Sold!..To The Highest Bidder
By Reese Gabriel
©2002
Pink Flamingo Publications
P.O. Box 632 Richland, MI 49083
e-mail:[email protected]
No part of this book may be reproduced, stored in a retrieval system, or transmitted in any form, by any means, including mechanical, electronic, photocopying recording or otherwise without prior written permission of the publishers.
Chapter One
My name is Dr. Emerald Tallow and up until a month ago I was a psychologist specializing in female rehabilitation. If you’d asked me at that time what I thought of women who desired to sell themselves into slavery, I would have said they were suffering from severe ego displacement, most likely in response to some childhood trauma such as abuse or rape.
All that, however, was before I met Gustav Rainier, the man who changed everything in my life. It is a direct result of his influence that I am crouching at this very moment in the cargo hold of a transatlantic jet, my chained and naked body confined in a small steel cage. In a few moments the plane will take off and I will be en route to my new master, a man whom I have never met by the name of Tolliver Khan. An agent of Mr. Khan’s purchased me at an auction last night for the sum of ten thousand American dollars. I am told this is a good price, given the glut of nubile female flesh available on the market these days.
Gustav did not bother to stay for the auction. He left me at the door. I cried at his feet, begging him to keep me for himself. He declined, which was his right as my owner. I know I will thank him one day, but for the moment I am too filled with dread and excitement to think clearly on such matters.
Truly, I have only myself to blame for my lack of mental preparation. Gustav told me this day would come; he spoke of it often, and each time I rejected the idea.
“I shall sell you one day, Emerald,” he would say while we lay together in bed after love making, my head on his magnificent chest, listening to his heartbeat, or again when we were strolling hand in hand beside the lake, my bare buttocks chafing beneath the chamois as I walked, the skin red hot from the beating he’d given me with his belt less than half an hour before.
I shall sell you one day, Emerald.
It was in fact, the first thing he said when I first offered myself to him, conceding his victory over me body and soul.
“You will become chattel, Emerald, do you understand what that means?” His hands were on the flesh of my upper arms as he compelled me to look up into his eyes. I was weak with need and desire; I would have told him anything.
“Yes,” I’d lied, allowing his ice blue eyes to peer deep into my soul. “I understand.” My soul that belonged to him would have forced me to give him any answer he desired, whether or not I agreed or understood.
The truly amazing thing is that I have never felt more alive in my life as I do at this moment. Every inch of my captive skin tingles. Manacles cinch my wrists and ankles; chains of steel caress my sweat-sheened curves. My senses are sharp and crisp; I hear the myriad hums and clicks of the airplane as it prepares for takeoff, as well as the soft breathing of the girl beside me, a slender blonde in a matching cage. And next to her, a brunette, softly whimpering, her chains scraping over the metal floor as she tries to find a comfortable position in her own cage.
The blonde has curled herself into a ball; as near as I can tell that is the only feasible alternative to squatting or sitting head tucked to chin. I prefer to keep the pressure off my buttocks, owing to the tenderness of the bandaged area where I’ve been branded. This was done to me before dawn, after I’d been sold and placed in the small holding cell in the auction house’s dungeon.
I’ve not seen the mark, though my handlers seemed pleased with the results. Several of them became quite aroused at the sight of my seared flesh and I was heavily used prior to being taken to the airport. It is, of course, a permanent inscription on my flesh and it will mark me for life as to what I am.
A female slave.
I overheard Gustav say once that marks on a woman’s skin are the greatest aphrodisiac. Welts from a cane. Stripes from a whip. The kiss of a branding iron. I only wish he could see mine. I hope he would be pleased.
“She’s easier than a lot of ‘em that come through here,” one of the handlers had commented as he drove his tumescent cock in my mouth, my hands and knees pressed to the cold, damp floor of the holding cell just before they took me to the airport.
One of the others, who was busy thrusting himself in and out of my tight buttocks, had laughed. “That’s Rainier, for you. It ain’t for nothing he’s known as the best in the business.”
