It was morning again. But this morning felt different somehow. There was a tension in the air. A feeling of hushed anticipation.
The slaves were lined up. All of them. And all the trainers were there. And some of the more senior house slaves. The girl who had done Nikki’s make-up before her date with Charles, the slaves who worked in the athletic facilities, the groomers, the wardrobe girls, the kitchen staff, everyone. It was quite a crowd.
Each of them had a role. Even with that many people, there was no chaos, no confusion. Just careful, organized, coordinated activity.
What was going on? It was obviously something very important. But nobody was communicating anything to the slaves. They were just being moved through, processed.
Was this it? Was it the auction, finally? Nikki wondered. Certainly it made sense… the slaves were being prepared for something, that was for sure. And it had been enough time since Mark had told her she was ready. She certainly felt ready, as ready as she was going to be.
Nikki breathed into it. Relaxed into the uncertainty of her status. It didn’t matter. If today was the auction, not the auction. She didn’t need to plan, didn’t need to take responsibility, didn’t need to do anything but relax and experience.
So she did.
Nikki breathed into it and felt herself as an object. Felt her status. Loved it.
She allowed all the activity and bustle to surround her, embrace her. And there was a lot of activity. She was washed, fed, her hair styled, her wax job touched up with tweezers (ouch!), her colon cleansed, her skin moisturized and polished, her face subtly made up. She was glamourized.
She felt the hands touching her. Probing and prodding. Moving her into position. And she allowed it to happen. Felt the ease and calm of it. Sure there was still a knot in the pit of her stomach. If this truly was auction day, then this was the day her fate would be determined.
Who would buy her? She tried to keep her mind off it, but she couldn’t keep from thinking about it.
Would it be Mark? Ohhhh! Thinking of that. Mark’s personal pet. Sleeping by the side of his bed. Helping him with his work (ohhh, how hard that would be, watching the new girls fall in love with him, watching his affection for them grow, and helping him to bond them to him…). But being with Mark all day, every day. Bringing him his food, washing him. Crawling into his bed every morning. Taking him into her body. How she wanted it.
Would it be Charles? He certainly wanted her. Be part of his household. Entertain his clients. Show off her worldliness and her skill. She could even help him with his work. She wasn’t his typical purchase, true enough. She was expensive, and he probably wouldn’t be able to flip her for a profit in a year or two, but she was sure he would know how to get value from her skills.
Would it be Sylvie? The island, the famous guests, the beautiful slaves. She let her mind wander to the lifestyle it represented. Mick Jagger? Contemporary artists? Authors, actors, leading thinkers, all taking refuge on Sylvie’s island. This was a place they could let down their guard and be themselves with the slaves as facilitators, tools, objects. The slaves there to be used, without fear of consequences, in any way the guests chose. Nikki felt the hair on the back of her neck rise. It was exciting, and scary at the same time.
Would it be the serbs? Nobody had talked about them as serious buyers. But what if…. Ohhh, the very idea frightened Nikki. To be purchased for hard use. Not her mind at all, but just her willingness to serve. No regard for her skills or abilities. Just another set of holes to be filled, another girl to serve them. She shuddered. Surely they wouldn’t want to pay as much as buyers who wanted her mind. Surely they could find a better deal with one of the younger girls. Nikki tried to push the possibility out of her mind.
Would it be somebody else? Somebody she had never even met. An Asian real estate speculator, a British aristocrat, an African warlord? A young speculator, an older established household? Would she end up as part of a household, at the bottom of the hierarchy, or as a senior slave helping to train younger girls? Would she be loved and treasured, or simply used. How long would it last? Would she be resold after?
The questions swirled in her head. She tried to relax into the feeling of having her hair brushed, her skin polished. But the excitement in the air was contagious. All of the slaves were realizing what was going on. There wasn’t any conversation – a few muttered commands, a couple of sharper corrections if the slaves weren’t paying attention. But mostly the trainers and house slaves went about their preparations unhampered.
As the clear polish on her fingernails and toenails was being touched up, Nikki realized that it was almost over. That everything that could be done to her had been done. That whatever was going to happen, was going to happen next.
She looked around and noticed that the senior trainers were leading slaves out of the preparation hall in small groups of 4-5, and then returning for more. Probably a third of the slaves were already gone.
