The Dark Side of a Mastermind: A Descent into Human Trafficking and Torture

Maritza had a bisexual boyfriend who'd cheat on her and beat her up whenever he suspected she was straying (which, quite honestly, happened very often) and sooner or later she either had to get out of that apartment they shared on the Upper West Side or face dire consequences. The guy himself was involved with several lovers, including transvestites and sadomasochists, not of the most glamorous kind. She asked if I could help, as I was the man she was cheating on him with. And I said, yeah; she could count on me, move in for the time being with me. And so she did. Her boyfriend came over, as he had followed her incessantly since he suspected she was about to make a bold move. Moving in with her lover was as bold a move as any, so he had a private detective chase her around and unearthed the location of the place I had in Astoria, Queens. It wasn't the only place I had nor the best, but it helped with my low profile obsession and it happened to be the place I was at when this story unfolded. The private detective told Raymond of his girl's whereabouts. He went there one night to follow up. I found him as he walked into the building, made his way to the loft I rent on the last floor of the complex, and I hit him with a baseball bat. He fell unconscious.

When Raymond (that was the guy's name, could very well be made-up) woke up, he found himself bounded to an iron-frame bed. The room was sealed-off to the rest of the world with three layers of sound-proof material; I am a DJ and I need to play loud music and didn't want any neighbors involved. Even if the room wasn't sound-proof and mute to all outsiders' ears, it would've been useless for him to try and make a noise. He had a mouth gag. Maritza and I took turns at raping him during the rest of the week until he kind of got used to the abuse. Then we stepped up our game and filmed him, and put it on the web. We convinced him to trim his nails, let his hair grow; he had a feminist streak and found it appealing. We injected him with female hormones, and made an appointment with a third-class underground doctor who had lost his license for operating on male-to-female transgenders who hadn't been approved by a psychological evaluation. The guy still operated freely in a house he owned upstate, located in the middle of wilderness and with no one in sight for miles around. First we insisted he had breast implants, and so our illegal doctor friend happily obliged. Then six months thereafter, Raymond found himself castrated, and little by little turned into a fabulous woman we nicknamed Alexa. We had Alexa pay half the money of the operations with sex clients we hand-picked for her. Alexa wasn't more beautiful than many other transgender girls, but she was beautiful nonetheless; the allure to her was her condition, as we had filmed the progress of such brutalization and shown the selective clientele who Alexa had gone from a raging jealous boyfriend who had at one point been man enough to get jealous over his girlfriend. Alexa wasn't spared either. I don't like people around my inner circle just sit around and benefit from my wicked enterprises without having exploited them somehow. Of course, I do so gradually. The reason she had come to depend on me was drugs, initially. And the fact that she saw I was far more ruthless than her ex boyfriend. She wanted to exact revenge on him, so that helped too; you need to give women more than one option. They can't only rely on you economically; it's not enough to have them addicted to painkillers and all sorts of paraphernalia which you, of course, initially provide for free. They also have to feel that you have at least some goodwill and spiritual side; they need to feel that you slightly care for them and have their best interest in mind. It helps them cope with the deprivation and humiliation endured. It takes time to make people fully dependent on you but once that takes root, it is not easy to take a step back. When I offered she could stay with me, I said for a while, but she might have sensed there was no going back for her.

The same night she came over, I bounded her. She had spent the whole day in the beach and had a superb tanned skin that made her the more appealing. I kept her in captivity, away from sunlight, for so long that her skin recovered her old milky-white complexion. I kept telling her I did so for her own good. She'd cry and cry but I'd punish her every time she did. She did not try to escape which I found odd. I gave her false hope, misguided opportunities, but she never took the bait. Maybe she felt that there was no point. She had been going from abusive relationship to abusive relationship all of her life, ever since her stepfather took away her virginity and her mother did absolutely nothing to stop him from repeatedly raping her until she had an abortion and a miscarriage.
Then I delivered her boyfriend. She saw that the both of them were captives, and felt my supremacy over the man who had victimized her for years. She knew the kind of people I was involved with, the type of man she was fucking with up to that point didn't come close to the man she was faced with now. I may look amicable, but I am one sick fuck. She soon learned. Amicability is a mask we all wear; no one comes into your life and tells you their darkest secrets all of a sudden. We have all been damaged somehow and those who have been protected from the pain that others may inflict on you find one day their innocence raped and paradise lost. No one is normal and though there are self-improvement books all around, the reality is that the dark forces at play are far more dominant than light. The universe is mostly empty and dark, and we are in the middle of nowhere trying to make sense of the meaninglessness of existence. It is easier to adopt the cruelest nature because it comes off more naturally to our depraved nature and wounded soul. The light is something we hold in one hand like a flashlight in the mist of an obscure and cold forest as we give chase to a helpless victim.

