I found myself inching closer to Marco, the devil I knew. He reached down and smoothed a hand across the top of my head, a sensation that made me feel oddly safe and claimed in the room full of scary people. I kept my head down as I’d been instructed, too afraid to look up even if I were allowed.
The meal began with a clinking of glasses and silverware against plates. A well-mannered crowd, it seemed, until you listened in on their conversations about buying people. I’d never been more nauseated as they regaled one another about their recent trades and sales, how one slave’s ass had widened too much with age, so she was replaced with a fifteen-year old from Mongolia who was as tight as a sailor’s knot. Laughter and appreciative murmurs followed. Marco managed to dodge questions about where he’d acquired me, turning the conversations back to other guests with ease.
Not everyone present was a slave owner. Some of them were there to “vacation” and enjoy the luxuries Marco had to offer. I’d never heard a group of people kiss someone’s ass the way this group did to Marco, complimenting everything from his suit to the view to the food to the beauty of his slaves, as if they feared him or craved his approval. His powerful position became more and more clear to me throughout lunch, filling me with dread.
Marco wasn’t the only one in the room with a slave at his side. There were two other slave girls kneeling next to their owners, men even older than Marco. Both girls were naked, making me grateful for my dress.
When Marco touched my chin and lifted it to meet his eyes I was not feeling well. He held a morsel of steak on his fork. The thought of eating disgusted me, but my fear overrode it. I opened my mouth and the meat practically melted. He fed me two more equally delicious bites and I prayed he would stop.
A group of workers bustled in, looking crisp in their black and white uniforms, and cleared off all the plates. They set out desserts and coffee, then disappeared once again. A spattering of excited whispers rose up, and without meaning to, I looked around. At the edge of the oriental rug were three people kneeling in slave positions. It took a moment for me to recognize Josef, Perla, and Jin because they were in costumes—a wolf, a grandmother, and Little Red Riding Hood. I think the other guests figured it out at the same time as me, because a few laughed with delight.
Marco gave someone in the corner a nod and Perla crawled to the middle of the floor. She wore a long, billowing white nightgown of lightweight material and a gray curly-headed wig. At first it was comical to see her in it because you could tell it was a beautiful body underneath the old lady getup, but then I felt disgusted by the spectacle they were making of her. She curled up in the middle of the floor and pretended to sleep. Music started overhead.
It began as a lullaby. And then the music sped up and darkened to alert us viewers of danger on its way. Josef prowled onto the scene on his hands and knees, moving with slow sureness. He wore a wolf-skin over top of his body. It looked authentic. The fur was strapped onto his arms, waist and thighs, and he was naked underneath. The frightening head with all its teeth came down over Josef’s own head. I got a chill as he slowly crept toward the sleeping figure and the music quickened.
He circled Perla, sniffing her, then nudging her nightgown up with his nose until his face was between her legs. Aroused chuckling sounded across the crowd. Josef lapped at her slowly and she raised her hips, still sleeping and peaceful as if dreaming. Then Josef threw back his head as a howl sounded in the music. His cock was hard and long. Perla’s eyes popped open and she saw the wolf above her. She mimicked screaming and tried to escape, but he grabbed her and held her down.
The show was pantomimed—they made no sounds, and their movements were slow, magnified, practiced.
They struggled. He overtook her, flipping her to her hands and knees and ramming into her from behind, grasping around her waist like an animal. A few people clapped and smiles shone around the room. Josef’s strokes were long, rocking Perla forward with each thrust, her face looking pained and scared. I was ashamed of the throbbing that began between my legs, despite my total revulsion at the whole thing.