My Husband Treated Clients to My Human Sashimi Sushi

I used to be the bodyguard for Lincoln Hayes's ex-girlfriend, Whitney Bell.

Three years ago, because of my negligence, she was raped, murdered, and dismembered by an obsessed fan.

Her body was never found.

To punish me, Lincoln organized a humiliation party on the anniversary of Whitney's death.

He drugged me, made me lie on a dining table in a string bikini.

My body was covered with delicacies, served up for consumption.

A dozen men leered, their fingers hooking under the scraps of fabric.

"Mrs. Hayes's skin is so soft..."

He didn't stop them. Instead, a sick glee of vengeance lit his face.

When the food was gone, I thought the torture was finally over, but he said coolly,

"The best is yet to come."

...

I woke up with my hands and feet bound, stretched out on a wide, low Japanese-style dining table.

The table was surrounded by people.

They were impeccably dressed, but their eyes gleamed with greed and lust.

And my dear husband, Lincoln Hayes, sat at the head.

He pushed his gold-rimmed glasses and snapped his fingers at a waiter.

Within minutes, my body was covered in colorful sushi.

Sticky sauces dripped down my skin.

The greedy ones couldn't wait, fingers sliding over my exposed flesh, licking the juices off their tongues.

I finally grasped the danger I was in.

Every year on Whitney Bell's death anniversary, Lincoln dreamed up new ways to humiliate and punish me.

The first year, he locked me in a dog crate for three days and nights, starving me.

He only let me out when I was nearly dead.

The second year, he forced me to kowtow before Whitney's tombstone until my forehead bled.

This was the third year.

He'd turned me into a platter, hosting this degrading "flesh sushi" shame-party.

The men around the table were his business associates, and I was tonight's prey.

"Dig in."

A bell chimed. They descended like ravenous beasts, countless hands grabbing at me.

The sushi vanished, leaving only dripping sauces pooling around me on the table.

"Don't waste it!"

A portly man knelt on the table, his tongue licking toward my chest.

His foul, fishy breath made me gag.

"Don't touch me! Get off!"

Bound, drugged, I had no strength to fight back.

The man kept nuzzling against me. Another, bolder, reached for the clasp of my bikini bottom...

"Lincoln! Help me..."

Utter humiliation flooded me with tears.

This felt worse than death.

Lincoln leaned against the table, his white suit immaculate, swirling a glass of red wine.

Watching my degradation, a flash of cruel satisfaction lit his eyes.

"Does it hurt? Scared?"

"Whitney felt ten thousand times worse before she died."

In that moment, I gave up completely.

I stopped struggling, lay flat on the table like a dead fish.

Then, the bell chimed again.

Lincoln set down his wine glass, dabbing his lips elegantly.

"Gentlemen, dinner is over."

"Let's move to the next phase."

I thought the torture was finally done.

But I was wrong. Something far worse awaited me.

Lincoln clapped his hands. Waiters swarmed in, clearing the messy table.

He walked over, scooped me up into his arms.

"Stop crying. The real show is just starting."

Terrified, I looked up, sobbing my plea,

"Let me go... Please, stop torturing me..."

"I'll kowtow at Whitney's grave... Please, don't humiliate me like this..."

He ignored me.

"Did everyone enjoy their meal?"

"Now that the sushi's gone, gentlemen... care for a taste of the platter itself?"

Lincoln's words caused an uproar.

No one expected Lincoln to actually offer me up,

Especially since I was his lawfully wedded Mrs. Hayes.

But only I knew the depth of his hatred.

Three years ago, he and the starlet Whitney Bell were the perfect golden couple.

I was just her invisible bodyguard.

Whitney was an idol, attracting many obsessive fans.

Especially after she went public with her relationship.

Fans were furious, threatening her safety multiple times.

That's why Lincoln hired me.

I shadowed Whitney everywhere, even outside the bathroom door. But I slipped up once.

She'd fought with Lincoln that day, furious.

She took it all out on me.

She screamed I was Lincoln's spy.

"You're just Lincoln's bitch! Get out! Stay away from me!"

She grabbed a vase and smashed it over my head.

Blood streamed down my face. If I didn't leave, I was sure she'd pull a knife on me.

I had no choice but to wait outside the door.

I never imagined that in those few minutes, she'd be taken.

