Sold!..To The Highest Bidder Page 2

  “He put the chain on me and we both knew it was a whole lot more than a pretty piece of jewelry. ‘Turn around,’ he told me when he was done. I did so, my hands still twisted in my hair like they were chained there.

  “’I own you, now, Krissy,’ he said, not unkindly. ‘But this is only the beginning.’

  “’Yes, sir,’ I responded, knowing that was the right thing to say.

  “My little gesture earned me a slight smile from the man and a gentle stroke of my cheek with the back of his fingers. ‘Will you work hard to please me, Little Krissy?’

  “’Yes, sir,’ I nodded eagerly. ‘Yes sir.’

  “That’s when we went to the club and I started learning how to be a woman, the kind of woman he meant, just like he said I would. I’m good, doctor, I really am. By summer, Gustav thinks I may even be ready to be in one of his magazines. Can you imagine that?”

  I couldn’t imagine it, truly, because it was too horrific. Further questioning confirmed my worst fears. By saying she was being a “good” girl, Krissy meant that she was earning good marks from the droves of customers she was nightly made to perform with sexually. When I pointed out that these acts were both illegal and immoral, she got a very serious expression on her face.

  “Gustav knows what he’s doing,” she declared. “It’s not about laws or morals. As a woman, I was put on this planet to please men, and that’s what I do. I’m not one of those dick teasers at the other clubs, doc. When I arouse a man, it’s so that he can get the best out of me. I’m not some cheap whore, either, charging for what’s between my legs. I belong to Gustav, and he shares me as he sees fit.”

  There was simply no reasoning with Krissy. She was too far-gone, too deeply entrenched in what I was sure was some heavy-duty brainwashing. Deciding to drop the matter for now, and pretending to share her joy over having learned her “womanhood,” as she put it, I said goodbye, responding half-heartedly to her hug and wishing her the best.

  As I was excusing myself, however, I heard an old fashioned alarm clock go off in the bedroom. Krissy gasped, a look of wonder and trepidation on her face. “It’s time,” she told me. “I have to get ready for Gustav.”

  I stood there and watched as sexy Krissy scrambled to tear off her underwear. By the time I could blink, it seemed, she was on the floor, nude, her legs wide apart and her head down on the floor. The little choker jingled as she moved. Whatever she was getting ready for, it was obviously sexual.

  “I don’t understand, Krissy,” I spoke up. “He’s not even here.”

  “He will be,” she assured me as though speaking of some god. “He will be.”

  What more could I say to her? As you can imagine, it was with a dark sense of foreboding that I left Krissy that day.

  Of course I had no intention of leaving her to the man’s devices. Little did I realize, though, exactly what, or whom I was going up against in the person of Rainier. My first call was to Judge Kellogg. To my astonishment, I was informed that Krissy’s counseling sentence had been commuted and that I need no longer concern myself with the matter.

  When I asked who was responsible, the judge told me curtly the request had come from the governor’s office and that was as much as he was at liberty to say.

  But, I asked him then, was His Honor aware of Krissy’s affiliation with one Gustav Rainier, a man of apparent ill repute; a virtual pimp, as it were?

  The judge was silent for several moments.

  “Doctor Tallow,” he asked at last. “We have worked with one another a long time, have we not?”

  “Of course,” I replied.

  “In that case, I can assume you have some level of trust in my judgment?”

  Again, I responded enthusiastically in the affirmative.

  Judge Kellogg cleared his throat. “Well then, I know I’m not wasting my breath then, Doctor Tallow when I say that it is in your distinct self interest to drop this matter and return to what you do best; helping runaway girls.”

  “But Krissy—“ I protested.

  “Krissy is out of your hands, doctor. End of story.”

  I was left with a dead receiver in my hand. Dumbfounded, I decided to do some research. To my surprise, there was tons of information about Gustav Rainier. It seemed he was a well-known magazine publisher and cable television mogul. Soft-core porn was his specialty. That certainly figured. What didn’t show in my search was the man’s links to an underground empire of white slavery, as pervasive as it was deadly.

