Sold to the mafia

Isaac

I’m two whiskeys in, and I can’t help myself.

I’ve read her files over and over. My poor Katia. Kidnapped at sixteen years old while walking home from school. It was a nice neighborhood, low crime. No reason to worry. But one day she just vanished. Marcio Matias kidnapped her and three other women that day. He was well known in the sex slave traffic industry, and is currently incarcerated and on death row. Which only makes me angrier that I can’t get my hands on him myself.

Katia is only one of hundreds of women who Marcio kidnapped over a decade.

She was a virgin, and traded to a drug lord and head of a cartel in Colombia, Carver Dario. He went by Master C, and had many slaves and shared them freely. From what I can tell, Katia was no exception and her police reports go into detail about what a man named Javier Pinzan, second-in-command of the cartel did to her. Her life was hell. She was surrounded by abusive men who took pleasure from her pain. Her arm and jaw were both broken while she was held prisoner.

Her arm more than once.

In her psych transcripts I read about how she murdered him. How she broke a liquor bottle and stabbed Dario repeatedly, running away in the middle of the night wearing nothing but a large man’s dress shirt. She was filthy when they found her in a village on the outskirts of the tourist areas. She was bruised and scarred, and almost died of malnutrition and infections.

A group of tourists just happened to be in the area. Without them, I’m not certain what would have happened to her. My heart clenches in my chest, and I take another swig of the whiskey.

She saved herself.

It’s been four years since she’s been home. She spent a good amount of time in protective custody, adjusting to life again. She was in and out of therapy for the first few months until she started seeing a young woman named Meredith Beck. She stayed with her for two years, attending regular sessions that eventually dwindled. She hasn’t been to her in over eight months and the last time she went, Dr. Beck prescribed Katia sleeping aids, a prescription that Katia never filled.

I’ve hacked into the support group that I know Katia is an active member in. Extremely active. She comes on daily, and is one of only a handful of users in here. This seems to be the only social interaction she has.

At first it was just to find out more about how she’s healing. Just to read her messages and figure out if she still has problems sleeping. I’ve learned a lot about my Katia since logging in. She’s a kind girl with a beautiful heart. She wants to be happy.

I take another sip of whiskey, ignoring the papers on the desk detailing her dark past, and focus on how she is now, in the present. How much better she is. How healthy and happy she is. Although there’s still pain. Still a void in her life… for now.

I’ve created my own account and made a false identity. I didn’t provide any major details, but most of the profiles here are lacking.

I know it’s wrong, but I want to get to know her.

Madam Lynn would be pissed if she found out, but I’m curious. I have to know more about her. Katia Herrington. Her information was easily accessible, and I’ve been through all of it. All her background, multiple times.

Curious doesn’t even begin to describe it. I know what she’s been through, what she’s survived. Even more, I know what she’s looking for. I know what she needs. At first, when I read her transcripts from the protective unit, I was horrified. She endured abuse in every possible way for years, along with malnutrition, and constant violence. The poor girl has survived too much.

She’s strong. She’s fierce. But she’s in need.

And I desperately want to fulfill that void for her.

I already know my ways are twisted, so something like this is just a drop in the bucket.

I check the blank screen again. She should be on soon. She’s a creature of habit. Her login info has her on here almost every night. It’s something I’ll have to give her if I decide she’s a good match. And if she agrees to be mine.

Her paperwork sits in front me on the kitchen table, just to the right of the laptop. I know everything that happened to her after she was taken. Everything she’s done for the last four years. She’s such a strong, brave woman. And lucky. So fucking lucky that it was a group of tourists who found her on the outskirts of the city. If it’d been anyone else, who knows where my kitten would have wound up.

She spent four years locked in a cell and treated like shit. Constant abuse and neglect until she caved to what Carver Dario wanted. She did what she had to do to survive. He wasn’t a master. He was an abuser who deserved to die a painful death.

GROUPCHAT

Katty93 has logged in.

My heart races as I watch the blip appear on the screen. I’ve been waiting for her. It’s wrong. I know it is. I’m not disillusioned into thinking this isn’t fucked up. I just don’t care.

Catlvr89: Hello Kat!

Katty93: Oh hi there!

Are you new here? Welcome!

A smile slips across my face at her willingness to please. Her happiness that’s apparent on the screen.

Catlvr89: I am. Today is my first day.

Katty93: It’s a nice place here. I think you’ll find it really supportive.

Catlvr89: So far I have!

Katty93: …

The dots signifying Katia is typing a response appear on the screen, but then vanish. I consider typing something, but then I wait a few more seconds.

Katty93: How are you doing today?

Catlvr89: Today is good. It’s been a long time since I’ve had a rough day.

I type in the answer before I have a moment to think. I’m not blind to the fact that this is a support group and there are more people here than just Katia. I’m not interested in taking advantage of Katia or anyone else. I just need answers to make sure she’s the one I’ve been waiting for. I know she’s usually on late, and I’m only here for her. But I’ll do my best to blend in and be discreet.

I may not have gone through what some of the people on here have. But others here are coping with death. I can relate to that.

Katty93: Oh! That’s really good! What brings you here?

Catlvr89: Could we message in private?

GROUPCHAT

Darlinggirl86 has logged in.

Katty93: Of course Cat! And hi Darling!

Darlinggirl86: Hi all! Welcome Cat!

I don’t respond to Darling. I don’t want to create an illusion that I’ll be staying here. I just wanted a taste of Katia. I wanted to see what she was like. To see if she’s the woman I think she is. Strong and vibrant, but tainted by a sinful darkness that makes her perfect for me.

PRIVATE MESSAGE

Katty93: I’m happy to chat. But I do promise you the group is really supportive and judgment free.

