In a society that otherwise resembles our own, mass slavery has persisted into the 21st Century. It is a common and accepted feature of public and private life. Males and females of all ethnic backgrounds are held thrall, without status or legal rights. They are quite literally living property, and may be bought, sold and used for any purpose, including: hard labor, breeding, menial work and sexual servitude.
This series of stories, which is not presented in any particular order, explores the daily life of a prostitute-slave named Sara. Purchased at auction by a Las Vegas casino, she is tasked with fulfilling the sexual urges of its clientèle, who pay for her favors along with room service and Wi-Fi access. Subject to their every whim, she has known both anguish and delight, but most often casual exploitation.
When she is not engaged by a guest, Sara must contend with capricious and underpaid corporate overseers and occasionally vicious slave stable politics.
***
After the first day of filming for ‘The Real Sluts of Las Vegas,’ Sara was again given an easy display assignment. At midnight, House Master Jacob collected her and took her to a new cell.
Stable sluts were typically assigned eight to a room with two bunk beds. Their tasking made it rare for more than four girls to be sleeping at the same time. When it did happened, they were simply expected to share one of the small beds.
Occasionally, Sara would listen to guests spin out fantasies of sluts having sex with each other in the confines of their tiny cells. She would either blush and look away or give them a knowing smile, but she had never seen it or even heard of it happening, and she was quite sure that she had never done it herself.
Sluts were not permitted to have sex with anyone but guests – the occasional liberties taken by the house masters aside – and since they all assumed that their rooms were monitored, it was not worth the risk of a correction to steal an orgasm with another girl, even if they both wanted it.
This new cell had just three single beds, and from the codes listed on the door, Sara recognized that it was assigned to the six girls tasked with performing for the cameras: Miranda, Jessica, Tiffany, Rachel, Jewel and herself. In the dim light, she could see that all three beds were already occupied. She undressed and laid down with Jessica.
The gorgeous blond slave stirred and put a delicate kiss on Sara’s forehead. Sara felt happy and warm and safe.
***
Two days later, Sara found herself kneeling at the foot of the bed in a well-appointed suite, waiting to begin shooting another segment. She was studying a smiling, paunchy man wearing a toupee whom she expected would soon be inside of her. For the moment, he stood talking and laughing with a younger man.
Before the older man arrived, the younger man had taken the director aside for a quiet conversation. The rest of the video crew continued rigging their equipment, careful not to look in their direction. Sensing their unease, Sara felt her throat beginning to tighten. She concentrated on controlling her breathing to hold back the fear.
Her apprehension evaporated when the older man appeared. He had a kindly smile and sparkling eyes, and Sara immediately sensed that he would not hurt her. While she watched, the younger man took a small bottle from his coat pocket and up-ended it over the older man’s hand. A single blue, triangular-shaped pill fell into his palm. Sara recognized it: Erexor.
He swallowed it down with a sip of water, shook hands with the younger man, then addressed himself to the director and the rest of the crew. He greeted each of them personally with a handshake, a nod, or a small joke. Sara marveled at his charisma and his easy, gracious manners.
Turning his attention to her, he sat down on the edge of the bed, beside where she was kneeling.
“Hello, my dear. How are you this morning?” he said, smiling.
“This slave is well, master. She is eager to please you,” Sara smiled back.
“They sent me some pictures of a couple of different girls when I agreed to do this show, and I thought you were the prettiest of them all. Now that I see you for myself, you’re even more beautiful than I imagined,” he said.
The slave blushed and bowed her head. She knew as an objective fact that she was very appealing to men, and they were never shy about telling her so, but it almost never felt like a compliment – more like an excuse for what they were going to do to her.
“Thank you, master,” she answered, giddy, not quite able to look him in the eye.
He leaned in close, whispering into her hear.
“I have to tell you, I’m glad that you’re a house girl. I know that I wouldn’t stand a chance with you otherwise,” he said. “My therapist told me that’s called ‘self-knowledge.’”
Utterly disarmed, Sara did not answer him. She felt like an idiot.
“That is unless, of course, you recognized me,” he said, sitting up straight and turning to show off his profile, a faraway look in his eyes.
Sara tore through her memories, becoming increasingly frantic as she realized that most of them were a vacant haze, populated by shadows that might have been people.
“This slave is very sorry, master – she doesn’t know who you are,” she admitted, suddenly fearful.
