The Flesh Cartel, Season 1: Damnation by Rachel Haimowitz

Author:Rachel Haimowitz
Language: eng
Format: epub
Tags: erotica, drama, kidnapping, contemporary, dark, slavery, abuse, intense, gritty, human trafficking
Publisher: Riptide Publishing

To everyone who stood up for the right to decide what they can and cannot read.

The auction in New York had been a bust. Complete waste of a plane ticket. The promising thug he’d gone for had turned out to be a blubbering mess, big in body and small in spirit. His client had tasked him with finding and training a very particular new pet, and Nikolai wasn’t going to disappoint him with a sorry slave that fit those requirements in appearance only.

Back to the drawing board.

And by the drawing board, he meant the national auction listings. Hours upon hours sifting through photos of snotty-nosed slaves, watching videos of them being beaten and fucked and fucked and beaten, and sometimes both at once. Choose another processing facility. Go through the motions again.

Nothing promising in Washington. San Jose then. The Madame there had always run a classy house, and their next auction was less than a week out. Perfect, because he was starting to feel pressed for time. He hadn’t trained an unbroken slave in years; he couldn’t predict how long it might take before he could turn over a (reasonably) safe product in that condition. Quite possibly more than the usual three to four months.

And his client was not a patient man.

Sixteen new recruits this month: seven women he dismissed immediately as not germane to his needs, and nine men. A bit of a slow take for a region as large as Madame’s, but it spoke to the selective standards she enforced with her stock.

And looking at the photo thumbnails, it showed. Lovely, lovely, gorgeous, stunning, and then—a man with a bruised face, glaring murder at the camera, like a mugshot. He clicked on the photo, opening the man’s bio page. Twenty-nine. Pro MMA fighter—perfect! He’d know how to take a beating then. Know how to keep getting back up over and over and over again, long past the point of stupidity. Full of endurance, too.

He kept reading, daring to let himself hope. Parents dead—par for the course. One sibling, a younger brother, also procured this week. Interesting.

He clicked through to the extended photoset. More glaring pictures. Lean, tanned, muscular, covered in welts and bruises. Big uncut cock. Hair so dark it was almost black, and striking blue eyes so full of fury Nikolai felt a chill right through the screen.

But it all came down to the videos. He couldn’t tolerate training a slave who suffered badly, who made annoying noises. And this slave, especially, needed to have a bit of fight. Couldn’t cry at the drop of a hat. Couldn’t bend too easily. Couldn’t break at all.

And yet still had to be trainable. Controllable, somehow. A fine, fine balance, that. No wonder his client had come to him; he didn’t know another trainer in the Western world who could manage it.

Two videos—Madame’s standard. One was always exactly six minutes long. The other varied from recruit to recruit—sometimes barely two minutes, a rare few ten or more. This one’s was just over eight-and-a-half.

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