Part 6 - The Auction
The Auction
As the lights dimmed, the murmurs in the expansive, dimly-lit warehouse subsided, giving way to a charged silence. Rows of chairs, occupied by professionally dressed buyers exuding an air of quiet superiority, faced the stage. This was no ordinary auction; it was a private, secretive affair, where each patron was known and acknowledged by the auctioneer and his team.
The auctioneer, known simply as 'Viktor,' a name that whispered of Eastern European origins and hinted at enigmatic depths, confidently stood on the stage. Tall and broad-shouldered, with the solid, imposing build of a former weightlifter, Viktor dominated the space around him. His sharp, calculating eyes swept over the audience, sending a subtle shiver down the spine of every onlooker. The air seemed to thicken around him, his mere presence commanding a mix of respect and unease. The slight curl of his lips, more a smirk than a smile, hinted at a ruthlessness that lay beneath his polished exterior. His olive skin contrasted starkly against the rich fabric of his finely adorned tuxedo, and his semi-curly dark hair was meticulously groomed. Each step he took in his sharp designer shoes resounded with an authoritative clack against the wooden stage, echoing his formidable presence.
In his hand, Viktor nonchalantly twirled a slender, ornate cane, its silver handle glinting under the spotlight—a prop that seemed more an extension of his commanding personality than a necessity. Behind the rows of patrons, a solemn row of seven pedestals, each manned by an individual at a computer station, stood ready for remote buyers' participation. This arrangement allowed Viktor a clear view of both the in-person and remote audiences, his commanding gaze sweeping over all with ease. Above him, the darkness of the warehouse loomed, punctuated by a singular spotlight poised to illuminate each lot as it came up for auction.
Viktor paused under the stark spotlight, center stage, before leaning into the microphone. His voice, deep and resonant, filled the space. 'Good evening to you, esteemed guests,' he began, his tone laced with both warmth and an unspoken warning. 'Tonight, we convene for an exclusive selection, each lot promising to be as extraordinary as it is rare. Prepare yourselves for an evening of unparalleled offerings.'
As Viktor begins, I watch two large, burly men approach the line and unhook a girl, not much older than myself, walking her to the center of the stage. They raise her leash up, attaching it to a ring above the stage. I watch her intently as they leave her there, her long black hair falling like a veil over her shoulder. Her pale skin glows in the spotlight, accenting her figure. As I observe Jenisa's body, I can plainly see it is covered in permanent marks - whip marks crisscrossing her back, branded letters etched into her shoulders, and even jewelry embedded into various parts of her skin.
Jenisa stands awkwardly with her hands bound behind her back, her collar clipped to the overhead cable above, causing her to strain her neck. She's slightly pudgy but quite attractive despite this; in fact, it seems that some buyers prefer a bit of extra meat on their investment. Her brown eyes dart nervously around the room, occasionally turning her focus to those of us on the line, as she tries not to think about where she might end up next. The piercings adorning her body are noticeable even from afar: nipple and hip piercings, brow piercings, lip piercings... and most strikingly of all, a labia piercing which glistens under the bright spotlight. It's a chilling sight to behold, but the crowd seems undeterred as they hush their whispers and lean forward expectantly in their seats.
"Our first item is Jenisa," announces Viktor, his voice smooth like silk as he introduces her to the audience. "Jenisa has been well-trained by her previous owners and comes with an impressive resumé of skills." He pauses for effect before continuing, "Her body bears testament to the discipline she's endured, and I can assure you that she will not disappoint any discerning buyer. Now, let's begin the bidding. Opening big at $2,500"
Viktor moves closer to Jenisa, using his cane to point to her breasts. “We have some generous tits here, perfect for many uses. I’m certain these have held her up many times”, he chuckles while the bidding starts. Large screens in the back, showing the various bids, as they come in from the patrons.
The room buzzed with anticipation, illuminated by the glow of screens that ticked incessantly, each flicker marking a higher bid. Viktor, strode confidently around the stage. His voice, both commanding and smooth, sliced through the murmurs as he called out, using his cane to point out various body parts, coaxing and cajoling the bidders into a dance of numbers. Around him, the screens, like digital tapestries, wove a story of competition and desire, displaying the rapidly changing bid details that captivated the audience. With a practiced smile and a keen eye, Viktor orchestrated the crescendo of bids, his presence as much a spectacle as the treasures he presented for auction.
Viktor, with a practiced flourish, pulled the microphone back to his mouth. His voice, laced with a persuasive mix of excitement and urgency, echoed through the hall. "Ladies and gentlemen, let's not allow the pace to dwindle. This exquisite piece," he gestured grandly with his cane towards Jenisa, "comes with absolutely no restrictions on its use. A rare opportunity, indeed! Ensure your bids are placed before this chance slips away." He then twirled his cane theatrically, pirouetting across the stage with the elegance of a seasoned performer, his every move punctuating the urgency of his words. The audience, captivated, responded with a renewed flurry of bids, their eyes glued to the screens and Viktor's mesmerizing display.
As the final bids trickled to a near halt, the air in the room thickened with anticipation. Viktor, with a showman's flair, spun his cane expertly before pointing it dramatically at the audience. "It seems our spirited bidding has reached its zenith," he declared, his voice ringing clear and triumphant. "Let's bring this to a grand finale, shall we?" A collective sigh, a symphony of mixed emotions, rippled through the crowd – some exhaled in relief, while others tensed, their hopes hanging by a thread.
Viktor's smile broadened, his eyes twinkling with the thrill of the moment. The drama of the final bids was the crescendo of his performance. "Forty one thousand eight hundred and fifty, going once, going twice, and... sold!" His announcement was a theatrical masterpiece, his cane spinning in a final, flamboyant flourish before coming to rest under his arm, punctuating the end of the bidding.
The room erupted in a robust wave of applause, a rich tapestry of excitement for the winner and admiration for the spectacle Viktor had masterfully conducted. The atmosphere buzzed with a blend of satisfaction and exhilaration, not just for the concluded bid but in eager anticipation of what was yet to come. This was merely the first of several lots to be auctioned, a tantalizing beginning to an evening that promised even more thrilling bids and unexpected turns. Viktor, basking in the glow of success, flashed a confident, knowing smile. He was a conductor poised at the start of a symphony, each lot an orchestrated movement in the grand concert of the night's auction. The crowd, now more engaged and energized, leaned forward in their seats, their eyes alight with curiosity and desire, ready for the next item to take center stage under Viktor's charismatic direction.
Viktor, basking in the success of the sale, addresses the audience with renewed vigor. "Congratulations to our winner on acquiring Jenisa, a truly remarkable specimen!" he announces. The applause that follows is filled with genuine admiration for both the bidder and the auctioneer's skill in driving up the price. As the applause dies down, the atmosphere in the room shifts from the high tension of the bidding to eager anticipation for what's next.
As the spotlight dimmed, casting the stage in a soft, ambient glow, the handlers quietly stepped forward. With gentle, practiced motions, they removed the leash which held Jenisa, leading her away from the limelight. Jenisa was emotionless and unfazed by the night's excitement, her bare feet pad softly against the stage.
They moved through off the stage. toward the back of the large warehouse. Finally, reaching a secluded area at the back, where a series of comfortably arranged pens await. Jenisa was placed inside, where she crawled in and settled down, until her new owner arrived. They turned, looking back at her lustfully, before returning to the stage.
As the final bid is confirmed, the gentleman in the grey suit nods, a subtle smile playing on his lips. He exudes a quiet confidence, having secured Jenisa with his last-minute bid. Around him, the room is abuzz with reactions; some bidders wear expressions of mild disappointment, having been outbid at the last moment, while others engage in animated discussions about the unexpected turn of events. The stern woman in the front row, despite her loss, offers a gracious smile, acknowledging the thrill of the competition.
"Let us move on to our next item for the evening," Viktor announces, signaling to the stagehands. In the dimly lit ambiance, the handlers discretely unhook the next person, a girl, and lead her to the spotlight's focus at the center of the stage. Unlike Jenisa, this girl, noticeably slimmer and slightly taller, stands out with her very short black hair and lack of extensive markings, save for a large '47' tattoo in stylized font on her back.
The spotlight illuminates her as Viktor introduces her to the audience. "Ladies and gentlemen, meet number 47, a lifelong servant. Her previous owner, Marcus, sadly passed last month, and his estate has listed her for auction," Viktor explains, his tone a blend of respect and anticipation.
As 47 steps forward, her petite frame is striking against the warehouse's vast backdrop. Her closely shaved head, adorned with small silver hoops in her ears, contrasts with her pale, smooth skin. The only other mark on her, a small heart-shaped birthmark on her left thigh, is barely noticeable.
The audience murmurs with a mixture of admiration and curiosity, their whispers hinting at both 47's past with Marcus and their speculations about her future. The air is charged with a palpable sense of anticipation as Viktor adeptly begins the bidding process.
From my vantage point, I watch 47 under the harsh spotlight, feeling an involuntary surge of empathy for her. It's a stark reminder of my own impending turn on the stage, an unknown future sending a shiver of apprehension through me. I try to steady my breath, focusing on the present as Viktor skillfully orchestrates the auction, drawing bids for 47 like a maestro.
