he'd told her? Fingering the business card in her hand, she ignored her apprehension, determined for once in her life to seize an opportunity.

Nervously she knocked on the door of the studio. It was opened at once by a short man with dark hair and olive skin. His face was long and narrow, one dark eye slightly drooping. "You must be Laura Sidel. I am expecting you." The man's voice was accented, something Middle Eastern perhaps. "I am Samir Baruk, professional photographer."

"Oh," Laura said, taken aback. "I was expecting Mr. Kramer?"

The man smiled a little, revealing crooked teeth. "Mr. Kramer runs a worldwide operation. He doesn't have time for photo auditions of would-be models." His tone was faintly condescending.

"He said he was going to be here," Laura said uncertainly. The man did not respond, making her innards tug. She glanced around the brightly lit studio. Lights were set up on moveable stands all around the room, illuminating backdrops of different colors and textures. A large camera was mounted on a stand and several smaller cameras sat on a long narrow table against one wall. At least it really was a photographer's studio.

At that moment another man entered the room without knocking. He locked the door behind him and turned to face them. Laura half-expected the man to be Mr. Kramer. Hadn't he said he'd be here too? But the man was not Gordon Kramer. He was a tall, strongly muscled man with a shaven head and a neck as thick as an ox's.

"This her?" he said, jerking his thumb toward Laura.

Laura was insulted by his rude display and suddenly no longer at all sure she wanted to be there. Something definitely did not feel right. Why had he locked the door? Who was he? "I'm sorry, I'm afraid I-" Laura began but her words died in her throat as the man reached into his denim jacket and pointed a long switchblade, its blade gleaming directly at her.

"You're gonna be very sorry and very afraid when we're done with you, cunt," the man said in a gruff voice.

Laura tried to speak but only managed to hiccup with fear. Blood was roaring in her ears and the room seemed to take on a surreal cast, as if she were in a movie, and a very bad one at that. As the big man kept his knife pointed at her, the small man approached with a syringe in his hand. Laura screamed as the needle pricked the flesh of her bare upper arm.

"Let's see what's she got," the big man said. The man called Samir moved behind Laura, who was beginning to feel dizzy. He pinned her arms painfully behind her as the big man moved closer. Grabbing her blouse, he pulled the fabric and drew his blade down it, ripping it as he went.

Pulling it open, he slipped the tip of the sharp blade beneath the bra between Laura's breasts and pulled forward, cutting the lacy garment from her body. Big hands mauled her breasts and Laura began to cry, not daring to pull away or scream, the knife still inches from her throat.

Whatever drug they'd injected her with began to take full effect. Unwilling to contemplate what was surely her last few minutes on earth, Laura found herself thinking, George will think I took a modeling contract and couldn't be bothered to say goodbye. Then all thought seeped from her drugged mind. Laura felt her head fall forward as the world swirled away.

 

Excerpt #2

Five women knelt on the stage of a large auditorium-style room. They were all in their early to mid-twenties, three white, one African American and one Asian. They each wore a sheer gown that clung to their shapely bodies, the neckline plunging to barely conceal breasts, some pierced and bejeweled, some not. Each gown was of a color that most suited the complexion of the slave girl in question. Laura's was a royal blue, her honey blonde hair like a cascade of shimmering gold falling softly past her shoulders. The woman who had first groomed her for the showing, Veronica, had used heavy but artfully applied makeup to enhance Laura's features from the stage, the result of which took a merely lovely girl and made her stunning. Laura, never aware of her own beauty, remained so. She knelt with her head bowed at an angle that allowed her to view the crowd.

She recognized the African American woman next to her who had made her horrible prediction as to their fates - packaged for their doom, sold to their deaths. Just recalling the words made Laura shudder, and she forced them from her mind. She gazed discreetly through her thick lashes at the audience below and wondered which person out there would be the arbiter of her life.

She saw Angela and Brianna moving gracefully throughout the room, passing out drinks and offering napkins. Today they were dressed in red skirts so short their bare bottoms were displayed every time they bent over, even slightly. Laura saw that Angela's was mottled with dark bruises. She wondered who had done that to her and the reason for the punishment .

She hadn't been placed with the girls, as they had hoped, but was kept in a small single room with no one to talk to except a silent older woman who brought her meals and took her to the bathroom. She wasn't sure if she was sorry or relieved not to have been put with them. They were friendly and pleasant - so different from the vacuous frightened slaves kept out on the farm in active training, but they had made it rather clear they had designs on Laura. While she liked girls well enough, the thought of being forced to pleasure them and being subjected to their play was more than she was prepared to handle.

