He’d entered my room, a flicker of interest in his eyes as he regarded me from my place huddled in the corner. “Stand up so I can look at you.”
My heart had sunk all over again. Those weren’t the words of a man who was here to save me.
So I’d ignored him. Scared or not, I wasn’t performing tricks for any man.
It had been a mistake. The bruiser had immediately charged forward, grabbing me by my hair and hauling me to my feet. I’d screamed, but no one came running to see what was wrong. No one cared what happened to me when Freeze had me.
I soon learned that no one approached Mr. Freeze. Everyone was terrified of him.
He dragged on plastic surgical gloves and then proceeded to examine me like a racehorse. As his bodyguard held me upright, his hand moved down my legs, checked my thighs, my pussy, my ribs, and my breasts. And then he made me open my mouth. To my surprise, he pulled out a flashlight and examined my teeth.
“Are these your real teeth?” he asked me. “Do you brush twice a day? And shower?”
“Fuck off.”
He slapped my face and grabbed my chin, careless of the blood dribbling from my split lip. “Answer me.”
I didn’t answer. I tried to bite him instead.
He slapped me again, and this time it left me reeling. “Answer me. Do they shave you or have you had laser treatments?” He lifted my arm and examined my armpit, then bent to study my pubic hair again. “Natural blonde. That’s good.”
It was like I wasn’t a real person to him. I was a doll he was checking out to purchase. Or a car. “You want to kick my tires before you take my ass around the block?”
He pulled back and gave me a look so cold that I knew immediately that I’d made a mistake. Now I was dead.
It had been a good run…for a while, anyhow.
But Freeze only looked at his bodyguard and nodded, and the man released me. I sank to the floor and wrapped my arms around my body, waiting for the inevitable rape.
It didn’t come. Freeze and his guard talked for a long minute in Russian, the words sounding strange in his mouth, though I noticed that no one dared to correct his pronunciation. Then the bodyguard left, and Mr. Freeze stared at me with those cold eyes, watching me.
The Russian housemother came into the room a few minutes later with the bodyguard, and she was clearly nervous.
“This one,” Mr. Freeze said in English. “I like her. I will take her.”
“Fuck you,” I spat from my corner of the room. He wasn’t here to save me at all. He was here to fucking groom me. What an asshole.
“Very well,” the housemother said. “You know her price.”
“It is a rather high price for one that bites,” he said in a chilling voice. “She nearly took off my finger.”
The housemother stopped in place, and then she shot me a killing look. I was going to be punished, I knew it.
"You know how I like my girls,” he told her. They’re still speaking in English, which means he wants me to hear this. “Clean and broken. This one is not clean, nor is she broken.”
“We will keep her clean.”
“And?” He waited.
“I know where we can send her,” the housemother said quickly. “Give Senhor Gomes a month and he will have her gentle as a kitten.”
“A month,” he agreed. “Until then, I want you to have her brush her teeth three times a day. Vitamin supplements with her food. Bathe her daily and make sure someone shaves her twice a week. No hitting her in the face. Condoms for every client. And no drugs. Not even if she asks for them.”
The housemother nodded.
Mr. Freeze got back to his feet and left the room. “I will return to check on her.”
I figured out after that night that Freeze had a blonde fetish of some kind and he liked me. Lucky, lucky me.
He returned once more while I was in Russia, checking my teeth and body and tsking when I tried to bite the fingers he put in my mouth.
The next week, though, everything changed. After three weeks in the brothel in Russia, men came after me with needles full of drugs and a sack they shoved over my face. I’d been terrified, thinking that I’d outlived my usefulness as everyone’s favorite captive American pussy, and now they were going to kill me.
I’d fought, but they’d drugged me before I knew what was happening.
When I woke up, I was in my current room, my ankle chain locked to a new wall, and a dirty mattress in the corner for me. The room was no bigger than a walk-in closet, with a cracked tile floor that slanted toward a drain at the far end of the room and a nice corner bucket for me to shit and piss in. An industrial size box of condoms was set at the foot of the bed. There were cracks in the ceiling and no windows. I hadn’t seen the sun in weeks. I wondered if I’d ever see it again.
My new owners had given me clothing, though—an American flag string bikini covered in beads and itchy sequins. And they talked loudly in a different language. By listening at my door, I figured out that I was now in Rio de Janeiro.
And the Rio brothel was run by Senhor Gomes. I remembered that name—Freeze had mentioned it.
Being Freeze’s new little plaything had apparently gotten me sent here to Rio. But captive blonde American pussy was as hot in Rio, and neither Gomes nor Freeze cared who fucked me as long as they didn’t mess me up.
Freeze has visited me once while I’ve been in Rio. I bit and fought and spit in his face. It was like he didn’t notice, though. He simply watched me with those cold eyes, checked my teeth, insisted that they wax my eyebrows into shape, and left.