“It’s okay, Sara – it’s okay,” he laughed, putting a gentle hand on her shoulder. “There probably isn’t any reason that you should. Anyway, I never actually was anybody important – I just played someone important on TV.
“That was a long time ago now, many years before you were born.”
“You are an actor, master? You star in movies and television shows in Hollywood?” Sara blurted out, whole phrases taught to her in a cultural literacy class spilling out of her mouth, unchecked.
She blinked. She felt like even more of an idiot than she had a moment before, when she had nothing at all to say.
He was delighted.
“That’s right, Sara!” he said, his eyes shining. “Pretty and smart! Now you’ve got something up on every single one of my ex-wives…”
The slave was silent again, her mind sent reeling by his charm. She actually felt relief at the sight of the director approaching.
“If you’re ready, Mr. Kirchner, we’re all set up for you over on the couch,” he said.
“Please, call me Phil,” the older man replied.
“Okay, Phil,” the director seemed uncomfortable. “Whenever you’re ready.”
The older man took Sara by the hand and led her gently over to the couch. He sat back and the slave settled to her knees between his legs.
She leaned forward and pressed her face down into his crotch. Her tongue expertly found the metal tab on his zipper and lifted it up. Catching it between her teeth, she drew back, opening the front of his pants while favoring him with a devilish smile. He gasped.
Still using only her mouth, she undid the button at his waist and pulled his flaccid organ out from his silk boxers. She sucked him vigorously, looking up at him with hungry eyes.
It was a display that most men found irresistible, but his cock did not respond. Keeping suction on the head, she drew his shaft out to its full length, again and again… nothing.
The joy she felt moments before was gone. Fear dug its icy claws into her guts. Failing to arouse a guest most often meant an immediate beating at his hands, followed by an agonizing correction back at the stable. She urgently searched her mind for any possible explanation, but she found none.
He was old, but the younger man had given him a full tablet of Erexor, and she had watched him take it – he should have been as rigid as a buck released from chastity.
Bewildered and terrified, Sara continued to work his cock. She chanced a glimpse up at his face, expecting to see a deadly mix of humiliation and rage spreading across it. To her surprise, he was still smiling, but his eyes revealed a glimmer of fear. He glanced up at the video crew, then back down at her, desperate.
In that instant, Sara realized that he was just as confused and frightened as she was. It would destroy him to be shown on television with his cock withered and useless. Whatever had gone wrong, he would be utterly humiliated, a laughingstock, the butt of cruel jokes that would never end.
He had been so gentle, so gracious and kind, that Sara determined that she was not going to allow that to happen to him. With her head still bobbing up and down in his lap, she took a moment to center herself. With a plan taking shape in her mind, she reached up under her dress and unhooked her thong, making a show of tossing it aside.
Next, she slid up into his lap, carefully using her body to shield him from the cameras. Pressing close, she passionately kissed his neck and tongued his ear.
“Act,” she whispered.
She leaned back, pulling down the front of her dress and her bra to flaunt her tits for him. He looked up at her, his smile still just a mask for his terror.
Sara reached down between her legs and pretended to guide his shaft up into her vagina.
“Please, master,” she sounded afraid. “Please – you’re so big. Please be gentle with Sara.”
At that, she watched his fear melt away, replaced first with recognition, and then relief. He put his hands on her slender waist and pushed her down until their hips met under her dress.
Sara cried out, clutching her abdomen.
“Too much! Please, master!” she begged. “You’re too big!”
She lifted herself up, making sure that her skirt was still concealing his manhood. He pressed her down into his lap again, a convincing groan escaping his lips.
“Too big! Too big!” she squealed.
***
After they had both faked their orgasms, the slave slipped back down onto her knees and licked him clean, impressed by his performance. He had been as persuasive as the best sluts she had ever seen. With the crew packing up their gear, he tucked his manhood away and gestured for Sara to sit beside him on the couch.
“They’ve got me on a flight back to L.A. this afternoon, so I can’t stay,” he said.
“Sara is grateful that she had the opportunity to serve you, master,” she said, smiling.
He leaned in close, speaking softly.
“I want you to know that I’m going to remember what you did for me today. You really are a very special girl: beautiful, smart and brave. I hope someone here realizes what they have in you.
“I’ll see you again, the next time I’m in town.”
***
Sara liked being one of ‘The Real Sluts of Las Vegas.’ When she wasn’t performing for the cameras, her tasking was simple and safe – to avoid the possibility that she would be damaged before her next scene, she realized.
