26
Saliva drips from my chin onto my bare thighs.
Darkness paints my vision. I cling onto the illusion of safety.
I never imagined I would be blindfolded, tied, and gagged while naked.
At least not outside of the bedroom. I shouldn't be surprised.
The Elites are the upper tier of society.
Letting an outcast in, even if they're an offering, isn't something to be taken lightly.
Vesper told me how secretive this entire society is.
I'm an outsider. A temporary toy. They can control everything with their high status and endless bank accounts full of more dollars than they could ever spend.
Every bump of the car digs the gag deeper into my open jaw, cutting into the corner of my mouth.
My hands have gone numb at some point. I've lost track of how long I've been restrained.
Time seems to warp together. The nylon rope cuts into my wrist, flaying my skin.
It's now raw from the burn. I try to swallow through the gag, but all it does is pool in my mouth.
My throat is scratchy from trying to scream. As if it would do any good.
I go limp against the cool, leather seats. Goosebumps stamp my skin from head to toe.
Hold it together, Clara. Just a little longer.
I cling to the reward at the finish line, but darkness creeps into my mind, punishing me with lacerating self-doubt. It becomes so hard to focus. I'm fighting the current of my mind. I'm a hair away from being pulled under.
The car skids to a halt. My face is still basked in darkness.
My body falls forward smacking the seat in front of me.
The door clicks open beside me; the cold air assaults my skin.
I shiver. A rough hand wraps around my upper arm in a bruising hold, wrenching me from my seat.
The snow-covered gravel beneath my feet dig into my bare heels.
My feet instantly turn numb, but I stay quiet.
My throat is raw enough from my pleas and cries.
It's cold; so algid. This is a cruelty on its own.
Naked in January. “Take her inside. Prep her.”
A deep male voice says. The only indication anyone heard him is how forcefully I'm yanked forward.
I'm guided without any sense of direction.
The wind whips against my skin. It takes all my willpower to refrain from dropping to my knees and giving up.
“Inside.” Another voice bellows. I’m blindly led inside. The creaking of a metal door reaches my ears. I breathe a sigh of relief when my feet hit solid ground. The deafening crack of a door slamming behind me makes me jump. A plush rug lays at my feet. I dig my toes into the fabric for warmth.
“What a beauty this one is.” A stray hand brushes against my nipple, chuckling.
“She's pierced,” he growls menacingly. I clamp down on the gag.
His touch repulses me. My mother's words slam into me.
“You have a woman's body now, Clara. They want to touch. To see. To use. A woman has no worth if she cannot use her body. We are a gift to man. Never forget, we have the upper hand. You can use it as a weapon if you're strong enough. We allow them the illusion of power.
You just need to have the mental fortitude to handle the abuse, and you'll come out on top.”
I fight back the tears. I feel so degraded. Kieran had to have pierced me for their sick pleasure, right? He wants to watch me be passed around. He never had any intentions of saving me. Vesper fell for a lie. A carefully crafted one. My heart pounds in my chest.
You're strong. Use your body to your advantage. Don't be weak.
I'm led through the room through another set of doors.
They creak open. Laughter, moans and chatter fill my ears.
Vanilla cigar smoke slaps my senses. The blindfold is ripped away from my eyes.
I wince at the harsh light; it stings my eyes.
I blink a few times to adjust. The man who has a hold of my arm unbuckles my gag.
It falls at my feet with a loud thump. The noise attracts unwanted attention.
I snap my jaw shut to regain feeling, but it is short lived.
The cruel man jams two fingers in my mouth, forcing my jaw wide.
He deposits a pill down my throat. I fight the urge to vomit.
Above me hangs a chandelier with flickering candles.
The room is bathed in low light now that my eyes have adjusted.
The damp stone walls remind me of the harrowing halls of Grimshaw.
Endless streams of Elites—young and old—fuck on wingback couches and anywhere they can get their cock wet.
Sweat sheens down their erotic dancing bodies.
They move in slow motion. Hands trace down their exposed skin.
The women writhe under their touches like wontons.
Bodies cling together in an exotic display.
A bar with assorted alcohol and liquors is tucked near the entrance.
Videos play on the big screens of what I've guessed to be private rooms.
Tears, blood, and other sick twisted fantasies play out for all to see.
A dark haired, older woman approaches us through the mass of people.
She looks out of place in essentially a pleasure house.
Wrinkles sink under her eyes. Her cheeks are hollow like she's had a rough upbringing.
Keys jingle on the side of her long, maroon skirt.
“Bring her into the dressing room, Mr. Hexwood. We need to ensure she is proper and cleaned before we display her.” She waves wildly toward the back.
The man, Mr. Hexwood, drags me along as if I'm replaceable cattle instead of a human being. Of course to these people I'm an object.
My bare feet slap against the cold concrete floor.
All eyes follow my naked body as I'm paraded through the Void like a prized horse.
I should feel more humiliated, instead I hold my head high and block out the hungered stares.
My clit throbs. I have no idea how long these things take to heal.
I should have taken the stupid thing out.
The woman leads us to the back of the Void. A dark, olive-green curtain rests along the wall. She flicks it to the side, and motions for me to enter. Mr. Hexwood shoves me forward, knocking me off balance. My hands brace against the wall frame to steady myself.
“Inside. The drugs will hit soon, and we need to clean you up before then,” the woman huffs.
I pass through the threshold. Old, mirrored dressing tables and tufted stools line the back wall.
I sink into the olive cushioned stool. The reflection staring back at me feels wrong.
Stringy blonde hair, sad crystallized eyes.
Purple bags stamp under my eyes. My skin is marked and bruised from Kieran.
I peer down at my thighs. A branding from Kieran.
The woman comes behind me, meeting my reflection in the mirror. She picks up a strand of my hair. “Don't fret. I can see this life is nothing new to you.” She offers me a pained smile. It's sympathetic. Am I that easy to read? Do I scream walking disaster?
She dolls me up. Mascara, eyeshadow, and eyeliner. It's heavier than I usually apply it but still fitting. She disappears into a room I can only assume is the bathroom. She returns with a washrag and a bowl of soapy water.
She slams it on the wooden vanity in front of me, sloshing it over the rim. “Wash your intimate areas. They want you clean and presentable.”
I wait until she scurries off before I pick up the warm rag. I let the water bead down my hand and wrist. The warmth is welcoming. The pill circulates through my system. It's different from my usual high, more euphoric. My fingertips turn prickly, and my eyes grow heavy.
Hang on, Clara. You can get through it.