A few months after she turned seventeen, Trish learned that her dad kept a twenty-something year old sex-slave caged in their basement. It should have horrified her. Surely, a decent girl would have gone to the police. But in Trishís case, it seemed to supercharge her libido. She found herself slipping down into the basement to talk to the girl. Why her fatherís sex-slave never squealed to dad about her visits, Trish really didnít know. One day, the girl vanished. From their conversations, Trish knew that Amy, the girlís pre-slave name, had finally been deemed fully trained and sold.
Later that night, fingers buried between her thighs, Trish lost count of the number of orgasms she experienced as she thought of Amy being sold into sexual slavery. As her skirts got shorter and short and Trish became more and more provocative, she could feel her fatherís hot eyes on her young body. But he never crossed the line. At least, he never crossed the line until he found Trish locked in the basement cage one evening. He hadnít replaced Amy at that point. And Trish had been playing. She didnít really mean to lock herself in the cage. Did she?