Page 45 of Frat Row

Groggily blinking my eyes, barely opening them, not wanting to adjust to the bright lights yet, I take in the soreness of my body. Every day is a new ache, bruise, laceration, or exhaustion.

Before I am even able to move my body to get out of bed, my throat is seized, and I am wrenched from my cot and thrown up against the concrete wall.

My brain has not even registered what is fully happening. My head hits the wall with a loud smack, and my vision is instantaneously foggy.

I open my eyes to see who is cutting off my oxygen—Rio.

His nose is touching mine as he roars, “How did you pull this off, you fucking cunt!?”

I scratch at his wrist that is holding my throat, trying to get any air, and failing, but he tightens his grip, lifting me off the ground. “Your new master is demanding to have his property now, and I’m not quite through with you yet.”

He lets me go, and I sink to the ground, holding my stomach. I curl over, trying to calm down, and take in deep breaths. I really thought that he was going to kill me—a couple more minutes, and he could have.

He kicks me in my ribs, and I hear a crack, doubling over.

I spit at his feet. “Fuck you,” I say, laughing maniacally. “Now you’ll have to find a new toy to play your sick games with.”

He looks directly into my eyes, and all I see is darkness. “Sometimes the unknown is worse than the place you’re currently in.”

My body shudders all over, knowing he is speaking the truth. I wonder if he’s met my master or, at the very least, heard of him.

He hauls me up by the back of my gown like I am some kind of rag doll and propels me ahead of him. “Go,” he growls.

I will be glad to never see this asshole again. Am I supposed to know where to go in this shithole? Apparently, he assumes so.

He quickens his pace, grabbing onto my arm and wrenching on it so roughly I swear it's going to come out of the socket.

We stop abruptly, and he takes something shiny out of his pocket. I recognize the handcuffs and fight as hard as I can out of his grasp, not wanting to be at his mercy.

He snatches my bottom lip, bringing it to his lips. “Please keep resisting. I would love to give your master a reason as to why we are making him wait.

Then, he bites my collarbone so hard it pierces my skin just enough to leave indents of his teeth, blood rising to the surface.

Reluctantly, I place my wrists in front of me. Shaking his head at me, I roll my eyes as he positions my hands behind my back and fastens them tighter than he should.

“Ow, fucker,” I hiss as it pinches and rubs uncomfortably on my skin.

Typical dick.

He starts guiding me to what I can only assume is the front of the warehouse. It resembles a traditional waiting room at a doctor's office, minus the secretary, making this officially the most fucked up place I have ever been to.

Dread fills my stomach. What will my master look like? Will he be brutal or show mercy and treat me like a pet of some sort? Sadness consumes me as I hope for the latter of the two.

I try to hold my head high. I’m leaving this fucking place. It did not break me. Almost, but not quite.

At the front of this waiting room stands a guard I have never seen before, and he is talking quietly to another man dressed in a perfectly tailored beige suit.

You can feel the power oozing from the guard; he must be the guy who runs the place.

I take in the man in the suit. Medium build, over six feet, with blondish brown hair and glasses.

He looks up as he sees me coming. This place has really fucked with my head. Desperately, I scan over him, looking for any sort of comfort or human connection compared to what I have been subjected to here.

He glances hungrily up and down at my appearance, and his lips quirk up in disgust.

I have not seen myself since the auction. I am sure I look like a crazed woman being released from an asylum.

He returns to whatever he is doing on his phone and says to no one in particular, “Let’s go. The jet is on the tarmac, ready for takeoff.”

Someone from behind me takes hold of my other arm, and we begin following the man in the suit. I glance up at my new holder, and he looks normal besides the earpiece he is sporting.

I’m placed nicely into the back of a blacked-out Cadillac SUV. The earpiece man slides into the driver's seat, and my master sits in the passenger seat.

I feel like a little kid being outside and taking in all the sights. Embracing the sunlight and the feeling of the fresh air, I want to cry, thinking I would never get out of that place.

The drive is silent, and not long after we leave, we turn onto a narrow road.

At the very end of it, I see a small airport.

On the tarmac is a massive jet, and as we get closer, I can hear the engine has already been started.

