We line up without a fight or a word, knowing what is expected of us and how the process works. We are then led down a hallway and into a room that resembles a beauty salon. I ampuzzled by what a nice area this is. They weren’t kidding when they said they wanted to get the most amount of money for us. I feel queasy knowing that this is for a master we are going to be expected to serve in any way, relinquishing our body over, including whatever is left of our soul, too.
My thoughts wander to what kind of master will buy me. Will he be kind or cruel? I shake my head.Don’t go there, Cassidy.I can’t think about it, or I’ll shrink into myself and give up, completely surrendering to this predicament I’ve been forced into.
Much like before, there is a woman at each station, wearing a nurse’s uniform with a face mask, ready to do our hair, makeup, and nails.
I get pushed into a chair and try to whisper to her to find out what is next, but I quickly learn that she doesn’t speak English.
She begins messing around with my hair, making ‘tsking’ sounds as she goes. She gets the hair foils out and starts putting highlights in my hair. While my hair is sitting, she begins filing and buffing my fingernails and toes. She picks out a light pink for the color. Finally, my hair is ready to be washed, so we head back to the hair washing station, which looks exactly like one you would see at a real salon. There, she not so gently shampoos and conditions my hair using cold water.
Can they not afford hot water in this place? It doesn’t seem like they are hurting for money with how much inventory they sell. They put a lot of that money into security, and I wonder if they pay these women. My mind tells me they are as trapped as we are. A shudder runs through my body thinking about being trapped in this place with Rio and the abuse I would probably endure daily if I had to stay. Whatever is out there, whatever master buys me, it has to be better than that guy and what I’ve gone through here. But I know better than to hope. These men buying us obviously view us as property and will treat us as such.
We head back to her station after she washes my hair and pats it dry. Next, she begins to do my makeup, very dramatically, I might add. She gives me cat eyes with neutral eyeshadow, heavy on the browns to match my hair, making my eyes pop, and tops it off with a very red lip to give my lips the plumpness they really don’t need. She layers on the foundation and even inspects the rest of my body, covering up the bruises I’ve gotten here. Knowing what it has done to me mentally will forever be worse than the physical harm I have endured.
Next, she starts blow-drying my hair with a round brush, giving me a full blowout, and to be honest, I look like a total bombshell, which I know is exactly what they want. I saw the names of the makeup brands, and they don’t skimp on that either. They use the best of the best, and I’m sure it pays off like they want it to. Obviously, they have to pay more for a better foundation, as I’m sure I’m not the only one who has to have bruises covered up all over their body.
She leaves for a minute and returns with a completely sheer, white, lingerie-like dress that falls to the mid-thigh. There are no sleeves; instead, there are spaghetti straps with a built-in, see-through push-up bra. It looks like something you would get from Victoria’s Secret and wear on your wedding night. It leaves nothing to the imagination. She also hands me the tiniest crotchless white thong I have ever seen. Honestly, there's no point in even wearing it; it looks like floss.
She points to the changing curtain and hands me a pair of acrylic high-heeled shoes that are about 5 inches tall. I put everything on quickly, embarrassed to even look in the mirror, and flush as I come out. I look around the salon, and the other girls are wearing the same thing, with different styles of lingerie in the same sheer material.
Two guards come into the room and smack their hands together. “Alright, it’s showtime; let's make some money.” Theyboth throw their heads back and laugh like it’s one of the most hilarious things they have ever said.
I walk shakily while thinking,Who the fuck is going to buy me?
Will it be an old fat man? Will it be a man who beats me consistently? Will it be a man who is into kinky shit and makes me walk around with things in my ass and pussy all day?
I vomit in the nearest trash bucket, and thankfully, no one sees me. I wipe the corner of my mouth, trying not to smear the red lipstick with the back of my hand.
“When does the auction begin?” I ask Zane.
“You’re lucky I’m in a good mood tonight, or I’d punch you in your stomach for even speaking to me,” he growls, making direct eye contact with me menacingly.
“It starts in one hour.”
“Time to go to the holding room, ladies,” he yells out, snapping his fingers at us.
We all get in line as we are headed to a hell we won't be able to break out of; there’s no escaping this, and my heart beats frantically in my chest. Maybe there will be a small window of escape once I get out of this warehouse; my heart sinks as I think about what I will have to go through before a chance like that opens up.
In the blacked-out room, there are folded plastic chairs, and we each take a seat. There is so much anxiety and nervousness in the room that we can’t even speak to each other, let alone look at each other, so we just stare straight ahead or at the floor, waiting for the inevitable, trying to check out mentally before the horrors of tonight happen.
Time passes slowly, and I begin to shake my knee, which soon turns into a shaking of my entire body. It’s cold in here, and with what I’m wearing, it definitely doesn’t help in the warmth department.
We can hear people entering on the other side of the curtain, and it sounds like a large group as I hear conversations and doors being shut, with sounds like buttons being pushed.
“Please go into your designated room and have a seat so we can begin the auction promptly,” someone states robotically over a speaker.
The anxiety has taken over, and my hands are sweating profusely. If my stomach weren’t empty, I’d be spilling it all over this floor.
The sounds die down, and I hear a microphone connect. A voice says over the speaker, “We have a lovely assortment of merchandise for you gentlemen tonight.”
“Just for the first-timers or to reiterate the rules if it’s been a while since you have joined us,” he says, chuckling to himself, “you have an array of buttons in front of you. The most important one is the green one, which will place the bid for you. Remember, we go in increments of ten thousand. Every one of these girls starts out at one million dollars. You are not allowed to leave your encasement until the auction has ended and the girls have been placed in a separate room. You will be able to pick up your purchase in one week. In that one week, we will conduct our training program, and you will continue the training when you come to collect your property.”
“Let’s begin.” He claps his hands excitedly
A red-headed girl across from me is pulled and dragged toward the curtain, and all I hear is, “Starting the bid at one million dollars, two million, three million. Sold.”
Minutes that feel like hours tick by, and it’s my turn as I am pulled toward the curtain. Immediately, I shield my eyes from the bright spotlights on me. A man is holding onto my arm, guiding me across this acrylic-looking stage.
“We have a rare treat for you tonight, gentlemen. This one just so happens to be a sorority sister plucked from UM. She’s afreshman, and you know what that means—a tight pussy with an even tighter body.”
