FOR SALE

By Charles E. Campbell

with all due thanks and respect to ss, who put the thoughts for this short story in my head, and because she is a is a true and constant inspiration to me. Thank you!

This story is copyrighted by me, Preage1313@hotmail.com. No portion of this story may be reprinted or reproduced electronically without the express written consent of the author. This is a work of fiction, deriving from the minds of two consenting adults.

 

I awoke slowly; very, very slowly. The reality of my location and my situation gradually overtaking my drowsy state. I hadn't slept well at all. But then again, how could one expect to enjoy a restful night's sleep when one is in a metal dog crate no more than nine cubic feet in size, with one's arms bound behind her, hands to elbows, tightly gagged, with a thick butt plug up her ass, and a glass dildo in her pussy?

As consciousness began to take hold of me, I remembered where I was and why I was here, and a nervous twinge emanated deep in my bowels. The slave auction would be soon, very soon. In a short time I would be placed up on the block, open for bid, and hopefully, bought. Sold, like chattel, to the highest bidder. Beginning the remainder of my days in total servitude. Never again to have contact with family or friends. Never again to have choices or opinions, or even to have wants and needs. My sole purpose for the rest of my life, my only reason for being, will be to serve my owner, in whatever capacity He or She requires. Without hesitation or pause, question or denial. Giving up everything I own, including my own person and all control of my body. And yet, I not only want this, I need this. I need this so badly that if I hadn't been fortunate enough to become what I am, I would probably have killed myself.

I guess I should try to explain who I am and how I got to this place in my life. My name is Sheila Quinlan, at least that's the one my parents gave me. However now, according to the label on my crate, I am just simply ‘9.' I have had fantasies of slavery and servitude from my earliest of days. By the time I was six I would tie myself up whenever I was alone in our house. By the age of eight, my next door neighbor, a boy a year younger than I, was enlisted top help me in our games of “Cowboys and Indians.” I was always the helpless farm girl, and he the marauding Indian, who would kidnap me and tie me up. I was always most disappointed when he would untie me and want to play kickball.

Once, I convinced him to tie me up and leave me alone. I told him he had to go out on another war party and look for more white slaves to sell to other Indian tribes. I was really excited that time, because I couldn't untie myself, and I was alone in the woods behind the school, near a path that lots of kids used to get to the playing fields.

We continued our games, never escalating or deviating from the script, until one day, when he was twelve. I'll never forget that day. The game started out the same, he'd sneak up on me in the field, tie my hands behind my back and gag me, then he'd lead me back to the Indian “camp,” where he would tie me to a tree. Only this time, we went past where the camp always was, and went down by a culvert under the highway that ran through our town.

When we reached our destination, he tied my legs to two trees about two feet apart. He left my gag on, and started to feel my flat chest through my old t-shirt. Unsatisfied, he untied my hands and stared me in the eyes. Some primal instinct told me what he wanted, (what I wanted), and I pulled my shirt over my head, letting it drop to the ground. He just stared, his eyes darting quickly between my tiny nipples and my eyes. Finally, they settled on my eyes, and I reached down and undid the button on my jeans. His intense glaze told me to continue, so I slid my jeans and panties down as far as my spread legs would allow. His face registered dumbstruck awe.

Then it was my turn. My eyes searched the area until I saw a bush about five feet behind him to his left. I let my eyes go from him to the bush a few times until he turned and looked at it. Then he looked back at me quizzically. I put my hands behind my head and laced my fingers together. He still didn't get it, so I said, “I real Indian brave would torture his white slave I think.”

Ever so slowly my intentions seeped into his head, and he broke a branch from the bush slowly With fierce trepidation, he began to whip my back, my buttocks and the backs of my thighs with it. In retrospect, it was very light, leaving absolutely no marks upon my body at all, and yet, it was the most remarkable whipping I have ever endured. It only lasted a few strokes, as he was definitely not up for it. In fact, once he untied me and let me go, he never again wanted to play our game, nor did he ever again talk about it. A few months later, his father was killed in a car crash, and he and his mother moved out of state somewhere closer to her family.

To date, I have had no success in finding a partner to my needs, at least not one who could take me to the level of submission I so badly crave. Sure, I found some guys who would spank me, or would call me names while they pretended to rape me, but it wasn't real. One guy made me go down on him at a Stones concert in the Meadowlands, thinking that was Doming me. But none of this was right. I need the real thing, like what existed throughout many centuries of human history. I need to be treated like property, sold, and then enslaved to someone for their needs, their use, no matter what is required, no matter what I am expected to do. And that...........is why I am here now.

The dim light in the basement allowed me to look at the nine other crates, each containing a naked human, similarly trussed and awaiting their turn on the auction block. None of us knew anything about each other. Over the past three days or so, we had been delivered one at a time, in our crates, by men with hand trucks. We would then be placed in an orderly fashion on the cold concrete floor. Our gags were only removed for feeding time, which was twice a day. We would be taken from our crates, one at a time, and escorted into a small room, where our meal was waiting for us. The door would close and lock, and we would eat. A short time later, someone would return for us, replace the gag, and lead us to the toilet. They would untie the thin leather strap that held the dildo and butt plug in place, and sit back, watching as we received ourselves. After that, we would be led to the exercise yard, for some calisthenics and jogging. Then it would be back to our crates, bound and stuffed, until the next meal. Other than during the two feeding times each day, our gags were in place, insuring that there would be no communication between us. Preventing even the slightest chance that we could humanize ourselves with talk, learning names, ages, or where we were from. No one spoke to us at anytime either, and we were never touched. Our escorts carried electric cattle prods which they wouldn't hesitate to use if the wanted us to quicken the pace during calisthenics or jogging. No sounds were heard, excepting for the sounds of crates being locked and unlocked, doors opening and closing, and the eerie sounds of the elevator.

There were four crates that were there before I arrived; three males and one female. Five more were delivered after me, two more males, and three females. The deliverymen never spoke when they would bring in a new crate. It was as if they were just delivering an appliance or some other similar large parcel. We would hear the creaks and rattles from the old service elevator, and the doors would groan as they opened. Two men would roll the hand truck out, and bring the new arrival over, placing that crate in a numbered painted square on the floor, each one about five or six feet from the next, in two rows. Then, unceremoniously, they would return to the elevator, and leave us in the all-consuming quiet. The occupant of each crate was always gagged and had the holes stuffed before entering their crate.

