The Auction (Part VI)
By Ordos Tsceri

"I can't believe we're still doing this," Lynette said to herself behind the stage.  The charity auction had seemed like such a far out, fantastical, unreal idea when the mana-medicinal department had first pitched ideas for their fund-raiser.  Lynette thought it was grand but unrealistic, and here she was, having presided over the auctioning of six of her fellow graduate students, each permanently transformed into an exquisite, unique, and inanimate object.  

She took a disbelieving breath and readied herself again.  She didn't expect this event to garner even a single volunteer when they first came up with the idea, and over the last hour two more individuals had approached the lawyers with requests to join the charity.  Join, as in, become additional lots to be auctioned off.  Permanently.

She shuddered behind the draped curtains of the stage; her nipples aching against the soft padding of her demure bra, their impression just barely visible, poking tiny nubs into her flowing green dress.  Her womanhood had become uncomfortably warm, her fair skin and smooth cheeks flushed with a tentative, almost embarrassed arousal.  

Six women had given up on being human, on being people, in favor of being turned into objects… and they had enjoyed it!  Each one had a story, and each one seemed to embrace her change.  It was baffling, and worse still, Lynette was beginning to suspect she enjoyed watching them.  

Lynette paused behind the curtain, taking a few deep, slow breaths.  She didn't know how to feel about her mounting arousal.  It had all seemed so bizarre, so unreal to begin with, but now… she had gasped aloud when she realized she was actually looking forward to seeing the next lot, the next transformation.  Of course, she gasped again when she read who would be selling herself.

With a final calming breath Lynette drew aside the heavy velvet curtain and walked back onto the stage.  She surveyed the ballroom, the dozens of tables with Avalia's most prosperous, wealthy, and influential people… minus one now.  As Lynette strode to the microphone, her shimmering green blouse hugging her lithesome form, every conversation quieted and all eyes fell on her.  She wondered if they'd noticed who was missing.

"Ladies and Gentlemen, our next lot actually volunteered for this show less than an hour ago, during some of the first changes.  May I introduce to you our beloved Lady Sonya Bellgrade, Countess of Bellgrade since her father past away two years ago," Lynette said, bowing low as the countess stepped onto the podium from behind the velvet curtain.

Countess Sonya Bellgrade was the very picture of Avalian Nobility; graceful, regal, and timeless.  She was quite young for a countess, only tenty-nine years old, but she'd fostered her cultured, natural beauty to immaculate extents.  Her skin was flawless, almost luminous with a rich, rosy, lively flush.  Her shining blonde hair was woven up and behind her head, adorned with delicate braids that glittered with sapphires.  She wore a shimmering white dress, adorned with silver lacing and rows of glinting pearls.  It hugged her statuesque form, caressing her waist and hips, holding up the rich orbs of her breasts prominently.  

But Countess Sonya was more than beautiful; Lynette could feel her presence.  She carried herself with natural command, born of blood which had been obeyed for countless generations.  It was all Lynette could do to keep herself from bending onto her knee as the beautiful countess approached the microphone.

Sonya smiled at Lynette before turning to the hushed assembly.  Every voice had quieted and every eye was opened in wide disbelief at the countess on the stage.  Even among the most affluent people in the city, true nobility were few and far between.  The countess's sublime scarlet lips curled with concealed delight at the attention as she brought a lace-gloved hand up to the microphone and adjusted it, taking her time before addressing her spellbound audience.

"Thank you, Lynette."  The woman blushed at the mention, but Sonya didn't pause, "This assembly has, at its heart, a most noble cause.  Every lorin spent here is going to fund research for entropic clutch, so I feel more than a little embarrassed taking advantage of such an earnest mission.  

"I am, indeed, offering myself for auction."  She paused for a moment, savoring the gasps of the gathered gentry.  "Yes, yes, I am aware of the necessary ramifications.  In a few moments I'll no longer be a woman, let alone a noblewoman.  And since a pretty little bauble can't be expected to manage a county, I will of course be surrendering the position.  I believe my good uncle Evenheim is next in line for the county throne.  He's an outstanding nobleman, and I'm certain he'll find the role suits him far better than it does me.

