I suppose, when one hears the words “Slave Auction” certain images come to mind: scenes out of Ancient Rome or from the Antebellum South or dingy warehouses somewhere in Eastern Europe. Lines of naked, miserable captives being dragged up on stage in chains to be sold to the highest bidder. This auction, however was nothing like that.

The auction was held in a palatial country home, mansion really, out in the countryside, remote enough from anything else, to be tolerably private. After showing my invitation to a man at the door, I was escorted into an elegant ballroom, done up in old fashioned style, lots of gilt glinting in the light of the cut-crystal chandeliers.

There were about two dozen of so in attendance that night, men and women in the best evening finery, spread about the place in groups of four or five. It was much like many of the high society functions I’ve attended: the men talking business, the women eyeing the competition: who had the latest fashion, the flashiest jewels; all the while being served an endless stream of champagne and canapes by a small army of uniformed waitstaff.

As I moved to join one of the groups, I looked about for the “guests of honor” tonight, but I couldn’t spot them right away. I was expecting something like one of those images I mentioned: women lined up on some sort of platform or maybe crammed into cages; stripped bare for the buyers to examine before the auction. But there was nothing like that here.  

 A few minutes after I arrived, a pair of figures walked over to our group. The first was a young woman, girl really, probably not more then 18 or 19 years old. Pretty little thing, with pale skin and long blonde hair, done up in an elaborate coiffure. She had on a lovely evening dress of dark blue velvet, black stockings and heels, with appropriate jewelry, but despite this it was all too apparent she was not another buyer but one of those up for sale tonight. Her hands were chained in front of her by a pair of silver shackles and below a set of fetters slowed her gait as much as the heels she wore did. A thin collar was locked around her neck, hung with a metal tag, the number “7” engraved on it, and a short chain leash dangling loosely from the front of it.

The other end of the lead was held by the second person: a woman in her early 30s, dressed in a severe black suit which, along with her expression, was all business. It was clear she was escorting the slave girl, though she kept a pace or two behind, letting the merchandise approach our group, head bowed submissively as she addressed us.

“Good evening, Sirs and Madams.” She said, her quiet voice showing a touch of an accent. “I am Slave Jennifer. I am 19 years old, originally from Newcastle, United Kingdom, and I will be for sale later this evening as Lot number 7. If you have any questions, please ask.”

“Let’s see the goods, doll.” One of the men said in a brusque tone. A little crass for the upscale setting, I thought, but Slave Jennifer took it in stride, no doubt expecting it.

“Of course, sir.” She replied at once, still in the same submissive tone. She reached down with her hands and grabbed the skirt of her dress, lifting the hem up above her waist so all those gathered around could see quite clearly she had nothing on under it above the hem of her stockings. A small patch of yellow fuzz stood above the soft lips of her sex. While she stood, letting all of us examine her naked crotch, some of the others started asking questions, which she answered.

“What sexual experience do you have?” Another man asked.

“Very little before I was acquired.” She replied. “Two or three boyfriends with some light vaginal and oral intercourse. After acquisition, I received comprehensive training in vaginal, oral and anal.”

“Have you been trained in pleasuring other women?” One of the ladies asked.  

Slave Jennifer’s cheeks flushed, ever so slightly, her eyes darting to the woman holding her leash. “My oral training was with both men and women.” The other woman’s stern expression twitched up, briefly, into a grin.

Slave Jennifer dropped her skirt back down, smoothing it out and, without needing to be prompted, reached up and pulled down the top. Unsurprisingly, she wore nothing underneath it, leaving her modest, but perky breasts to bounce free. Again, unprompted, she volunteered her size as “34B.”

“What other skills do you have?” Another bidder questioned.

“I am capable of most household chores and can cook simple meals.” She replied. “I speak French, Italian and some German as well as English and I am trained in modern dance and ballet.”  

“How did you come to be acquired by our hosts?” I asked, nodding to the slaver escorting slave Jennifer.

