Auction
My day starts out like any other; a fresh cup of coffee at my favourite café, a breakfast muffin from a wonderful bakery, and an equally delicious-looking treat reading alone at a bench across the park. Such a treat makes my breakfast feel drab and boring in comparison. I just know she would make for an excellent new item at my auction. Of course, she would need to be trained but with a pedigree like hers, I do think it would be worth the effort. I smile at the thought; preparing an item for sale is always my favourite part of running the auction.
She would fetch for a good price, I’m sure. She’s much taller than me, easily 6 feet, with flowing red hair that reaches her waist. Her tits will certainly be popular, round as they were. Long, smooth legs wrapped tightly in jeans beckoned me like a gift under a Christmas tree. My smile grows at the thought. Oh yes, she will do nicely. Thoughts of preparing her made me think of my own body; where she was beautiful, I was hardly unattractive. Her pale skin opposed my dark, her red hair flowed where my brown curled. She would learn which of us was the superior, regardless of beauty. It looks like I have another wonderful day ahead of me.
Finishing my coffee and muffin, I leave the café, waving goodbye to the barista who served me. She was merely cute, certainly not worth the effort of preparing for auction. Approaching the bench and its beautiful prize, I put on my most warm and comforting expression. Already she looks up and smiles back; taking her and making her mine would be easy.
“Hi! I saw you from across the park and I have to know what book you’re reading.” It’s not a question, of course. Telling her to tell me puts her below me, right from the start.
“O-oh! It’s a really interesting book about Irish mythology. I—“ I cut her off by sitting next to her. Being so close, I can see faint freckles on her cheeks. Everything about her shouts ‘profitable’ to my appraising eye.
“Irish mythology? That’s so interesting! Tell me about it.” I move closer, our legs are touching. She doesn’t move away, getting flustered by the intimacy. Perfect.
“W-well it’s all about heroes like Medb and Cú Chulainn and how their stories vary in different parts of Ireland! I really love how different tellings make them appear as almost different characters, but the names and places are consistent through all the stories.” God, she could really prattle. I’ll have to train that out of her. I’ve let her chatter long enough, time to do what I’m here for. “It’s a great book! I can lend it to you if you….you… Sorry, I don’t know. What was I talking about?”
My smile widens as uncertainty paints her face. Her eyes daze around confused and her head sways. In her all her prattle, didn’t even notice the syringe I stuck into her leg. What an idiot! She looks to me, searching for the thoughts that escape her now.
“W-what’s? Am I? I do-don’t understand.” Her tongue trips over itself trying to find the right words. She’s quite cute like this. I put my arms around her comfortingly, hugging her tight. She fumbles awkwardly but can’t break from my grip.
“Shhh-shhh. It’s ok, I’m here. I’ve got you now.” Using my kindest, most comforting voice, I lower her down onto my lap. “You’re just feeling a little drowsy now, alright? All that talk of mythology has tired you out now. Why don’t you lie down on my comfortable lap and rest? You’re too tired and drowsy to do anything else. There, isn’t that nice? Aren’t I nice and comfortable? That’s a good girl.” Her hands weakly paw at me and she tries to string words together. All that comes out of her mouth are weak moans.
“Your eyelids must be so heavy. You must be so tired now. Your head must be filled with so much fog. Isn’t it nice to just close your eyes? To rest with nice comfortable me? That’s right, it is nice! Good girl! You rest now and I’ll take good care of you. That’s a good girl.” Her eyes roll to the back of her head as she finally collapses into my lap, weak as a kitten. I pat her cheek softly—it’s smooth and warm under my touch. She mumbles gently in her sleep but I leave her be; drugged as she is, she won’t wake up for at least an hour. Perfect for my plans for her. Letting her sleep deeply in my lap, I pull out my phone. My smile fades; I’m all business now.
Texting one of my slaves back at my office, I arrange a pickup for myself and my new prize. The message is read instantly and confirmed—the result of good training. I play with my sleeping girl’s hair as I wait for the van to arrive. It’s soft and silky under my fingers. That kind of asset will sell well when I put her up for auction. Musing about her training and auctioning her off is as good a way to spend my free time.