"I'm afraid I've taken advantage of this fine faculty's generosity; I've requested a very specific transformation, and the kind wizards graciously accommodated my desire.  You won't be bidding on the opportunity to have a noble lady transformed; rather, you'll be donating generously for the privilege of owning a serving automata made from Countess Sonya Bellgrade."

The ballroom was suddenly seeping in hushed whispers, but Lynette only looked on in shocked amazement; she'd seen such automata before.  The university had two, each over five-hundred years old.  They were life-size, clockwork dolls made from a living person during crueler centuries, each programmed with the knowledge to ceaselessly perform janitorial tasks.  They carefully cleaned and maintained the archmages' quarters, each doing the work of a dozen maids.  But they weren't maids; they were machines of ticking gears and winding springs, performing their functions dutifully, for it was all they could do.

For the first time, the countess' calm composure wavered.  Her crimson lips curled with a guilty, deep satisfaction, and Lynette would have sworn that the countess' sapphire eyes seemed to sparkle in delight.  "I understand the wizards here have decided to use an old, Second Era artifact to turn me into a clockwork doll, forever at the service of my new master, whoever buys me."

Her smile broke into a guilty giggle, "Oh, this is going to be so scandalous!  The Bellgrade Countess, transformed into a clockwork marionette, and sold on stage!  Oh, the family will never forgive me for this.  Evenhiem is going to so ashamed…"  She spoke with mounting excitement, but drew out the word 'ashamed', as though tasting it for the first time and finding its contours and nuances to be unexpectedly delectable.  Her lips curved back into their wicked grin, "It will be exquisite..."

She regained her composure before her stunned audience, "ahem, I am given to understand that the artifact is a later period piece, more sophisticated than most.  I will be unable to recount information of my personal life up to this point; Bellgrade proprietary information has no place inside a doll's head, after all.  The model I will become was specially designed to fulfill all the needs of a wealthy courtesan.  While I'll be unable to converse of who I am, I will be perfectly suited for cleaning, sewing, and maintaining any domicile, I'll be programmed to cook over a hundred traditional meals, recite old Thessarian poetry, dance in twelve classical styles, accompanied or for exhibition, and… the model I'm becoming is fully equipped to perform sexual services, with fully articulated orifices, of course, entirely at my owner's disposal."

The countess was blushing now.  The knowledge that, besides serving and cleaning, she'd be open for sexual use was almost too much for her.  It was downright embarrassing how quickly she'd agreed to the procedure when she learned she'd be fuckable.  Not that a maid-doll would need to be embarrassed about anything.  Her mind raced with all the demeaning, perverted functions her owners may demand of her, knowing she'd carry them out unconditionally.

Flush with excitement, Countess Sonya nodded once to her audience.  "I am to undergo the transformation immediately, and you may bid on me once the change is complete.  I pray you find me serviceable," she said with a hint of her guilty grin before turning away from the podium and walking over to the three wizards.

Two of the hooded, immensely powerful magicians were relaxing on chairs set up against the stage curtain.  They appeared to be drinking some tea, enjoying their respite.  The third held in his arms a silver key, two and a half feet long with flowing lines and filigree decorating the teeth, rod, and ornate looped handle.  It reminded Sonya, quite fittingly, of the key on her old wind-up ballerina doll, from when she was a little girl.  

The countess took a deep breath and curtseyed before the wizard who held her fate in his hands.  

He approached the noblewoman, "this is your last chance to bow out of this."

Memories of Sonya's life flashed before her eyes.  She remembered dressing up as a child and letting her friends pose her.  She'd hold the position until her limbs quaked with the effort, and then she'd break down laughing.  She remembered the secret bedroom games she played with her first paramours, she remembered acting the demure and obedient slave girl before her royal blood restricted her to suitors who couldn't even conceive the notion for their airs and respectability.  She remembered the maid outfit she'd bought on her seventeenth birthday, a scandalous affair utterly unsuited for any but the most intimate of company, and how it had collected dust over the long years of neglect.  Sonya hadn't the time to even spare the thing a glance since she took the county throne.

"I wouldn't dream of it," she breathlessly whispered to the wizard.

"Of course, my lady.  Would you kindly disrobe, so we may commence."

