Samantha was kept waiting in her cell for the next three days. She was fed on regular intervals, with portions that were downright generous compared to what the 23-year old had received during her training. Once or twice a day, she was taken out, shackled hand and foot and gagged as always, for periods of exercise with the women and girls still being trained as slaves, but afterwords Samantha was brought straight back to her cell, rather then to one of the training or punishment rooms. For the first time since her abduction, the crop and whip marks on Samantha’s body faded and no fresh ones replaced them. Most shocking of all, at no point during those three days was she used by any of the guards or handlers and even the casual pawing and groping that accompanied each brief trip out of the cell was pared back.
The treat, Samantha knew, wasn’t any sort of reward for her obedience. To these people, she was nothing but an object, merchandise to be sold and they wanted her to be in the best possible condition for that event.
On the fourth day since Samantha had “passed” her examination, a voice on the cell’s intercom abruptly ordered the slave to her feet. As was now routine for the young woman, she cuffed and gagged herself with the restraints that were passed into the cell through a slot in the door. It swung open as soon as she’d ratcheted the last cuff closed around her wrists and a female handler entered and clipped a short chain lead to Samantha’s collar. The slave followed the other woman out into the corridor where, to Samantha’s surprise, a half dozen other slaves stood, shackled and gagged, heads fixed forward waiting for the next instruction. They were, near as Samantha could tell, all about her age, all brunettes and, in keeping with the slavers’ standards, all very fit and pretty.
She was soon joined by her lead to the end of the short coffle. A barked command from the handler and the seven shackled slaves shuffled forward in unison, chains jingling loudly in the concrete corridor. They didn’t go far. About twenty short hobbling paces up the hall, the older woman ordered an abrupt halt. Samantha stood, eyes fixed dully on a point between the shoulder blades of the girl in front of her, then the soft padding of bare feet and the louder rattle of chains as the girl wearing them was led out and attached to the coffle behind Samantha. Then the whole group set out again.
When the number of girls in the coffle reached an even dozen, the handler took her charges on a longer journey, through the warren of identical corridors. For a moment, Samantha became frightened they were heading toward one of the punishment rooms but before they reached that point, the coffle turned off into another chamber. It was set up as a shower, with tiles and drains set in the floor, but it was a far cry from the usual wash up Samantha and the other slaves got where they were lined up and hosed down by a handler with a hose.
The girls were unchained from each other and even had their hands unshackled, though the leg irons and gags remained on. Each girl got a separate shower head and below each was a small wire shelf with shampoo and body wash. The water was even hot instead of the ice cold jet she’d expected. Samantha couldn’t recall when she’d ever experienced anything so glorious, not since she’d been a free woman anyway...she might have lingered, enjoying the warm spray on her naked body for hours, but mindful of the handler watching them, Samantha hurriedly cleaned herself off and stepped back to where the coffle was lining up once more
Still dripping and shivering, the slaves were marched through another door, opposite the one they had come in. The next chamber, while keeping with the brutalist concrete and steel theme of the rest of the complex, bore a strong resemblance to the beauticians Samantha had once visited regularly when she was a free woman, from the spinning chairs and large, heavy duty hair dryers to the long mirrors on the wall above tables groaning with cosmetics and beauty tools. Instead of Flo, her old stylist, though, the room had a score or so of young girls, naked and collared but otherwise restrained, standing at attention along the far wall. Seeing the arrival of Samantha and the others, the girls jumped into action with the prompt obedience of trained slaves.
The coffle was broken up, each of the women being taken by two of the girls. Samantha found herself swept up by a pair of teens, one an Asian girl, the other Hispanic. They gently guided her to one of the open chairs where she received the most comprehensive makeover of her life. Her light brown hair was gently dried, cut, combed and styled. Cosmetics were applied to her face. She was given a full mani/pedi. She was carefully shaved to ensure her skin was completely smooth from the next down, with special attention pair to the mound of her sex, then some sort of lotion or oil was applied all over so her naked figure glowed in the bright lights of the room.
Samantha watched in amazement as the figure in the mirror in front of her was transformed from an abject, miserable captive to, if still a slave, at least the sort of beautiful concubine that might suit the harem of an ancient sultan or pharaoh. She might have enjoyed the whole process more if she didn’t know all too well the girls’ eager efforts were not for her benefit but merely to make her a more enticing item for the buyers she would soon be shown to, and to increase the money Samantha would earn her captors with her sale.
