The first thing you noticed about the girl was that she had no nipples. Cut cleanly off. Two scars like crucifixes. The night it happened, her hair fell out. While it had originally been curly and black, her hair grew back in a wispy white that made her look like a fuzzy baby bird. It struggled to grow past her ears and jutted out in all directions. The style would have been adorable on a one-year-old. When the owner of the Lupanarium bought her from the School for Slaves, he got a discount because of her unfortunate hair.

The white-haired girl was one of hundreds of naked children crouched together in the Hall of the Lupanarium—a corporate brothel that day and night pimps out tens of thousands of humans. They are called “bodies” because the word “slave” had become unfashionable. The School for Slaves kept its name, however, lest anyone forget.

Although she kept her eyes on the floor, the white-haired child could feel the nearness of the guards. She knew why. She was the only survivor of the 9 trials, a series of psychological, physical, and sexual “tests” designed by the School for Slaves to make one a body. Xander of the North, who before the girl had made it the furthest, completed the seventh trial before committing suicide by attacking his fukking instructor.

The School for Slaves takes up several square blocks of the city, having grown in size and importance over hundreds of years. During that time, the 9 were refined through a series of trial and error. The errors left bodies dead or so mangled or psychologically traumatized that medical care in the city had taken exponential leaps forward. Healers specializing in the art of vaginal reconstruction became wealthy. Men too psychologically damaged to fuk were treated by head-healers who taught them methods to get hard under any circumstances.

The ninth and final trial is known as the “heart and soul killing” or cor animamque occidere. During this process, a person loses all memories of their life before enslavement. If they are unwilling to submit during trials one through eight, then the ninth makes certain they become the desired malleable body.

The white-haired child had undergone the ninth trial first. She didn’t know why. She only knew that she remembered nothing of her life before the trials, not even her name. She suspected she was not from Rome, as the headmaster of the School for Slaves referred to her as “that foreign kunt” once or twice.

The white-haired child stepped up to the platform in the Hall of the Lupanarium where she was to receive a name at random. The woman meant to be her handler introduced herself as Paulina then reached into a basket and pulled out a slip of parchment.

“Matt-Lin,” Paulina read, her face wrinkled in a permanently pained expression. The white-haired child, now called Matt-Lin, noticed her handler’s left eye was made of glass. The girl wondered if anyone had ever fukked the hole.

“Your record says you are around fourteen,” Paulina stated. Upon her arrival at the School for Slaves, she was twelve, or so she’d been told, and would probably look twelve for the rest of her life. Children who went to this school were often stunted. It had taken Matt-Lin two years to graduate, so it was reasonable to assume she was around fourteen. She nodded even though it wasn’t a question.

“From now on, we’ll say you’re between the ages of nine and thirteen, depending on the needs of the client.” Paulina continued her assessment, “Four feet and nine inches tall. White hair. Olive skin. Green-blue eyes. You’re a lucky girl. Pretty and small children are a specialty. Shame about your body and hair, but I see your pussy and asshole are in good shape. I’m certain you can still make a great deal of money for the owner.”

Matt-Lin. Matt-Lin, she said in her head while the other children spoke their new names out loud. As the only body to ever survive all of the 9 trials, the Lupanarium and the School for Slaves decided upon rules meant only for her. She would never earn the right to speak unless given permission by a select few. Matt-Lin, she thought. Like something you stepped on. It didn’t feel like her. It didn’t not feel like her. It was the name she was assigned. Matt-Lin noticed she had no feelings about it either way.

When Jak entered the Hall of the Lupanarium that day, many of the children experienced their first stirrings of sexual desire. Girls got wet. Some blushed. Little peckers of the eternally preadolescent boys got hard. 

Jak was short for Jakkal, the most popular name for lowborn boys the year of his birth some thirty odd years ago. He was an elite body, born for fukking and fighting. He came from excellent breeding stock—a lineage of bodies tall, attractive, and strong. He wore thin leather pants that served as a proper advertisement for his cock. It was massive even soft, a boa constrictor at rest.

