This had to be the place.
“Who are you?” asked the six-foot guy at the back entrance, giving Fay a quick up-and-down glance. Fay narrowed her eyes.
“Obviously I’m one of the models,” she said, somewhere between being irritated and feeling insecure.
The big guy rolled his eyes. He was maybe the most handsome bouncer she’d ever seen.
“Yeah, obviously, with a face like that. I was asking for your name. You know, for the list.”
The big guy checked his smart phone for a couple of seconds, then nodded.
“Sure. Go on in. Down the hall, third door to the right.”
“Got it,” Fay said, and proceeded into the theater. Inside, it was already busy with activity. Some normies with headsets scuttled around her as she made her way backstage. She checked her phone. She was five minutes early. Good.
“Fay!” an exuberant voice greeted her, and Fay’s eyes were drawn to the magnificent trickster goddess that was Anansi, born Amanda Singer, fashion designer and absolute icon.
Anansi, like always, was wearing something that only she could pull off: A bright cyan jacket over a neon yellow summer dress with large electric green dots, as well as black army boots and large round sunglasses under a hot pink and purple wig. It was a lot, but somehow, on her, it looked inevitable. Elegant, youthful, joyful and fuck-you-punk all at once.
She was also taller than she looked on TV.
“Anansi,” Fay said, trying to keep her cool while still sounding appropriately enthusiastic. “Thank you for inviting me!”
Anansi stepped closer and kissed Fay on the cheeks five times, extroverted Paris-style.
“No, love! Thank you for accepting! You’ve done the right thing! You will look absolutely radiant tonight! People will love you! Not sad and drab like you looked in Maurice’s pseudo-chic excuse for elegance. I could not bear for another minute to see you like that! Beige, beige, beige! Camouflage is what is! ‘Look away’ it says! NO! You are meant to be looked at, honey! You are meant to be celebrated!”
Fay smiled. She knew the type. You didn’t make it as far as Anansi and her peers without a near-fatal dose of self-obsession and reckless enthusiasm. She liked Anansi’s in-your-face style of fashion, but in the end even someone as eccentric as her was just another brand, just another individual with illusions of grandeur.
“Thank you for the opportunity, I’ve been really looking forward to today,” she said, which wasn’t a lie at all. The fact that she’d be wearing beige again next weekend seemed like something to keep on the down-low if she wanted to stay where she was, which was obviously Anansi’s good side.
“Me too, Fay,” Anansi said, and took Fay by the hand. Fay let it happen. She’d endured much worse unwanted physical attention than this.
“Let me introduce you to your sisters for tonight,” Anansi said with an enthusiastic smile, and Fay kept herself from rolling her eyes as Anansi turned around and guided her through the labyrinthine backstage area until they arrived in a large dressing room, where her so-called sisters were already in the process of getting their hair and makeup done.
“Girls!” Anansi said, and all eyes turned to Fay. For a moment, she felt the tiniest bit of insecurity ripple across her spine, but then all faces lit up into enthusiastic smiles as one by one, the other models walked up to her and greeted her with hugs and kisses.
There were surprisingly few of them. Usually, there would be maybe twenty of them. But including Fay, they were only six.
“Are the rest of the girls still on their way?” Fay asked.
“Oh no! It’s just the six of you. It’s a private show. Very exclusive. Very special.”
Weird. No one had told her that upfront. Not the most professional. But not a deal breaker either. Fay had heard about shows like this. They were usually part of a greater event. A prelude to a party, or a cabal, or an orgy, or whatever it was that the top .1% were spending their evenings with.
“I see,” she said. “Why’s it so special?”
“You’ll find out soon enough,” Anansi said, with a mischievous smile.
Odd. Usually people like Anansi couldn’t shut up about their grand ideas. Why the secrecy?
“Okay, sure,” Fay said, raising her eyebrows with a look of doubt and resignation. Whatever the boss said.
Anansi smiled. “Don’t you worry. We’ve got it all figured out. Bambi, take Fay here and bring out all the wonderfulness within her!”
A stylist seemed to appear from thin air next to Fay, and took her by the hand quite forcefully. Fay let herself be dragged into an upholstered chair in front of a large array of mirrors. Standard fare. The other five models were sitting to her left and right, getting equally prepared for the show. One apparent perk of having so few models was that every one of them seemed to get their own stylist. Fay was more than qualified to do her own hair and make up, but it was always nicer to have someone else do it for her, especially if the showrunner had specific stylistic ideas, which Anansi obviously had, judging by the technicolor palette on the makeup table in front of her.