I expected the question to provoke some emotion from the girl, but she didn’t balk at the question, either having been well trained in hiding whatever emotions she felt at her status or perhaps simply having come to terms with her new life and accepting it. Either way, she answered in a still, quiet tone:

“I was an exchange student at one of the schools here. I went with some other girls to a party at one of the local clubs. We were spotted at the club and on our way home, the recruiters drove our car off the road. They forced the four of us into their van where our hands and feet were tied and gags were put in our mouths. We were driven first to a safe house, out in the countryside, which is where they told us we were going to be sold as slaves. The next day, we were sent to the school to be trained.”

A few more questions were asked, and once everyone had had a chance to examine Slave Jennifer’s naked breasts, the young woman set her top to rights. “Remember, she’ll be up in lot number 7.” The slave handler reminded us and escorted her charge over to the next knot of people.  

In the meantime, we had only a little while to wait before another slave was led over. A tall, slender Asian girl who gave a short bow. “Good evening. I am Slave Mei, 20 years old from San Francisco.” She said in the resigned tone of someone stuck with an unpleasant task, like getting a root canal. “I will be for sale later this evening. Lot number 3.” Without needing prompting, she grabbed the hem of her red silk dress and hiked the skirt up to expose her cleanly shaven sex.

“I have been trained in vaginal and anal intercourse and oral for both male and female partners.” She continued, preempting the question, and with the same weary tone. “Prior to acquisition I worked part time at a cleaning service. Two months ago, I was sent to a new client at a house in the suburbs. The house was empty. As soon as I entered, I was grabbed by the...recruiters.” A tiny bit of acid leaked into her voice as she glanced sideways at the man holding her lead. “They bound and gagged me, put a sack over my head and tossed me into their van. On the way, they explained my new position to me.”

Dropping her skirt, she reached up and pulled the straps of her dress down off her shoulders, letting it fall down enough to bare her small, round breasts. After letting us examine them, and answering a few more questions from the other buyers, Slave Mei was escorted away to the next group of buyers to repeat the process.

Meanwhile, we waited until the next lot. In contrast to the previous girl’s surly resignation, the curly haired brunette who arrived several minutes later had a wide grin across her freckled face. “Good evening, Sirs...Madams...” She said in a cheerful tone, nodding to each of us. “I am Slave Rebecca, 22 years old, originally from St. Louis, Missouri and I’ll be for sale later this evening. Lot number 11!” Her demeanor put me in mind of a waitress, hoping for a big tip after putting up with a difficult group of customers. Hardly surprising when she said it had been her job, before she had been grabbed while walking to her car one evening after closing up the place and forcibly recruited into her new ‘career’.

As with the others, she dutifully lifted up the skirt of her green satin gown and pulled the top down to reveal a pair of large breasts with perky nipples, each with a small, silver bar piercing. “Hope you like ‘em.” She said in the same forced-cheerful tone as we gathered round to inspect her body. After a few minutes of this, the slaver escorting her tugged sharply on the leash. She shuffled after him, turning to look back over her shoulder at us. “Remember! Lot 11, Slave Rebecca!” She called back.

Unlike the first three lots I’d seen so far, the next to be brought up were a pair: an older woman, probably mid-thirties, with long, strawberry blonde hair in a strapless black dress and heels and a younger teenage girl with a slightly lighter blonde pixie cut in a white blouse and tartan skirt, stockings and black patent leather flats. The girl was joined by a short chain to the older, who in turn was led by a longer leash held in the hands of the slaver escorting them.

In addition to the shackles on her hands and feet, like her companion, the girl also had a large, black rubber ballgag strapped between her teeth. I’d noticed some of the slaver escorts carrying them on their belts alongside the other tools of their trade. A way to deal with reluctant slaves who hadn’t been able to stay on script, I guessed.

“Good evening, Sirs, Madams.” The older woman addressed us while the younger one stood by, her head bowed low. “I am Slave Charlotte and this is Slave Kristen...my daughter.” She added after a second. “We were originally from Richmond, Virginia and the both of us will be for sale later this evening as Lot 16.”

The slaver gave a sharp tug on the chain lead, prompting Slave Charlotte to lift her dress up. A second later, face turning bright red, Slave Kristen mimicked the action. “I have been trained vaginally, anally and orally, mostly men with some women.” Slave Charlotte told us. She paused a long second before continuing. “My daughter has been trained in oral only as she is currently still a virgin.” A status she wouldn’t keep long, I guessed, from the way we all crowded to examine her daughter’s sex. I doubted whoever ended up buying the two of them would even wait to get home before deflowering the trembling, red-faced girl.

