by Ernest Greene

Originally published in Bondage Photographer Vol. 1, No. 8

Transcribed by guardian46w

Story Codes: Maledom, Femdom, femsub, bdsm, roleplay, consensual, fantasy

On the day of the big, annual slave auction, the whole place crackled with the electricity of the trading floor at the Chicago commodities exchange.  All morning, the long, black cars continued to come and go at the front gate as the late-arriving bidders disembarked with their bodyguards and their expensive luggage.  The guests wore everything from Saville Row suits to burnooses to black leather jackets.  Some came to shop for themselves.  Others represented the interests of potentates even mightier.  Some came for business.  Some came for pleasure.  Most came for both.

In the inner courts, the voltage was even higher.  From the kitchens to the stables, every square inch of the place had been burnished by the fevered labors of slaves and staff alike over the preceding week.  Now, the hallways and grand salons seemed virtually deserted, as last minute preparations for the auction were completed behind closed doors.

Slave girls destined for the auction block that afternoon had been confined to their quarters with their serving maids, to unsure plenty of time to make certain that those to be sold would be displayed to their best advantage.  The confinement also served the dual purposes of keeping the girls from getting caught up in the passions and intrigues that always swirled around the sale.  Distracted slaves didn't perform as well on the block.  And, too, a little quiet time provided a girl with one last chance to reflect.  Over the years, more than one had chosen at the eleventh hour to tear up her contract and depart.

That, more or less, was what Pamela tearfully attempted to get Jessica to do as she brushed out her lady's long, thick mane of auburn hair, Jessica sat up very straight, naked but for her locked collar, on the small, velvet-cushioned bench before the vast, round mirror of her vanity.  Pamela, back at last in her little bits of a maid's uniform and her full set of slender chromed shackles and chains, hovered over her, pert, upturned breasts occasionally brushing against Jessica's face as Pamela lingered over every brush stroke.

It was common for apprentice slave girls like blond, blue-eyed Pamela to develop strong affections for the more senior girls they served as part of their education.  The shared pleasures and punishments of a life that offered plenty of each made for close relations.  But, relations between Jessica and Pamela were closer than usual.  All through their time together, Pamela alone, had known the secret of Jessica' desperate, forbidden romance.  They had both suffered for that knowledge during the long, terrible days in the disciplinary unit.  Both still bears on their bodies fading shadows of the marks left by the daily whippings they had received down there.  The inner effects of their incarcerations together in that tiny cell, bathing each other, feeding each other, and even punishing each other, when ordered, had bound Pamela to Jessica with chains far heavier than those connecting her collar and her wrist and ankle cuffs.

"We could run away to some place, and live some other kind of life," Pamela said, with a bleak sniffle.

"Where?  What kind of life?  We didn't choose to live in this world.  It chose us.  If we run away from here, it'll only be to some place worse."

"But being sold to Bart..."

Pamela made the name sound like a curse.  Actually, Bart was not a bad person, merely typical of his kind.  He was rich and spoiled and used to having what he wanted.  He wanted Jessica and, like most of his class, he had both the means necessary and the inclination to use them.

"Bart's not so bad.  He'll be easy to handle, especially since he's in love with me.  I'll figure out some way to make him bring me back here.  Anyhow, for the moment he's got the upper hand.  I've been caught having illicit relations with the chief of staff.  If I don't leave voluntarily, I'll be exposed and dismissed, and Alex right along with me."

"Why doesn't he just resign and let us stay her together?" Pamela was crying hard now.  Jessica offered her a tissue from the vanity.

"You'll ruin your mascara.  You want to look your best out there, don't you?"

"I don't care how I look!"

Pamela dropped the brush and sank to her knees, wrapping her arms tightly around Jessica's leg.  She buried her face in one, long creamy white thigh.  Jessica stroked her for a moment, then gently tilted Pamela's face up to look into her own.  Jessica's green eyes were calm and clear.

"Listen to me, Pamela, darling," she said with quiet intensity.  "I've led a very selfish life.  I've hurt many people, done many destructive things.  Just this once, I'm trying to do what I think is right.  If you really care about me, you won't make it any more difficult than it already is."

Pamela looked up at her, swallowed hard, and blinked back a cresting wave of new tears.

"You're right," she choked out, regaining her composure a bit, "if I'm really going to be promoted to a senior slave around here, I'd better start acting like one."

Jessica flashed a lascivious grin down at her.

"That's better.  Now, why don't you do something really useful, like sucking my clit for a while?"

"Yes, ma'am!"

