The Ring

Chapter I

The couple waited in what was a surprisingly well-furnished lobby, especially considering that from the outside it appeared to be an abandoned warehouse. They sat in comfortable red satin armchairs while faint classical music played. The redhead grabbed the badge that the man who had frisked them and taken their phones had given them, examining it again.

“This is weird, right?” she said to her companion. She flipped the badge over. It had what appeared to be a magnetic strip for swiping and a series of numbers on the back.

“Be patient.” The brunette reached for her hand. The redhead ignored the gesture, flipping the card back over in her hands.

“Like, do they get enough customers to warrant ID badges?”

She pulled the offered hand back, and spun the wedding band on her finger. “I don’t know, dear. Perhaps they’ll tell us.”

The door at the edge of the lobby opened. “Mrs. Maddox and Mrs. Kinna?” An elderly man stepped out into the lobby. He had a noticeable limp and walked with a cane, which went well with the dapper tan suit he wore.

“Yes,” the brunette said, getting to her feet and straightening the revealing white dress he wore. “Please, call me Ellie. You must be Mr. Pembroke.”

“Indeed I am,” he said with a slight bow before walking over. He switched his cane from his right to his left and extended a hand. “It’s so nice to meet you in person finally.” He shook Ellie’s offered hand with a surprisingly firm grip and then turned to her wife. “And this lovely woman must be Mrs. Grace Kinna. Truly you are more beautiful in person.”

Grace got up and took his offered hand hesitantly, allowing him to pull it in and kiss the back of her hand. “In person?” She was wearing a more conservatively cut green dress that brought out the color in her eyes, and her more sensible heels than her partner’s accentuated their height difference.

“Oh yes, forgive me, we have to do extensive background research on all prospective customers. But relax, you two passed with flying colors. And let me just say, it’s refreshing to see a couple such as yourselves interested in what we’re offering.” He smiled.

“I take it most of your clients are not?” Ellie asked.

“No, the vast majority are dirty old men. Not that there’s anything wrong with that. I am one myself!” Mr. Pembroke broke into a laugh. The other two joined in awkwardly. “Ahem. But yes, that is our typical, but not our exclusive clientele. We attempt to cater to a diverse audience. A WEALTHY, diverse audience,” he added, holding up a finger. “But you two fit that criteria as well.”

They laughed again, even more uncomfortably. A look into their finances was understood to be part of the extensive background checks, but it wasn’t pleasant to be forced to imagine this man going through their records.

“Enough chitchat though. I’m sure you two are eager to see the showroom.”

Ellie nodded. “It has been a long waiting period.”

“Worth every second, I assure you. Please, right this way.” He gestured towards the open door behind him. “After you.”

There was an awkward tango as the couple tried to decide who would go first, and who would have Mr. Pembroke following them. Finally Ellie took the lead with Grace right behind, and Mr. Pembroke followed. The door lead down a short hall, which more fit the warehouse aesthetic of the outside of the building, continuing passed several shut doors that Mr. Pembroke explained as offices and storage until they reached an open one at the end. Ellie stopped just inside, her breath stopping for a moment as she took in the scene before her. Grace stopped a moment later, stepping out from behind her wife.

“Welcome, to Wesley’s Emporium, the finest collection of trained slaves on the market,” Mr. Pembroke said, stepping past them and throwing his arms wide. He had all the affectation of John Hammond announcing Jurassic Park, and for those expecting the contents of the warehouse, it was on a similar scale to seeing dinosaurs. To the couple, who were at least somewhat prepared for what they had just walked into, it was still quite a shock.

“How— how many?” Grace asked.

Mr. Pembroke took a tablet off the table by the door and tucked it under his arm. “In the showroom, twenty two, though not every one is for sale.”

“Does that make you Wesley?” Ellie asked.

“Oh, you flatter me. Wesley is a legend. I am merely a curator, happy to help customers like yourselves find their dream slaves.”

Ellie took a couple of tentative steps forward. Her left hand dangled back, and this time Grace did take it, following her wife as she approached the closest display case, the only one with the red curtain over the front drawn open. A thin layer of glass separated them from one of the “products” on display. A young woman in her mid twenties was inside standing between an armchair and a table with a vase on it. She was dressed in a very skimpy French maid outfit, the skirt so short that her frilly white panties were visible. More notable was the pink rope that was threaded between her legs and pulling the panties up into her. Matching pink rope peaked out from the cleavage of her low-cut top binding her large breasts. Her arms were wrenched behind her back and secured in a black leather armbinder. Matching leather cuffs were on her ankles above her ridiculously high heels. A few inches of chain between the cuffs kept her hobbled. She’d been gagged with a leather muzzle, a feather duster protruding from the front.

