STRIP ME HOLY

Suck, Emilia!

EMILIA

Bangles. No—cuffs.

My mind scrambled to make sense of it all as I struggled against the cold restraints biting into my wrists. The metal clinked with every desperate jerk, as if mocking me, reminding me how useless my strength was here.

My head reeled as flashes of last night popped into my head in broken fragments.

The club.

The dance.

And now chains.

This couldn't be… I struggled to keep myself away for almost two years; how was this even possible?

"Lilith, the daughter of a saint…"

The voice was the same as I had heard before the world went black. Smooth, deliberate, laced with the kind of poison that didn't need to scream.

A blinding light snapped on, flooding my vision. My body jerked away instinctively as my eyes burned.

And now I realized where I was. In a place that looked like a cinema—rows of empty seats filled the hall. But I was no spectator, but the show. My arms were stretched wide, chained to the opposite sides of the walls. My once-beautiful hair hung in a tangled mess over my face as sweat clung to me like a second skin, chilling me to the bone.

And he was there. My only audience. A silhouette, tall and unyielding, his presence filling the space like smoke.

"I… I don't know who you are," I stammered, my voice cracking, "and I definitely don't want to. But I know for sure I'm not who you wanted." My body trembled slightly as my sweatpants stuck uncomfortably to my legs. At least I had changed into them before—God knows what worse humiliation I'd be facing now.

"Emilia Antonio," he said my name like a death sentence. "Daughter of the popular saint. And mother to, what was it? A w***e?"

I had no home training. And his words just pushed my limits.

"Don't you freaking dare," I retorted, my hands trembling violently as I yanked at the chains. God so help him, my tied hands were the only thing stopping me from battering his face.

It was one thing when I spat acid at my own parents. It was another to hear it come from a stranger's mouth.

The latter I couldn't tolerate.

"Feisty," he mused. "Leo likes them feisty."

Leo?

I didn't care who the hell Leo was. All I needed was to get out of here.

"So, little fox," he continued, his voice losing its earlier charm. "You thought the best way to get out of debt was to run from it? Or better still, to pretend it would disappear?"

My stomach dropped.

I had thought this might be one of Carlos’ tricks to break me, or some sort of pervert from the club. But this was worse. Much worse…

Now I was certain that I was in the den of one of the most feared mafia lords my father owed his life to.

"The person you're looking for is dead," I spat, feeling my throat tight. "And maybe if this might interest you, you could dig up his corpse, see if selling it covers your debt."

He said nothing. Just rose to his full height.

"On your knees," he ordered, stepping to the stage.

Every bit of me wanted to refuse. To scream. But my body betrayed me and gave in, crumbling to the floor as if the weight of his command had cost me my life if I dared disobey. And I didn't want to find out.

His hand came to my mouth. A soft slap, then two fingers pushing between my lips, as if weighing something. I gagged, tears stinging my eyes. I could already see myself through his eyes—a slut, bent and broken.

"Do you know what's better than digging up a corpse?" his words brushed past my ear.

I shook my head weakly, hoping that might ease him to stop. "No."

A sly smirk coiled on his lips as he whispered softly, "Having your father watch you get fucked."

I was still trying to get my head wrapped around his statement when he yanked one of my hands. The right. Guiding it towards him. The thickness of him against my hand made me gasp and my legs weak. It felt alive, monstrous, like an anaconda wrapping around its prey.

"Do you want to see?" he taunted.

Silence.

I guess that was my mistake, as he took it for a yes—a go-ahead signal.

Liquid dripped between my thighs, my own body betraying me worse than the chains did. My n*****s hardened, my sense of reasoning leaving me.

He dragged a chair forward, its movement shattering the silence. He settled into it with a slow, deliberate grace. He unbuckled his pants, revealing the monster fully.

"Emilia," he called softly, but my eyes were glued to him, horrified.

"Uhm…"

"Suck, Emilia!" he commanded.

My palms grew wet as my heartbeat tripled. Stripping had given me a bad reputation, sure. But this? This was different.

"Let me out of here!" I shouted, my voice echoing.

Just then the door burst open with rushed urgency.

"What the hell are you doing, Alberto?" a voice barked. "I thought you were to get her ready for the auction."

Auction.

The word clung to my brain like a tumor.

So now I was being sold out?

Alberto scoffed, adjusting himself. "Come on, I was just having a little fun."

"Don Leonardo would have cut your balls off for this," the newcomer snapped.

"Who knows," Alberto smirked, "I might have her."

"If you've got the money, try bidding your price," the third man shot back. "Remember, Don Marco wants her sold before he returns."

A laugh broke from me. So this was it. From a stripper to an auction meat.

The door opened again, and a group of nude women entered, their breasts strapped with belts, their panties split down the center.

"Mr. Leonardo is here," one said flatly as she unshackled my wrists.

"Pray he likes you."

"Or pray he doesn't," another added, causing a trail of laughter to follow.

And just like that, I was dragged from one cage into another.

From the stage of men's lust… to the stage of men's greed.