Slave of the Aristocracy: Book One – On the Auction Block Read online

  “Do you have any questions?”

  She did. “In the other room, I was injected with something. Do you know what it was?”

  “One of the shots was a contraceptive. Unless told otherwise, we presume that your owner doesn’t want you pregnant. You’ll get one shot every month from your kennelman. Unless your owner decides to have your ovaries removed.”

  Flame felt queasy. She hadn’t considered that her owner could sterilize her any time he felt like it. Or modify her in any way he chose. She had noticed that none of the slaves who were sold today were flat chested. In fact, all were well endowed. She wondered how many had been surgically improved by their owners. Her natural breasts were already a good size, but maybe her new owner liked tits the size of watermelons. If so, he would have implants installed.

  She could only pray that she would never be owned by a man with a fetish for amputees. Or someone who liked his slaves mute.

  The woman didn’t notice Flame’s sudden disquiet. Or didn’t care. She just kept talking. “Some owners prefer a sterile slave, others want to keep the possibility of breeding open. The other shots were vaccinations. We have them for most sexually-transmitted diseases. All the common ones. It’ll take a couple of weeks for you to build an immunity but most gentlemen are clean so you’ll probably be okay until then. Your owner might not pass you around if he wants to enjoy you exclusively for a while first. On the other hand, he might start throwing a lot of parties to show you off right away. You never can tell. ”

  Flame hung her head at the thought of being passed around. She had imagined James buying her and keeping her to himself.

  Irene had been so foolish. But Flame was going to handle whatever came. This was her new life.

  “Get yourself made up,” the woman said. “I’ll be back in a while to inspect you.” Her voice lost its mother-hen tone. “Do a good job or you’ll regret it. If you don’t pass inspection, I know how to discipline a slave so that it doesn’t leave a mark but makes her suffer for days.”

  As soon as the woman left, Flame set to work with all the skill that she had developed during her life as a lady.

  When the woman returned, she examined Flame’s face critically. “You’ll do for now. That’s lady makeup but you’re a fallen lady so it’s appropriate today. Your owner will wipe that off your face with his cock. Next time, though, take a close look at other slaves. Slave makeup is bolder. More sensual. Red lips. Dark eyes. Don’t keep trying to look like a lady or your owner will lose interest and go back to his wife. Slaves suffer enough when they’re revered. A slave who’s not wanted any more suffers hell on earth until she’s sold.”

  She picked up the handcuffs. “Now get out of that chair and turn around.”

  When Flame’s wrists were cuffed again, the woman parted her hair and ripped the gauze from the back of her neck. “Bleeding’s stopped and you’ve been registered. You’re good to go.”

  Flame’s heart thudded beneath her breast. Good to go meant good to be taken.

  The woman opened the door and the handler stepped into the room. He was carrying the chain to clip about her neck and lead her back to her owner.

  It was already five o’clock.

  * * *

  Gentlemen left the auction house by the main entrance if they were empty-handed but, if they had purchased a slave, they left by the side entrance.

  By tradition, the slave was taken from the building nude.

  A portico allowed loading out of the weather but provided no privacy. Any time a car entered the portico, men on the street were sure to stop and wait to see the newly-purchased slave be led from the building into the vehicle.

  Gawkers were allowed only a brief glimpse from a distance but it was always titillating for a man who would never be able to afford his own slave to see a beautiful nude young specimen being led to her impending violation by her new owner.

  Even slaves born to it were humiliated by this brief exposure to random passers-by. Traditionally, slaves wore a standard housedress when they were in public. They were only seen nude in private by their owner, kennelmen, and invited guests.

  Flame’s owner, Mr. Dodge, did not have a driver. He led her all the way around the car to the passenger seat and eased her in before returning to the driver’s seat and starting the engine.

  The half dozen men who were loitering on the street had an exceptionally long and unobstructed view of her.

  Inside the car, she could not fasten her seatbelt with her hands cuffed behind her back.

  Dodge reached across and did it for her. There was no law requiring property to be properly secured inside a vehicle, but she was worth a hundred-thousand plaqs. He would not risk losing such valuable property in a minor traffic accident.

  After he had secured her, he took a moment to fondle her breasts. He did not ask permission – he had not yet spoken a single word to her – he just grabbed his property and enjoyed the feel of her in his hands.

  She didn’t look at him, just hung her head and waited until he had had his fill of her. Her husband hadn’t squeezed her breasts in more than a year. This soft mauling did not feel especially pleasant, but it was oddly flattering.

  Then he pulled away from the building and merged smoothly into traffic.

  He lived in a large house on Norbit Hill. It was a good address. Members of the aristocracy lived in the neighborhood. More esteemed members higher on the hill, and minor members lower, but all reasonably nearby.

  Dodge was wealthy enough to live a third of the way up. As many aristocrats as commoners lived at this altitude.

  James and Irene were acquainted with people who lived closer to the top of the hill and had visited them many times. Now Flame wondered if she were going to become intimately familiar with many of the gentlemen who lived here.

