Trafficked Love Ch. 17 - Sex Stories

Trafficked Love Ch. 17

... could be taken as disrespect. Disobedience.” Her jaw clenched. “A fire that, if proven too wild, will be extinguished.” Her eyes shot up at him, locking his gaze. She wasn’t sure if his remark was a challenge, a bait, or a threat. No matter what it was, she didn’t like it, and it triggered the cold, icy stare she gave him earlier. Bishop smirked, the light catching a silver tooth that peaked from between his lips. “You’re lucky,” he remarked, leaning back and relaxing, raising one leg to rest his ankle on his other knee. “You’re lucky I find you as intriguing as I do.” Angel lowered her gaze to watch his body movements. “Even as pig headed as you are, I know what it takes to tame you.” Again her jaw clenched. “I could break you. I could make you squirm and cry and beg. I could make you more subservient than a mongrel dog. I could break that stubbornness, harness that wild fire, tame that beast. I could. I could break you into nothing.” He raised his hand, as if wiping it across some invisible wall before them. “A nothing that every girl should know. A nothing that would make you forget your stubborn ways. Extinguish who you are.” Angel’s stare intensified. Bishop explained this in a way that made it seem like it should be something magical, mystifying. But the fact was, he wanted to break her. He wanted to conquer her. She was a challenge to him, and his only interest was to win. To come out on top, like he always has. Bishop looked at her, a smirk again on his lips, “why ...

... so quiet? You were eager to state your opinion when your pimp was around. You afraid, girl? Now that he’s not here to protect you, you’ve gone quiet as the grave.” Again with the metaphorical ‘breaking’ of her. Angel looked Bishop dead in the eyes, her own were cold, hard, and warning. “Give it your best shot.” +-+-+ Because of the amount of money he had put into this culture, Dante had received a text message from an unknown number. All it had said was “The Annual” followed by an address that had led him to a large warehouse. He had then been met by a handful of big, muscular guards, each carrying at least an Uzi, who instructed him where to go. Now, just inside the doors, Dante realized exactly what “the annual” was. It was a party, a gathering, celebrating the underground culture of girls, drugs, and weapons. And he was surrounded by it. The sight was sickening, but Dante had been immersed in this for so long, he was almost immune to it. Almost. The hair on the back of his neck still stood on edge, as he acknowledged that this “annual” was a very dangerous situation for an undercover police officer to be in. He stood there, just inside the doorway, taking it all in. The 360 degree stage, where multiple girls were currently dancing and spinning around poles, the smaller stage, off to one side where naked girls were lined up, chained at the neck, and men were raising their hands, bidding on them to buy for service, the multiple bars, where men and scandalously dressed women ...