The room she had been assigned to had space for a single bed, a small bureau and a bookshelf. Because of that bookshelf Laura had actually passed the two days almost happily. To her astonishment and joy, it had been filled with books! Laura, who before her abduction had never let a day go by when she wasn't reading at least one book, hadn't read a book or seen a newspaper since she'd been kidnapped. During the many long hours of solitary confinement she'd endured at various stages of her training, she'd only had her daydreams and nightmares to keep her company.

The night of the showing the guests had, in fact, returned to continue her torture, sexually violating her again and again, until they themselves were spent. When she was half-dragged, half-carried to the little room, she'd fallen onto the bed and into a deep sleep even before the lock had been turned to keep her in.

But when she awoke! Oh, the joy of taking a book and opening it, smelling the musty pages as if they were a bouquet of roses, drinking in the stories that made the hours fly. She found some old classics in the bottom shelf including Dickens and Conan Doyle, along with a number of paperbacks, mostly romance novels and murder mysteries. Laura read constantly, almost forgetting where she was for hours at a time.

She was visited by no man, nor taken to be trained or whipped or raped, though each time the lock turned she had tensed, expecting the worst. She was surprised the training seemed to have ended, as she had thought she would have to move up the ranks from her first designation as Number Seven, then Number Six and lastly Number Five. Somehow she'd skipped past numbers four, through one. Now she was just Laura, awaiting her final fate, held in the hands of the twenty or so very well dressed people in the audience.

They were all men, except for the woman she recognized as Joanna. Black and a fat man she didn't recognize sat together off to the side of the main audience. They were talking to a third man who was standing in front of them, leaning down as they spoke. With a glance at his watch and a nod, the man moved to the stage, climbing the little side stairs. He stepped behind a podium placed on the side of the stage as the room quieted, the air expectant.

He struck the podium with a little gavel and said, "Good evening gentlemen, and lady," he added, smiling unctuously toward Joanna, who returned his greeting with a graceful nod. "We have six girls for sale, each one more lovely than the last. After dinner we will have six more, well trained slaves for your consideration. You've all got the catalog. You've all had a chance to examine the goods." Again his oily smile as the audience murmured their approval. "We look forward to a profitable night for all."

He turned toward the girl closest to him, pointing his finger at her. She stood, moving forward to the front center of the stage. She was still as a statue, her hair falling around her face like a curtain of black satin, offsetting her small mouth, painted a vivid red against pale skin.

"What am I offered for this Japanese beauty? The breasts are small, but perfectly formed and her ass is sumptuous." He held his hand up toward her, twirling his finger in a gesture to indicate she should turn around. She obeyed, pirouetting on small bare feet, her face a blank.

Leaning away from the microphone he said to her, "Lift the gown and bend over." The girl complied, pulling the skirt of her gown up to reveal a small but beautifully shaped bottom, rounded and lush, begging to feel the sting of the crop. She spread her legs so her bare pussy peeked from between the globes. Heads in the audience craned forward as a spotlight highlighted her offering.

After about a minute the auctioneer gestured for the girl to stand and turn back around. She did so, her face now flushed though her expression remained empty, her demeanor subservient. "I'll start the bidding at fifty thousand dollars."

"Fifty-five," called out a balding portly man of about sixty, holding up his finger with a smile.

"Sixty," said another.

"Sixty-five," said yet another.

And so it went until the price had risen to $154,000. In the silence that followed the final bid, the auctioneer pronounced the girl sold to the man who made the first bid. He smiled broadly as she was led off the stage by the man who had sat next to Mr. Black, and deposited at his feet. Proprietarily, he patted her head as eyes returned to the stage for the next bid.

Next was the African American girl, who was sold for $176,000. As she was led past the still-kneeling slaves on the stage, Laura saw she was crying. Laura bit her own lip, trying to calm herself. She was next.

Joshua leaned forward in his chair as the blonde stood and moved to center stage. His cock nudged in his pants, but he just crossed his legs. His intention to fuck the girl at least once more had been thwarted by Joanna, who knew him too well.

"Don't touch her, Joshua," she had warned preemptively after the showing. "I don't want anyone to handle her in any way until she's mine. I want her fresh for my boy. No one fucks her, no one whips her, no one so much as pats her ass. I'll make sure she tells me the truth, and if I find out otherwise."

Joshua had assured his best client she had no need to worry or threaten. He understood and was happy to comply. So instead of putting her with Angela and Brianna, hoping to get some hot videotapes of those two sluts having hot girl sex with her, he'd had her put in a little-used guest room at the back of the sprawling old farmhouse and he'd tried to put her out of his mind, at least as far as his cock was concerned. There were plenty of other nubile little cunts with whom he could have his way.

