As the auctioneer spoke, the woman walked forward onto the brightly lit runway, urged on by the handler at her side. She was wearing the standard garb for these occasions: a simple white robe with a drawstring closure at the top. She glared defiantly out at the audience. The handler reached over and pulled the drawstring, opening the neck of the garment wide so that it slid down her body to end in a pile at her feet.
“Take a look, gentlemen,” the announcer said. “Mrs. Addison comes from the best stock in the state. Which of you will take this beautiful lady home, to keep your bed warm tonight?”
Mrs. Addison had a superb body. Her breasts were firm and well-formed, capped by pink nipples; her waist was slim, and her round buttocks flowed smoothly into her long legs. The pouting lips of her sex could be seen through the fine hairs that covered her mound. Her complexion was pale and her skin was a delicate shade of pink.
Her hands were cuffed behind her back. This was only done at an auction when the slave was particularly fractious and likely to cause trouble. Even if she had not been shown in restraints, most of the buyers had seen the by-play at the beginning, when the handler had been forced to use the control rod just to get her out on the runway. Most buyers would not be interested in a slave who was likely to cause trouble.
As Quentin had expected, the bidding for Mrs. Addison was desultory. He waited until the few locals interested in the lot had reached their budget limits, then put in his bid at five thousand. Merrick made a half-hearted effort, forcing the price up to sixty-five hundred, but he refused to raise Quentin’s bid at seven thousand, which proved to be the winner, several thousand lower than Quentin had been prepared to go, had it been necessary.
He was pleased with this acquisition, but he knew that the main prize of the day remained to be won. He sat tight, waiting with growing impatience for Elenora Reilly to be brought out.
At last they reached number twenty. As she stepped through the door at the back of the stage with her handler behind her, the continuous murmur of conversation in the auction hall ceased and silence fell over the room.
The girl looked with wide eyes at the handler, who nodded and pointed to the runway.
As the overhead spotlights focused on her, the auctioneer said “Miss Elenora Reilly, age eighteen, debt enslavement. She is five-foot five inches tall and weighs one hundred and eight pounds. This one is a virgin, and, of course, that is backed by our famous Celestial County Auctions warranty.”
The photograph in the catalog, Quentin saw, had done no justice to her. She had the face of a magical being, a sprite or a fay, perhaps. The handler pulled the drawstring, allowing the robe to slither down her body, after momentarily catching on a nipple and drop to the floor at her feet. The entire audience drew a breath at the magnificent body that was exposed.
Her neck was long and graceful. The upper summits of her superb breasts were lightly sprinkled with a few freckles. The nipples were coral with small, pale areolas. Her breasts were so firm that they almost made no movement at all when she moved. They were the best Quentin had ever seen. Her waist was slender, her hips and bottom-globes firm and round, and her legs well formed and in perfect proportion. Her virginal lower lips protruded shyly from their thin covering of coppery hairs. She blushed deeply when her garment slid away, and she began to cover herself with her hands. The handler said something to her, and she nodded and then lifted both her hands (this one’s hands were not restrained, Quentin noted) high overhead, and began to slowly turn in place to give everyone on the hall a look at her from all angles.
He decided that the girl’s price had just about doubled from his initial estimate, but it did not deter him. He was more determined than ever that his principal should have this girl.
The bidding started at fifteen thousand and quickly shot up to forty. At this point, the all locals were out of it, and the auction a contest between the professional agents.
Quentin waited until Barkley and Hanson reached their limits and were forced to drop out, before he put in his first bid at sixty-five thousand against his lone remaining competitor, Merrick.
The latter made a sour face, and went on to seventy. They traded bids, until Quentin’s stood at eighty-five thousand. The auctioneer turned to Merrick, who pulled something out of his jacket, glanced at it, shook his head, and said in a strangled voice, “I bid ninety thousand.”
There was a gasp from the crowd.