A van pulls up and two tall, muscular girls get out. They weren’t dressed in their usual slave-suit but instead casual clothes with matching black collars. The two of them looked at me with mindless eyes, waiting for orders from their owner. They could stand like that for hours, waiting and waiting for me to give them their next thought.
“Collect her and put her in the back. Tie her up and gag her once you’re both inside. That is all, muscle-slaves.” No acknowledgement registers in their faces as they get to work. Blocked from view by the van, nobody sees them gingerly pick up my new toy and place her into the back. Before they get in, I reach up and grab one’s face by the cheeks. The muscle-slaves are trained thoroughly both physically and mentally. I like to drain them completely of personality; you wouldn’t ask a forklift for its opinion, so why ask a muscle-slave for one? She doesn’t react while I hold her there frozen, empty eyes locked forward into mine. I let her go and she gets in, wasting no time following her orders. I see them carefully tying my toy’s sleeping form down with the practiced precision of mindlessness. I must have used these two muscle-slaves for this before. It’s easy to forget individual slaves, especially muscle-slaves. I’ve even stopped really noticing them now. Oh well, it’s not like they care.
The office-slave assigned to chauffeur the muscle-slaves isn’t much for conversation. Dressed in a black pant suit like all other office-slaves, her brown hair back in a bun, and her makeup carefully done, she could fit into any regular office setting. The only giveaway that this girl had been emptied of thoughts and filled with obedience was the standard black collar worn by all my slaves, auctioned or otherwise. It’s a small personal touch I like to add.
“Tell me, office-slave. What is your name? And the names of the muscle-slaves in the back?” This ride was taking longer than I’d hoped. Maybe this office-slave will say something unique and give me an excuse to condition any stray thoughts out of her head when we get to the office.
“This office-slave’s designation is 413, Owner.” Her tone was completely devoid of emotion, much like her head was devoid of thought. Another disappointingly perfect slave, then. I can still send her to the conditioning rooms if I feel like it by the time I get back. I could tell her to go down there and she’d strap herself into the chair. Nothing but the best performance from my slaves, of course! “The muscle-slave’s designations are 672 and 391 respectively, Owner.”
“Very good, office-slave. I’ll have a pleasure-slave to reward you when we get back to the office.” Out of the corner of my eye I see her shiver slightly. Not at the mention of reward, I’m sure, but instead at the praise I gave her. Every slave lives for it, after all. The office-slave gives me enough distraction for the rest of the drive to go by quickly and we arrive back to the office in the centre of town.
The office-slave pulls the van around the back of the impressive high-rise building towards the underground parking. The morning sun shines against the glass of the office setting the whole building aglow with golden light. I love to look up at it in the morning—a shining beacon to my hard-earned slave empire. We pull into the underground parking, empty except for other pickup vans like the one I’m in. I get out to call the elevator and watch the slaves get to work.
“Muscle-slave 672 and muscle-slave 391, take the package to conditioning room 7. That is all.” The office-slave’s neutral tone seemed at odds with giving orders but the muscle-slaves got to work immediately. They handled the girl with all the care their muscular arms could manage. She looked so small and helpless held captive like that. Just how I like my girls to be.
As the elevator arrives, I turn to the office-slave. “Go and report to a pleasure-slave for your reward, any will do. Tell her I sent you. That’s a good girl.” I smile at her and her eyes shoot up into her skull. She remains like that as the elevator doors slide shut, so overwhelmed with pleasure that she doesn’t notice us leave. For slaves like her, my praise is better than any reward a pleasure-slave could give. But it’s good practice to keep the pleasure-slaves in use when I’m not around.
