Skin Diamond Day One Slave Ransom

He grabs Skin Diamond off the street like a payday. The spoiled bartender had no idea her silk blouse and tight skirt were already a ticket. Blindfolded, bound at wrist and ankle, she wakes inside a concrete room that smells of iron and leather. Thick rope cinches her arms behind the chair, ankles lashed to the cold legs, dress shoved up past her hips. A black man leans over her, eyes flat. She twists. Nothing gives. He runs a gloved hand down her throat, then drops lower, parting her thighs to inspect what he has paid for. She spits at him. He slaps her once, hard, then rolls her onto her stomach across a padded bench. Rope tightens around her waist, her knees pressed apart. A slick finger tests her, first the front, then circles her tighter hole until she gasps. He works her open with gloved patience, sliding deeper each time her muscles fight him. Sweat beads on her back. The rope bites. By the time he’s knuckle-deep inside her ass, the fear has changed shape. Her breath breaks in short, raw sounds. He does not speak. He just keeps pushing, until ransom or no ransom, she understands her body no longer belongs to her.