Kidnapped by the obsessed fan, assaulted, accidentally killed, then dismembered.

They said her body was dumped at sea, never recovered.

After learning of Whitney's death, Lincoln calmly arranged her funeral.

He never blamed me, not once.

After the funeral, he even paid off my father's gambling debts.

He even marry me.

I agreed.

Because I'd secretly crushed on that handsome, powerful man myself.

And so began my life of atonement, tangled with guilt and misplaced love.

On our wedding night, he killed the dog I'd had for eight years, forcing me to clutch Whitney's memorial tablet all night.

Every day with him since has been a nightmare...

A wave of dizziness pulled me from the memory.

Lincoln's voice flooded back.

"Three years married, I've never touched her. She's still a virgin."

"Two hundred grand for her virginity. Highest bidder takes her for the night."

Lincoln's words hung in the air. The portly CEO raised his hand.

"I'll give you two-fifty! Enough to pop her cherry?"

I trembled uncontrollably, wishing for a knife to end it myself.

"Lincoln... please, don't be this cruel."

Lincoln chuckled.

"Cruel? You made a mistake. You deserve punishment."

The bidding war escalated. I was sold for five hundred thousand.

The winner was the portly CEO.

Six hundred fifty thousand dollars. Lincoln sold me.

The man's lecherous gaze raked over me.

"I hear Mrs. Hayes was a bodyguard? Must be quite flexible. I'm sure we'll have an inventive night."

"Tonight's gonna be one hell of a night."

He started towards me.

"Lincoln, hand her over."

At the last second, I summoned every ounce of strength, wrenching free from Lincoln's arms.

While they bid, I'd secretly grabbed a shard of broken glass from the table.

For ten minutes, I'd been sawing at the ropes on my wrists.

The sharp glass cut deep, flesh torn, blood flowing freely.

I finally severed the rope.

In that instant, I bolted like a madwoman for the door.

But Lincoln waved a hand. Two men in black suits blocked the exit.

They grabbed me, dragged me back into the room.

Lincoln looked down at me, a faint frown creasing his brow.

He wrapped my bleeding wrist.

A flicker of something like pain crossed his eyes.

Then I remembered. He'd said my hands looked like Whitney's.

Long, slender fingers. A mole on the wrist.

Even the mole was in the exact same spot.

His concern wasn't for me.

It was for the hands that resembled Whitney's.

How utterly pathetic.

In that moment, my heart shattered completely.

"Lincoln, hand her over. I'll treat her real nice," the CEO urged.

I shivered, trying to scramble back.

Lincoln smirked.

"Scared?" He hooked a finger under my chin.

"If you don't want to be fucked... I can offer you another choice."

"...What choice?"

Lincoln gave a look. The dining room doors opened again.

His men wheeled in a six-foot metal cage, wires snaking from it.

"Two choices: Go with Mr. Wallace tonight, endure whatever he does to you."

Lincoln pointed at the cage.

"Or... why keep the fun to one? Crawl into this dog crate. Give everyone an electric show. How about it?"

Whispers buzzed around me.

"Lincoln, you sick bastard! An electric show? Brilliant!"

"Heard it's 36 volts? Makes 'em piss themselves, foam at the mouth..."

Their words made my skin crawl. Fear gripped my throat.

"Well? Made up your mind?"

Lincoln was losing patience.

He jabbed a finger at the cage. "If you have, get your ass in there!"

I looked up at the man I'd once adored.

Only three years, yet he felt like a stranger.

"Quit stalling! It won't kill you! Don't wanna get fucked? Then crawl in!"

I knew. He just wanted to humiliate me.

He wanted to inflict every torment Whitney suffered onto me.

My pain was his pleasure.

"What if I choose neither?"

He snorted.

"You dare? Remember the two million I paid for your worthless father's debts! I own you! This is what you owe me!"

"Fine. I choose. I'll go with Mr. Wallace."

My words stunned Lincoln.

His blank face twisted with sudden rage. His lips trembled.

"What? You'd go with him?"

His hand shot out, choking me, stealing my breath.

"...What... you... jealous?"

I searched his face for any shred of reluctance.

Nothing.

Two seconds later, he laughed, a strange, hollow sound.

"How dull. I lost."

Laughter erupted around us.

Only then did I understand. It was all a game.

They'd used me to place bets.