Also, she was taken to parts of the house that she had never seen before – including a dim room above the casino floor, where security officers sat watching ranks of monitors that displayed the gaming tables below.
Following the director’s instructions, Sara stared intently at one of the monitors, smiled, pressed a prominent red button on a console, then lifted her skirt and stroked herself to actual arousal through her silk thong. None of it made any sense at all to her, but she preferred it immensely to eating a middle-aged man’s bitter load out of his wife’s sagging cunt.
Finally, having been chosen to appear on the show allowed her to spend time with Jessica, the beautiful blond slave that she admired – and envied. Given a choice, Sara would always lie down with her to sleep in their tiny, crowded cell. Occasionally, the two slaves would stay awake for hours, sharing whispered conversations.
“May this slave ask Jessica a question?” Sara began one evening, long after midnight.
Jessica nodded, reaching out to encircle Sara’s delicate shoulders with her arm.
“How does Jessica… Why is Jessica allowed to grow out her pubic hair?”
The blond slave blushed.
“A guest requested it,” she explained. “He was an executive with a construction company, and he was in Las Vegas for six months while a new casino was being built. The company paid for him to have a suite and a house girl – Jessica – during his stay. He called Jessica his ‘play wife.’
“He wanted her to grow it out, so she was allowed. During that tasking, Jessica posed for a new set of photographs for the house website. Other guests liked it, so she was permitted to keep it.”
“This slave wishes that she would be allowed…” Sara’s voice trailed off.
“Jessica thinks that she will be – someday.”
“Really? Why?”
“Has the house used a laser on Sara?”
“No – she is waxed.”
“See? She will be allowed – otherwise, the house would just use the laser, right?”
Sara smiled. Jessica always made her feel happy.
***
The elevator stopped. Already feeling anxious, Sara consciously took a slow, deep breath to keep her fear from rising further. House Master Griffin had put her on the elevator alone, then reached through the door and pressed a button to send it high up into the pyramid.
“There will be someone waiting for you up on 20,” he said, before disappearing behind the doors.
It was strange enough that she had been sent alone, but now the elevator had stopped on the eighth floor.
The doors parted, revealing a male utility. Seeing Sara, he paused for a moment, his eyes moving up her legs to the space between her hips, then on to her breasts and face. He stepped inside and pressed the button for floor 18, a bead of sweat running down his temple.
Sara let the air flow silently out of her lungs. Male utilities – intact male utilities, like this one – were easy to control. Although they were given periodic “relief,” Helios kept them all locked in chastity. As a result, they were so sex-starved that just the sight of a house girl in her skimpy uniform was enough to addle them.
Left alone together, house girls would often flirt with male utilities. Sara thought that it could easily go too far and become cruel, but she herself indulged just the same. Also, even though there was no hope that they would ever actually get off, the utilities themselves seemed to enjoy the attention – in a desperate, even pathetic, sort of way.
For Sara, it was a perversely fulfilling experience. Every man that she ever interacted with recognized, at some level, that she would immediately perform any sex act that he demanded, so there was no need to flatter or seduce her. Therefore, to have a male – even a slave – fumbling and fawning over her, stealing glances at her body, made her feel special in a way that she was otherwise denied.
She studied the utility. He stood with his back to her, watching the display above the doors counting off the passing floors. He was tall and lean, with short dark hair. His hands were closed in tight fists, and she almost thought that she could see him trembling.
The elevator stopped abruptly. Engulfed in darkness, Sara stumbled forward, pressing up against the utility. They both swayed unsteadily for a moment, until a dim red light switched on, allowing them to regain their balance.
Sara backed away and put herself in a corner, listening intently, her eyes searching for some indication of what had happened. The male slave stood perfectly still, holding his hands up, away from his body, to catch himself if the elevator lurched again.
After a long, uncertain moment, they heard a voice, cracking and distorted.
“This is building maintenance,” said the voice. “Is anybody there?”
Both slaves were silent.
“Hello?” the voice continued. “Is there anybody in the car? Our board shows two calls – one for 18 and one for 20. Did somebody in there push the buttons for those floors?”
After another moment, the utility answered.
“Yes, master. This slave is guest service utility 9704 – William. He was instructed to take the elevator to floor 18. There is also a house girl here.”
“Okay,” said the voice. “What’s her name?”
The utility looked back at Sara.
