On the Auction Block (10 page)

“One thing that I do know, though,” she said,
“is the ratio of slaves to gentlemen. One slave per six gentlemen
is about the lowest ratio that I’ve seen personally and that was
only when there were six slaves to entertain three dozen. My
husband owned three slaves so he mostly limited dinners to a dozen
couples at a sitting. When he did host a larger dinner, he borrowed
enough slaves to ensure that there was at least a one-to-four ratio
of slaves to gentlemen.” Irene knew that because it was a perverse
tradition that it was the wife’s duty to borrow the slaves. It was
part of the fiction that the slaves’ job was to help the wives in
their domestic chores. It helped that the other wives were only too
happy to get one of their husband’s favorite slaves off their
property, if only for an evening. They always lent the most
beautiful and attractive slave in the kennel. “Don’t misunderstand
me, I will devote myself entirely to entertaining your guests. But
if you could find some way to borrow a second slave – one with some
experience in these affairs – I think we would be far more
entertaining as a pair.”

He was frowning most severely.

She was keenly aware that she was still
secured to the whipping bench. And that he had never yet used a
cane on her. If she had overstepped her bounds, this might well be
the night when she felt the force of that terrible instrument.

She held her tongue and let him think about
that for a minute.

He was still frowning when he stood and
walked toward her.

She quailed in fear and pulled hard against
her bonds in anticipation of what might be coming.

“I appreciate your point,” he said, “but I
can’t. I don’t know anyone who owns a slave that I might
borrow.”

She almost cried in relief. He had not taken
offense. “I do,” she said.

He cocked his head.

“I know many households that own slaves.”

“What good does that do me? I can’t call
them. What would I say? ‘Hey, buddy, we’ve never met but I’d like
to borrow your favorite slave for my friends to use for an
evening.’ I’d be laughed at.”

“You wouldn’t do it. Men don’t borrow each
others’ slaves. If they tried, it would sound as bad as you said.
It wouldn’t be seemly. Their wives lend and borrow their slaves for
them. When I was the wife of a lord, I often borrowed slaves from
my friends. And lent my husband’s out. Sometimes all three of them
at once so that his kennel was bare for a night.” That happened
only rarely but she’d found great satisfaction in seeing her
husband’s lust frustrated for a night.

“Mrs. Dodge can’t borrow a slave, either. She
doesn’t know the wives of any slave owners.”

“I do. I might be able to borrow one for
you.”

“You? You’re a slave yourself.”

“I can try. If any of my old friends will
still speak to me. One of them might take pity on me. Even if I
fail, it wouldn’t reflect badly on you. Like I said, men don’t get
involved in the lending of slaves. And it can’t reflect badly on
me, I’m just a slave. Nothing can degrade me any more than I
already degraded myself when I stripped off my clothes, put a chain
about my neck, and stepped up on the auction block.”

“I’ll never understand why you did that.”

“I’ll never be able to explain it. Maybe it
had something to do with having to serve as a pimp for my husband’s
slaves. But it was a lot of other things, too.”

He shrugged. “I’ll talk to Mrs. Dodge about
your proposal.” He uncuffed her wrists and ankles.

“She might not be happy about the
arrangement.”

“She’ll like it or I’ll take the cane to
her.”

Flame was horrified. She’d never heard a man
threaten to take a cane to his wife, even in jest. Then she
wondered if Dodge had ever actually done it. Such a thing would be
inconceivable in the proper social class. But this far down the
hill? She didn’t know.

“May I make a suggestion about deportment?”
Her ass quivered in fear that he would take offence and re-chain
her to the bench to express his displeasure with the strap.

He raised an eyebrow. “You better.”

“Your jest about taking a cane to Mrs. Dodge.
Such a jest has to remain between you and me. It would be a serious
breach of etiquette to ever, even in a casual joke, imply that you
might treat a lady like a slave. Even to your most trusted friend.
The distinction between slaves and ladies is absolutely
inviolate.”

“I understand.”

She hoped that he did.

* * *

“Linda? This is… Irene.” She stumbled over
her own name. She no longer had any right to use it, but her old
friend wouldn’t recognize the name,
Flame
.