There was no true way to estimate what time it was, or even whether it was day or night. Our meals, and exercises all took place in rooms in the basement, so only the dim light bulbs hanging from the ceiling illuminated the space.

After three meal/exercise/toilet periods passed without the arrival of new crates, I heard the familiar rumblings from the elevator, and turned around as much as I could to see who would come through the doors. It turned out to a be a short stout gray-haired woman I had never seen before in a black long sleeved shirt and black slacks. She was accompanied by a very young blonde haired girl in a light green sweater and jeans, with some sort of clipboard. They walked slowly around the crates, looking at each of us, one after the other. The girl occasionally writing something down on the paper she carried.

When the inspection was complete, the elder woman cleared her throat and spoke. “My name is Catherine, although that is of no consequence to any of you, as you will never speak as long as you are in my care. Over the next few days, you will be properly prepared for sale at our annual auction. I want to make sure that you all know that you are quite fortunate to be sold at my auction, because I do not allow white slavers or any other similarly unsavory characters to attend. My bidders are the most reputable from around the world, and I screen them all most diligently before including their names on my guest lists.

“Some of you will be placed in this country, and some will be placed in Europe, South America, and Eastern Asia. All of you will never be heard from again. You will all be slaves for the rest of your lives. Ginny will collar each of you, and give you a number. This will be your lot number for bidding at the auction

“Ginny, collar and tag each of them and then start the preparations for each one.”

“Yes, Miss Catherine,” the girl curtsied.

Catherine turned her back and returned to the elevator, while Ginny went to a cabinet on the opposite side of the room. She produced a key from her pants pocket and opened the door. I couldn't see what she was doing, but she came around by the crates carrying a cardboard box, which she set on the floor.

I heard her open a crate and saw a male slave stand up. He was quite tall, so his cramped quarters must have been especially uncomfortable. He had dark wavy hair and by the pronounced definition of his well toned body it was easy to see that he worked out frequently. Ginny tried three collars on him before she found a fit that she liked. The she took a pair of pliers and clamped a metal disk to his collar.

Reaching up, she grabbed hold of the ring in his collar and led him to the door that opened into the meal room. When he had passed through it, she closed the door, and went to the second crate, repeating the procedure this time with a very slim and petite black girl, with a totally shaved head. Once she was collared and tagged, Ginny led her to the door and guided her through it.

Four others were similarly collared and tagged before Ginny came to my cage. Unceremoniously, she unlocked my crate and motioned for me to climb out and stand up. Immediately, she placed a hard brown leather collar around my neck and fastened it tightly in place. This wasn't a soft leather like a suede, instead it was a stiff hard leather that bit at the skin. She then produced a tag, with only the number “9" stamped on it, and using the pliers, she clamped it onto the ring in the collar. Grabbing the ring, she gave a tug, indicated that she wanted me to bend over. Without pause, she pulled the butt plug out and ripped the duct tape off my pussy. Then she removed the glass dido, and giving another sharp yank of the leash, she made it clear that it was time for me to follow her, and she passed me through the door.

The meal room was brightly lit, and an older woman was standing there waiting for me. In silence, she clipped a dog leash to the ring, and led me out of the meal room, and down a hallway I had not known existed. The soles of her shoes were a soft rubber and made no sound as I padded behind her, barefoot. About halfway down the hall, she stopped and taking a key from her pocket, she unlocked a door and opened it, trailing me along.

The room was stark, with just a gynecologist style examination chair and strong lights on stands. Motioning me to the chair, she unclipped my leash and waited while I got into the seat and placed my feet in the widely spaced stirrups. The chrome plated stirrups were cold against the calved of my legs and the harsh light was pointed right at my obscenely spread sex. The young girl set about strapping me into the chair, beginning at my ankles , then up to my knees and thighs, wrists, arms, and waist. She placed a heavily padded blindfold over my eyes and then I felt her rub some sort of cream or lotion around the folds of my pussy and my anus.

It seemed an eternity before I heard the door reopen. If I had to guess, I would say that two or three people had come in. I could hear the sounds of things being moved around closer to me, but no one spoke. Then, suddenly, I felt a hand rest on my thigh as a slight burning sensation started in the area around my anus. The distinct odor of burning hair was evident, and it was then that I realized I was being subjected to laser hair removal. Permanent hairless skin , like a small child.

The procedure went on for a considerable time, working from my asshole to my recently shaven pussy lips, and up over my mound. It didn't hurt too badly, but over time the pain grew in intensity. When they were through, someone gently rubbed a cream onto the area. Then I could hear them walk out of the room and close the door. I remained as I was, strapped into the stirrups, gagged and blindfolded.

It wasn't too long before I heard the door open once again, and soft feet padded to me. A soft warm hand slid over my smooth hairless crotch, and then I felt the straps being unbuckled. The leash was reattached to my collar, and a pull on it got me out of the chair. With the blindfold on, I couldn't tell where I was going, but when we stopped walking, I could feel the heat from lights that were pointed at my body. A poke of the electric cattle prod got my legs apart in a hurry, and I felt three or four hands gliding over me, inspecting the results of the laser.

A man's voice broke the silence, “Rub some more cream on number nine before returning her to her crate for the night. A few more treatments and she'll be fine. These dark haired pale skinned ones always turn out best.”

My leash was jerked, suddenly, causing me to trip slightly, as I followed someone back to the room that held the crates. The blindfold was removed, and the young girl applied some lotion as instructed, before using the prod to guide me back into my crate. This was the first time I was ever in the crate without a gag, dildo and butt plug in place. The girl bent over and looked me in the eye and said, “Speak one word, utter any sounds, and you'll be more sorry than you can ever imagine!” She closed the pen, locked it, and went to pull another slave from a crate.

I lay curled up, quite aware of the tingling sensations around my anus. Gingerly, I touched the delicate outer lips of my pussy, and found them swollen and very sensitive to touch. Closing my eyes, I fell into a fairly deep sleep. Only to wake up at the sound of the lock being opened by the young girl.

I had three more sessions under the laser, until all the hair was gone, not even any fine downy hair remained. After a meal session, the older woman, Catherine, took my leash and took me into a room I had never seen before. It was all set up like a photographer's studio, with a large camera on a tripod, lots of lights and many props. She took off the leash, but only long enough to attach a short chain to my collar and clip it to a post.