This was really it, Sonya thought, even if she somehow escaped transformation, she'd never be able to be respected after this.  "I'm afraid the dress straps up in the back.  Lynette, would you be a dear and help me out of this thing?"

The request caught Lynette off-guard, but before she could help herself she had agreed and was already approaching the countess, blushing fiercely.  Tentatively, she approached Sonya's back and found the woven bindings of her dress.  As she undid them, one by one, thinking of the effort needed to put such an expensive garment on in the first place, the countess had tugged of her lace gloves, unceremoniously kicked off shoes that had to have cost more than Lynette would see in a year, and had begun to carefully undo her hair, letting the shoulder length mass fall about behind her head.

"Thank you, my dear," Sonya pronounced when Lynette finished wrestling with the binding, letting the gorgeous, elegant gown collapse to the floor by her naked feat.  She stepped out of it, unceremoniously, entirely nude, and approached the mage.

Her nipples stood proudly erect, her pert breasts swaying enticingly with each step.  A glistening about the lips of her shaved pussy revealed her excitement, and delicious shame, for all to see.  She turned to the audience, drinking in the shock in the faces of noble courtiers she'd entertained since she was a little girl.  People who had spent days rehearsing etiquette for greeting the noble-born lady now stared at her, naked on the stage.   Sonya lifted her arms, hands daintily down, knee slightly bent as if to make a courtesy to her audience.

"I'm ready," she said, for the last time.

Without further preamble the mage stepped behind and her and placed the gilded key against her back, squarely between her shoulder blades.  She felt the smoothness of its polished edge, the familiar coolness of base metal, but only for an instant.

She let out a gasp.  The key… she could feel it, inside her.  Under the mage's hand the key-head slipped past her back, seamlessly, the cold metal slipping into her chest.

Her gasp turned into a moan, her eyes closed in a sudden rush of pleasure as the coolness seemed to erupt inside her.  It invigorated, like a fresh autumn breeze on bare skin, tingling and tickling inside her as it radiated from her chest.  Her moan continued as the magic spread and the key was pushed in deeper and deeper into her chest.  Absently, she knew it should be painful, but the large metal key felt exquisite as it inched its way into her, better than any penetration of her life.  When the key stopped sinking in, the head and a couple inches of the shaft entirely lodged within her body, the mounting, pleasurable tingling began to stream through her, tickling her body like feather in the hands of a playful lover.  But more than the pleasure, the solid, cool metal within her felt… right.

Her moan was interrupted when the tingling enveloped her chest.  She forced her eyes open just enough to witness her breasts change color from her vibrant, fair but rosy hue into a smooth, flawless alabaster white.  The shift reminded her of nothing more than ice spreading across a clear bond.  When the color stopped changing, her breasts looked almost like porcelain.  The only thing that led her to believe otherwise was the fact that they jiggled, ever so slightly with her minor tremble.  Her nipples began to shine brilliant silver, entirely converted to the precious metal, the areolas glittering as their rim formed an elaborate filigree pattern along her flawless pale bosom.

It's really happening, she realized breathlessly.  She always wanted to be played with, to be owned.  And now she was becoming a toy.  Someone would buy her, and she would be their property forever.  Her shiver had nothing to do with the coolness of the auditorium.

The change accelerated, the smoothness blanketing her skin matched by intense, tickling tingle within her as bones and biology were replaced with clockwork and magic.  She felt dozens of lines ripple in symmetrical patterns, delicately marking where her joints and points of articulation would be able to move her.  Tiny silver lines appeared around her hips, etching her elbows, her neck, a few key lines across her abdomen, all radiating ornate silver filigree patterns of simple decoration.

It was becoming difficult to move.  Her chest no longer swelled with breath, her excited tremble was stilled as her new joints solidified her position.  Quite without her own control, she stood up on the balls of her feet, her heals held elevated above the ground as the change wrapped around her thighs and knees.  As the tickling, maddeningly delightful coolness crept and caressed her limbs, converting trembling flesh into sleek and steadfast silver and porcelain with a thousand magical kisses, leaving her unmoving and poised in its wake, she felt her feet begin to shift.  She couldn't move to see the change, but she knew what was happening as she felt her toes fuse together, a gleaming silver-lined spire growing from heel.  She became perfectly stable, her weight distributed flawlessly on the high-heeled slippers her feet had become.  Sonya let out a delighted giggled in her mind as she realized she'd be strutting everywhere on three inch heels for the rest of her existence.