Once all of the girls had been similarly made over, they were cuffed and coffled once more and led out. This time, they passed through corridors that were busy with handlers, guards and other slavers dressed in fine clothes, not unlike the panel that had examined Samantha a few days before. Now though, they were intent on other tasks, ignoring her and the other slaves, save the occasional barked order to clear the way. The sale Samantha assumed was the focus of the attention, was clearly a big to do.
With all that, it took some time before the coffle came to their destination and passed through the inevitable heavy steel doors. On the other side was a large chamber, 30 feet wide by 50 feet long and 20 feet or more high. The shadowy ceiling was a tangle of cables, steel frames and ropes, putting Samantha in mind of the backstage of a large theater and, judging from the frantic activity it was opening night. There were even more slavers here, rushing about in what would have seemed a panic save the cool, professional air about them that spoke of long experience with this sort of thing.
“What lot is this?” A man demanded, deigning at last to notice Samantha and the other slave girls.
“Lot 6.” Their handler replied.
“They’re not due to go on for a bit yet. Put ‘em over there.” The man said, jerking a thumb over his shoulder. Without waiting for a reply, he turned and hurried, already yelling out orders to another group of slavers.
“Come slaves.” The handler jerked the lead chain and the coffle shuffled to the indicated direction. Tucked in a corner at the back were a couple of long benches. Two of them were occupied, each holding a chain of 12 slaves, naked, shackled, gagged and tethered to one another by their collars. The first group consisted of women, all in their mid-to-late 20’s and with blonde hair, ranging from dirty blonde to platinum. Seated behind them was a chain of teenage girls, none much older then about 18 or 19 and all Asian of one ethnicity or another.
Samantha’s lot of brunettes were marched to the third, empty bench and ordered to sit. As she turned and sank onto the hard, cold steel seat, Samantha could see over the hunched shoulders of the slaves in front of her, the far end of the room and an area screened off by heavy theater curtains. Another coffle of girls was being led towards it. The curtains parted as they approached and, briefly, the sounds of a crowd could be heard over the noises of the backstage. Then the curtains closed behind the last girl, muffling the sounds of the auction.
Samantha took a deep breath to calm herself, sucking air around the slick rubber plug of the ballgag. All too soon, she’d be there, marched out with the other women and sold to the highest bidder. Intellectually, she had known this moment was coming. Once it had sunk in that rescue wasn’t coming and escape would be impossible, it was inevitable, sooner or later, she would be sold. But now she found, emotionally, she was still not prepared for the truth that she was, after all, going to be sold and she was going to spend the rest of her life a slave. Had she now been shackled, squeezed between two other women on the narrow bench and chained to them at the neck to boot, Samantha might have tried some last, desperate effort in these final moments, but restrained as she was, there was nothing she could do but sit and wait and worry over what sort of person would buy her.
As the young woman’s imagination conjured up a procession of fiends and sadists to torment herself, the slavers continued with the ongoing auction. Fifteen minutes after the last lot of slaves had gone on stage, a handler came and fetched the coffle of blondes. The women glumly rose to their feet at his barked command and shuffled off to be sold. The bench did not sit vacant for long before a fresh coffle of dark skinned beauties was brought to replace the blondes.
Not long after, one of the slavers in evening finery came over to the benches. She went down the line of Samantha’s group. Pausing at each woman and noting the slave number stamped to her collar. These were tapped into a small tablet in the woman’s hands. When her number was entered, Samantha caught a brief glimpse of her own face, along with a mass of small text on the screen before the slaver moved to the next girl.
When the last of the blondes was being sold off, a handler came and collected the lot of Asian girls. A few of the teens sobbed or whimpered, fright temporarily supplanting their training, but scared or not, willing or not, the chains linking them together forced the girls to march to the auction stage. As before, they had barely left before a new coffle of 30-something redheads arrived to take their place.
Samantha waited another quarter of an hour, listening to the muffled sounds of the auction, mixed with the thudding of her heart in her chest. The time seemed to stretch on forever, then all of a sudden it was past in a moment and Samantha was being ordered to her feet along with the rest of the women. It felt like she was moving through muck, every step taking conscious effort as Samantha trudged towards the auction stage, dragged along helpless by the chain at her neck but then she were there, standing at the curtains waiting to go out on stage and be sold.
The handler who had led them over stepped through the curtains. In the gap left by her passing, Samantha caught a glimpse of a wooden stage and a long, teenage girl standing at the front of an extended platform, caught in the glare of multiple spotlights, then the drapes closed over the awful scene, so Samantha did not see the final moment as the poor girl was sold.