“Damned straight,” added a third, who had exploded in my pussy a few minutes earlier and was now occupying himself with his zipper. “Rainier can take the toughest, most resistant bitch in the world and have her collared and licking milk from a saucer in under twenty four hours.”
“Not just milk,” crooned the man whose cock was in my mouth.
All three had laughed heartily.
This was the same three who took me to the airport. I was loaded in the back of a paneled van and made to lie on the floor. The leader, a bearded fellow with a hooked nose and horrific breath, had a baton with him that he used on me in a number of creative ways. He informed me this would be excellent practice for serving in the slave harem of Tolliver Khan. The Khan is a warlord in a certain lawless area of North Africa and he has many mercenaries. He also entertains powerful guests, government officials and top executives of arms manufacturing companies. Men such as these require playthings, of which I am to be one.
It was on the auction block that I heard my assets announced, my suitability to be the toy of a master like Khan. Dazzling white lights blinded my eyes, floodlights. The smoke of a dozen cigars, the raucous tones of wealthy, comfortable clothed men clouded my vision and assaulted my ears. I smelled alcohol and sweat, and the fear that emanated from other females like myself.
“Item number 56-D,” drolled the auctioneer. “Five foot four inches, one hundred twenty pounds. Measurements 34, 27, 36. Firm breasts and ass. Only one owner. Sucks like a dream, juices easily. Excellent training potential. Do I hear a thousand to start the bidding?”
“A thousand!” had bellowed a voice from the rear of the room.
The handler had slapped my arse then. “Stand up straight. No slouching. Put some gusto in it; if we don’t clear five grand, I’ll whip you till you bleed.”
Was it all a dream? I’ve asked myself this question a million times, though, truly, how can I deny my current state? The metal holding collar, attached by chain to the manacles, the ankle rings. The invoice clipped to the corner of my cage. The pan of water in the opposite corner, from which I may drink with my lips, and beside it a second pan, empty, meant for whatever fluid I may need to release along the way. It isn’t my urine I’m concerned with at the moment, but something else. Closing my eyes, I move my trembling hand between my legs. I am sopping, and not only from the handler’s numerous injections of sperm. I have needs, desires of my own. I crave to be had—thrown down in chains and taken; violated, used.
I ask again, is it a dream? If it is, then count it as the most vivid one ever recorded. Are you skeptical still? Perhaps if I tell my story to you, in its fullness, you can judge for yourself. You may find it amusing, even arousing, perhaps, if your inclinations go this way.
I must tell it quickly, though, for I hear the flight crew speaking among themselves; I have interested them, and I am told they have a key to this cage.
“Did you get a load of the little black haired slut? She’s dripping, for crissakes,” one of them chortled. “And those nipples; Jesus, they’re like little b
ullets. Look at her eyes—you can tell she wants it.”
“I know what you mean. Some of ‘em just seem born for this shit, don’t they?”
“What the fuck do I know? All I’m saying is I’m shoving my Willie so far up her hole she ain’t gonna see straight for a month.”
“You’ll have to stand in line, pal. I saw her first.”
Their laughter echoes in the metal hold. Soon, all too soon, I will serve them. In the mean time, why not pass our time with the tale of Emerald’s awakening?
***
My story begins the day I first heard the name of Gustav Rainier. It was through a patient, a girl named Krissy. Krissy was a nineteen-year-old runaway who’d been sentenced to counseling by a judge in lieu of a prison sentence for a repeat prostitution conviction. Judge Kellogg often called on me to help rehabilitate girls like her. He knew I had a soft spot in my heart for her kind as well as a hardnosed determination not to give up on a single one of them.
Krissy was a bright girl, a vivacious brunette with a heart of gold. She’d left an abusive stepfather and a drunken mother. Her only crime was being too pretty, with a grown woman’s voluptuous body by the age of fifteen. Turning tricks was the only way she’d found to stay alive on the mean streets of the city. With her natural good looks and sensuous ways, she had no trouble at all finding customers. I was turning all that around, of course, convincing her to get her GED and go to college so she could really make something of herself.
