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My husband has been laid off for months. My temp agency hasn't been able to find me anything in twice that long. We've run out of savings and are at the end of our credit cards. Our families are no better off, and in some cases are worse.
One evening, without explaining or speaking much at all, he has me dress in my best lingerie - silky black g-string, matching black corset that lifts my pale breasts and displays them, my nipples almost-but-not-quite peeking over the top of it, sheer black stockings and my stripper shoes, the ones I wear for my pole dance classes. When I'm dressed, he orders me to kneel at his feet; I obey, heart pounding with excitement and cunt growing wet, and he buckles a stiff leather collar around my neck, a chain leash dangling from the front of it. I'm breathing hard and biting my lip already, anticipating what kind of play he might be planning for the night, but when he brings me to my feet and leads me toward the garage door, I begin to get scared. "What...where are we going? I can't go out like this," I protest. He gives me That Look, and I trail off, feeling helpless under his gaze.
"No complaints," he says. "No arguments, no resistance. You will do as you're told without questioning or talking back, or I'll put the large gag on you, wrap your wrists in duct tape, and throw you in the trunk. Understood?" The tone is so unlike his usual manner of domination that I don't know what to do, so I nod meekly, and when he tugs on the leash again I follow him to the car. We drive away from the city, out into the desert, until we arrive at a simple warehouse-style building. We park with dozens of other cars, and he takes the end of the leash and leads me inside through a door simply marked "2". My barely-there panties are already completely soaked, and my hands are trembling as we enter the building and I am taken to a woman dressed all in black, holding a clipboard. "Seven-three-three-one," he tells her. She looks me over assessingly, then nods and makes a mark on the clipboard, before waving a hand to summon someone else over to us. I look nervously to my husband for some explanation of what's going on.
He runs a hand through my hair and smiles sadly. "It'll be better for both of us this way," he says. "I need the money, and you'll take to your new life like you were born for it, because you pretty much were. Good luck, pet." My eyes widen with shock, he leans in and kisses me gently, then before I have time to speak, he hands my leash off to a man standing beside us and walks away. Too stunned to resist, I stumble after this stranger as he pulls the leash and leads me away. I am guided to stand on a low wheeled platform, between the two tall posts mounted on it. More people tug my legs apart, bring my wrists up, and metal shackles are locked around my limbs, chaining me spread-eagled between the posts. Dazed and confused, I don't fight any of it. A ring-gag is forced between my lips, the collar and leash are taken away, and the handler who took custody of me takes a marker and writes something across my chest; it feels like the numbers my husband gave to the woman. 7331. I wonder if that's me now? Just a number. A...thing. A shiver ripples through me and I moan softly, twisting my hips and trying to pull my legs closed a little. There's no slack in the chains, though, and I am kept still and helplessly open.
The handler smiles a little at my struggling, running one hand casually down my body, cupping between my legs as if to emphasize my vulnerability - then, point made, he walks away, presumably to take control of some other poor woman.
...Or man, I realize, looking around for the first time since we entered this area. I'm not the only one spread on these movable frames - there are a dozen others that I can see, mostly women, but a few men among them too. All naked or nearly-naked in some sort of lingerie; all bound the same way and ring-gagged, like me, with three- or four-digit numbers written across their chests. I watch the assistants who helped put me in position spread and chain another couple of people, a man and a woman who came in together, then they one by one get themselves/each other prepped like the rest of us, with the man (some sort of supervisor, I gather) fastening the chains on the last one himself.
The man and woman make a last round among us, pushing and pulling the displays until we're all arranged in a widely-spaced circle along the edges of the room.
A set of doors opens, and people stream into the room, beginning to wander around the circle, looking us over. I'm at the far end from the doors, so I have plenty of time to watch as the viewers meander from one display to the next, stopping to touch and test the ones they find interesting. Eventually a man makes his way over to me. He pauses, looks me over from head to toe, then shrugs and moves on. I find myself feeling insulted that he showed so little interest.
The next people more than make up for him, though. A man and woman, obviously a couple, stops in front of me, then steps close. "Look at her legs, honey," the woman coos, reaching out to run her hands up and down my lewdly spread thighs, squeezing lightly.
