Kingdom of Slaves

No part of this book may be reproduced in any form without prior written permission from the publisher. For information contact: Pink Flamingo Publications P.O. Box 632 Richland, MI 49083 USA Prologue There were sixty links in the chain. Kim had counted them several times, following them back until the last link was swallowed into the concrete floor. The other end of the chain was padlocked to a shackle around her ankle. Each link was an inch of freedom. She could reach the seatless toilet when she needed it, the bare mattress she slept on, and the slot in the wall where food appeared twice a day. A ten-foot circle was her world. Overhead, a bare bulb burned constantly, and two video cameras watched her every move. She wasn’t alone. Boredom and fear were constant companions. She knew the isolation was meant to break her. As a reporter, she had heard enough of brainwashing techniques to know loneliness and uncertainty are potent weapons against the will. Knowing this did nothing to lessen its effect upon her. There was a spigot in the corner, which she used for drinking, and washing. She bathed often, fearing that a lack of cleanliness was the first sign of surrender, and she was determined not to give in to despair. The food was a monotonous gruel, which always left her hungry. It came on a tin plate without a spoon. The first day she only picked at it. The second day she ate it all. The third day she licked the plate, not caring if the cameras overhead saw her lapping like an animal. At first she had calmed herself with thoughts of the story she would write after she escaped. “Domain, Coterie of Kink”, the headline would read. Later she amended the headline to say “My Vacation in Hell”. It was impossible to know how long she had been there, but she estimated three days had passed when she heard footsteps in the hall. Cautiously, she approached the door to the limit of her chain and peeked through the tiny, barred window into the hall. Three men went by, striding purposefully, wearing the brown uniforms of guards. She heard a key rattling in a lock, and a female voice whimpering softly. The men returned, leading a naked girl on a leash. Her hands were bound behind her and cinched up high between her shoulder blades with a strap connected to her collar. One man held the leash. A second held one of the girl’s elbows and propelled her along. The third man walked behind with a leather strap. When the girl balked, he would strike her unprotected rear with the strap to urge her along. As they passed by, the girl turned her head and looked into Kim’s cell, then the strap connected again, making the girl face front and step smart. The guards made crude jokes as they marched her down the hall. A door slammed. The screaming went on for days. From time to time there would be a pause in the screaming and Kim would hear other things, the creak and clank of some dreadful machinery, barked demands and whimpered capitulations, wet rhythmic sounds that went on and on. Then the screams would start again. Kim heard it all. Putting her hands over her ears could not shut out the sound, so she gave up. She kept remembering the brief glance she had of the beautiful, tear streaked face and the horror in those eyes. I won’t be able to sleep, she thought, then chastised herself for her selfishness. A girl was being tortured in that room. She had no right to complain about noise. She did sleep, and woke to more screams when the food arrived. She had never felt so alone, vulnerable, and naked. There are many ways to be naked, she reflected bitterly. Being naked in the bath is a comfortable thing. Being naked with a lover is sensual. Being naked with a doctor is clinical. Now she was naked for a new reason. Clothing is an armor protecting us from the eyes and hands of others. A naked woman knew no privacy and kept no secrets. She had no shield against the whip. Kim shivered under the camera’s unblinking gaze. She heard steps again in the hallway, the men passed by and returned with another girl. This time Kim couldn’t see her face. She was slung over a guard’s shoulder like a grain sack. Her bound hands dangled over his legs. Her bound legs were wrapped inside his right arm. His left hand was busily burrowing into her loins. Kim ate seven meals before the screaming stopped. In the silence that followed, she heard footsteps. This time she knew that they were coming for her.