Truth or Dare (The Dominator 2)

I couldn’t tell this girl what my plans were. She had to think she was being sold to me. I had to get in and get out and then I’d reveal to her that she was not to be my wife or my slave, but that she would instead gain her freedom back under some very specific conditions that would protect her and protect me and my family from blowback. I had to play things carefully because I did not need to be alerting these scumbags to the fact that I was not likeminded. I didn’t know if anything here was being recorded or filmed so I had to play this game carefully.

She was on the edge of a king-sized bed, staring at her hands in her lap. Her beauty took my breath away for a second. She had the face of an angel, almost porcelain doll-like, straight shiny copper-toned hair with auburn highlights. It fell to just past her breast arranged over one shoulder and she was pretty tiny but looked toned and fit.

The short bald Spanish guy who Chen had left me with when he got an urgent call had offered to escort me to the room but I said I’d like to meet my bride-to-be for the first time alone and gave him a smirk. He’d smirked at me with a “By all means; I completely understand. She’s been waiting for you,” and had sent me ahead with a bellboy with plans to have another conversation later that evening or the following morning. The bellboy took my suitcase to the closet and closed the door and then I nodded at him as he shut the door behind himself. I locked it.

Felicia

I’d heard the door open and close and I knew it was the moment of truth. I had no expectations. I knew better than to try to anticipate what would be next. I only knew that I was to not only be owned by this man but was to become his wife, too. That suggested that there would be a certain degree of freedom because the man didn’t just want a slave in his bedroom but wanted the appearance of legitimacy and normalcy that having a wife suggested. I might be expected to have children by him. I’d heard he was American and that meant I’d might get off this continent. I’d get away from them, the ones who broke me, who took the person that I was and crushed her into dust.

It also meant an extreme amount of responsibility. To hit this level of elite meant that I was expected to be perfection, Kruna personified. I’d represent him to the world. I’d represent Kruna to him. I didn’t know if he was attractive, ugly, psychotic, abusive, or what sexual tastes he would have; all I knew was that I couldn’t screw up.

All of what he was and what my life would be would reveal itself over the coming days. I knew that being sold to become a wife was a level of elite that some women here aspired to, that most feared due to the level of responsibility, but that precious few actually got. It would be as close to normal as normal could get for us. I’d hit the slave girl jackpot for all intents and purposes. There had only been 6 in all of Kruna history, which dated back to the early 1970’s, that became wives, only 36 that had been sold. I would be the seventh wife, 37th slave sold.

I also knew what it did not mean. It did not mean life like it had resembled just over two years ago when I went to Thailand and bought myself trouble like I’d never imagined in my worst nightmares. The girl I was back then? The fun-loving fearless girl who loved to drive fast, loved loud music, partying, nightclubs, raves, mechanical bull-riding, playing ice hockey, and roller derby? The girl who wasn’t afraid to express her opinions and tell people where to go? She was gone. I’d shed that skin and become someone else because that was what needed to happen in order for me to survive.

Since I’d been here I’d seen girls survive and I’d seen some who did not. I’d also seen that one girl who’d left a few years earlier to become slave number 34 get returned when her Master died. She committed suicide three days after coming back. From her story I knew I had to try to get out. What she’d found on the other side probably wasn’t exactly bliss but compared to Kruna it had been for her. So much so that being brought back here was worse than death.

I aspired to achieve whatever might be on the other side, even if it might not be bliss. It was something to hold onto and so that’s what I’d worked at. I went on autopilot to do what needed to be done and I’d succeeded. I was about to face the best case scenario, marriage. But I wasn’t exactly jumping for joy because although I’d achieved my goal it didn’t mean I was lucky. I’d soon find out just how lucky or unlucky I was. It didn’t mean I’d be happy or free. And this only happened because Mr. Frost died. If he were still here I might not still be here. I might be dead by now. If he were still here he’d never have let me leave this place. He told me that daily. But fate was kind enough to take him from my life and now I was looking at Point C.

Succeeding in being sold also didn’t even mean I’d never ever see Kruna again, either, because I knew guests and partners who visited often brought their slaves with them. It just meant a different kind of prison from what I had right now and I didn’t know if it’d be better or if it’d be worse but I knew it was away from here and that was precisely what I had been working toward because that was the only thing I could do, the only hope I had.

I waited until my Master addressed me. It felt like it took a long time for that to happen. I wished I knew what role to play. Did I look up coquettishly? Did I give off a persona of innocence? I didn’t know what he wanted. He was standing in front of me but I knew better than to make eye contact before being permitted.

“Felicia,” he finally said. I looked up with what I hoped was a blank expression and saw him for the first time.

He was young. Under thirty. He was dressed in a light gray suit with a cream colored shirt and no tie. He had wavy blond hair, longish, almost to his collar, flopping over one eye. Bluish grey eyes, full lips, olive skin, and he looked tall from this angle. He was male model gorgeous and wore that suit well. Gorgeous didn’t matter in this world because gorgeous could also mean cruel, crazy, or disgusting. But beyond good-looking he looked angry. No, not angry, he looked pissed. Pissed right off.

My heart skipped a beat, worrying about how the anger would come at me. I knew from experience that it could be unleashed in a variety of ways and based on the tension he was emitting and based on what I knew from past experience: I should expect the unexpected. I kept my blank gaze on his face and waited for direction but he just stood there, staring at me, looking angry.

“Dario Ferrano. Nice to meet you,” he extended a hand, finally. I reached out so he could take my hand. He held it for a second, staring at me with something I read as disgust etched in his features. Was I a letdown? Would he reject me and request another? Please no.

“It’s very nice to meet you, Master. I’ve been waiting for today for a long time,” I answered and his grip tightened almost painfully. His eyes flashed with something scary. I swallowed back the wince I’d almost made.

For another beat there was nothing but intensity in the room so I tore my eyes away from looking at him and softly asked, “Is there something I can do for you, Sir?”

He crouched low and tipped my chin up with his index finger, “You can look at me when you speak to me for a start. Don’t be afraid to look at me.”

“Yes, Master.”

He straightened back up to standing, flexing his jaw muscles for a moment, and then his eyes traveled the perimeter of the room for a minute. Then he said, “Let me look at you. Up.”

I stood up.

“Twirl slowly,” he commanded.

I obeyed.

“Your hair,” he said, “That’s not natural?”

“No Sir. The color is but it’s not straight. It was straightened this morning.”

“I’d prefer you not straighten it.”

“Yes, Sir.”

He was quiet for a minute, assessing me.

“Have you had dinner?”