Market

He threw me to the ground, pulled up his shorts, and stared at me for a long moment.

• So, where do you live and how do you eat since you have no money?

I blushed with shame as I tried to compose myself.

• I've been in the gym's basement since last week. I didn't think I'd stay long. I go to the food bank or rummage through the trash.

He glared at me.

• No wonder you can't exercise properly. Get dressed. I obeyed.

"Follow me," he said.

Without question, I followed him. He led me to an unfamiliar corner of the basement. He opened a small, old locker room, still in good condition, with showers. "You'll sleep here," he said. "It was my first personal space, small but functional. I'll bring you a sleeping bag. Unless you pay in kind, you'll go to bed at 9 p.m. and get up at 5. I'll come and open the door for you. You'll be locked in and you'll follow my program: failure, corporal punishment, or humiliation, or both, understood?"

I nodded, my legs still trembling from his ****. The cold air of the basement chilled my damp skin as he threw a military sleeping bag onto the concrete floor.

"Thank you, Virgil," I murmured, my voice hoarse, my lips still swollen.

He suddenly leaned forward, grasping my jaw between his fingers, forcing my gaze into his. "You'd better keep up the pace tomorrow." He threw some dry food onto the floor.

• You'll eat this tonight. It's disgusting, but perfectly balanced for the program.

He put a dog-training collar on me and showed me a remote control.

• If you disappoint me, if you fail, if you disobey, you'll get a shock to motivate you, and then you'll be punished.

His voice echoed in the small locker room, icy cold, as his fingers gripped the remote like a weapon. I looked down at the metal collar around my neck, its cold weight against my damp skin.