Page 50 of Frat Row
A woman who slept on the bunk above me, Chelsea, I think, hops down inches from me and whispers, “I don’t know how much more my body can take.”
I look at her with pity and a sense of helplessness. “What other choice do we have?” I whisper back.
“No fucking talking.” Rio must have seen us and rushes over, slapping Chelsea across the face. I hear the sting echo in the air and wince.
She quickly clutches that side of her face with both hands, crying out.
My body goes rigid as I quickly get into the line forming at the door to the hallway.
Trembling while standing in line, all I can think about is what the red room would be like with Rio.
Fucking pigs. All of them. The internal rage churning in my stomach grows each day I’m in this place and with these people. I have stopped questioning how they could do something like this and have concluded that they are just pure evil.
The door opens after the code is entered, and we are led to the bathrooms again to relieve ourselves and take showers within the allotted fifteen minutes.
I scrub my body aggressively, wanting to get the feeling of dirtiness off me.
When I’m done with my shower, I move toward the line forming to take us to the atrocities that await us today.
We are given another bottle of water and a piece of bread while we walk to a room we have never been to. I scarf everything down in minutes.
Rio smirks over at us while we wait to be escorted into the room. He holds out his hand. “Undress and hand me your gowns before entering.”
We listen to and follow his instructions without giving him any pushback.
As we walk into the room, I take in the black walls and the concrete floors with crimson stains. It’s dark, and I can only see a little bit in front of me.
My stomach almost heaves up the little I have in it, knowing those stains are old blood from other women before me.
We are shoved toward one of the walls, forced to stand side by side as Will stalks forward, coming into view.
“When you enter a room, how should you be positioned, slaves?” he sneers.
Automatically, we all kneel with our heads down, looking at the ground.
“If you enter one of my rooms again, doing anything but kneeling like this with your head down, you will be severely punished. I will beat this into you until it becomes as natural as breathing,” he growls.
He flips on the lights that shine on the back side of the room. I dare not look up or sneak a glance, but my stomach flips with anticipation.
“Today is day three of sex slave training. Today’s lesson is about flogging.” I can hear the smile in his voice. “You each will be assigned a guard to help me with your training today; they have volunteered.” The guards snicker as he talks.
My stomach flips; they are all sadists, and I know they more than jumped at this opportunity.
My head is pounding with stress because I already know Rio will be my guard. He wouldn’t miss an opportunity to inflict pain on me of any kind. For some reason, he has zeroed in on me.
My hands begin to sweat with anticipation; I rub them on my thighs. Who hasn’t dabbled in a little BDSM with a boyfriend or at least heard of the term flogging? A memory barrels through my mind of me buying a beginner kit with my high school boyfriend, thinking it would be fun and add a little spice to our relationship. The flogger that was in the kit was small and harmless.
I am sure it is vastly different here, more extreme. A frown forms on my face, thinking of the potential possibilities.
“Look up, slaves,” Will instructs, snapping his fingers.
Our heads pop up in unison. My head instinctively rears backward, and I have to prevent myself from shifting my body backward to try to get as far away as possible from the sight in front of me.
Wooden pillories are lined up in a row against the other wall, all of them stained with blood. Old blood, new blood, all of it seeped into the wood.
One of the women starts heaving. She vomits everything that was in her stomach directly in front of her, narrowly missing her knees and feet.
Will turns a shade of red I have not seen from him before from pure anger.