Thirty-five minutes later, Fay looked positively colorful. Bambi had given her bold, geometric eye shadow and sharply contoured lips. Her face was framed in a white-blond wig, cut in a severe asymmetric bob. She looked like a cubist painting, but in a good way.
She checked the time on her phone. An hour left until curtains-up.
She thanked Bambi for her honestly quite impressive work, and got out of her chair, ready to mingle and catch a peek into the theater proper.
She tried to do some socializing, but the other girls were strangely awkward.They were mostly gushing about Anansi, and it felt supremely circular and almost cultish. She asked them who else they’d modelled for, tried to chat about the usual shop stuff. Near-misses. Wardrobe malfunctions. Designer eccentricities. But they were the most vapid, boring non-people she had maybe ever met. She knew the type, but usually there were at least one or two nice people to talk to at a show.
The only remotely interesting thing they had to say was that the five of them seemed to be part of some sort of permanent ‘house team’. Anansi regulars. They had done some other work before, but all of them had exclusively modeled for Amanda Singer for a year.
Maybe she wants me on the team as well, Fay wondered. If she’d have to hang out with those five people all the time, she’d rather clean toilets for a living.
After she had fulfilled the bare minimum of her social obligation, she quickly extracted herself from the circle of models and explored the rest of the backstage area.
Next to the dressing area were the clothes racks, already prepared of course. Looking at it all at once was like sticking your head in a neon fruit salad, but the individual outfits were obviously well-coordinated, if very, very bright.
Beyond the garments lay the stage entrance. The show was happening in a small theater, so they would be entering stage left and exiting stage right instead of walking straight in an out. She peeked out to catch a glimpse of the stage.
The catwalk was a very simple affair, obviously. Otherwise, there would have been a rehearsal. Maybe twenty-five feet long, with a large round platform at the end. The stage itself as well as most of the length of the catwalk was lit only in dim UV, but the round platform at the end was lit with two bright spotlights. Very dramatic. The colors of their outfits would only come out at the apex.
Some immature part of her couldn’t help but notice that it looked kind of like a dick.
There was the sound of a bright bell, and Fay ducked backstage. The venue was opening, and she could already hear the murmur of the audience streaming in from the lobby into their seats.
Just as she returned to the others, Anansi made her own entrance.
“Girls!,” she said, gesturing them all to gather around her. As they all crowded, Anansi looked all of them up and down, nodding with a satisfied smile.
“You are wonderful as always,” she said to her regulars, then turned to Fay.
“And you are as wonderful as I had hoped,” she said with a broad smile and glimmering eyes. For a moment, Fay thought she could see something odd in her expression. For that moment, her smile had seemed a little bit too wide.
Some part of Fay decided that yes, this would definitely be a one-time affair. Back to beige.
“Thank you all for being here,” Anansi continued. “I’m so excited to present you to such an exclusive audience. You will be spectacular, and I promise you, you will be celebrated and appreciated. This is about more than just my fashion. This is about you. Without you, I am nothing. Without you, my colors are dust in the wind. Without you, my patterns are loose piles of fabric. You are the ones that make them truly beautiful.”
The five others applauded, and after a few seconds, Fay joined in.
“It will soon be time for you to go out there and be seen. Make me proud!”
She blew kisses in their directions, and a woman with a clip board took over. She introduced herself as Gina, Anansi’s stage manager. For a second, Fay thought she was another model. She was stunning.
Coming to think of it, everyone on Anansi’s crew was stunning. If Fay broke her ankle right now, any one of the stylists could sub for her, provided they had some proper posture. Even the techies that were nigh-invisibly skittering through the backstage now and again were all extremely hot, men and women alike.
Something about that made Fay extremely suspicious, even though there should be no reason for that. There was no law that said Anansi couldn’t only hire hot people. In fact, as eccentricities went, it wasn’t even that big.
“Fay,” Gina said. “You there?”
Fay almost jumped.
“Don’t snooze when you’re on. You’re up first. First thing: We’re doing the show with musical cues, but don’t worry, it’s all loops. The music is waiting for you, not the other way round. Tech’s on top of it. Second thing: Everyone’s gonna be out for almost a full minute. The end of the walk is a rotating platform. Hold a pose there, and it will do one-and-a-half turns. When it’s done spinning, walk back.”
