Chapter 2

A door clanged open, and light streamed in from the hallway. It was dim light, thank heaven, and it didn't sting her eyes. Nella looked around and saw she wasn't alone. There were five other girls in the stone room, all lying on straw covered pallets, all still fast asleep. Apparently she had ingested considerably less of the drug that had knocked them out. By now, she realized her drink had been drugged. She'd only sipped at it twice, but those two sips seemed to have done a whale of a job. She wondered how much more the other girls had taken.

Like herself, the other girls were all naked. Like herself, they were filmed with sweat.

"Come!" the man standing in the doorway said to her.

"Where?" she asked, unable to make him out because his back was to the light, and to look at him meant looking into the light.

"Don't ask questions," he snapped, and she realized he was speaking with some kind of accent.

Something leaped out of the darkness at her, and she felt a sting on her right buttock as leather curled around her for an instant, and was then pulled away.

"When I give you an order, you obey," he insisted. "Come!"

He was insane. He had used a whip on her. How dare he? What was the matter with him?

But she didn't dare argue. As it was a red stripe was forming where the lash had struck. The skin wasn't broken. Apparently he knew how to use that lash.

The stone floor was wet and slimy as she walked out of what was obviously a dungeon. She was in front of the man, so didn't see him as he guided her up the stairs ahead of them, and then into a large room. The room had a multitude of beds in it, all unoccupied for the moment, but it was obvious other women had, at one time or another, occupied those beds. On the tables near the beds were old hairpins, cosmetics kits, shampoos, and clean towels.

"The bathroom is over there," the man behind her told her. "Take a towel, go in there, do what you must, including a long, hot bath. Then go out the door on the other side."

The beds in the room were in rows, like in an army barracks, and the tables were beside each bed. Nella walked to one of the tables, took a folded towel, then walked into what was a large, latrine-like bathroom. Everything, the toilets, the showers, the bidets, everything was out in the open.

It had that bathroom smell to it, which made her nose twitch. Nella wondered where she was. How was it possible for any place on Long Island to have such an appearance?

She made use of the bathroom's facilities, including the deep tub at the far end of the bathroom, where she found all kinds of liquid soaps so she was able to wash herself clean. The soaps smelled like different fragrances, and she also saw different packages of douche, as well. Douche was something she had never used. She was a virgin and had no intention of allowing her maidenhead to be pierced by some artificial piece of plastic, even if it was a tube designed to pour vaginal cleaner into her.

After her bath, she took time to brush her hair before a mirror, realizing she didn't look all that bad, now. In fact, she looked quite good. She wished there were something for her to wrap herself in, but there wasn't even a towel with which to dry herself. She had to settle for a warm air dryer blowing all over her body.

The door at the other end was unlocked, and, taking a deep breath, Nella opened it and entered the room. It was a large, ornate bedroom. The place looked like something out of medieval Spain with a four-poster bed, fancy curtains around the bed, ornate Spanish-provincial furniture, including a dresser, armoire, and two night tables, as well as a desk in the far corner. At the far end of the room were French doors that opened onto some kind of balcony, though the balcony was only three feet off the ground. She noticed the land outside was all earthen. There was no cement.

She was standing at the windows looking out, when a sound made her turn around. It was the man with the whip. The light in this room all came through the large French doors, and she was able to see him quite clearly, now.

"Who are you?" she gasped. "What is this all about?"

He was about five-feet nine or ten in height, with curly black hair, black swarthy skin, deep, brooding brown eyes, a thin nose, and very even white teeth when he smiled at her. He was built slenderly, solidly, with strong arms and thighs, clearly visible because he was wearing a short-sleeved white shirt and black shorts.

"Senorita," he smiled, tossing the whip aside for the moment. "Allow me to introduce myself to you. I am your host for the next three weeks, Eduardo Blass."

"Why am I naked like this? Where am I? Why have I been brought here?"

"All answers in due time, senorita," he told her, smiling. "I hope the whip did not frighten you too much, but it is well for you to remember that I have it and will use it if you are disobedient."