  It was this lack of information on my part, combined with a good dose of arrogance that would eventually lay the groundwork for my undoing. Pumped up with righteous indignation for Krissy and feeling not a shred of fear, I determined I would take the man on myself. As I look back on it, I think there was a bit of curiosity in this, perhaps even a subconscious desire to fall into his web of power as had Krissy.

  In my limited experience—I’d had a total of three lovers in my life, all bland and passionless—sexual enthusiasm of the sort Krissy had displayed was a novelty. A mystery. Deep down I had to know: was the girl really deluded or could a sane woman actually find pleasure in subjugation? More to the point, could I find such pleasure myself?

  As I said already, I see this all clearly only in hindsight. At the time I thought I was on a moral crusade and nothing more. For years I’d seen girls like Krissy exploited by cruel men, and I had had enough. Gustav Rainier, I had decided, was about to meet his match. A woman with brains and guts, a mature female creature, not a wounded child of whom he would be able to take easy advantage.

  Using my title, and passing myself off loosely as an ‘officer of the court’, I managed to get through to the man’s private office at Girls, Limited. A rather stern personal assistant informed me that Mr. Rainier was indisposed at the moment, but that she would take it upon herself to inform him of the situation.

  “Tell him it’s urgent,” I stressed. “It concerns the safety of a Miss Krissy Washburn. What? Yes, of course he knows who she is. Just tell him, that’s all.”

  Fifteen minutes later I got a call on my cell phone. “Mr. Rainier has graciously agreed to meet you tomorrow twelve noon at the Ambassador’s Club,” the assistant informed me. “It’s a private club, but they’ll be expecting you. I wouldn’t be late, Miss Tallow. Mr. Rainier does not appreciate tardiness.”

  “It’s Doctor Tallow,” I corrected, but she’d already hung up on me.

  Very well, I told myself. Tomorrow I would stare down the demon. At twelve noon. Precisely.

  Chapter Two

  I had disturbing dreams all during the night. Over and over I saw Krissy being hurt and exploited. Men were making her dance in her underwear, laughing at her when she couldn’t do it to their liking. One of them took off his belt and began to flail at her as she moved. She made no effort to protect her bare skin, but seemed to be enjoying the pain, moaning and gritting her teeth, eyes shut as she moved barefoot in the skimpy panties and revealing bra.

  Then they were taking pictures of her, centerfold pictures like in one of Rainier’s magazines. A photographer was yelling at her, telling her she wasn’t being sexy enough.

  Krissy was naked, lying on a bear rug on her back.

  “Forgive me,” she kept saying as she worked desperately to arouse herself, one hand alternately tweaking her nipples, the other furiously working between her legs.

  “Cut!” shouted the photographer. “This is no good.”

  “Please,” whimpered Krissy, scrambling to her knees and putting her head down beside the snarling toothed bear head. “Give me another chance.”

  A thickly armed man stood over her now with a whip.

  “No,” the photographer. “The marks would show in the pictures. Bring in Thor. He’ll handle her.”

  “Please,” Krissy cried, scooting forward to shower the photographer’s shoes with kisses from her pouting red lips. “I can be sexier. I promise.”

  The photographer put his foot on her shoulder and shoved her back. When sh
e looked up Thor was there. He was bald and unshaven. A huge belly hung over his waist. His arms alone were like tree trunks. Looking down at Krissy he grinned, ear-to-ear, pure malevolence as he moved his ham-like hands to his belt, slowly, very slowly opening his trousers.

  A man in a business suit standing beside me elbowed my rib cage. “Ever wonder why Girly Girl centerfolds always have that just-fucked look? It’s because they were!”

  I plugged my ears against his laughter, which was reverberating off the walls like thunder. I blinked for a moment and when I opened my eyes, Krissy was on her back again, her legs flung up over the shoulders of Thor as he pummeled her full force with his huge cock.

  Her small, smooth body was at his mercy, his smelly, hair covered flesh eclipsing and drowning her out.

