Chapter 29 The Great Escape
"Hey, nasty bitch! Guess what? I've decided to sell to you to an Arab." My new Master said after ravaging my throat and choking me out with a dog chain. A terror went through me as he opened the padlock and finally released the chain from my neck. He pulled me by an arm away from the post in center of the room toward a utility sink in the corner. He flushed the grime off me with a garden hose. The water was cold and harsh against my sensitive and brutalized skin.
He had a bag, when he came, which he left by the door. He brought it over to me now. In a Bloomindales tote bag, he had a towel, a new summer dress, a nice bra and panty set, and pair of high heels, I recognized as mine. He must have gone back to our apartment to pick them up. He also brought my makeup case and hairbrush.
"Make yourself presentable bitch, 'I am taking you to the Arab, for inspection before selling you, whore!" I was in full distress mode. What exactly did he mean? where would I wind up?
"Oh, Master Roger, please, please don't sell me! Have I not pleased you, Sir?"
"On the contrary, bitch! You've pleased me very much, which is why you will fetch a fine price. You have no idea how they will treat a 'girl' like in you in the Arab world. They won't think of you as a real woman, which means they'll be free to do anything to you."
I burst into tears, but stopped pleading, my mind racing for some way out of the situation. I could barely dress myself, my fingers were all trembly and my concentration elsewhere. He hurried me on. I tried to get my hair into some kind of shape after it had been matted and covered in cum, piss, and spit.
Looking into the half-broken shard of a mirror hanging over the sink, I saw my eyes were red and puffy from stress and crying, and I had to cover a few bruises here and there. Luckily, the dress had a high neckline and didn't reveal new my bruises there. I used the old Preparation-H trick to de-puff my eyes and rouge on the bruises to hid the worst black and blues.
Finally, I was dressed in the cute little summer dress, I bought to wear on my honeymoon in Paris. I put on the fuck-me pumps (that didn't really go with it) and was ready. He put blacked out glasses on me as a blindfold and led me by the hand out the door, around the back and into a waiting car. I could see nothing in front of me, but I caught glimpses in my peripheral vision, shapes and sensations; a brick building, a wrought iron gate, lots of noise.
As he jostled me getting into the car, I made out a green store awning with torn up signage. After about twenty minutes of driving, he removed the glasses; we were going south on the FDR drive around 96
th
Street, making me think we had been north, maybe the Bronx, or east, in Queens?
It was some time in the afternoon, maybe three o'clock; the sun was on its down, but still high in the sky. We pulled up at the Plaza Hotel and walked into a restaurant; the maître d' led us to a table where a Middle-Eastern man sat with a glass of wine in his hand. He was a rather thin wiry man. He stood up politely and shook hands with my companion.
"Aaah, Mr. Chamberlain, you understated the lady's beauty," and turning to me, "you are simply ravishing, my dear. Farhad Shirazi, a pleasure to make your acquaintance." He claimed and reached out and took my hand kissed it intimately. Well... this was an improvement. I did my best to hide the puffy eyes and haggard look, but I doubt anyone could've seen me a ravishing... more like ravished.
"Michelle Cochran, charmed, Sir." I said tersely, but trying to sound pleasant. It seemed outer worldly to engaged in such high cultured discourse, when I was about to be sold to this guy.
We all sat down, I tried to decline the wine, trying to stay sober, but Master Roger insisted; Mr. Shirazi poured me some. I was hoping there would be food at this inspection; I was starving. I took the measure of Mr. Shirazi, he was very handsome, though somewhat smaller than my usual type; but unlike my current Master, did not have the hard edge of cruelty—though Master Roger was very careful to keep that well-hidden at our first meeting.
Thankfully, there
was
food, we spent the meal politely speaking, but nothing at all was actually said. This was yet another area, where I was much better as woman than a man. As a man, I used to be tongue-tied and nervous in social situations like this (dining with strangers, not being sold to a Middle-Eastern flesh-monger). As a woman, it was much easier for me to contribute, and I noticed that with men anyway, the conversation would come to me. I would put in the odd word and smile sexily and that would enough.
I finally ate, but was careful to eat like a lady and not fill up too much, though I could have gone back for more. I was fairly sure this meeting happening in a hotel implied there would be some sexual activity. I was determined not to be bloated for it. A plan began to form in mind, as I heard to the men talk.
"Shall we go up to my room to conduct our... erm... business." Mr. Shirazi suggested, as nonchalantly as possible.
"That sounds like a brilliant idea, my friend."
We walked into a very nicely appointed living room and bedroom suite, on the 12
th
floor. The living room had a comfortable couch, two chairs and a sturdy glass table. The bedroom had a big king size bed with two chairs on either side, and view of lush Central Park out the windows. On one end of the couch stood a champagne stand with a magnum of Dom Perignon on ice and two flutes.
Farhad directed Master Roger to the other side of the couch, and I was left standing by the glass coffee table.
"Well, my friend, as you can see, she's in reasonably good shape, has few marks on her, but I suspect that won't be an issue for you."
"She looks splendid, Mr. Chamberlain, but let's get a closer look."
"Bitch!" Master Roger said, as he gestured for me to take off my dress. I pulled my dress off by pulling the hem up over my head, while Farhad poured champagne for himself and Master Roger. I was glad not to be offered any; I had to keep my wits about me and had wine downstairs.
I was standing there in bra and panties, while the two of them looked me over. They twirled their fingers to indicate I should turn. After several turns, Master Roger had me remove the bra and panties, leaving me naked but for the pumps. All pretense of modesty was gone, and I'm sure that Mr. Shirazi could see all the bruises and marks all over my body. Master Roger got up... and, in used car salesman fashion, demonstrated my features to Mr. Shirazi.
He had me kneel by the glass table, facing away from them, then bent me over, so my chest was pressed onto it, and had me pull my ass cheeks open. The prospective buyer traced the message around my hole and chuckled, giddily. Then Roger pointed out his recent addition to the signage back there.
"Ye can be assured, Mr. Shirazi,
that
is an accurate statement." He pushed an index finger into my asshole smoothly to demonstrate. I moaned huskily and loudly. It would have been my usual response, but I exaggerated as part of a developing plan. My best chance was to be sold to Farhad Shirazi, so I was trying to help Master Roger to make the deal.
"Ummmm! Thank you, Sir. Mr. Shirazi, do you want a try?" I clucked, laying it on thick, but the finger in my ass got me excited, so it did not require too much acting.
"May I?" He asked my current Master.
"Please, be my guest." I pushed out with my sphincter and, when Mr. Shirazi got his finger half way in, used my ass muscles to pull him in further. I was massaging his finger with my asshole. He giggled like a boy again. I moaned exuberantly.
"Do you want to put more in there, Sir?" I suggested in a deep throaty voice. He pulled his long slim finger out and added another. I repeated the effect and his giggle dropped a couple of octaves.
