Prologue

"We can stay here all night, Lily. Makes no difference to me. But you're not getting any sleep until you master this position. It's a simple table, Lily. Try again."

Roselia. My name is Roselia . One of the most degrading parts of her life as a slave in training was having her given name stripped from her. It was dehumanizing, and, of course, that was the intention.

" Now , little slut!"

Roselia's lip quivered as she repeated over and over in her head, Don't cry. Don't cry. Don't cry .

She gasped as Master J grabbed her long, thick braid and tugged it hard. In the three months since she'd arrived in this hell, she'd learned he would not harm any of the six girls he was training. He would not strike their skin or do anything that might leave marks. They were to be sold pure in every way—smooth untouched skin, virginal untouched cunts and asses.

But her hair… That was another story. Master J seemed to derive great pleasure in pulling her braid so hard she thought he might scalp her. He rarely did so to the other girls. It was her he liked to pick on.

"Again," he shouted so loudly she flinched. "Elbows to the mat, hands crossed over your forearms, forehead low, feet together, knees wide."

She resumed this table position for the millionth time. At least, it seemed like it had been a million times.

"Wider, slut," he yelled. "Your knees need to be wide enough that your back becomes level. If I can't set my drink on your back without it spilling, you're not a good table."

She pursed her lips as she inched her knees outward. Her arms and legs were shaking badly from doing this over and over well into the night. The other girls had been put to bed hours ago.

"Hold still, slut." He tapped her inner thighs with his crop.

She hated that crop more than anything in the world. It was the bane of her existence. He had it with him constantly. All of his trainers carried one at all times. The sight of it made her lightheaded.

Roselia was fairly certain that crop would leave a vicious sting in its wake if it were used to strike her as it was probably intended. Master J and his band of trainers used the crops to torment the six female prisoners in many other ways, though.

"You're weak, Lily. You need to build muscle strength before I can sell you. I have the perfect buyer for you, but I won't auction you off with the other girls if I'm not certain you're capable of living up to my standards. I have a reputation."

She gritted her teeth, trying hard to do as he wanted. She was exhausted, thirsty, and hungry. She'd needed to pee about an hour ago, but the feeling had passed, which meant she was dehydrated.

Master J tapped her inner thighs with that damnable crop. "Wider!"

She pushed her knees out further.

"That's better. Now, hold the position. I'm going to set my scotch on your back. If it falls, you will be severely punished. I expect you to hold it steady."

Roselia held her breath as he set his glass on the small of her back. She couldn't hold it forever, but she'd learned to take very slow, shallow breaths in and out when holding one of his many positions.

He circled her. "This is a good position for you, Lily. Your darker skin tone is extremely sexy, especially now that you've been here in the house without sunshine long enough for it to even out." He tapped her butt. "Your ass is so tight and firm."

She wanted to die, and she still might. He'd threatened death often enough. Life in this place was no life at all. It was hell. She often wondered if she even wanted him to be able to sell her, though. Was she better off here enduring his incessant training? She had no idea what might happen after she was sold. Her new Master could be ten times more demanding than Master J.

She let her mind go over the plusses and minuses of this life in order to distract herself from focusing on the strain on her muscles. On the one hand, she was to be sold as a virgin, which meant no one raped her. She was also to be sold unmarked, which meant no one beat her.

However, the physical demands on her body every day were nearly unbearable. Master J trained her more hours than any of the others because she'd been the last one to arrive—the last one to have been abducted and forced into slavery.

Squeezing her eyes closed, she reminded herself how many times she'd spent hours in the dog kennel on her elbows and knees, how many times she'd peed herself in that kennel, how many times she'd been forced to stand on her tiptoes, wrists chained to the ceiling while the trainers crudely washed the urine off her body with a garden hose. Was life here better than taking her chances and performing well enough to be sold?

Master J tapped her most private part. She might have thought that would have been her vagina before she'd arrived in hell, but she'd learned having her asshole touched was far more humiliating.

"This tight, puckered rosette is going to please any buyer." The snap of a camera made her nearly forget herself and flinch. She was used to the way he and his men took photos of her all day long. It was humiliating and degrading, and that was why they did it.

