Authors Note: The following is just a piece of entertaining (Hopefully) fiction, nothing more. The author condemns real life slavery and rape and hopes that those willingly participating and profiting from such crimes are brought to justice: yet this piece differs in that it is fantasy, nothing more.

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To me, the female body was a thing of beauty: a perfectly sculptured master piece there for admiration and the visual delight of others. Trim, well shaped and with pleasing features surpassing that of the greatest works of art in history, a good woman’s body to me was worth a pot of gold, literally. Perhaps it was my fascination and veneration of female beauty, or the way I could make them do whatever I wanted when I had them within my grasp, but for as long as I could remember, I have always enjoyed the thought of making my living with artwork. Female artwork that is.

While the fantasies had started at a much younger age, I entered into my trafficking business roughly when I was out of school, around the age of 18. At first, I started off as a scout: prying through the various nightclubs of my city on the look out for pretty, seemingly alone girls. As the years passed however, I was given more and more responsibilities, eventually coming to the top of my profitable…corporation that trafficked artwork to those depraved and wealthy enough to become one of my clients. At this point, women for me had become little more than walking wads of cash. Although indeed there were women amongst my organization that did the same to men, I found my ability to connect with them on a human level diminishing with the growing numbers of women I sold into slavery, as even female ‘work mates’ took on the appearance of potential slaves, at least in my mind.

All of this however, is history. I used to think of women as a source of income for myself and fellow males, now I sternly believe the opposite, after all don’t they say that behind every great man is an even greater woman? Like many, many other stories of present and past, it started with a girl. Still, the most gorgeous creature I have ever laid eyes upon.

A year and a half ago, almost to the day, I had been amongst one of the privileged few invited to attend the opening of a new art gallery dedicated to the establishment of human rights (How ironic) in war torn countries. I was a friend of the owner after some of my girl’s sold her a pair of high school football quarter backs she now keeps chained up in her basement, and she had wished to thank me in a way by inviting both I and the relevant associates to a congregation that offered me the opportunity to mingle with the cities High Society, and possibly more customers. It was when I was discussing a piece of art drawn by some wanna-be artist college girl that I laid eyes upon ‘Her’. Although my glance just passed her briefly when I was casually scanning the room, my roaming vision was quickly drawn back to her when my brain registered the possible angel fallen from heaven. Her height was nice for a woman, 5’10 with firm yet feminine shoulders. The hair that crowned her head seemed to me to be made from black silk, falling down to the top of her lower back like a straight ebony waterfall: such a fine mane was complimented by beautiful olive hued skin, the likes of which seemed utterly flawless. Her face was no different, a set of full, dark colored lips set amongst her elegant features: lips that, to me at least, seemed designed for the sole purpose of pleasuring a man’s most intimate places. Even her eyes caught my