This weeks winner of the Pimp Your Street Team is Lily White
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Her Masters Courtesan
I am a Master.
You must know this fact to understand my story.
I capture women.
I break them down.
And I rebuild them.
If they are lucky, they are sold into the professional hands of another Master. If they are less fortunate, they are buried beneath the ground, never to be thought of again.
I lust for the control, I demand absolute submission and my body yearns to warp the minds of those I train.
Power is the only thing I’ll ever need and I am addicted to the feeling of ultimate control.
I am wealthy, good-looking, educated and charming.
And I am - in no way - a good man.
I do not want love.
I do not want kindness.
She thought she could change me by giving me the two things I knew I never wanted.
She was wrong.
Her Masters Teacher
Her dark red hair fell in waves down her back and her alabaster skin appeared to sparkle under the lights of the lecture hall
I'd admired her from a distance, never speaking or doing anything to draw attention to myself.
Each day that I spent watching her in this room, I noticed how her eyes would flick up to me. She was wary of me - frightened - and she had reason to be.
Allow me to introduce myself…
My name is Holland Strong and at 21 years old, I'm the youngest Master within a society of wealthy and influential men.
Claire Elliot is my psychology professor in college - that is, at least, until I make her my first courtesan.
She believes she knows everything about how the mind works…
…and I believe I can prove her wrong.
Their meaning, the pictures they paint in the minds of those that hear them: they’re not always the same and to me at least, that makes them meaningless.
Take for instance the phrase ‘black widow’. Those words conjure the image of a spider, an eight-legged creature with the red imprint of an hourglass on its abdomen.
However, instead of speaking of an arachnid, of the resident of a spindly and dew-laden web, the people who whisper those words are talking about something much different.
They’re talking about me.
From what I’m told, I’m called the Black Widow because no man I’ve ever loved has survived.
Yet, I have no memory of any of it.
My new home leads me to the definition of another vague and meaningless word.
It’s a place where I’m supposed to seek refuge.
A place of retreat and security.
It’s a place where I’m supposed to be kept safe because I’m sick.
But the definition for this place is wrong and the word becomes meaningless when you’re tucked away and made silent by drugs and pretty white jackets.
My name is Alexandra Sutton and this is the story of what happened when I was imprisoned inside an Asylum.