Quentin had made up his mind that was not going to leave Celestial County without this girl. He was not absolutely certain that his principal would approve his paying such an extravagant price for the girl, but he was ready to take the chance. To a true connoisseur of female flesh, Elenora Riley was worth any price. He only hoped his principal agreed.
“Ninety-five thousand,” he said, doing his best to sound as if he was prepared to go on to a hundred ninety-five, if necessary.
There was another collective intake of breath from the crowd. The auctioneer looked at Merrick, who shook his head and sat down.
“The bid for this lot is ninety-five thousand crowns,” the auctioneer said. “Going once, going twice, sold to buyer number sixteen,” he said, banging down his hammer. The audience burst into applause as the naked Elenora looked on in bewilderment.
“Ladies and gentlemen,” the auctioneer said in an excited voice, “the winning bid of ninety-five thousand crowns is the highest price ever paid for a single lot in the history of this auction house. My congratulations to you, sir,” the loudspeaker boomed. Quentin raised his hand to acknowledge the new storm of applause that followed, as the handler led his purchase off the stage.
Later, as he waited outside the buyer’s door for the slave proctors to bring out his new acquisitions, he chatted with his fellow agents who were also there to collect their purchases.
“Whoever you’re working for must give you a long leash,” Merrick said. “I’m glad you bought that red-head. I kind of lost my head on that last bid. I guess I would have had to cover some of that out of my pocket if I had gotten her.”
“My principal will pay for quality,” Quentin said, with more confidence than he felt. “I’m not worried.”
The door to the pens opened, and a proctor appeared with Quentin’s two purchases. Both women were wearing the same simple white robes that they in which they had been displayed during the auction. They also both now wore metal collars to which leashes were attached. Quentin had supplied these standard control collars to the proctors after paying for his purchases. He had the remote control for them in his pocket.
“Is Mrs. Addison prepared as I had requested?” Quentin asked the handler.
“Yes, sir,” the man responded, lifting the robe to show that her hands were well secured behind her back with manacles which were also attached to her bare feet. “Just as you ordered.”
Quentin pretended to subject the restraints to a close scrutiny, when he was actually admiring the delightful curve of Olivia Addison’s buttocks and the creamy flesh of her flank.,
“And is Miss Reilly wearing the boots I sent back?” he asked.
“Yes, sir,” the man replied again. “See for yourself,” he said, lifting the girl’s robe high enough to reveal the soft buskins on her feet.
“Very well done, “Quentin said. He handed the man a crackling banknote as the handler gave him the leashes.
“Come along, ladies,” he said to his captives. “We’ve got a train to catch. That way.” He pointed.
They took a few steps towards the door to the street, then the blonde stopped suddenly, glared at Quentin, and said, “I’m not going one step further without shoes. She has them. Why don’t I get any?”
Quentin said patiently, “You do not have shoes because I have not chosen to give them to you. You are a slave, and you will go where I tell you to go, shoes or no shoes.” He took a small box from his pocket, flicked a switch, and pushed a button.
Mrs. Addison gave a cry of pain and fell to the ground, twisting and rolling until he pushed t
he button again.
“You are wearing a slave control collar, Mrs. Addison. I can dispense pain to you in almost any degree I desire. You have just experienced the lowest setting,” Quentin said, looking down at the woman on the ground. She scowled back at him. “Now, get up and get moving before you discover what the higher levels feel like.”
Quentin had expected the fractious Mrs. Addison to do something like this, and part of the reason he had given Elenora the boots was to provoke a reaction from the older woman and thus give her an early lesson. He hoped that a quick, comparatively mild shock at the outset would make her easier to handle on the trip. The other reason he had given shoes to the younger girl was to do everything possible to protect his ninety-five thousand crown slave and deliver her in perfect condition. Thus, Elenora’s wrists were tied with soft cords, rather than metal cuffs because he did not see her as any threat to attempt to escape, and he did not wish to leave any marks on her satiny skin.