As the bidding unfolds, 47 remains poised under the spotlight, her solitary tattoo '47' a silent testament to her past. The crowd's murmurs ebb and flow around her, a blend of appreciation and speculative exchanges, as Viktor's voice continues to dominate the room, weaving a captivating spell with each new bid.
As I stand awaiting my turn on the block, my mind drifts away from Viktor’s theatrics on stage, as the bids pour in for 47. Thinking back to how all of this began, with me deciding to give this lifestyle my full effort. It’s only been a few days since I found my parents secret room in the basement. Giggles to myself, as I recall stripping down and putting on the collar and cuffs my parents kept down there.
Despite my mom’s wishes that I would give up the foolish thoughts of living this lifestyle, worse going forward with a strong desire to become someone’s feast. I know my mother wouldn’t want that for me, but it is my choice. At least my dad was supportive, at least in the beginning. Though I’m certain he was trying to get me to “snap” out of it.
Thinking of the look on my mom’s face when they came home, seeing me nude and bound up. Oh, she was pissed, I recall, as the event plays in my head. Dad was more forgiving, and played along. Once I showed my determination however, he turned things over to a friend of his, Charles, to treat me like a slave. Oh, we had a ton of fun. Still, with dad watching over things, I think Charles felt he couldn’t do too much without angering my father.
Now, look at me, Dad brought me to an actual human auction and put me up for sale. It’s so amazing and hot, yet I don’t want it to stop. I can see where it could lead, based on the girls I’ve seen, including Jenisa and 47, and the girl next to me. My attention drawn once more to the ongoing sale of 47, as it concludes.
Viktor prances around the stage, as the familiar sight of the two burly handlers step up and remove 47 from the center of the stage. I watch her, as she is walked toward the back area, just as Jenisa was. I keep thinking that very soon, that will be me being led from the stage. My new owner will take control of me, and I will be his. Well, at least as long as dad is selling me for. Giggles to myself, as I picture being returned looking like Jenisa with tats and piercings all over my body.
As has happened twice already, the men come to collect the next girl, in this case Allie. Viktor once more rallies the crowd and tells us about the girl at center stage.
As Viktor begins introducing the next girl to the audience, I can't help but feel a mix of relief and dread wash over me. Relief because it means that soon enough, I will no longer be standing here helplessly as girl after girl is sold off to the highest bidder; dread because soon it will be my turn, pulled to the center, under the spotlight for all in the audience to judge and value me. Drawing a deep breath as I ponder this reality, but I feel a sense of arousal grow as I will be seen, as I am, by everyone here. I will be the primary focus and someone, out there, will be spending their money to purchase me. I will become what I had hoped to become. Letting out a ragged breath as I ponder how my treatment will be. Will I have a gentle master, or will he be wicked, wanting to get his money’s worth out of my flesh. Already I have seen examples of slaves, this is where I will soon be. I take a deep breath, trying to steady myself, watching the bidding of the next girl
As I look toward the center, Viktor is busy playing up the bidding for Allie, a slender blonde. Like me she is a short-term slave. I recall Viktor stating she is a student and looking to spend time to pay off loans. Consider that a hell of a way to pay for school, but why not. To each there own. Glancing up, looking at her bids on the screens at the back of the auction hall, seeing her getting a few thousand dollars.
Under the spotlight where Allie stands, looking nervous. But there's something else about her too... an air of determination that sets her apart from the other girls. Her long blonde hair falls past her waist, framing her voluptuous figure perfectly under the bright light of the spotlight. Her skin is smooth and lightly tanned from time in the sun, unmarred by any permanent marks aside from a delicate rose tattooed on her right breast. Unlike the other girls, she is smiling and swaying in full view of the audience. I feel this is helping her bids.
Her bidding comes to a slow close, with bids continuing to trickle in as the last call. From my viewpoint, it looks like a couple of the remote bidders were battling for the right to own this one. As the final bid is confirmed, Viktor, with his charismatic yet enigmatic presence, once more takes the stage. He moves with an exaggerated grace, his cane more an extension of his theatrical persona than a tool of support. As he twirls and prances, he draws Allie into his dance. She, caught in his orbit, moves with a hesitant grace, her eyes flickering with a mix of admiration and uncertainty.
From my shadowed vantage point, I watch the men approach Allie at the end of her performance. They are obscured by the dim lighting. A knot of apprehension tightens in my stomach as I see her led away. Though she walks with poise, there's a fleeting look in her eyes that I recognize all too well - the mask of bravery over a simmering fear.
A shiver of fear runs through me, not just for Allie, but for myself. I know my turn is next. My heart beats in my ears, a rhythmic reminder of what’s at stake. I try to summon the same façade of confidence that I saw in Allie, summoning the power to smile brightly in hopes it will help in my bids as well.
In this moment, I am acutely aware of every detail—the slight tremor of my hands, the coolness of the air, the heavy scent of anticipation that hangs in the room. I take a deep breath, attempting to steady my nerves, to transform fear into fortitude. It's not just a performance; it's a trial, and the verdict lies in the hands of those watching from the shadows.
After Allie disappears behind the heavy velvet curtains into the back area, the men return, their steps methodical and silent. They move like ghosts, their presence felt more in the void they leave than in any sound or sight. My heart pounding a frantic rhythm against my ribcage. Every muscle in my body is tense, poised for action yet paralyzed by a deep-seated fear.
The murmur of the audience is a distant tide, ebbing and flowing with Viktor's words. He has them captivated, his voice a melody of dark charm and enigmatic allure. Then, amidst the lilting cadence, my name cuts through the air - sharp, unexpected. It comes from Viktor’s lips, a summoning that sends a jolt through my body.
The sound of my name in his voice resonates like a bell in a silent chamber, echoing in the recesses of my mind. It feels surreal, as if I'm both there and not, a spectator in my own story. My breathing becomes shallow, my head light, as if I'm about to float away from this moment, from this impending reality.
Viktor commands the stage with a dancer's grace, his cane twirling in his hand as if it's an extension of his own body. The spotlight follows him, casting him as the focal point in a sea of darkness. My gaze is locked onto him, unable to look away, even as I sense the men drawing nearer to me, their presence looming like shadows at the edge of my consciousness.
For the first time, I truly see Viktor not just as a performer, but as a man. His stature is imposing, his muscles defined under the stage lights, hinting at a strength that is both alluring and intimidating. He stands there, a figure of raw masculinity, and something within me stirs, a confusing blend of fear, admiration, and an unexpected hint of romantic fascination.
As he says my name again, it resonates in the air, and I feel a strange pull towards him. The vulnerability of my own nakedness contrasts sharply with his commanding presence, amplifying this unforeseen attraction. It's a tumultuous mix of emotions that swirls within me, and I try to rationalize it as nerves, a byproduct of the intense situation I find myself in.
But there's more to it, a deeper, more primal connection that I can't quite understand or articulate. His voice, the way he moves, the intensity in his eyes - all of it weaves a spell that I find myself reluctantly caught in.
I swallow hard, trying to quell the rising tide of these unfamiliar feelings. The logical part of my mind scrambles to regain control, reminding me of the precariousness of my situation. Yet, even as I brace myself for what's to come, a part of me can't help but be intrigued, even captivated, by the enigmatic Viktor.
As the men finally reach me, their hands firm on my arms, I cast one last, lingering look at Viktor. Then, with a resigned breath, I allow myself to be led towards the stage, towards an unknown fate that now seems irrevocably intertwined with Viktor’s.
Once I am brought to center stage, and my leash, like those before me, is attached to the ring above. Looking up at the ring, before settling my eyes in Viktor’s direction, putting on a wide smile, before the spotlight shines on me. Suddenly, my skin feels the heat, as my entire body is illuminated by the harsh spotlight. My sight is blinded momentarily as the men walk away.
I struggle to regain my balance from the movement and the bright light. Remembering to smile, I make a wide, bright smile to show off my face, purposely moving my feet apart, to project a happy would-be slave to my prospective buyers.
Watching as Viktor glides across the stage, stopping to the left of me, as I stare out amongst the audience. With the spotlight, my vision can only make out shadows in the field of patrons before me.
“Let’s begin…”, says Viktor in his usual smooth delivery. I shiver, knowing that in a few short moments I will become the property of another. Although this has been a desire and wish of my own, it still terrifies me now that the moment has arrived.
“Before us, is Jewels. This is the first time for her, and as such there are some conditions which need to be met by winning bidder. Firstly…”, he begins. My head spinning, since I didn’t ask my father for the restrictions, yet it appears he put forth a litany of items. This is my choice, so much like my dad to keep me from enjoying my life.
“Firstly, there is a $25,000 bond, which is due prior to taking possession, to cover permanent marks or injury. This is standard fair for first timers, to protect the current owner’s interest. She is untrained, but eager. Lots of potential available to her, but needs a strong hand. Don’t we all”, Viktor jokes as he struts the stage.
My thoughts focusing on the bond, including what it means. Immediately thinking of how wrong things could go with the wrong master. The possibility I could be killed never occurred to me, but seems a possibility.
