When we’re filed into the room one by one, I take the time to count each woman, four ahead of me and five behind. I stand at my place in the center of line Ten. I tell myself, as I scan the inner room. We have just been led through a labyrinth of halls and dimly lit rooms; the smell of disinfectant fills my nose now.
Looking around the room, as my eyes adjust to the brighter lights here, I see that the rounded walls have d-rings mounted in them, spaced evenly apart. I count them, One, two, three…. eight night ten…. ten women, ten rings. When I hear the door on the far side of the circular room open, I avert my eyes. Afraid of being caught looking around the room disobediently, taking in my surroundings rather than trusting that I will learn what I need to know when those in charge feel that it is time.
Glancing down at the floor, my eyes pass over the supple leather cuffs buckled around my wrists, the short silver chain trailing between them holding my hands together. I follow the chain down the length of my body with my eyes, follow the swoop of it up and over to the same short length between the wrists of the woman on either side of me, keeping us at our place in line.
“Slaves,” a deep voice resonates through the room, and my inner muscles clench at the sheer dominance I feel in it. A flush runs up my body, knowing that the auction will start soon, and I will be put on display. Hopefully able to entice a bidder to purchase me. I feel the heat of my blush spreading over my breasts and my nipples harden into rounded pebbles. I imagine him taking them into his mouth and tasting me, nipping at me.
I’m distracted, not paying attention to anything other than my own arousal. When I see the boots standing in front of me, I realize I missed his footsteps, as he made his way into the room. A firm, callused hand reaches out and takes my chin into his firm grip. I missed what instructions, if any were given and I’m unsure of how to respond to the man touching me now.
Tipping my head back so that he can examine my face, tilting it from side to side this man looks me over. His sharp eyes burning my skin as they devour my body, I can feel my blush spreading and my skin is on fire. I arch my back and present my breasts to him, squeezing my thighs together against the going wetness there. Please, just move on.
Dropping my jaw, allowing me to bow my head again he steps to the woman next to me and does the same, examining her face closely. I exhale a sigh of relief that I don’t seem to have made a fool of myself before things even begin. I hear chains dropping to the floor, but keep my eyes downcast, refusing to let curiosity get me into trouble, as it so often does. When another set of boots stops in front of me, I’m released from the chain attaching me to the nine other women, but my cuffs remain in place.
“Turn,” the one-word command is given, and I turn to face the wall behind me as I am told, gentle pressure on my lower back signals me to step forward and I take slow determined steps, keeping my spine straight, neck bent forward, bowing my head in respect. Suddenly the back of the black leather harness covering my chest is pulled and I come to a stop in front of the wall. Another chain is attached to my wrists, wrapped around my waist and fed through the d-ring on the wall, encircling me and locking me in my place. Once secured, I spread my legs, standing with them shoulder width apart, straightening my spine I relax my shoulders back, presenting my breasts and clasp my hands together where they are chained in front of me.
I don’t dare raise my head or my eyes to meet those of the man in front of me, I steady my breathing and wait. His grunt of approval at my presentation is soft, barely audible, but I beam internally at being found acceptable. He turns and steps to the next woman in line. Time goes by and I can hear, one by one the others being chained to the walls around me. We stand circled around the edge of the room, waiting for our next instruction.
“Slaves,” the voice reverberates through me again and I inhale sharply, straightening my spine and preparing myself for his next words, “the bidders will be given thirty minutes to look you over and make a determination on which of you, if any, meet their standards and will be bid on.” I tense at his words, meet their standards, my own insecurities making me worry that I will be found lacking and receive no bids, I need this. Breath, you’re going to get a bid. I realize I’m distracted again and scold myself, coming back to the present I hear him telling us the rules of the display.
“Bidders are not allowed to touch the slaves, the Dungeon Monitors will be circling the room, during the open viewing time. However, if a bidder touches you, use your safeword. Red, will be the recognized safeword. No speaking will be permitted unless it is for you to safeword, or if you are asked direct questions by a bidder.”
I chew on my bottom lip and fidget with my fingers, my nerves getting to me now. Please let me get a bid. I chant over and over in my mind, squeezing my eyes closed and breathing out slowly through my nose. When I open my eyes, I notice a small crack in the tile by my right foot. I focus on it, deciding to keep my eyes there for the entire thirty minutes, unless otherwise instructed.
Thanking myself for the distraction, I flinch when I hear the door open, the sound of footsteps and murmuring voices fill the room. This is it…you’ve got this. Most of the men and women circling the room are talking amongst themselves about the slaves on display. They keep their distance, none coming close enough for me to hear their hushed words spoken about me. I remember to keep my eyes downcast and my spine straight, constantly telling myself not to shift from foot to foot.
When he approaches me the warm smell of sandalwood soap and vanilla fills my nose, before I see his boots. Having been able to see the other sets of feet in the room I smirk at his combat boots. A room filled with women in women’s $1000 heels clicking on the floor, joined by wing tipped dress shoes polished to a shine. But this man is wearing a pair of black combat boots and I remember thinking to myself that he doesn’t give a fuck what anyone else thinks of him. I quickly fix the smirk on my face and breath slowly in and out. Not wanting to look too eager, I stop myself from making an attempt to push my breasts towards him.
I can feel his eyes moving over my body, I’m wearing only the leather harness, with my bare feet still shoulder width apart and my posture held in the presenting position I am completely on display to him. The longer he stands in front of me a blush starts to spread across my skin, my chest feels warm, and I can feel my cheeks on fire. I know he can see it too, my pale skin turning pink under his eyes.
