Chapter Thirteen
It was auction day.
The despair of the night before had passed, now Kim felt a sense of adventure, a desire to prove herself in a new arena. She had spent a sleepless night in her cell, thinking long and hard about the words her Mistress had spoken. She had bonded to the woman, she told herself, only because no one else in the training center had displayed any kindness and affection. Certainly she could find it in herself to feel just as deeply for a new Master or Mistress, whoever it might be. In time, if she were a loyal and obedient slave, the Master might come to feel something for her as well. Still, when the guards came to gather the girls up and take them away, Kim searched in vain among the faces around her for Mistress Gyve.
Before the slaves left the training center, they were taken to a dressing room for preparation. A dozen leather collared slave girls descended upon them. Giggling, the girls informed the slaves that they were to be given a final polish to raise their value. The slaves were stood in a line and told to bend over and spread. Then the attendants went up and down the line with full enema bags and emptied them into the upturned bottoms. As soon as a slave returned from the bathroom, she was put back into the line again. All the slaves were filled and emptied twice. Kim was sure that she had never been so completely cleaned.
When this chore had been attended to, the real pampering began. Two of the leather-collared attendants worked on each slave girl. Their heads and bodies were carefully shaved. They were showered and douched, oiled, massaged, and perfumed. Their teeth were cleaned. Their collars were buffed.
Just before the slaves were led outside, they were told to bend and spread once more. One of the attendants donned a pair of heavy rubber gloves and worked her way down the line of slaves with a jar of lubricant. She pushed a thick glob of grease into each slave’s anus and worked it in well. Kim felt as though she had been packaged and processed. She only needed to be stamped “Grade A”.
Flanked by a dozen guards, the slaves were led outside. Kim enjoyed the feeling of sunlight on her body, and her elation only faded slightly when a man suddenly confronted her, looking down at her nakedness. She halted. The guards beside her didn’t urge her forward. They were waiting to see what this was about.
“Do you remember me?” he asked.
Kim searched her memory, then it came to her. He had been the sentry at the main gate the day she arrived.
“Yes, Master,” she said politely.
“Isn’t there something you have to ask me?”
She knit her brows in concentration, then remembered and fell to her knees before him, clasping her hands in supplication.
“Please fuck my ass, Master.” There was only humility in her voice.
The guards looked on, not understanding, but seeing no problem here. The sentry chuckled and stroked the top of her head, making her feel like a dog he had encountered on the street.
“Another time, maybe,” he said. “I’ll bid on you tonight, would you like that?”
“Whatever pleases you, Master.”
“Good girl. Now run along. You’re holding up the parade.”
Kim got up and jogged a few paces to catch up to the others. Everything the sentry had told her on the day she arrived had turned out to be true. She had surrendered completely, and would now offer herself to anyone who demanded it. She had made the request only because she knew it was expected of her. There had been no desire for the man, she had even feared that he might take her there in the street. She had been motivated by a desire to please, a need to be accepted on the terms of her Masters.
So be it, she thought. She would be a slave—not just a slave, but the brightest and best. Her suffering would be a tribute. The man or woman who purchased her tonight would take possession of a rare prize.
Naked except for their steel collars, six slave girls were marched through the streets of Domain. The sentry had called it a parade, and Kim realized it was. People had gathered on the side of the street to watch, knowing there was an auction tonight, that the girls would pass this way. Kim studied faces as she marched. Tonight she would belong to one of these people. Whether her Master was cruel or loving, fair or foul, she would have to serve.
She knew this street. She had walked it before in bad dreams. Naked in full sunlight on a public street, she had not even her hair for cover; yet she walked without shame. Let them look. She felt more beautiful and desirable than she ever had in her former life.
Her eyes met those of a spectator who wore red silk at her throat, and she was surprised to see the girl’s lip curl into a sneer.
“What are you so proud about, slave bitch?” she jeered. “Don’t you know your ass is getting sold tonight?”
Kim ignored her. She would have tossed her hair, if she still had any. What did the opinion of a Class C matter? She had been too cowardly to make the supreme sacrifice. True, Kim had never been given the choice, but she had still walked through hell to get where she was now. Sometimes scars meant more than medals.