At the same time, the slaves were being given instructions by the well dressed slaver. “Keep your heads down until your turn comes then look up, straight ahead. Walk slowly up the state to the front, turn and then stand at attention…” Another man, wearing headphones and holding a clipboard gestured, silently. The curtains parted. Samantha held her breath. The chain lead at her neck snapped taut, jerking her forward through the curtains and onto the auction stage.
For the first few seconds, Samantha was blinded by the dazzled stage lights blazing down on her and the others. As the spots faded from her vision, she could make out the audience, an indistinct mass of about thirty or so figures, men and women, dressed for high society. But what caught her attention were the large screens, of the sort often found at stadiums. There were two on either side of the stage and two at the back of the room. All of them, as best Samantha could tell, were currently showing a live feed from a camera zoomed in on the lead slave. It panned down the coffle as the young women shuffled out onto the stage.
The jerk of her lead brought Samantha back to her present circumstances. She forced her gaze down to the stage and hobbled forward as quickly as the ankle fetters allowed, present the image of an obedient and, hopefully, valuable slave to the crowds. The coffle was lined up along the back of the stage and ordered to kneel, facing the audience. Samantha sank to her knees, keeping her head bowed, chest thrust out and legs spread without conscious thought. In front of her, the female slaver walked up to the front of the state, holding her tablet.
Meanwhile, the first woman was unchained from the rest and stood up. As she was led forward, the slaver hit an icon on the tablet. Immediately, the screens changed from the live feed of the stage. Now, one side of each screen displayed a scrolling list of statistics and factoids on the slave currently up for auction while opposite it, pictures and short video clips of the young woman began to cycle. Some had been taken during her training, but others must have been taken from before her abduction, showing a happy, smiling young woman with friends and family going about her ordinary life, little suspecting what lay in store for her.
The now naked and shackled slave girl shuffled, at the handler’s lead, to the front of the stage. As they’d been instructed, she turned in place, letting the audience see her from every angle. They cheered and clapped their appreciation. The auctioneer meanwhile, spoke up, her words amplified by speakers around the hall.
“Here’s the first item for this lot: Slave 392, formerly one Cathy Miller, aged 22…” The other woman continued as Cathy stopped turning and came to attention. “Her details are listed above. We will start the bidding at $10,000…” It started there but did not stay there long. Out in the audience, bidders took out similar tablets and hit a button on the screen. On the larger screens, the number under “Current Bid” show up in increments of hundreds or thousands of dollars. More bids came in from remote bidders. Before more then a minute or two had passed, Cathy Miller’s price stood at $95000. It lingered there a moment before shooting up into the six figure range. By the time bidding slowed again it had reached nearly $150K. A few more bids, spaced apart, took it just above that milestone before it stopped for a final time.
“Anyone else?” The auctioneer said, smiling. “No? $153,500 going once...twice...sold! For $153.5K!” Polite applause rose from the crowd. On the screens, the word “SOLD” appeared in bright red letters across the image of Holly’s face along with the winning bid and the number of the bidder that now owned her. On stage, the read Holly looked bewildered as a handler came forward, leashed her and led the newly sold young woman away.
Meanwhile, another handler was already unchaining the next trembling girl from the line of slaves at the back. She rose to her feet, stumbling forward as the auctioneer brought up her details to the big screens and informed the crowd they would be bidding next for one Amanda Baker, aged 25. Like Holly, the price started at $10,000 and like hers it shot up quickly, until Amanda was sold for just under $125K.
The next few sales proceeded at a rapid pace, the slavers moving things along with little downtime between girls. Before she knew it, the girls ahead of Samantha, a short curly haired lass named Mary James had just been sold for just shy of six figures and it was Samantha’s turn. Samantha found herself rising to her feet at the tug of the handler’s leash and shuffling forward as if in a trance, a strange sense of detachment coming over her as if she wasn’t there but merely watching yet another strange girl being auctioned off. She looked out at the crowd of faces, eagerly devouring her naked figure with their eyes as she turned in place, hardly hearing the voice of the auctioneer as she came to attention.
Then Samantha caught a glimpse of the screens at the back of the auction hall and a sudden jolt brought her back down. The screen was showing the same cycle of pictures as it had for the other slaves. The one on screen at that moment was one from before her kidnapping. It wasn’t a picture she recognized, but she did recognize the event it showed: a birthday party she attended for one of her coworkers, all of them gathered around the table at a restaurant near the office. The angle was from behind and off to the side, zoomed in close on Samantha as she smiled and sang along with the other men and women. That had been back in May, six months before her abduction. And the next one, was her on a family trip that had happened over a year ago!