The woman stared at them with wide eyes. Through the glass her muffled moans could faintly her heard.

“You’d be surprised at how many people still get uncomfortable at the term ‘slave,’ even in this industry. What better way to get over that little speed bump than to consider getting a servant. A happy little maid, eager to serve her new master, or mistresses, as the case may be.”

“Who is she?” Grace asked, putting her hand on the glass.

“Item number 47346,” he answered, deftly flipping the tablet around into his hand and turning it in. “Or did you mean who WAS she?” he asked with a smile.

Ellie glanced from the girl on display to his screen. There was a picture of maid’s face, without the gag, and a full body picture of her completely naked from the front and in profile. Her number, as well as some other letters and numbers, and Ellie quickly realized that they were measurements: weight, height, hips, waist and bust. Before she could read further, he had tapped on something, and it brought up another screen.

“Margaret Elizabeth Keller. I believe she went by Maggie. She was homeless. A lot of people like to imagine all the products were acquired from a previous, glamorous life, but the truth is the vast majority of our products were once homeless, or sex workers. Lots of sex workers we pick up. We make sure they’re all clean, of course. We don’t just pump them full of penicillin and sell them as is, like some other establishments.” His eyes narrowed.

Ellie had questions, so many that she totally ignored the comment about other establishments. She was focused on the number, which was also on a plaque outside the display case. “I’m sorry, is that number 47 thousand?”

He chuckled. “I suppose you could look at it that way.”

Both women’s eyes widened.

“But no, she is not the 47,346th slave to travel through our system. All this new tracking and digital inventory is all still fairly new, and we were in the business of acquiring and selling women long before we started keeping track and assigning numbers.”

“So there have been more than that?” Ellie asked.

“Truth is, there’s no way of knowing, but realistically, it’s nowhere close to that number. Not yet anyways. When we started digitizing everything, we picked a number at random with four digits, and have been cataloguing from there. Though there have been a few hiccups and resets, as there usually is in any growing business.”

Ellie put her hands to the glass. The maid inside took a few shuffling steps closer, locking eyes with her potential buyer.

“Though I’m sure you don’t want to be bored with the business end of things. You’re here because you want to own another human being.”

Both women looked visibly shocked to here out loud what they were there to do put so plainly.

“The first one is always special. It can take a little to be acclimated, but my job is to facilitate that process and I make it my mission to make sure you leave here happy.”

“How many customers do you have?” Grace asked.

“We take our customers’ privacy very seriously, a fact I’m sure you appreciate, but rest assured, it is very rare for a customer to leave my showroom empty handed, and when they do, it’s almost always because they’ve made a special request that we take care of.”

“Special requests?” Ellie asked, her eyes still locked with item 47436’s.

“If you don’t find something that strikes your fancy. But let me show you the rest of the collection before you decide that you want to order off the menu. You may find we already have exactly what you’re looking for.” He tucked the tablet back under his arm and gestured with his cane for them to continue on into the warehouse.

Grace took a few steps forward and then stopped, realizing Ellie wasn’t coming. “Ell?”

“What about her?” she asked.

“Item 47436 is not what you’re looking for,” Mr. Pembroke said. “Trust me, I’ve been doing this a long time. 47436 is very well trained, she’s docile, obedient and very submissive. She’s experienced in servicing both men and women, and a very low flight risk. She could make a great starter slave potentially, but she’s more suited to serving an older owner who’s looking for a maid just as much if not more than a sex toy. And forgive me for being presumptuous, but that is just not the two of you.”

“No, it’s not,” Ellie said, her fingers lingering on the glass before she turned and took Grace’s hand, giving it a squeeze.

“Please, show us what you’ve got,” Grace said.

“It would be my pleasure.” Mr. Pembroke gave them a polite nod as he pulled the curtain back over the maid’s display case, and he continued his tour. Another box, this one slightly smaller than the first but with the same maroon curtain stood before them. The women waited while he pulled back the curtain. The back wall was painted with Middle Eastern architecture: domed mosques and minarets stretching towards the sky. Sitting atop a pile of cushions on the floor was a dark skinned woman in a light green harem girl outfit. Gold chains were attached to her wrists and ankles by matching gold cuffs. Beneath the shimmery veil over her mouth and nose, a red ballgag was visible plugging her mouth.

When the curtain opened, she rose gracefully to her feet with the faint tingle of chains. At a subtle nod from Mr. Pembroke, she started to dance. “This is 49217. Before we acquired her, she was struggling to make it in New York. Quite the hard working girl, she taught dance and yoga, all while working two full time jobs.”

“So I take it she’s flexible?” Ellie asked.

“Very,” he said, watching as the slave turned and bent over, twerking her ass, her very tone backside split by a satin thong visible through the thin, translucent material of her flowey pants. “With a fantastic work ethic.”