“Next, she is only available for two weeks. She needs to be returned here, two weeks from today. Failure will result in forfeiture of the bond”, Viktor states somberly. Groans from the audience reverberate through the room. Viktor continues to address the bidders.
“Lastly, although mentioned with the bond, she can’t be permanently marked, including scars, wounds, piercing, brandings, etc. Now that we have this out of the way, let’s start the bidding at $1,000”, Viktor finishes with the restrictions.
Viktor prances around me, as the bids start to roll in. But I notice the bids are coming in much slower than expected, far slower than the other girls. Viktor uses his cane to poke at my breast, causing it to jiggle. “Lots of fun to be had with those. And someone gets to be the first to tame them”, chuckling to the crowd.
Hearing footsteps on the stage, I see a man dressed in black approaching Viktor on stage. “Pardon me for a moment folks”, as he steps to the side, just outside the light. My body still shining bright from the spotlight above. After a whispered exchange, Viktor returns to the stage, in front of me.
“Seems we have a serious question which has arisen. The two-week timeframe is too short for a neophyte to get a good experience. Let’s pause the bidding for a moment, as I believe the seller is still in the building”, as Viktor motions to the crew to pause.
Viktor approaches me, his head at my left ear, whispers into my ear, “Do you think your father will extend your time, say to 4 or 6 weeks?”. I nod in agreement, hoping that my father agrees. As I would like to experience a longer timeframe myself.
Viktor whispers back, “Всё идёт по плану “, pausing before repeating, “Good…everything is going according to plan”, as he steps back. Pulling away, before giving me a playful squeeze of my breast.
Viktor carries on with his performance, twirling his cane with such practiced ease that it almost masks the palpable tension surrounding us. I stand there watching him, my smile a forced facade, feeling the strain as my jaw tightens with the sustained effort. The stage lights blaze down on me, mercilessly illuminating my discomfort and vulnerability.
Here, in this exposed and anxious state, my mind wanders to the convoluted journey that has brought me to this point. Had my father agreed to let me become a permanent slave from the beginning, perhaps I could have been spared this public degradation. Now, in this moment of humiliation, the idea of a life in the shadows, away from prying eyes, strikes me as a twisted form of mercy. This chilling realization – that my present ordeal might be a preferable fate to a life of hidden, perpetual servitude – weighs heavily on me.
The wait for the staffer's return, with what I hope is positive news, seems interminable. Standing under the gaze of the audience, each second ticks by as a stark reminder of the path I've chosen. This is not the life I desired, yet it's the one I'm navigating, one fraught moment at a time.
I release a sigh, one heavy with a mix of relief and apprehension, as the man in black materializes at the edge of the stage. He moves with a purposeful stealth, a shadow blending into the dimly lit periphery. My eyes, along with those of the audience, are drawn to him, sensing the importance of his arrival.
Viktor, ever the master of his domain, catches the slightest hint of movement and instinctively turns. There's a subtle shift in his demeanor; the confident, almost theatrical poise gives way to a more guarded, anticipatory stance. He seems to understand the gravity of the moment, the weight of the message the staffer brings.
With a graceful, yet purposeful stride, Viktor steps out of the glaring spotlight, moving into a space where light and shadow intersect. It's a physical transition that mirrors the uncertainty of the situation. He meets the staffer in a semi-private enclave created by the stage's design, a space where whispered conversations can take place away from prying ears.
From my vantage point, I strain to catch a glimpse of their exchange, to glean any indication of what's being discussed. The tension in my body returns, winding tight as a drum. I feel a prickling sensation along my skin, a physical manifestation of the anxiety that grips me. This conversation between Viktor and the staffer could determine the course of my immediate future, yet I am nothing more than a distant observer, waiting helplessly for their verdict.
The room seems to hold its breath, the audience's attention now split between the enigmatic figure of Viktor and the dimly lit drama unfolding at the stage's edge. In this moment, time stretches and warps, each second lingering longer than the last. Feeling the strain on my neck, as my knees bend to ensure circulation.
After a seemingly long lapse, the conversation between the two comes to an end, as Viktor turns and emerges from the dark, a glint of a smile on his face. Moving near me, facing away from the bidders, before whispering in my ear, “You have a month”. As he pulls away to once more face the room.
Viktor steps forward, pointing his cane toward the room, "After extensive consultation with the seller, and with a heart full of joy, I wish to share that he has given much thought to your question. This matter, with its significant weight, has led him to thoughtful conclusion. He concurs that extending our engagement to a four-week session – yes, a full month – will serve us best. Therefore, we are adjusting timeline, moving from the initially planned two weeks to a more expansive four-weeks. Spasibo for your understanding and patience."
Viktor's voice cuts through the room, firm and commanding. "With this adjustment, the bidding should resume," he declares, his cane cutting through the air as he paces the stage. I watch, a sigh of relief escaping me, as the bidding indeed springs back to life. This time, the bids climb with a fervor, each new offer rapidly outpacing the last.
Striving to present an appealing view to the bidders, I stand, subtly swaying from side to side to prevent my legs from stiffening. Viktor, ever observant, catches this. With a deft poke of his cane, he prompts me to turn more slowly. This gradual rotation not only eases the tension in my legs but also affords the bidders a complete 360-degree view. Each angle offers them a new perspective, enhancing their evaluation.
I find myself unexpectedly grateful for Viktor's attentiveness. Previously, I had pegged him as a brute, driven solely by a singular motive. However, as the event has unfolded, he's revealed a side of compassion I hadn't anticipated. His unexpected displays of generosity and kindness, so out of place in this environment, have eased my tension. With his considerate treatment, my time on stage becomes less of a trial and more of an experience to navigate with a bit more ease.
As my gaze drifts to the large displays at the back, I'm taken aback by the bids climbing to heights beyond my wildest expectations. Despite the deterrent of the bond requirement, the numbers soar, dwarfing my initial estimations. This experience, unfolding in its complex layers, has already transcended anything I could have envisioned. Now, I find myself silently hoping that the next phase of this journey holds just as much, if not more, fulfillment.
As the pace of the bids begins to wane, Viktor swiftly reasserts his command of the room. With a strategic flourish, he uses his cane not just as a walking aid, but as a pointer to highlight my features, drawing the bidders' attention with deliberate precision. The first time he does this, his cane hovers towards my legs, emphasizing their size and shape. He makes a pointed comment about how elegant they would appear in a dress, his words painting a vivid picture for the bidders, reigniting their interest.
I find a moment of gratitude amidst the tension, thankful for the years I've dedicated to jogging. Those countless mornings, rising before dawn to hit the pavement, have sculpted my legs into a trim and athletic form. Each stride, each mile, has not only strengthened them but has also contributed to the subtle curves of my small bubble butt. It's a physical testament to my discipline and endurance, attributes that, in this moment, seem to be appreciated in a way I hadn't anticipated.
With the bids beginning to dip once more, Viktor approaches, leaning to my ear to whisper, "Listen, I vant you to pull both of your legs up, bring them close to your chest, like this," Viktor instructs with a firm, yet measured tone. As he whispers, he demonstrates the position with a swift, precise motion of his hands. "And then, I shall carefully turn you around, so they can see every aspect, every detail. It's important, da? For them to appreciate the full picture.". I can't help but feel a twinge of anxiety at the thought of being supported solely by my neck. However, Viktor, sensing my apprehension, offers reassurance. "It will only be for a short time," he says with a confidence that slightly eases my worries.
With a firm tap of his cane against my legs, Viktor signals me to act. I exert every muscle, lifting my legs upwards, feeling the strain course through me. The collar tightens around my neck, biting into my skin and constricting my breath. Gritting my teeth, I summon every ounce of willpower to maintain the pose. Viktor's rough hands press against my sides, guiding me as I'm slowly turned to face the crowd. Years of disciplined training and an unwavering desire to succeed lend me strength, allowing me to paint a striking image for the onlookers. The seconds stretch into what feels like hours under their intense gaze. Finally, Viktor taps my legs again, a silent permission to lower them back to the safety of the stage floor.
After what feels like an eternity under the spotlight, I notice the bids gradually losing their earlier momentum. Despite Viktor's masterful efforts to keep the energy high, the flurry of numbers starts to dwindle. My eyes are drawn inexorably to the digital reader board at the back of the room, where the latest bid flashes in bold digits. The figure is astonishing, almost surreal in its magnitude. I find myself shaking my head, a mix of disbelief and awe washing over me. This isn't just a successful outcome; it's a staggering one. The price attached to my name has soared beyond any of my wildest expectations, painting a stark, overwhelming picture of my value in this extraordinary auction.
As the final bid is called, a swell of clapping rolls through the crowd like a small but spirited roar of approval. Viktor, the ever-present maestro of the event, strides across the stage with a confident gait. He joins in the applause, his hands clapping with a resonant sound that echoes his satisfaction at the successful bids. "Congratulations to our bid winner, Dritan," he announces, his voice booming through the room. As he speaks, the spotlight that had been my glaring companion begins to dim, casting long shadows across the stage.