Now her nails were done too. She was ready. She was moved over towards the side of the room with three other slaves. She recognized Tanuja, looking wonderful, her light brown skin glowing, her dark hair straight and long down her back. The two of them smiled at eachother. Nervous.
Finally the trainers were there. Not Mark, but one of the other senior trainers, attached a chain to Nikki’s collar. He gave her only about 18 inches of slack and pulled her towards the door. Nikki felt a rush of heat and wetness between her legs. Her nipples hardened. She felt a tingling feeling up her spine.
They walked through the door and the trainers led them through the corridors of the facility. Nikki heard her bare feet slapping against the marble floors and she was glad she was not being forced to crawl. They didn’t want to mark her knees, she supposed. They walked towards an area of the facility Nikki had never seen before. The farther they went the more the anticipation built.
Nikki was still not used to the strange mix of anticipation and lack of control. The idea of walking off into her fate. Having no idea what the result would be. Wow. It was powerful stuff.
She rounded another corner and suddenly the space opened up into a grand hall. Huge. Soaring ceilings. Like the Grand Palais in Paris. The sound of their footsteps was swallowed up in the vastness. It was awe inspiring.
And then Nikki saw what was happening. It was like an art exhibition. But the exhibition was human. Each of the slaves was mounted on a pedestal. Each one was mounted in a different position. A position tailored to his or her own individual characteristics.
Nikki saw one of the bigger male slaves mounted crouching, his shoulders up against a block of wood, his arms spread out, almost like he was being crucified. His thighs were straining, the muscles shaking. But somehow it made him look stronger and more masculine, impressive.
And at the base of each pedestal was a lectern, with a big binder – the dossier. Each of the potential buyers had been able to look at the dossiers on line, but here they were being displayed along with the actual slaves.
Ohhh…. A shudder ran down Nikki’s spine. The idea of “viewers”! Of course there would be viewers. Why not? That was standard auction procedure. There’d be a catalogue, but then there would also be a period of time where prospective buyers could review the merchandise. And she was merchandise.
But the idea of them reading the reports, the statistics about her body… how deep her vagina was, how much cock she could take in her mouth… and the reviews! What the serbs had written (translated into English of course), her cocksucking skills, her willness to please, Sylvie’s review of her service at the party… Ohhh! And Charles! There would be Charles’ report in there as well… her deepest darkest secrets, her shame.
She shuddered again. And what position would they put her in?
She didn’t have any more time to wonder about that. The trainer had led her over to a pedestal. In a pretty prominent place towards the center of the room. Her name was there, in 8 inch tall letters. Her dossier. And a number. Her auction number, she supposed.
The trainer unhooked the leash. Helped her to step up onto the pedestal. There was a metal frame, not really a cage, the bars were pretty far apart, but a frame that would enable them to attach her in whatever position they wished.
He tapped her on the arm. He didn’t need to say a word, she knew he wanted her to lift her arms over her head. And sure enough he attached her wrists to cuffs that were hanging down from the bars. Of course. They would want her hands over her head. It lifted her full breasts, made them rounder, more appealing. Also helped stretch her whole body, lifting her stomach and showing off her thighs to advantage.
He spread her legs slightly. Positioned them just as he wanted them and then attached ankle cuffs to two of the side bars at just the right distance. Nikki looked down. The floor of the pedestal was mirrored. Anybody looking down could look right up her cunt. See her glistening with arousal. Very clever.
Then he attached a posture collar. It was a tall collar that extended up the back of her neck, with a little rest for her chin. She couldn’t lower her head. It very effectively extended her spine. The combination of her arms above her head and the collar made her stand very very straight. Somebody had thought about this for a while and had devised the very best way to display her. Very clever.
She could still see around the room. Could see the other slaves. The girl next to her was on her hands and knees, her head lifted by a chin rest. The boy on the other side was standing with his legs spread wide and his arms spread too, displaying his beautiful abdominal muscles.
The trainer was just about finished attaching her. He stepped down from the pedestal. Reached up and twisted her right nipple, and then the left. He hardly had to do that, they were already incredibly erect. Finally he gave her a little “tap tap” on the ass – kind of like “I'm done here” and moved away.