Had the slavers really been eyeing her for so long, waiting for the right opportunity to seize her? Her mind boggled at the thought she had gone about her life for months, maybe years little knowing she was being observed and her enslavement planned by these people. Many a night, crying in her cell during those first weeks of her training, Samantha had cursed her carelessness in walking to her car alone, had dreams that she had spotted the danger in time or that another woman had walked in first and been taken in her place. Now she knew, whatever had happened that evening her fate wouldn’t have changed. These people had decided to take her long before and, professional as they were, sooner or later they would have succeeded.
Distracted by these thoughts, Samantha hardly noticed the bidding going on until the auctioneer’s cry of “Sold! For $117,250!” snapped her back from might-have-been’s to the here and now. As the initial shock of that cry and the accompanying cry faded, the realization sank in: Samantha had been sold! The handler tugged sharply on Samantha’s leash, leading her off to one side of the stage while behind her the next girl was already coming forward for the auction to continue.
At the side of the stage, another slaver stopped her and affixed a flimsy plastic tag to her collar. It had a QR code containing, Samantha assumed, the details of her sale. Then she left the stage entirely and found herself, after passing through a couple doors and small chambers, in one of the familiar corridors. Though Samantha still had little idea of the layout of the place, the faint smell of exhaust, motor oil and metal told her they were close to the garage in which the young woman had arrived here months before.
Samantha was finally brought to a small room which was clearly where the newly sold slaves were package for shipment. Pieces of crates and other restraints scattered about along side tools and dolly’s for moving them on gave the place a brusque workshop atmosphere. Samantha had arrived just as the girl ahead of her was being crated up and so got a preview of her own fate.
The girl crouched within a crate of heavy duty plastic reinforced with metal strips and corners. Her arms and legs were strapped securely and a hood covered her head, from which a hose ran to a set of air tanks fixed to one corner of the case. The rest of the space was filled with a thick foam padding, holding her fixed in place. The final side of the crate, with its own later of padding, was fitted in place and screwed on tight with a cordless drill. A dolly was rolled over and the whole thing wheeled out of the room.
No sooner had it departed then Samantha was dragged to the newly vacated space. One of the slavers reached behind her head and unbuckled the ballgag. Another reached over and held up a plastic water bottle.
“Drink slave.” She ordered, tipping the bottle back as Samantha obediently opened her mouth and let the room temperature water flow down her throat. It tasted of nothing in particular, but as the base of a new crate was brought over from a supply of them in the corner Samantha felt the sleeping drug in the water take hold. As the cuffs on her wrists and ankles were removed and replaced with straps, she slipped into unconsciousness.
***
When Samantha woke again, all was darkness. She could feel a constant pressure, all around her body preventing her from doing much more then squirming. For the first few moments, panic rose within her before she remembered what had happened. “I’m in a packing crate, being shipped to me new home.” She thought, “I...I was sold.” She still didn’t know to whom and what they would be like. “Whatever happens, I must try and please them as best I can.” She didn’t know what punishments would await her if her new owner found her unsuitable and sent her back to the slaver, but she was certain she didn’t want to find out.
Eventually, through repeated assurances to herself she would be let out of the crate and soon, she hoped, Samantha got her breathing under control. The air tasted strongly of rubber, due to the tube and mask built into the hood. The familiar aching of Samantha’s limbs told her she’d been crated up for at least eight or nine hours, maybe more. With the patience she’d been forced to learn in the dungeons, she knelt and waited. The foam padding cushioned all but the largest of bumps, leaving her little indication whether the crate was in motion or not.
Finally, she got her sign. Samantha’s world tipped on its side and she heard the scrape of what she guessed was a dolly being slipped under the crate. She counted breaths, waiting as the crate was wheeled what felt like miles. Then with another thug and a stomach-tilting lurch the crate was set back down. At last, she heard the glorious sound of screw drivers at work disassembling the crate. She felt a rush of cold air blow across her naked body, making her shiver, then hands reached in and extricated her from the crate. She groaned into the hood as the straps were removed, allowing her to stretch out for the first time in half a day. To her surprise, she found smooth hardwood boards beneath her bare feet instead of the rough concrete she’d grown used to.
