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Mystic Crystal
Paranormal Expert
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03-18-2011, 11:44 PM
Metal clanging against stone rang through the dungeon. Each cell held a nameplate, a color, as well as one to three shapes on it, outside the barred door. The dungeon stunk of rotten meat, stale bread, sweat, blood, and death. The captives inside the dungeon were frail, and skinny, and had stale bread, rancid meat, and corn mush hand fed to them. Their arms were shackled above their head, and their ankles to the wall making it almost impossible for them to move without pain searing from one of the many black and blue bruises that covered their body. In one particular cell, a loud resounding smack echoed through the halls. Moments later, shouting was heard through every cell within the dungeon.
“Fucking bitch! You’re worthless! W-O-R-T-H-L-E-S-S! Every time we have a potential buyer, you scare them off you slut! You better hope that you don’t act out today, or you’ll be whipped for the rest of your worthless life!”
The male who stormed out of the cell and slammed the door shut cursed continuously under his breath as he advanced toward the stairs that led to the outside world. Meanwhile, the girl in the cell bowed her head, tears of frustration running down her red, bruised cheek. She shifted her position, the fresh cuts on her back splitting, warm sticky red liquid oozing down her back. The tattered rags that this girl wore were soon stained red with her blood. The bruises on her legs were within centimeters of each other, each the size of an extra large egg. Down her left thigh, cutting across five bruises, was a rather long cut, one that looked shallow, but painful. It was crusted over with dried blood, slight scabbing, and grime. It was reddened slightly, and looked a tad bit swollen.
The male across in the cell across from hers looked at her with, what was in her opinion, a disgusting look. It was a look of pity that he had given her. She hated him for it, and every other person who gave her that filthy look. She was the only original captive from when Miltons Trading Co. first started. That was six years ago. The young girl was taken from her family when she was twelve, and she was now eighteen. She was the most notorious captive, for she was both vicious, and violent, but the only slave to have not broken under the harsh punishments and the rape she had endured constantly for the past five years. Of course, the punishments and the rape stopped when she was bought, but that only lasted for a heavenly week, maybe two, before she was returned, and the punishments were harsher.
Up at the top of the stairs, the door banged open, and sunlight lit the dungeon up. The cold air that ravaged the dungeon, and caused the slaves to shiver was harsh, and merciless. The one that was most obviously in charge grinned sadistically at the captives suffering. This man was cruel, and harsh in his ways, and only made each individual slave suffer. He was the one who ordered punishments to be dealt, and especially loved punishing certain slaves. The voices at the top of the stairs were distant at first, and then grew louder as the buyers came closer to the cells.
She could hear the one she liked to call, 'Mr Milk-Free', raising his voice above the others. They immediately quieted, listening intently and hanging on every word that Mr. Milton said. They were listening intently when Mr. Milton brought them up to her cell. He pointed to the nameplate, which read;
Christina Garez.
Black, no charms.
Cautions everyone against buying.
He gave a brief explanation when someone asked why they were cautioned against buying her, but also why she had no charms. His explanation angered Christina, who glared at Mr Milk-Free's back, a hard, steely glint in her eyes. I'd sure love to get my hands around his neck and snap the fucking thing, she thought to herself, letting her hard eyes search the crowd. She was attempting to pick out anyone who would go against the cautionary warning, and buy her. Her eyes landed on a young man who looked to be no more than two, maybe three years older than herself. He had sandy blond hair, dazzling hazel eyes, and a gentle smile. He looked vaguely familiar to Chris, but she shrugged it off, and instead let her upper lip curl upward into a sneer, her rather pointed teeth glinting in the soft light. She narrowed her eyes and let a growl escape her throat. The sound came out feral, and ferocious, and caused a couple of the women to jump. Mr. Milton glared at her, and she knew she was going to pay for it later. She didn't care though, all she cared about was frightening the male that stood facing her cell away.
“Does she have any buyers? No? O-” Mr. Milton was abruptly halted when someone spoke.
“I'll take her.” the male that was focused on her spoke.
“Y-you can't though!”
“Why can I not?”
