Page 23 of Volatile Waters

Mrs. Thompson’s chest started to heave with nerves. “No.”

“Oh, yes.” I tapped the play button on my phone. “See?”

I had witnessed much shame by that point in my life. I had caused much shame, too. My slaves were always trying to redeem themselves after being lost in forced sexual acts. But I had never witnessed a loss of fervor from a woman’s soul. That is what happened that mournful morning. Mrs. Thompson lost all her fight as this certain video played.

With a pillowcase over my head, I was naked, on my back, on the hotel bed. She was also bare, face not shielded like mine, with her chest laying on top of mine as I fucked her. But she and I weren’t the only ones moaning with pleasure. Adrian, also concealed, was fucking her mouth from over my shoulder. With a pillowcase over his head, Kirill’s bent legs were on each side of my thighs so he could properly fuck her in the ass. He had requested that hole since it was the tightest of a woman who was far too old for his true needs.

In the video, from under her used body, I asked, “Everyone ready? All at the same time.”

Soil. A lesson my father had taught me well.

As trainers, we were experts at climaxes, others and our own, so we all came at the same time, filling every open orifice Mrs. Thompson had to offer.

Now, lying next to me on the same mattress, tears streamed down her face. “Why?”

Ignoring her, I pointed to the phone. “Look how my sperm is leaking from you like that.” We never used condoms when training slaves—most buyers wanted their new pets to perform without and would refuse the sensation-killing material—so had not provided that respect to Mrs. Thompson either. Her eyes closed as if she were resisting the urge to vomit, seeing all our seminal fluids leaking from the available holes we had used and abused. “I wonder if that is how your husband will react.”

She was barely audible. “What do you want, Yury?”

I chuckled, referring back to the video. “I think we got it, no?”

As if all her energy had been zapped, she got out from under the sheet and stood. Reaching for her trench coat, she said, “I see now that you are a true manipulator and have a purpose behind all your actions.” She slipped her limp arms into the coat. “I have learned my lesson well.” Buttoning it, she stared at me. “So, I will ask again. What is it you want?”

I sat up, angry that her words were having any effect on me. “I’m supposed to double-check properties owned by your husband but can’t find them.”

Her whole body drooped as she pointed to my cellphone. “You put me through that for an address I would’ve given you freely in trade for knowledge to save my marriage? One you have now ruined?”

My mouth opened, but I couldn’t force more angry words because anger was slipping from my grasp. My emotions had become as erratic as my horrible reasoning for my horrid actions. I felt like I had disappointed a mother I only wanted to please.

With shame I was unfamiliar with, I said, “I won’t show him the video. I… will delete it.”

She exhaled, but there was no relief in the released breath. “So young, so cruel, and so utterly stupid.” Mrs. Thompson shook her head, almost laughing at me, yet there was no comedy in her tone, only sadness and loneliness that would haunt her for the rest of her days. “I am simply a woman wanting to be loved by her man. I felt I wasn’t good enough to hold on to the love he once had for me, so I was willing to do whatever it took to be worthy of his affection.” She wiped at tears with exhaustion that was heart-wrenching to witness. “Now, I am tainted, never to be worthy of him again.” She inhaled the most labored breath. “Your family stole my husband with an expertly trained slave. Then your family killed my son for retribution for the child that slave bore. Now, the same family threatens that same son I have graciously raised, one not truly mine by all opinions but my own.” Slowly, she faced the closed door. “I am paying for every sin committed by staying silent.” Her bare feet took tired steps forward. “Show my husband the video, Yury. It doesn’t matter now.” Her hand on the doorknob, she exclaimed, “There is no saving the damned with you and your kind involved. We will all burn in hell with you.” She opened the door. “Our other home is under my maiden name.”

Completely unaware she was informing me of where her husband and son were hiding, she told me the address I needed and left me to sit in a deafening silence.