“How did you, um, ‘acquire’ her?” Grace asked. “You said struggling, but she didn’t sound homeless.”

“Oh, you’ll like this.” He turned on the tablet again, swiping and tapping until he brought up 49217’s page. He pressed an icon, and a video popped up on screen.

“What is this?” Ellie asked, looking up from the dancing girl to stare at the screen.

“Watch,” he said. “Here, she should see this too.” The old man tapped on the glass and held the screen up so all three women could see. The girl maintained a rhythmic sway as she leaned forward against the glass barrier. “Watch her liberation from her old life.”

On screen, shaky footage of what appeared to be a yoga studio. The camera spun and moved forward to the door, and a hand moved into frame, locking the door.

“Is that a body cam?” Ellie asked.

“Yes,” Mr. Pembroke answered as the camera swung back around and started moving towards the back of the studio. “All of our acquisitions team wear them.”

Inside the box, 49217’s eyes widened as the hand reached out again and opened the door to the backroom, revealing a woman with her back to the intruder in the middle of changing. “Oh!” she shouted, hastily pulling on a sweatshirt. “Sorry,” I thought everyone had left,” the woman’s voice came from the device’s speakers. “That was pretty good for your first class.”

Inside the box, little muffled noises of distress were coming from 49217, as if she wanted to somehow warn her past self on the screen that whoever was wearing the camera was not a new student. Condensation formed on the glass under where she pressed her palms to it, clear signs of her agitation.

“Hey, what are you doing?” The camera jostled as it rushed forward, going dark as the woman’s body was pulled into it. Sounds of a struggle and muffled shouts for help car from the speakers.

“You have footage of all your kidnappings?” Grace asked, able to pry her eyes from the screen as the footage was dark for a moment while the kidnapper wrestled with their victim.

“Acquisitions,” he corrected. “Most, but not all. A lot of buyers like to know where their product comes from. And it’s a very useful tool in breaking in the new girls, isn’t it 49217?” He reached out and touched the glass where the helpless girl stood, riveted in place as she watched her abduction. On screen she came back into view as she was shoved onto the floor, the knee of her kidnapper pressing down on her back while what looked to be a man’s hands taped hers behind her back. She spit out a wadded cloth and started screaming again, only for the cloth to be forcefully shoved back in and held there with tape.

“Isn’t that risky? I mean, having all that evidence?” Grace asked.

“Of course. We’re enslaving women. That’s factored into the charge, of course. We take the risk, so you don’t have to go out and do this yourselves.”

Grace watched the woman on screen have her pants and underwear pulled down. “Is he about to—”

“Of course not,” Mr. Pembroke assured her before she could finish her question. “Well I suppose that depends on your definition. Our employees are professionals, and forcing yourself on a target before getting her secured is a little more risky than wearing a body cam. But if you’d rather not watch the next part, I can turn it off.” His finger hovered over the tablet as on screen, one hand spread the helpless girl’s cheeks, exposing her rosebud.

“No, let it play,” Ellie said, watching.

He smiled, withdrawing his hand. On screen, the kidnapper’s other hand appeared, holding a large pink butt plug, glistening with lube. “Something for you to enjoy on the trip,” a male voice came from the speakers. Mr. Pembroke mouthed along, as though these were words spoken often in their business.

49217 whined aloud while her past self squealed as she was penetrated. The plug settled into place, and the kidnapper’s hand gave her booty a few quick spanks. “One more,” he said, the other hand bringing a matching pink dildo into view.

“I’m sorry. I suppose you two would consider that rape, in answer to your earlier question, Grace,” Mr. Pembroke said.

“Yes,” they both answered in unison, as on screen the dildo was forced deep into the helpless girl’s vagina.

“Is that a problem?” he asked. He sounded genuinely curious.

“No,” Ellie said. “We’re lesbians. We don’t have a man’s narrow opinion of sex, that it requires an actual penis.” On screen, the kidnapper pulled a crotchrope tightly between the girl’s legs, holding the toys in place.

Mr. Pembroke smiled. “I knew I liked you two.” The girl on screen was busy being forced into a tight hogtie. “You’ll have to forgive me. I’ve been in this business for a long time with a working penis, and it’s been a very male dominated industry almost the entire time.”

“No offense taken,” Ellie said. “But you do have female customers?”

“They are still the minority, but yes. We cater to couples, hetero, gay and non-binary, looking for something to share. We get single women, trans, aesexual. The market is really opening up, and we strive to make sure we have the right products for the ever expanding demographics.” He spoke with a deep pride.

On screen, the woman had just finished being forced into a bag, and her kidnapper was picking her up before the video ended. Inside the box, 49712 hung her head. Who knows how many times they had forced her to watch her own capture.