As they walked, Elenora regarded him with grave eyes. “Are you our new… owner, sir?” she asked timidly. Her voice was sweet and soft, fitting her perfectly.
He flagged down a cab while he replied, “No, my dear, I’m just the agent for your new owner. I’ll take you to him on the overnight train and you will meet him tomorrow.”
Quentin relaxed somewhat once he had settled himself and his wards in the private compartment on the train. There was always the chance that something might go wrong and a newly purchased slave might somehow escape, although it had not happened to him yet in more than twenty years in the trade. Once the train began to move, however, that tiny possibility all but vanished, at least until the next day.
They dined together in Quentin’s private compartment. First, he and Elenora ate at the little fold-down table, while Olivia glared daggers at them. Then he ordered the red-head to feed the blonde aristocrat. He had no intention of letting Mrs. Addison out of the shackles until she was safely delivered to his principal.
After dinner, he had Elenora assist Olivia in the toilet, while the latter grumbled at the unfairness of it all. Afterwards, he ordered her to go to sleep on a bed he folded out from the wall.
“I’m not tired,” Olivia answered sulkily.
“Just lie down,” Quentin directed. “I’ll take care of that.”
She lay down on her side on the bed with a rattle of her chains. Quentin knelt beside her and produced a small syringe, which he plunged into her thigh. Olivia shrieked.
“It’s just sedative to keep you out of my hair until morning,” he explained.
As he watched, her face slowly relaxed, her eyelids drooped, and she was quickly asleep. He saw that in repose Olivia’s face was far more beautiful than when she was awake.
“Now what shall I do with you, my dear?” he asked, turning to face Elenora. “Shall I put you out with a shot, or do you want to stay awake for a while?” he asked.
She smiled shyly at him. “I wouldn’t mind staying up for a bit, if you don’t mind, sir,” she said.
“All right then,” he said, patting the lower bunk which he had let out. “Sit here and tell me all about yourself.”
“There really isn’t much to tell, sir,” she began. “I was studying to be a grammar school teacher. I was in class one day when the sheriffs came in and took me away. They said my father had pledged me as collateral and I was going to be forfeited. I didn’t understand,” she said, her heartbreaking green eyes looking at him sadly. “I still don’t, really.” A tear formed in one eye and slowly slid down the side of her nose.
Surely this was the sweetest, most childlike eighteen year-old girl that he had ever met. Quentin shuddered when he thought of the ways his principal would use her for his pleasure.
“Is my new master a kind man?” she asked, almost as if she was reading his mind.
Quentin thought about lying to her, but decided that it would serve no purpose. “He is a harsh man, my dear, very strict and hard to please. No, I would not call him a kindly master.”
She considered that for a moment, and then said, “You seem to be a kind man, Mr. Scales. Couldn’t you take me away, and keep me for yourself, instead of taking me to my new…master? I…I would be… nice to you.” She moved closer to Quentin, fumbled for the drawstring of her robe, and pulled the bowknot open, exposing her fabulous breasts.
He stared. He longed to reach out to fondle those incredible creamy mounds, to see if they truly felt as good as they looked. He restrained himself with a great effort. He had a strong premonition, that if he gave in to that very natural urge, he would not be able to stop himself from making harvesting Elenora’s maidenhead then and there, and probably absconding with her afterwards. If he had ninety-five thousand crowns, he thought, he would have gladly spent them to buy her. For an instant, he even imagined himself running away with her, hiding in another country, perhaps overseas, giving up everything he had for love…
He shook his head, dispelling the fantasy. This precious morsel of girl-flesh was not for him. She belonged to another, a man who would misuse her cruelly. There was nothing he could do.
“Cover yourself, my dear, and go to sleep,” he said regretfully. “You will meet your new master in the morning.”
There was a car waiting for them at the his principal’s private train station, as he had expected, and a few minutes later, he was leading his two charges by their leashes through the cold marble halls of his principal’s mansion.