The way I saw it, now that she was over eighteen, she had her whole life ahead of her to re-create herself.
All that was put in jeopardy, though, when she started missing her appointments. Three weeks went by and I became concerned she’d end up in jail if the court found out she was skipping her counseling. I knew where she was living and so I went to find her myself. Krissy herself answered the door, wearing nothing but panties and a pushup bra.
“Sorry, doc,” she giggled, excusing her appearance. “Indoors is pretty much the only time I get to wear underwear now, so I take advantage whenever I can. If you know what I mean.”
I didn’t, but decided to let the point go. When I asked where she’d been, she told me she was doing well and that she’d found a steady job working at a strip joint downtown called the Girly Girl Club. She then invited me in to the apartment, which she shared with three roommates, preceding me to the couch. It was then I saw the marks on her back and buttocks. They were red welts, deep and angry. It almost looked as though she’d been struck repeatedly with some kind of whip.
“Who did this to you?” I cried.
Krissy smiled shyly and began to blush. “It’s nothing to worry about, doc. I was just a little naughty last night, that’s all.”
“A little naughty?!” I exclaimed. “Krissy, you’ve been badly abused. We need to get you to a hospital.”
Krissy looked at me like I was the teenager and she was the thirty-year-old. “Have a seat, doc. I need to explain a few things to you.”
It was then that the scantily clad prostitute-turned-Girly Girl told me all about Gustav Rainier and an organization called Girls, Limited. It was a play on words, she said, because not only was it the organization’s legal name, it was also descriptive of its purpose: controlling and dominating beautiful women for the pleasure of strong, powerful men.
“Gustav is in charge; he’s the greatest,” she told me, her eyes wide with lust and passion as she described her accidental meeting with the tall, dark and handsome man outside a classy over twenty-one nightclub she was trying to sneak into. “You should meet him; he’s been all over the world and he knows everything about life and love and about us females, too. He was so cool that first time, he bought me drinks and later he took me to his hotel suite and made love to me; no pressure, no bull shit, just pure sweet love. He made me come and come, doc. Nobody ever did that. And he went down on me, too.”
Krissy was cross-legged on the red velvet couch, her ample, youthful breasts spilling out the top of the pink bra. I noticed that she sported a gold belly ring on her flat abdomen as she sat wringing her pretty fingers and chattering like it was a prom date. I had no doubt why an older man would be interested in her; she exuded life and smooth-skinned sensuality. A wholesome, sweet girl next door with only a few battle scars to her name; that was Kristine.
“I wanted more the next morning, you know? But that’s when Gustav got tough with me,” she bubbled. “He told me I wasn’t ready for more and he kicked me out of his bed. Literally. I cried and cried. I had nothing but a bedspread wrapped round me as I begged for him to touch me again, to make my body sing.
“He got annoyed finally and gathered my clothes so he could throw me out. You should see him naked, doc. He’s, like, my step dad’s age at least, but he’s so gorgeous. And strong, too. He turned me on so much. I pleaded for another chance to be with him. I was in the doorway already, my arm locked in his iron grip when he relented.
“There was only one possible way,” he told me. And that was to become one of his girls. I said I wanted to, no matter what the cost. He sat me down, still naked and had me watch a special video—one he shows to his investors and stuff. Doc, it was the sexiest thing I ever saw. Girls being treated like real women. Being protected and made to obey. And they were so hot, too. There were these guys in the video, with whips and and they wanted the girls so much it made me hurt inside. Before the tape was over I was all over Gustav, telling him I wanted to be a Girly Girl, too, no matter what.
“He just smiled and told me the first rule was not to speak unless spoken to. That’s when he hauled me over to the desk chair and made me grab the front legs with my hands so that my belly was pressed over the seat. If I moved without permission, he said, I’d be sent away and never allowed to see him again.