“So what do you have specifically for us?” Ellie asked.

“I don’t judge a book by its cover. I could make a guess based on the fact that you’re a young, well-to-do lesbian couple. You both see yourself as the dominant in the relationship, and while you both switch, one of you is clearly the more dominant of the two. I won’t tell you who I think is which.” Both women stared at him in stunned silence, the chained and gagged slave inches away momentarily forgotten. “So you think a slave might let you both flex that domineering tendency. You want someone strong willed, but someone you don’t love so that you can risk truly breaking them, as opposed to what you’re afraid you might do with your partner.” He paused for effect, taking in their stunned expressions before continuing, “But as I said, I don’t judge a book by its cover. I’m sure there’s more to you than what I can guess with very little information. Come, see what we have to offer you, and we can discover what you’re looking for together.”

“You got some parts right,” Ellie conceded.

“Stereotypes get their start somewhere,” he said. “As I said, right or wrong, there’s more to the two of you. Now come, there’s plenty more to see.”

With one last look at 49217, who lacked the enthusiasm to resume her dance after the viewing of her kidnapping, the curtain closed again and the trio moved on.

“Are they all, behind glass?” Ellie asked, following the curator.

“Are you interested in a test drive?”

“Potentially. It’s just...”

“It feels like a zoo in here?”

“Yes, a bit,” she said.

He chuckled, and changed direction. “A small change in plans, if you would follow me.” He limped towards a curtain over a wall and lifted the edge with his cane.

Ellie had to duck a little to see through the opening and the shorter Grace just cocked her head to the side.

“Shall was check out the petting zoo?” Mr. Pembroke asked. He didn’t need to wait for a response. He grabbed the curtain and pulled it all the way to the side for them to enter the cage filled room.

Ellie lead the way, walking up to the closest enclosure. A large dog crate with a plaque numbered 49156 held a woman lying on the white mat on the bottom. Her long, wavy red hair was pleated on both sides to resemble long floppy ears, which complimented the mahogany colored leather dog’s muzzle strapped to her face. She pushed herself up into a sitting position, her head almost touching the top of the cage, revealing the matching leather mittens encasing her hands, made to look like paws.

“Now this is a zoo,” Ellie said, her fingers brushing the front of the cage. The puppy girl inside stared up at her with doleful blue eyes, leaning forward and letting Ellie’s fingers touch her hair.

Grace looked around at the rest of the enclosures, seven in total. Another puppy girl in a Dalmatian patterned, skintight fur suit lay in another kennel. One black and one white girl shared a cage, each with matching cat ears and tails extending from plugs in their asses. A tall, thin girl with bunny ears and a matching fluffy white cottontail gagged with a carrot shaped bit gag stood in a large basket. A chubby woman in a mud filled kiddy pool with a pink pig nose and ballgag strapped to her face, and a curly cue tail protruding from her fleshy rear looked up at the newcomers with a pleading expression in her eyes. Another woman with huge breasts was bound in a metal contraption with a breast pump affixed to her engorged aureolas. The clear tubes revealed that actual milk was being drawn from her massive mammaries. Two more women looked out from hay strewn horse stalls, dressed in full leather pony girl tack and gear.

“Of course the one plus sized girl is the pig,” Grace commented, with a hint of disdain in her voice.

“Oh, on the contrary, this little piggy used to be anorexic. She wanted to be a model and was unhealthily thin.” He went over to her enclosure, opening a small box on a post and took out a chocolate bar. “This is so much better for her.” He reached for her, and she started to shy away, but all he had to do was narrow his eyes and she leaned forward and allowed him to pull the ballgag from her lips, letting it dangle around her neck.

“Please,” she whimpered softly.

He stuffed the chocolate bar into her mouth. “Eat up, piggy. We’ll make a prize winning hog out of you yet.” He kept pushing the chocolate into her mouth as she struggled to chew and swallow. Mr. Pembroke looked back at Grace. “The point is, they can be whatever you want them to be. 45822 here doesn’t have to be a pig. Whoever buys her could decide to make her anything they wanted. They could tattoo stripes on her and make her a zebra! What we showcase here are just starting points. We’ve broken them in and trained them in one, or usually more often several different paths, but once bought and paid for, anything could happen.” He finished force-feeding the tubby woman in the mud and without even looking at her popped the ballgag back between her now chocolate covered lips.

“I suppose it could,” Grace said.

“What would you do with 45822 here?” he asked.

“What?”

“First thing that comes to your mind. No thinking, just go off your gut.”

Grace stared at the filthy woman, her mouth agape, unable to answer.

“I’d make her eat me out,” Ellie said, having come up behind her wife. “Put that snout to good use, make her hunt for truffles, as it were.”