“The pink looks good on you. I’d bet that ass would look amazing, bright red under my hand,” his voice is husky and rough, leaning in towards me, his breath flutters the wisp of hair that has slipped loose from my high ponytail and hangs by my ear. His lips nearly brush my ear when he speaks again, “do you link to be spanked, slave?”
My mouth goes dry, and I swallow hard, a direct question. I must speak when asked a direct question. But I forget how to make words. The proximity of his body leaning so close to mine is doing things to me. Pursing my lips together, then moistening them with my tongue, I swallow hard a second time trying to clear the lump in my throat. How I wish so badly that my legs were not spread apart exposing me to him, I know if he looks, he will be able to see the slickness forming there, from just his words.
“Yes, Sir,” I finally say, softly, barely audible over the din of voices in the room.
I exhale loudly, thankful to have that moment over, when he speaks again, he stands up straight, no longer so close to my ear that I could take his mouth in mine if I turned. I’m left pouting at the thought of him leaving.
“Look at me, slave,” doing as I’m told I slowly raise my eyes to his. Taking my time to examine his body as I do. Wearing dark colored jeans and a black t-shirt that is pulled tight across his biceps, he is casual, relaxed. I can see the lines of the toned muscles in his chest. When I meet his piercing green gaze my eyes widen. Taking him in, looking over his face. His jaw is covered with a rough shadow beard from several days of not shaving, his olive toned skin and dark hair give a tanned look to him. But it is his eyes that I get lost in, deep pools of emerald green. Small lines crease at the corners when he smiles at me.
“Hello, there sweet girl,” he says, and I get a whiff of spearmint on his breath, I’m frozen before him. My blush has not yet faded and the extra attention he is giving me now is making it spread, my ears tingle and burn. I curse my pale skin again, wishing I could be like the thinner, tanned women in the room. Perfect thin waists, hourglass hips and breasts to die for.
I stand at 5 foot 2 inches; 170 lbs. and I am not thin by any means. Fortunately, I carry the majority of my weight in my chest and my ass matches it, so I’m not unbalanced. But my soft stomach is not toned, my waist is not thin, and my thighs are on the bigger side. I fidget now from one foot to the other as he too holds my gaze and I go over all of these flaws in my mind, as reasons he will not pick me. Pick me! Pick me! My inner goddess screams at him, take me home and fuck me!
The thoughts going through my mind make muscles in my sex clench and twist into knots, I wish I could squeeze my thighs together against the sensation. I can feel my arousal spreading over my folds, I swallow hard when he continues to look me in the eye. Time crawls and it feels like we stand here, our gazes locked on one another for time untold, the room disappears around me and finally, I can’t help myself and I smile at him. Damnit! He’ll never choose me now that he sees I can’t be a good, obedient slave.
I’m shocked when he smiles, “There she is, there is a fire in you,” he leans into me close again. I take in a deep breath, filling my lungs with the scent of him “I’m going to be the one to harness it.” Holy shit! My knees buckle and he laughs as I quickly catch myself and reposition. Again, I imagine turning into his kiss.
“See you soon, kitten” he purrs at me as he stands up straight. He reaches down to adjust himself in his jeans and my eyes widen again, the size of the bulge at the front of his jeans is astounding. Shit! I smile as I drop my eyes again and watch his boots turn on the tile floor then disappear from view.
The remainder of the viewing time goes by uneventfully, as I suspected I’m of little interest among the supermodel bodies in the room. But I hold out hope that my green-eyed man will truly be willing to spend the money on me. I've forgotten all about needing my share to pay off my debts and I can only think about getting to spend the next thirty days with him, serving him. I smile and am greeted with a harsh “What are you smiling at, slave?” By a passing Dungeon Monitor.
I keep my head bowed and don’t answer him. Checking my posture, he eventually walks away.
“Slaves,” the announcement begins after the room has been cleared, “the bidding will begin immediately. If purchased, you will be collected momentarily by those who have paid for you. Remember, the same rules apply, and you are not to speak unless spoken to. At this time, when approached you will be unchained and released to the custody of your purchaser. I thank you all for being here. As always, your actions are a direct reflection on this establishment, remember that over the course of your servitude. Those who do not receive good reviews will not be permitted back.”
His announcement saddens me, I was hoping to be able to pay off all of my student loans through the club, thirty days and $30,000 at a time. If I’m found to be unsatisfactory and don’t sell or don’t get good feedback, I’ll be left back at square one, trying to figure out how to come up with the money for my loans, credit cards and being able to afford a place to live.
I get lost in thought as I watch the girls one by one be unchained and handed over to their new dominants. I’m daydreaming about my green eyes when I hear his voice,
“Hey there, kitten,” I beam, my head still bowed. But then quickly bite my lip to keep from being seen. He came for me.
The Dungeon Master next to him unchains me from the wall and hands the end of the chain still attached to my wrist cuffs to my new Dom. I watch him wrap his hands around it and suck in a sharp breath. This is really happening.
“Look at me, kitten,” he commands me, and I raise my head, looking into his eyes, he reaches out with his free hand and cups my cheek. The moment he touches me something incredible flows through my body, like warm honey spreading inside me. I feel it all the way to my toes, and I nuzzle into the palm of his hand. He smiles at me, then drops his hand and tugs on the chain. I follow him dutifully out of the room and into my future.