“Master, this slave is 2280 – Sara,” she said. “House Master Griffin put her on the elevator and said that someone would meet her on floor 20.”
“Got it. Is there anybody else in there? Any guests?”
“No, master,” William answered.
“There’s a bit of good news, at least,” the voice sighed. “Listen up, kids. You’re both perfectly safe, okay? We’ve got an indication that a cable jumped the pulley at the top of the shaft, but the e-brake clamped down nice and tight. You’re going to be fine, but it’s going to take us a while to get it moving again, so just sit tight – got it?”
The utility and the slut glanced at each other.
“Yes, master. Thank you, master,” he said.
***
The two slaves sat against opposite walls in the dim red light. Sara had no notion of how much time had passed, but she felt certain the air was getting warmer inside the elevator. She could see beads of sweat on William’s forehead – although she recognized that she herself might be the cause.
She was sitting sideways, with her legs pressed together and folded back under herself – seemingly the most demure posture her skimpy dress would allow. However, she had allowed her skirt to ride up a couple of inches over the curve of her ass, displaying a wedge of bare skin above the top of her stocking.
William’s eyes were pulled to it like a magnet. His intensity almost frightened her, but she knew that with his manhood locked inside the cruel bend of a chastity belt, he was literally impotent to do anything more than stare. She decided to make the elevator a little bit hotter for him.
Glancing down, she pretended to notice her exposed skin. She tugged at the hem of her dress to cover herself, watching to see his reaction. He shook himself, then cast his eyes submissively at the floor.
“How long has it been since William was given relief?” she asked.
“It’s… uh… it’s been, um, 23 days,” he stammered, looking back up at her.
She smiled sympathetically.
“Sara understands – that’s a long time for a man to hold his load.”
Of course, he wasn’t a man any more than Sara was a woman, but she knew that just saying that word – man – would cause his mind to start spinning out fantasies about what he could do with her, if he was free.
He swallowed hard.
“When William is given relief, is it a girl – like Sara?” she asked, touching the wide, low-cut collar of her house dress.
That gesture switched off his brain, leaving him staring at breasts, mouth open, his eyes burning with pure need. Sara turned away, drawing up her arm to cover herself. He shuttered and looked back down at the floor again.
“Please, forgive this slave…” Sara began, feigning regret.
“No,” William interrupted her. “This slave understands. He has talked to house girls before. He knows that they are trained to… uh, when they are serving, um… men… they are required to…”
As his voice trailed off, Sara smiled: he was making excuses for her – he wanted it to continue.
“This slave is grateful that William understands,” she said. “Is that how the girls behave when they are giving him relief?”
He giggled nervously, “William has never seen the slaves that give him relief.”
She tilted her head quizzically to one side.
“He is, uh, separated from them. There is a special wall with a hole in it, and he is bound so that his parts stick out through the hole. His chastity is removed and he gets relief from a hand. Afterward, when he goes soft, the chastity is put back and he is released.”
“Has William ever been pleasured any other way?” she asked. “By a girl’s mouth – or her vagina?”
He looked down again, his cheeks burning.
“No… Just the hand.”
Feeling a surge of genuine sympathy towards him, Sara suddenly understood why the sight of a house girl was enough to make utilities so feeble and pathetic.
“Has he ever seen a girl naked?”
“He has seen pictures… Sometimes they get passed around the stable. Once, William was sent to a room with a, uh, a delivery… The guest had a house girl tied down on the bed. He couldn’t see all of her, but he saw her… He saw between her legs. His cream was leaking out of her.”
Sara deliberately met his gaze with her eyes.
“Does William want to see the other parts of a girl?” she asked. “The parts he hasn’t seen before?”
The only answer he could manage was a groan. He was actually trembling.
Sara pulled her dress and her bra aside, pushing her tits out into the warm, humid air.
“No…” he gasped, waving her way. “Please, no…”
She frowned, confused. She expected that he would bubble over with gratitude and maybe even beg her to touch or suckle her exposed female glands. Instead, he was rocking back and forth – almost like he was being tortured.
Suddenly, he jumped to his feet. In the dim light, Sara could see his enraged cock pushing out hard against the fabric of his trousers. Stunned, it took her a moment to understand the obvious fact that he was not secured in chastity. By the time she recognized the danger facing both of them, he was already moving in on her.
“Wait, William!” she shouted, holding her hands out in a desperate attempt to keep him away.