“Pose preferences?” Fay asked.
“Just do you,” Anansi interjected with a wide smile. “Once you have your outfits, you’ll know what’s appropriate.”
“Cool. I can do that,” Fay said. In truth, she was a little bit nervous to go out there without much direction and no rehearsal, but she wouldn’t let anyone notice that.
Gina nodded. “Wonderful. Third thing: Blinking lights. If you’ve been lying about being epileptic, now’s the time to fess up.”
“Nope, I’m good.”
“Good, because you’re gonna have to look at them. Look straight ahead. Don’t look at your feet.”
“I wasn’t going to,” Fay said. What were they thinking of her?
“Excellent. That leaves only one last thing: Have fun!”
The five girls cheered, and their blind enthusiasm managed to infect Fay. She went to the dressing area and got handed her first outfit. As Anansi had said, changing wasn’t going to be a problem. She had five minutes for every change with how long every one of them would spend out on the tip of the dick. She chuckled to herself.
The first combination she was wearing was a long red felt coat with two diagonal black stripes that mirrored her bob, a matching red beret and White boots and leather gloves. Underneath she wore a white cocktail dress.
She was going to look like a female spy that was also a race car. It was as ridiculous as it was cool.
Something caught her eye.
Next to her, one of the girls was taking off her street clothes to put on a neon-green tank top dress, and she was completely naked underneath. Seeing some tits backstage was absolutely normal of course, but going completely nude was something else. Underwear wasn’t even part of the show. Anansi had even specified ‘purple and without frills’ in her emails.
And then, the other girls undressed, too, fully out in the open in the backstage area, and they were all completely naked underneath, too. All of them.
Suddenly, alarm bells were ringing. This was weird. There was tech crew present, and the other five didn’t seem at all to mind showing them their pussies. Good for them, Fay guessed, but still…
Do the gig, then leave. Something isn’t right.
She swallowed heavily, then stripped to her underwear and dressed herself.
A short while later, everything was ready. They all looked spectacularly out of this world, neon angels and demons. Fay had to admit that she liked the outfits. Polarizing, to be sure, but bold and creative.
They all hugged and kissed one more time, lips tip toeing on perfect makeup.
And then it was time to get the show started.
They lined up, and the music started. A low drum and bass, synth heavy and rich with arpeggios.
Fay stepped out onto the stage.
The lights hit her eyes, pulsating in time with her confident steps. Beyond the blinding halos in her vision, she sensed the crowd of onlookers. All eyes were on her, and she knew she was stunning to behold.
Every step, a deep bass note shook her chest. Every step, a pulse of ultraviolet light made her gloves and boot shine like beacons, accentuating the arc of her steps and the swing of her arms. The music saturated her ears, and she couldn’t hear her own steps, and her body bent to the rhythm, stepping in time with it until she reached the end of the catwalk.
She stepped into the blinding white light, and she could positively feel the red backscatter of brilliant red bloom from below her vision. She stopped, and entered a broad, confident stance, her arms akimbo. She was a woman challenging you to tell the truth, daring you to cross her, because she knew that she was the most powerful person in the room. You had no chance against her.
The platform below her began to gently spin, and as she started to turn, the music changed into a slower, denser drone. The lights changed with it. Their pulse was less of a crash now, and more of a swell. She held her pose as the brilliant lights slowly orbited around her, pulsating into her eyes in time with the music.
There was something odd about them.
The lights had seemed brilliant white at first glance, but now she could tell that they were a whole rainbow. A mix of multicolored LEDs, strobing and dancing and shimmering in time with the droning music that shook her body. All the lights of the spectrum, adding up to white.
For a moment, she almost forgot what she was doing, and she was briefly afraid that she had missed the moment when the platform stopped turning.
But she hadn’t. She was still going. The lights were still spinning around her, shifting, pulsing, undulating.
It felt like she had been turning for quite a long time, even though it was only one and a half turns.
Finally, the catwalk came into view for the second time. The rotation smoothly stopped, and with an unmissable anticipation and drop of the beat, the music returned to the more driving cadence that it had started out with. She walked in time with it and stepped out of the lights, walking back without a missed step until she was backstage again.
Five minutes later, she was back up, this time sporting a polka-dot blazer and matching pants. Orange with yellow dots, with no shirt underneath, and giant silver earrings.