  Even if Dodge was not that generous to his neighbors, she would have preferred to live where she was less likely to be seen by friends if she were sent on errands, as slaves often were. Still, she was relieved that she was not being taken to a farmhouse far in the country. She had little appetite for milking cows or slopping pigs. Or for the men who did.

  The wrought-iron gate opened to admit his car and then closed behind him.

  Flame looked but she couldn’t tell if the gate was automatic or was tended by a guard. She guessed that it was automatic. Dodge had the air of a man who liked machines better than people.

  This was not the main entrance to the grounds. Houses with kennels usually had a slave entrance so that the family wouldn’t be disturbed by their unseemly arrivals and departures.

  Irene had visited many houses with slave kennels, but she had never seen one close up. They had always been distant buildings, mostly obscured by the house and grounds.

  She could see, from the outside, that this kennel was smaller than James’.

  Inside, there were three cells, a kitchen, and a bathroom off a vestibule. There was one other door but that was closed. She could guess what that room was for and her gut clenched in anticipation.

  The bathroom barely had room for a tiny sink, claustrophobic shower, and a stained toilet.

  The kitchen had a small refrigerator, hotplate, sink, and a single stack of cupboards.

  Pulling on the chain that was still fastened about her neck, Dodge led her to her cell. It had a cot and a free-standing wardrobe. There was barely room to stand.

  The door locked only from the outside and there was no window.

  He kept her leashed and left her hands cuffed behind her back.

  “You’ll stay here when you’re not being used,” he said. His first words to her.

  “Yes, sir.” Her first words to him.

  He led her back to the one door that had not yet been opened.

  Her breath quickened.

  Dodge drew a key from his pocket and unlocked the door.

  Flame had only a moment to see that the pleasure room was equipped with a full-sized bed, some odd furniture, and double bathtub before she was bent across the back of an overstuffed easy chair.

  She stayed in place while Dodge shed his shirt and dropped his trousers.

  He was erect. He kicked her knees apart, parted her nether lips with his fingers, and thrust into her with a long, smooth stroke.

  It was a sudden penetration, but she accommodated him with ease. She had been anticipating this all day and was so wet that she was dripping.

  He grunted as he thrust.

  Some part of her, the lady that was still there, told her that she should object to the rudeness of his assault. But the greater part of her, the primal woman that had been so long repressed, howled for more. For deeper penetration. For more vigorous thrusting. If she were going to get fucked, she wanted to get really fucked. Good and hard and deep.

  A bestial passion rose from the depths and filled her consciousness. Her dainty lady-like objections were drowned and crushed.

  Flame’s hips bucked and writhed and ground against Dodge’s, desperate to pull as much stimulation from him as she could get.

  Her cuffed hands flailed helplessly in the air behind her back and she began to howl aloud.

  Her cunt contracted hard around Dodge’s cock as it began to pulse his seed into her.

  Her body, the treacherous thing, was flooded with pleasure.

  He stayed in her for a minute, then withdrew, pulled his pants up, and staggered to the bed.

  She stayed where she was, bent over the back of the easy chair, waiting to see if he had any instructions for her. While she waited she basked in her afterglow and lazily contemplated her reaction to her violation.

  She had been a virgin when she married James and had never strayed from her marital bed. Dodge was the second man to have fucked her. This was completely different from anything James had ever done to her and she was astounded by the pleasure that she had felt. She had not realized how desperately she had needed to be fucked hard and fast by a man who wanted her badly.

  As the glow began to fade, she felt a cold drip run down the inside of her thigh. She slowly unbent and stood erect.

  Dodge watched her through half-lidded eyes.

  She waited.

  Finally, he said, “Come here.”

  As she walked toward the bed, he fished a key from his pocket. “Turn around.”

  She complied and he unlocked the cuffs. “Put these on that table and then come and lie beside me.”

  She put the cuffs and key on the table and then laid down on the other side of the bed, face up.

  It was a relief to be able to move her arms again. She was about to reach up and massage her shoulders a little, but Dodge put his hand on her breast and began to caress it.

  He said nothing, just fondled her gently.

  He lay so still that she would have thought him asleep but for the movement of his hand on her.

  “I should whip you, you know.” His tone was conversational.

  She wasn’t sure what to say. Agree? Ask why? Object? “I’m your property. You may to do with as you please.” That was the basic fact of slavery.

  “It pleases me to feel your tits.”

  She scooted closer so that he wouldn’t have to reach so far.

  After a few minutes, his hand relaxed and sagged to the bed. His breathing fell into a slow, regular cadence. He was asleep.

  She remained in place, awake, relaxed, waiting for him to awaken and beat her. Or fuck her again. Or do whatever else he pleased.

  This was her new life. Waiting on her owner’s pleasure.

  She thought about the wardrobe in her cell. She wondered if it contained any clothes or if she were going to remain naked in these kennels for the rest of her days. She wondered about food. Would her owner feed her well or put her on a starvation diet until her ribs showed and her hips protruded? Then she decided to stop wondering about anything. She could only accept what happened. She no longer had the power to change her circumstances so trying to think ahead was futile.

