Page 13 of Savage Desires

"What happens at the mansion?" Lucy asks, her voice trembling.

She's not been here very long and hasn't handled it well. She's older than me by a couple years and was taken while out partying. She cries a lot and hasn't figured out how to shut down with clients. She fucked up the first time she was taken to the main floor of Mecca and begged a member to help her… it was bad. She spent several days in the cage after being caned by Madame. Ever since she's only been brought to VIP rooms through the back entrance. She only sees those working at Mecca and the VIP clients. Honestly, I'm not surprised that she's being auctioned.

She's a liability.

They can't have someone that will beg members for help. Not everyone who comes to Mecca knows about the seedy underbelly. Some of them are just idiots looking for a kinky release. After years of being a slave and forced to submit, I just don't get the appeal. Maybe if my submission was earned or there were tender moments to break up the painful ones. I've seen how some Doms treat their subs after a scene.

I've never experienced aftercare. Slaves don't get that luxury. The closest I've gotten was in Kisten's arms. He cradled me gently and spoke calmly. His touch wasn't harsh like I'm used to. I hardly know what to think of the whole interaction. Why would a complete stranger interfere on behalf of someone they don't know? And why would he attempt to provide aftercare? It's a pretty intimate thing. At least, the few times I've seen it occur.

I have many questions, but I know I'll never get answers.

Hell, I likely won't even be alive in twenty-four hours, so it's not like it matters anyway.

My soul screams in outrage. I've done everything asked of me for years. I've survived more atrocities than I even want to think about. I survived multiple owners and what feels like a lifetime at Mecca. One interrupted scene and a generous stranger was my downfall. All that survival for nothing. Years of fighting the desire to give up snuffed out like a candle's flame.

I'm outraged at the situation. Life isn't fair, especially not this kind of life, but I'd rather live than die. At least if I'm alive, I can hope for better. I can pray that I'll somehow escape and get to actually live my life instead of just surviving.

I've spent countless hours imagining how I would exact my revenge if I gained my freedom. I don't know how, but I would burn down the entire organization. I'd find each of my past owners and destroy them. I imagine myself as the old me, a badass who fights back instead of the meek slave I'm forced to be.

I push all my thoughts aside, emptying my busy mind and focusing on the task at hand. In the shower, I wash and condition my hair using the good quality products they let us use to prep for big events. I shave everywhere until my skin is baby-smooth. The one thing I appreciate from my time with my second owner is that he paid for laser hair removal for my pubic area. I was pissed when he made me do it, but now I'm grateful because shaving that area is a pain in the ass. Now, I wish he would've just lasered off all my body hair. No more shaving would be great. However, that would mean my hot water time would be shorter, and I enjoy the hell out of my hot shower time since they are rare. I dry off, then lotion my whole body. When I'm done, my skin is soft and has a healthy glow despite my paleness.

I still haven't fully recovered from my time in the cage, but they obviously don't care that I'm skinnier than usual. My hip bones jut out, and my ribs are visible. Our limited caloric intake keeps us thinner than is healthy, so missing even one meal can do damage. Not eating for five days has made me look sickly.

Oh well. I hope they get less than I'm worth in the auction because no one wants me. It would be a final fuck you to them from me. If I can't escape, then the most I can hope for is that they get screwed out of profit because of their mistreatment.

I move from the area we prep our bodies to the area set up for our hair and makeup. Georgie is doing Lucy's hair. Lucy's shoulders are slumped, and her eyes look dejected. Someone has told her what going to the mansion means. I doubt it was Georgie, though. She's smarter than to tell Lucy anything. It would get her tossed into the cage or, worse, the auction in a heartbeat. One of the other girls likely told her that people sent to the mansion don't come back.

I pick up a hairbrush and get to work on the tangles in my long blonde hair. Once the brush runs freely through my hair, I start blow-drying it. It takes forever because, despite the lack of proper nutrition and regular use of cheap shampoo, my hair is still thick and appears healthy. When it's dry, it shines in the harsh lighting of the room. Before I was taken, I would've told you my eyes were my best feature. My once sparkly blue eyes are now dull and echo a lifetime of misery. Now, the only thing about me that I have a positive view of is my hair.

Georgie finishes with Lucy and comes over to help me.

"You okay?" she asks quietly.

I smile sadly. "No, not at all."

Her eyes glisten with unshed tears. I can tell it's taking every ounce of willpower she has to keep the tears at bay. She picks up the curling iron and starts curling my hair. She's done my hair dozens of times because no matter how hard I try, I can't accomplish the loose curls that give off an effortless vibe. When she's done, my hair looks beautiful.

I wish I could cut it all off. I'd shear it down to the scalp in places and leave it longer elsewhere. I would look like Angelica's Cynthia doll in that cartoon I watched reruns of as a kid. That would ensure my value tanked. However, it would probably get me punished severely, and they would likely put another girl in the auction in my place. Even though it would be awesome to screw them over, I wouldn't put another girl up on the chopping block.

I hold onto the thought of that small act of defiance because it's distracting me from thinking about what's to come, especially since I know this auction is even more despicable than the other ones I've been put in since I was taken.

Georgie wraps her fingers around mine, giving them a tight squeeze. She studies my face for a long moment as if trying to etch me into her memory. I do the same because even though we will only be apart for a short time for me, I'll miss her. She's the only person I've allowed myself to care about since I was taken.

I give her a sad smile. "It'll be okay," I murmur. "Don't forget what I told you. You promised."

She nods. "I won't forget."

"Go help the others. We're running out of time."

After one more gentle squeeze of my fingers, she lets go and moves on to Reghan.

I take my time putting on my makeup. The foundation matches my complexation perfectly, and so does the concealer. Another luxury they spare no expense on. It wouldn't do for one of their girls to look like a cheap whore. We are required to appear high-class in every way. Once I've contoured my face to make my cheeks appear fuller and give my skin a fake healthy glow, I work on my eyes. It took forever to perfect the application of eyeliner. Now, it's second nature. I do a smoky eye with a touch of purple that brings out the blue in my eyes. With thick black fake lashes, my look is complete. I look just like the high-class woman they demand. When they dress me up, I'll transform into the whore. For now, I look like a beautiful doll waiting to be manipulated into whatever game my owner wants to play.

I start helping the other girls with their makeup because the clock is running out. I don't want to go into tonight after suffering a harsh punishment. A small voice in the back of my head is quietly encouraging me not to go down without a fight. It might be an auction that promises that the buyer gets to participate in a real-life snuff film, but that doesn't mean I have to be complacent in my murder.

I'll bide my time for now. I decide that when the time comes, I'm going to fight. It doesn't matter what they do to me because they've already decided I'm worth more dead than alive. If I can hurt someone as I go out, then I'll die with a small amount of satisfaction. It'll be worth it, even if it makes my death more drawn out and painful.

Once everyone has their hair and makeup done to perfection, we move as a group to the dressing room. There are two racks of clothes. It's clear from just a glance which one is meant for those of us in the auction. The dresses are the same floor-length design—all pure white. On closer inspection, I realize the material is completely sheer. It might completely cover our bodies, but everything will be on display.