Chapter Fourteen
The day wore on. Six dispirited slave girls wept steadily at the grim prospect ahead of them. Buyers came and went. All the girls were poked, prodded, and inspected repeatedly. It became a routine—spread your legs, open your mouth, turn around. Kim’s body betrayed her, finding a perverse excitement in the fingers fondling and probing her. One young man walked slowly down the line and paused at the cage holding the Eurasian girl.
“You’re an interesting specimen,” he said. He took a dildo out of his pocket. It was rubber, not terribly long, but very thick. “I had this made specially,” he explained, showing it to her. “It’s the same size and shape as my cock when I’m hard. I want to check you for fit.”
The Eurasian girl looked down. Her panic had subsided, leaving apathy in its wake.
“Open your mouth,” he commanded.
When she did, he pushed the dildo in. She gagged on it, but she had been trained well, and swallowed when it touched the back of her throat, allowing its full length to slide into her mouth.
“Good,” he murmured. “Now spread your legs.”
The dildo slid in easily, lubricated by saliva. He worked it in and out with the clinical air of a doctor observing a patient’s reflexes. “No problem here,” he remarked.
He withdrew the instrument and took a tube of lubricant out of his pocket. “Grease it for me,” he commanded. “I don’t want to get my hands dirty.”
She accepted the lube and the dildo and held them for a moment, as though debating the wisdom of throwing them back in his face.
“Come on,” he said impatiently. “I haven’t got all day.”
She spread a layer of grease on the dildo, taking care to see that it was well covered; then she handed the objects back to him with obvious reluctance.
“You hesitated,” he said petulantly. “After I buy you, I’ll beat you for that. Turn around.”
She complied, bending and spreading her legs for the inevitable penetration. He slipped the dildo into her anus without preliminaries, ignoring her outraged gasp, and worked it in and out, slowly at first, then with more speed and energy. At length, he tired of the sport and took it out.
“See you later, babe,” he promised, and left.
The Eurasian girl stayed as she was, gripping the bars and turning her back to the stage, until another buyer smacked her bottom and ordered her to turn around.
From time to time, yielding to a need that could no longer be denied, a girl would squat and release a long stream of urine through the hole in the bottom of her cage, flooding the ground below. It was a humiliating thing to do in front of a crowd of strangers, but slaves are not permitted shame.
A huge man mounted the stage and advanced to the cages. He carried a long iron rod slung carelessly over his shoulder. His red beard bristled in the sun. He looked like a lumberjack carrying his axe to work.
“Allow me to introduce myself, ladies,” he said pleasantly. “They call me the Whipmaster. I am called on when a slave has badly misbehaved by attempting to escape or attacking a Master. Sometimes I am sent for when a Master or Mistress wishes to see a slave punished, but has no time to attend to the matter personally. Most often, I punish the bad ones. If you see me after today, rest assured you will have earned a severe whipping for your misdeeds. I’m strong. My whips are stiff. I lay on with a will. Part of my payment for services rendered is use of the body I have just punished. You can be sure my cock is in proportion to the rest of me, and that I prefer to worship at the altar of Sodom.
“Tonight I have another pleasant duty to perform.” He lifted the iron from his shoulder and displayed it for the slave girls to see. On the end of it was a stylized letter “D”, wrought in iron.
“I know my business,” he told them. “After you heal, you will all be beautifully and permanently marked as Domain’s property.”
He thrust the iron deep into the coals and left it there to heat, then turned away to supervise two leather collared slaves. They were bolting a heavy bench to the stage. Many thick straps were riveted to the bench.
Kim shuddered. The sight of the iron had made branding a reality that she could no longer deny. Once branded, a girl could never hope to return to a normal life. She would be marked as a slave forever.
A warm breeze came up and set the cages swaying. By late afternoon, the prospective buyers had looked their fill and the preparations for the auction were complete. A leather collared slave appeared and cooked hamburgers on the grill. These he distributed to the slaves. Kim accepted hers and ate, appreciating the irony. She wondered if branded girls gave off the same odor as broiled beef. Cattle are branded, too. She had no appetite, but forced the food down anyway, thinking she would need her strength. Fear had dried her throat, and she drank greedily when a pail of water was passed. She was too thirsty to care that the water she consumed would eventually fill her bladder, forcing her to endure the humiliation of urinating in public.
The brazier became a murky red eye in the dusk. Floodlights came on, illuminating the stage. The seats around it began to fill as auction time drew near. Though the tropical night was warm, six girls trembled in their cages.
While most of those attending were freemen, Masters, Mistresses, and guards; there were also slaves in the audience. Some of the slaves who wore leather and silk were off duty tonight, and had come to be entertained. Some had come to attend to the needs of their Masters. Iron collared slaves knelt at the feet of those who held their leashes. They appeared nervous, perhaps remembering the night when they had been sold.
Kim searched the audience for Mistress Gyve, but the floodlights shining in her eyes made it hard for her to see faces in the darkness beyond the stage.
The crowd burst into wild applause as a man in a white suit mounted the stage. He tapped the microphone to be sure it was working, and addressed the sea of pale faces staring up at him.
“Ladies, gentlemen, and slaves, good evening and welcome to the nineteenth annual slave auction. We have fewer slaves than in some past years, but they are all of the highest quality. As always, the proceeds of this sale will go to help defray the expenses of our training center. I don’t have to tell you what fine work these people do. Every satisfied slave owner knows that their methods produce slaves of unsurpassed obedience and beauty. These girls are Class A in every sense of the word. So let’s have a big hand for the trainers!”
When the applause died down, he continued, “I must remind you that you take immediate delivery, all sales are cash on delivery. United States currency only, and there are no refunds; though any slave who fails to please can be sent back for re-training free of charge.”