I said I’d do what he told me. Next thing I knew, he was smacking me hard with his leather belt. On my naked, upturned bottom. It was incredible. It stung like anything, but it was so, so hot. My juices were actually dripping out of me, down my leg and onto the chair as he beat me. I almost came, right there.
When he was done teaching me my first lesson, he entered me. Just like that, totally dressed. He unzipped his fly, took out his cock and put it in my sopping wet hole.
“‘Don’t move,’” he reminded me, giving my butt a smack with his hand for a reminder. I exploded right there, stuffed full of him, my body helpless and exposed. Gustav controlled me totally, grabbing my hips in his hands and pumping. ‘From now on, no orgasms without permission,’ he told me
“’S—sorry’,” I slurred, still very much impaled.
“’Have you been used anally?’ he asked.
“I shook my head, awestruck.
“‘Answer ‘yes, sir, or no, sir,”’ he told me, his hand smacking my hip.
“I told him, ‘no, sir,’ and that’s when he informed me he would now be the first. It hurt like hell, let me tell you, but he stopped a couple of times to lather himself up with the pussy juices that kept flowing out of me. Eventually, it felt pleasurable, but when he came, I was left hanging.
“’I will be taking a nap now,’ he said. ‘While I am sleeping, you will clean the room, thoroughly. There are supplies in the bathroom for that purpose.’
“I wasn’t sure if I could put my clothes back on, so I didn’t. For the next two hours, I totally cleaned the man’s room, stark naked. It was more chores than I’d done in my whole life. I even cleaned the toilet bowl. The whole time he slept naked on his back, totally peaceful. I tried to keep quiet so I wouldn’t wake him. Afterwards, I took a shower and then I just curled up into a ball at the foot of the monster-sized bed.
“I must have fallen asleep, because the next thing I remembered, he was pulling me to my feet, his hands in my long, still-damp hair. He had a cross look on his face and he informed me I was never to get into his bed like that again without permission.
“Tears in my eyes, I apologized up and down. I was hoping he’d see all the work I’d done and be pleased
with me, but all he wanted was to sit on the edge of the bed and have me go down on him. Happily, I knelt between his legs and gave him the best servicing I knew how. At a certain point I figured he would want me up on the bed so he could put his cock in me, but it turned out my mouth was all he was looking for.
“’Swallow it,’ he said roughly, pinning the back of my head with his hand. I lost myself in his pleasure as he came into my mouth. It was the greatest joy I’d ever felt and from that moment on I knew I would do anything Gustav Rainier told me to do, no matter how much it degraded me.
“Afterwards he told me, ’I’m going to take you to the club, now. Put on your clothes.’ When I went to put on my white lace bra, though, he came up from behind me and smacked my ass hard.
“‘No underwear’,” he commanded me. Immediately, I let the undergarment fall to the floor. For a moment he just stood there breathing. I was afraid to move. At last he grabbed my breasts, pawing them casually, insolently. ‘You’re going to learn what this body of yours is for, Krissy. We’re going to teach you to be a woman.’
“He had me moaning. I arched my neck back for a kiss and tried to run my fingers through his hair. Gustav just shoved me forward and told me not to keep him waiting. Trembling, aroused and confused, I pulled my pink tank top over my bare, aching breasts and fished on the floor for my panties. Gustav’s loafer toe pressed down on the silk before I could retrieve the bottoms and that’s when I knew I was not to be allowed covering down there, either.
“Left with no choice, I slipped into the skirt, praying I wouldn’t visibly drip down my leg.
“’You’ll wear this for now,’ he said, showing me a silver choker with a tiny lock on the front of it. ‘Hands in your hair, back straight.’
“I was given a moment to assume the position. He then instructed me to thrust out my breasts and widen my stance. Sliding my bare feet on the plush carpet, I opened my legs. A draft of air immediately vented my pussy. ‘Head down,’ he commanded as he approached with the tiny metal chain. I felt like a prisoner; I was so aroused that when he touched the back of my neck I nearly leaped to the ceiling. Rainier’s firm hand on my backside reminded me to keep still.
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