The steady murmur in the auction hall increased in volume as Moira was
brought in as part of the human livestock for sale. She was shackled and naked but for a
ridiculously short dark blue top, the shoulder straps of which left her strong
shoulders and upper back bare. Her big
melon-like breasts spilled out over the front of it, completely uncovered,
bobbing and swaying with every step. The
mockery of the inadequate garment made her seem even more naked.
She was followed by a stern-looking woman with blond hair tied back in a
ponytail. She wore the dark uniform
jacket and skirt of a female slave warder. A set of keys dangled from a chain
at her hip and she held a cat-o'-nine-tails in her hand, which she laid across
Moira's naked backside as they approached the bidding platform.
This was really a bleak stage with a rostrum to one side, that allowed
each item to be displayed slightly above the heads of the bidders and thus
afforded them a clear view. The stage
had a curtain backdrop of wine coloured velvet.
A spotlight from above cast a broad beam of illumination onto the place
at front and centre of the stage, where the slaves were put on show.
The auctioneer, a distinguished-looking gentleman in an expensive
business suit, shuffled some papers on the rostrum until he found the page he
was searching for. He turned and raised
an irritated brow over his spectacles at a young assistant standing idly by at
the extreme end of the stage. This young
lad, discomfited by the auctioneer's irate cough and sharp gesture with his
pen, stepped forward quickly and slid a square, white metal sign into a display
frame standing upright at the front edge of the stage, then retreated, somewhat
abashed.
Moira was about to climb the short flight of steps up onto the stage
when her overseer shouted and the whip cracked her once again across the
buttocks. She turned her head, slightly bewildered, and was instructed harshly
to climb onto the stage by means of a mounting block.
This was built in next to the steps and was quite high, so that in her
first attempt at scaling it Moira slipped off, much to the irritation of the
auctioneer, who turned his steely gaze momentarily down on her over his reading
glasses.
The woman slave warder belaboured her a couple of more times with the
flogger as she made a second attempt, placing her shackled hands and one knee
on top before hoisting herself up in an ungainly fashion. Her overseer climbed the steps beside her and
a third crack across the hips drove her scrambling up onto the stage with her
bare bum waggling.
A shining length of brand new chain with heavy steel links lay on the
stage, attached to a sturdy steel band bolted to the floor. The slave warder bent down and fastened this
to Moira's ankle ring with a metallic snap that seemed to echo like a gunshot
in the now silent auction hall.
Moira was on display. The
appraising eyes of at least fifty strangers were fixed on her face and body,
studying every inch of her.
She was tall, with massive breasts sloping out over a strong ribcage and
slightly rounded stomach. Her wide hips
curved down into sturdy thighs, between which her dark pubic bush grew
luxuriantly. Her knee joints were well
defined and sensual above long calves and high arched bare feet.
A wealth of light brown hair grew in a dense mop of thick curls around
her head, coiling just above her attractively arched brows, past her wide
healthy cheeks, and down around her neck to shoulder length. Moira's rounded mass of curls had always been
her crowning glory, and although the rigours of her captivity now presented it
in sluttish disarray, it still shone beautifully under the spotlight.
Moira's hazel brown eyes, dark-lashed and striking, combined an almost
innocent frankness with a rich and natural sensuality. Her nose was small and slightly snubbed over
a wide, full-lipped mouth, the strong jawline hinting at a peculiar endurance
of spirit. A beauty spot on her right
cheek gave her a baroque look.
She wore no slave collar on her neck and the very absence of it only increased
the interest of prospective purchasers desirous of making her their exclusive
property.
Above her, dust motes floated in the beam of the spotlight and the
shadows at the top of the dark curtain backdrop loomed oppressively.
She faced the crowd in her full-frontal nakedness with a brave calm and
touching dignity, despite the degrading circumstances. Inches from her left foot, the white metal
sign identified her as a number in bold black characters.