Pamela nuzzled into Jessica's freshly-shaved and already well oiled inner parts.  Her small, pink tongue seeking out the hard button of Jessica's clit, the preferences of which she knew so intimately.  If Pamela had to say good-bye to the woman she loved, she couldn't think of a better way.

Jessica through back her head, a gurgling moan rising in her throat as her hands found their way into Pamela's blond hair.  She felt the flesh tighten around the heavy gold ring through her pale, pink right nipple.  Somewhere in the back of Jessica's mind there formed the ironic thought that girls always brought a better price when delivered hot to the block.  The buyers could smell it.

A short distance away, in the sumptuous guests' suite of Mistress Racine, this very principle was being demonstrated with Racine's girls, Elke and Britt, who would be joining Jessica under the gavel later that afternoon.

Alex, resplendent in his dress blacks, and the lean, athletic Racine, somewhat more casually attired in a pair of high black boots and an excellent tan, sat side by side on the high platform bed.  Like all the guest suites, this one was appointed with thoughtfully placed ring bolts, both on the tubular steel bed frame, and in the low, padded platform next to it, where slaves usually gave service and frequently spent the night.

At the moment, the platform was occupied by the delectable twins Racine had brought for the auction.  Attached to the ring bolts in the platform by padlocked leather cuffs, they were positioned in a perfect sixty-nine, with Elke flat on her back on the bottom, Britt on all fours on the top, though with both of them naked, the only way to tell who was who, was by their body piercings.  Elke's ears, nipples and labia were ringed on the right, Britt's on the left.  Both their blond heads were buried between each others thighs, with much loud lapping and slurping attendant.

"By the time Prince Ali finishes paying for these two indolent sluts, the price of gas will be up ten cents at the pump," Racine said, casually resting her high heels on Britt's pertly elevated butt.  "And, they'll be living in luxury in the prince's new place in Portofino.  I almost envy them."

"I suppose you could always change places," Alex said drily.  He thought he heard a smothered giggle from one of the girls.  Racine must have heard it, too.  Her face tightened as she watched them, squirming and gasping in their bonds.

"The secret," she said, changing the subject, "is not to let the little darlings cum.  That way, they'll be positively dripping by sale time.  Look at Elke down there.  She's obviously getting too close."

With that, Racine snatched up a short, nasty split-tailed tawse, a highly-accurate whip for such close work, from the night stand and lashed downward.  The knotted ends came right in under Britt to snick against the outer curve of Elke's breast.  The girl let out a startled cry, slightly muffled by Britt's pussy.  Both girls stopped what they were doing instantly.

"Time for a little cooling down," Racine said, scooping up a handful of shaved ice from the silver bucket in which her ever present bottle of champagne rested.  Lifting Britt's face out of the way by the hair, she reached down and slapped the pile of ice up against Elke's overheated pussy.  Alex could have sworn he saw steam rising as the hapless slave let out a squeal of surprise.  Her whole body shook as Racine held the ice in place until melting rivulets pooled on the platform between Elke's legs.  Britt watched the whole process anxiously, reminding herself not to moan too loudly as Elke licked away more frantically, lest she suffer a similar fate.

When the ice was fully melted, Racine put Britt back to work while she dried her hands on a napkin.  Taking up the bottle from the bucket, Racine poured fresh flutes for Alex and herself.

"All right, then," she said, "here's to our new venture, partner." She and Alex clinked glasses.  Racine suggests that Alex might want to enjoy the twins' favors to celebrate the deal.  Having already sampled those delights on Racine's yacht, he might otherwise have been tempted, but there was much yet to be done and time was short.  He kissed Racine on the cheek and took his leave, with just a quick, backward glance at the twins, still chained to the low platform, going diligently about their pleasant tasks.

A moment later, Alex was knocking on the door of Stephanie's private apartment, which was only a few doors down from the offices they shared as co-proprietors.  Shephanie, who ran the business side of things, never liked to be far from her telephones and faxes.

She seemed even more businesslike then usual, if that were possible, as she admitted him to the inner sanctum that so few ever saw.  In the surprisingly soft, uncompromisingly feminine pastel confines of her private domain, Stephanie was all the more strikingly severe and somber in her black boardroom suit, the formality of which was only slightly subverted by the closeness with which it was cut to her impressive curves.  Even her black grosgrain eye patch added to the air of formality.