There was a long silence on the other end of
the line.

Flame hadn’t heard the click of a
disconnection. “Linda? Are you there?”

“Is it true?” The voice was cold.

“What?”

“You disappeared. Everyone is saying that you
were sold at auction.” Her friends voice dropped to a near whisper.
“That you were made a slave.”

“That’s almost true.”

“Almost?”

“I wasn’t made a slave. I made myself a
slave. I volunteered to be sold.”

There was stone silence from the phone.

“Linda?” Flame asked.

There was more silence. Then, “I don’t
understand.” Her voice was small and uncertain. “What does that
mean?”

“It’s pretty simple, really. I went to a
slave auction with James and I saw the slaves being sold and they
all looked so scared. But they looked alive. Vital. And I felt so…
not alive. As a lady, I knew exactly what I was going to be doing
the next day and the next and all the rest of the days of my life.
The slaves had no idea what was going to happen to them after they
were sold. I wanted to be as alive as they were. Can you understand
that?”

“No.”

“I know. I find it hard to understand, too.
But I knew in my gut that I had to do it. I had to get up on the
block and be sold. It was humiliating and terrifying. Every second,
from the moment I stepped onto the auction block to the moment that
I was put into a kennel is etched on my brain forever. I’ve never
had a day of my life, not even my wedding day, that was as
emotionally powerful as every single second standing on the block,
listening to men bid on me. Committing yourself to marriage is pale
and insignificant compared to committing yourself to slavery.”

There was another silence.

Flame let her friend digest what she had
said.

Finally, Linda said, “You’re sick. Insane.
You belong in an asylum. In a straightjacket in a padded cell. You
need to be locked up for your own good.”

“I am locked up most of the time. An hour
ago, I was chained to a whipping bench and raped by my owner.
Barely a day passes that he doesn’t put in some kind of bondage and
use me for sex. It doesn’t matter what I want. He wouldn’t dream of
asking my permission. He does whatever he wants to me. Anything.
Without restriction. On Saturday, he’s hosting a dinner party and
I’ll be servicing his guests in the billiard room after the meal.
There’ll be seven men. They’ll spend hours forcing me to perform
every kind of sex act that they can imagine. They’ll penetrate me
every way that a woman can be penetrated. It’s going to happen to
me in two days and there’s not a damn thing that I can do to stop
it. Not a damn thing.”

Flame could hear her friend breathing heavily
into the phone. She didn’t know if she had disgusted her friend or
stimulated her lust or both, but she had certainly aroused some
strong emotion in her.

“Maybe you can understand, after all,” Flame
said. “As a slave, I often feel fear and pain and humiliation. And
sometimes, even a bit of joy, too. But I’m feeling something every
moment of every day. I never felt that when I was a lady. When I
was a lady, there was never a time, not even on my wedding night
when I gave my virginity to my new husband, that I felt such
intense emotion as I feel whenever my owner is using me. You can’t
imagine how keenly I feel my own emotions now. All the time.”

Flame stopped talking and let Linda absorb
that idea.

“There’s no divorce from slavery, you know,”
Linda said. “No annulment. You can’t even be widowed from slavery.
If your owner dies, you’re part of the estate and will be sold to
someone else. You can’t ever come back to us. You can’t return and
we wouldn’t take you back even if you could. You’re gone forever.
You left me. You left your husband. You left everyone.”

“No,” Flame said. “I didn’t leave my husband.
James left me. He was there when I was being auctioned. He watched
men bidding on me and he didn’t lift a finger. He could have bought
me for less than he bought his other slave at the same auction.
Instead, when I was on the auction block, he walked away and let a
stranger buy me. If he wanted me he could have owned me. He could
have had me more completely and utterly than he ever had me as his
wife. I thought that he loved me, but I was wrong. He didn’t want
me so he left. He took his new slave with him and left me
behind.”

“Why would he want you? You weren’t a person
any more. You made yourself a piece of property. You stopped
wanting to be his wife and became the property of the highest
bidder. What did that say about him, that you would rather be the
slave of a stranger than a lord’s wife?”

