sex slavery

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Biyankavitch #8

My first lesson in poisons came from Desire. She was only a few years older than the other kids and I that were held in captivity by Captain, yet she already knew so much. Her eyes, when she spoke about the different types of poisons that existed on earth, twinkled. You could tell that there was passion in her about the subject. You could also tell that I was her target for the month-long course. I was skilled with firearms already. It was easy for me to tell you what handgun you were loading by just listening to it. My nose was also trained to sniff out and differentiate between diverse gunpowder smells. But Captain wanted me to learn the use of poisons for murder. Where to get them, how to make them, how to use them. And Desire was my teacher. “Arsenic,” she had almost whispered as she kicked…

Dugo #7

Church was uncomfortable. Dugo had issues with organized religion and with God altogether. Her beef began a couple of years after her introduction into the world of sex slavery. She had spent nights in endless prayers, for God to come rescue her, but what she got was excruciating silence and darker nights. Her flickering faith fizzled out when her maman, the woman who ran the brothel in which she was held, took her to church on a cold Christmas morning. At that point, she had taken a liking to Dugo and allowed her the privilege of living with her and servicing choice clients. Still Dugo remained a slave, and even the visit to the church was without her consent. She would have found herself flogged and starved if she had refused. The Mass that morning had been torturous. Dugo picked out a few faces that frequented the brothel, including the…

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