Catlvr89: I’m trying to decide what I want in a partner. It’s difficult with my needs

I stare at the blunt answer I’ve given her, and I know it’s truthful at least.

Katty93: Oh! I see. Have you recently left a relationship?

Catlvr89: No, I haven’t had one for years.

Katty93: I haven’t either.

My heart thuds in my chest, and my brow furrows at her response. I was under the impression that she hadn’t had a relationship since she’d been freed.

Catlvr89: How did your last relationship end?

Katty93: Horribly. I left… he was my abuser.

It’s odd to me that she would call what they had a relationship. Her mental records don’t show that she had Stockholm syndrome or any type of psychological problems other than the occasional night terror. Which seems reasonable.

Catlvr89: Did you love him?

Katty93: No. I hated him. But I was safe with him at least.

Catlvr89: Safe?

Katty93: I knew I wouldn’t die. I’m sorry if this is …dark. I didn’t mean to bring it up.

Catlvr89: I like talking. You can talk about whatever you’d like.

Katty93: Thank you. Let’s talk about you! Lol

Catlvr89: Lol I think I’m more comfortable talking about you if you don’t mind. …Unless you have questions for me.

Katty93: Oh! Well if that makes you more comfortable. We can talk about anything.

Catlvr89: Why do you call it a relationship? What you had with your abuser?

Katty93: Idk. I’m sorry I shouldn’t have.

Catlvr89: Don’t be sorry. It’s okay. I was just curious.

Katty93: I guess cause he’s the only …idk how to say it.

Catlvr89: Has he been your only sexual partner?

Katty93: No, he shared me.

Catlvr89: Outside of who he shared you with?

Katty93: Yes. I tried to have other relationships. It just doesn’t seem …idk. Like I don’t feel like …idk how to say it.

Catlvr89: Like they can handle you?

Katty93: I guess something like that.

Catlvr89: What can they not handle?

Katty93: I want to be submissive. I want to feel protected and cherished.

I stare at her answer and I’m filled with confusion, revulsion. Anger. He didn’t protect her. He didn’t cherish her. My fingers tap angrily on the keys, the loud clicks filling the room.

Catlvr89: You felt that way with your abuser?

Katty93: I pretended I did. It made it easier to live. I created this fantasy and it made it easier to survive I guess.

My heart hurts so badly for her upon hearing her confession.

Catlvr89: I’m so sorry.

Katty93: It’s fine.

Catlvr89: It’s not fine. I didn’t mean to bring up what happened.

I wait nervously for her response. I want to gauge just how affected she still is. What she went through is something that stays with a person for life. But what she makes of that life is her decision to make. I’m shocked she considers that a relationship. Or even thought of calling it that.

Catlvr89: So now you aren’t interested in a relationship?

Katty93: I want one, it’s just … I tried other things. Normal relationships. It just didn’t work.

My lungs still. We’re so alike, yet so different.

Catlvr89: I’m the same way. I don’t want normal.

Katty93: What do you want?

I debate on answering her. But I don’t want to prime her responses.

Catlvr89: You first?

Katty93: LOL

Katty93: I’m weird I think.

Catlvr89: It’s okay. I’m weird too. We can be weird together.

My blood heats, and my dick stirs at her answer and the playfulness of the conversation. I feel as though I’m luring the kitten, my kitten, out to play.

Katty93: I think I like to be dominated.

Catlvr89: What’s weird about that?

Katty93: Like really dominated.

Catlvr89: Does it have something to do with what you went through?

I know it does, but I want to ask. The paperwork and her history, the fucking shrink report I looked up–all of that were other people’s opinions. I want to know what she thinks.

Katty93: It does kind of. In that he was my master.

Katty93: And now I want another.

I suck in a sharp breath and force my dick to calm the fuck down. Seeing her confess only solidifies what I want from her. I need to see her. I need to evaluate our chemistry.

Catlvr89: So you want a master? What do you want from him?

Katty93: It’s fucked up.

Catlvr89: I like fucked up. I want fucked up too.

Katty93: I want him to own me. I want to be a true slave to him, but I need my life too. I’ve been reading these stories. They seem too good to be true. A normal life, but with a M/s relationship. Maybe that’s why I want it. Idk. But there’s a club I’ve been looking into and I’m thinking about going. Just to check it out.

Catlvr89: Why not just do D/s?All content © N/.ôvel/Dr/ama.Org.

Katty93: I don’t want a Dom. I want a Master. There’s a difference and I know what I want. I want him to rule over me. But to do it justly. The way it’s fantasized about. Where I’m cherished and safe and protected and his everything and he’s mine too. I want it to be real.

I close my eyes and force my groan back. It’s like she’s teasing me. Taunting me by saying all the right words. I start to type a response, something about measuring her desires, asking her what she specifically wants. But all of this will be for nothing if the chemistry between us isn’t there, or if she’s simply not ready. I delete the words and the “…” signifying that I’m typing disappears.

Katty93: I realize that I don’t know your history and I really hope you aren’t offended. It wasn’t my intention.

A huff of a laugh leaves me as I sip the whiskey, feeling the warmth flowing through me. She hasn’t offended me in the least, merely given me every indication I was looking for to pursue her. I could push. I could chase. But I need to handle her delicately. She’s like a kitten in a sense. My kitten. Sharp claws, and born into this world ready to claw her way to where she needs to go. But curious. I can rely on that curiosity.

If she wants me, if she truly wants this, she’ll make the initiative.

I’m not a patient man, but good things come to those who wait.

Or so they say.

I down the last bit of whiskey in my glass, the ice clinking and the harsh burn down my throat spreading through my chest. Finally, I respond. Just one little push.

Catlvr89: You won’t know if you don’t go, Katty93