  “I want multiple orgasms, Krissy, or else I’ll let him have you all day,” the photographer said. And then, to the man standing next to me. “Fred, get some film of this, for me; we’ll release it as porno.”

  Fred looked at me and winked. He had my father’s face.

  I started screaming and men came running up to me, slapping me to calm me down. I was flailing at them and then they threw me down on the floor, which was covered in mats now, just like in my high school gym class.

  Hank Meaney, a bully from the ninth grade was over me, pinning me. “You got titties now, Em,” he was saying, his voice cracking. “That means we get to rape you.”

  It was at this point I woke up. The clock read half past five and I was quite certain I would not attempt any more sleep this night. Taking a long, cold shower, I did my best to collect myself. I have herbs that I take for nerves—an entirely natural curative—and I treated myself to a double dose.

  Four times I dressed myself, each time rejecting the chosen outfit. The pantsuit seemed too severe. The knee-length dress, on the other hand, was too feminine. On a whim I tried jeans—which I could get away with since I only had one appointment this morning and no court appearances—but when I looked in the mirror I saw they sent the wrong message entirely.

  I finally settled on a dress suit, navy blue, a smart pink blouse and pearls, and earrings to match. Let him see I wasn’t afraid of my womanhood, but that I was also every bit as strong as any man, I thought. In short, he’d know I was a grownup, his match in every way.

  A dash of my Seascape perfume was the right accompaniment. I’ve been told it’s a heady scent, but subtle enough not to rouse the dead. With stockings and black pumps, I was quite confident I’d get off on the right foot with the man. Hair up, that was the way to go, too. Not too severe, but definitely up and out of my face and off my neck. Again, all business.

  I’m not sure my heart rate ever slowed that entire morning. I’m ashamed to say I remember only ten words from my session that morning with a recovering kleptomaniac.

  “And you say it was a brassiere?” I’d asked.

  “Yes,” he’d replied, wiping his damp palms on his lap as he recounted his near theft of a coveted item. “A blue one. C cups.”

  My own underwear was blue. From a catalog. Not that Gustav Rainier would get within a country mile of them. From there it was a blur until I walked into the dining room and saw him, already waiting for me.

  “Doctor Tallow,” said a silk-suited Gustav Rainier, rising to his feet as I approached the charming table he’d already secured for our lunch.

  I moved with precision and determination toward him, trying to ignore his obviously commanding presence. Fear of being late had haunted me for hours, and with it a countervailing determination to show my independence by being fashionably late. As a result I’d arrived forty minutes early then proceeded to hide in the bathroom till nearly quarter past noon.

  “Sorry,” I offered curtly by way of a greeting. “I was caught in traffic.”

  Rainier held my chair for me, pushing it in with perfect accuracy as I sat. “Think nothing of it. Your profession, as I understand it, is both a busy and an important one. It is I who should apologize for taking up your time.”

  “That’s all right,” I managed. “It’s part of my job.”

  This was going to be harder than I thought. I’d counted on him being a bastard; his obvious gentility and good breeding was catching me off guard.

  “May I order for us, Doctor Tallow? I come here quite often.”

  I laid my hand on the leather-covered menu. “It makes no difference to me, Mr. Rainier. I didn’t come here to eat.”

  He smiled very slightly and inclined his head. “I’ll take that as a yes, doctor.”

  “You can take it however you like,” I answered crisply. I hated men like him on sight. Age fifty or so with the kind of good looks that only improve with age. Like some damned bottle of wine from an impossibly good year. There were tiny lines on his face, which danced as he spoke. His hair was jet black, elegantly streaked with silver. The jaw was cleft at precisely the right place and he had dimples. The shoulders were broad, tapering to a narrow waist.

  It was the eyes that really got me, though. Sea blue, sky blue, cobalt blue. Electric blue. Infinitely deep, intelligent and very, very dangerous. I could easily see where a hair’s breath of attention from a man with eyes like this could bewitch an eighteen-year-old kid.

  “I know all about you, Rainier,” I told him when he’d finished his little banter with the waiter in flawless French. “You apparently have lots of people fooled, but not me.”