“This is “9". I want a full work up on this one. Get the proofs to me by noon tomorrow, I'm putting a lot of her in the catalogue.”

“Certainly, Miss Catherine,” a deep male voice answered.

The length of my chain gave me little room to turn and see who had spoken. I was able to hear Catherine walk out of the room, and hear the door open and close, but then, nothing. Complete silence. I stood as still as I could and just waited. Seemingly out of nowhere, there was motion to my left, and some lights were turned in my direction. Bright blinding lights were shone directly into my face, causing me to flinch and squeeze my eyes shut. The light was so intense, I could feel the heat from the bulbs against my skin. Through the bright light, I could see a man scrutinizing me. He was olive skinned, with dark brown oiled hair that was pulled back in a tight ponytail. He wore a black leather vest, unbuttoned, which showed his bare hairy chest, faded blue jeans which were skin tight and highlighted his well defined and proportioned ass and legs.

“I want some information, “9", so I am going to grant you permission to speak. However, you are only to answer my questions, and they are to be answered as directly and succinctly as possible.

“How old are you?”

“Twenty-six.”

“Height?”

“Five foot five”

“Weight?”

“One hundred and fifteen.”

“Measurements?”

“34C, 22, 35."

“Eye color?”

“Blue.”

“Education?”

“Bachelor of Fine Arts”

“Piercings, tattoos, brands, or other markings?”

“None.”

“Last period?”

“About two weeks ago.”

“That's fine, I have all I need. No more talking from here on.”

A few minuted passed as he got a couple of cameras prepped for the shoot. He had two on tripods that were at aimed at me at about shoulder height, two others were on low tripods, maybe three feet from the floor, and one camera hung around his neck. Wordlessly he began shooting, the only sounds being the click of the shutter and the ratcheting sound of the film advance lever.

“Leave your body as it is, but turn your head down.........(click....click, click)

“Good, now eyes closed..........(click), open...........(click, click),

“Grab the post......(click), okay fine, that's good.” He stopped shooting long enough to unclip the chain from my collar.

“Hands behind your head............(click, click, click ), legs spread.....(click),wider........ (click......click, click), now cross your arms behind your back......, chest out.......(click......click), turn around and face the door ............(click, .....click), bend over...............(click, click), .....spread your cheeks..........(click........click, click, click),.hands on the floor........(click, click), .......look back at me through your legs........(click..........click).........mouth open......(click).......... lie down on your back............(click..........click)......now, mouth open.........(click.......click........click, click)...........eyes closed.........(click)...........spread your legs.......(click.........click).........wider......(click............click)..........use your fingers and pull your pussy open..............(click..click, click, click).............okay, fine, now up on your knees and kneel............(click, click.........click)................legs apart......(click).......hands at your sides.........(click.....click), ...........mouth open.........(click..........click), .......closed..........(click.........click.........click)...............close your eyes.............(click......click)............and now suck your finger”.................(click..click, click..........click). The rapid fire staccato of the shutter punctuated his orders as he moved fluidly from tripod mounted camera to hand held and back again. Stopping only once to reload one of the cameras.

When he seemed satisfied with his shots, he set down his camera and took off his leather vest. Approaching me, he unclipped my chain from the pole. “Remain as your are,” was his admonishment.

Leaving me, he went to a control on the wall which he turned on. I heard a whirring of an electric motor. Then, out of the corner of my eye, I saw a spreader bar being lowered from the ceiling, leather cuffs attached to the ends. When it was within his easy reach, he said, “Come over here.”

I followed his direction, and he took my right wrist first, and strapped it tightly in the cuff. Before doing my left wrist, he checked to make sure that it was buckled properly, then he attached my left wrist and went back to the wall switch and started lifting the me off my feet by the bar. He shut the motor off when I was dancing on the tips of my toes. I felt the pressure building in my shoulder sockets as I hung in waiting.

Walking before me, he held a bark brown single tail before me, allowing it's sinister capabilities to flood my brain. When he was happy with the terror it brought to my countenance, he took a step back and uncoiled it to the floor. Waiting, ever so patiently, for my body to start to shake ever so slightly.

I heard the terrible swish just before my left thigh exploded in white hot searing pain. I screamed and tore at my bounds, as another blow wrapped around my waist. Tears cascaded down my cheeks as his relentless whipping continued, with no break or pause. I have endured the whip many times, but the person wielding it always took time out to pause and savor his handiwork. It wasn't until later that night, in my crate that I realized that he was just marking me for the photos. It had nothing to do with any pleasure he might derive from it, or pain I would receive. It was just so that I would be appropriately marked for the pictures he was taking.

Sweating profusely, he put down the whip, and picked up his camera. He took close ups of my back, chest and thighs, as well as just torso shots and full length body pictures as I hung limply from my wrists. The circulation in my hands had been cut off, and I could no longer feel them. He was all but done with those shots by the time I had regained some composure and was breathing more normally.

He paused from the shooting long enough to lower the winch that help be aloft. Then, taking my arm, he made me kneel on the cold concrete floor. He left me long enough to aim the two tripod mounted cameras that were closer to the ground, checking their placement so that they were aimed directly at my face from the left and right side.

Then he undid his pants and stepped out of them, revealing a thin but long flaccid penis hiding in a thick bush of dark curly pubic hair. His balls were completely hidden by the tangle of hair. Grabbing the remote control for the two cameras, he began afresh. “Eyes open.........(click.....click).........stare at it.........(click)..............lick the tip slowly.......(click.....click, click, click). The salty taste of pre cum greeted me as my tongue slid over the rapidly hardening purplish head. I didn't hear the all too familiar sound of the shutter, but I kept on licking the head, and watching the shaft grow in length and girth.

“No hands now, slowly suck it into your mouth.....(click.....click.....click)...........use your tongue more....(click.........click).......eyes open, look into my face.....(click)........let the spittle drool out of your mouth.......(click......click, click).

He pulled away from me, leaving my mouth open and his now very long and hard penis right in front of my eyes. The camera clicked off several of this pose. “On your hands and knees, facing the door.”

I moved as ordered, while he re-positioned the tow cameras, one facing me and the other facing from my right side.. “Look into the camera......(click....click)......lick your lips and smile......(click). Then he moved behind me and slowly introduced himself into my pussy, inch after inch until I felt it pushing against my cervix. The shutters on both cameras clicked incessantly, recording my expressions and the burial of his stout cock. The pressure inside me was something I had never felt before, he seemed to keep pushing deeper than my physical limitations. Then, ever so slowly, he began to withdraw himself, until only the tip was remaining. Pausing a few seconds, he slid back in, repeating the process many times, all the while recodring it on film.

