The Charity Auction
Chapter 1
She read glanced over the letter again, for the fifth time tonight. A rather innocuous
letter, really. From a local charity, confirming her entry in their annual fund raiser. Sure,
she'd been to these things before...was even involved in the planning for last year's
event...one of those bachelor auction things, where the women all gawk and whistle as
local celebrities and businessmen were "auctioned" for their services. You know, be her
date...cook a gourmet meal, wash the car, that kind of thing. This year, the board
thought that roles should be reversed, and she was asked if she would mind terribly if
they listed her as one of the "items" to be sold.
She giggled aloud, wondering if the directors knew how long she'd had slave fantasies,
or how vivid they were. Many were the nights she lay in bed, making love to herself,
imagining that her Master was ordering her to pleasure herself while he watched,
teasing her by making her stop before she came, then having her start up again, having
the orders repeated again and again, until the bed below her was saturated with her
juices. Making her sleep with her ankles tied to the corners of the bed, gagged with her
own soiled panties. Ordering her to wear her own cunt drool as perfume, and
forbidding her to bathe. Doing the household chores naked, often on her knees, and
sneaking outside when she had to piss. Going to work with the word "SLAVE" boldly
written in red marker above her shaved genitals. Shopping at the supermarket wearing
only a cotton dress and sandals, no underwear, with lewd comments written on her bell,
tits and ass. All these things she had done, and more, but only alone...never with a real
Master controlling her.
Cheryl really wanted to be a slave, to be commanded by her Master to do these things,
if just for the weekend. To be forced to spread her legs for Him, or kneel while He
ravished her as-yet unused back door. To clean him afterwards, using nothing but her
tongue and mouth, tasting her own cunt and ass. She knew this wasn't what the
directors had in mind when they set this slave auction thing up, though. Most of the
"slaves" would be bought by their husbands or boyfriends, and she doubted that any of
them had the dark desires she felt. To them, it was just a cutsie way of raising funds.
Well, simple fund raiser or not, she was going to push things to the limit.
She smiled as she took the outfit she'd bought especially for tonight down off the
hanger. The tiny black bra that exposed more of her smallish, firm breasts than it hid,
her areolae obscured by the satin, the rest of her globes covered only by thin,
translucent lace. Matching g-string panties barely covering her silky smooth, shaven
slit, little more than a piece of floss behind, leaving her ass cheeks completely bare.
The matching lace baby doll didn't cover much more, tied just above the navel and
barely covering the top of her ass cheeks when she stood. Black 4" strap heels to
accentuate the athletic legs that attracted so much attention. . Ah...almost forgot...gold
chain necklace...wrap it around the ankle few times. Matching choker...yes, she
thought, but black lace to match the outfit, or gold chain? She posed seductively in the
mirror, comparing both before deciding on the chain. Perfect. Time to go. Grab a full-
length leather coat on the way out...don't want to get stopped by some cop, after all.
Well, maybe being stopped would turn out to be fun, but not tonight. Other, more
important things to do.
It was a short drive to the old theater where the event was being held, but the warmth
she felt wasn't just from the summer air. Leather was always a turn-on for Cheryl, and
the smell of her own building need combined with that of her coat to fill the car with a
distinctive mix of scents. One finger traced its way along her inner thigh while she
drove, her mind filled with thoughts. Driving through a seedier part of town, she slowed
as a pimp slapped one of his scantily-dressed bitches, wondering how it would feel like
to be used like that, to be forced to take any man in any hole he desired, providing he
had the money. Her thoughts wandered, the car seemingly on autopilot.
Arriving at her destination, the cars in the parking lot attested to the full house in
attendance. Good, she though...I hope we can make some real money for the
charity...as well has have some fun. The letter said to enter through the stage door, so
she pulled the shiny white BMW around back, parked, and carefully stepped her way
though the accumulation of trash and refuse that had collected behind the building. She
started to reminisce; all the times she came here as a little girl, when it was still a place
where families listened to concerts and watched school plays...where she stood so
many years ago, on the stage, giving her class commencement speech when she
graduated from high school. She stifled another giggle...my, how things have changed,
she thought...but how much they have stayed the same...I wonder what my old principal
would say if he were still around?
Shaking her head as if to clear her mind, she stepped towards the open door and into
the theater. Check-in went smoothly...tell the man holding the clipboard her name...he
checks...number 14. Hands him her purse, with the keys to her car in it...and the
coat...smiles as he leers at her...watching while he puts everything in a box and seals it
up.
"Your things will be safe. Nobody will open this except you," he says. "We figured this
way you wouldn't have to worry about your belongings, and they'll be waiting for you on
Sunday night or Monday morning, depending on when you decide to come back.
Waiting room is over there," he points.
She nods rather uninterestedly. Sure. Okay. No problem. She knew the routine...it was
the same one she helped plan last year. She walks down the hall to what once must
have been a star's dressing room. The years had been as harsh on it as on the rest of
the theater. The bare wood floor virtually screamed for refinishing; the cracked wall-
length mirror over the makeup table spoke to the lack of general maintenance. Glares
from the other women greet her...she lowers her eyes, embarrassed, and sits in one of
the metal folding chairs lining the wall, alone, furthest from the other women. She knew
she was probably going to be the least dressed...but all these women are wearing
formals, as though going to their high school proms! She thought she was going to die
of embarrassment...but at the same time...felt herself becoming excited. God, she
hoped nobody could see how wet her panties were! She steals a glace at the
others...they are all staring at her...some look angry, others amused. She begins to
wonder if this was the right thing to do, but right or not, she realizes it's what she needs.
One by one, the other women are called by number, until Cheryl is next. She sits,
trembling, wondering who is out there...who will see her dressed like this? She nearly
has to be helped out of the chair when it's her turn, she's trembling so badly. She
followed her escort, but it was more like an out-of-body experience, like her legs were
on autopilot, working without her brain telling them.
The stage curtains were closed, and on her side of them was a small stand, perhaps
two feet tall. Her escort took her hand and held while she stepped up, then nodded
towards the side of the stage. Suddenly, Cheryl heard the public address system
microphone turn on, flinching at the popping sound.
"Our next piece of merchandise is Number 14."
The curtains opened with a jerk, a spotlight from the stage pit both illuminating and
blinding her. She couldn't see how many people were present, nor who they were. From
the gasps coming from the crowd, though, she knew she'd made quite an impression
on them.