In this shift of light and attention, the men in black return. Their movements are swift and efficient, a stark contrast to the charged atmosphere of the bidding. The first man deftly releases the leash from the ring overhead, while each take hold of my arms. They guide me, almost ceremoniously, away from the stage. As we pass through the heavy curtain to the secluded back of the warehouse, a sense of finality settles over me. Behind me, the echoes of the auction linger, a stark reminder of the life-changing events that have just unfolded.
We hasten toward the rear of the warehouse, the men guiding me with a brisk efficiency. The sight that greets me is both unsettling and expected: a row of metal cages, their bars cold and uninviting, already housing the 'lots' sold before me. Each one tells a silent story of the auction's proceedings.
As they lead me to an unoccupied cage, they remove my leash, a silent indication for me to crawl inside. I comply, my movements stirring Allie, one of my neighbors in this grim lineup. Once inside the confined space, I instinctively curl up in a fetal position, turning to face Allie. As one of the men closes the cage door with a definitive clank, a sense of finality washes over me.
"Well, that was pretty crazy," I admit to Allie, trying to find a semblance of normalcy in this bizarre situation. She looks back at me, her expression a mixture of empathy and resignation.
In the background, Viktor's voice continues, muffled but distinct, as he announces the next girl up for bid. The back area, our temporary holding space, is eerily quiet, the occasional sounds from the stage action barely penetrating our secluded corner. The only other noises are the subdued clatter and shuffle of staff members moving equipment and cleaning up around us.
As I lay there, a growing pressure in my bladder becomes increasingly insistent. I find myself hoping, almost naively, that I'll be afforded the basic dignity of a bathroom break before being whisked away to meet my fate with Dritan, the auction's victor. It's a small comfort to cling to, a brief respite in the midst of an overwhelming reality.
Allie gives a knowing nod. "Yeah, the first time's always a bit wild. But hey, you got through it," she says, her voice carrying a mix of camaraderie and reassurance. "I was pretty shocked too at how much I went for. So, how many times have you been up there?" I ask, continuing our whispered conversation.
Before Allie can answer, '47' interjects with a hushed tone. "Shush, you two. You shouldn't even be talking," she cautions us. In the cage beside us, Jenisa remains undisturbed, her quiet snores a stark contrast to our tense whispers.
Despite the warning, I can't suppress my growing discomfort. "Fine, but do you think I can ask to pee?" I ask, a hint of desperation in my voice, not particularly caring who responds.
"Yeah, sure. Just ask one of the guards when they bring the next one in. If you're nice about it, they might let you. But for now, please, just be quiet," 47 whispers back, her voice tinged with a longing for the silence that reigned before my arrival.
In the stillness of our confined space, I strain my ears, listening intently to the muffled sounds beyond the curtain. Each noise, each murmur from the audience, becomes a clue in my silent countdown to the end of the next auction. My focus is singular - the opportunity to request a bathroom break. Soon enough, the sound of clapping filters through, signaling the conclusion of another sale. Moments later, the pair returns, escorting another girl to her designated cage. Seeing my chance, I gather my courage to speak up.
"Excuse me, sir," I say, infusing my voice with as much sweetness as I can muster. "I really need to use the bathroom. Could you possibly help me?" One of the guards pauses, then stoops down to meet my gaze. His eyes are indifferent, his expression unyielding.
"If you need to go, then go. I couldn't care less," he replies, his words devoid of empathy.
I press on, trying to appeal to his practical side. "But wouldn’t it be better to avoid a mess?" I ask, hoping reason might sway him.
His response is cold, unmoved. "I told you, if you need to go, then go. But be warned, if you make a mess, you'll be punished. And you'll be the one cleaning it up, with your tongue," he states, his voice firm and unyielding. "This isn't some sorority house, girl. Do what you want, but know there will be consequences." His words end with a menacing grin, leaving me with a chilling realization of the harshness of my situation.
Burdened with the weight of my predicament, I deliberate over my limited options. The fear of the consequences weighs heavily on me, and I muster every ounce of control to hold my bladder. Taking a cue from those around me, I close my eyes, hoping to escape into slumber. Surprisingly, sleep comes swiftly, perhaps a testament to the sheer exhaustion wrought by the day's events.
In my sleep, my mind conjures wild, unfettered dreams – a chaotic reflection of my tumultuous emotions. They dance vividly through my subconscious, yet their details dissolve into oblivion upon waking. As my eyes flutter open, they are met by an unexpected sight. A man stands at my cage, his gaze fixed upon me. His presence is startling, and I sit up, suddenly alert, trying to gauge his intentions from his expression.
His voice breaks the silence, calm yet assertive. "Hello Jewels. I am known as Dritan." His words are deliberate, each one resonating with an unspoken authority. "You will be coming with me to my home. Let's get you out of this cage and ready for the flight." As he speaks, a rush of thoughts whirls through my mind, each one laced with a mixture of apprehension and curiosity.
The reality of his words sinks in slowly, each syllable echoing in the confined space of the cage. I'm going far from home, farther than I've ever been. The distance isn't just physical; it's a leap into an unknown that stretches far beyond the long drive that brought me here. A mix of fear and a strange sense of anticipation grips me as I process the enormity of the change that lies ahead. Dritan's presence, both commanding and enigmatic, adds to the swirl of emotions that threaten to overwhelm me.
Dritan stood out in the crowd with an air of understated elegance. His hair, longer than the usual, fell just above his shoulders in a style that struck a balance between bohemian flair and professional neatness. It framed his face, accentuating sharp, thoughtful features that were often softened by a contemplative gaze. He wore a fine suit, impeccably tailored to his lean, athletic build. The fabric, a deep, rich shade that played with the light, hinted at luxury without ostentation. His presence was one of quiet confidence, the kind that didn't need to announce itself loudly. Completing his ensemble was a tie, not overly flamboyant but with a pattern that suggested a personality inclined towards both detail and a touch of nonconformity. Dritan carried himself with an ease that spoke of a man comfortable in his own skin, aware of his effect on others yet not defined by it.
As he unlocks the cage, Dritan extends a hand to assist me. I feel a sense of relief mixed with apprehension as I step out, my legs unsteady after the prolonged confinement. Standing before him, I can't help but notice the stark contrast between the grim surroundings of the cage and his poised demeanor.
He gently removes the original collar from around my neck, replacing it with a softer one made of supple leather. This new collar, equipped with a brass plate and adorned with three evenly spaced D-rings, seems both elegant and functional. Dritan's movements are smooth and practiced as he secures the collar, his fingers deftly locking it into place. There's a precision in his actions, a careful attention to detail that is both reassuring and intriguing.
Once satisfied with the fit of the collar, he meets my gaze and asks, "Do you require the use of the restroom before we depart?" His English is clear, the precision of his words reflecting a careful education. The question, considerate and straightforward, momentarily catches me off guard. It's a small act of kindness, a humanizing moment that stands in stark contrast to the transactional nature of the events that led up to this point.
I nod in response to Dritan's question, my need urgent but tempered by the fear of speaking out of turn and inviting punishment. He attaches a leash to my new collar and guides me with a firm but not unkind hand towards the back wall. The signs for the restrooms are clearly marked on each door. He leads me into the men's room, a choice that surprises me, but his composed demeanor suggests this is routine.
In the privacy of a stall, he directs me to sit. Relief floods through me as I release my bladder, the constant stream echoing slightly in the confined space. It's a quick, albeit much-needed respite. Once done, I signal to Dritan, my voice barely above a whisper, "May I clean myself up?"
He acknowledges my request with a nod and guides me out of the stall to the row of sinks. His movements are methodical as he soaks a cloth under the running water. Then, with a surprising gentleness, he uses the damp cloth to clean me up. His actions are clinical, devoid of any discomfort or embarrassment, which in turn makes me feel a bit more at ease in this strange, new dynamic between us.
After completing my brief but necessary visit to the bathroom, Dritan and I make our way outside. The sudden change from the dimly lit interior of the warehouse to the open air is jarring. My bare feet come into contact with the rough texture of the gravel in the parking lot, each pebble a sharp reminder of my vulnerability.
We approach an awaiting car, and it's immediately clear that it's no ordinary vehicle. Parked conspicuously among the mundane assortment of cars is a luxury Bentley. Its polished exterior gleams under the parking lot lights, and its spacious back seat area promises a level of comfort and privacy. The driver, who had been standing by, promptly opens the door for us.
With a guiding hand, Dritan assists me into the car. The rich, soft leather of the seats envelops me as I slide in, a stark contrast to the hardness of the gravel I had just walked on. I move along the seat, giving space for Dritan to join me. His presence, both imposing and reassuring, fills the car as he settles beside me. Once we are both comfortably seated, the driver shuts the door with a soft thud, sealing us inside the luxurious cocoon.
The engine purrs to life, and we begin to move. The car glides smoothly out of the warehouse parking lot, the driver navigating with practiced ease. As we leave the warehouse behind, I find myself wondering if we are heading to the airport. The thought of flying, of leaving everything familiar behind, brings a mix of trepidation and an inexplicable sense of anticipation. With each mile we distance ourselves from the warehouse, my old life seems to recede further into the past, making way for an uncertain but unavoidable future.
