Chapter 10: Sapphire in the Arena

The foul smell of the river wafting through the unglazed window rouses me from my slumber. Helene and three of the other women who share our meagre accommodation in Hell are already awake and preparing for the day ahead. Not all of those working here sleep in the upstairs room that Helene and I use. Some prefer to save the cost of ‘accommodation’ and sleep on the stone floor of the basement.

This is my fourth day working off my debt to Mistress Mercy in the sordid underground club known as Hell. I nearly died on my first night after I slipped off the metal bar while a noose was around my neck. My momentary loss of concentration could have been fatal, but I was quick enough to grab the rope above me before the noose tightened.

Hell provides its wealthy patrons with many perverse forms of pleasure, heavily weighted towards tormenting those of us delivering the entertainment. None of the entertainment is deliberately designed to kill us. However, survival isn’t guaranteed, as I witnessed on my first night here. Despite the danger, several of us opt to perform the riskier types of entertainment. The amount deducted from our debt is greater if the entertainment carries a risk of permanent injury or death. Helene has chosen a less dangerous route to freedom that means her earnings are only marginally more than the extra debt we all incur for our food and accommodation. While we cannot leave the premises without permission, nobody forces us to work. However, failing to do so means our individual debt to Mistress Mercy will only increase.

There are currently thirty men and women indentured to Mistress Mercy. To keep Hell in business, Mistress Mercy loans money to those in need, in exchange for his or her services. Some, like Helene and me, were being held for ransom which our kin failed to pay. Others are in debt because of failed business ventures or gambling debts. The price of Mistress Mercy’s generosity is to toil away in Hell.

Not all our duties involve working in the dimly lit basement. Some of the multitude of services offered by Hell can be provided at the client’s premises if they are wealthy enough to pay. The Pasha of Vices is one such client, and his private parties are notoriously dangerous for those providing the entertainment. Consequently, Mistress Mercy provides an additional bonus for those of us volunteering to participate.

“Only the really brave or the really stupid volunteer to satisfy the Pasha’s reprehensible passions,” says Troy, one of the longer serving indentured employees of Hell.

“What happens if nobody volunteers?” asks Helene.

“Cerberus conscripts some of us. If we refuse, then our earnings for the previous two weeks are forfeit. If we accept conscription, then we keep our earnings, but don’t get the volunteer’s bonus. Fortunately there are usually sufficient of us desperate enough to volunteer.”

While we aren’t free to leave Mistress Mercy’s employ, we are allowed to spend a few hours each day outside. We have a distinctive red leather collar locked around our throat whenever we are away from Hell. The words ‘Property of Hell’ engraved on the leather means that escape is almost impossible without outside help. Nobody living in Sadaqa is foolish enough to cross Mistress Mercy. Cerberus made it clear that a runaway is likely to be reported promptly in exchange of a reward that will be added to our debt. We are effectively Mistress Mercy’s slaves until we repay what we owe her.

It would be easy to be cynical and say that nobody ever earns enough to gain their liberty. However, those who obey the rules, and who are willing to risk performing the more dangerous acts can achieve their freedom in a matter of months. Of course, you need to survive in order to reach that goal, but half of those who try, succeed. The other half are beyond caring.

Helene and I have different objectives. She wishes to remain faithful to her marriage vows in a situation where that is nearly impossible. I admire her steadfastness in handling all those men’s cocks without ever giving in to the desire to mount one. I’m not sure I could be so chaste in those circumstances. My own objectives are far simpler. I intend to do whatever is necessary to gain my freedom as quickly as possible. My virginity is something I’m happy to trade if it helps achieve my goal. Loyalty to my father and my betrothed went up in smoke the moment they failed to pay my ransom. Their petty squabbling presented Mistress Mercy with the opportunity to profit from my misfortune.

“I require eight volunteers for the Pasha of Vices’ annual games,” says Cerberus to those of us busy cleaning the basement ready for the evening trade. “Volunteers get a double bonus this year. Who wishes to volunteer?”

None of those who have been here any length of time volunteer. That should warn me to be careful. But the prospect of getting out of here earlier outweighs any caution. For better or worse, I promptly volunteer. Apparently I’m not the first, as I am to join five others who volunteered earlier. That makes me feel slightly better at taking a blind risk, although there’s no real justification for my relief.

“What sort of games are involved?” asks Helene.

“Same as in here, only grander in scale and before an audience of hundreds,” replies Cerberus. “Are you volunteering?”

Too late, Helene realises the trap into which she has fallen. If she doesn’t volunteer then Cerberus will almost certainly conscript her in the absence of any more volunteers. He’s still two people short for the games, and I suspect that we are the last group to be invited to volunteer.

“Um ... yes, okay,” says Helene, accepting her mistake in asking her question.

“Good,” replies Cerberus. “One more required. Last chance to volunteer. Anybody?”

Nobody volunteers, so Cerberus points to a scrawny middle-aged man called Josiah. His victim doesn’t look as though he’s had a decent meal in months. Josiah could still refuse to participate, but none of us working here can afford to lose two weeks worth of earnings. Satisfied that he has the eight that he needs, Cerberus leads Helene, Josiah and me to another area of the basement where the other five volunteers are waiting.

The eight of us are a mixed group by gender, age and build. There are four men and four women. Helene and I appear to be the youngest, while Josiah is probably the oldest. As for build, a woman in her late twenties is built like an ox, while the fourth woman among us is slender like Helene. Other than Josiah, the three male volunteers are muscular. One of them displays a strong air of superiority over the other men. Whether or not his conceit is justified remains to be seen, although I recall that he had a magnificent cock when he was chained to a stone pillar last night. Helene clearly remembers him as well, as she should, given how long she spent oiling and massaging his erection.

“We depart for the arena in ten minutes,” says Cerberus. “Leave your regular clothes here and put these on.”

We are each handed a small bag containing nothing more than a simple loin cloth. I look at the other women, who are as shocked as I am. Even female slaves in Sadaqa are provided with tunics that cover at least part of their tits. Walking about topless is a new experience for me although I’ve not been above briefly flashing my cleavage on occasion.