"Anna," he said, after he got up from her bed and wrapped his housecoat around his still perspiring torso, "I have visitors tonight."
It took her off balance. He had called her by her name. That had not happened before.
"What do you mean?"
Questioning him didn't break any rules. They had no rules.
For a while he just stood watching her face. It was so beautiful. A real gem. Especially when she was startled. It always made her erotic, even after he fucked her.
"I'm going to sell you."
For a brief moment she was dumb stuck. Then realization surfaced and panic spread over her face. "No...!" she cried, "You're not serious...!"
"Sure I am," he said and watched with amusement how her nude body, still shining with his sweat, began to tremble.
She swallowed several times before she found her voice again. It was suddenly hoarse with fear. "You're not... no! You're pulling my leg....!"
"No. I'm not."
Her eyes widened in alarm. "Why... I mean...," she stammered. Her mouth twitched. She barely managed to speak. "Oh no...! You cannot...! Please... I... I love you... I love you!"
He did not answer, just watched how the fright in her face changed from panic to dread.
She flushed deep red. She knew he liked to make her sick with fear. Usually it was a game which in the end made her reel to his raw sexual demands. But not this time. From the way he spoke, from the way he looked at her, she intuitively knew that this was different. With those words he had said what he meant. How could that be possible, how could he do such a thing? Her mind revolted. She'd been his play-thing for so long, and she'd come to love him! She felt like paralyzed.
Finally she tried to ask: "Is this...?" but she did not dare complete the question.
He nodded.
She attempted again, now with desperation in her voice: "You don't really mean it... don't you...?" Her eyes were wide open and she forced herself to smile.
He pushed up her chin. "Come on Anna," he said, again mentioning her name, "Get yourself together. You knew it would happen."
She put a hand to cover her eyes in an attempt to stop herself from crying.
He was right. She should have been expecting it at some point in time. But still... it was unreal. Not at all like she had anticipated in her dreams. Those vivid dreams. The ones that had made her so recklessly courageous to place that ad on the net. And to which this man had responded in his own reckless way, calling her over to his house right away.
He had been the first and only person she'd ever had the courage to tell. And he had quietly listened as she feverishly spoke. With her eyes cast down she had recounted that haunting fantasy of hers, that life-long dream of being imprisoned and sold as a nameless female body, as will-less property to be used for any erotic purpose. Ever since her childhood that had been her biggest fantasy, filling her mind day and night.
The confession had been difficult and very emotional. She had cried. But he had been kind and calmed her down, reassuring her that he too had his dreams.
They agreed they should explore each others thoughts in earnest. He was a serious man, who did not take things light. She had stayed with him for almost a week. During the days they had made long walks in the woods and talked, and during the nights he'd taken her to his bed and given her a taste of his violent sexual urges. She had loved it.
In the end he had sent her home "To think it all over."
But within days she had come back to him. "Yes," she had said, "I want it. I need it. Desperately." She had looked him in his eyes and added: "I'll give you my body. Do whatever you want with me. And when you have had enough of me you can sell me." He had smiled and only said: "Sure... sure." She had eagerly nodded, embraced him and kissed him in gratitude.
At that moment he would have liked to straight away tie her up and fuck her. But he had restrained himself and warned her once again. As far as he was concerned, this voluntary choice of hers should not be taken as a game. It should be real and irreversible, as definite and final as a block of granite. There should be no way back. If later she might want to get out, that would be too late. Those were his terms. His taking possession of her would have to be real and incontestable. Otherwise it would not work for him. He made that crystal clear.
She had agreed without batting an eye.
And she had been right. Once taken, the decision had proved to be like an enormous relief, a kind of liberation, and her life had become filled to the brim with the most intense erotic excitement.
Even the first step, signing the contract, had already been an incredibly electrifying experience. It was a real contract. No play-acting. The notary in his office had read it out aloud. Then it was signed by both of them before two lawful witnesses. They had signed it too, as well as the notary. That in itself had already made her wet her knickers. She could still hear that man's voice in her mind. Loud and clear.
That her freedom was to be taken away from her.
That she was to be left without any rights whatsoever.
That the agreement, once signed, was without time limit and irrevocable. If ever she would change her mind, there would be no way back: she would have no powers to annul the contract, to withdraw from it, or to change any of its provisions. She would have to abide, if necessary with force.
'Signed,' he had said, reading the last paragraph, 'of my own free will, while being of sane mind and body'. Thus she had sealed her fate before those witnesses, transforming herself into a piece of property for sexual use. The contract bore her signature, in bright red ink and written with a racing heart, but without hesitation,.
The notary had put a duplicate in his safe, and the original was given to the man who had acquired her. She got nothing. "No reason," he had said when she asked, "I own you now, as from today you have no claim to anything."
He had shaken hands with the people in the office and left, leading her by the arm.
How long had it been? Unbelievable! Almost three years. It felt like just a month. She could still feel the strength of his hand as he had led her into this basement, this windowless concrete prison with its tiny bathroom, its single cabinet, its small wooden table, the TV, the one chair. And of course that big bed, where so often he had held her naked helpless body while he fucked her.
She had been delighted with his greedy desires. Her whole life had seemed to float on waves of sexual excitement. She drifted in an almost continuous erotic trance, brought about by this man's ferocious lust for her body. It made her feel like a pure vessel overflowing with happiness. She had not wished it to ever end.
No wonder she had rapidly fallen in love with the man, with his quiet nature and his self-confident brutality.
He did not return her feelings, which he treated instead with a refined brand of sadistic cruelty. He never even used her name. Not until this very day. He didn't even refer to her as his 'slave', as she would have liked. He hated platitudes, he had once said when she had tried to call him 'Master'. He was too serious for childish play. He had slapped her face and said that if she wanted she could call him 'Jack', as in 'Jack the Ripper'. For him she was just a prisoner kept for sex, a woman's body with a juicy cunt.
Given her masochistic nature, these insults to her feelings often strangely aroused her. But sometimes they also set off little sparks of anxiety. She knew he owned her, and she wasn't dancing the cha-cha. She was his to do as he wanted. Fuck her for as long as it pleased him, then sell her.