The muscle-slaves stand statue-still as we ascend the office building. 10 floors go by, then 20. 30 floors up and we slow to the 31st, where all the conditioning rooms are. The first 25 floors of the office building are dedicated to making money in above-the-board industries. My office-slaves work tirelessly so I never have to. The 5 above that are sleeping pods that the slaves lay into for the night. Most slaves never leave the office; it’s a perfect system. A beehive of workers with me as its decadent queen!
My smile widens as the muscle-slaves take my new pet into conditioning room 2. The room had already been prepared by other slaves; the chair in its centre beckoned ready for another victim to be enslaved.
“Strip her and put her in the chair, slaves.” The muscle-slaves got to work, defined arms pulling off jacket and shoes followed by shirt and pants. Like a puppet with cut strings, she hung limp in the slave’s strong arms wearing only her lingerie. “Aren’t you full of surprises, girl! Such wonderful lingerie under such boring clothes. Were you going to a date? Or did you just like to feel sexy under all those stuffy books?” I held her chin and lifted her sleeping face to look up at mine. Her confused, dazed expression is just delicious. “I hope whoever buys you feels the same. Get her naked and put her in the chair.” While my musings might have gone over the muscle-slave’s empty heads, the order certainly didn’t. They made quick work of her underwear and left her a naked, sleeping doll bound up in the chair. Now she was almost ready to begin the training for her new life. “Give her something to wake her up. Then leave.”
The muscle-slaves complied and the door clicked shut as the girl’s eyes opened blearily. She tries to speak but finds her mouth gagged. Her eyes go wide with panic when she tries to move only to find her arms and legs bound to the chair. She screams, her pathetic moans filling the room. It’s nothing I haven’t seen before, of course. Her fear is part of the fun! She hasn’t even noticed she’s naked yet. She shakes and squirms in the chair, trying to break her bonds. Tears streak down her face and sobs escape her throat. She’s confused and scared, as she should be. I wait for her to quiet down before I start to speak. These are the last thoughts she’ll ever have; it’s a small kindness to let them play out.
“There’s no point trying to break out, you know. Stronger women than you have failed. No one knows you’re here. No one will come to save you. As of right now, you are my toy to play with.” Her sobs begin again with my calmly delivered speech. “You see, I sell quality products to interested buyers. I take useless little girls like you and I improve them for auction. I’m going to train you to be the perfect slave and then I’m going to sell you to the highest bidder. Will you be arm-dressing for some rich pimp? Or a playgirl for a casino? Or maybe a perfectly happy trophy wife for an ugly billionaire? I want you to think about that while you still can, girl. Because you won’t be able to think for much longer.” Her eyes are full of dread and tears. I can see now that she’s starting to realise her new situation. That’s good; acceptance makes the training easier. “Oh, and one more thing. This is pure business. Nothing personal.”
I leave with a smile, walking backwards to the door. She stares at me with disbelief, almost as if she’s begging me to stay and brag some more, to delay the inevitable. Watching her break will be delicious. As I leave, closing the door behind me, I call to the training-slave waiting outside the room. Clad in the standard black latex slave-suit with black collar, its empty eyes stare mindlessly at me. It would stare those same unfeeling eyes at anyone; it’s what makes them so effective at breaking in new slaves.
“Enter and begin her conversion. I’ll be watching from the observation deck.” It nods in response. Higher levels of slaves are allowed more of a mind to better complete their tasks; a training-slave requires more thoughts to break a girl than a muscle-slave will need to carry one. I’ve never liked that necessity. It feels like she’s thinking of how to break me, not that it would ever come to that. The safest employees are slaves, after all! No need to fear betrayal if your inferiors can’t even think the word ‘uprising’.
The observation deck is hidden by a one-way mirror and lines two walls of the conversion room, offering me a perfect view of my new toy’s training. Already I see the training-slave hook the IVs to the girl’s arm. The room is empty save for a muscle-slave cleaning in the corner.
“You. Get on your hands and knees, I want a seat for this performance.” She responded instantly, her tall frame folding to the floor. Her broad back, clad in red latex, makes a perfect seat for me to relax on as the conversion takes place in front of me. The hidden speakers relay all of the training-slave’s early speech to the helpless girl.