Finally, he withdrew completely, and said, “Remain as you are.”

I stayed on all fours as he reloaded both cameras and repositioned them ever so slightly. Then he got behind me on his knees and I felt the familiar sensation of a cock poised at the entrance to my always snug sphincter. Bending over, he dribbled some spittle on my hole, while clicking the shutter remotes. The pressure began to build and I worked hard to relax the puckered entrance to my anal cunt. With a squishy pop, his cock invaded the passage, and began it's relentless probing, until I felt his dense pubic hair tickling my ass cheeks. The shutters kept clicking, as he held his position buried deeply in my inner most recesses. I could feel the juices seeping from my jealous and horny pussy.

It amazed me how he took me so slowly, never ramming deep into me, until I came to the realization that his only interest was the shooting of the pictures, not his own pleasures.

The shutters stopped clicking and he pulled out with a noisy fart of air. “Kneel and clean me,” he commanded.

I got back on my knees and watched as he repositioned the cameras. Then he stood before me waiting for me to clean my anal juices from his still raging hard cock. I licked and sucked listening to the shutters click repeatedly, until, with a loud moan he began to cum. He pulled out of my mouth, showering my face with his hot sticky cum, in my open eyes and mouth. The shutters never stopping.

At long last, he said, “take your finger and slowly wipe my cum into your mouth. Then you are to swallow it.”

He picked up his hand held camera and took a series of close-ups of me pushing the cum into my mouth from my eyes and face and swallowing it.

Setting down the camera he announced, “That should do it. Miss Catherine will be happy with these. You may remain as you are, I'll ring for Ginny and she will escort you from here.”

There was a wall mounted intercom that I hadn't noticed before, and he used it to summon Ginny to the studio. She arrived a few minutes later, re-clipping the leash to my collar, and tugging it to get me to my feet, I followed her out the door and into the feeding room. The calisthenics period followed, and once again I was trussed up, my dildo and butt plug were inserted and I was placed back into my crate.

For the first time since my arrival, I slept like a baby, never waking once during my sleep. What brought me out of my deep sleep was a hard jab from Ginny's cattle prod. I awoke to find the other slaves standing in a line, front to back, chains connecting them together with thick iron bands on their left ankles, and matching bands around their necks. Ginny unlocked my crate and stood back as I crawled out. Ginny then proceeded to unbind my arms, remove the butt plug and dildo, and take off my gag. Then she knelt and locked a heavy iron band on both of my ankles, and then using a keyed lock, attached the left band to the end of the chain that bound the others. She fitted a similar band around my neck, which chafed me under the chin due to the wideness of it, and she locked the connecting chain to it as well.

Standing back, she inspected her charges. “This morning begins your final hours here. You will all be fed, then properly bathed and made up before being placed in the viewing area. The guests have begun arriving and will have several hours to carefully inspect each of you and read through your individual portfolios. When they retire to the dining room for dinner, you will all wait in the holding room. Then, one by one, in numerical order, you will be brought into the auction room and will be placed on the block so that the bidding can begin.

“Some of you will remain here a few more days in order that we may prepare you for shipment to wherever your owner wants. Others will leave tonight or in the morning with your owners, beginning your new lives as slaves.

“Remember, that even though you will be eating together, your are not to speak, under any circumstances among each other. You are, however, expected to speak if a guest asks you a question. Answer clearly and briefly and with all candor anything that they may ask.

“Any other information you might need will be given to you while you are being bathed and prepared for the day ahead.

“A word of advice, try and walk in step, otherwise you can easily trip. Now, let's go!”

I felt the slack in the chain on my ankle disappear as the group stepped off, left leg first. We seemed to get the hang of it pretty quickly. Our movement created an eerie sound, as the padding of our bare feet on the floor was punctuated by the dragging of the steel chain. The steps were short and choppy, as if we had been hobbled. Ginny led us down a hallway and past the room where I had always eaten my meals. A few doors down, we went through an opened door into a rather large but dimly lit room that I had never seen before. A long table ran along one wall, with a series of old wooden benches.

Ginny directed the first slave around so that we followed him in succession between the table and the benches. When we were all at the table, she simply said, “Sit!”

The meal was brought out to us and it was lovely: soup, fresh garden salad, hot sweet breads, stuffed chicken breast, rice pilaf, green beans and pitchers of iced tea. Dessert followed the meal, and consisted of apple pie and a rich dark coffee.

When the meal was done and all were sated, we were led out of the room and up a long stone staircase and out of the house. It was the first time I had been out in the daylight since my arrival, how long ago? A number of cars were parked on the lawn to the side of the house, and a young man dressed simply in a white shirt, black slacks and a black four in hand tie stood by as a parking valet.

Ginny led us down a bricked path that ran lazily along the long curving driveway. A silver Porsche Carrera came up the drive, slowing as it approached us, and then stopping completely. The window went down as we marched past, but I dared not turn my head to look at the occupants, so I didn't get to see them. After we passed the car, I heard the crunch of the bluestone as it slowly resumed it's trek up to the house.

The bricked path took us to a large barn that was over a slight rise and not visible from the main house. A group of ten well groomed young men and women awaited our arrival outside the barn. We stopped and were turned to face the group at the front of the barn.

“These are your preparers. They will get each of you ready for the auction and will stay with you until that time,” Ginny said.

It was at that point that they came over to us, seemingly aware as to which one of us they had been assigned to. A young freckle faced red headed girl came over by me and looked me over from head to toe, first from the front, and then from the rear. Then, reaching in her pocket, she produced a key, which she then used to unlock the chains from my ankle and neck, but leaving the iron bands on me. She fastened a short chain leash to my collar and led me into the barn and to a stall. Once there, she took a short thin chain from a peg on the wall and clipped it to my collar, and then to a hook in a beam over our heads.

The stall was immaculate. Dark wide planked flooring with brass fittings and hardware on the hinges, handles and rings. Bright florescent lights overhead illuminated every square foot, leaving no shadowy areas.

“I will be responsible for preparing you for your sale at the auction. My name is Madison, and Ginny is my older sister. Miss Catherine is our aunt. I'm sixteen, and you are the first slave I have been given to prepare. I have been an assistant handler for the past two summers, but Aunt Catherine feels I am now ready to prepare a slave for sale on my own, although I know she will probably come in a few times to check up on how I'm doing.