Nikki was on display.
The slaves were lined up. All of them. And all the trainers were there. And some of the more senior house slaves. The girl who had done Nikki’s make-up before her date with Charles, the slaves who worked in the athletic facilities, the groomers, the wardrobe girls, the kitchen staff, everyone. It was quite a crowd.
Each of them had a role. Even with that many people, there was no chaos, no confusion. Just careful, organized, coordinated activity.
What was going on? It was obviously something very important. But nobody was communicating anything to the slaves. They were just being moved through, processed.
Was this it? Was it the auction, finally? Nikki wondered. Certainly it made sense… the slaves were being prepared for something, that was for sure. And it had been enough time since Mark had told her she was ready. She certainly felt ready, as ready as she was going to be.
Nikki breathed into it. Relaxed into the uncertainty of her status. It didn’t matter. If today was the auction, not the auction. She didn’t need to plan, didn’t need to take responsibility, didn’t need to do anything but relax and experience.
So she did.
Nikki breathed into it and felt herself as an object. Felt her status. Loved it.
She allowed all the activity and bustle to surround her, embrace her. And there was a lot of activity. She was washed, fed, her hair styled, her wax job touched up with tweezers (ouch!), her colon cleansed, her skin moisturized and polished, her face subtly made up. She was glamourized.
She felt the hands touching her. Probing and prodding. Moving her into position. And she allowed it to happen. Felt the ease and calm of it. Sure there was still a knot in the pit of her stomach. If this truly was auction day, then this was the day her fate would be determined.
Who would buy her? She tried to keep her mind off it, but she couldn’t keep from thinking about it.
Would it be Mark? Ohhhh! Thinking of that. Mark’s personal pet. Sleeping by the side of his bed. Helping him with his work (ohhh, how hard that would be, watching the new girls fall in love with him, watching his affection for them grow, and helping him to bond them to him…). But being with Mark all day, every day. Bringing him his food, washing him. Crawling into his bed every morning. Taking him into her body. How she wanted it.
Would it be Charles? He certainly wanted her. Be part of his household. Entertain his clients. Show off her worldliness and her skill. She could even help him with his work. She wasn’t his typical purchase, true enough. She was expensive, and he probably wouldn’t be able to flip her for a profit in a year or two, but she was sure he would know how to get value from her skills.
Would it be Sylvie? The island, the famous guests, the beautiful slaves. She let her mind wander to the lifestyle it represented. Mick Jagger? Contemporary artists? Authors, actors, leading thinkers, all taking refuge on Sylvie’s island. This was a place they could let down their guard and be themselves with the slaves as facilitators, tools, objects. The slaves there to be used, without fear of consequences, in any way the guests chose. Nikki felt the hair on the back of her neck rise. It was exciting, and scary at the same time.
Would it be the serbs? Nobody had talked about them as serious buyers. But what if…. Ohhh, the very idea frightened Nikki. To be purchased for hard use. Not her mind at all, but just her willingness to serve. No regard for her skills or abilities. Just another set of holes to be filled, another girl to serve them. She shuddered. Surely they wouldn’t want to pay as much as buyers who wanted her mind. Surely they could find a better deal with one of the younger girls. Nikki tried to push the possibility out of her mind.
Would it be somebody else? Somebody she had never even met. An Asian real estate speculator, a British aristocrat, an African warlord? A young speculator, an older established household? Would she end up as part of a household, at the bottom of the hierarchy, or as a senior slave helping to train younger girls? Would she be loved and treasured, or simply used. How long would it last? Would she be resold after?
The questions swirled in her head. She tried to relax into the feeling of having her hair brushed, her skin polished. But the excitement in the air was contagious. All of the slaves were realizing what was going on. There wasn’t any conversation – a few muttered commands, a couple of sharper corrections if the slaves weren’t paying attention. But mostly the trainers and house slaves went about their preparations unhampered.
As the clear polish on her fingernails and toenails was being touched up, Nikki realized that it was almost over. That everything that could be done to her had been done. That whatever was going to happen, was going to happen next.
She looked around and noticed that the senior trainers were leading slaves out of the preparation hall in small groups of 4-5, and then returning for more. Probably a third of the slaves were already gone.