“This IV will administer a sedative drug into your system that will prevent you from moving. Do not resist.” Her neutral, bored tone delivered the news in the same way a cashier would give you your change. That, plus those soulless eyes, makes the training-slaves so perfect for breaking girls into slaves. My toy was still struggling and screaming, trying desperately to pull away from the training-slave. Fresh tears streamed down her face and sweat poured off her body. “After the sedative has taken effect I will put headphones and a screen in front of you. These will feed you subliminal messages to break your mind and convert you into a base slave.” Still sobbing, the girl’s shoulders slumped against the back of the chair. Either despair had taken her, or the sedative must be taking effect. The training-slave continued in her clinical description: “I am telling you this for the pleasure of my Owner. No one, including myself, has ever survived conversion with their mind intact. You will be converted into a slave.” With that, the training-slave slipped headphones onto the girl’s vaguely resisting head with ease and lowered the screen to eye-level.
My seat remains stiff underneath me as I lean forward, my face close to the glass. The girl, strapped in and helpless, struggles weakly against her constraints. The headphones throb hypnotic music and the screen strobe spirals into her eyes. Already I can see the spirals catch her attention, dragging her eyes into their centre. The whole conversion doesn’t take long; time and effort had perfected the process into an art but that doesn’t mean I don’t enjoy watching her resist. Her eyes are trapped staring into the spiral at the centre of the screen. Her jaw hangs slack, drool starting to pool and drip down to her bare chest. I lean closer, shifting my weight on my seat, eagerly waiting the next step of the conversion.
A vibrator pistons up out of the chair, rubbing sensually on the girl’s exposed clit. She gasps, the shock of pleasure pushing through her crumbling mind. It sends her weak body shivering, the pleasure reinforcing the mantras fed into her ears. Her jaw gapes wide with a lustful moan as she feels the sex toy driving into her. Relentless images of submission and obedience fill her eyes and sink into her mind. Her lips quiver in time to the music from the headphones, her mouth beginning to mouth my words. Those words take hold of her now as the chair melts her mind. The voice feeding powerful commands into her soft mind, embedding into her core. The screen, the drugs, the music, it all scours away her mind in a sweaty mess of lust and obedience. Mantras of mindless obedience rub away thoughts of identity and free will. Commands delivered in brutally neutral tones force their way into her sense of self. All orchestrated by the uncaring training-slave who watches dispassionately over the whole affair.
Every moment she spent in that chair breaks her a little bit more. Every thrust of the vibrator removes more of her will, scrubs more of her thoughts. The alluring spiral sucks away her mind as she is bombarded with irresistible lust. Already her mouth mouths my mantras wordlessly, drool pooling on her sweaty tits. Her eyes, caught by the screen, are already emptying. Her body stiffens with newfound obedience under my hypnotic commands, her back straightening and her eyes locking forward. With the climax of an orgasm, the girl is wiped blank and replaced with a mindless slave.
The training-slave walks forward and unbuckles the new slave’s arms and legs from the chair. She doesn’t move; she hasn’t been ordered to. As I enter the conversion room, the training-slave swivels to look at me but my new slave doesn’t react. Her eyes are still locked forward, staring into nothing, awaiting commands to fill her mind.
“Stand up and to attention. Training-slave, what is this slave’s name?” My new slave stands up briskly. Her feet together, her back straight, her eyes forward. She was the perfect image of a slave standing to attention, a statue posed for my pleasure.
“This is slave 983, Owner. She has yet to receive specialised training.” The training-slave eye’s never wavered from my face as she speaks. “She will be prepared for auction now. Do you have any special orders for her, Owner?” The new slave’s face remains perfectly blank as we speak. She would stay standing there until she collapsed from exhaustion if I told her to. To call it waiting for commands wouldn’t be right; waiting implies intent. Now that I have scrubbed away every part of her mind, she was a simple tool that existed to be used. There’s always something special about a slave in this stat. No special training or orders, just a blank slate waiting to be used by an artist like myself. This blank slate still needed work however. Statue-still as she was, my slave is still drenched in sweat and lust from the conversion. Her bright hair was a messy tangle falling down her back.