“Remember, “9", you are not allowed to talk, to me, or to any of us. Only to the guests if they ask you questions. I have a list of things I have to do to get you ready to be sold, so we'd better get started.

“I see you've had all your nether hair removed, so I can check off pubic grooming from my list.”

Madison used a pencil to put a check mark on a sheet of paper she had on a clipboard.

“We'll start with internals,” she said, unclipping the chain from my collar and reattaching the leash. She led me to a galvanized bucket in the middle of the barn. One of the male slaves, a tall lanky black, was urinating in the bucket. His cock was at least ten inches long and it wasn't even hard! The stream shooting from it was a dark yellow and strong. An acrid smell filled the air

“We'll be done in a minute, Madison,” The he-slave's preparer said to her.

“Thanks, Mark. Are you in a hurry?”

“No, we've got plenty of time. This one won't take long to prep.”

“Good. Then maybe you'd wait and let this one have an audience when she goes. She'll need to get used to it at sometime anyway.”

“Sure. No problem.”

The black slave's stream of urine had finally slowed and then stopped. Madison pulled by leash and positioned me over the bucket. “Empty yourself!”

I squatted over the bucket and closed my eyes to block out the three pairs of eyes watching me.

“Open those eyes and stare at his dick, 9!”

Mark had moved the tall slave so that his huge cock hung right before my face, a drop of urine hanging from the hole. Concentrating, I squeezed and e weak stream began to spill into the pale. It seemed to take forever before it stopped. I started to get up, but Lisa's hand was on my shoulder pushing back into my squatted position.

“Bowels too.”

This has always been the hardest thing for me. The whip is easier to endure. Poised over a bucket, naked, trying to force a bowel movement while under the watchful eyes of three strangers is next to impossible. I pushed, hard, and could feel the pressure building. Exhaling and taking a deep breath, I pushed again, and felt the pressure ease, as I heard the sound of the turd landing in the piss filled bucket.

“She's blushing,” Mark quipped. “A modest slave.”

“She'll get used to it,”Madison rebuked him defensively. “She'll have to.”Madison pulled me upright with the leash, and took me to a bench. She laid me over the bench, so that my face was on the floor, and my ass cheeks were the highest part of my body.

A moment later, I left the enema hose probing at my tight rear hole, and Madison pushed it deep up the portal. A warm sensation soon followed, as the pressure in my bowels grew. I could feel my stomach bulging as the cramps began top build. “Hold it in. I'll tell you when you may expel,”Madison ordered.

I was squirming, and sweat was forming on my forehead and upper lip as Madison pulled the hose out. “Just a minute longer.” A soft moan was my answer. The pain was becoming intense, when finally I took hold of my leash and led me back to the bucket. There were three slaves and their handlers at the bucket when we got there, my small baby steps making the trip seem endless. The fact that all these people were going to see me expel the contents of my bowels never entered my mind. All that I could think of was relieving the pressure and pain.

I squatted over the bucket and immediately, it all exploded from me, splattering the insides of my thighs and the backs of my calves. I kept pushing long after I was emptied, in an attempt to relieve the awful cramps, but it didn't help. “One more time should clean you out,” Madison declared, snapping my leash to get me up.

She repeated the process, giving me a second enema, which felt like twice as much liquid as the first was. She also made me hold it for a longer time. And to add to my misery, she waited until there were three slaves and their handlers standing around the bucket when I was allowed to empty myself. At that point, I didn't care at all!

Madison brought me to a tiled shower stall, and striping off her own clothes, she got in the shower with me. She had a very skimpy bikini on underneath her clothes that left very little to the imagination. She washed me from head to foot, and shampooed my hair twice. Each time adding a luxuriantly thick conditioner. Stepping from the shower, she wrapped a towel around herself, and put my hair up in a thick towel. Then she brought me to a large Jacuzzi, the largest I had ever seen, and said, “Sit here for a while until I get back.”

Two other female slaves were soaking in the warm swirling waters, their hair also wrapped in towels that matched mine. None of us spoke, but our eyes seemed to be straining to communicate. The slave to my right had a look of panic on her face, her eyes darting from me to the other slave. She looked to be about my age, with deep azure eyes and full rich lips. I smiled knowingly at her, but it didn't seem to calm her. The other slave seemed very self assured. She appeared to be older, early forties maybe, with a dark complexion. The tops of her breasts, which showed above the soapy water were covered in intricate tribal tattoos. She never gave either of us more than one cursory glance as we lay in the warm waters.

Preparers came for the other two before Madison came back for me. She had changed into a brightly colored sarong, but she was topless now. Her small pert breasts standing up proud and firm, with small gold rings dangling from her pebble sized dark nipples. She tilted my head back and removed the towel from my hair, letting it drop outside the rim of the tub. With a soft brush, she began combing out my long hair. The gentle rhythm of her strokes was soothing, and when combined with the strong jets of the Jacuzzi, caused me to feel drowsy.

“You may nap if you wish, ‘9'. It will be your last for a while.”

I let myself succumb to the sleepiness that had taken hold of me, and woke up when I felt the familiar tug on my leash. Rousing myself, I stood as Madison patted me dry. She guided me to a make-up mirror, gently patted bath powder over my body, and then applied deodorant under my arms. An application of a light musky smelling perfume was next, followed by a manicure and pedicure. Before she applied the nail polish, she perfumed me a second time, this time making sure she took care of the small of my back, between my breasts and behind my knees.

While she waited for the first coat of polish on my fingers and toes to dry, she did my eye make up and lip gloss. A second coat of polish was applied when the first had dried. “I've only got one thing left on my list for you, ‘9', and I'm not experienced enough for that. You'll wait here, and I'll be back in a minute.”

I wasn't about to point out that I was in no position to go anywhere, what with my leash clipped to the make up table, so I just nodded in assent.

“Strap her on the table,” a woman's voice behind me said. “It'll take a couple of minutes and then you'll be done with your prep list. You can watch me do the first one, then I'll let you try the second if you feel like it.”

I checked my curiosity and didn't turn to see who was talking, but a moment later, Madison unclipped my leash from the table and pulled me over to an ob/gyn table. Without instruction, I got up on the table and put my feet in the cold steel stirrups. Madison used several leather straps to fasten my feet securely in the stirrups. She also ran some long straps around my waist and chest making any movement on my part impossible.