Alex wasn't surprised by the relative coolness of her greeting.  She had reason to be angry with him.  Since the death of Stephanie's husband Jack, Alex had been more than just a partner.  Through the comings and goings of her numerous lovers and/or slaves, he had remained as her only real friend.  And now he had, in effect, betrayed her by carrying on a lengthy, illicit relationship with one of their top slaves, violating all the rules the two of them had established when they founded the operation together.  Worse, he had systematically concealed his affair with Jessica from her until the game was exposed by Alex's personal slave Mariko, who had been driven virtually mad with jealousy over the whole thing.  Stephanie liked to feel in control of her world, and this was just the kind of thing that threatened that control.  It gave her all the more reason to want to be free of this business, with all its seductive entanglements, though now the prospect of that freedom seemed all the more remote.  With Jessica gone, how long would Alex remain?  If he left, she would have to carry on alone.

Whatever her thoughts were, Stephanie kept them to herself while she concluded a little domestic business of her own, the final inspection of her personal slave Charlotte, a perfect, little kewpie-doll of a girl whose perpetual pouts were even more petulant than usual today.  Having been temporarily demoted for the latest of her innumerable infractions and indiscretions, she wore the maid's apron, training collar and shackles like Pamela.  Her arms had been strapped up behind her and a small tray buckled on in front, with straps to the shoulders and around the mid-back to hold it in place.  The tray had been placed high up, so her full, firm tits, which were bare with the pale aureoles rouged for the occasion, rested on it, along with whatever refreshments she might be assigned to serve.  Indeed, her tits were likely to stay right where they were, thanks to twin sets of spring-loaded, rubber tipped tweezer clamps mounted upright in the middle of the tray and fastened firmly to her nipples.  Each time a glass was placed on the tray, or lifted from it, the clamps could be expected to give her an extra little tweak.

"I'll be so humiliated, having to go around looking like a maid on auction day," Charlotte whined.

"You brought it on yourself, dear.  I mean really, going down on Sir Paul's driver right there in the garage!"

"But, I hadn't been fucked all week, and he seemed like such a nice young man."

"Enough!  Get down to the kitchen."

Stephanie gave Charlotte a sharp smack on the behind, practically knocking her off her steep heels.  She tottered out whimpering, trying to get her balance with the tray in front of her.

"Quite incorrigible, that one," Alex observed after Charlotte was gone.

"I know.  That's what I like about her.  The more I punish her, the more she provokes me.  Is everything under control downstairs?'

"Of course, isn't it always?"

Stephanie couldn't suppress a slightly scornful look.

"I used to think so.  Now, I'm not so sure."

"That's precisely what I've come here to discuss.  Got a minute?"

It ended up taking ten.  Alex knew he wouldn't have much time before the auction began, but he had one more stop to make, his own quarters, where he found Mariko, dressed in innocuous travel clothes, packing her bags.  There wasn't much to pack.  Slaves traveled light.

"Where will you go?" Alex asked, watching her.

"Back to Osaka."

"You may not get much of a welcome.  The Yakuza don't think highly of returned gifts."

Mariko shrugged with elaborate casualness.

"I'm sure some use will be found for me, since I'm obviously no longer needed here."

"But you are needed here, by me."

She whirled to face him, her classically beautiful geisha's face streaked with tears.

"For what?  I have betrayed you and dishonored us both.  My jealous foolishness has ruined everything for all of us.  I'm unfit to be a slave to you or anyone else."

Alex took her face in his hands.  He could feel her trembling.

"You're quite right.  You're not really suited to slavery.  You've learned how to go through the motions, but in your heart, you remain entirely your own.  You can never really surrender to anybody.  I knew that when I enlisted you to serve as my spy.  It was beneath you and, inevitably, you would rebel.  All you did was prove that you are your own person, and that is as it should be."

With that, Alex unstrapped the ring of keys from his garrison belt, picking a tiny gold one from the ring and opened the lock on Mariko's collar.  She reflexively put her fingertips to her neck, feeling its unaccustomed nakedness.  Her eyes were unutterably sad.

"I do have some consolation for you," Alex said as he gently set her discarded collar down on his bed, which they would never again share.  "Whatever happens today, I have arranged for you to be permanently posted to the supervisory staff here.  You'll be giving the orders from now on, instead of taking them."

Grief gave way to astonishment as the news sank in.

"But why?  Why me?"

"Because you're the one person around here, who has no interest in acquiring power for herself.  That is the only kind of person who can be trusted in a position of authority.  Go to the office and pick up your keys.  It is my final order as your master."

She bowed and withdrew, not saying another word.