  He waited till the wine arrived to respond. “And how would you characterize me, Doctor Tallow?” he asked, the waiter just behind him to his left as he sniffed the tiny sample of burgundy for his approval.

  I eyed the waiter, who was half eying me. “I would characterize you as a…as a…”

  “This is an excellent vintage,” Rainier nodded to the white-coated man with a deep smile. “It will do nicely.”

  I flushed red as the waiter walked away after a crisp bow. I’d nearly been tricked into insulting the man in front of a witness; a move which would have been grossly impolite, not to mention grounds for a later lawsuit on his part. As it was, he’d reduced me to helpless stuttering.

  “You’re little more than a pimp, Mr. Rainier,” I told him, throwing caution to the wind.

  Rainier poured me a glass of wine. “I gather this is about Kristine,” he noted, filling the delicate goblet precisely to the three-fourths point. “You are aware, are you not, that she has reached the age of consent in this jurisdiction?”

  I took a gulp of the inviting liquid, dark red. It heated me instantly from my throat to my belly. “I know how old she is, Rainier. And I don’t know what jurisdiction you come from, but in my book, when a fifty-year-old is fucking an nineteen-year-old and getting her to strip and pose nude and God knows what else behind closed doors, there’s something seriously wrong happening.”

  Rainier’s eyes shimmered very slightly. He was studying me with a calm and a precision I did not like one bit.

  “Stop staring,” I blurted. “I’m not going to swoon or beg you to rape me, so don’t waste your time trying.”

  “Is that what you want? To be raped?”

  “What?! Of course not. Don’t twist my words,” I pointed a trembling finger. “I have friends in the legal system. And you’d be very, very sorry if you tried to lay a hand on me.”

  Rainier sipped his wine in silence. It was only after the first course arrived, some sort of creamy vegetable soup, that he continued the conversation, much to my discomfort and aggravation.

  “Are you so very afraid of me, Doctor Tallow?”

  I laughed contemptuously. “It took you all that time to think up such a stupid response?”

  He ignored the insult. “Suppose I make a wager with you, Doctor Tallow,” he offered pleasantly, his eyes on the carefully balanced spoon he was now maneuvering toward his perfect lips.

  “What do you mean?” I stiffened. “A wager?”

  “It’s very simple. If you win, I will release Kristine to your custody. And with her as many girls as y
ou like who may be on hand on that particular day.”

  “On hand?” I parroted contemptuously. “And how many would that be, on a particular day?”

  He shrugged incidentally. “It depends. Forty to fifty are attached to this particular club franchise on a given day.”

  I clenched my fists, fighting visions of all those women in his clutches. Exploited. Used. Dancing and fucking for his profit. “You’d—you’d just let them all go?”

  “Release them,” he corrected. “Along with any females on hand for processing at the relocation center.”

  A shiver went down my spine. He was alluding to his infamous white slavery ring. The world wide organization which reduced healthy, free girls like Krissy to cringing slaves, naked objects of male lust begging for the smallest attentions, craving the most abject abasement. Compared to them, the club dancers and whores were living like queens.

  “Relocation center,” I snorted. “We all know what that means. But tell me what is the bet, and what happens if I lose?”

  He dabbed at the corner of his luscious mouth with the linen napkin. His fingers, I noted, were perfectly manicured. A single ring graced his finger, gold with a three spiraled inlay of silver. I recognized it as a symbol of male supremacists. As far from a wedding ring, I gathered, as one could get.

  “It is a wager I think you’ll find hard to resist, doctor, as it concerns your own ongoing ego formation.”

  “Stop trying to be a psychologist, Rainier. Just spit it out.”

  The fire blue eyes settled on mine, their intensity rising the tiniest amount, just enough to make me squirm. What these things would be like full force, I had no idea. “For the next month, Doctor Tallow, you will avail me every opportunity to convert you to my world view. If I fail, the girl goes free. If I succeed…” He leaned back in his chair, the line of muscles evident under the striped jacket. “If I succeed, then it won’t matter. You will no longer care about Krissy or anyone else.”