“That should hold her, Madison,” the same woman's voice declared. “Help me prep her.”

A tall elderly woman was standing between my widely spread legs. She had to be at least sixty-five, with long gray hair tied in a tight bun at the back of her head. She was dressed in a maroon spaghetti strap tank top that was skin tight, and revealed her bra-less breasts. A short black wrap around skirt highlighted her flat stomach.

A cold wet sensation in my pussy made me inadvertently look down to see Madison squatted at the foot of the table, wiping my labia with alcohol. Instantly, she met my gaze and said, “I didn't give you permission to move, ‘9'. Sit back!”

I let my head sink back to the table, wondering what was going to happen. “Use a lot of betadyne, Madison,” the woman instructed. “We need to minimize the risk of infection because she won't be with us after she's sold tonight. Just try to keep it off her thighs as much as possible.”

“Okay, Francis,” Madison replied. I felt the wiping stop for a moment, and then begin anew.

When she was through sterilizing me, Francis said to her, “ I know you've pierced before, but this one is different. Your aunt wants her pierced with 00 gauge, both left and right. She'll fetch a much higher price that way.”

“I thought you couldn't pierce bigger than 20 gauge the first time,” Madison queried.

“Normally that would be the case, but I have something new, in fact, I only got it a week ago and have been dying to try it out! Take a look.”

Francis handed something to Madison, but I wasn't about to look over at it. “What is it, Francis,' Madison inquired?

“It's a special type of piercing needle. Let me show you.”

Madison handed the needle back to Francis, who continued, “It has a taper to it, see?”

“Yes.”

“It starts at a twenty gauge, but then, right after that, there is a scalpel in it. Right here.”

“I see it,” Madison exclaimed excitedly.

“What you do is, first you do a normal piercing with a twenty gauge needle. Then, as you back that needle out, you push the tapered needle in behind it. . Then you turn it as you push, so it cuts it's way through the flesh as deep as you want. This one can get to a triple 0 if you want.

“Is there a lot of blood?”

“From what I've read, it's only a bit more than with a standard piercing. More swelling afterwards, but that's to be expected. It takes longer to heal, and is more painful as well. One has to be more diligent with the aftercare too. But her new owners will get a sheet of instructions on how it should be cared for.

“Ready to try it?”

“Oh yes,” Madison responded enthusiastically.

“Take the forceps, Mad and get a good grip on her outer labia.”

I felt her fingers pulling on my lower lip and then the cold steel pinching slightly.

“Get in there a bit deeper. I want this hole to be very deep so it will withstand a lot of weight once it heals.”

“Okay,” Madison replied, pulling the lip further out with her fingers, then getting the clamp in deep.

“That looks good, now clamp it tight and pull,” Francis said.

I felt a strong pulling sensation as I heard the clamp click shut. The next thing I felt was the tip of the needle against that most delicate skin. I yelped as she thrust it through my lower lip, but the pain quickly ebbed. I felt a tugging sensation as she got the tapered needle ready to go into the hole as the starter needle was pushed out. I felt pressure in the newly cut hole, but it was quickly replaced by a burning sensation as she began twisting the tapered scalpel and pushing it into the hole, carving it wider as she went.

“See how clean it makes the hole,” Francis asked, without bothering to turn towards Madison?

“It just keeps enlarging the hole to whatever size you want, and keeps it round, while not tearing the hole.”

I was groaning as she kept up the pressure. It could feel the blade turning as she kept making the hole larger. Finally, she stopped. “Hand me that link, Madison, I want to check to see if the hole is large enough.”

Madison picked up a thick chain link and held it before my eyes, making sure I understood it's girth, then she passed it off to Francis. “A little bigger I think, then I'll slip it in and lock it in place.”

I was squirming as much as the straps would allow, as she continued to bore into my labia.

“That should do it, now watch, Madison as I insert the link. It's really quite easy. You pull back here, so it opens up. Then you get the link into the hole as you push the needle back out. Just.....like.......that. Then, you lock it in place like this.” I heard a metallic click “And that's it. What do you think?”

“It looks great, Francis. So thick. Not too much blood either.”

“Told you. Now, lock on these three links and the medallion, then I'll let you do her other lip”

Madison followed the directive and then said, “Okay, I'm ready.”

“Alright. Take hold of the forceps and pull the labia way out so you can get close to the base. Make sure it's even with the hole on the other side.

“That's it. Pull it out more. Here, let me hold it with my fingers, then you can get a better grip on it with the clamp.”

Francis got it where she wanted it as Madison clamped the forceps tightly in place. “Now, take the needle and push it right through that spot there.”

I let out a stiff groan as the needle ran through me, tears welled up in my eyes. “Don't you dare mess up that mascara, ‘9.' I'm not in the mood to redo your makeup!”

Francis dabbed gently at the tears in the corners of my eyes as Madison got the tapered scalpel lined up. She pushed the needle out and began cutting the hole larger, but she did it faster than Francis did, so the burning was much more intense. Francis handed her another chain link and she locked it in place. I could smell the alcohol just as the sting ripped into me as Francis poured a bottle of it on my lower lips.

They both undid the straps that had held me fast to the examination table, and then they helped me to my feet. The weight from the chains in my labia was immediately apparent to me, as they were distended down, stretched taut away from my pussy. “Look how far they're pulled, Madison,” Francis announced with a smile.

“I never thought they were so elastic,” Madison responded. I bet they'll be able to hold a lot more weight without having to worry about them ripping out.”

“Thank Me, ‘9', “ Francis commanded.

“Thank You, ma'am,” I quickly answered.

“Let's go, ‘9', I have to get you set up for the viewing,” Madison said, leading me once again by the leash. We went through a door and into a room where all the other slaves were with their preparers. Each of the preparers was bare chested, male and female. The men wore tight fitting breeches while the women wore wrap around sarongs the same material as Madison's Each slave was being fitted with leg irons and manacles on their wrists.

Madison tied me to a ring in the wall and set about locking the irons on my ankles. The steel was cold and heavy. It looked very old was and was covered in a rusty patina. Once my legs were effectively hobbled, she locked a set of manacles on my wrists and chain around my waist. She locked my wrists to the waist chain.