His principal was waiting in a great parlor, which featured comfortable upholstered furniture and a huge fireplace in which a blaze roared. He sat in an armchair, smoking a pipe, and reading a newspaper.
Without lowering the paper, he said, “You seem to feel quite free to spend my money, Quentin. It is hard to imagine how any one girl could be worth ninety-five thousand gold crowns.” Quentin had telephoned the information on his purchases to his principal immediately after the auction.
He lowered the paper to look at his new property. He appeared to be in his early or mid-forties, with black hair beginning to go gray at the temples. His expression seemed mild enough until one got to his eyes. They were as black, cold and appeared to be as hard as obsidian. They were not the eyes of a kindly man.
Quentin stepped closer to the man, and handed over his remote for the control collars, then stood silently at the side of his chair, wondering if he had miscalculated and displeased the man.
“Come here,” he said to Olivia, “step up closer.”
Reluctantly, she did, until she was a foot away from his chair. He reached out and pulled the drawstring at the neck of her robe, and watched intently as it fluttered to the ground, leaving her nude.
He looked her body up and down slowly, saying nothing except, “Turn around, slowly.” She did so, her chains clanking softly.
“What is your name, bitch?” he asked.
Olivia had been growing more irritated by the second from the time she had been sold at the auction to now. The man’s rudeness finally made her lose control. “My name is Mrs. Olivia Addison,” she said sharply. “I am from an important family in Celestial County and you… aaaaahhhh!” she finished, when the man had activated the remote control of her collar, causing her to drop to the floor and writhe in agony. He continued the punishment for a full two minutes, much longer than Quentin had, and on a much higher setting. They saw a pool of urine run out from under the thrashing woman. She made choking animal noises, until finally she stopped moving altogether and lay silent on the floor.
“What you are,” said the man, not raising his voice, “is a slave that talks too much. But I can cure that, Mrs. Addison. I will cure it.”
Elenora stared in horror, her hands pressed against her mouth. “Is she… d… d…?” she stuttered, unable to get the words out.
“Dead?” the man finished for her. “No, no, she’ll be fine. She’ll wake up from her little nap soon enough. Before I’m done with her, she may wish she was dead.” He snapped his fingers, and two servants in green livery ap
peared as if from nowhere.
These servants were both pretty young women, a little older than Elenora. Their livery made her blush in shame. They wore green form-fitting uniforms of some very stretchy material that outlined every curve and hollow of their bodies. But far worse than this, there were cut-outs that exposed the wearer’s breasts, vagina and buttocks. There were supports built into the front under the breasts, squeezing them together, and forcing them dramatically up and away from their chests. Elenora could see that the soft flesh of both girls’ breasts were crisscrossed with numerous thin white scars. She also saw that their thighs and buttocks bore similar marks.
He motioned for one of the servants to come closer, and then gave his instructions to her in a low voice. The servants picked the unconscious Olivia from the floor and dragged her quickly away.
He turned his attention to the red-headed beauty who trembled before him. “You, come to me,” he ordered. “Let’s see what a ninety-five thousand crown slave looks like.”
She stood close by his chair, and the man reached up and released the drawstring on her robe. She stood with her arms at her sides as it slid off her shoulders and down the curve of her breasts to drop to the floor. She instinctively began to raise her hands to cover herself, but then immediately dropped them to her sides again, when the man glanced sharply at her and shook his head.
“Turn,” he said. She imagined she could feel the icy pressure of his eyes on her back and naked bottom. When she had completed the rotation and stood facing him again, he turned to Quentin who had been standing by silently the entire time with no readable expression on his face.
“Quentin, my boy,” he said, “If I cannot get ninety-five thousand crowns worth of pleasure from this girl, I think I will give up training them and take up fishing. Well done. Your payment will reflect my gratitude.”
Quentin, who had stiffened when the man began to speak, was now smiling and at ease. “It is my pleasure to serve you as always, sir,” he said, bowing. “I will take my leave, with your permission.”
By Judicial Decree Page 2