“Because I already asked, and no one responded after I asked.”
“You gave no time to answer that is why. I'll take her. How much is she?”
“She is not for sale.”
“I said, how much?” the male lowered his voice, the sound coming out as more of a growl than the spoken word does. He turned his head to Mr. Milton, his eyes glowering at him with a rather dangerous, bitter glint in them.
“$102 please.”
The male took out a wad of of cash, counted up the bills, added a tooney to the pile of bills, and handed it to Mr. Milton. Chris shifted position, and held her body in a way that was rather animal like, the growling emitting from her throat savage and beast-like. The cut on her leg seared with a pain that shot up her thigh and into her abdomen. She ignored this, and let her amber eyes glare at him. The fiery glow that captured her eyes scared the surrounding captives, and buyers. Even Mr. Milton had not seen Chris this savage before. The guards, scared, opened her cell door tentatively, and cautiously walked toward Chris. Chris let out a snarl at the frightened guards, and smirked cruelly. The guards backed up and the young man who had bought her barked out a command;
“Unchain her. NOW.”
The guards nodded, and scurried over to Chris. They made sure they were out of her punching and kicking range before unchaining her wrist shackles from the wall. Her arms fell into her lap with a loud smack. That was going to be yet another bruise on Chris’ legs. The shackles around her ankles were unchained from the wall and a guard yanked her into a standing position. She hid a small wince as the guards fingers squeezed her arm, hitting several black and blue bruises, as well as a couple rather long scratches. She was led out of the cell, growls emitting from her throat several times before she attempted to bite the guard on her right side. Mr. Milton walked up to Chris, and brought his hand across her face in a rather harsh slap. The male, who was obviously growing more annoyed by the second, walked up to the guards, shoved them away from Chris and then shoved Mr. Milton away from her. He then placed his right arm at the back of her knees, and his left at her back. He lifted her off the ground, and carried her toward the stairs bridal carry. Chris thrashed about in his arms and sunk her teeth into his shoulder, drawing that warm sticky crimson liquid to the surface. The male winced, but continued on, up the stairs, and out into the world. The day was cold, a light cover of snow was on the ground, and snowflakes were falling lightly all around them. The wind ravaged and attacked Chris, the loose, tattered rags she wore flapping wildly in the wind. The male glared at anyone who dared to look anywhere they weren't supposed to. Chris suppressed a light shiver, and let go of his shoulder. The blood trickled down his arm, and he shifted Chris around in his arms so that she was fitting snugly against his chest, and his warmth seeped into her pale, sun-deprived body.
Once they were at his car, he had the guard closest to him open his car door, and he set Chris down on the soft, leather seat. It was very much comfortable, and Chris would have loved to have been able to sleep right then, but she would not give Mr. Milton the satisfaction of knowing that Chris hated every minute of being in his company. She also refused to give the male any satisfaction of knowing that she was happy that she was being taken, hopefully far away, from Mr. Milton and his cruel ways. Chris watched the male out of the corner of her eye, and was shocked when she saw him turn on Mr. Milton.
“What the fuck is wrong with you?! Have you no fucking shame? Her condition is horrible! I swear to god, I will fucking shut you guys down if it's the last thing I do!” His voice held fury, and his eyes gleamed with an internal flame as he turned his back to the stunned company owner, and shrugged off his heavy winter coat. He placed it over Chris, flashed her a smile and got into the drivers seat. Placing the keys in the ignition, he turned the car on, revved the engine and drove away, leaving the stunned guards and Mr. Milton standing in the middle of a cloud of smoke.
Through most of the ride to the male's house, Chris remained quiet. At least, until the male said something. She didn't tune him in in time to fully hear what he said, but she caught the last part. “-meet again..” She turned her head, glared into the front seat, and let yet another growl escape her dry throat. Albeit, this time the growl was less ferocious, and was more of a dry rasp than anything. The male grabbed the water bottle that was up front, and handed it back to her, looking at her through the rear view mirror. “Sorry if it's a little warm, but it'll have to do.” Chris took one look at the bottle and glanced out the window trying to decide whether or not she should drink out of it. Her pride was still locked away, and so was her dignity. She had managed to survive the life of a sex slave this long, with her pride and dignity in tack, but she didn't know how much longer she could hold out. Tossing the bottle on the seat next to her she narrowed her eyes out the window. The country side that was once the scenery was now turning into familiar buildings and familiar shops. For a brief moment, Chris thought she saw one of her childhood friends. But she quickly dismissed the idea, and glanced back up at the male.