Thoughts of her alabaster ass wiggling with her every step, her naked, immaculately smooth womanhood visible to anyone who'd care to glance, filled her with dread and excitement.  Delicate silver lines traced around her, outlining her joins and making her appear more a work of art than a woman.  Every joint of her delicate fingers was artfully sculpted, and beautiful silver spirals adorned her cool body.

Finally, the transformation began to creep along her face.  First her neck became flawlessly white, then the change tickled across the back of her jaw, remolding her hair into a shining silver decoration, winding in a petite bun with dangling bangs in a cute, servile fashion popular among maids.  

Sonya couldn't believe it was actually happening.  She could feel her face becoming smooth, adorned by dozens of discrete, delicate silver lines of articulation, so fine as to be almost invisible save for their decadent glimmer.  What little control she had over her face vanished as her skin became a carefully sculpted mask with a dozen slight seems for her to move and speak when asked.  Lastly, she felt her eyes cool, their human features darken away until only beautiful, dark glass orbs were left beneath her articulated alabaster lids.

And then she stood there.  

She couldn't move.  She could feel everything, the tips of her former toes deftly holding her weight without the slightest complaint, the slightest currents in the air of the room playing over her smooth surfaces, teasing through the grooves around her joints.  Sonya could even feel the eyes of audience on her still body, peering intently at her beautiful form, drinking in her exquisite craftsmanship… and quite a few lingering on her bare breasts and her gleaming maidenhood.  But for all the attention, not a single inch of her artful body would respond to any command.  She just stood, her courtesy slightly interrupted, an expression of exhilaration and pleasure frozen on her artful lips.

Was this it? Sonya frantically thought to herself as the pleasure of her transformation subsided, replaced by an odd, alien feeling of being inside a strange body.  Had she really consigned herself to an eternity as this?  Would she be just a prisoner in a porcelain shell?  The eyes felt lovely caressing her naked, artificial form, but was it worth it?  She thought about what she had thrown away, the life she could never live now, the uncertainties of the future ahead of her, and for the first time she doubted the conviction with which she approached the stage.  Maybe… maybe she should had stayed a woman?

"The magisters of old poured much effort into perfecting this design," the mage who had inserted the key into Sonya said, addressing the audience.  "As you can see, the features of our volunteer have been lovingly rendered, preserving her natural visage and beauty.  This model has over two hundred points of articulation and is capable of all matter of household tasks.  Most notably, the porcelain frame is especially enchanted with varying properties; it's stronger than mere mundane pottery, and will never scratch or chip.  Some of the plates, notably those along the, ahem, erogenous regions, will become soft and yielding at a person's touch.  Orifices are just as receptive to advances as they were when our volunteer was human.  Perhaps moreso.  

"I should mention again, the magisters who crafted the key in the dark ages of our people preferred to use it on people of high status, and important positions.  For security reasons, this model is incapable of speaking of anything predating its alteration.  So, if any of you hoped to purchase proprietary information regarding Bellgrade County, I'm afraid you would be disappointed."

It?  Sonya realized the mage didn't bother addressing her.  He was speaking only to the audience, ignoring her like she was part of the furniture.  And she was, she realized.  This was a sales pitch, and she was just the merchandise.  She was listening to her fate unfold before her… and on top of the dread, the worry, the acute knowledge of people's eyes appraising her unmoving form like an expensive bauble, on top of it all, she found herself wondering who her owner would be.

"This model bonds with whoever turns its key.  A full winding is two complete rotations and will last about a day.  Directives from earlier users take precedence over later ones, unless the original user directs otherwise.  As such, it is important that the first person to wind the key be the purchaser of this lot."

"You heard the mage," Lynette exclaimed, stepping back into her cheerful persona in front of the microphone, making an effort not to look at the former Countess or the pile of discarded finery she helped the former woman out of.  The mage nodded once and returned to his fellows, taking a cup of tea as he sat down.  "This… unexpected addition to our little gala is truly a breathtaking, once-in-a-lifetime lot, so let's start the bidding at twenty thousand lorins."