They would both be punished for having sex. For Sara, it would mean a severe electrical correction and the other sluts making humiliating jokes about her for a couple of weeks. For William, it would be much worse: he could be flogged with a heavy leather whip, or branded. She knew that whatever the house did to him, it would be permanent.
“Don’t! These slaves will be punished!”
He swept her flailing arms aside and grabbed her around the waist, kneeling down behind her and pulling her bucking hips back into his crotch.
“Stop, William! Please!” she begged. “Sara will get William off with her mouth – just like a high roller! She will swallow his cum and no one will know it happened. Please, stop!”
He lifted up her skirt then clawed at her thong, tearing it away. Hearing the fabric rip, Sara stopped struggling. The damage was done – there was now evidence of his assault that she could not explain away.
Behind her, she felt him opening the front of his pants.
“William, listen to Sara,” she said, suddenly calm. “Be gentle with this slave. The punishment will be worse if she is damaged…”
She screamed as he jammed the entire length of his organ into her.
“Gentle!” Sara cried. “Be gentle!”
He reached down, took a handful of her hair and swung her head around forcefully towards the wall. In the instant before it struck, Sara found herself outside her own body, watching herself being raped in exquisite slow motion.
Taking advantage of this strange new level of awareness, she turned her head, so that the scar which would result from her skin splitting open when her skull struck the wall would be hidden in her hairline. She did not envy the tasking of the sluts with facial scars.
Shifting her perception back towards William, she could see that he was humping her vigorously, driving relentlessly towards orgasm – which would come very soon.
Returning to herself, she could see that the wall was getting close. She imagined it was going to hurt very badly when she hit, but there was no pain at all. Instead, it felt like she was resting her head on a plush down pillow in a luxury suite. Suddenly feeling tired, she closed her eyes and drifted off to sleep.
After another few seconds, William screamed, emptying himself into the slut’s unconscious body.
***
Sara woke up on a narrow bed in the infirmary. She first became aware of a vague pain behind her eyes. Then, she realized that she could not recall anything that had happened. It was a familiar pattern: a medical technician would arrive after a few minutes and tell her that she had a “bad night” and it was best that she couldn’t remember.
As her other memories began to reassemble themselves, she thought it was strange that she had a bad night while tasked with performing for “The Real Sluts of Las Vegas.” She felt sure it was the first time that it had happened, because she had been deliberately given safe assignments while performing for the show.
While continuing to ponder what had happened, she took an inventory of her own body. She flexed the muscles in her legs, arms, hands, and feet – no pain. Reaching down, she touched her vulva. It was tender and sore. No doubt she had been aggressively fucked, maybe with a large dildo, but that alone would not warrant a night in the infirmary.
Rolling onto her side, she gently probed her own anus and was relieved to find that it had not been violated. Next, she slid her hands up over her firm, flat tummy and along her ribs, then cupped and squeezed her breasts – nothing.
Only when her fingertips reached her forehead did she discover the reason that she had been brought to the infirmary: her head was bandaged. The discomfort that she had been aware of since waking suddenly blossomed into a searing headache.
Sara screwed her eyes shut, hoping that the throbbing pain might subside. She felt frustrated to be suffering without even understanding the reason why. Then, all at once, she realized that there were much worse things than pain.
Panic took hold of her and she began tearing at the bandages, desperate to know if she had been cut on her face. She did not envy the tasking of sluts with facial scars.
A medical technician standing over another slut looked up, her eyes drawn by the sudden flurry of motion in Sara’s bed.
“Stop!” she shouted.
The slave continued, frantic.
Rushing over to her, the technician grabbed a prod from a hook on the opposite wall and triggered it. Hearing the crackle of electricity, Sara’s hands flew reflexively down to her sides, leaving the disheveled bandages hanging down across her face. Her lips trembled.
“It’s okay, sweetie,” the technician said. “You got lucky – you came in with a nasty cut and we had to stitch it, but it’s up in your hair. No one is ever going to see it. You’re okay. Everything is okay.”
The slave’s whole body started shaking, tears overflowing her eyes.
***
After she was released from the infirmary, Sara’s life returned to its new routine: days of safe display assignments, punctuated by filming scenes for ‘The Real Sluts of Las Vegas.’ On one occasion, she and Miranda were taken to a secluded gaming parlor and bound naked, facing each other across a roulette table.
