Slave of the Aristocracy: Book One – On the Auction Block
Page 17
The handlers pushed the newly-unmasked and collared Irene toward the men who took her into their midst with eager hands.
She didn’t care. She was so exhausted, so pain-ridden, so crushed that she had no more feeling than a piece of meat.
Sapphire had said that every slave aspired to feel nothing. Irene had achieved that state tonight.
Men would have to take their pleasure from her because she had no pleasure of hers to give to them.
* * *
Dodge examined her collar. “At least, it’s a pretty thing. It’s a piece of jewelry. I was afraid that they were going to give you something like a black leather dog collar with an engraved steel plate.”
“It feels like a dog collar,” Irene said. A collar was a collar. No one who saw it would mistake it for a necklace.
“It doesn’t look like it. It looks like the choker that I’ve seen some ladies wear.”
That was the point of giving her a lady’s name and a parody of a lady’s jewelry. She was toxic. The association with her would immediately defile both.
“No lady is ever again going to wear a gold choker, for fear that it will resemble this one,” she said.
“I guess not.” Dodge shrugged. Lady’s fashions were no concern to him. “The kennelman reported that you were severely used last night. He cautioned me to let you heal for two days to ensure that you don’t suffer permanent damage.”
“I’m sorry that I can’t serve you properly today. My cunt is still in good shape. If you want to use that, I’m sure that you won’t damage it.” Her jaw and ass were the most sore – after her calves and shoulders, which were almost non-functional. Once they’d seen her familiar face, the gentlemen had delighted in availing themselves of the services that they considered most humiliating. That pretty much left her normal sex organ untouched.
“If you think…” Dodge let his sentence trail off.
She didn’t respond verbally; she was already laying on her back on her cot, naked, so she simply pulled her blanket aside and spread her legs.
When he entered her, she whispered, “Fuck me good, Mr. Dodge. Fuck me damn good.”
He did.
She stayed in bed for two days, only getting up for the essential functions.
Barry, the kennelman, massaged her shoulders and calves. That helped. On the third day, she expressed her gratitude with her best oral technique.
He was happy to see that she was recovering.
She wasn’t asked to help at the house all week.
On Friday, Mr. Dodge came to the kennel. He was carrying a pair of handcuffs and a chain leash. “I’ve struck a deal. You have a new owner. The car is waiting outside. Turn around.”
She almost collapsed from the shock. She had no warning that she was about to be sold.
By tradition, a slave was always delivered to her new owner naked and leashed with her hands cuffed behind her back.
“To whom am I being delivered?” she asked after he clicked the cuffs closed.
“You’ll find out soon enough,” Dodge answered as he slipped the chain around her neck.
She wished that the chain would scratch the soft gold collar to illegibility but it was loose and rested safely below the choker.
Her collar would proclaim to her new owner that she was Irene.
END OF BOOK ONE