“Here she is, Slave 607.” A man was saying. “I hope you enjoy your purchase!” Hands fumbled at the hood around her head and Samantha felt it being pulled away. She closed her eyes just in time to avoid being blinded by the rush of light. When she finally risked blinking them open, she found herself standing in the large, expensively decorated foyer. Bright sun streamed in through the windows, giving her a brief glimpse of the grounds outside, well manicured lawns and gardens surrounded by high stone walls.
But Samantha’s attention was focused on the couple which stood before her, their eagerness telling the young woman at once that they were the ones who had just purchased her. The man, she guessed, was about 45-50 years old, tall and broad-shouldered, he had been athletic in his youth but was starting to go flabby with age. He was clean shaven with short dark hair going gray at the temples. He was dressed casually, but expensively in the way the bosses at Samantha’s old company did on casual days and team building events: a simple maroon polo, khaki shorts and loafers which could have been bought for $20 but had probably cost him two grand. One hand was placed on his hip, the other held a collar and a remote.
Standing beside him was a woman four or five years his junior. She was a little shorter, had a good figure for her age. Her pale blonde hair hung loose around her shoulders. Unlike her husband, she had dressed with a sense of appropriateness for the occasion: black thigh high leather boots which left a couple inches of bare skin between their tips and the hem of her short leather skirt. Above, her ample bust was accented by a tight leather corset and bra combination. Her arms were clad in long black opera gloves and in her hands was a long, supple riding crop.
“Welcome to your new home, slave.” The man said, his voice stern but betraying his excitement. “We paid a lot of money for you and we expect to get our money’s worth, do you understand?”
Samantha held her breath a moment, then her training kicked in. Bowing her head, she said in a quiet voice, “Yes master, I understand.”
“Good.” The man nodded. “You may call me Master James.” He looked to the woman beside him. “She is Mistress Claire.” The blonde smiled evilly at the younger woman, slapping the tip of the crop into her palm, playfully. “Now, before we show you around, there’s one more thing…”
Master James stepped forward, raising the collar in his hands. Samantha’s old one had been removed while she was unconscious so her master was able to slip the new one around it. It was slightly taller, slightly heavier then the one she’d gotten so used to, but the biggest different was a pair of steel bumps sticking out from the inside of the collar into one side of her neck. After locking the collar closed, he held up the remote and pressed a button.
“Just a bit of security.” He told her. “Radio-shock collar. All of the doors and windows are fixed so if you try and escape you’ll receive shocks until you return. Once you’ve shown us you can be trusted, we can extend that to the grounds outside.” Samantha took this with another submissive bow of the head. “Now…” Master James took a short chain lead from his pocket and clipped it to the front of Samantha’s collar, “let us show you around your new home.”
He turned and started towards a door to the left of the foyer. Samantha started after him, keeping the chain loose. Mistress Claire followed behind, giving her slave’s bottom the occasional swat for fun. The trio proceeded through the first floor. At each room, they stopped, Master James explaining what Samantha’s duties for that room were to be. Unsurprisingly, the couple expected their new slave to handle all of the cooking and cleaning for them. The list of her chores, which only expanded as they went upstairs and toured the many bedrooms of the large house, was daunting, but in some ways it was a little relieving. It wasn’t as if Samantha had wanted to spent her life a domestic servant, but compared to some of the nightmares she’d had a life of simple drudgery seemed paradise by comparison.
“And here is your room.” Master James said. They had descended into the basement, passed the wine cellar and pantry and into the laundry room. Past the machines was a section of blank wall covered by a wire shelf holding detergents and bleach. At a tug, though, wall and shelves swung back revealing a secret room beyond.
It was obviously a dungeon. Tucked into the far corner was a cage, a little bigger then the kennel for a large dog, of heavy steel bars and an impressive electronic lock on the door. Samantha’s new sleeping accommodations. The rest of the room was given over to a wide selection of bondage gear, some of which might have come from the punishment rooms back at the slaver compound.
“Before we let you get started on your chores…” Master James said, “I think we should give our new plaything a proper welcome, don’t you agree, dear?”
“Oh yes.” Mistress Claire replies, giddy with excitement. Her gaze swept the room, showing an eager anticipation to use each of the items it fell upon. Finally, she settled on a set of heavy wooden stocks. “Prepare yourself slave.” She swished the crop through the air, leaving no doubts what was planned.
Samantha could only stifle a sigh and a groan. “Yes Mistress.” She said at last and shuffled towards the stocks. Her new life had just begun...