The Auction
As the lights dimmed, the murmurs in the expansive, dimly-lit warehouse subsided, giving way to a charged silence. Rows of chairs, occupied by professionally dressed buyers exuding an air of quiet superiority, faced the stage. This was no ordinary auction; it was a private, secretive affair, where each patron was known and acknowledged by the auctioneer and his team.
The auctioneer, known simply as 'Viktor,' a name that whispered of Eastern European origins and hinted at enigmatic depths, confidently stood on the stage. Tall and broad-shouldered, with the solid, imposing build of a former weightlifter, Viktor dominated the space around him. His sharp, calculating eyes swept over the audience, sending a subtle shiver down the spine of every onlooker. The air seemed to thicken around him, his mere presence commanding a mix of respect and unease. The slight curl of his lips, more a smirk than a smile, hinted at a ruthlessness that lay beneath his polished exterior. His olive skin contrasted starkly against the rich fabric of his finely adorned tuxedo, and his semi-curly dark hair was meticulously groomed. Each step he took in his sharp designer shoes resounded with an authoritative clack against the wooden stage, echoing his formidable presence.
In his hand, Viktor nonchalantly twirled a slender, ornate cane, its silver handle glinting under the spotlight—a prop that seemed more an extension of his commanding personality than a necessity. Behind the rows of patrons, a solemn row of seven pedestals, each manned by an individual at a computer station, stood ready for remote buyers' participation. This arrangement allowed Viktor a clear view of both the in-person and remote audiences, his commanding gaze sweeping over all with ease. Above him, the darkness of the warehouse loomed, punctuated by a singular spotlight poised to illuminate each lot as it came up for auction.
Viktor paused under the stark spotlight, center stage, before leaning into the microphone. His voice, deep and resonant, filled the space. 'Good evening to you, esteemed guests,' he began, his tone laced with both warmth and an unspoken warning. 'Tonight, we convene for an exclusive selection, each lot promising to be as extraordinary as it is rare. Prepare yourselves for an evening of unparalleled offerings.'
As Viktor begins, I watch two large, burly men approach the line and unhook a girl, not much older than myself, walking her to the center of the stage. They raise her leash up, attaching it to a ring above the stage. I watch her intently as they leave her there, her long black hair falling like a veil over her shoulder. Her pale skin glows in the spotlight, accenting her figure. As I observe Jenisa's body, I can plainly see it is covered in permanent marks - whip marks crisscrossing her back, branded letters etched into her shoulders, and even jewelry embedded into various parts of her skin.
Jenisa stands awkwardly with her hands bound behind her back, her collar clipped to the overhead cable above, causing her to strain her neck. She's slightly pudgy but quite attractive despite this; in fact, it seems that some buyers prefer a bit of extra meat on their investment. Her brown eyes dart nervously around the room, occasionally turning her focus to those of us on the line, as she tries not to think about where she might end up next. The piercings adorning her body are noticeable even from afar: nipple and hip piercings, brow piercings, lip piercings... and most strikingly of all, a labia piercing which glistens under the bright spotlight. It's a chilling sight to behold, but the crowd seems undeterred as they hush their whispers and lean forward expectantly in their seats.
"Our first item is Jenisa," announces Viktor, his voice smooth like silk as he introduces her to the audience. "Jenisa has been well-trained by her previous owners and comes with an impressive resumé of skills." He pauses for effect before continuing, "Her body bears testament to the discipline she's endured, and I can assure you that she will not disappoint any discerning buyer. Now, let's begin the bidding. Opening big at $2,500"
Viktor moves closer to Jenisa, using his cane to point to her breasts. “We have some generous tits here, perfect for many uses. I’m certain these have held her up many times”, he chuckles while the bidding starts. Large screens in the back, showing the various bids, as they come in from the patrons.
The room buzzed with anticipation, illuminated by the glow of screens that ticked incessantly, each flicker marking a higher bid. Viktor, strode confidently around the stage. His voice, both commanding and smooth, sliced through the murmurs as he called out, using his cane to point out various body parts, coaxing and cajoling the bidders into a dance of numbers. Around him, the screens, like digital tapestries, wove a story of competition and desire, displaying the rapidly changing bid details that captivated the audience. With a practiced smile and a keen eye, Viktor orchestrated the crescendo of bids, his presence as much a spectacle as the treasures he presented for auction.
Viktor, with a practiced flourish, pulled the microphone back to his mouth. His voice, laced with a persuasive mix of excitement and urgency, echoed through the hall. "Ladies and gentlemen, let's not allow the pace to dwindle. This exquisite piece," he gestured grandly with his cane towards Jenisa, "comes with absolutely no restrictions on its use. A rare opportunity, indeed! Ensure your bids are placed before this chance slips away." He then twirled his cane theatrically, pirouetting across the stage with the elegance of a seasoned performer, his every move punctuating the urgency of his words. The audience, captivated, responded with a renewed flurry of bids, their eyes glued to the screens and Viktor's mesmerizing display.
As the final bids trickled to a near halt, the air in the room thickened with anticipation. Viktor, with a showman's flair, spun his cane expertly before pointing it dramatically at the audience. "It seems our spirited bidding has reached its zenith," he declared, his voice ringing clear and triumphant. "Let's bring this to a grand finale, shall we?" A collective sigh, a symphony of mixed emotions, rippled through the crowd – some exhaled in relief, while others tensed, their hopes hanging by a thread.
Viktor's smile broadened, his eyes twinkling with the thrill of the moment. The drama of the final bids was the crescendo of his performance. "Forty one thousand eight hundred and fifty, going once, going twice, and... sold!" His announcement was a theatrical masterpiece, his cane spinning in a final, flamboyant flourish before coming to rest under his arm, punctuating the end of the bidding.
The room erupted in a robust wave of applause, a rich tapestry of excitement for the winner and admiration for the spectacle Viktor had masterfully conducted. The atmosphere buzzed with a blend of satisfaction and exhilaration, not just for the concluded bid but in eager anticipation of what was yet to come. This was merely the first of several lots to be auctioned, a tantalizing beginning to an evening that promised even more thrilling bids and unexpected turns. Viktor, basking in the glow of success, flashed a confident, knowing smile. He was a conductor poised at the start of a symphony, each lot an orchestrated movement in the grand concert of the night's auction. The crowd, now more engaged and energized, leaned forward in their seats, their eyes alight with curiosity and desire, ready for the next item to take center stage under Viktor's charismatic direction.
Viktor, basking in the success of the sale, addresses the audience with renewed vigor. "Congratulations to our winner on acquiring Jenisa, a truly remarkable specimen!" he announces. The applause that follows is filled with genuine admiration for both the bidder and the auctioneer's skill in driving up the price. As the applause dies down, the atmosphere in the room shifts from the high tension of the bidding to eager anticipation for what's next.
As the spotlight dimmed, casting the stage in a soft, ambient glow, the handlers quietly stepped forward. With gentle, practiced motions, they removed the leash which held Jenisa, leading her away from the limelight. Jenisa was emotionless and unfazed by the night's excitement, her bare feet pad softly against the stage.
They moved through off the stage. toward the back of the large warehouse. Finally, reaching a secluded area at the back, where a series of comfortably arranged pens await. Jenisa was placed inside, where she crawled in and settled down, until her new owner arrived. They turned, looking back at her lustfully, before returning to the stage.
As the final bid is confirmed, the gentleman in the grey suit nods, a subtle smile playing on his lips. He exudes a quiet confidence, having secured Jenisa with his last-minute bid. Around him, the room is abuzz with reactions; some bidders wear expressions of mild disappointment, having been outbid at the last moment, while others engage in animated discussions about the unexpected turn of events. The stern woman in the front row, despite her loss, offers a gracious smile, acknowledging the thrill of the competition.
"Let us move on to our next item for the evening," Viktor announces, signaling to the stagehands. In the dimly lit ambiance, the handlers discretely unhook the next person, a girl, and lead her to the spotlight's focus at the center of the stage. Unlike Jenisa, this girl, noticeably slimmer and slightly taller, stands out with her very short black hair and lack of extensive markings, save for a large '47' tattoo in stylized font on her back.
The spotlight illuminates her as Viktor introduces her to the audience. "Ladies and gentlemen, meet number 47, a lifelong servant. Her previous owner, Marcus, sadly passed last month, and his estate has listed her for auction," Viktor explains, his tone a blend of respect and anticipation.
As 47 steps forward, her petite frame is striking against the warehouse's vast backdrop. Her closely shaved head, adorned with small silver hoops in her ears, contrasts with her pale, smooth skin. The only other mark on her, a small heart-shaped birthmark on her left thigh, is barely noticeable.
The audience murmurs with a mixture of admiration and curiosity, their whispers hinting at both 47's past with Marcus and their speculations about her future. The air is charged with a palpable sense of anticipation as Viktor adeptly begins the bidding process.
From my vantage point, I watch 47 under the harsh spotlight, feeling an involuntary surge of empathy for her. It's a stark reminder of my own impending turn on the stage, an unknown future sending a shiver of apprehension through me. I try to steady my breath, focusing on the present as Viktor skillfully orchestrates the auction, drawing bids for 47 like a maestro.