Now her nails were done too. She was ready. She was moved over towards the side of the room with three other slaves. She recognized Tanuja, looking wonderful, her light brown skin glowing, her dark hair straight and long down her back. The two of them smiled at eachother. Nervous.
Finally the trainers were there. Not Mark, but one of the other senior trainers, attached a chain to Nikki’s collar. He gave her only about 18 inches of slack and pulled her towards the door. Nikki felt a rush of heat and wetness between her legs. Her nipples hardened. She felt a tingling feeling up her spine.
They walked through the door and the trainers led them through the corridors of the facility. Nikki heard her bare feet slapping against the marble floors and she was glad she was not being forced to crawl. They didn’t want to mark her knees, she supposed. They walked towards an area of the facility Nikki had never seen before. The farther they went the more the anticipation built.
Nikki was still not used to the strange mix of anticipation and lack of control. The idea of walking off into her fate. Having no idea what the result would be. Wow. It was powerful stuff.
She rounded another corner and suddenly the space opened up into a grand hall. Huge. Soaring ceilings. Like the Grand Palais in Paris. The sound of their footsteps was swallowed up in the vastness. It was awe inspiring.
And then Nikki saw what was happening. It was like an art exhibition. But the exhibition was human. Each of the slaves was mounted on a pedestal. Each one was mounted in a different position. A position tailored to his or her own individual characteristics.
Nikki saw one of the bigger male slaves mounted crouching, his shoulders up against a block of wood, his arms spread out, almost like he was being crucified. His thighs were straining, the muscles shaking. But somehow it made him look stronger and more masculine, impressive.
And at the base of each pedestal was a lectern, with a big binder – the dossier. Each of the potential buyers had been able to look at the dossiers on line, but here they were being displayed along with the actual slaves.
Ohhh…. A shudder ran down Nikki’s spine. The idea of “viewers”! Of course there would be viewers. Why not? That was standard auction procedure. There’d be a catalogue, but then there would also be a period of time where prospective buyers could review the merchandise. And she was merchandise.
But the idea of them reading the reports, the statistics about her body… how deep her vagina was, how much cock she could take in her mouth… and the reviews! What the serbs had written (translated into English of course), her cocksucking skills, her willness to please, Sylvie’s review of her service at the party… Ohhh! And Charles! There would be Charles’ report in there as well… her deepest darkest secrets, her shame.
She shuddered again. And what position would they put her in?
She didn’t have any more time to wonder about that. The trainer had led her over to a pedestal. In a pretty prominent place towards the center of the room. Her name was there, in 8 inch tall letters. Her dossier. And a number. Her auction number, she supposed.
The trainer unhooked the leash. Helped her to step up onto the pedestal. There was a metal frame, not really a cage, the bars were pretty far apart, but a frame that would enable them to attach her in whatever position they wished.
He tapped her on the arm. He didn’t need to say a word, she knew he wanted her to lift her arms over her head. And sure enough he attached her wrists to cuffs that were hanging down from the bars. Of course. They would want her hands over her head. It lifted her full breasts, made them rounder, more appealing. Also helped stretch her whole body, lifting her stomach and showing off her thighs to advantage.
He spread her legs slightly. Positioned them just as he wanted them and then attached ankle cuffs to two of the side bars at just the right distance. Nikki looked down. The floor of the pedestal was mirrored. Anybody looking down could look right up her cunt. See her glistening with arousal. Very clever.
Then he attached a posture collar. It was a tall collar that extended up the back of her neck, with a little rest for her chin. She couldn’t lower her head. It very effectively extended her spine. The combination of her arms above her head and the collar made her stand very very straight. Somebody had thought about this for a while and had devised the very best way to display her. Very clever.
She could still see around the room. Could see the other slaves. The girl next to her was on her hands and knees, her head lifted by a chin rest. The boy on the other side was standing with his legs spread wide and his arms spread too, displaying his beautiful abdominal muscles.
The trainer was just about finished attaching her. He stepped down from the pedestal. Reached up and twisted her right nipple, and then the left. He hardly had to do that, they were already incredibly erect. Finally he gave her a little “tap tap” on the ass – kind of like “I'm done here” and moved away.
Nikki was on display.
