Sold

Prolouge

                                                                                        ☆Angela☆

      Running from Masters and Mistresses is the worst thing you could ever do as a slave in the sex-slave industry. I mean we're being sold off to random strangers to be meaningful and pertain to the Dominants wishes, but some of us have made a mistake and want out. I have been in the SS system for approximately three years now and I want out. I thought I wanted this. To serve someone as they wish, let them do whatever they want with you, to be alive for them. I haven't found or  stuck with a dominant in years. All of them are so controlling and don't treat me how slaves are supposed to be treated. I feel like I'm being help captive and I can't abide by this anymore. My name is Angela Simmons and I want out of this company. I finish of my letter by signing my name at the bottom. Hopefully sending a letter to the company will help them understand that I don't wish to be here anymore, but it probably won't. After you've stepped foot into the company there is no going back. 

    The groaning sounds of my phone bring me back from my thoughts, answering it I notice it's Julio. He is the co-owner of the company and oddly enough everyone is scared of him, yet he's like the least intimidating person you'll ever meet. Julio's job is to make sure everyone is safe, whether it be masters or slaves; he also sets up meetings and contracts for the slaves. Ending the call I begin packing the things I have. I don't have much, currently I'm living in an abandoned shelter home. I ran away from my last Master, and Julio tracked me down. Thankfully I didn't have to be sent back to my previous  Master; he was so controlling, my body shivers as small flashbacks roll through my mind. 

     My letter to the company wasn't enough to ensure my out and now I'm being shipped off to some Russian Mistress. To another fucking country!!! You see it doesn't matter where you are from or who you're with. If you get called or requested then you are to be shipped off, unless you sign a contract and are collared by the person. Then you are dedicated to that person and that person only, kind of like a marriage. Well I guess not since so many marriages are broken from cheating bloaks. After packing all my things in a small backpack I walk over to Julio's office. It's not too far from where I am staying at. 

    Invited in by his guards I take a seat in the red chair stationed in front of his old plywood desk. He looked tense and angry, searching his desk I find the letter I sent him about a week ago.

 "M-my letter," I say. 

"You bet," he replies with anger. 

After I get a little information about where I'm staying I get lectured on how I need to be a good girl, because so far in this company I'm now known as the American Brat. 

"AMERICAN BRAT!!!" I jump yelling, not even caring that the chair is now laying limp on the ground. 

"Excuse you," he says in a harsh tone. 

I realize what I just did, but I'm too angry to care. I just got called a brat. All these fucking Masters think they can rule the place, call us names? Fucking idiots I'm not brat! 

"SIT." 

I immediately oblige, being scared that I will have to go back to the abandoned shelter. The only reason I'm still staying in this is because, one they won't let me out,  and two I get food and free housing.  

"You will NOT behave like that in front of me again, do I make that clear?" Julio snapped. 

"Make me," I mumble, immediately regretting it. 

Julio jumps to my side pulling me back by my hair to look at his distorted face, " I'm so glad you're going to another country, because I don't ever want to see your face again. You little brat. I sure hope Miss Lukyanova puts some sense into that obnoxious brain of yous." 

Letting go of my hair, he pushes my head forward slapping the side of my face. Did he just? Did Julio just.. Julio has NEVER slapped any of the slaves before. Not even me.. I guess I just pushed his buttons a little too much. Am I really a brat?...  Beginning to stand up he warns me with a glare. I decide to try and stay calm, but instead of doing so I throw my bag at him and sneer, "YOU CANT FUCKING TREAT ME LIKE THAT." 

Bad choice Angela, bad choice.