By the time Alex made it down to the pavilion, the festivities had already commenced.  He could hear the excited chatter of the crowd as he headed up the steps to the open-sided structure, which had been garlanded heavily with fresh flowers for the occasion, their scent carried in wafts on the soft, lazy spring zephyr from the ocean.  The water itself, only a few yards across the sand from the far end of the pavilion, was as smooth as a sheet of blue glass.  Even nature seemed to be cooperating in making the sale a success.

All was in order under the pavilion's pitched roof.  Each of the small, elevated stages ranged in two long rows down the center of the floor was occupied by a uniquely beautiful, completely naked girl, unfettered but for the collar around her neck, which was attached by a long chain to the post in the center of each stage.  The stages revolved slowly to make sure all the merchandise was viewed fully from every angle.  The girls went through their posing routines under the vigilant eyes of their respective attendant mistress, who were there not so much to supervise the salves, as to keep them safe from premature handling by the guests.  In endless reps, the girls did their positions.  They stand at attention, they turn full circles, they kneel, they go to all fours, and onto their back with legs elevated and spread, and then back to attention.

Anything that might be desired in the way of enslaved feminine flesh was here to be found.  There were blonds, brunettes and redheads.  There were blue eyes and green eyes and brown eyes.  There was skin the color of milk, skin the color of ivory, skin the color of teak.  There were faces from magazine covers, faces from convent schools, faces from country clubs, and faces from opium dens.  There were small breasts and full breasts.  There were little, doll-like creatures, who could be thrown over a shoulder and carried home, as well as strapping, well-muscled amazons, who could probably throw their prospective owners over their shoulders and carry them home.  There were gold rings in intimate places, and, here and there, the exquisite, exotic touches of the tattoo artist's needle.

In among the stages, the guests drifted by in small groups, speaking in low voices.  It was very much the crowd one met at art auctions, stylish, self-confident, nice tans and good teeth.  Americans, Japanese, Europeans, Arabs, and all were residents of a very particular world - the rich and powerful.  These people were never of much interest to Alex.  He made conversation with them as his job required, but it amused him to imagine how different his real life would seem compared to their notion of life.

He ambled down the row with studied casualness, exchanging winks with Britt and Elke, offering a nod of encouragement to a girl or two who seemed to need it.

Jessica's platform was at the very end.  She was attended by none other than their mutual nemesis, Mistress Lola.  The black eyed, black haired, black hearted witch, who had worked so long and hard to bring about this situation.  Her cruel, red lips were twisted into a smile as she watched Jessica's work out.  Alex watched also, from a distance, unaware for a moment of Pamela's presence at his elbow.

"Drink, Sir?"

He turned to see her standing there with her little strap-on tray laden with full glasses.

"No thanks.  I'm working."

"We've lost her," Pamela said miserably, looking down the aisle toward Jessica.

"Not yet."

Alex gave Pamela an encouraging pat on the cheek and headed toward his target.  Bart stood right at the foot of Jessica's stage, gazing up at what he was certain was about to be his.  He wore a natty panama, a perfectly creased linen suit and a look of infinite self-satisfaction.  He pumped Alex's hand enthusiastically.

"Doesn't she look fabulous?  You've done a wonderful job of preparing her.  When does the bidding start?"

"You won't have long to wait.  Stephanie's decided to start at this end of the row."

"Marvelous, Jessica and I will be having cocktails on the plane before sunset."

"I don't think so."

They both turned at the sound of Stephanie's cool, unwavering voice over their shoulders.  She had come up behind them soundlessly, accompanied by Racine and Mariko, who had already changed into her staff uniform.  Bart looked baffled.

"There have been a few changes in the program," Stephanie continued.  Bart's eyes narrowed with suspicion.  He had already agreed, in private, to pay what would be the highest price ever brought by a girl at the annual auction, for Jessica's contract.  He couldn't believe they would have the nerve to try and hold him up for more.  Nonetheless, his voice was perfectly mild.

"What kind of changes, Stephanie?"

"Well, for one thing, I won't be conducting the sale, Racine will."

At this, all eyes turned to Racine, except for Jessica's.  She continued looking straight ahead, going through her ritual movements.

"Stephanie and I have worked out a new arrangement.  She's selling her share in the business to Alex."

This was too much for Bart.

"Alex!  Don't be ridiculous!  Where would Alex get that kind of money?"

"From me, I bought his share, with a little help from our friend Prince Ali.  Alex and I will now be partners and Stephanie can take her well-deserved vacation."

Bart's voice dripped wit scorn.

"You can't really intend to stay down here and run this place, Racine.  Your business is in Berlin."

"Of course not.  I'm going home as soon as we've signed the papers.  Alex and Jessica are going to manage this place.  I've withdrawn her contract from the sale so she can serve as his personal slave."

