She answered happily, without a trace of guilt. ‘Where are you?’ She asked me. ‘I just came out to get food, where are you?’ I panted. ‘I... a taxi.’ ‘With….Jerry?’ ‘Yes.’ Unknown to me, May, snuggled beside him in the taxi, lifted her lips to his in a lingering seductive kiss. ‘I can guess where you are going…’ I asked and waited for her answer. ‘Ummm he wants me to go to his hotel.’ May whispered. The word ‘wants’ offered a chance, a final chance that the otherwise inevitable could be. You could say that some women deserve to be slaves or that some women would live a better life being a slave to a millionaire. Whatever the excuses are, it's still a fucking horrible thing to do.With that said, that doesn't mean I couldn't use a couple of excuses to reduce some of the guilt associating with destroying one's life. Particularly, a woman's life. I do need to sleep at night after all. And while most slavers don't really care who they catch, I have a self-imposed principle that I. More

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