When all of us were in chains, the preparers walked us out of the barn and back up the brick path to the main house. By the angle of the sunlight falling through the stately oaks I could see that it was late afternoon. The only sound we made was the scrapping of the chains on our feet as they dragged with each short step on the bricks.

We were taken in a side entrance and into a beautiful wood paneled room that looked like a library. It had a very high ceiling with royal blue drapes on the windows, which were open to let in the sunlight. The floor was a dark stained hard wood with inset patterns. Across the room ran a steel pipe, about six feet from the floor, suspended from the ceiling by more pipe. There were rings welded to the pipe at three foot intervals with a short chain dangling from each ring. One at a time, in our numerical order, we were chained to the pipe at our collars. It was then that I noticed Catherine sitting in a wing back chair observing the proceedings.

When we had all been chained to the pipe, Catherine stood and announced, “If I may have your attention, please........Thank you.

“Preparers, you have done an excellent job. This should be a very lucrative auction for the house. Your slaves will be here for two hours for the formal viewing. When that is over you will be instructed as to when they are to be escorted in for the bidding. You may all get something to eat if you wish, but you may not stay in here when the guests are viewing the slaves. Thank you all.”

As the preparers started to leave, Madison leaned in towards me and whispered, “Be good!”

The door closed and we were left alone with Catherine, chained by our necks, in manacles and leg irons. Catherine inspected each one of us in turn, scrutinizing every little detail, in complete silence. She spent a few minutes fondling the thick steel rings in my labia, lifting them to judge the weight, and letting them drop unceremoniously, making me jump. Never saying a word. Finally, she sat back in her chair and spoke: “ In a few minutes my guests will be allowed in to inspect you all. They may touch you, feel you, probe you, or simply ignore you. They have two hours to read your bios and check the merchandise carefully, because I do not give refunds.

“You are all to stand with your heads bowed down, and your eyes open. You are not to speak, unless spoken to, and must never look anyone of them in the face, unless directly ordered to do so. When the viewing is complete, you will be led, one at a time in numerical order, into the bidding room, where you will be bid upon, and ultimately sold. If any of you are not sold, you will remain her with us, at my house, as a servant, until the next auction, which is one year from now.

“I will not be speaking with any of you again, unless you aren't sold, so good bye, and good luck to you all” Catherine turned and closed the door behind her. All was quiet in the room, excepting for one slave who was weeping softly.

We stood there together, heads down, not looking at anything except the floor, until the door opened a we heard the sound of shoes on the hard wood floor. I saw a pair of wing tipped cordovans pause in front of me for a few minutes. The pants were a gray tweed, neatly creased with a cuff. The shoes were highly polished and completely devoid of scuff marks.

They were joined by a pair of black pumps, maybe a size six, bare legs, very shapely. “Have you seen the rings, Charles, she asked him?”

“Yes, dear, I was just admiring them. Catherine likes to put them in in advance, jacks the price up”

“She's not too bad,” the woman continued. A little small boned, but she might fit in with the others.”

“Put a mark next to her in your catalogue, dear. We might bid on her if she doesn't go too high.”

Together they moved off to my right, and I was left alone for a short time. Then a pair of thigh high black leather boots with three inch platform soles and six inch heels stopped in front of me, and slightly behind, a delicate pair of bare female feet. “What number is this one, slut,” the boots asked?

“It's number nine, Mistress.”

“Give me her bio.”

“Yes, Mistress.”

While she was reading it, a pair of black loafers stopped next to her, “See anything you like, Ilsa?”

“A few prospects, Daimon, but I haven't made up my mind as yet. You?”

“I'm not really in the market this year. I just came to see what Catherine put together. This one is lovely, though, don't you think?”

“Yes she is.” Then to the barefoot woman, “Lift her head, slut, I want to look into her eyes.”

“Yes, Mistress,” the barefoot woman replied as she reached out and placed her fingers under my chin, lifting my head up. “Open your eyes, ‘9'.”

I opened my eyes to look into the face of a woman dressed in a black leather corset, that accented her heavy chest. A totally naked woman stood next to her, her head shaven, with a thick metal rod piercing both of her breasts, ‘U' shaped clamps straddling each breast from the bar.“She has nice eyes, Mistress. The kind You like,” the naked woman said.

“Her eyes are lovely slut, they remind me of whore's eyes............ We'll see.” The woman in the corset ran her gloved hand lightly over my right breast while she starred into my eyes. When she was certain she had one hundred percent of my attention, she pinched my nipple, very hard. I bit my lip, holding in the sound that wanted reflexively to escape. Her gaze burned right through me, watching for a reaction to her ministrations.

“Make her cum for Me, slut. I want to hear her.”

“Of course, Mistress.” The naked girl knelt before me and, using her hands, pushed my thighs apart. She the buried her face in my pussy, her tongue darting deep within me so quickly I let out a startled little yelp. She found my clit and began sucking it into her mouth and nibbling it gently between her teeth. In a matter of seconds I could feel the orgasm building deep inside me. She never slackened her pace and I came with a loud moan, twitching so hard the chain to my neck was making noise.

“Well done, slut. Under sixty seconds. You've gotten very good at it.”

“Thank You, Mistress. It's because of Your training me.”

“Come with Me, slut, I wish to browse before making up My mind.”

“Yes, mistress,” came the fast reply, and they moved away, leaving still recuperating from an intense orgasm, a strong smell lingering below my waist.

I bowed my head down again, and many minutes passed before another guest came by to look me over. It was a black woman, wearing a tight purple skirt, mid calf length. She wore violet colored leather sandals with thin straps holding them on her dainty feet. I could see her well manicured hands reach out to caress my belly. Ever so slowly, she worked her hand up and cupped my breast, while her other hand examined the newly placed rings and chains in my pussy lips.

She tilted her head in toward me and inhaled deeply, savoring the smell of my perfume. “You have cum recently, haven't you,” she quizzed me?

“Yes Ma'am. A few minutes ago.”

“You're still quite wet, even sloppy.”

I was shaken a bit and didn't know wether to apologize or simply agree with her. Sensing my unease at the moment, she added, “It's quite all right. Even slaves can't be expected to control nature's instincts.

“Do you have a name, child?”

“My number is ‘9', Ma'am.”

“Yes, dear, I know that. Look at me.”