"Just what's this all about?" she gasped.

"Be patient and I shall explain," he told her. "First, you are in Panama."

"Panama!" she snorted. "You have to be kidding? How in heaven's name did I get to be in Panama?"

"Come now, you were at a party in Southampton, with all the other young ladies downstairs," he said, smiling. "I am awakening you one at a time so that we may converse privately. You are the most beautiful one of the lot, and so you and I will talk, first. You are here quite simply because you are merchandise. You will eventually be sold to some wealthy person, probably in Argentina, perhaps in Brazil or Chile or Ecuador."

"Sold!" she all but screamed. "But that's impossible. This is the end of the twentieth century, almost the twenty-first century. Things like that just aren't done anymore."

"You are mistaken, senorita," he said, in a quiet, calm, even voice. "In your own country, thousands of girls run away from home every year. They are never seen again. It is safe to say at least half of them are picked up by organizations such as mine, where a beautiful Norteamericana can bring a fortune. Consider yourself very lucky. Had you been at some other party, you might be in Africa or Asia now. You will find Latin America much more to your liking. You see, there are many places in Latin America where women are scarce. Mining towns especially. The owners of these mines and the men who run them are willing to pay considerable sums of money for lovely young girls. If the girls are golden-haired, like yourself, they pay four times as much."

"You must be insane," Nella gasped.

"Insane? Hardly! Rich, yes! You see, chica, this was my father's business, and now it is my business."

"What happens to all these women?" Nella wanted to know.

"What happens to women? They mate with the men they're sold to, they give them many children, and they grow old and die where they are. That's what happens to them. This is what will happen to you. I happen to know of this extremely old man in Argentina who has been lusting after a good golden-haired wench for some time now. He will pay as much as fifty thousand dollars for one such as you, plus all the transportation costs. So you see, you will bring me a good profit, as will the five other women who are in the cell with you, below."

"How many women do you sell a year?" she asked, horrified.

"About four or five hundred," he shrugged. "I do not earn fifty thousand for each woman, but it is enough to say I make between one and two million tax-free American dollars every year. Here, in Panama, we use American dollars."

"What kind of man are you that you would trade in human lives?" she asked, suddenly very angry.

"I am a very pragmatic man," he replied. "Had I left you alone, what would you have done? You would have been some kind of female wastrel, possibly marrying and divorcing two or three, or even more men. You would never have had children, and instead of learning to make one man happy, you would have made many men miserable. You are a parasite, senorita, you serve no useful purpose. Now you will serve a number of useful purposes. First, you will enhance my own bank account. Second, you will make a pleasant bed companion for some man hidden away in the wilds of what you call South America, and third, you will make babies, lots of babies, and learn to be a good mother to all of them. So you see, you will learn, even if by force, to make one man happy, and care for his children."

"There's only one thing wrong with all your figuring," she told him. "Even if I were willing to go along with what you propose, I don't know the first thing about making a man happy. I'm a virgin."

"Ah, senorita, what kind of man do you think I am?" Eduardo asked. "Did you think for one minute I would send out merchandise that I was personally unable to guarantee? Believe me, when the time comes for you to leave here, you will not only be willing to do all the things I have described, but you will be extremely capable."

"I'd rather die than do these things for any man," Nella insisted.

"Die?" he asked. "No, senorita, you will not die."

"Then you'll use the whip on me? It'll take more than three weeks for any broken whip marks to completely heal, and I'll look horrible," she told him. "Your man won't pay fifty thousand dollars for me in bad condition."

"Senorita Nella, please understand, my brother and I, like my father, are expert in making women do what we want. Most women understand this right from the start. They find it to their advantage to obey."

"I'm not a slave," Nella insisted.

"Ah, but you are wrong, senorita, that is precisely what you are. You are a slave, not because you are useless, and not because of anyone hating you, as Joseph's brothers hated him. You are a slave because you are beautiful, and because no one will miss you."

He was right, she realized. No one would miss her.

"I see," was all she said.