The bidding erupted instantly.  Wealthy patrons were raising Sonya's price by five thousand lorins a bid.  Frozen in orgasmic, mid-courtesy Sonya was perversely proud she was commanding such a price.  She might spend the rest of eternity trapped within a shiny bauble, but she was damn well going to be an expensive shiny bauble.  

"Fifty-five thousand lorins," a female voice from the audience cried, confident but with just a tiny hint of underlying desperation.  An instant passed, and no one else bid on the Sonya-Doll.

"Going once, going twice, sold to our lovely lady here for thirty-five thousand lorins.  Would you please come up to the stage?"  Lynette's earlier bafflement over the high prices the volunteers were fetching had begun to fade.  If she had the money herself… she hurriedly put away such silly thoughts.  

The winning bidder was half-way to the stage before the full reality that a noble-woman had just turned into a life-sized wind-up-doll and had been purchased for three times a professor's annual salary hit her.  They used to do things like this in old times, when the kingdoms that made the empire were at war and nobles would be taken as trophies and warnings… but now?  In this day and age?  And voluntarily?  This was all so much to handle.  

She recognized the buyer ten feet from the stage as Lady Orianna Rivain!  Lynette took in a shocked breath as the full implications of the purchase sank in; the Rivain family was wealthy, influential, but low-born.  They had tried to acquire nobility to match their wealth and standing in the Avalia, but their political disposition had led all the noble families to staunchly refuse offers of marriage.  To say there was some hostility between the Rivains and the high born families of the Empire would be like saying the Empyrean Sea was slightly damp.  

And their foremost daughter just bought a countess.  

"Lady Rivain," Lynette whispered breathlessly, bowing out of the woman's way as she climbed onto the stage.

"My accountants will see that the funds are delivered," Orianna assured Lynette, approaching her new acquisition, a determined, delighted gleam in her hazel eyes.  She was the very image of an Imperial business woman, dressed in a formal, draping black gown that emphasized her elegance.  She wore her dark hair short, golden chains dangling from her ears.  Orianna was about a few years younger than Sonya, but with a slighter build, less prominent curves, and a different sort of confidence about her.  She approached Sonya and touched her, letting her fingertips run over the curves of her unmoving breasts, her chin, her lips.

Sonya recognized her buyer instantly.  Her father had warned her against the Rivains.  Greedy, over-ambitious, plebian social-climbers, he had called them.  She recalled her cousins being disdainful of them when they met into parties, how they jested about their dreadful, pretentious taste in décor and dresses.  How they had mocked their ambitions of status in private salons and boutiques.

And now one of them owned her.

"My, aren't you lovely," Orianna cooed, walking around the posed Sonya with deliberate strides, her black silk gown fluttering about her ankles and brushing against Sonya's feet.  Orianna's eyes blazed magnificently over Sonya's body, crowding away the inanimate girl's doubts with the sensation.  There was such want, such desire, such appreciation in those eyes… if she was still human, Sonya would have swooned under such a gaze.

When her circular appraisal took her behind Sonya, Orianna put her hands around the swirling, engraved silver key's handle.  Her hands felt warm, soft… inviting… and strong as they grasped the key to Sonya's existence.  Sonya wanted her to turn the key, to see what it would be like to move as… well, as the clockwork marionette she'd become.

If she could have howled in delight, Sonya would have emptied her lungs a dozen times when Orianna twisted the key.  She felt the power surge through her, animating thousands of mechanisms, working life into her frame.  The dark spheres of her eyes ignited with inner light.  Her existence flushed with pleasure, but better still was a strange sense, more than sexual, a sense of… purpose.

Her bodied hum to life and she moved, effortlessly, the novelty of feeling her internal gears and balances shift to accommodate such a simple act oddly amused her.  She turned to face her buyer, feeling gears within her waist rotate her upper body as hundreds of gears and mechanisms hummed with effort to lift her feet and mimic the movements of a natural woman. Without thinking, she completed the courtesy she began an eternity ago.  She spoke in a voice that was not her own, or rather, not the one she remembered.  It was artificial, inorganic, monotone, but it held an alluring music to it, pleasant in its peculiarity.  "Good evening, mistress.  How may I be of service?"  