Someone stands at the bottom of the extended staircase on the side of the jet, wearing a uniform.

It's probably the pilot. We pull up as close as we can, and I am removed more delicately than I have been in a while and escorted up the stairs to an empty seat, the guard buckling me in.

My master walks in ominously and sits in the row beside me, taking the farthest seat away, still typing away on his phone. Chancing it, I steal a glance at him.

“Martin,” he blurts out.

Confused, I am unsure what to say, so I stay silent.

“That’s my name, but you will address me as Master unless I specifically instruct you to call me by my first name,” he tells me, not bothering to look up at me.

After taking off, the unbuckle light comes on, and he comes over and unlocks my handcuffs.

“There is a bathroom in the back of the plane; please shower and dress in the clothes set out for you. I expect you to look presentable. There are hair tools and some makeup in there as well. You have one hour,” he says as he pulls me up from my seat.

Not knowing what to say, I respond quietly, “Yes, Master.” I start heading to the back of the plane. Relieved is an understatement. I'm eager to take a hot shower and feel like myself again.

I reach the bathroom door and turn on the lights, scared to look at my reflection, but I make myself do it anyway, wanting to get it over with.

I see myself in the mirror, and my jaw drops at the woman looking back at me. My face is thinner, I have bags under my eyes, and my hair is tangled and matted. I slowly take off the hospital gown I have been accustomed to wearing and inspect my body.

I gasp as I see the bruises, welts, and healing scratches on my backside.

My throat has the newest bruises that look grotesque. I could try to cover some of it up with some of the makeup in here.

First things first, I start the shower, letting it heat up until steam forms.

I moan internally. I’ve missed a hot shower. Before this, I would have thought nothing of it, but now it’s a small luxury.

I hop in and notice the nicest shampoos, conditioners, and soaps from France, recognizing the French words on their labels. They smell amazing. This guy has to be rich beyond belief.

I use every single one and finally step out, sighing deeply and feeling refreshed. It felt good to wash away old blood, bodily fluids, grime, and other things I’m not entirely sure about, but I know that some scars from that place I will never be able to wash away.

I get to work with a blow dryer and curler while also applying my makeup, trying to cover up all the bruises that would be visible with clothes on, focusing on my throat.

I look over at the outfit hanging in the little closet in the bathroom. It is a little black dress that’s going to hug all of my curves, and it's so short that I’m afraid if I bend over, my ass will show. Sitting underneath it are black high heels with red bottoms.

There are no undergarments, which makes sense since the dress has a plunging neckline. But no panties? I shiver at the thought.

I finish getting ready and look at myself one more time in the mirror, shaking slightly at my new reality.

Telling myself I can get through this, I open the door and move back to my seat on the plane.

My master hasn’t moved, but he notices my presence as I take my seat, still not looking directly at me.

“I hope you like steak and potatoes because that’s what they are about to serve us,” he says.

My mouth salivates at the thought. The flight attendant wheels out our meals, and the aroma reaches my nose. I have to fight back the urge to jump on the table and shove my mouth to the brim.

A table slides out from the wall beside me, and a plate is placed in front of me with silverware. The flight attendant then serves us the meal. I look over at Martin, and he’s looking at the meal, and then looks over to me. “You may eat.”

I try to be as mannerly as I can muster as I cut every bite into small bite-like pieces, and I can’t help the moans that come out of my mouth as the steak melts on my tongue; it is cooked to perfection.

The only thing that is missing is a good glass of red wine.

As if reading my mind, the flight attendant places wine glasses in front of us, showing the bottle to Martin.

He nods, and she fills them both to the halfway point.

I gulp that down. Only having minimal water for multiple days, I would have gulped down anything they put in front of me. I barely even tasted the red wine; it just hit the back of my throat.

I finish my meal, wipe my mouth with the napkin, and lean back, feeling completely satisfied.

Martin looks over at me with an eyebrow quirked and laughs.

“You must really like steak,” he says to me.

“You could say that.” I chuckle back.

“Dessert will be served at my house; we will be descending there in about fifteen minutes,” he announces.

I simply nod once, not knowing what to say as we embark on my prison. Martin doesn’t seem that bad. Maybe I lucked out and got one of the better masters who just wants companionship.