"They are beautiful," he agrees. But when he reaches for me, his hand touches my parted lips, lightly circling the O they make around the gag before putting two fingers into my mouth and stroking my tongue. In an instinctive reaction, I lick and lap at his fingers - I would suck them, but I can't, gagged as I am. He grins, nudging the woman. "Look at this. I didn't have to say a word and she's already licking my fingers like she can't wait to suck something. I'd love to feel this whore's tongue on my cock." Blood rushes to my cheeks and I feel like my face is aflame, shamed and humiliated by my unthinking response - but I don't stop, without knowing why.
"Mmm," she replies. "Those lips would look fantastic wrapped around it." One of her fingers joins his in my mouth, and I lick it, too. "Ooh, she's already got a tongue stud! I'd want to add more, of course, but this way I wouldn't have to wait to really enjoy her." Their hands leave my mouth, and drift lower, hers cupping my tits through my corset, his pushing my g-string aside and parting my pussy lips.
"Oh my god, feel this," he says to her. "I don't think I've ever felt one this wet before the auction before. Talk about a natural slave." She reaches down and plunges two fingers into me without warning. My whole body jerks and I groan with combined humiliation and pleasure.
"Let's see how she cums," the woman suggests. "Don't touch her clit at first, I want to see how she does without that." His hand drops away and she begins to slide her fingers in and out of my dripping wet cunt, over and over. Her strokes are slow and measured, teasing me until I start squirming and writhing, arching my back and thrusting my hips against her hand as best I can. "Very nice," she says. In some part of my mind, I can't believe this is happening - that I'm responding so lewdly to a stranger's violation of my body, only minutes after my husband turned me over to "my new life" - but the shame and degradation I feel only makes me wetter, and I start whimpering with need.
"Faster, love," he urges her. "I think she might be able to cum from fucking alone, and I'd like to see if I'm right." She nods and quickens her pace until her fingers are slamming into me hard, and I'm gasping and moaning, on the edge of orgasm already.
"Cum for us, slave," she orders me. "Cum. Now." It's too much for me to resist, and my body obeys her command, shuddering and bucking against my chains as I throw my head back and almost scream in helpless pleasure.
He chuckles. "Perfect. I like this one; we'll have to keep her in mind as we look at the rest." His partner withdraws her fingers from me and brings them to my lips. Obeying the silent command, I stretch my tongue out to lick her clean. And with that, they turn and continue on, leaving me at the mercy of a few more people who saw or heard me cumming hard from their manipulation and want to try out the merchandise themselves.
There are hands everywhere, it feels like. Probing my mouth, parting my ass cheeks to push an unlubed fingertip into the tightly-puckered bud, ignoring my groans of pain as my more-or-less virgin ass is fingered for the first time in years. Sliding into my cunt, rubbing and flicking and even pinching and pulling on and twisting my clit until I beg them to stop, words garbled by the gag. Someone works my tits free of my corset and begins playing with them, hefting them to feel their size, lifting them by my nipples, pinching and twisting and pulling on those too, slapping them to gauge my reaction. I lose track of time and surroundings, drowning in the sensation of it, of my total vulnerability as strangers toyed with my body, the humiliation making me even hotter, and the fear making everything more intense as my conscious mind slowly comes to grips with what my husband has done - put me up for sale, so that any person here with the money and desire to can purchase me outright and do whatever they want with me. My mind is a whirling storm of arousal and terror and need and hurt; yet I can't help but cum again and again.
At last the stimulation subsides and I'm able to breathe properly and try to make sense of what's going on around me. The prospective buyers have apparently had all the time they're getting to inspect the merchandise, and are gathering in the center of the room, sitting on folding chairs that have been brought in and arranged facing the door they came in through. The display nearest the door is rolled over to sit in front of it, and everyone falls silent as the bidding for the first slave begins. A man of fairly slight build, the auctioneers present him as "the perfect sissy slave", and the bidding is primarily between two women. He eventually sells for $5200 and is rolled through the door and away by a pair of shadowy figures, as another pair comes and gets the next slave in position.