As the bidding unfolds, 47 remains poised under the spotlight, her solitary tattoo '47' a silent testament to her past. The crowd's murmurs ebb and flow around her, a blend of appreciation and speculative exchanges, as Viktor's voice continues to dominate the room, weaving a captivating spell with each new bid.
As I stand awaiting my turn on the block, my mind drifts away from Viktor’s theatrics on stage, as the bids pour in for 47. Thinking back to how all of this began, with me deciding to give this lifestyle my full effort. It’s only been a few days since I found my parents secret room in the basement. Giggles to myself, as I recall stripping down and putting on the collar and cuffs my parents kept down there.
Despite my mom’s wishes that I would give up the foolish thoughts of living this lifestyle, worse going forward with a strong desire to become someone’s feast. I know my mother wouldn’t want that for me, but it is my choice. At least my dad was supportive, at least in the beginning. Though I’m certain he was trying to get me to “snap” out of it.
Thinking of the look on my mom’s face when they came home, seeing me nude and bound up. Oh, she was pissed, I recall, as the event plays in my head. Dad was more forgiving, and played along. Once I showed my determination however, he turned things over to a friend of his, Charles, to treat me like a slave. Oh, we had a ton of fun. Still, with dad watching over things, I think Charles felt he couldn’t do too much without angering my father.
Now, look at me, Dad brought me to an actual human auction and put me up for sale. It’s so amazing and hot, yet I don’t want it to stop. I can see where it could lead, based on the girls I’ve seen, including Jenisa and 47, and the girl next to me. My attention drawn once more to the ongoing sale of 47, as it concludes.
Viktor prances around the stage, as the familiar sight of the two burly handlers step up and remove 47 from the center of the stage. I watch her, as she is walked toward the back area, just as Jenisa was. I keep thinking that very soon, that will be me being led from the stage. My new owner will take control of me, and I will be his. Well, at least as long as dad is selling me for. Giggles to myself, as I picture being returned looking like Jenisa with tats and piercings all over my body.
As has happened twice already, the men come to collect the next girl, in this case Allie. Viktor once more rallies the crowd and tells us about the girl at center stage.
As Viktor begins introducing the next girl to the audience, I can't help but feel a mix of relief and dread wash over me. Relief because it means that soon enough, I will no longer be standing here helplessly as girl after girl is sold off to the highest bidder; dread because soon it will be my turn, pulled to the center, under the spotlight for all in the audience to judge and value me. Drawing a deep breath as I ponder this reality, but I feel a sense of arousal grow as I will be seen, as I am, by everyone here. I will be the primary focus and someone, out there, will be spending their money to purchase me. I will become what I had hoped to become. Letting out a ragged breath as I ponder how my treatment will be. Will I have a gentle master, or will he be wicked, wanting to get his money’s worth out of my flesh. Already I have seen examples of slaves, this is where I will soon be. I take a deep breath, trying to steady myself, watching the bidding of the next girl
As I look toward the center, Viktor is busy playing up the bidding for Allie, a slender blonde. Like me she is a short-term slave. I recall Viktor stating she is a student and looking to spend time to pay off loans. Consider that a hell of a way to pay for school, but why not. To each there own. Glancing up, looking at her bids on the screens at the back of the auction hall, seeing her getting a few thousand dollars.
Under the spotlight where Allie stands, looking nervous. But there's something else about her too... an air of determination that sets her apart from the other girls. Her long blonde hair falls past her waist, framing her voluptuous figure perfectly under the bright light of the spotlight. Her skin is smooth and lightly tanned from time in the sun, unmarred by any permanent marks aside from a delicate rose tattooed on her right breast. Unlike the other girls, she is smiling and swaying in full view of the audience. I feel this is helping her bids.
Her bidding comes to a slow close, with bids continuing to trickle in as the last call. From my viewpoint, it looks like a couple of the remote bidders were battling for the right to own this one. As the final bid is confirmed, Viktor, with his charismatic yet enigmatic presence, once more takes the stage. He moves with an exaggerated grace, his cane more an extension of his theatrical persona than a tool of support. As he twirls and prances, he draws Allie into his dance. She, caught in his orbit, moves with a hesitant grace, her eyes flickering with a mix of admiration and uncertainty.
From my shadowed vantage point, I watch the men approach Allie at the end of her performance. They are obscured by the dim lighting. A knot of apprehension tightens in my stomach as I see her led away. Though she walks with poise, there's a fleeting look in her eyes that I recognize all too well - the mask of bravery over a simmering fear.
A shiver of fear runs through me, not just for Allie, but for myself. I know my turn is next. My heart beats in my ears, a rhythmic reminder of what’s at stake. I try to summon the same façade of confidence that I saw in Allie, summoning the power to smile brightly in hopes it will help in my bids as well.
In this moment, I am acutely aware of every detail—the slight tremor of my hands, the coolness of the air, the heavy scent of anticipation that hangs in the room. I take a deep breath, attempting to steady my nerves, to transform fear into fortitude. It's not just a performance; it's a trial, and the verdict lies in the hands of those watching from the shadows.
After Allie disappears behind the heavy velvet curtains into the back area, the men return, their steps methodical and silent. They move like ghosts, their presence felt more in the void they leave than in any sound or sight. My heart pounding a frantic rhythm against my ribcage. Every muscle in my body is tense, poised for action yet paralyzed by a deep-seated fear.
The murmur of the audience is a distant tide, ebbing and flowing with Viktor's words. He has them captivated, his voice a melody of dark charm and enigmatic allure. Then, amidst the lilting cadence, my name cuts through the air - sharp, unexpected. It comes from Viktor’s lips, a summoning that sends a jolt through my body.
The sound of my name in his voice resonates like a bell in a silent chamber, echoing in the recesses of my mind. It feels surreal, as if I'm both there and not, a spectator in my own story. My breathing becomes shallow, my head light, as if I'm about to float away from this moment, from this impending reality.
Viktor commands the stage with a dancer's grace, his cane twirling in his hand as if it's an extension of his own body. The spotlight follows him, casting him as the focal point in a sea of darkness. My gaze is locked onto him, unable to look away, even as I sense the men drawing nearer to me, their presence looming like shadows at the edge of my consciousness.
For the first time, I truly see Viktor not just as a performer, but as a man. His stature is imposing, his muscles defined under the stage lights, hinting at a strength that is both alluring and intimidating. He stands there, a figure of raw masculinity, and something within me stirs, a confusing blend of fear, admiration, and an unexpected hint of romantic fascination.
As he says my name again, it resonates in the air, and I feel a strange pull towards him. The vulnerability of my own nakedness contrasts sharply with his commanding presence, amplifying this unforeseen attraction. It's a tumultuous mix of emotions that swirls within me, and I try to rationalize it as nerves, a byproduct of the intense situation I find myself in.
But there's more to it, a deeper, more primal connection that I can't quite understand or articulate. His voice, the way he moves, the intensity in his eyes - all of it weaves a spell that I find myself reluctantly caught in.
I swallow hard, trying to quell the rising tide of these unfamiliar feelings. The logical part of my mind scrambles to regain control, reminding me of the precariousness of my situation. Yet, even as I brace myself for what's to come, a part of me can't help but be intrigued, even captivated, by the enigmatic Viktor.
As the men finally reach me, their hands firm on my arms, I cast one last, lingering look at Viktor. Then, with a resigned breath, I allow myself to be led towards the stage, towards an unknown fate that now seems irrevocably intertwined with Viktor’s.
Once I am brought to center stage, and my leash, like those before me, is attached to the ring above. Looking up at the ring, before settling my eyes in Viktor’s direction, putting on a wide smile, before the spotlight shines on me. Suddenly, my skin feels the heat, as my entire body is illuminated by the harsh spotlight. My sight is blinded momentarily as the men walk away.
I struggle to regain my balance from the movement and the bright light. Remembering to smile, I make a wide, bright smile to show off my face, purposely moving my feet apart, to project a happy would-be slave to my prospective buyers.
Watching as Viktor glides across the stage, stopping to the left of me, as I stare out amongst the audience. With the spotlight, my vision can only make out shadows in the field of patrons before me.
“Let’s begin…”, says Viktor in his usual smooth delivery. I shiver, knowing that in a few short moments I will become the property of another. Although this has been a desire and wish of my own, it still terrifies me now that the moment has arrived.
“Before us, is Jewels. This is the first time for her, and as such there are some conditions which need to be met by winning bidder. Firstly…”, he begins. My head spinning, since I didn’t ask my father for the restrictions, yet it appears he put forth a litany of items. This is my choice, so much like my dad to keep me from enjoying my life.
“Firstly, there is a $25,000 bond, which is due prior to taking possession, to cover permanent marks or injury. This is standard fair for first timers, to protect the current owner’s interest. She is untrained, but eager. Lots of potential available to her, but needs a strong hand. Don’t we all”, Viktor jokes as he struts the stage.
My thoughts focusing on the bond, including what it means. Immediately thinking of how wrong things could go with the wrong master. The possibility I could be killed never occurred to me, but seems a possibility.