The red silk girl called after her, “Your ass is cooked, honey!”
They marched on, past the brooding stone buildings, the pillories and whipping posts marking some intersections, the jeers and taunts of slaves in leather and silk, and the appraising stares of potential buyers. They reached a sort of fairground. Pavement turned to grass under their feet. Streamers and balloons decorated a pleasant park. A banner had been raised high between two posts.
Nineteenth Annual Slave Auction
They passed by tents where merchants were setting up to offer food and drink, leather goods, games of chance, and side-show entertainments. There was a tent where a slave could be rented by those who were unable to afford to own one. Different rates had been posted for the different classes of slaves. Kim noted with some satisfaction that Class A slaves cost the most. Then she realized she might be purchased for something like this, to be rented by the hour; raped and abused by a dozen different strangers every day. It was a dreary prospect.
The centerpiece of the fairground was a high stage, surrounded by rows of seats. The girls were led to the rear of the stage. On top of the stage was a heavy pipe suspended between two uprights, like a football goalpost, but higher and heavier. Several pulleys had been chained to the pipe. Six of the pulleys had cable threaded through them. The cables hung down to end in hooks, and the hooks had been attached to the connecting ring atop six ornamental iron cages.
The cages were high and narrow. One could stand in them, but not sit in anything except an awkward squat, and lying down was out of the question. Though decorative, the ironwork was solid. The bars were too close together for even a child to squeeze through, but not so close that they would screen the occupants from view. Kim had no doubt who those occupants were to be.
She noticed that the floor of each cage had been covered with a piece of plywood, and that a round hole of about five inches in diameter had been cut in the floor. Kim colored slightly when she realized they would not be coming out of the cages to use the bathroom, and found herself grateful that her enema this morning had been thorough.
The first cage was opened and the Eurasian girl put inside. When the door was secure, a guard hooked the loose end of the cable to a winch and cranked. The girl inside gave a little gasp as she found herself swinging above the ground. When the guard stopped cranking the winch, her cage was level with the stage. If the cage door were opened, she could easily step across the small space between them, just as passengers step out of an elevator.
The petite girl went up next, then Katy, then Kim. In moments, Kim found herself dangling ten feet off the ground. Looking forward, she could see the stage, bare now except for a couple of workmen laying cables. Looking down, she saw a cluster of guards locking the next girl into her cage and hooking up the cable so that she could be hoisted.
They dangled like birds on display in a pet shop. Kim leaned against the bars and waited. There was nothing else to do. She watched the workmen as they set up a microphone on the stage, and decorated the edges of the platform with balloons. Most of the heavy work was done by leather collared slaves, she noted, while men in short sleeve shirts and guard uniforms directed.
Other people came up on the stage, people who were apparently there to inspect the merchandise. Prospective buyers, Kim thought, and shuddered. Some of them seemed merely curious, others studied the girls intently. There was an older woman, hatchet faced, dressed like a Victorian lady in spite of the heat, who stalked the length of the stage in high heeled shoes that clacked authority with every step. She peered intently at each girl in turn, flexing a riding crop. At each cage she would order crisply, “Turn around,” and study the buttocks that were presented to her.
Katy caught the eye of a handsome young man who seemed to hang back. He looked embarrassed by the sight of so many beautiful girls, reminding Kim of the men she had seen back home slinking out of porno book stores with a bag under their arm.
“Buy me, Master,” Katy implored. “I can please you in every way. You won’t need a whip to make me mind.”
Impressed by her candor, he came closer to Katy’s cage. “You want to be my slave?” he asked.
Playing the moment for all that it was worth, Katy dropped to her knees, a posture that put her heels against the bars behind her, and her knees against the door. “Yes, Master. It would be an honor to serve you.”
“I’ll bid on you,” he promised.
Kim was impressed by Katy’s initiative. Katy knew that she had to be sold, and had tried to attract a Master who was at least good looking and perhaps kind. From his diffident manner, Kim guessed that he might be a new arrival on the island. Still, she remembered an interview she once had with a serial killer. He had the same handsome features and mild eyes. Katy might be setting herself up for a dreadful surprise.