And so she was introduced to the gathering. "Lot 17," announced the auctioneer
in a clear, clipped but slightly bored tone.
"Female slave, thirty-two years old, currently held on state slave
farm. All rights forfeited by past
misdemeanours. Well built, as you can
see. Intelligent, with highly-sexed nature. May need further training, but would clearly
make good breeding stock or public sex performer. Excellent purchase. Shall we start the bidding at five
thousand?"
The auctioneer's gold-rimmed spectacles caught the light as he glanced
around the hall. Shortly after, his
lifted gavel acknowledged a bid.
"Thank you, sir. Do I have
any improvement on five thousand? ... Yes, madam - six."
Moira's body quivered slightly with nerves as the bidding got under way.
She breathed deeply to calm the beating of her heart and her big sweat-slick
breasts rose and fell, shaking.
In spite of her degrading public sale, or more truly because of it, she
was becoming highly aroused. Her eyes
shone with a rising excitement at being exposed and put up for auction as a sexual
object, her nipples distended on their heaving mounds and an unmistakable
wetness started seeping from her moist vaginal lips.
Dazed by a sense of unreality, she momentarily closed her eyes, thinking
to wake up from a dream. But when she
opened them again the buyers were still there, bidding for her. Not even during her nights as a stripper had
she been so affected by public exposure.
"I have seven," she heard the auctioneer as the bidding
rose. "Do I hear eight?"
He nodded at the female slave warder from the rostrum. A cruel smile twisted the lips of the latter
and she reached out a hand to squeeze and jiggle each of Moira's massive
breasts in turn, to stimulate the bidders' interest even more. Moira endured the violation bravely, although
she gasped as her female overseer's rough handling of her sweat-slippery tits
caused a fresh flood of juices to soak her inner thighs.
"Turn her," instructed the auctioneer dispassionately. To him Moira was little more than a side of
meat. The slave warder released her
magnificent breasts and ordered her to turn with a sharp crack of the leather
cat's tails on her naked hip and thigh.
Her bare feet shifted with a clink of the heavy steel ankle chain as she
turned to present her back to the gathering.
Her bum wobbled and was still, her weight settling evenly on her
thighs. Perspiration ran from her
armpits down her sides and beneath the ludicrously short hem of her skimpy top,
which only served to emphasize them more, the broad globes of her big
whip-marked buttocks shone enticingly under a patina of sweat.
"As you can see, ladies and gentlemen," the auctioneer
continued, "the perfect slavewhore for those with an eye for the more
voluptuous figure."
Again he nodded at the female warder, who reached down to cup, squeeze
and slap Moira's bare ass cheeks before lashing them once more with the
whip. The bidders could hear the breath
hiss sharply between the slave's teeth at the severity of the blow and her bum
quivered as an angry red weal was left across her bare flesh.
"Eight thousand. Thank you,
madam. Do I hear nine?"
"Ten thousand," called out a clear confident female voice.
There was a loud murmur at that, and Moira gasped, imagining she
recognised the voice. She was acutely
and sensually aware of her throbbing whiplashed bottom and the eyes of the
bidders staring at it. Sweat gathered in
her bum crack and her warm musky core continued leaking uncontrollably.
"Ten thousand once," said the auctioneer, glancing
around. "Ten thousand twice,"
he said with his gavel poised. Someone
taking phone bids shook their head. The
gavel came down. "The slavewhore
sold for ten thousand pounds to Amanda Bennett of the Eros Corporation."
Moira gasped again and swayed slightly with shock at hearing the name of
her purchaser. She was vaguely aware of
the chain being unlatched from her ankle ring and the slave warder's rough grip
on her arm. She paused at the edge of
the stage and her eyes met those of a pretty young blond woman in a dark
business suit, who nodded and smiled like the cat that just got the cream.
"Get a move on, slut," snarled the female warder, whipping
Moira's rump as she was forced to clamber back down off the block. Moira hardly felt it. She'd just been bought by the woman she once
regarded as her best friend.