One by one, they come. They use me, penetrate me, slap me, then leave after having emptied themselves on me. Outside the tent, I hear the crowd swarming in the hall. They have come in great numbers for the big event. Today, the stage is reserved for only one prisoner. My Master, still annoyed by my presence and the other unsold ones, has negotiated with the men of the hall for us to serve as entertainment for the spectators.
Meanwhile, on the stage, a warlord was thrilling the crowd with his trophy. Back from a distant land, he exhibits to the eyes of all a naked female prisoner, hanging from the beam. And in front of the spectators, he tortures her for the pleasure of hearing her screams. She was once a respected, adored queen, but now she would be demeaned, branded and remain at the feet of her new Master for the rest of her life.
Meanwhile, I wait for the next client, shackled to a comfortable bed, hidden under a tent. Not far from me, I hear Isabella's belching as she sucks a Master in her tent. Inside me, anger rumbles, urging me to revolt. I was not sold, I regret it, but I was always obedient. I offered my body to the customers, to the men of the market, to the men of my Master. For weeks now, my life has been nothing but a long serie of rapes and punishments. No compassion, no pity for me.
A client comes in. Without even speaking to me, he grabs me by the hair and throws me on the bed. Docile, I remain on all fours, rump up. I spread my legs and let myself be taken like a sexual object. I push small moans of pleasure when his hands slap my buttocks. They seem to burn after the passage of so many men and women on me. But I'm annoyed by all this. I am a thirty-five year old woman, and they treat me like an animal. I see the men leering at the younger slaves' shapes. What difference does a few years make? Why doesn't anyone want me? Why am I only useful when I am rented out?
"One hour with an unbranded white whore," says a sign outside my tent. I am nothing else to them, just a loose woman.
After soiling my back, the customer spank my rump and leaves. No kind words to me. From what I hear, prostitutes are better treated in brothels, but I am chained in a tent in the middle of the market. In the distance, the fallen queen screams under the lashes. And the crowd applauds. At least she has an audience.
Between two sessions of slap and tickle, I clean my mouth in a bowl. The chains on my wrists force me to squirm to wash my back soiled by the Masters. I hurry, I hear footsteps. Another customer enters my tent.
- On your knees, slut, he orders me.
Another one who wants my mouth. Debased, I try to satisfy this new Master. Despite my disgust, I try to lick as best I can. Please, someone buy me. Anyone, as long as I can finally get out of this tent. I think back to the Master's threat. It's a miracle I've been able to escape the mines for so long. Sooner or later I will be branded and disappear into the desert, taken to my death. With every client, with every thrust, I pray to be bought. But nobody wants me. I am only good for being rented at low prices. If I had been younger, maybe. A few years less would have been enough. The customer empties himself onto my face,which he holds in an hard hand. I see his satisfied smile. All the Masters have the same look, they like to dirty us again and again. I don't know how the other girls are doing, but I feel like I won't be able to hold on much longer. Sooner or later I might do something stupid that will cost me a lot...