A buck was led in, dressed like a high roller. Each girl was given a stack of chips and the buck watched as they played. A pair of stick men pushed their bets into place after they called out their numbers, and a woman set the ball spinning around the wheel to determine their fates. Sara’s stack of chips grew after nearly every spin, while Miranda’s dwindled to nothing. As her last few were swept away, the buck turned to Sara with a sly smile.
He released her from her restraints and fucked her hard on top of the roulette table, scattering her chips like confetti. Sara lost count of how many orgasms she had as he serviced her with his cock, his mouth and his nimble fingers, before finally injecting a heavy load of jizz up into her womb.
Inches from where Sara lay writhing in ecstasy, her ample wetness saturating the green felt tabletop, Miranda sat watching the entire spectacle, still bound – envy and lust pouring out of her like sweat. She swayed back and forth as far as her restraints would allow, madly clenching her thighs in a useless effort to deliver some stimulation to her engorged clit.
***
Fear cut through Sara’s middle like a frozen razor blade. House Master Gabriel had led her into the part of the infirmary where slaves were taken to be “modified.” After a display assignment that lasted late into the evening, she had anticipated being escorted back to her cell. Instead, she found herself staring at a sign that read “Non-Anesthetic Modification.”
Gabriel opened the door and gestured her inside. The slave did not move.
“Let’s go,” he chided her.
“Please, master, what will be done with Sara?” she asked.
He shrugged.
Reflexively, Sara began to seduce him.
“Master, please… Sara would be very grateful if you assign her to some other tasking,” she moved closer to him, lowering her voice to a breathy whisper. “She would do anything to please you, master – anything.”
She let her jaw hang open, dropping her eyes to his crotch.
Gabriel glanced back over his shoulder, finding that they were alone in the hallway. He looked past her and noticed a supply closet just a few feet away. Sara reached down and started massaging his cock through the front of his pants.
“Thank you, master – Sara will be very good for you,” she said, turning to lead him into the closet.
He grabbed her hand.
“Damn it, Sara!” he scowled. “Not now! This isn’t up to me! Now let’s go!”
Gabriel pulled her through the door by the wrist.
“Please, master… Is Sara going to be inked? Or pierced? Or…?” she begged, frantic, pure instinct driving her in a futile attempt to pull away from him. “Please! Sara will be a better slut! Please, master! Please don’t modify her… Please!”
The overseer’s shoulders slumped. He let go of the slave. She shrank back towards the door, trembling.
“Sara – you’re going to be okay,” he said. “This has got something to do with the show – it’s not a big deal. Here, I can show you.”
He lifted up his tablet.
“See, that’s my schedule for tonight… I’m supposed to get you situated down here, then come back in an hour and take you up to the stable: makeup, lingerie, house dress – ready to go,” he explained. “If they were going to do something really bad, I guarantee you they wouldn’t have me coming back to get you in an hour.”
Sara stared at the tablet, forcing herself to take slow, deep breaths.
“Are we good?” he asked. “I don’t want to collar you, ’cause then I’ll have to put you down for a correction. Let’s just get this over with so I can take you back up to the stable, okay?”
***
The slave obediently followed House Master Gabriel into a room labeled “Female Genital Modification.” He led her past six plain-looking, naked female slaves, restrained in lariats. The steel cords looped around their necks lifted them onto their toes, giving them three options: strain the muscles of their calves and feet to keep the cords off their throats, use their hands to accomplish the same purpose – or strangle.
They alternated between the first two options as their cramped legs and sore fingers demanded in a constant, squirming display of pure misery. Their desperate eyes fixed on House Master Gabriel the instant he entered the room, hoping he might give them some relief. He ignored them, ordering Sara to strip and lie back on one of three heavily reinforced gynecological examination tables inside the sterile white room.
Sara closed her eyes, her breath coming shallow and quick as he applied heavy leather straps to her ankles, knees, thighs, waist, chest, elbows and wrists. Her mind raced as she tried to imagine the purpose for the restraints – if not to make her utterly vulnerable to some agonizing procedure that would leave her permanently changed.
Gabriel’s promise that she would be okay and a glimpse at his tablet suddenly seemed like a very thin thread to support the full weight of her hopes that she would not be mutilated – and constant sound of the six girls struggling to breathe was already causing it to fray. Fear held her in its icy grip, and she knew that panic was close at hand.
Her eyes snapped open and she jerked against her restraints as Gabriel gently touched her shoulder.
“Easy, Sara. Easy,” he said. “Everything is going to be okay. I’ll see you in an hour.”
To Be Continued