His mouth watered now, not at the sight of the lovely young slave who had just been commanded to slip her gown from her shoulders to reveal her perfect breasts, the gold hoops glittering in the stage lights, but at the thought of how much money she was going to put in his pockets.

"What am I bid? We'll start at fifty thousand dollars." The price quickly rose to one hundred twenty-five thousand, then the bidding slowed as only the most serious contenders continued.

" One thirty ," Mark called out, waving his hand toward the stage.

"One hundred thirty five thousand dollars," rang out Joanna's clear voice.

" One forty ," said Samir.

And so it went until the bidding had reached two hundred forty-four thousand dollars. Frank nudged Joshua and whispered, "Jesus, this is a great night, Josh. Did the stock market go up or something? What's so special about this girl? Shit, what do I care, just let these greedy bastards keep raising the stakes. Maybe we'll break our record high!"

Joshua nodded, pretending to be pleased, though of course the higher the bidding went, the more of that one million would go into Frank's pocket instead of his own. The bidding faltered at two hundred forty-six thousand dollars, this final amount offered up, of course, by Joanna St. Laurent.

* * * *

Laura shifted in the large leather seat, pushing the button so it reclined a little. Things had happened so fast, she'd barely had a chance to process them. She was being carried over the Atlantic Ocean in a very elegant private jet, with Joanna St. Laurent and two burly silent men as her companions, along with the unseen cockpit crew.

After the auction had concluded, Veronica had taken Laura back to the large private bathroom, where her heavy stage makeup was removed, replaced by more subtle but still flattering color. She was given clothing to wear - real clothing, not just gossamer gowns that revealed more than they hid. She was wearing a pretty red linen dress that fit her as if it had been tailored for her, with a bra and panties to wear beneath it, just Laura's size. She had low heeled red leather sandals to match.

Joanna wanted to start out that very night, eager to be on her way. How strange it felt to be leaving the country. Laura wondered how it had been arranged, since she had no passport - she had nothing at all to prove who she was. Who, in fact, was she? She barely knew anymore. She certainly wasn't the timid passive little cocktail waitress she'd been in her other life. Nor was she the meek, submissive slave girl she pretended to be now as a matter of survival. Was it her lot to live the rest of her days as a captive? Was there no way to escape? She glanced at the two men sitting across from her. They each looked like they could break her in half without giving it much thought.

She looked out the window at the vast blue-green ocean below her. Laura had never even been to Canada , but now she was on her way to England , the prisoner of a wealthy woman who had "purchased" her for God knew what purpose. Laura fervently hoped she wasn't going to be expected to be this woman's personal sex toy, though the alternative might be much worse indeed, as Joanna now outlined for her.

She slipped into the empty seat next to Laura, putting her hand on Laura's bare thigh, just beneath the hem of her dress. "You look lovely in red, Laura." She'd barely spoken to Laura since the auction, except to order her to get in the car, or keep her mouth shut as they boarded the private jet.

Joanna now said, "You're very lucky I got you, you know. Some of those girls on the stage with you will end up in some Arab king's harem, their clitoris cut off, and their tongues too, if they aren't careful. Others will be consigned to very high class brothels in Asia or Europe , used until they're too old to put out. Then they'll be sent to whorehouses or sold to sweatshops to work until they die, broken and alone."

Laura hugged herself protectively, unable to hide the horror she felt, though she said nothing. She'd been too well trained not to speak unless asked a direct question. Joanna stared at her a moment and went on, "I bought you because you please me. You have what I'm looking for. You're lovely of course, but beyond that, you have a sensual fire and a strong spirit. At the same time, while I admire those qualities, I plan to control them. You will obey me in everything, at all times. If you get out of line, even once, you will be punished so severely you will wish for death."

She glanced toward the two thugs across the aisle and looked again at Laura. "You will be watched. The estate is staffed with my handpicked extremely loyal servants. They all answer directly to me. If you disobey me, I'll sell you in a New York minute to a Thai whorehouse that will make your captivity to this point seem like a stay at a spa. You will serve at my pleasure, though it may seem otherwise. Do I make myself clear?"

Laura dared to look directly at Joanna, as she'd been asked a question. Taking a risk she said, "Honestly, no. I don't understand your intentions for me, ma'am. Am I to live with you, on your estate, that is?"

"The estate belongs to my son. I have purchased you as a gift for his thirty-second birthday."

 

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