Mr. Pembroke rubbed his hands together. “Excellent choice. That can be arranged. Take one for a test drive?”

Ellie looked at the pig woman. “Perhaps not. She is quite filthy, and…” she looked down at her expensive dress.

“We do have facilities where you could shower and get cleaned up,” he offered.

“Perhaps later.”

“Of course.” He nodded politely.

“You really have to be more creative, dear,” Ellie whispered to Grace.

“She’s, not my type,” Grace said.

“Then what might your type be? No to the pet play, or no to 45822 specifically? If you have a problem with her size, you needn’t worry about being judged here. Embracing what you like is largely being honest about what you don’t like. This is a big purchase you’re considering, we want to make sure you get exactly what you want.”

“I’m not against the pet play, nor am I against a larger girl…”

“Perhaps someone who more resembles your lovely wife?”

Ellie’s head snapped to look at her wife’s reaction. Grace opened and closed her mouth, again unable to get the words out.

Mr. Pembroke chuckled softly, heading towards the stable stalls. “She’s far from a perfect match, but her figure is fairly close. Imagine her hair dyed a couple shades darker,” he said, opening the stall door and clipping reigns to the pony girl. “The heels add five inches, of course.” Sure enough, as the pony girl clopped obediently out onto the floor, the couple could see her feet were strapped into rigid leather boots keeping her on her toes and ending in a glossy hoof.

Ellie watched Grace study the slave before them. She resisted the urge to thrust her chest out to match the position the slave girl was in with her elbows bound behind her while here hands extended out in front of her encased in hoof gloves. An inch wide leather strap extended down from the breast harness framing her impressive rack and ran between her legs, pulled snugly between her labia. The friction with every cantering step she took must have been excruciating, but the thick black bit wedged between her teeth hid her grimace well.

The old man nudged her chin up with the tip of his cane and stepped back, presenting her for inspection.

“Who was she, before?” Grace asked as she slowly circled the ponygirl, taking in every inch of her, her powerful leg muscles standing out above the leather of her boots, framing the tail of fine hair dangling from a plug buried deep in her rectum that perfectly matched her own light brown hair, pulled into a tight, high ponytail. The girl stared straight ahead, even when her blinders didn’t prevent her from being able see her prospective buyer.

“Quite the athlete,” Mr. Pembroke said, pulling up her file on his tablet. “She very likely could have played soccer professionally, had we not got to her first.”

This comment garnered a momentary reaction from the otherwise well trained pony girl. It was only a moment, but her eyes flicked downwards before resuming her rigid gaze straight ahead as she was reminded of what her life could have been.

“Item number 38608, formerly named Shelly Anderson. She’s 24 years old, 125 lbs, 5’10”. She was engaged and planned to be married a mere month before her acquisition.”

The pony girl’s eyelids quivered, her eyes wet with tears she wouldn’t allow to fall.

Ellie stepped next to her, giving Grace a side-by-side comparison. “I played soccer in middle school.”

Grace shook her head, rubbing the bridge of her nose.

“Are you picturing me in the get up?” Ellie asked, her fingers tracing the leather straps that contained the girl’s muscular frame.

“No,” Grace said flatly.

“Are you sure?” she asked, hooking a finger in the front of her dress and tugging it lower, exposing more cleavage as she thrust her chest out.

Grace ignored her, turning her attention back to Mr. Pembroke. “Not my type,” she said again. “I could use something different.”

“Then we’ll keep looking,” he said, taking the reigns of 38608 and leading her back to her stall.

Ellie nudged Grace with her elbow. “You only want one of me.”

“And what do you want?” Mr. Pembroke asked as he latched the stall door again.

“I’d like to see what else you have,” she said.

“Then I can help. Right this way.”

The pet girls watched the curator and two prospective buyers walk out of the petting zoo.

Ahead, a bright pink box stood on a low platform. Unlike the glass that the earlier enclosures had, this one had a thin, clear plastic barrier between them and the girl inside.

She really did resemble a life-sized doll, like the bright pink bubble letters on her box proclaimed. “Baby Barbie.”

The girl in the box looked like she was still a teenager, but she was dressed much, much younger. Black Mary Jane shoes were strapped on her feet below frilly white ankle socks. A ruffly pink dress adorned the girl that was strapped to the back of box with thick plastic ties. The poofy dress didn’t come close to covering the ultra thick diaper she was wearing. A pink pacifier was strapped in her mouth as a gag, and a white baby’s bonnet was tied over her blonde hair that was bound in pink ribbons into childish pigtails. Next to her, also strapped to the back of the packaging, was an array of tools: a paddle, a baby bottle, an extra diaper and a enema bag, the dangling tube disappearing behind her suggestively.