Bart whirled on Alex, doubling up his fists.  But, what he saw in Alex's face stopped I'm cold.  For just an instant, in Alex's eyes, he saw what it was that was so carefully concealed under all of Alex's self discipline and good manners.  Bart knew for a fact that if he threw a punch here, it would be his last.

After a tense beat, Alex's face broke into a broad grin and he extended his hand to his vanquished opponent.

"Really, Bart, what could Jack think if he were to see his two best friends fighting in front of his widow?"

After a brief hesitation, Bart took Alex's hand.

"What the hell?  I really couldn't afford her anyway."

"Well," Shephanie said, I guess we're going to be one girl short."

"Oh yes, that reminds me of another matter.  This girl, Lola whom I sent to you.  She apparently mis-conveyed my instructions.  I wanted her trained as a slave, not a mistress."

Lola's face turned crimson.

"That's a lie, Racine!  You know why I was sent here!"

"As you can see," Racine continued calmly, "she's fairly resistant to instruction and, frankly, I'm inclined to put her on the block and let her become someone else's problem."

"No!  Please don't do this to me!"

Lola abandoned her post to prostrate herself at Racine's feet, groveling over her boots.  By now a small crowd, having overheard the commotion, had gathered to witness this spectacle.

"You're the only person in the world I've ever cared about.  Please don't send me away," Lola sniveled.

At just that moment, Pamela scooted up with her tray, stopping dead in her tracks at the sight of her implacable tormentor blubbering on her knees.

"What the fuck..."

Seeing Pamela gave Alex an idea.

"Perhaps this wretched poseur might be of some value to us after all.  We'll have an opening in the slave quarters now for a new senior slave.  I thought Pamela, here, might be a good choice."

Pamela couldn't believe she'd heard it right.  They were actually talking about promoting her.

"And of course," Alex went on, "she'll be in need of a serving amid."

He glanced down at Lola.  Racine's eyes lit up with malicious delight.  She nudged Lola in the ribs with a booted toe.

"On your feet, bitch."

Lola scrambled up off the ground, immediately folding her arms up behind her back.  So this was the real Lola.

"I'm going to give you another chance to start over at the bottom.  Strip!"

"Yes, Ma'am!  Thank you, Ma'am!" Lola babbled, frantically peeling down her leathers.  Meanwhile, Alex unstrapped the tray from the still-dumbstruck Pamela, setting it down beside her.  He took out his keys and unlocked her combination shackles, starting at the neck.  Her huge, blue eyes blinked up at him as the keys rattled at the back of her neck, freeing her from the weight of the chains she had worn for so long.

Alex turned with the shackles in his hand.  Lola looked good naked.  He'd always suspected her of keeping her tits strapped down.  He appreciated the way their unexpected generosity softened the hard muscularity of Lola's body.  Yes, this was going to be entertaining.  He clamped the padded steel collar solidly around Lola's throat, making sure she heard the sound of the latch closing.  She stood perfectly still, face front, while he put on the manacles.

"I like you better already," Alex said, stepping back to admire his handiwork.  "Mariko, take this one downstairs and start her through induction." He turned to Pamela.  "And, we'll be needing a fitted collar for Pamela here, along with some real clothes for tonight's party."

Mariko came forward to take charge of Lola.  Thinking of all the outstanding accounts between them that would soon be steeled, Mariko had to admit to herself that being a mistress had its compensations.  Alex kissed Pamela on the forehead and gave her a little smack on the rump.

"Go get dressed.  I'm tired of seeing you in that fucking apron."

Breaking every known rule and some not yet written, Pamela threw her arms around Alex and planted a big, wet one on his cheek.  Then she turned and ran for her life.  The whole crowd, which now included virtually everyone in the pavilion except for the slaves-at-auction and their attendants (who had remained steadfastly at their stations throughout all the drama) burst out laughing.

"Could we please get on with the sale?" Stephanie wailed in amused exasperation.  Even she was laughing.

"Just one more thing first," Alex said, "something I've been waiting to do for a very long time."

He stepped up onto the stage where Jessica continued her posing routine with unwavering precision, even though he could see her eyes were brimming with tears.  She didn't stop, even as he approached her, even when he unlocked the chain from her collar to the center post.  He had to forcibly seize her by the arms, and turn her to face him.  He gazed at her for just an instant, savoring one last second of longing, before pulling her head back by her long, red hair and kissing her ferociously.  Neither one of them heard the explosion of spontaneous applause that shook the pavilion to the rafters and rolled out to sea on the light breeze.

THE END