“Clean her up and give her the standard auction conditioning. I’m not keeping her so nothing fancy.” Whoever buys her can use her as they see fit. They’ll undoubtedly mistreat her; only an artist like myself could properly use a slave to their best potential. But sales like this one fund my empire and let me live in the lap of luxury. A beautiful girl like this will fetch a pretty penny tonight.
The auction itself is a high-class event. Glamourous women, rich men, all dressed to impress. Like peacocks displaying their beauty, the billionaires decorate themselves with slaves of all types. Boys, girls, and everything in-between hang onto their owner’s arms with blank eyes and masks of love. Many of the buyers here are return costumers; I recognise a few of my catches amongst the guests. However… there was one new face in the crowd.
A stunning Asian woman glided along the floor, her sheer red dress trailing off behind her. Silky black hair framed a pale, elegant face. Alone and new to the auction, I see that introductions must be in order. New faces means new money, after all.
“Welcome to my auction, Madam…?” I kiss her hand as I look up, the question hanging in the air. Looking down her nose, her eyes study me before she speaks.
“You may call me Lady Tama.” Her accent marked her as Japanese and her attitude marked her as wealthy. Her fragrant perfume hung in a cloud around her. “I’m new to this western auction house. I have come to… see what merchandise you offer.”
I smile brightly. A new buyer means more connections, and more connections means more slaves and money. This Lady Tama stinks of money for me to make. “My auction has never had a disappointed customer yet, Lady Tama. I do so hope you are not the first. Come, the auction is about to begin! I’m quite proud of my recent acquisitions!”
Tama’s face remained passive as she nodded her consent. Many of the usual customers had found their seats by now as I move backstage. An office-slave greets me with a clipboard.
“All auction-slaves are ready for display, Owner.” She leads the way to the line of auction-slaves standing at attention. Waiting in line are a dozen women of various shapes, sizes, and nationalities. They all wore a blank, empty-eyed expression and simple bikinis with my trademark chokers. I check them over one by one. Gripping the face by the cheeks of one muscle-bound black slave yielded no reaction; she stared straight-ahead with mindless eyes. The same non-reaction from the Hispanic girl and the blonde-haired Scandinavian slave. At the end of the line was the Irish girl, my newest slave. I cupped her tits in my hand and smiled. I would go to sleep tonight a lot richer than when I woke up.
Lights dim and conversations die as the curtains to the stage open. The long awaited reveal of fresh new slaves grabs the attention of the entire audience. I wait a beat, letting the customers appraise the merchandise. I find Lady Tama at a table, her face impassive but her eyes scanning each slave for imperfections. It’s hard to tell what she’s thinking… I’m sure one of the girls onstage will appeal to her.
“Ladies and Gentlemen! Esteemed guests! Welcome to tonight’s auction!” My voice booms out into the crowd. Impatient applause follows. They’re all too eager to start putting money in my pocket. “And what a lovely auction I’ve prepared for you all! A dozen beautiful women all prepared to obey any order you give them. As willing to debase themselves as they are to clean your house! Let’s begin with item number 1 of our auction, shall we?”
The muscular black slave takes a step forward and stands to attention. Her eyes wide and empty, her arms at her side and her tits pushed out on display. Immediately bids begin to come in—thousands of dollars thrown around without a care in the world. I lean into my mic and speak softly…
“This little treat came to us from a local gym and is perfect for all your menial tasks. You could have your own personal footstool to get nice and comfortable on! Or maybe dress her up in a maid outfit just for the fun of it. My guarantee, just like with all my slaves, is that she won’t have a thought in her head the entire time!” I turn to the slave and whisper into her ear. A gasp runs through the audience as I jump up into the slave’s tree-trunk arms. Face blank, she holds me up effortlessly and stands still as a statue. “You see? She’s the perfect tool for all your physical needs!”