An old man approached Kim’s cage. He frightened her. There was a craggy, rocklike power in his presence, a suggestion of ancient evil. His hands were large and gnarled. In his eyes she saw a ruthless intelligence gone mad. His leering gaze betrayed an obvious lust. He even reached into his trousers to adjust an erection that promised to be unexpectedly large. It didn’t matter to him that Kim saw him playing pocket pool. She was only a slave. In a few hours she might know that erection more intimately.
“I can see that you have been whipped more than the others,” he said. “Are you a bad slave?”
“No, Master,” she answered respectfully. “There was a Mistress at the training center who was pleased to see me whipped often.”
“It will please me to see you whipped often, too. If you pass my inspection, I will buy you. There is no one here with enough money to outbid me. Show me your pussy. Spread it open.”
Obediently, Kim separated her legs to the limits of her cage, cocked her hips forward, and used her fingertips to spread the labia. He reached between the bars to stroke her.
“Do you like that?”
“If it pleases you, Master,” she breathed, hoping that it was the correct response. In fact, she was both disgusted and aroused. Revolted with herself for responding to his touch.
“Oh, it pleases me all right,” he chuckled. “Have you ever worn clamps there?”
“Yes, Master,” she said, remembering with a shiver the bite of the clips that had conducted electricity into her body.
“Good, I like clamps. They are wonderful for getting a slave girl’s attention. Open your mouth.”
When she did, he pulled back her lips to inspect her teeth. She tasted herself on his fingers.
“Good,” he announced finally. “Turn around and spread your cheeks.”
It was no more than she expected. Slaves have no secrets. He probed her with one finger, then two, then three. She was thoroughly reamed and explored. She gripped the bars of her cage and endured it, grateful to the attendant who greased her before sending her out of the training center.
“I have a very large dick for such an old man,” he explained. “I want to be sure that you can handle it. I think you’re going to be excellent. You have been enlarged enough so I can get in with no trouble, but you will still grip me firmly.”
Satisfied with the inspection, he removed his fingers and wiped them off on her flank. “You may turn around now.”
When she was again facing him, he focused his attention on her breasts, stroking and squeezing them. His hands were like bird claws.
“Nice pink nipples,” he commented as he pinched. “I’ll have you pierced and ringed. When I put a leash on you, I won’t have to worry about whether or not you follow my lead.”
The optimism Kim had felt this morning was gone. New vistas of pain and humiliation had just been opened up to her. She could be tortured and mutilated in ways that she had not thought of before. This vile old man might not even represent the worst that could happen.
Abruptly, he turned away from her. His attention had been captured by something else. Kim followed his gaze and saw that everyone—buyers, slaves, and workmen, had turned as one and were staring toward the stairs which went up to the stage. Two men were coming up the stairs, carrying something between them. It was a barbecue grill.
At first it held no meaning for Kim. It seemed innocent enough, a reminder of family picnics on the patio, just a common household item. The two men set the grill on the stage. It had already been filled with charcoal. One of the men took a can of lighter fuel out of his pocket, squirted the fluid on the charcoal, and lit it.
The Eurasian girl in the end cage went suddenly berserk, beating on the bars of her cage with her fists and hammering her heels against the floor.
“You have to let me out!” she screamed. Her panic made the words almost incoherent. “This isn’t right! You can’t! I’m not an animal! I’m just a girl! Let me go!”
In the cage next to Kim, Katy was staring with unfocused eyes and muttering, “Oh shit! Oh shit!” It sounded like a prayer.
Comprehension eluded Kim. Then a voice from her past spoke to her. In college, she had asked her history professor how the holocaust could have happened under the noses of the German people. He answered her in the patient manner of a man who is forced to explain the obvious.
“Denial is the first defense of a civilized mind confronted with unthinkable barbarity.”
The girl in red silk had shouted in the street. “Your ass is cooked, honey!”
They were going to be branded.