Jak was known as “the man” throughout Rome. Male bodies aren’t considered men, however, and the so-called real men, in their jealousy, passed laws forbidding the moniker. Still, no matter how many times they tried to put Jak in his place, they could do nothing about the fact that his sexual and physical skills were superior, and the name stuck.

Matt-Lin pretended not to notice when a guard pointed her out to Jak and his companion, a slender older man. She also pretended not to notice when the men walked towards her, Jak keeping one step behind the elder.

Attikus, an employee of the Lupanarium, was Jak’s handler. The old man’s job was telling Jak where to go, who to fuk, and what to fight. He made a small percentage of Jak’s intake, and because Jak made a great amount of money for his owner, Attikus did well.

Jak regarded the white-haired child, noting her spindly limbs and scarred body. “You the girl who survived the 9 trials?” Jak asked the top of her head.

Matt-Lin didn’t respond. She wasn’t allowed.

Paulina stood between the man and child. “This is Matt-Lin. And yes, she is the survivor of the 9.”

Jak looked disappointed. “You ‘ave anyone bigger?”

“What is he looking for?” Paulina asked Attikus, preferring to speak with her peer.

“He needs a female child for a performance,” Attikus told her.

Jak chimed in with, “The monster act. It’s a rough one. Need a girl who can take a pounding. Figured the survivor of the 9 could ‘andle it.”

Jak spoke in a variation of the Vulgar Latin that was singular to bodies. He was capable of speaking like a proper Roman nobleman, but he only did so when he was playing a character for clients. He hid behind his common speech, using it to seem unintelligent when he was around real men.

Jak knelt down, trying to capture Matt-Lin’s eyes. He used his kindly father voice, the voice he used when he had to fuk kids. “Child, it will be dangerous. You will get hurt. I promise I won’t kill you unless they make me.”

Paulina spoke for Matt-Lin saying, “She would be pleased to join you on this job.”

“The character in the show has lines. Will she be able to speak?” Jak asked.

Paulina nodded. “It would be her honor.”

Matt-Lin figured this was the man who would finally kill her. She once saw Jak at the School for Slaves when his cock was used in a demonstration of fellatio. She saw him again when he was there to choose a few boys for a performance in the arena. He’d been tasked to slaughter them in a reenactment of some far away atrocity. Matt-Lin observed that children who left with him didn’t come back. 

If Jak had to work with kids, he always asked if he could pick them himself. He feared he might kill or fuk one of his biological children. He might have hundreds, as he’d been bred many times. Jak liked that Matt-Lin had greenish eyes for his were brown. He noticed her hair had originally been black based on the color of her lashes, brows, and the shadow of her shaved pubic hair. Good, he thought. Jak had been blond as a child, and it was a tragedy to his owner when he grew up to be darker.

Matt-Lin followed Jak to a dressing room. On the way, she noticed she wasn’t being watched. No Paulina. No guards. Jak was the only person who could stop her from running. She noted this with her eyes obediently to the floor.

Matt-Lin underwent a re-hymenation process while Jak put on his monster costume. She was playing a Greek maiden who gets fukked by a forest creature with large claws and teeth. Matt-Lin had lost her virginity many times because sex with virgin children never goes out of style.

“First thing you need to do is run,” Jak informed her. “Run like your life depended on it. I’ll be chasing you. Give it a couple minutes. Give ‘em a good show. Do you read?”

Matt-Lin shook her head no.

“There’s a script. It’s a piece o’ shit. I’ll read it to you. Be a good girl and follow the directions, yeah?”

After the healer had finished restoring Matt-Lin’s hymen and left, Jak advised, “You’ll want to put lube in your holes.”

Matt-Lin watched Jak rub oil up and down his dick. He handed her the jar. She proceeded to put some inside her pussy and asshole.

“Good girl. Now put your dress on. I’ll help with your hair.” Jak chose a wig of dark curls from a rack.

Matt-Lin held a flimsy shift in front of her body. She turned it around and upside down, trying to figure out how to put the thing on, an indication of how long it had been since she wore clothes.

