Content: it/its, auction, sexual slavery, humiliation, degradation
The room is jam packed with buyers. Some are there alone, some with their partners, others on behalf of larger organisations. But they're all there for the same reason: to buy one of the slaves on offer.
Waiting in the wings, I hear the latest sale go through for £20,000. She's a virgin, pretty, no scars, and despite her innocence she oozes sexuality. Her lips are plump, her ass is tight. Of course they want her.
I step up onto the platform, completely naked and on show. The sudden chill in the room makes my nipples harden. The auctioneer starts the bidding at £2000.
No one raises a paddle.
I start to tremble as the auctioneer scowls at me. "Okay," he says with a smile. "You're right to notice that this one isn't quite as high quality as our last lot. But I assure you this slave knows its place well and will do whatever you tell it to."
Still no bids.
"It is highly capable of cooking, cleaning, completing all the domestics that you might need."
Silence.
"Discerning buyers, you're absolutely right - that is too high a starting price for a slave that has already been broken in. You're expecting purity and this? This isn't it. Any one for £1000?"
The men in the front row look offended.
"I meant £500. Gentlemen, ladies. Look!" the auctioneer reaches over the podium and slides a hand between my legs, squeezing me hard. He pulls back his fingers, wet with my juices, and tries, "It gets off on humiliation. Just think of the possibilities. All the ways you could hurt the pathetic thing and it would thank you for it!"
People in the back were beginning to get up and head for the bar, rapidly losing interest.
"£100. Think of it as giving to charity, ladies and gentlemen. After all, everyone needs that set of plates you get out when the in-laws come over, the ones that you don't care if they break or damage. This slave is just that. You can pass it around to visitors, you don't need to worry about damaging it because it's already past its best."
A few buyers consider it but ultimately decide the price is still too high. The auctioneer sighs. "Please, accept my sincere apologies for this, ladies and gentlemen. We aim to provide you with the highest quality stock and I regret we have failed with this lot. Will anyone take it off our hands for £1?"
Finally a paddle goes up.
The auctioneer doesn't hesitate. "Sold for £1 to the lowest bidder."
Content: intoxication/drugging, kidnapping, human trafficking, bondage/restraints, non-con
I met him at a bar. Not the sort of seedy bar that you're warned away from; it was a place that had seen its best days but was still welcoming. The drinks were good and cheap, the booths were comfy and the music wasn't too loud. A nice normal bar. I was with friends and he wore the same uniform as everyone else in the place, so when he offered us free shots for the group we didn't think twice.
I don't know if it was in that very first shot or the fifth but at some point the dance floor lights took on a softer glow. The bass rolled through me like low waves of thunder. The floor grew softer, the world began to tilt and strong arms caught me as I fell. They lifted me up, put me into a van and drove away.
When I came around, foggy, my thoughts slow, my body numb, I realised my friend was crying. Instinctively I reached for her but my arms and legs were held in place by metal shackles. The room became slowly clearer and I saw the rest of the group all locked in place. Two more were sobbing. One stared blankly into nothingness. Another was screaming, her voice hoarse and croaky, demanding to be released.
They left us alone long enough to hatch a hundred pointless plans, escapes which would never work. We argued. We cursed the universe. We accepted our fate. We knew the drug was in the food and water they gave us but we were too hungry, too thirsty to refuse it. I don't know about the others but I welcomed the blurriness, savoured the distance it put between me and my body.
One night, while the other girls slept in place, heads lolled forward, tear stains on their dirty cheeks, the door creaked open. The man from the bar looked me in the eye and raised a single finger to his lips. He walked over and unzipped his trousers. When he patted my cheek, I obediently opened my mouth. This wasn't the first time. I knew it wouldn't be the last. There was no point in fighting.
He moved slowly tonight, taking his time to ease his cock past my lips and down my throat. When he looked at me, I know he didn't see a person. He saw a warm hole for his dick, a sleeve to help him get release and somewhere to empty his balls. As the drug flowed through my veins, making my body heavy and seem so far away, I watched his face contort, swallowed his cum and knew the he was right. I wasn't the person I was before I woke up here. I probably never would be again.
People came and went, wandering into our cell with fancy suits and wicked expressions. Each time a new face appeared, one of my friends vanished. Not vanished, sold. They hadn't been there since that first day, before they'd lost hope. Not when they'd realised fighting back lead only to pain, to humiliation, to ruin.
Eventually, they were all gone.
I was the last one left.
Left behind.
Forgotten.
Only, that wasn't the case.
I'd been one of the first to be sold. But he wanted me broken, wanted me to accept my new place, to understand the futility of resistance. I don't know when they stopped pumping me with the drugs. By the time I realised, the fight had already abandoned me.
I look after the new girls now. I make sure that their rations are laced with higher and higher doses. I help them slip away into nothingness so it isn't as bad when they're sold and raped and broken. It's too late to save them but it's the best I can do.
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