The television flickered into life. On the screen was a frightened blond woman. She was dressed in a short, flowered frock. Her long hair was drawn behind her head. It was Justine. She was standing in front of a blue canvas backdrop. Her wide open, attentive eyes were on someone behind and to the left of the camera.
“I thought that you might like to see a little preview of my whores before you select one for the night, Mr. President,” Stoner told the huge black man. “These videos were made shortly after their capture and were sent over the internet for the benefit of potential bidders for their flesh. They’re quite humorous.”
Stoner clicked the remote, and the young woman on the screen came to life. She looked nervously around her. She seemed dazed, uncertain. A man’s voice spoke in hal