“She ran away from home. She felt like she wasn’t being treated like an adult.”

“How old is she?”

“Eighteen. I don’t peddle children,” he said. He sounded genuinely offended for a second, but it quickly passed. “Although she’s rapidly pushing nineteen. Youth is always a good selling point, but filling her diapers only gets more humiliating the older she gets, don’t you think?”

The girl’s cheeks got even redder somehow.

“Do you miss your mommy?” Ellie asked, stepping up to the box, putting her hands on the thin plastic barrier between them.

The girl nodded as much as the thick plastic strap holding her neck to the back of the box would allow and whimpered into her dummy.

“A great choice for a couple who feel that paternal call, but don’t want actual children. A little girl you can nurture and take care of, but also punish and spank and abuse.”

“She is very cute,” Ellie said, looking back over her shoulder at Grace.

Grace nodded. “Excuse me, Mr. Pembroke. Is there a restroom?”

Ellie pointed on the box where it loudly proclaimed in more bright pink bubble letters “Really Wets.” “We could get you one of these?” she offered, pointing inside the box at the extra diaper.

Grace ignored her partner, looking at Mr. Pembroke who politely waited for Ellie to finish her teasing. “Yes of course. Right this way.”

“I’ll join you,” Ellie said, following them back towards the entrance.

He showed them towards a public restroom. “I’ll be out here when you’re finished.”

“We won’t be long.” Ellie followed Grace into the bathroom. It had been well cleaned, but it was clearly matched the outside warehouse aesthetic, a line of three sinks, two regular stalls and a larger handicapped stall, a drain in the floor.

“Ellie, this is all—”

Ellie grabbed Grace and pulled her close, putting her mouth to her ear. “If you think that these perverts don’t have a camera in the bathroom, you’re an idiot.”

Grace immediately started to look around, but Ellie grabbed the back of her head. “Don’t look for them,” she hissed in her ear.

“Sorry, I—”

“Stall, now.” Ellie grabbed her and pulled her into the closest stall. She was grateful that the toilet at least had a full toilet seat as she sat down and dragged Grace with her.

“What are you doing?” Grace asked, trying to get up but Ellie pulled her back onto her lap.

“Making them think we’re having sex.” She kicked her foot up against the door with a loud bang and moaned. “Now you need to get your shit together!” she whispered.

Grace looked bewildered. “We need to put a stop to this!”

Ellie put her hand over her mouth. “Keep your voice down,” she hissed.

Grace leaned back, pulling her lips from Ellie’s palm. “We need to call in back up, arrest that slimy old man and his goons, free these girls,” she said, straining to keep her voice from rising too loud as her emotions rose.

“Don’t forget why we’re here,” Ellie whispered back. “If we blow our cover now, we save what, twenty two girls. Compared to the hundreds, maybe thousands that have been kidnapped and enslaved. No, we stick to the plan until we can find out who actually runs this operation. They’ve got footage of most of their kidnappings, they’ve got tracking chips in all their girls, we find Wesley, and we can shut this down.”

“How do you just ignore the twenty girls here? That last one was just a kid!”

“She was 18,” Ellie clearly could tell that wasn’t a sound argument before the words left her mouth.

“And you believe that creep?”

“Fine, but it doesn’t matter. Greater good. You want to help one right now, pick one, we have the budget to buy one, and then we save the rest when we bring this down. But you need to at least pretend like you’re enjoying this!”

“Easy for you to say,” Grace hissed, conscious of her partner’s occasional banging on the stall walls and her periodically throwing out a feigned moan in between hushed whispers.

“Hey! Just because I’m actually attracted to girls doesn’t mean I’m getting all horned up seeing all these helpless women.”

“Sorry, that was unfair. I’m just frustrated.”

“Me too. Just remember why we’re here.”

“I will. I’ll, ugh, act like I’m enjoying this.”

“Good. Now start by acting like we’re having kinky lesbian sex in this toilet stall with me so that perverted old creep won’t get suspicious.”

“Fine. How do we do this?”

“Same way you do it when you’re having sex with a guy in a public restroom. Ignore how unsanitary everything is and pretend it’s not as uncomfortable as it is,” Ellie said. She leaned back her head and let out a loud, theatrical moan. She paused halfway through, looking at Grace’s blank face. “You’ve never had sex in a bathroom with a guy, either.”

“No, no I have not.” Grace looked down at the floor. It was not a thing she should have felt ashamed of, but somehow her partner’s disappointment made her feel like this was a life experience she had missed out on.