Lincoln gave me two choices: go with Wallace or endure the shock.

"I bet five million you'd pick the shock. You lost it for me."

His voice was icy, deadly low.

Mr. Wallace beamed.

"Best night ever! Won five mil off Lincoln, covers the cost of his wife's cherry, and I'm still four mil up!"

"Lincoln, she's mine! My assistant's got the whips and wax ready!"

More laughter.

Lincoln's face tightened.

"Genevieve. Are you sure?"

His final question. I guessed he was mourning his lost five million.

Before I could answer, the door opened again.

A young woman in a white dress rushed in.

She was pretty, with big, fluttering eyes, the picture of innocence.

Maybe twenty-one.

She looked startlingly like Whitney Bell.

If I recalled, this girl was the college student Lincoln had been keeping.

Because she resembled Whitney, he spoiled her rotten.

"Lincoln! Aren't you done? You promised to take me to the musical!"

Lincoln tenderly cupped her cheek.

"Sweetheart, we're done. Let's go."

As they left, the girl glanced back at me.

Shock and disgust filled her eyes.

Her white lambskin shoes brushed past me, smearing in my blood.

"Ew... disgusting."

Her soft complaint made Lincoln instantly kneel, wiping the blood from her shoe.

A gentleness he'd never shown me.

Finally, he gave me one last, deep look, and left with the girl.

Their footsteps faded. Light, teasing laughter drifted down the hall.

Her sugary laugh made me want to vomit.

As the lecherous CEO hauled me into the hotel room, my mind raced.

I wondered, what musical was Lincoln taking that girl to see?

Funny, I'd majored in vocal performance in college.

I used to be artistic too.

I'd once dreamed of seeing a musical with him.

He said I wasn't worthy.

The CEO's thick hands groped under my clothes, his stubbly, foul mouth slobbering over me.

In that moment, I felt a strange sense of release.

I clenched my fist, summoned every ounce of strength left, and punched him.

Square in the temple.

He howled. I flipped him, shoved the date-rape drug he'd tried to force on me down his throat.

Suddenly, the lights went out. Pitch black.

In the gloom, I saw the CEO's terrified eyes.

Within two minutes, he was out cold.

Ten minutes later, I was cleaned up and ready to leave the hotel.

The door burst open.

Lincoln stood there.

Sweat beaded his forehead. He was breathing hard, like he'd sprinted.

Seeing the naked man on the bed, Lincoln's face darkened like a thundercloud.

He stalked towards me, radiating terrifying menace.

"Did he fuck you?"

I stayed silent, refusing to even look at him.

My silence ignited him.

"What? Got yourself a new man? Giving me the cold shoulder now?"

"Genevieve Shaw! Look at me! I said look at me!"

Forced to meet his eyes, I saw fury blazing, but beneath it... jealousy?

In the dark, he kicked the unconscious man off the bed.

My clothes, hastily put back on, were ripped away again.

After three years of marriage, he took me for the first time.

No tenderness. Only angry punishment.

I endured silently, sweating from the pain, letting him use my body.

"I hate you! You killed my Whitney..."

"Why couldn't it have been you? Why not you?"

He sounded so anguished. But I couldn't understand: was all this pain really just because of me?

Dawn was breaking when he finally stopped.

The blood on the sheets made him freeze.

"You didn't let him..."

I was numb, the extreme pain bringing a cold clarity.

"Lincoln, for three years, you never treated me as human. You abused me, tortured me, just to ease your own guilt."

"It's been three years. Haven't you punished me enough?"

I pulled out the bank card I'd prepared.

"This money covers what you paid for my father's debts. We're even."

He froze. His voice shook slightly.

"What do you mean?"

"Divorce. This farce ends now."

Shock gave way to fury.

He swept his arm across the nightstand, sending everything crashing to the floor.

"Genevieve Shaw, who the hell do you think you are? You think you can just end this?"

I looked at him, walked to the window.

"If you won't end it, I'll jump."

Ten floors. Certain death.

He laughed, shrugging.

"Threatening me with death? Go ahead! Jump!"

The next second, I turned resolutely and leaped without hesitation.

In those seconds, I thought I heard Lincoln scream, raw and desperate.

"Genevieve!"

It felt like a long, terrible nightmare.

I thought I'd never wake up.

But I did.