This is part of a voter-driven story. After each scene is posted, a new poll will be put up so voters can collectively decide what happens next.
Content Warnings: BDSM Fantasy, non-consensual, bondage slavery, bondage, handcuffs, ballgags, slave auction, voter-driven, latex
“Next up is a thirty-four year old redhead. That’s right, ladies and gentlemen. You heard me. A real, live redhead. Believe me, we checked.”
Rosa gave the slut a light tap between the legs to emphasize the point. She thought she heard the bitch whimper, but it was quiet enough that it could have been Rosa’s imagination. A sign of good training. In Rosa’s experience the first few items in an auction were usually the most obedient.
“She is quite compliant, though she can also be a little uppity at times. It comes with the territory. Before her recent career change–” there was a smattering of laughter in the crowd, “–Lot Number Two here was fairly high up on the ladder in her previous office job. Sometimes it goes to her head, but overall she’s a good girl. Polite and good at understanding what’s expected of her, and all wrapped up in an excellent package.” Rosa took a moment to showcase the item’s breasts and spun her around to show off her ass. “I can tell you now, and you can see in our catalog, that she looks great in a nice, tight skirt.”
She whimpered again, this time loud enough that Rosa knew she wasn’t imagining it, but quiet enough that no one else heard. The auctioneer’s smirk grew just a little bit more.
“Once again, we will start the bidding at $15,000.”
_________
Winner: A busy businesswoman and strict owner with a latex fetish
_________
At this point, Whitney was just happy her head hadn’t been shaved. Her owner’s latex fetish didn’t always extend to making her redheaded slave wear a gimp mask, and when it did she was usually okay with running their hair through a hole into a ponytail.
Mrs. Reed’s love of latex was probably the first thing Whitney learned about the woman, from the moment she was delivered directly to the buyer’s home.
“Have you ever worn latex before, slave? Answer me.” Whitney’s new owner was a blonde, of medium height and rail thin to the point where she looked unhealthy. Not quite gaunt, but close.
Whitney, still handcuffed and her ball gag only just removed, had taken a deep breath. “Yes, Mistress. Not much, but in the past I’ve–”
“It was a yes or no question, slave. And you will address me as Mrs. Reed. From now on, the only times you will not be wearing latex is when you are cleaning yourself on a daily basis. Is that understood?”
She did, as much as she wished she didn’t. “Yes Mistress.”
Mrs. Reed frowned. “I did not tell you to speak, slave. You will never speak unless I tell you to. A nod will suffice when I ask you a question. Is that understood?”
Whitney nodded. Quickly, and with scared eyes. This was the second thing she learned about her buyer, Mrs. Reed. That she was very, very strict. Whitney would come to learn that she had firm ideas of how her captives should behave, and speaking without being directly prompted to do so was not one of those ideas. A question wasn’t enough, Whitney had to wait for Mrs. Reed to order her to speak before she could.
“Good.”
And that was that.
Whitney learned a lot over the first few days as Mrs. Reed’s slave. How to put on latex was an early lesson, taught to her by one of the rail thin woman’s other slaves. Whitney had only ever worn latex underwear in the past, so both the lubricant applied to the first catsuit she put on and the powder to her own skin had been surprising. They were involved, time-consuming processes.
Other lessons to learn were the routine and how Whitney was expected to spend the day. She indeed expected to wear latex nearly all the time and take it off only to shower and exercise. When she was done it was onto the next outfit. Whitney also learned that she was one of two slaves, but she never met her counterpart. Mrs. Reed kept Whitney in her home and her other slave at her office. A toy for home and a toy for work.
Whitney tried not to think of where her owner worked that keeping a slave in her office was a feasible course of action.
Every day, Whitney was expected to greet her owner at the door. She would be dressed in her new outfit and kneel at the entranceway, hands on her head and presenting her latex-clad body for Mrs. Reed’s viewing pleasure. It was difficult at first, to get the pose exactly right and await Mrs. Reed’s arrival. The woman could be several hours late on occasion, and Whitney had to wait at the door until it opened.
It was roughly a month since her purchase that Whitney failed for the first time.
She was wearing a scarlet red catsuit that day, supplemented with a solid black posture collar, black opera length latex gloves, matching thigh high latex stockings, and bright red heels only a shade or two off from the catsuit.
“I expect you to be waiting for me, at attention, every day when I return home, slave. Every day. I made that perfectly clear, didn’t I?”
Whitney remained silent, her eyes pointed at the floor as she nodded. She would not make the enormous mistake of answering the question unprompted.
Not that there was anywhere else but the floor she could have looked at. Mrs. Reed had dragged her by the ear over to her punishment chair and locked her in. Whitney was on her knees on two segmented platforms connected to the longer one for her torso, her arms contained behind her in a thick leather monoglove.
“And where did I find you today, you lazy slut? Answer me!”
“On the couch, Mrs. Reed.” Whitney’s voice was low. Then she spoke one more word, in a whisper. “Sleeping.”
Whitney had taken a nap that day, as she had in the past. She expected to wake up in an hour or so, well before her owner returned home for the day. Instead she slept soundly for four, woken only when Mrs. Reed came home and found her in that state.
Now Mrs. Reed came to stand in front of her slave, her stockinged feet in full view of her disobedient, lazy slave. She had taken her shoes off but not shed her work clothes yet. That was how annoyed she was.
“Stupid slut,” the businesswoman hissed. “Educated and a former executive, but too stupid to follow such simple instructions. It’s a good thing they caught you, isn’t it? No need for the rest of us to suffer the indignity of having to deal with your stupidity as a free woman. This is much better for everyone.”
“I’m sorry, Mrs. Reed,” Whitney whispered. And then her eyes went wide as she realized she just spoke without permission.
“Unbelievable. You stupid, caught, enslaved slut!”
Her feet were gone. Whitney’s owner was marching out of the room, apparently walking away rather than let Whitney frustrate her even more.
“Get comfortable, slave. Once I’m out of my suit, dressed for the night, and done with dinner I’ll be making sure you never fail at your duties again!”
Whitney whimpered, but did not speak. She could only settle in as instructed and await her punishment.