The music had changed, but it followed the same rhythm. It had already become familiar, and it was a beat that was very easy to walk to. To fall in time with.
As she approached the platform at the end, some tiny, absurd part of her was looking forward to it. Some tiny, absurd part of her that had spent the whole five minutes backstage thinking about the strange lights.
There was something about them. Something that felt utterly fascinating. Like there was some physical or optical phenomenon behind them that she’d never seen before.
Maybe this time, she’d remember if she’d ever read something about something like it. Or maybe she’d understand from looking. It wasn’t like she was allowed to look away.
She stepped onto the platform and posed confidently with one hand on her tilted hip, looking sideways. She was a woman that didn’t care what you thought of her, but she also knew she was sexy. She knew that she caught everyone’s eye. Everyone was wondering who that woman was, but she wasn’t going to tell.
She caught different lights this time. The music dropped into the familiar yet modulated drone, and she could feel her body vibrate as the deep bass shook her in time with the fascinating lights. She stared at them as she held her pose, trying to see the individual colors, trying to separate them out from the whole spectrum that filled her vision with blinding white.
It wasn’t enough time. Before she knew it, she felt herself stop, and as the beat demanded, she began walking back. She felt almost dizzy, but it was more excitement than disorientation, and she effortlessly held her steps straight on target.
Next, she was presenting a rebellious outfit that somehow managed to scream ‘look at me!’ even louder than the two combinations she had worn before: A neon green sweater with a deep v-shaped cleavage and long, extremely wide sleeves that reached way past her hands. Underneath, a surprisingly muted cream-pink tank top. A highlighter-yellow miniskirt. White fishnet stockings and slippers.
She was looking forward to stepping out. The outfit was silly, and audacious, and she wanted to be seen in it. And as silly as it sounded, she wanted to see the lights again. They were such a strange audiovisual experience. Like some sort of avant-garde art installation. But one that the audience wasn’t getting. Only she, and the other models.
She stepped out and walked towards the light in time with the beat, and this time the music had gained a singing part. She couldn’t make out the words though. They were buried in the mix, and she had to concentrate on falling in step with the throbbing drumbeat.
She arrived at the end, and eagerly looked into the brilliant white as she struck a seductive and playful pose, twisting her upper body and pushing out her chest as she raised both her arms abover her head and combed her fingers through her hair.
She knew she was sexy and dangerous. Forbidden. Everyone wanted her. But she was a praying mantis. Those fishnets teased the skin beneath, but they would catch anyone that dared to desire her too much. She was too hot to handle.
The platform began spinning, and the music descended into the bone-rattling drone that she had been craving the entire time she’d been backstage. The lights cascaded into her eyes, and she greedily took them in. This time she would understand how they worked. This time for sure.
As she spun, rigidly maintaining her pose so that everyone could see her, she could finally listen more cloesely to the voice in the music. It was hard to understand. Really hard. But after a moment or two she heard that it was something about beauty and power and sleeping. Something about dreams. Something about becoming… something.
Before she knew it, she was faced with the crescendo of the music, and the catwalk spun back into view.
She wished she could go another round. But the beat dropped, and the light lost its shimmer, and she reluctantly walked back into the darkness, keeping her steps professionally elegant and confident even as her heart fluttered with bittersweet excitement.
Five minutes passed, until she could finally step back onstage, wearing a bright jade summer dress with golden bracelets and dark green sandals. She felt a slight chill as her bare legs cut the air in long strides that effortless fell in time with the beat. The vocal line had doubled. There were two women singing now. Or maybe the same woman, recorded twice.
Her heart was beating heavily as she crossed the darkness and found the light at the end. She entered the brilliant beams and struck a relaxed and almost reverent pose, arms at her side, her head raised slightly. She was a girl standing in a field, watching birds flutter by, waiting for her lost love to return home. She was feminine and beautiful and vulnerable, looking for someone to take care of her.
The music washed over her and she let herself fall into its comforting bass. The lights began pulsing, and she let out a small gasp as she realized just how urgently she had awaited this moment when she could finally return to them.
And the voices. Here in the light, they were so much clearer. Like the sound of them was focussed on this space. Like only she could perceive them at all. Like the audience couldn’t hear them, just like they couldn’t see the light. It was just for her. A gift. A riddle. Something she had to appreciate. Something she had to understand. Anansi wanted her to understand.
She noticed that her mouth had fallen open. She closed it again. Were the one and a half turns over, or could she watch a little bit longer?