“Next, she is only available for two weeks. She needs to be returned here, two weeks from today. Failure will result in forfeiture of the bond”, Viktor states somberly. Groans from the audience reverberate through the room. Viktor continues to address the bidders.
“Lastly, although mentioned with the bond, she can’t be permanently marked, including scars, wounds, piercing, brandings, etc. Now that we have this out of the way, let’s start the bidding at $1,000”, Viktor finishes with the restrictions.
Viktor prances around me, as the bids start to roll in. But I notice the bids are coming in much slower than expected, far slower than the other girls. Viktor uses his cane to poke at my breast, causing it to jiggle. “Lots of fun to be had with those. And someone gets to be the first to tame them”, chuckling to the crowd.
Hearing footsteps on the stage, I see a man dressed in black approaching Viktor on stage. “Pardon me for a moment folks”, as he steps to the side, just outside the light. My body still shining bright from the spotlight above. After a whispered exchange, Viktor returns to the stage, in front of me.
“Seems we have a serious question which has arisen. The two-week timeframe is too short for a neophyte to get a good experience. Let’s pause the bidding for a moment, as I believe the seller is still in the building”, as Viktor motions to the crew to pause.
Viktor approaches me, his head at my left ear, whispers into my ear, “Do you think your father will extend your time, say to 4 or 6 weeks?”. I nod in agreement, hoping that my father agrees. As I would like to experience a longer timeframe myself.
Viktor whispers back, “Всё идёт по плану “, pausing before repeating, “Good…everything is going according to plan”, as he steps back. Pulling away, before giving me a playful squeeze of my breast.
Viktor carries on with his performance, twirling his cane with such practiced ease that it almost masks the palpable tension surrounding us. I stand there watching him, my smile a forced facade, feeling the strain as my jaw tightens with the sustained effort. The stage lights blaze down on me, mercilessly illuminating my discomfort and vulnerability.
Here, in this exposed and anxious state, my mind wanders to the convoluted journey that has brought me to this point. Had my father agreed to let me become a permanent slave from the beginning, perhaps I could have been spared this public degradation. Now, in this moment of humiliation, the idea of a life in the shadows, away from prying eyes, strikes me as a twisted form of mercy. This chilling realization – that my present ordeal might be a preferable fate to a life of hidden, perpetual servitude – weighs heavily on me.
The wait for the staffer's return, with what I hope is positive news, seems interminable. Standing under the gaze of the audience, each second ticks by as a stark reminder of the path I've chosen. This is not the life I desired, yet it's the one I'm navigating, one fraught moment at a time.
I release a sigh, one heavy with a mix of relief and apprehension, as the man in black materializes at the edge of the stage. He moves with a purposeful stealth, a shadow blending into the dimly lit periphery. My eyes, along with those of the audience, are drawn to him, sensing the importance of his arrival.
Viktor, ever the master of his domain, catches the slightest hint of movement and instinctively turns. There's a subtle shift in his demeanor; the confident, almost theatrical poise gives way to a more guarded, anticipatory stance. He seems to understand the gravity of the moment, the weight of the message the staffer brings.
With a graceful, yet purposeful stride, Viktor steps out of the glaring spotlight, moving into a space where light and shadow intersect. It's a physical transition that mirrors the uncertainty of the situation. He meets the staffer in a semi-private enclave created by the stage's design, a space where whispered conversations can take place away from prying ears.
From my vantage point, I strain to catch a glimpse of their exchange, to glean any indication of what's being discussed. The tension in my body returns, winding tight as a drum. I feel a prickling sensation along my skin, a physical manifestation of the anxiety that grips me. This conversation between Viktor and the staffer could determine the course of my immediate future, yet I am nothing more than a distant observer, waiting helplessly for their verdict.
The room seems to hold its breath, the audience's attention now split between the enigmatic figure of Viktor and the dimly lit drama unfolding at the stage's edge. In this moment, time stretches and warps, each second lingering longer than the last. Feeling the strain on my neck, as my knees bend to ensure circulation.
After a seemingly long lapse, the conversation between the two comes to an end, as Viktor turns and emerges from the dark, a glint of a smile on his face. Moving near me, facing away from the bidders, before whispering in my ear, “You have a month”. As he pulls away to once more face the room.
Viktor steps forward, pointing his cane toward the room, "After extensive consultation with the seller, and with a heart full of joy, I wish to share that he has given much thought to your question. This matter, with its significant weight, has led him to thoughtful conclusion. He concurs that extending our engagement to a four-week session – yes, a full month – will serve us best. Therefore, we are adjusting timeline, moving from the initially planned two weeks to a more expansive four-weeks. Spasibo for your understanding and patience."
Viktor's voice cuts through the room, firm and commanding. "With this adjustment, the bidding should resume," he declares, his cane cutting through the air as he paces the stage. I watch, a sigh of relief escaping me, as the bidding indeed springs back to life. This time, the bids climb with a fervor, each new offer rapidly outpacing the last.
Striving to present an appealing view to the bidders, I stand, subtly swaying from side to side to prevent my legs from stiffening. Viktor, ever observant, catches this. With a deft poke of his cane, he prompts me to turn more slowly. This gradual rotation not only eases the tension in my legs but also affords the bidders a complete 360-degree view. Each angle offers them a new perspective, enhancing their evaluation.
I find myself unexpectedly grateful for Viktor's attentiveness. Previously, I had pegged him as a brute, driven solely by a singular motive. However, as the event has unfolded, he's revealed a side of compassion I hadn't anticipated. His unexpected displays of generosity and kindness, so out of place in this environment, have eased my tension. With his considerate treatment, my time on stage becomes less of a trial and more of an experience to navigate with a bit more ease.
As my gaze drifts to the large displays at the back, I'm taken aback by the bids climbing to heights beyond my wildest expectations. Despite the deterrent of the bond requirement, the numbers soar, dwarfing my initial estimations. This experience, unfolding in its complex layers, has already transcended anything I could have envisioned. Now, I find myself silently hoping that the next phase of this journey holds just as much, if not more, fulfillment.
As the pace of the bids begins to wane, Viktor swiftly reasserts his command of the room. With a strategic flourish, he uses his cane not just as a walking aid, but as a pointer to highlight my features, drawing the bidders' attention with deliberate precision. The first time he does this, his cane hovers towards my legs, emphasizing their size and shape. He makes a pointed comment about how elegant they would appear in a dress, his words painting a vivid picture for the bidders, reigniting their interest.
I find a moment of gratitude amidst the tension, thankful for the years I've dedicated to jogging. Those countless mornings, rising before dawn to hit the pavement, have sculpted my legs into a trim and athletic form. Each stride, each mile, has not only strengthened them but has also contributed to the subtle curves of my small bubble butt. It's a physical testament to my discipline and endurance, attributes that, in this moment, seem to be appreciated in a way I hadn't anticipated.
With the bids beginning to dip once more, Viktor approaches, leaning to my ear to whisper, "Listen, I vant you to pull both of your legs up, bring them close to your chest, like this," Viktor instructs with a firm, yet measured tone. As he whispers, he demonstrates the position with a swift, precise motion of his hands. "And then, I shall carefully turn you around, so they can see every aspect, every detail. It's important, da? For them to appreciate the full picture.". I can't help but feel a twinge of anxiety at the thought of being supported solely by my neck. However, Viktor, sensing my apprehension, offers reassurance. "It will only be for a short time," he says with a confidence that slightly eases my worries.
With a firm tap of his cane against my legs, Viktor signals me to act. I exert every muscle, lifting my legs upwards, feeling the strain course through me. The collar tightens around my neck, biting into my skin and constricting my breath. Gritting my teeth, I summon every ounce of willpower to maintain the pose. Viktor's rough hands press against my sides, guiding me as I'm slowly turned to face the crowd. Years of disciplined training and an unwavering desire to succeed lend me strength, allowing me to paint a striking image for the onlookers. The seconds stretch into what feels like hours under their intense gaze. Finally, Viktor taps my legs again, a silent permission to lower them back to the safety of the stage floor.
After what feels like an eternity under the spotlight, I notice the bids gradually losing their earlier momentum. Despite Viktor's masterful efforts to keep the energy high, the flurry of numbers starts to dwindle. My eyes are drawn inexorably to the digital reader board at the back of the room, where the latest bid flashes in bold digits. The figure is astonishing, almost surreal in its magnitude. I find myself shaking my head, a mix of disbelief and awe washing over me. This isn't just a successful outcome; it's a staggering one. The price attached to my name has soared beyond any of my wildest expectations, painting a stark, overwhelming picture of my value in this extraordinary auction.
As the final bid is called, a swell of clapping rolls through the crowd like a small but spirited roar of approval. Viktor, the ever-present maestro of the event, strides across the stage with a confident gait. He joins in the applause, his hands clapping with a resonant sound that echoes his satisfaction at the successful bids. "Congratulations to our bid winner, Dritan," he announces, his voice booming through the room. As he speaks, the spotlight that had been my glaring companion begins to dim, casting long shadows across the stage.