“I was saying that I would rather be his
slave than his wife. I was kept in his manor like a stuffed trophy
animal while he was out in the kennels fucking his slaves. I wanted
him to be fucking me, too. I wanted to please him and that was
never going to happen while I was his wife.”

“And now you’re not his wife. And you’re not
being fucked by him. Now you’re being fucked by some other man. By
lots of other men. And you know what’s happening to your husband?
All the eligible women in the county are flocking around him like
moths around a candle, each dying to be the next Lady Fortson. He
has his pick of the ladies.”

“I hope he picks one who will be happy with
him.”

“He’ll find one who won’t sell herself into
slavery right in front of him. That for damn sure.” Linda sounded
angry.

Flame hadn’t meant to make her friend angry.
“I’m sorry. I don’t expect you to understand what I did.” She
laughed ruefully. “And I certainly don’t expect that any other lady
will ever sell herself into slavery.”

“You can be damn sure that we won’t.”

“I called because I was hoping that you’ll do
me a favor.”

“Really?” Linda’s voice dripped with sarcasm.
“You should know how often I do favors for slaves.”

“I’m hoping that you’ll consider me a special
case.”

“Not bloody likely.”

Flame took a deep breath. “My owner is
throwing a dinner party on Saturday and I was hoping that he could
borrow one of your slaves for the evening.”

Linda laughed bitterly. “A slave wants to
borrow a slave. Isn’t that one for the record books.”

Flame answered with a laugh that was light
rather than bitter. “I know. My owner’s wife would have asked but
she doesn’t know anyone else who owns a slave.”

“No? Sounds like your owner isn’t a man of
much substance.”

“No, he’s not.”

“So why in hell would I lend him a slave?
What would he ever be able to do for me in return?”

“He owns a slave. He’d be happy to lend her
to you the next time you need one.”

There was another pause. “You mean you?
You’re telling me that I could borrow you the next time that I need
to host a party for a dozen men and need someone to service
them?”

“Yes.”

“No.”

“Don’t be so quick to decide. Think about it
for a minute,” Flame said. “People in your circle know my history.
They’ll find me a rather exotic treat. Your husband’s friends will
be talking about his party for years after they’ve forgotten all
the other parties that they’ve attended.”

Flame held her breath, waiting to see if she
had convinced her friend.

“You’re shameless.”

“No. I feel my shame more sharply than you
can know. I was raised to be a lady from birth. That doesn’t go
away. My shame cuts me all the way to the bone. I’ve abased myself
even asking you for a favor. Offering myself for the sexual
gratification of men that I’ve dined with, men of lower rank than
me, men that I’ve snubbed socially, is the most degrading thing
that I’ve ever done. If you want to punish me most cruelly, make me
suffer most deeply, all you have to do is agree to my offer.”

“And you still want me to lend you a
slave?”

“I’m begging you. I’d abase myself before you
if you were here. I’d drop to my knees and press my face to the
ground at your feet.”

“I’ll think about it,” Linda said at last. “I
don’t negotiate with slaves. Tell your owner’s wife to call
me.”

She disconnected.

Flame hoped that Linda would agree. She had
to find a slave for her owner to borrow, no matter what it cost
her. What she had offered to Linda, that she could be borrowed to
service her former friends, would be unbearable but she had no
choice. Every slave had to bear the unbearable.

She went to find Mrs. Dodge and tell her how
to talk to Lady Linda Hoffman. She could only hope that she
wouldn’t be beaten too severely for her effrontery.

* * *

Flame’s heart thudded and her stomach
churned. In her entire life, exactly two men had used her for sex –
her husband, James, and her owner, Dodge.

In two hours, she would be fucked by six more
men, not counting Dodge who would surely fuck her as well.

The number of men in her entire life who had
used her for sex would increase fourfold in the course of a couple
of hours.

She had no idea what it would feel like to be
used over and over in different ways by so many men in such a short
time, but she doubted that she would enjoy it. What she did know
was that none of the men that used her tonight would care a whit
whether she enjoyed it or not.