Content Warning: The character witnesses some really dark stuff in this particular story arc.
One thing they don't tell your about being a torture-slash-sex slave is just how boring it is while you're not being used.
I sat in my darkened cell for what felt like hours. With no window to see out of, I had no idea what time it was, but I was sure most of the day had passed. With nothing better to do, I flexed my willpower and strained against my collar's magical suppression.
[Advanced Mana Manipulation] Skill has reached rank 2
[Advanced Mana Manipulation] Skill has reached rank 3
[Advanced Mana Manipulation] Skill has reached rank 4
Interestingly, despite barely being able to do anything with my mana, I could still manipulate it a tiny little bit and that counted as practice. Straining against the suppression actually seemed to be an effective way to train my mental muscles. It was the only useful thing to do I could think of. If I got my mana manipulation Skill higher, it might be possible to overcome the collar's suppression effect.
Unfortunately, after three rank ups, I couldn't feel much of a difference in my mana control at all. I was starting to think this particular plan wouldn't work. Another dead end.
My first plan was searching the skill shop, I still had a single skill point left, after all. Sadly, I didn't find any sort of 'Resist Supression' Skill, or anything else that would help me slip my collar.
I alternated my manipulation training with bouts of Meditation as well, switching whenever I started to feel mentally fatigued from the strain of maintaining concentration for so long.
[Meditation] Skill has reached rank 7
I was past Plan A or B, and on Plan C now. I could only hope that maxing out [Advanced Mana Manipulation] or [Meditation] might unlock some useful hidden skill in my shop that I could buy with my free point.
An unknown number of hours passed. I spent the time laying on my back in the straw, arms shackled above my head as I played with my mana. Finally, I heard the sound of heavy footsteps from the hall outside my door. There was a clunk sound, the door's bar being lifted away, and then the heavy door opened with a creak. Dim lamplight poured into my cell, the first actual light I'd seen in hours.
Standing in the doorway was a man in a fine black tuxedo. He was pale, with dark eyes, and pitch black hair. His hair was oiled and slicked back, and he had a thin, neatly trimmed, moustache. He looked down at where I was lying with cold cruel eyes. He smiled, clearly deriving some pleasure from the power he had over me in this situation.
The tuxedo man didn't look small, but also wasn't especially physically imposing. That wasn't a problem though, because next to him were two burly tough dudes, smaller than Ash, but still bigger than most guys. They had plenty of intimidation factor. They were the sort of minion a creepy torture brothel proprietor might hire to stand around and look scary while keeping the peace.
"Hey," I said. "Are you the guys who kidnapped me? Wanna explain what the fuck's going on?"
I knew these guys could, and likely would do horrible things to me, but I was determined not to be some quivering damsel in distress. I was frustrated by boredom, sensory deprivation, and my lack of success overcoming my magic suppression.
The dark haired man didn't reply. He looked over his shoulder at one of the toughs, snapped his fingers and pointed at me. The big guy hunched down and stepped into my low-ceilinged cell. Without warning, he kicked me hard in the stomach.
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The blow knocked the wind out of my lungs, and the attitude off my face. "Uugh!" I groaned, curling up on my side protectively. It was lucky I had an empty stomach, I'd have probably lost my lunch otherwise.
"Slaves should adopt a respectful tone with their masters, and should not speak unless asked a direct question," the dark haired man said coolly.
"And I suppose you've decided I'm you're slave now?" I grumbled. "Do you have documentation for that? I'm pretty sure you just kidnapped me off the street. This shit can't be legal."
The man snapped his fingers again. The tough guy next to me raised his boot and stomped down on my side.
"Uaaaagh!" I gasped. Fuck… that hurt. My eyes watered.
"Slaves should adopt a respectful tone with their masters, and should not speak unless asked a direct question," the dark haired man repeated.
I opened my mouth to complain, and give voice to my annoyance. I saw three pairs of eyes starting down at me expectantly, ready to stomp me again if I mouthed off. I thought better of it, and chose to stay silent.
The tough guy pulled out a key that looked something like a hex head screwdriver, and unlocked my manacles. He grabbed me by the shoulder, and roughly rolled me onto my stomach. He pinned my arms together behind my back, and a second set of manacles clicked shut around my wrists. He grabbed a fist full of my hair, and dragged me around, up and out. I hissed in pain, and scrambled to my feet trying to follow him and keep him from ripping all my hair out.
"Oww oww! Don't pull my hair, just tell me what you want and I'll do it!" I whined.
Slam!
The pain on my scalp doubled, and I was thrown against the stone wall of the dungeon hall outside. A big meaty hand closed around my throat, pinning me firmly with my back against the wall. A big brutish fist wound back. My arms were bound behind me, so I couldn't move them to protect myself. I tensed my abs, doing what I could to brace myself.
"Ooof!" The fist smashed into my tummy. I tried to curl forward to protect my abused gut, but the fist on my throat kept me pinned in place.
"Not much of a learner, this one," the brute commented with a cruel grin.
"Slaves should adopt a respectful tone with their masters, and should not speak unless asked a direct question," the dark haired man repeated for the third time. "You are free to act how you want with a clients, some of them enjoy a bit of struggle and will pay for that privilege. I, however, do not enjoy unruly slaves. You've had three gentle reminders of your position. The next time you mouth off to one of us, we won't be so gentle. Do I make myself clear?"
That was gentle? Fuck.
"That was a direct question slave. You will answer yes sir, or no sir." the dark haired man added.
"Yes sir," I said.
"Good," the dark haired man replied.
The brute released my throat and grabbed a fistful of hair again. I clenched my jaw and hissed in pain, trying to supress the urge to comment on the unnecessary brutality. Seriously… I wasn't trying to fight! If they want me to walk, just ask me to walk. What the fuck!
The three men led me along a narrow hall of dungeon cells, thankfully it had a higher ceiling than the cells themselves, probably about eight feet. There were about twenty cells altogether, not a huge number. I was near the end of the row, and all of the cells I passed were empty, with door ajar. Either this brothel was going through a drought of slaves, or they were just us all somewhere else and I was one of the last to be moved.