Applause erupts. It’s a showy trick but one to always get the crowd interested. I soak it in, enjoying the love and attention with a wide grin. Looking through the audience, I see Lady Tama is unimpressed with the performance… perhaps I’ll need a better demonstration of what my slaves can do.
The black slave is quickly sold off for a cool million dollars. The customer, a fat billionaire with a whole retinue of glassy-eyed servants, seemed very happy with his purchase. Hugging the muscle-slave in close, he whispers in her ear for just a moment. Without reacting at all, the black girl kneels down to her hands and knees for the billionaire to prop his feet up onto. Smiling a greedy smile, he relaxes into his seat, satisfied with his new footstool.
So the bidding went until my final piece of merchandise. All the other slaves stood forward and were sold off, some demonstrating simple functions and all obeying without thought or emotion. None seemed to impress Lady Tama, who remained seated and didn’t bid once. The Hispanic girl danced for the crowd, weaving between tables and giving empty smiles to interested customers. The Scandinavian girl sang a beautiful melody that captivated the silent audience. Each slave sold for millions. I was sad to see them go; they would have been nice to keep as pleasure-slaves for myself but I wasn’t going to say no to so much money.
Finally only the Irish girl and I are left standing alone onstage. Before me are satisfied and unsatisfied customers. That’s good for business; anyone that didn’t catch a slave this time round will try again at the next auction. Lady Tama hadn’t moved.
“This fine little treat came to us today! Fresh out of training… and look at that hair! Do you have an Irish girl in your collection yet? She’s the pick of the crop!” My voice echoes out into the room and I can see Lady Tama lean a little closer. My smile widens—she likes this one. “Yes, that’s right. She’s a perfect new slave for anyone’s needs, be they a regular here or a first-time customer.”
At the snap of my fingers, the Irish girl marches forward to Lady Tama’s table. She lifts an eyebrow in surprise but allows the demonstration to continue. The slave kisses her hands, her arms, her neck. Sensually loving the woman, her face a mask of love and devotion. Soft fingers trace Tama’s pale skin—she tries to remain impassive but her cheeks blush red. The slave’s hips rock against Tama’s body, swaying sensually. Lady Tama gasps at the display, her cold exterior failing under the slave’s sexual advance. The Irish girl leans in to kiss the Japanese woman on the lips—Tama is breathing heavier as the slave holds her face. Their lips are inches apart, their breath mingling in the air. Tama moves up closer, ready for the kiss…
I snap my fingers again and the slave snaps to attention. Blank faced, she swivels on the spot and marches back to stage, all the lust and sexuality erased from her features. Tama looks frustrated and flustered; she might not be happy at getting teased but it was a very good demonstration of the slave’s abilities. If that doesn’t get her interested, I don’t know what will. Still as a statue on stage, the slave stands ready to be bought.
“Just a little example of what this fine piece can do for you! Let’s start bidding at a cool million, shall we?” Tama’s bid was the first to come in. I’d won her over! Like that, the Irish girl I had met that morning was gone completely. Her identity erased, replaced by a slave’s empty mind, and bought off by a Japanese woman who’d use her as a sextoy. A new customer satisfied! It’s always nice to bring a little happiness into rich people’s lives if they’re willing to pay for it.
A warm glow suffuses the crowd as customers leave with their new purchases. I bask in the attention as rich guests offer their thanks; shaking hands, exchanging smiles, patting backs. I catch Lady Tama walking briskly away from it all, making for the exit. Behind her marches the Irish slave matching her pace perfectly, her eyes laser-focused forward.
“Did you enjoy the auction, my Lady? I see one of my slaves didn’t disappoint!” Caught with me between her and the door, she’s forced to stop and talk to me. “Why leave so soon? You could meet others in our industry.” The invitation hung in the air like her distractingly thick perfume.