He tapped her pussy next. "Your cunt is a sight to behold, too. I think of all the girls I'm training, yours is the prettiest little cunt. Smooth and well-formed. I'll wax it again soon to prepare you for auction. My buyers like a smooth, naked cunt."

Don't cry. Don't cry. Don't cry . Until she'd arrived in hell, she'd never heard such crude words so often in her life.

He rounded to her side, dragging that damn leather crop along her body.

She held her breath again, knowing where he would aim next.

He tapped her nipple. "These tits are delightful, too, Lily," he praised as if it were totally normal to comment on a woman's breasts. "The small dark tips attract a lot of attention on the dark web." He bent down next to her and took several pictures. "I like the way they hang—just a handful. If I could keep you for myself, I might consider doing so. I'd love to pierce those tiny buds and hang bells from the hoops so I'd always hear you coming."

She tried not to react to his words. If she let that glass fall…

He circled to her other side and stroked the leather flap over her other nipple. "I want to see these harder, Lily. I'm going to fondle them until they're so tight they could cut glass." He reached a hand under her, pushed her breast to make it sway, and then thumbed her nipple.

She pursed her lips again. She didn't want to moan. She hated how he could make her body react to his touch. It was so humiliating. A piece of her died inside every day as he trained her body to react to his demands and the attention to her private parts.

"Good girl. Don't let that glass fall, little cunt. I'm going to check your pussy in a moment. I want to find it wet." He leaned in closer to her ear and whispered, "You're so responsive. You were born to be a sex slave."

She swallowed. She wanted to block out his words. The psychological abuse was almost worse than the physical. He and his men spent a lot of time pointing out to her why she was meant to be a sex slave.

Roselia wasn't sure she could hold this position much longer, but she needed to. She craved the illogical comfort of the cot where she slept at night. She willed him to finish this lesson, strap her spread wide to the cot, and cover her with the scratchy wool blanket.

For the first few weeks, she'd spent the nights in horror, unable to fall asleep with her arms and legs stretched out, her private parts exposed, and the nasty scent of the blanket. Exhaustion had won out eventually, and after a long day of training, she'd found herself grateful for the few hours no one would bother her so she could rest.

Master J rounded to her backside again. He squatted down closer to her feet and stroked a finger around her globes and down lower. When he tapped her clit, she nearly let the glass fall.

"Hold your table position, Lily, or we will start over again. Girls need to learn to control their slutty urges. I know your pussy is begging for my touch, but you'll control yourself. You will not come." He said all this in his weird, calm voice as if he were telling her how to make a grilled cheese sandwich.

She wanted to scream when he dragged his finger between her labia.

"Mmmm. So wet for me. See? Slavery suits you. This tight little cunt will please your buyer greatly. You must be trained, though. Strict discipline is necessary to make sure you behave." He continued to stroke through her folds.

She started panting. She had to in order to get enough oxygen. She hated herself for reacting to his vile touch. She hated her body for its betrayal.

"Five more minutes, little slave. Show me how much you enjoy my touch." He continued stroking her with one hand while he held his camera nearly upside down between her legs with the other hand to snap dozens of pictures.

He parted her labia and continued before pulling the camera back and flipping through the photos. She could watch him from this position. She even took a risk and let her forehead rest on her arms for a moment. It wasn't allowed, but she might collapse if she didn't do so. Her neck was stiff.

"Excellent photos, Lily. Such a lovely cunt. I can see your honey dripping out of you. When we're done here, I'll upload these pictures to the web. I bet I'll have a dozen more men bidding for you by morning."

Ignore him. Don't think about it. Focus on something more pleasant .

While Master J rose to saunter around her body, his focus on the mortifying pictures he'd taken, she closed her eyes and thought about the only person alive who could possibly have cared she was missing.

Marco Gallo. He worked for her employer. He was head of security. He'd always been so nice to her. She'd been nothing but a cleaning lady, but he'd smiled at her and said kind things every time he'd seen her.

The truth was Roselia had had a crush on Marco. Ridiculous since he was more than twenty years older than her. But she'd developed the silly crush three years ago when she'd started cleaning for Mr. Santo.