In this shift of light and attention, the men in black return. Their movements are swift and efficient, a stark contrast to the charged atmosphere of the bidding. The first man deftly releases the leash from the ring overhead, while each take hold of my arms. They guide me, almost ceremoniously, away from the stage. As we pass through the heavy curtain to the secluded back of the warehouse, a sense of finality settles over me. Behind me, the echoes of the auction linger, a stark reminder of the life-changing events that have just unfolded.
We hasten toward the rear of the warehouse, the men guiding me with a brisk efficiency. The sight that greets me is both unsettling and expected: a row of metal cages, their bars cold and uninviting, already housing the 'lots' sold before me. Each one tells a silent story of the auction's proceedings.
As they lead me to an unoccupied cage, they remove my leash, a silent indication for me to crawl inside. I comply, my movements stirring Allie, one of my neighbors in this grim lineup. Once inside the confined space, I instinctively curl up in a fetal position, turning to face Allie. As one of the men closes the cage door with a definitive clank, a sense of finality washes over me.
"Well, that was pretty crazy," I admit to Allie, trying to find a semblance of normalcy in this bizarre situation. She looks back at me, her expression a mixture of empathy and resignation.
In the background, Viktor's voice continues, muffled but distinct, as he announces the next girl up for bid. The back area, our temporary holding space, is eerily quiet, the occasional sounds from the stage action barely penetrating our secluded corner. The only other noises are the subdued clatter and shuffle of staff members moving equipment and cleaning up around us.
As I lay there, a growing pressure in my bladder becomes increasingly insistent. I find myself hoping, almost naively, that I'll be afforded the basic dignity of a bathroom break before being whisked away to meet my fate with Dritan, the auction's victor. It's a small comfort to cling to, a brief respite in the midst of an overwhelming reality.
Allie gives a knowing nod. "Yeah, the first time's always a bit wild. But hey, you got through it," she says, her voice carrying a mix of camaraderie and reassurance. "I was pretty shocked too at how much I went for. So, how many times have you been up there?" I ask, continuing our whispered conversation.
Before Allie can answer, '47' interjects with a hushed tone. "Shush, you two. You shouldn't even be talking," she cautions us. In the cage beside us, Jenisa remains undisturbed, her quiet snores a stark contrast to our tense whispers.
Despite the warning, I can't suppress my growing discomfort. "Fine, but do you think I can ask to pee?" I ask, a hint of desperation in my voice, not particularly caring who responds.
"Yeah, sure. Just ask one of the guards when they bring the next one in. If you're nice about it, they might let you. But for now, please, just be quiet," 47 whispers back, her voice tinged with a longing for the silence that reigned before my arrival.
In the stillness of our confined space, I strain my ears, listening intently to the muffled sounds beyond the curtain. Each noise, each murmur from the audience, becomes a clue in my silent countdown to the end of the next auction. My focus is singular - the opportunity to request a bathroom break. Soon enough, the sound of clapping filters through, signaling the conclusion of another sale. Moments later, the pair returns, escorting another girl to her designated cage. Seeing my chance, I gather my courage to speak up.
"Excuse me, sir," I say, infusing my voice with as much sweetness as I can muster. "I really need to use the bathroom. Could you possibly help me?" One of the guards pauses, then stoops down to meet my gaze. His eyes are indifferent, his expression unyielding.
"If you need to go, then go. I couldn't care less," he replies, his words devoid of empathy.
I press on, trying to appeal to his practical side. "But wouldn’t it be better to avoid a mess?" I ask, hoping reason might sway him.
His response is cold, unmoved. "I told you, if you need to go, then go. But be warned, if you make a mess, you'll be punished. And you'll be the one cleaning it up, with your tongue," he states, his voice firm and unyielding. "This isn't some sorority house, girl. Do what you want, but know there will be consequences." His words end with a menacing grin, leaving me with a chilling realization of the harshness of my situation.
Burdened with the weight of my predicament, I deliberate over my limited options. The fear of the consequences weighs heavily on me, and I muster every ounce of control to hold my bladder. Taking a cue from those around me, I close my eyes, hoping to escape into slumber. Surprisingly, sleep comes swiftly, perhaps a testament to the sheer exhaustion wrought by the day's events.
In my sleep, my mind conjures wild, unfettered dreams – a chaotic reflection of my tumultuous emotions. They dance vividly through my subconscious, yet their details dissolve into oblivion upon waking. As my eyes flutter open, they are met by an unexpected sight. A man stands at my cage, his gaze fixed upon me. His presence is startling, and I sit up, suddenly alert, trying to gauge his intentions from his expression.
His voice breaks the silence, calm yet assertive. "Hello Jewels. I am known as Dritan." His words are deliberate, each one resonating with an unspoken authority. "You will be coming with me to my home. Let's get you out of this cage and ready for the flight." As he speaks, a rush of thoughts whirls through my mind, each one laced with a mixture of apprehension and curiosity.
The reality of his words sinks in slowly, each syllable echoing in the confined space of the cage. I'm going far from home, farther than I've ever been. The distance isn't just physical; it's a leap into an unknown that stretches far beyond the long drive that brought me here. A mix of fear and a strange sense of anticipation grips me as I process the enormity of the change that lies ahead. Dritan's presence, both commanding and enigmatic, adds to the swirl of emotions that threaten to overwhelm me.
Dritan stood out in the crowd with an air of understated elegance. His hair, longer than the usual, fell just above his shoulders in a style that struck a balance between bohemian flair and professional neatness. It framed his face, accentuating sharp, thoughtful features that were often softened by a contemplative gaze. He wore a fine suit, impeccably tailored to his lean, athletic build. The fabric, a deep, rich shade that played with the light, hinted at luxury without ostentation. His presence was one of quiet confidence, the kind that didn't need to announce itself loudly. Completing his ensemble was a tie, not overly flamboyant but with a pattern that suggested a personality inclined towards both detail and a touch of nonconformity. Dritan carried himself with an ease that spoke of a man comfortable in his own skin, aware of his effect on others yet not defined by it.
As he unlocks the cage, Dritan extends a hand to assist me. I feel a sense of relief mixed with apprehension as I step out, my legs unsteady after the prolonged confinement. Standing before him, I can't help but notice the stark contrast between the grim surroundings of the cage and his poised demeanor.
He gently removes the original collar from around my neck, replacing it with a softer one made of supple leather. This new collar, equipped with a brass plate and adorned with three evenly spaced D-rings, seems both elegant and functional. Dritan's movements are smooth and practiced as he secures the collar, his fingers deftly locking it into place. There's a precision in his actions, a careful attention to detail that is both reassuring and intriguing.
Once satisfied with the fit of the collar, he meets my gaze and asks, "Do you require the use of the restroom before we depart?" His English is clear, the precision of his words reflecting a careful education. The question, considerate and straightforward, momentarily catches me off guard. It's a small act of kindness, a humanizing moment that stands in stark contrast to the transactional nature of the events that led up to this point.
I nod in response to Dritan's question, my need urgent but tempered by the fear of speaking out of turn and inviting punishment. He attaches a leash to my new collar and guides me with a firm but not unkind hand towards the back wall. The signs for the restrooms are clearly marked on each door. He leads me into the men's room, a choice that surprises me, but his composed demeanor suggests this is routine.
In the privacy of a stall, he directs me to sit. Relief floods through me as I release my bladder, the constant stream echoing slightly in the confined space. It's a quick, albeit much-needed respite. Once done, I signal to Dritan, my voice barely above a whisper, "May I clean myself up?"
He acknowledges my request with a nod and guides me out of the stall to the row of sinks. His movements are methodical as he soaks a cloth under the running water. Then, with a surprising gentleness, he uses the damp cloth to clean me up. His actions are clinical, devoid of any discomfort or embarrassment, which in turn makes me feel a bit more at ease in this strange, new dynamic between us.
After completing my brief but necessary visit to the bathroom, Dritan and I make our way outside. The sudden change from the dimly lit interior of the warehouse to the open air is jarring. My bare feet come into contact with the rough texture of the gravel in the parking lot, each pebble a sharp reminder of my vulnerability.
We approach an awaiting car, and it's immediately clear that it's no ordinary vehicle. Parked conspicuously among the mundane assortment of cars is a luxury Bentley. Its polished exterior gleams under the parking lot lights, and its spacious back seat area promises a level of comfort and privacy. The driver, who had been standing by, promptly opens the door for us.
With a guiding hand, Dritan assists me into the car. The rich, soft leather of the seats envelops me as I slide in, a stark contrast to the hardness of the gravel I had just walked on. I move along the seat, giving space for Dritan to join me. His presence, both imposing and reassuring, fills the car as he settles beside me. Once we are both comfortably seated, the driver shuts the door with a soft thud, sealing us inside the luxurious cocoon.
The engine purrs to life, and we begin to move. The car glides smoothly out of the warehouse parking lot, the driver navigating with practiced ease. As we leave the warehouse behind, I find myself wondering if we are heading to the airport. The thought of flying, of leaving everything familiar behind, brings a mix of trepidation and an inexplicable sense of anticipation. With each mile we distance ourselves from the warehouse, my old life seems to recede further into the past, making way for an uncertain but unavoidable future.
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Julie is at the auction, being sold off for temporary ownership and training.
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