A titter rippled through the audience at this last remark. Kim could only imagine what cruel fate lay in store for a girl who displeased her new owner.
“As is customary, these slaves come to you clean inside and out; collared, shaved, and branded. Once you take possession, of course, future hair growth will be a matter of personal choice. The piercing parlor will be open all night for your convenience. The service includes a free set of stainless steel nipple or labia rings. Gold rings are available for a small extra charge. Now, without further ado!”
The audience roared its approval.
“Let the auction begin!”
Four guards advanced on Katy’s cage and opened the door. She seized the bars in a death grip and they had to pry her fingers loose. Katy fought them hard, kicking and biting, but they were many, and they were strong. She was thrown belly down on the bench. The heavy straps were swiftly buckled around her ankles, knees, and thighs, waist, chest, and neck, wrists and elbows. The straps were very tight. She could turn her head or wiggle her fingers and toes. That was all.
The men who prepared her displayed neither pity nor joy. They only seemed to be concerned with doing their job well.
The sight of Katy’s hopeless struggle had subdued the crowd, but they broke into wild applause when the Whipmaster mounted the stage. He waved at the crowd, then pulled a thick rubber cylinder from his pocket and bent down to Katy’s head. He said something to her, speaking too softly for Kim to hear, then put the rubber bar in Katy’s mouth crossways, bitting her like a horse. She accepted it and dropped her head.
The Whipmaster put a cigar in his mouth as he stood up and advanced to the brazier. A hush fell on the crowd as he used the branding iron to light the cigar. He selected his spot with care and touched the glowing iron quickly to the pale skin that was helpless to evade it.
Katy’s scream was a mindless thing, the sound of agony and terror. She surged with all her strength against the straps. Then, abruptly, she went limp. The iron came away from her flesh still hissing and crackling. The bit fell from her mouth. She had fainted.
The Whipmaster returned the iron to the fire, while his attendants doused Katy with cold water and sprayed her buttock with antiseptic.
So impersonal, thought Kim, no more fuss than branding a calf.
Katy revived, though she moaned piteously. She was unbuckled and hauled roughly to her feet. Her arms were bound behind her, wrists to elbows, so that they were folded up high on her back, out of reach of the brand. When Katy was turned to face the crowd, Kim had a good look at the red and blistered flesh.
The auctioneer began to speak again. “CAS 119—Lot 19, fully trained. She is skilled in deep throat sucking. I know her pussy is tight because I’ve tried it out myself. Her anus has been enlarged, but it’s still tight enough to milk you dry. She is guaranteed to be free of all virus and infection. A redhead, they tell me. Who will give me fifty thousand?”
Kim could not count the hands which were raised, but as the bid went up the hands went down, and in minutes the fast talking auctioneer had sold Katy for half a million dollars.
The happy buyer who mounted the stage was the handsome young man who had spoken to Katy earlier in the day. He had kept his promise to buy her. Kim hoped the girl would be able to find joy in serving him. He snapped a leash on Katy’s collar and leaned down to kiss her forehead.
“I’m the luckiest man in Domain,” he said.
Katy looked up at him and risked a timid smile, though the pain of her brand still choked her with sobs. When he led her away, the applause was only polite, subdued by envy.
“Goodbye, Katy,” Kim called out impulsively.
The Whipmaster’s head spun around, and he cast baleful eyes at Kim. She cringed. How could she forget that a slave should never call attention to herself?
Flanked by guards, the Whipmaster strode across the stage and threw open the door of Kim’s cage. She shrank back, gripping the bars behind her for support. He studied her a moment, then extended his hand to her.
“Come quietly,” he said with surprising gentleness. “Don’t disgrace yourself the way she did.”
Surprising herself, Kim stretched out a trembling hand. It was dwarfed inside the huge paw that swallowed it. She gripped him tightly, gaining courage from the contact, and stepped out of the cage.
A roar of approval greeted her. The crowd was pleased at her show of submission. No slave ever went willingly to be branded. Kim felt numb, and the part of her mind that was still rational realized she was in shock. She wondered if her shock would insulate her from the awful pain awaiting her.
As she was escorted to the bench, Kim’s eyes drifted over the audience. She was closer now, able to see down into the front row where Mistress Gyve sat with a leather collared slave beside her and an iron collared slave kneeling demurely at her feet. Mistress Gyve clutched a fistful of money. Her face looked stricken.
A few seats away sat the old man who had inspected Kim earlier in the day. He leaned back confidently in his seat, an open case full of money on his lap. The slave girl at his feet had her head bowed. Huge rings dangled from her pierced nipples, and between her widely spread legs the glint of metal could also be seen. Her body was marked by fading lines overlaid with more recent stripes. She had been whipped savagely and often. Her eyes were cast toward the ground, and Kim saw her own future in that hopeless face.
The guards laid Kim upon the bench and strapped her down. The straps were cruelly tight, bending her spine, restricting her breathing, and cutting off the circulation to her hands and feet.
“It’s too tight!” she protested, wasting what little breath she was able to draw.
“Don’t worry,” a guard told her. “This won’t take long.”
The Whipmaster picked up the rubber bit that had fallen from Katy’s mouth. It was still wet with saliva, and Kim saw the marks of Katy’s teeth in it before it was forced into her own mouth. It’s to keep me from biting my tongue, she thought.
The Whipmaster stood up. The crowd had grown silent. Kim could hear his boot heels as he walked behind her, and the rasp of the iron being drawn from the fire. She stared at the floor, heart pounding, waiting for pain.
Suddenly there was a stir in the crowd, and the sound of shouting drawing nearer. Footsteps pounded as someone mounted the stage.
“Stop!” shouted a female voice. “You have to let her go! There’s been a terrible mistake!”
Though confined by her straps, Kim was still able to turn her head and see who had spoken.
It was Charlene Weaver.