‘Listen to me’ sang the female duo in harmony, their voices almost dissolved in the syruppy soundscape. Fey understood. This was part of the riddle she had to figure out. She had to listen.
The lights spun around her. She listened to the hidden voices. It was a beautiful song. It told her how beautiful she was. How wonderful. How they loved her. She almost had to smile. Anansi had done this. That meant that Anansi loved her. It felt good to be loved. It felt good to be wonderful. This was so nice. Such a special thing, just for her. Just for her to enjoy.
Sadly, the moment had to end. But she would be back soon. More nice, relaxing, wonderful lights. She just now noticed how relaxed she was, even as she was holding her pose. She was so relaxed, even though her heart was beating fast.
The music cued her to step away from the light, and she did only because she had to. This was still a gig, even if it was the most wonderful gig ever.
A loose blue tank top, barely enough to cover her panties. That was all that she was handed for the next walk.
She put it on eagerly. She couldn’t wait to go back out. When it was time for her to go, it felt to her like she had only just left the stage.
It was a whole chorus now. She crossed the darkness and stepped into the light, pulling one strap of her tanktop down her arm, cradling one hand just beneath her tits, gently tugging the top up, just barely hinting at what lay beneath. An unapologetically sexy pose. This was a sexy outfit, and the pose was appropriate for that. She was the girl you had hooked up with after she had told you that she would slip into something more comfortable. She had already said ‘yes’. She wanted you.
She was rewarded with spinning, pulsating lights, and she immediately fell into them and forgot everything else. The bass made her lower body shiver, and she let out a small moan that was lost in the deafening chorus that filled her ears and owned all of her attention.
She wanted nothing else anymore. Only this. She felt so good. So hot. So sexy. So confident. So loved. She was beautiful. Everyone was looking at her. But no one was seeing what she was seeing, experiencing what she was experiencing: The beautiful lights, the beautiful voices, telling her beautiful things, making her so happy and relaxed. So many colors. So many voices. It didn’t even matter anymore what she was doing. She was only here for this.
‘Listen and repeat’ the voices sang, and the melody was immediately stuck in her head, and she didn’t know if she had heard it before. But she did what it told her. She quietly sang along, and the voices repeated the chorus, and she joined in with the words she already knew. New words followed, and she repeated the melody, repeated the words. It was all part of the riddle. Part of the dancing lights. Part of the love she felt. Part of the wonderful, relaxed happiness.
It felt so long this time. She loved how long it felt. She sang along: She was beautiful. She was loved. She was special. She was where she belonged. She was safe. She was happy. She was calm. She was eager. She was open.
Such a beautiful melody. Such beautiful words that Anansi had written for her. Such a wonderful thing. Such a wonderful thing.
It ended again, but this time she wasn’t even sad. She knew she was going to back, and it was going to be even better next time. Next time, she would be able to sing along from the start, and feel her voice vibrate along with the bass and with the lights in her eyes.
She walked back, and the melody kept going in her head, and she quietly hummed along with every step. It was stuck in her head. Such a wonderful melody. Such a wonderful thing.
Five minutes later, she stepped out again and walked back into the music, back into the light. She had never stopped humming the melody. She wondered if there were going to be new words. She was ready. She wanted it.
She dimly realized that this time, she had been given no clothes at all to wear. But it didn’t matter. It was her that was wonderful. Anansi had told her. She had come to her backstage, and quietly sung into her ear, and Fay had realized that the voice in the music had been Anansi’s voice all along, distorted by the same effect that made it blend so seamlessly with the bass between her legs and the light in her mind.
For her pose, she pushed one hand seductively into her panties. With the other, she grabbed her right tit, squeezing it as she arched her back and pushed out her ass and chest. She was hot and desirable and about to fuck you. She was your lover, and she was dirty and ready. All you had to do was to take her.
The lights caught her and swept her away, and she fell into the music with a deep moan of relief and joy as the world around her fell away and there were only the words. Only the melody. Only the truth.
“I am beautiful,” she sang along, and the words were firmly etched into her mind. “I am loved. I am special.”
She was so special to be loved and adored and desired. She was so sexy and hot. She was so eager and open. So happy. She sang along, and the fingertips in her panties itched to wander lower. They itched to join in the song. They itched to join the tingling feeling between her legs that the bass was making her feel.
