Touched By A Marine (Book 1)

Chapter Two: High Class

Present Day...

The life of a sex slave is a dangerous game of cat and mouse. Rich and intelligent men come to me for one thing and one thing only and that is for me to make their sexual fantasy’s come true, when their wives or girlfriends back at home aren’t cut out for that sort of fetish. Sure they have their fancy friends and nice houses. And their calendars are full of social events and shopping dates to make them feel like their actually during something with their lives. But eventually, they stop paying attention to their men. They get lonely. And they come looking for someone who makes them feel appreciated again. And believe me; they take that very, very seriously.

Look at the men around you. No. Not the type of men who throw themselves at you. You want the ones who button themselves up. Those are the men who secretly crave seduction. They are beautiful aren’t they? Now, there are three types of rules that each of our clients must uphold every time they acquire our services. The first rule is, no hitting. Second, any man who commitments an act of violence toward us is hereby banned from the club and dealt with by the security guards who protect us. And thirdly, no man is ever allowed to fall in love with us. We are strictly hired for pleasure and to fulfill any sexual fantasy that our clients might have.

But tonight would be different.

I sat in my room on the top floor were only the most exclusive slaves could ever hope to achieve greater success in the bedroom and bring in lots of money. My reputation was in the hundreds with a clientele list made up of wealthy investors, stock brokers, senators and even some famous celebrities. My services included anywhere between dancing, being somebody’s arm candy, or a date for a Friday night. And that’s just for formal occasions. Now sex with clients is always our top priority. Depending on what they wish to do is entirely up to them. As long as they follow the rules then everybody gets what they wish for. Their happy, I’m happy and it’s as simple as that.

We lived and ate in a building complex located in the heart of downtown New York in the upper east side of Manhattan. The building housed thirteen of us along with security guards, a cleaning crew and a small hospital staff who took care of us in case we got badly hurt. Each room was heavily monitored with a camera whereas outside each door stood our own security guard who saw us safely to and from our client’s choice of location. Noah, my security guard, was a man who watched over me like a hawk. On the inside, the man was a fighter. I never went anywhere without him following a few steps behind me.

Noah had been assigned to me from the very beginning. He worked as a bouncer in at strip joint before applying to work for us. He was unmarried had no children but treated me with the up most respect and care. I couldn’t have asked for a better security guard. Standing at just less than 6'1 the man had wavy dark brown hair and olive green eyes that seemed to shimmer in the sunlight. Every day he wore the same outfit consisted of black jeans, a pair of leather shitkickers and a black T-shirt that clung to his muscular body. When it was time for me to go, he would knock on the door and stick his head in, announcing that it was time.

I stood in my closet next to the large mirror that hung on the far wall. My clothes were fashionable yet stylish. Going clothes shopping wasn’t an issue for me because I never had to go. All of our clothes and food were bought and paid for by Vladimir’s right hand man named Mirko. He was in charge of maintaining head of security and would often sometimes drive us to our appointments if need be upon the clients request. I’d met the man just once when he marked me in the upper right hand corner of my shoulder. He had used a flaming red hot poker to use as a stamp so the clients knew who I belonged too. And the stamp was in the shape of a fleur-de-lis with my number down at the bottom.