She looks young; barely legal. Maybe not quite legal, even. And scared. Apparently she's a virgin - they explain that they'd specially restricted the buyers from inspecting her as thoroughly as they had the rest of us, to preserve that - and they lean hard on that selling point along with her youth. "This sweet, fresh little piece of ass comes to you a complete virgin. You'll have the pleasure of taking all three holes for the very first time! And with her so young and malleable, she'll be easy to train, and you'll get many many years of service from her before she loses that youthful appeal. She'd make a great breeding slave, too, lots of fertile years ahead of her," goes the sales pitch. My stomach clenches at the thought of being used, not only for sex and torture, but forcibly bred. Gods, I think, please don't let me be bought by a breeder. The bids fly fast and thick, practically everyone in the audience making at least one attempt. When all is said and done, she is bought by an older man for $12,000. I watch with sympathy her terrified squeaks and struggling as she's wheeled away.
A muscular male slave sells for $7,100 to a gay male couple, resignation and disgust in his eyes; he knows what he'll be used for, and it's clear he has no attraction to men. But that sort of thing is irrelevant to slaves being bought and sold. A few more women are sold, one of them to the man who bought the teenage girl. I wonder what he's buying multiple slaves for? Never mind, I tell myself, shaking my head. I probably don't want to know.
It becomes clear, watching the auction and listening to the claims made by the auctioneers, that most of the slaves being sold today are repeat sales. Their former owners, who purchased them from an auction like this one, are tired of them, or need the money, or want a change of pace, and are putting them up for resale. The young girl was an exception; so am I. And as I am at last brought up to the front for the bidding on me to begin, they begin by making that clear.
"Another bit of fresh blood for us here," the woman says, "we have lot number 7331, a natural submissive whose husband has fallen on hard times and put her up for sale to you fine people! Usually a first-time sale means a bit more challenge to break and train the new slave, but as was...amply demonstrated..." she gives an exaggerated wink and grins; the audience chuckles appreciatively as the man steps up behind me and reaches around to pinch my nipples, making me moan and involuntarily grind my hips against nothing, "...during the pre-auction inspection time, this one was born to be a slave, is extremely responsive to almost any kind of treatment, and I'm sure she'll fall right into place at your feet and thank you for the privilege!" Her patter continues for another minute before the bidding begins, but I stop listening, tears welling in my eyes at the cruel truth of her statement. No, I think to myself, this isn't right, I'm not meant to be like this, I won't just accept being bought and sold like property, I want to go home! But her words sink into my bones with awful, erotic truth. I can argue all I want, but I did respond like a wanton slut, eagerly accepting the intrusive groping of people who intend to buy me, and cumming for them over and over, even knowing what was happening and what was going to happen.
I snap out of it as the bidding begins. It seems my performance earlier made an impression; and while I'm not as young as the teenage girl, I'm not exactly shriveled-up at 26 years old, either. My generous curves, long red hair and deep green eyes, have caught and held the eye of many a man (and sometimes women) over the years. The price climbs quickly, past the males, past the other females with the exception of the girl. I see the couple from the pre-auction playtime, bidding fiercely against the older man who's bought two slaves already from this auction, complicated by a man in a business suit and a surprisingly young woman who seem quite interested in taking me home. Eventually the businessman drops out, then the collector, and at last the couple wins the bid, buying me for $9,400.
On the other side of the door, two people, their demeanor closer to that of slaves than the owners and auctioneers, uncuff me and help me step down from the platform. The gag is removed and I am given a drink of water. "Thank you," I manage to whisper. One of them smiles sympathetically and hugs me gently. My corset and panties are removed, and I am ushered into a low cage and positioned on my knees and elbows. Even then, my head almost brushes the top of the cage. Shackles built into the cage floor are closed over my wrists and ankles, my nipples are clamped and attached to the shackles with thin chains, and the front and back ends of the cage are fitted with thick rubber cocks on adjustable poles mounted on the bars, which are then guided into my mouth and cunt. The poles are lengthened until my mouth is almost too full to breathe easily, and the one in my cunt can't go any deeper. Speared like this, with limbs and even my tits bound to the cage floor in some way, I am completely immobilized, and left there to wait.
I watch as more slaves are brought back after being sold, and put into various types of storage and/or transport containers. At last we are all prepared to depart for our new homes, and the buyers begin pulling their cars and trucks around to the loading area, while modified lifting equipment is used to pick up the crates and cages and boxes and get us loaded. I am placed in the covered bed of a black pickup truck, and the gate clangs shut with a terribly final "bang" behind me, leaving me alone in the dark.
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