Enslaved to Fulfill His Desires

Elaine kept her gaze lowered as she was dragged forward like cattle, a coarse rope digging into the fragile skin of her wrists. Her feet, bruised and bare, stumbled over the jagged stones that lined the slave auction path. Each step burned. Each breath she took carried the thick scent of sweat, dust, and hopelessness. Around her, murmurs buzzed like flies. Whispers. Hushed judgments. Pity from a few, amusement from others. She didn’t look up to meet their eyes—she had already seen enough. When she dared to lift her chin, just slightly, she caught a glimpse of the market crowd. Rows of unfamiliar faces stared back, most of them detached, a few curious. No one kind. No one warm. She was nothing but a commodity here, and that realization pierced deeper than the hunger clawing at her belly. Two days without food had left her weak, dizzy. But it was the betrayal, the abandonment, that truly broke her. Her aunt and uncle had sold her. Not to a family. Not to a caretaker. To a black-market trader. Like an unwanted animal. Elaine had always known her uncle struggled. Feeding six mouths—hers included—was a heavy burden. She tried to help in every small way she could: running errands, cleaning, helping the younger cousins. But apparently, it wasn’t enough. Her uncle, quiet and worn, had bowed to his wife's venom. Maureen. The woman who had never wanted Elaine in her home. And now here she was—her life up for sale. A tag on her soul. She squeezed her eyes shut for a moment, retreating inside. The rope yanked her forward again, but her mind had already started drifting... --- Three Days Earlier “Where is that good-for-nothing girl?! She never does anything useful in this house!” Maureen’s voice thundered through the compound like a whip cracking. “Useless child! I swear, her presence alone brings misfortune!” Stephan sighed from his seat in the corner. Maureen’s younger brother had only been around for a few weeks, yet he’d witnessed the tension in this household burn hotter by the day. “Maureen, maybe you should calm down a bit,” Stephan said, brows furrowed. “She’s still just a girl. Seventeen, right? She's—” “Seventeen and stupid!” Maureen snapped. Her eyes were ablaze, chest rising and falling quickly. “You have no idea how much I’ve tolerated that ungrateful thing. I told her to iron Priscilla’s dress. Just one thing. It’s evening, and that dress is still in the laundry basket!” Stephan looked toward the hallway. “But isn’t Priscilla the same age? Can’t she iron her own dress?” “You're defending her again?” Maureen spun around. “Why do you always do that? You think I don’t notice? I see the way you look at her, Stephan.” “I’m not—” he began, then stopped. He couldn’t win this fight. --- Earlier That Afternoon The market buzzed with life as Elaine maneuvered through the stalls, the wooden tray in her hands empty but soon to be filled. She stopped in front of a familiar vendor stall, where an elderly man with a salt-and-pepper beard was arranging oranges into neat pyramids. "Ah, my favorite writer has arrived," the man said with a warm grin. Elaine smiled faintly. "Good evening, Mr. Kwame. My aunt sent me to buy oranges and onions. She’s cooking soup tonight." Mr. Kwame leaned on his stall, watching her with kind eyes. "And how is that aunt of yours? Still breathing fire like a dragon?" Elaine laughed softly, shifting the tray in her hands. "She’s not that bad. I think she just wants me to do things right. Maybe she thinks I won’t learn if she doesn’t scold me." Mr. Kwame raised a brow. "Elaine, no one should learn under fire and fists. I see the bruises sometimes. And the way you walk—like you’re trying to disappear. That’s not how family should treat you." Elaine looked down. "Uncle isn’t around much lately. And I know my aunt’s temper, but I believe she means well." Mr. Kwame sighed, gathering the onions into a brown paper wrap. "You’re still defending them. You’ve got a heart too good for this place. But mark my words, girl, your kindness will either save you or break you." She said nothing. Just reached into her pocket and pulled out a folded piece of paper. "Here," she said quietly. "The letter for your son. I finished it last night. I hope it says what you wanted." He took it gently, like it was made of glass. "Thank you, Elaine. You write like a scholar. My boy will be proud. I wish more girls your age had your head." Elaine smiled again, a little brighter this time. "I just like telling stories with meaning. And writing letters is my secret joy. Maybe one day, I’ll become a professional letter-writer. Or even a local editor, write news for the people who can’t read." "And I believe you will," Mr. Kwame said, eyes twinkling. Then he looked up at the sky. "You should hurry. The clouds look angry. Go before the rain traps you." Elaine glanced at the darkening sky. Thunder grumbled in the distance like a warning. "You’re right," she said, collecting the fruits onto the tray. "I have to get home quickly. I’ve got chores to finish before it gets dark." "Stay safe, child. And remember, not everyone who yells loves." She nodded, turning to leave, her tray carefully balanced. As she ran, the first drops began to fall. --- Just then, the front door creaked open. Elaine stumbled in, soaked from the rain. Her long hair clung to her skin like wet vines. Mud streaked her arms, and the wooden tray she carried shook in her numb fingers. The few fruits on it had fallen, covered in dirt. Her yellow dress, now completely drenched, stuck to her skin. The cold had tinted her lips blue, and she was trembling all over. Maureen was on her in seconds. Without a word, she grabbed Elaine’s arm and landed a harsh slap across her face. The sound echoed. Stephan stood up sharply, stunned. Elaine gasped, holding her cheek. “Aunt—” “Shut up!” Maureen roared. “You want to seduce every man in this house, right? Is that why you walk in dressed like a prostitute?!” Elaine’s lips parted in shock. “I—I went to get fruits. You said we needed oranges. I—” “And you came back looking like a w***e?!” Maureen shouted. “You’re disgusting! I should have sold you long ago.” Elaine flinched. The words struck harder than the slap. Stephan looked at her, something strange flickering in his gaze. He picked up one of the muddied fruits, then dropped it. “Maureen, maybe she just slipped. It’s raining hard out there—” “I don’t care!” Maureen spat. “In fact, I’m tired. I am so tired. Maybe it’s time I find a use for this slut. Sell her. Trade her. She’s just dead weight.” Elaine’s throat tightened. “Please... I didn’t mean—” “Shut up!” For a long moment, there was silence. The only sound was the rain, beating like war drums on the zinc roof. Maureen stood over Elaine, fuming. Stephan watched with a tense jaw, his eyes unreadable. Elaine dropped to her knees. She wasn’t even sure when her legs gave out. She felt humiliated. Drenched. Dirty. Like the very earth outside had swallowed and spat her out. Maureen turned sharply and walked away. “You’ll see. I’ll rid this house of your curse.” Stephan’s eyes lingered on Elaine a little too long before he followed after his sister. Elaine knelt there, shivering, but her heart was already falling apart. --- Back at the Auction… The guard tugged her forward again. The crowd was louder now. A man pointed. Another one laughed. Elaine swallowed, the memory of the slap still burning across her cheek even now. She had no idea who would buy her. Or what they would use her for. All she knew was that the only family she had... had sold her like she meant nothing. And as the auctioneer’s voice boomed her name into the air, E laine finally raised her eyes. Not to cry. Not to plead. But to remember as she continued drifting into her past memories.