In the arena, the monster expected the maiden to run away from him. Matt-Lin did run, but it wasn’t for the show. She was trying to escape. She ran to every exit and tried to get out, but each door was guarded. She dodged several of Jak’s attempts at capturing her with his monster arms. He scowled at her through his mask because she wasn’t struggling as instructed. She was fighting.

She’s the worst performer I ever fukked, Jak thought. Can’t fukking take direction. Jak caught her and laughed as she wriggled out of his arms just enough to punch him in the mouth.

The monster pinned the maiden down on the ground. The men in the arena stood up to get a better view, hands rubbing their cocks. Some had women with them, wives or courtesans or daughters.

Jak began punching past the side of her head, brushing against her hair, and landing the blows into the sand. He meant to miss. There was no point in damaging the child unless it was for the audience and from where they were seated, no one could see if he was hitting her or not.

Jak almost came when he heard Matt-Lin’s voice for the first time, and not because his dick gets hard for the prepubescent voices of the arrestedly developed boys and girls from the School for Slaves. Rather, what almost made Jak cum was when the girl said, “No, please. I’m a virgin,” with the unmistakable sound of a foreign accent.

Jak tried not to smile. Little demon never lost it. Bodies who go through the cor animamque occidere are supposed to forget their original language and in turn all accent or dialect. They just sound Roman. They truly didn’t break her, Jak mused, as he started the slow process of impaling her with his cock. He was about three inches in when he felt her tear.

Another thing Jak noticed about the girl’s voice was she spoke in a monotone. It was as if she didn’t give a fuk about her performance and was purposely trying to act badly.

“It hurts. It’s hurting me. Noooooooo,” Matt-Lin said like a bored baby. At least she was good at projecting. And did someone in the audience just laugh?

Matt-Lin thought Jak was fukking her weird, then realized he was doing it on purpose. He was taking it slow and cheating out for the audience. His cock was the main attraction. Matt-Lin predicted she would have to go back to the healer when he got about nine inches inside of her.

Jak didn’t put his cock all the way in. He didn’t need to. He used her technically and for the show. After fukking her hard, tossing her around a bit, raping her asshole with just a few inches, and strangling her, the monster held the child up to the crowd. Her body was bruised and scraped, and she was bleeding from her pussy.

Jak carried Matt-Lin to an upright wooden phallus known as the rape wall. He tied her hands above her head with a leather rope attached near the top of the phallus to keep her standing. The monster was now supposed to make the maiden cum for the audience. The crowd needed the victim to like it in the end otherwise they couldn’t live with themselves.

Jak knelt down and cleaned her with a wet cloth as he took a small breast in his mouth. He could tell the girl hated the way that felt, but continued. This wasn’t for her. He kissed her neck and whispered so that only she could hear, “Moan, you fukkin’ imp.”

“Oh! Oh!” Matt-Lin attempted.

It sounded less like a moan to Jak and more like she was about to perform a soliloquy badly. To punish Matt-Lin for her terrible acting and to elicit a real performance, Jak picked her up and shoved his dick in all the way. Matt-Lin gasped. That got her to react, he thought. Once her blood started acting as a lube, he turned towards the audience to better show off his cock entering and exiting. I bloody hate fukking virgins. Too much fukkin’ damage.

Matt-Lin knew she had to cum for the show to be over. It didn’t matter if it was fake or real. Her pussy was tight around him, so when she started to squeeze, Jak slowed down to locate in her body where it felt good. He stopped moving and just held her with his dick about three-quarters of the way in. She was so tight. Fuk, what a fukkin’ painful delight, Jak thought as he focused on not cumming.

The audience leaned in. They wanted to see her face. They wanted to hear her vocalizations, but she had none. They began to talk amongst themselves. “Is she going to cum or not?” This was supposed to be for them.

As Jak felt Matt-Lin shudder against him, willful in her silence, he whispered, “Share it with the audience, darling, and it’ll all be over.”

Matt-Lin gave out her last line in a monotone baby voice. “I’m cumming. I’m cumming. Oh no. The monster made me cum.”

Jak hid his face in Matt-Lin’s wig as he started to cum inside her. The audience was disappointed they couldn’t see him, but that’s what had to be, for Jak could not stop himself from laughing.