“It’s fine. Maybe you’re just quiet. Just mess your hair and make up a bit,” Ellie said, pulling her hair out of its ponytail and shaking it out before pulling it back in a slightly messier ponytail. She pushed Grace off of her lap and stood up, straightening her clothes out. Grace followed suit before the two left the stall. They freshened up at the sink in silence, occasionally glancing at each other out of the corners of their eyes.

Ellie put her hand on Grace’s as they finished up. “Shall we?”

“Yes dear,” Grace said, getting back into character. She gave an encouraging nod to her partner, and the two undercover FBI agents returned to their white slaver host.

“Are you ready to continue?” Mr. Pembroke asked.

“Show us what else you have,” Grace said.

“It would be my pleasure. Right this way.” He turned, limping back into the warehouse. “We’ve been through the petting zoo. Oh, I know precisely what to show you next.” He went through another set of curtains.

A single metal support pillar was in the center of the room, with a lone beam of light shining down at its base. The click of Mr. Pembroke’s cane on the hard floor echoed through the large space as he approached the solitary figure in front of the pole. There was no enclosure, no costume, no backdrop, no gimmicks. Just a woman bound to a pole, completely naked. Her long hair was tinged with gray, and her breasts sagged over the rope bound below them, holding her to the pole, but she was in good shape for a woman who looked to be in her fifties.

“Did you miss me?” Mr. Pembroke asked.

The woman didn’t make a noise into the tight white over the mouth gag bound over the lower half of her face. She stared at the slaver with tired eyes.

“Who is she?” Grace asked, looking around for a placard with a number like all the others, but there was nothing.

“This is 7023.”

Grace couldn’t stifle her gasp at such a comparatively low number, but Mr. Pembroke wasn’t paying any attention. He didn’t need his tablet for this one, every detail about her committed to memory.

“She’s, uh, older than your other merchandise,” Ellie said.

“I told you, we try to cater to everyone, and some would prefer older companionship. Whether you fetishize it or you just want the experience that only time on this earth can give you, age has its value too.” He reached out and took her breast in his aged fingers. “But 7023 is not for sale.”

“Not for sale?”

“No. I bring her along because I like to keep her around.”

“She’s yours?”

“In a way, they all are. But she’s special to me. She’s the one who broke my leg.” He tapped his bum leg with his cane.

“I’m sorry,” Ellie said. She put her hand on Grace’s shoulder, the smaller woman having gotten fidgety. “You used to kidnap, er, acquire them?”

“Yes, I was on the acquisitions team. One of the best. Until she put a bullet in my knee. She took me out of the field. But that’s alright, age would have eventually shuffled me to my role here anyways. My only regret is that I wasn’t the one to bring her in.”

There were no scars on her body, no visible evidence of torture. The two women could only imagine the years worth of psychological damage done to her. “At least you got her though,” Ellie said.

“Yes. We’ve grown old together, haven’t we, detective?” He cupped her gagged cheeks between his long fingers, forcing her to look at him.

“She was a detective?” Grace asked. Ellie could feel Grace’s heart pounding as she kept her hand on her shoulder.

“Yes, once upon a time. She was investigating Wesley. She got pretty close, too.”

“How close?” Ellie asked.

He smiled, and pulled her gag down around her neck. She spit a wad of soaked cloth on the floor at her feet. “Close enough to shoot you. I should have aimed for your heart.”

“I thought you said I didn’t have one.”

Grace moved first. She’d been keyed up since they first entered the room, and despite her promise to act like she was enjoying this, everything was off. She lunged for the old man, going for his bum leg. She went for a sweeping kick, but he had anticipated the attack. He rocked back swiftly onto his good leg and swung with his cane, striking her across the face with surprising force, sending her spinning to the ground.

“Grace!” Ellie was right behind her, and she caught the cane, trying to wrestle it from him, but he hung on, getting dragged around by the younger, stronger woman.

“Kill him!” the bound woman started screaming, unsure of what was happening, but for a moment she saw hope that her torment might end.

“Grace! Run! Get backup!” Ellie shouted, pushing the old man against the pole, right next to his prized captive.

He smiled. “So you are law enforcement. Who sent you?”

Ellie considered announcing that she was FBI, but she kept her mouth shut, remembering the large man that had taken their phones and frisked them when they arrived, and the countless other personnel likely required to move all the cages and displays, not to mention the number of helpless women to keep in line. Even if she did take out the old man, she was still not confident that they were going to secure an arrest.

“Kill him! Don’t make the same mistake I did!” The woman was still screaming her head off, her eyes wild.

Grace got up, hesitating for a second, torn between helping her partner and running to try and get a phone to call in back up. Ellie looked like she had it in under control, and she took off for the door.

“I’m not going to kill you, as much as I might want to. You’re going to pay for all your crimes,” Ellie said, adjusting her grip on the cane and pushing it up against his throat.