“Who the fuck are you?” she growled, her voice soft and raspy.
“Such foul language does not suit you, Chrissy. But, I'm Marcus.”
“Don't you fucking dare call me that.” Chris tried to sound threatening, but her voice came out cracked and dried. Marcus smiled at her through the rear view, and raised an eyebrow as if to ask her why she didn't drink out of the bottle. Chris looked at it one last time before grabbing it, albeit unwanted, and unscrewed the cap. She glared at him as his smile grew bigger. He's probably just trying to see how long I can go without totally submitting myself... He'll see... I'm hard to tame, Chris thought to herself. She took a long swig from the bottle, finding the water rather refreshing despite the warmth of the water. She pretended to gag on the water, looking at it with a disgusted face just to prove to Marcus that she would not submit. He raised his eyebrow once more, before turning to the road. He pulled up in the driveway of a rather large looking house, and killed the engine. He took the keys out of the ignition, and turned to Chris.
“Welcome to your new home, Christina.”
“New home my ass. You'll send me back in a week, I promise. You won't want to fuck with me...”
“Really, Chris. Swearing doesn't suit you. Hasn't since you were a kid.”
“What the fuck did you just say?” Chris wasn't sure she'd heard him correctly, but she glared at him anyway.
“You don't remember? Such a shame really... Well, never mind then. Lets get you into the house so we can get you dressed and ready.” With that, Marcus got out of the car, opened the rear door, slipped his arms underneath Chris' body, and lifted her out of the car. He shut it with his foot, and sauntered up to the front door, which was already opening. A female greeted him at the door who offered to take Chris upstairs, but he declined her offer instead wanting to take her to her room himself. Walking over to the stairs leading to the upper landing, he smiled at Chris who was held snugly against his chest, his winter jacket still covering her. Once they were at the landing, he walked down a hallway, turned to the first door on the left, opened it, albeit awkwardly, and entered the room. The lights came on automatically, lighting up the spacious room. The head of the bed was against the far wall, with the wall being made completely of glass. The curtains were drawn shut, and the bed was placed against flush against the adjacent wall to the windowed wall. There was a bookshelf filled with books, a desk with writing material, and a leather bound book on it, and a bed side table with a lamp on it. Walking over to the bed, he placed Chris down on the fluffy down mattress, and walked over to the walk-in closet. He picked out a nice black, graphic t-shirt, a pair of skinny jeans, and high top converse. Walking in further, he grabbed out a zebra print 36 double C bra, and a red thong. Walking out, he walked over to Chris and handed her the clothes. “Sorry, but this is all that we really have. My sister lives here as well, and she bought you a whole closet full of the clothes that she wears...” Marcus said, looking apologetic. “-Unless your tastes in clothes have changed...” he added on, in a soft mutter.
“Those clothes are fine. Now fuck off before I literally haul off and punch you in the fucking face you fucktard.”
Marcus nodded, and left the room, leaving Chris to get changed. Looking around the room, she took a look at the clothes and started getting changed. Stripping off the cloth that covered her breasts, she winced as the cloth hit the long cut across both of them. It was slightly swollen, and covered with a slightly yellow-green scab. Grabbing the bra, she chuckled and reached behind her, snapping the bra on. She slipped her arms through the straps, and blinked. The 36 double C was a tad bit small on her. “I must have grown a bit...” Chris muttered, slipping the thong on. It fit her perfectly. Next was the skinny jeans. “I hope they fit.” Slipping them on, she slid them up her legs with ease. The fabric slid over several infected cuts, and made Chris wince, but they settled nicely on her hips.
This is the first part of chapter one. I apologize for the foul language.
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