‘You will listen’ the voices sang, and she knew there were going to be new words to sing. She wanted to sing along so badly. Solve the riddle. Understand what Anansi wanted for her. Understand what else she was.
She listened. Listened as she stood near-naked in the spotlight, quietly singing along as she sunk deeper and deeper into the light, deeper and deeper into the words. Deep enough to hear it all. Deep enough to finally understand what was happening:
“You are entranced. Deeply entranced,” the song went, and she eagerly repeated. Happiness danced in her entranced mind, because she finally understood. It was true. It was so beautiful. She had been singing along because of it. It all made sense now. The lights. The music. The voices. She was so close now.
But then, the song shifted again, and the lights stopped telling the truth. It felt like someone had denied her an orgasm. She couldn’t just leave. She needed the light. She needed to understand.
But she had to walk back, in time with the beat. Always with the music, always repeating the melody in her head. Follow the music, keep going. Only a little while. Then, she would be back. Back in the light. Back with the voices. She would understand. She would be happy again.
When it was time to go back on, Anansi told her to take off her wig and let her hair fall down open around her shoulders. Then, she told her to remove her underwear and go on stage naked.
Fey did it without thinking. Anything to return to the song.
When she was back in the light, she didn’t even remember walking down the catwalk.
She went to her knees, her legs spread. She was a naked whore, shamelessly presenting her body for everyone to see. She only cared about one thing, and she would do anything to get it.
The light and the music.
She got it back, and she let herself be consumed whole.
Ten minutes later, the music stopped altogether, and the theater was filled with deafening silence. With a snap, the harsh UV lights turned off and were replaced by warm overheads that evenly illuminated the rows of onlookers.
The audience was silent.
In a single spotlight at the center of the room knelt a naked woman in her very early twenties.
She was masturbating.
For a minute, everyone watched her first softly moan, then eventually scream as she made herself cum. The woman’s body trembled and contorted as she reached orgasm.
Then, she fell quiet, and her arms fell to her side as she knelt at the end of the catwalk, staring into empty air, captured by a light that only she could see.
Then, there was movement at the end of the stage, and Anansi made her entrance.
Still, silence, except for the heavy-booted footsteps as Amanda Singer walked down the stage and stopped next to the naked woman.
“Fay?” Anansi said.
“Yes,” the woman said flatly, without emotion.
“What are you?”
“I am property,” the woman answered.
“What makes you property?”
“I have no will,” the woman said. “My body exists to be used. My mind exists to obey.”
Anansi nodded. “How do you feel about that, Fay?”
The woman suddenly smiled madly, and her eyes came alive with burning energy.
“Obedience is pleasure!” she said breathlessly. “I love to be used. I love to be fucked. I’m a dirty, obedient slut!”
“Good girl,” Anansi said and, turning to face the audience, added. “You may cum.”
The young woman screamed in ecstasy, and the theater was more than small enough that everyone could see her piss herself as the uncontrollable, conditioned orgasm overwhelmed her.
Anansi looked down at the woman, then back at her audience.
“This won’t happen again, of course. Unless you tell her to. It’s a common side effect of breaking the slave in. The first conditioned orgasm is by far the strongest. See it as proof that this isn’t fake.”
She raised her hands in front of her in a grand gesture.
“The woman who first entered the stage today no longer exists. You saw her succumb to the subliminal barrage. You saw her lose, and break. You saw her cum. Her mind has been permanently altered. Her will and her sense of self have been violently conditioned out.”
She turned to the naked woman again. “Fay. Pretend to be a person.”
“Okay.” the slave said. “Hello, everyone. I am Fay Belmont. I am twenty-one years old. I have been modelling for three years. There have been some ups and downs, but it has mostly been a pretty cool gig. I got really lucky right at the start. I--”
The slave’s expression smoothed over, and her gaze became vacant.
“Her cognition remains intact,” Anansi said “She can think along the lines she is commanded to and is able to carry out even complex tasks. She simply has no more inherent desire to act on her own. Fay?”
“How much are you worth?”
“As much as people are willing to pay for my obedience and the use of my body.”
“What will you do to obey?”
“What can your body be used for?”
“That’s right slave,” Anansi said, smiling. “That’s exactly right.”
She addressed the audience again.
“The other five slaves will be on offer shortly. Bidding starts with this new material.”
She paused dramatically. The room was dead silent. All eyes were on her.
“Starting bid is seven-hundred thousand Euros,” she said, and the room erupted into excited noise.