Wesley Pembroke, notorious white slaver and the owner of the largest company to kidnap and sell women, smiled. He clicked a hidden button on his cane, sending a jolt of electricity through the tip, right where Ellie had just put her hand.

She cried out, staggering back as he followed up with a strong push.

“No!” The original detective who had failed to stop him shouted as he tackled Ellie, bringing her to the ground. She was still reeling from the shock, and as he landed on her chest, knocking the wind out of her, she realized that under his dapper suit, he was still quite fit. Just like the old curator routine had been an act, so too had the frail old man disguise.

“Oh, how’ve I’ve missed this.” He grabbed her left hand and yanked it to her side before she should react, and pinned it under his knee. He tried on her right, but she fought him, pushing him back. “I may have lost a step, but like any problem with old age, there are drugs to help with that.” He fished into his pocket and pulled out a handkerchief and a small, unlabeled amber bottle. “Chloroform,” he explained to the struggling agent under him. “I never used the stuff myself when I was a hunter, but perhaps if I hadn’t been to proud to not try and do everything by hand, I might have taken you down,” he said, grinning up over his shoulder at 7023.

“Get up! Come on, you can take him!” she roared, spittle reigning down from her mouth on them as she screamed, struggling against the ropes that bound her for the first time in years.

Ellie swiped at the bottle, trying to knock it out of his hands, but he pulled back just out of her reach. He locked eyes with her as he slowly, deliberately uncapped the bottle and poured the liquid onto the white cloth. “I have used it since, of course. My chemists designed and manufacture it themselves. I can assure you, it’s quite potent.”

“Nnn. You won’t get away with this!” she gasped, trying to push his hands away as they descended over her face with the cloth. She got a whiff of the chemical; it smelled sweet, like nectar.

“I’ve been getting away with this for forty years. I may be getting up there in years, but I’m not ready to retire just yet.” He grabbed her free wrist with his left hand and pinned it over her head. She couldn’t stop him from forcing the cloth over her mouth and nose. She threw her head to side to side, but she couldn’t shake the sweet smelling handkerchief. She held her breath; she just had to hold out long enough for Grace to get out and call for backup. The FBI would rush in, arrest these monsters and save her and all the other kidnapped girls.

“You’re a fighter,” he said as she kept trying to toss her head back and forth. “Good. I like it when they fight.”

Ellie stopped struggling. Her lungs burned, and she couldn’t afford to keep using oxygen fighting a fight she was never going to win. She just focused on holding her breath, staring up at the man she’d vowed to bring down.

“I do so wish we’d gotten to finish the tour. But you and your wife will have plenty of time to see all of the things I have on offer. She is your wife, right? It doesn’t matter. I’ll get all of your secrets, in due time. Oh, speaking of.” He looked up, and Ellie followed his gaze.

“Grramph!” she cried out, sucking in a big lungful of the soporific fumes as she did so. Immediately her vision blurred, the large man carrying a struggling Grace over his shoulder swam and distorted.

“Emmmphiie!” came Grace’s muffled response.

In the background, 7023 continued to scream. She wasn’t even forming words anymore. Her potential rescuers had given her hope, only for that hope to be so quickly dashed. One was already bound and gagged, duct tape wrapped tightly around her wrists and ankles and mouth, and the other was mere moments away from losing the battle with her need to breath, and when that battle was inevitably lost, it would be over.

“Bring her in,” Wesley said. His crony carried Grace over, laying her on the floor next to him and Ellie. “Fresh introductions are in order. I, as I’m sure you’ve guessed by now, am Wesley. The Wesley. And you—” he released Ellie’s arm to point at Grace. Ellie tried to lift her arm up, but she was already too weak, and it flopped back down on the ground. “—are 52374.”

“Nmmmpph!” Grace screamed.

“And that makes you—” he smiled down at Ellie, waiting for her sleepy eyes to focus on his face. “—52375.”

“Mmmph…” she moaned softly, and then her eyes closed. He held the cloth over her face a moment longer. His assistant held out a hand, and Wesley used his help to climb back to his feet.”

“You— you— you—“ 7023 was stammering, unable to finish her train of thought.

“I think you mean to say, ‘you’ve still got it’.” He kissed her suddenly, plunging his tongue into her stunned mouth. She bit down, hard, tasting blood, but he didn’t care. He pulled back, laughing. “I love my job,” he said, pulling the cloth up from around her neck and he retied it even tighter as a cleave gag before she started screaming again. “Get everything packed up,” he told his assistant. “Make sure these two are secure, but no extras. I have special plans for our newest acquisitions.”

The goon handed Wesley his cane, and the old man limped off, whistling merrily. Grace watched helplessly as he disappeared through the curtain before she was again picked up, ready to be packed up and taken to her new life.