Orianna met the automata's gaze, fascinated at what she saw.  "Very perceptive," she replied after a moment's pause, "you already recognize your mistress.  Tell me, what do you remember?"

Everything, Sonya thought.  Her father liked cognac in his breakfast cereal.  The fist boy she kissed was Justin Debier.  The first girl she kissed was Emilie, Justin's sister.  Her favorite color was lavender.  "Many things, my mistress.  What would you like to know?"

"What is your name?" Orianna asked, her excitement curving her lips into an anxious smile.  

Sonya knew the answer… but suddenly found it hard to articulate.  She had a name!  She'd gone by it for twenty-nine years!  "I… am you doll, mistress.  My name is… yours to decide."

Sonya couldn't believe what she was saying.  But yet, the words seemed right.  After all, what was a name?  Something for her owner to determine, surely.  

"Hmm… I think Doll will work, for now."  

"Yes, mistress," Doll replied.  She was ecstatic; the name was perfect!  It encompassed her, it fitted her, and best of all, it marked her as belonging to Orianna.  It meant she was the lady's plaything, and that was what she always wanted, even before she became a doll.  It was perfect.  

"What would you have me do?" she asked, her musical, artificial monotone failing to convey her desire or gratitude.

"Pleasure yourself," Orianna said, to the great amusement of the audience.

"Your command is my pleasure," the doll truthfully replied.

There was a murmur of laughter from the audience.  Orianna's smile turned mischievous, "then I command you to kiss our hostess.  Embrace her."

The doll moved deftly on her elegant legs, taking to her heeled feet like she was born to them.  In four swift, elegant strides she was on Lynette, her arms wrapped around the surprised girl, her lips pressed against Lynette's, her tongue stroking the hostess' mouth.  She redoubled her efforts with passion, eager to please Orianna, groping Lynette's ass through her shimmering emerald gown.  It felt exquisite; her silver nipples pressing against the girls' warmth, her every movement indulging in soft, feminine attention, and best of all was the knowledge that her owner was looking onto her, pleased.  She hoped her mistress would ask her to do such things again.  She relished the thought of servicing the Rivain's guests, maybe the family itself should her mistress give her the privilege.

Lynette was astonished.  The doll's delicate, pale lips were soft, as were the breasts that pressed against hers.  Its tongue was smooth, but it felt… somehow appealing.  Not alive, but somehow amorous.  There was energy in the kiss, a passion.  It seemed almost like making out with her vibrator, and Lynette guiltily acknowledge that the comparison was likely very apt for her partner… but she had known boys who could never kiss half as well.  Before the shock of it could war off, she allowed herself to melt into the doll's arms, to savor the kiss with the former Countess.

"That's enough.  Thank you, my doll."  Orianna said, excitement bubbling up through her otherwise calm voice.  "I hope I didn't impose on you too much, Lynette."

"Not… not at all…" Lynette breathed, still off-balance from the unexpected embrace as the doll stepped back, a happy smile on her synthetic lips.  Lynette couldn't shake the smoothness the doll's skin, the spark in her tongue…

"Thank you," Orianna beamed.  She turned towards her acquisition, "you… are going to be an excellent toy."

"You are too kind, my mistress," the Doll replied.  The words didn't do her experience justice.  She was naked, she was art, she was being admired by a crowd, owned by a lovely master, and it was going to last forever.  She could feel her key winding down the minutes until she'd need to be rewound, the hum and ticks of countless gears animating her frame.  The past was unimportant; her skin was alive with sensation and her soul was happy with her new role.  It was better than Doll could have ever hoped for.

"We shall watch the rest of the show with great interest.  Doll, I want you to accompany me to my table and finger yourself for the remainder of the show.  Consider it… practice."

"Yes, my mistress."  As Orianna walked back to her table, leaving the stage, the Doll followed.  She bounced from lithe limb to limb, twirling in a dance behind her mistress.  Lynette recognized the spins and steps as belonging to an old Second Era performance… entitled the Rites of Joy.

"Well…" Lyentte said, getting her bearings as she returned, again, to the microphone.  "I'm… happy to say we have another volunteer before we wrap up our ceremony tonight," she said, projecting an enthusiasm she surprisingly realized was genuine as she awaited the next volunteer.