Black Iris

His sabbatical

They dragged us through what seemed to be an old factory, down stairs and across a rickety platform suspended above the grungy factory floor. It was a narrow space, presumably not the main building. My suspicions grew as we walked along the platform and I could hear the distant sound of voices, laughter, and music.

And we could also hear footsteps, and quiet whimpers. As the noises grew, I grew restless. Suddenly, I twisted out of the man that was holding me's arm and leant over the edge of the platform, squinting down into the darkness to the factory floor below. There, I could make out a group of men, goons like the ones leading us, dragging lingerie-clad gaunt women. One looked up at me, and cried out, "Help!" But she was swiftly grabbed and kicked, letting out a yelp of pain.

The man I'd twisted away from gained his bearings again and grabbed me, snarling. "Mind your fucking business."

We reached a more stable platform, a built-in second floor, with rows of rooms and doors. They shoved Gwen into the first one and shut and locked the door. At that point, Jordan and I instinctively started struggling again.

"Agh!" I let out a cry as the man dragging me kneed me in the side, and shoved me against the nearby wall.

"Don't be a bitch," he growled.

As I was pressed against the wall, Jordan, who'd gone through a similar ordeal, was pushed into the next room. Once again, the door was locked.

Then, it was just me, and I was pushed along, past the next room and the next, to what seemed to be the final room along the corridor. Here, the chattering of voices was much louder, and if I were to guess, it sounded like rowdy men, coming from behind a roller door that I assumed went to the main factory floor.

I was shoved into the final room, the door slammed shut behind me.

"Get changed. And don't be difficult, or we'll put them on for you," Gareth yelled through the door. Then, I heard them walk away.

I turned, looking around the room. It was an old, deteriorated office, with a broken wheel chair, the frame of what might have once been a glass-top desk, and a stained brown couch. It was on said couch that I found what I was supposed to get changed into.

Cringing, I picked up the stringy lingerie, holding it out at arms length.

My brain was screaming at me, there is no fucking way you are wearing that.

But yet, I didn't have a choice. It was either I put it on, or a stranger did. And as much as I don't want to wear this, I didn't want the alternative.

So, tears in my eyes, I peeled off my court clothes that it felt like I had put on aeons ago, and pulled on the lingerie.

It was black and red, a lacy number that made me want to convulse. But at the very least, it had full coverage on the bottom.

The thought of wearing it in front of men, in front of Blake, still made my skin crawl.

As if on cue, I heard the distant murmur of voices, coming closer. Then, the unmistakeable timbre of Blake's voice. Immediately on edge, I readied myself for the door to open again. But it didn't. Instead, I heard the men shuffle into the room next door, the vacant one.

I crept closer, and crouched against the thin walls, trying to listen in. It wasn't very difficult to make out what was being said.

"What kind of business is this," I heard Blake say, his voice annoyed. "Packing the girls away to move them, all while you have paying customers on the floor?"

"It's just a precaution, Blake. No need to get up in arms."

"A precaution I don't understand."

"Are you kidding? You're all over the headlines," another voice, Gareth, said. "The fucking president probably knows about your case. With the shit Alto wrote, we're lucky we haven't been jumped already."