She'd just turned eighteen and graduated from high school. She'd had aspirations of going to college, of being the first person in her family to attend a university. But since it was just her and her mother, her mother had insisted she needed to get a job and start working. She hadn't seen the value in Roselia getting an education.

Esmeralda Moreno had worked cleaning houses all of her life. She'd been with Mr. Santo for ten years, and she'd been so excited when she'd gotten Roselia a job in the same estate that she'd celebrated by taking the two of them out to a diner for dinner.

Roselia had always been a good girl, was well-behaved, and had never gotten into trouble. Defying her mother hadn't been an option, so she'd relented and gone to work with her mother, cleaning Mr. Santo's house.

She'd meant to save her money and eventually talk her mother into letting her attend night classes at the local junior college, but it hadn't happened. And then, her mother had died unexpectedly from a stroke, leaving Roselia alone in the world.

She'd been stuck. After taking just three days off work, she'd been grateful Mr. Santo had kept her on his cleaning staff. She'd had to let her dreams of going to school slide to the far back burner. Expenses had been tight. She'd worked long hours and still struggled to pay the rent and utilities.

The only excitement in her life had been her time with Marco. He'd made her smile. He'd truly cared about her, looking her in the eyes and listening to her when no one else had. He'd even come to her mother's funeral and brought flowers. He'd hugged her and told her to let him know if there was anything he could do.

Marco was Italian. He was built and tall and so handsome. She figured he was in his mid-forties, but he still had a full head of brown hair. His eyes were kind and wrinkled at the corners when he smiled, and he didn't do so often. Mostly, he was a serious man with a furrowed brow. Had she imagined that his face had softened and relaxed only for her? The idea was ludicrous.

When he'd bumped into her in the house—which had happened more frequently than she'd thought reasonable—he would stop and say something kind, open a door for her, carry the vacuum or mop bucket.

Roselia had thought he was flirting with her, but maybe she'd just been a stupid girl with a crush. It didn't matter now. She was a trained sex slave about to be sold. She would never see Marco or his kind eyes again, but she would always remember him and picture him when times were bad.

Master J suddenly lifted his glass off her back. "Good job tonight, Lily. You may rise but do so gracefully. Finish with an inspection pose, standing tall, feet apart, hands clasped behind your head."

She fought the intense need to moan as every muscle in her body hurt with the movement, but she managed to rise as smoothly as possible. The pain caused by lifting her arms was almost unbearable after so much time spent straining her biceps.

"Lily," he admonished. "You're too sloppy. Gaze down. Elbows back. Shoulders back. Tits high."

She was trembling as she struggled to obey him. Luckily, he didn't comment on her shaking body.

He did reach out and crudely stroke her nipples, though, not stopping until they were once again hard points. He smirked. "You like that, don't you, little slut?"

It was the first time he'd required her to speak in hours. "Yes, Sir."

He tapped them again and again before he stood back and groaned. "Damn, I'd love to keep you for myself." He turned and headed toward the basement door. "Come, slave. Let's get you secured for the night." He chuckled. "We can't have you playing with those tits and rubbing your cunt in the night."

She trailed behind him, focusing on the fact that she would finally be permitted to sleep for a few hours. He was delusional if he thought he needed to restrain her wrists and ankles to keep her from masturbating. Who in their right mind would want to play with themselves in this situation?

Master J didn't even care that he woke the others with his instructions as they reached the room where all six girls slept on cots. "On your back, slut. Stretch your arms and legs out." He wrapped the nylon cuffs to her wrists and ankles like he did every night. "Don't tug. If I find your skin chaffed in the morning, you'll spend the day in the kennel. Understood?"

"Yes, Sir."

She didn't breathe until the scratchy blanket was draped over her body and his footsteps could no longer be heard on the stairs. The basement was cold and unfinished. Concrete and wood framing. She wished she could speak to the other women, but it was forbidden, and there were a dozen cameras on them, their red lights shining from every angle.

Roselia knew there was a microphone for every camera. If any of them spoke a word, they would suffer the consequences the next day. She wouldn't dare do anything but close her eyes, take deep breaths, and let her mind focus on Marco's smile as she fell asleep.