“How were the two of you acquired?” Another buyer asked the mother, before I got a chance to ask the same question.  

As the two bared their breasts, Slave Charlotte answered. “The two of us were staying at home five weeks ago. My husband was away on a business trip so it was just the two of us. The recruiters broke in during the night. They came to my bedroom first, woke me up and put a gag in my mouth. They tied my hands and feet with rope. One of them stayed to watch me while the others went to my daughter’s room, woke her up, tied and gagged her. They brought us downstairs, where they told us we were going to be taken and sold as slaves. We were then carried out the front door to the van and driven to the training center.” Questions answered, bodies examined, the two were dragged off to the next group of bidders.

Things continued in the same manner for the next two hours or so. One by one, the rest of the lots were brought around for us to inspect. Aside from the mother and daughter, there were two other lots of paired slaves: one a pair of sisters, the other one two lovers who were being sold together. When all of the girls had been brought out, displayed and hustled away, conversation resumed among the crowd of bidders. Now though, the polite small talk was replaced with discussions on the merits of the individual lots, speculations for how the bidding for each would go and which ones we were most interested.

This lasted for maybe ten or fifteen minutes, while the people running the night’s activities readied things ‘backstage’ so to speak. When all was ready, one of them came out with a microphone, linked up to a sound system concealed somewhere in the ballroom. “Ladies and Gentlemen! Thank you for your patience. You’ve all had a chance to meet and talk with the lots up for sale tonight, so without further ado, it is time to start the bidding!”

The attentions of the whole crowd were directed to one of the large sets of double doors on each side of the ballroom. It opened and the lots once more made an appearance. Two dozen slaves, accompanied by their escorts, made a procession into the room. Their hands and feet were still shackled, though they now had their hands locked behind their backs. In addition, perhaps because they no longer needed to speak, all of them wore a ball gag buckled tight between their lips.

The line cross the ballroom, moving between the crowd, giving each of us a chance to see them again and to pick out the different lots we wanted to bid on. Their path ended at the head of the room, where a small platform, maybe a foot or two off the ground, had been set up, here at last, was the infamous auction block.

The slaver with the microphone moved to stand beside this while the slaves lined up along the wall behind. Their faces showed a mixture of expressions, beneath the distorting effects of the ballgags. Some looked frightened, apprehensive about what was to come. A few looked sullen or angry. A couple, like Slave Rebecca, kept up the cheerful facade, hoping it would ingratiate them with their future owners. Most though, had a neutral expression of resigned obedience.

“You’ve all had a chance to meet here, so here’s our first item for the night, Lot number 1, Slave Jenny!” At the prompting, tall, dark skinned girl from Dallas shuffled forward from the end of the line and stepped up onto the platform. She didn’t look at us, but kept her gaze fixed a point a few feet above the crowd, eyes unfocused, perhaps trying to pretend that this wasn’t happening. That she wasn’t here, on the auction block, about to be sold into a life of slavery.

But of course, she was. Almost as soon as the auctioneer had asked “What am I bid?” Hands shot up. Bidding was brisk, in no time rising from a few thousand dollars to a low six figures. When things at last started to slow down, the slaver again asked “Anyone else? Going once...going twice...Sold!” On stage, the young woman gave a brief shiver, a pained expression briefly crossing her face before the mask of calm submission returned. She turned and stepped down off the platform, heading off to meet her new master. Meanwhile, the second girl for sale that evening walked forward and climbed up for her own fate to be decided.

In the end, all of the women and girls were sold. I think the slavers must have been quite pleased. None of their merchandise sold for less then $100,000. A profitable evening for them. As for what the slaves themselves thought of the night’s outcome, no one cared very much.  

I myself was quite lucky on the seventh lot. I spent a good bit more then I had hoped, perhaps, but at the end of the night, I drove home with Slave Jennifer hogtied in the trunk of my car. In the months since I bought her, I’ve been quite pleased with her work, both around the house and in the bedroom. Still, I’ve heard next month the slavers are holding another auction and maybe I’ll attend and see what they’re offering...