  Maybe she napped or maybe not. She couldn’t tell. She only knew that, when she looked again at Dodge, he was looking back at her.

  He said nothing so she spoke. “May I ask a question?”

  He nodded.

  “Do you want to whip me?”

  “Not especially.”

  “Why did you use the word, should? You said that you should whip me.”

  “I heard that from someone. They said that an owner should always whip his slave soon after he brings her home. It establishes in her mind that she is his property and should fear his discipline.”

  She looked around the room. There was a multi-tailed flogger, a leather strap, a wooden paddle, and a cane hanging on hook above a padded bench.

  “I have no doubt that I am your property. I am yours to do with as you wish. I don’t need to be whipped to understand that.”

  “I know.”

  “But if it’s recommended, then maybe you should whip me. Just to be certain that you haven’t missed an important step in breaking me to my new position.”

  “Do you want to be whipped?”

  “No. I’ve never been whipped before. The idea terrifies me.” Her heart was pounding again. Today, she had been subjected to one ordeal after another.

  She climbed out of bed and walked across the room to the whipping bench. It was a heavy wooden frame fitted with leather pads. When the leather cuffs at the corners were strapped about her wrists and ankles, she would be kneeling with her torso covering the length of the bench. In that position, her buttocks would protrude and her back be exposed. The frame was raised so that her calves would be presented at knee level and her back at waist level. A man with a whip would have unrestricted access to her back, buttocks, thighs, and calves.

  She kneeled on the pads and stretched across the bench, extending her arms on either side toward the cuffs that were attached to the frame. “You’re going to have to fasten me. I can’t work the buckles by myself.”

  Dodge rose from the bed and padded over to her. She was naked; he wearing only pants.

  He examined the whips and paddles. “These look like they could do some serious damage.”

  She turned her head to look at them. “I am an expensive piece of property. You own me and you can damage me as much as you want, but you will lower my value if you disfigure me. I’d recommend the wooden paddle on my ass. I think you could hit me pretty hard without breaking my skin. It would be enough to cause severe pain, and complete humiliation. You can make me suffer more than enough to drive home your point.”

  “I guess I should do it, then.” He bent to secure her right wrist, then walked around and secured her left. After buckling cuffs around her ankles, he buckled another strap across the small of her back.

  She could barely move. She sucked great breaths and waited.

  It took forever for Dodge to get the paddle from the wall, examine it, swing it through the air a few times to get a feel for the heft and balance, and then position himself at her rear.

  She couldn’t stop trembling in fear. This was going to hurt. She already regretted her casual bravado.

  He didn’t pull the first stroke. A sharp crack echoed through the pleasure room.

  Her buttocks flared in pain and she yelped in shock.

  He paused to examine the effect of the stroke on her flesh.

  Her yelp was replaced by kittenish whimpering. Then her whimper was punctuated by a second crack of the paddle.

  The second stroke fell on the bruised and tender flesh left by the first.

  Her howl was sincere.

  She jerked her wrists and ankles but the cuffs were unyielding.

  The third stroke in the same place left her butt quivering uncontrollably. She was barely aware of her screams as she desperately tried to escape.

  He did not stop until he had delivered ten strokes exactly. He must have been counting them.

  Flame’s ass felt like it was on fire. Her hair was soaked with tears where it had stuck to her face when she had flailed her head about.

  She slumped on the bench and sobbed uncontrollably.

  “That was surprisingly satisfying,” Dodge said as he hung the paddle back on the wall. “We’re going to have to do that again.”

  “Any time you want,” Flame replied through her sniffles. “Any time you want.”

  “What I want is to fuck that hot red ass.”

  Paddling Flame had resurrected his manhood.

  The whipping bench included a mechanism that Flame had not noticed. Dodge turned a crank that was concealed underneath and the pads that secured her lower legs separated and swung apart and up, pulling her thighs wide open.

  Dodge stepped between her legs, dropped his trousers, and thrust himself deep into her.

  It was the second time that he had taken her. Both times from the rear when she was restrained. She saw a pattern emerging.

  To her surprise, it was also the second time she climaxed in harmony with him. In one evening she had experienced more orgasms than in the past three years of marriage to James.

  Enslaving herself to a stranger had been a mistake, but it did have its compensations.

  He locked her in her cell before going to the house to spend the evening with his family.

  It was dark in the windowless room. There was a light fixture on the ceiling, but the switch was outside the door. The owner, not the slave decided if she were allowed to see.

  She spent the night sleeping and waking, on and off. But she had nowhere to go and nothing to do but stay on her cot until she dozed again.

  * * *

  When Flame opened her eyes, she found a stranger standing in the doorway to her cell.

  “Who are you?”

  “Barry. Kennel service. I’ll be here at seven every morning. There’s soap and shampoo in your wardrobe. Get showered now.”

  Barry openly appraised her naked body when she climbed out of bed. She supposed that it didn’t matter. She was property. She no longer decided who could see her naked, her owner did.

  She had not been able to look in the wardrobe before because it was dark in the cell. Now she opened it and found a few toiletries. There was nothing else inside. No clothes. Not even a robe or slippers.

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