How I made money by enslaving women and some men later on, too, is no coincidence. I stem from a ravished land and before I was even born my mother had been a high class prostitute who got purposely impregnated by one rich folk who had no desire of making her the one. He was married and only frequented her occasionally. My mother wasn't a complete moron but she wasn't the smartest cookie either; she figured, having a son by a man who had power and resources in his veins made sense. She wanted to extort him, too. But it didn't work. Instead, she found herself pregnant and running for her life soon after she gave birth to me. I am bloodthirsty by nature, it wasn't long before I bought some land and built a fortress to provide for my reckless being. The women I picked were easy-going party-girls at first. I'd go to major cities and spot them, beautiful, young, careless and wild creatures of the night, one moment accepting a drink from you and the next finding themselves in a perilous situation more than they bargained for. Far away from their homes, in the middle of a jungle dessert, dressed in kinky outfits I'd buy for them at cheap stores, using drugs and sex toys like they used one day to play with dolls and organize tea and slumber parties. Of course, I was also drawn to them and when I didn't have to, I'd let them be and not interfere, punishment was something they got only when they deserved it. I won't embellish these lines of fiction just like I wouldn't add powder to lines of coke: I love submitting women, I think it's a gift that comes naturally to some men, but my intention was never to degrade them. They were, as I saw them, a by-product of my fecund and twisted imagination, I depended on them to a great extent and it wasn't in my plans to do it for the thrill of it. I saw the business aspect of it. Even when it came to my mother, I never was more of a pervert than I was a businessman.
In Cartagena, a tourist place I frequented in a bordering land, I made my first initial contacts with drug cartels that exported drugs to Miami. I'd exchange the finest women under my command for drugs. I never liked the brutality that characterized the narcotic business, so I did it as a sideshow, a little something for my clients and my girls. One day, I got tired of the small minded, limited world that I inhabited and married a beautiful tourist girl who eventually got me to the States. We were never the typical married couple. She was a bisexual, had her sleep with some of my girls and we'd smoke pot, drink local rum and go dancing in the nearby small towns. One day, she proposed we get married so I could take my game to a whole new dimension. And so, I did.

In my mid-twenties, I arrived here, New York. It was love at first sight. It didn't take me long to learn the language and start ventures everywhere. In Jackson Heights, I rented a large house and subsidized its rooms to transvestites that brought in some money. The police did not take long finding out and so I fled. This aspect of the game thrilled me, as it wasn't the case in my native land. There, you can buy any cop, and it's not like in the States all the police force is untouched by corruption but it is a lot harder and these were just my humble beginnings and first rushes with the law. I soon discovered that it was best to move out of the spotlight, and use the Internet to sell self-made porn and extort some of my clients. Then I moved on to co-owning a small bar, and then a restaurant, and found out that it wasn't really necessary to be involved with the lesser elements. Here in the States you could make ends meet legally, and keep other illegal activities on the low, as a sideshow spectacle to amuse wicked self. And so I kept earning legally and yet keeping a few properties around where I'd explore my darkest side. That's how I got acquainted with that surgeon illegal doctor who barely spoke any English but was very skilled in his own right. I traveled often nationally and internationally; nothing like getting to the States and being overwhelmed by its omnipotent culture to see that there's always something left unseen in the world. I didn't venture far initially, but little by little I end it up making it my business to never visit the same touristic place more than once. There's just so much to see out there. Of course, I'd come back and keep checking on my Frankenstein home-made creatures from time to time because that's how I got my kicks. Alexa nowadays works in Jackson Heights as a prostitute, just like many other transvestites I have seen throughout the years. And his/her ex girlfriend I still take out by a leash on a full moon night in the Poconos property I own.