I lifted my head and looked into her face. She was in her late forties, not necessarily beautiful, but striking, with a flawless chocolate brown complexion. Light pink lipstick outlined her mouth. Bright piercing eyes seemed to be boring into the inner recesses of my mind, probing my most secret thoughts. She wore no other make up and no jewelry. Her short hair had light strands of gray highlighting it, and given her a strong commanding presence. She wore a brightly colored silk headband tied across her forehead. “I want your given name.”

“It's Sheila, Ma'am. Sheila Quinlan .”

“Ah, you're Irish.”

“Yes, ma'am. Both sides. My mother was a Kildare.”

“I have some Irish blood as well,” she offered. “I am descended from slaves brought here in the late 1820's. The owner was Irish and fathered quite a number of children. My grandmother told me all about it. It was her grandmother who was a slave.

“Looks like the times have changed quite a bit. Now we have wealthy black women walking about freely at a slave auction that is selling white slaves. And why is this? My ancestors had no choice in what they became. They were abducted, kidnaped from their homes and villages, sold into slavery and transported over thousands of miles of ocean to a strange land, where they were auctioned off to the highest bidder into a life of servitude.

“Why then are you here, Sheila? Did your Master tire of you? Were you lost in some wager? Or perhaps to pay a debt?”

“In all candor, Ma'am, I can't put it too well in words. I came here alone. No one forced me. It's something I have felt, a need, a deep unfulfilled part of me. I don't now why, or even from where it comes, but I just know that the only way I can be complete is if I am enslaved to someone for the rest of my life. I need it to make me whole. I.......I'm sorry. I just can't explain it.”

“My grandmother said that when her grandmother had been set free, she didn't know what to do. How to start up her life. She told me the woman stayed with her owner even after she was free, stayed with him till his death, and the remained with his daughter. It was like she didn't want to be free.”

A long silent pause hung between us that made me feel uneasy, so I bowed my head low, looking at her feet. She stared at me and slowly walked around me, inspecting me. Then, patting me once on the ass and in silence, she moved on.

Two more guests came by, a couple, discussing me between themselves as they read my bio. Talking about me like they might a car or some other major purchase, but never once speaking to me. Just about me. He seemed pretty turned on by my blatant submission, but she was cold, criticizing the size of my hips, my small areolas, and labial rings. Saying they would stretch my labia in no time, making them hideous, maybe even necessitating their removal. She told him she didn't think I'd be a good fit for them, hinting a male slave would be better.

Then came an announcement from Catherine, “If you would all care to join me in the auction room, the bidding will commence in ten minutes. You may visit the lavatories, freshen your drinks, compare notes, whatever you will.”

The couple agreed that I wasn't what they were looking for as they moved away, following Catherine. After the guests had left the room, our preparers came back to us. Madison unclipped my chain and lead me to a make-up table where she had me sit. She reapplied my lipstick, added a touch of rouge to my areolas, and applied more perfume. When she was through, she combed my hair with a soft comb, until it cascaded over my shoulders delicately.

“You are to be auctioned off in numerical order, ‘9', so we have some time,” Madison said, putting down the comb. “If you are sold, you will be brought back down to the crates for shipping, unless your owners wish to take you with them right away. If you aren't bought, then you will remain here, with us, as a servant, until the auction next year, at which time you will be placed on the block If you aren't sold at that time, my aunt will either keep you for herself, or sell you to a brothel overseas.”

I shuddered visibly at that suggestion. To spend my days as a prostitute, slowly sinking into an abyss of pimps, disease, and police was not something I wanted to consider.

“That scares you I see,” Madison observed. “That's understandable. Stay here, I'm going to see what number they're up to.”

A few moments later she came back, saying, they're at ‘3'. The first two sold very fast, not a lot of bidding. Fair prices, but not really high.” She picked up the rouge and handed it to me, “color my nipples so I look darker under the lights.”

I took the rouge from her and gently patted it on her small hard nipples, darkening them. “Is my make-up alright,” she queried?

“Yes, Ma'am. It looks just right for you.”

I could see how nervous she was, sitting waiting, biting the cuticle on one of her fingers, her smooth bare leg dangling from the chair. Finally, she stood, and said, “Let's get over by the door so we can be ready when they call us.”

She took my leash and we walked over to the door the lead into the auction room. I could hear some people speaking, and then, suddenly, the door opened, and Ginny came in calling, “6.”

A young man came forward, leading the slave I ran into in the Jacuzzi, the one with the full lips and azure eyes. A look of shear terror filled her eyes, and I smiled a faint smile at her in support.

In almost no time, she was coming back in through the door, tears streaming down her cheeks. Her preparer said to Madison, “not one bid. No one was interested.”

“This was her second auction,” Madison asked?

“Yes. And Catherine doesn't want her, so you know what that means!”

Ginny opened the door with, “7.”

Madison and I stood aside as a lean male slave was lead through the door. She said nothing to me, but my stomach was churning in fear and trepidation about the fate of ‘6'. My mind was racing through all of what faced me, doubts about the decisions I had made, could I go through with this, could I back out, run away........?

“8" Ginny announced, startling Madison and I.

“”You're next, ‘9', all you have to do is stand there. Don't look at the floor, and don't look at the buyers. Just look straight ahead. Stand up straight, try and stick your chest out, and keep your legs open.”

“I'll do my best, Ma'am,” I replied softly, my mouth dry.

We waited in silence until the door opened again, and Ginny called out, “9.”

Madison took up the slack on my leash and we went through the door. The room had a small brightly illuminated stage, but the seats where the guests were was dark, making it impossible to see them. We walked up the three steps and Madison turned me into the blinding lights and we stopped. Remembering her admonishments, I faced dead ahead, eyes open, shoulders back, and legs slightly parted.

“A deep man's voice to my left announced, “Lot number 9. A twenty-six year old college educated female. 34 22 35. Pierced labia, both sides. No previous owners. We will start the bidding at 25. Do I have 25? Yes, 25. Do I have 30? ...30 it is, 35?.... 40? 40?.... 45,... 45,..... 50, 50, .......50,...... 75........ 75! Do I hear 80?...... 80?....... 85. .......85, ....90........ 100........100? ....125?..... ...125? ........Any further offers?................ Sold, 125.”

We stood there on stage for a minute or so, polite applause gracing the sale. As it died away, Madison pulled on my leash and we turned and walked off the stage and through a different door where we found Catherine accepting a check from the black woman in the tight purple skirt and violet sandals. My head bowed at once, but was slowly lifted at the pressure from her hand, so she could gaze, knowingly into my eyes, as Madison handed her my leash.