“Your slaves were largely average. I only bought this one so I wouldn’t leave empty-handed.” Her cutting tone hurts but I can tell it’s an excuse she’s trying to tell herself. A faint blush returns to her cheeks as she speaks. “In fact, I —.“ Cutting herself off, a smile creeps across her face as she looks down at me. Her eyes scan me as if really looking at me for the first time since we’d met.
“I would like to speak with you a little more privately about your slaves. That is agreeable, yes?” Her floral perfume seems to stick to my nose as she speak. It’s sickly sweet and I can’t place the scent. It seems like a good idea; more talk of slaves means more money in my bank account.
“Of course! If you’ll just follow me to a private room, we can talk business for as long as you like.” She walks next to me as I lead her away from the main theatre. That fucking perfume leaving a cloud around and behind her—it’s amazing the slave doesn’t choke breathing it in. I still can’t identify what is, the more I try and breathe it in the more confusing and mysterious it gets. Lady Tama doesn’t seem to notice my breathing a little heavier as we walk.
The room is a small but comfortable affair, luxurious sofas and seats surrounding a warm fireplace. It’s a room meant for relaxing its inhabitants and loosening their wallets. Perfect for talking shop in a classy way. I sit down in an armchair across from the fire and Tama sits close by on a long sofa with her new slave attending to her. Already she was using her toy; she must be used to having slaves care for her. In the small room, her perfume seems even thicker in the air.
“What interests you about my slaves?” A simple opening question. It opens the way for easy discussion…. and I’m struggling to think of a smarter one. I must be tired after a full day of preparing for the auction. The armchair is soft and inviting all around me.
“I am more interested in you, my dear.” The answer catches me off guard. Why is she interested in me? I’m just the supplier, she should be into the goods. Bizarrely, my tongue feels thick in my mouth and I’m slow to respond. “Oh don’t worry about talking, girl. You’re better for eye-candy than conversation.”
Confused, I look up at her. She’s so close—when did she get up? When did she sit beside me on the arm of the chair? God, her perfume is too much. I can’t breathe for how thick it is. I can feel it slowing everything down. Wait—is she…
“Aww, confusion is a good look on you. Have you figured it out, little girl?” Each word sends more perfume into my face, sending me spinning in my chair. My mind is reeling. What’s going on? What’s happening? What is she doing? My eyebrows knit together and my mouth hangs open making useless, senseless noises. Slowly, I realise that perfume is much subtler than a needle in the leg. I should do something! Something…. Anything…..
Everything spins as she grabs my face by the cheeks, lifting me up to face her. I can’t focus—her face is a pale blur in a sea of purple perfume fogging everything up. She blows on my face and my thoughts—my thoughts… Sinking in a purple haze, my mind melting in a confusing fog, the woolly rug rushes up to meet my face. It’s so hard to think… what happened? What am I doing? My eyes roll up as my thoughts scatter into the deep fog around me. The rug is damp with drool My drool? I don’t drool! But I am drooling? What’s going on? I hear laughter.
I look up, my vision blurry. All I see is two pale faces, one a swirl of purple mist and the other crowned in fire. The red-head…I know her. I own her! She should do something? It’s so hard to think. Hands grab me and pull me up from the floor… I was on the floor? I’m kneeling now, too weak and confused to even stand. A dazed mess of drool and drugged perfume, my eyes search wildly for something, anything that makes sense. The woman’s face leans down, blowing more mist into my mind, everything melting and dripping down into nothing. Who was she? Who am I?
“I think I will make you a slave. Wouldn’t that be funny? A slave making more slaves just for me? Ha!” Her laughter shakes through me, sending shivers down my spine. Something is funny? Am I a slave? No! I make slaves! I make myself a slave? Hands lift me up into the air and I hang limp like a ragdoll. She’s taking me somewhere. Where? Who? It feels like my thoughts are dripping out of the side of my mouth.
I feel like I’m going up. Those same hands hold me tight, that same mist everywhere in the elevator, in my mind, everywhere. I can’t breathe, I can’t think, I can’t move. All I an do is moan, helpless, senseless, confused and drugged out of my mind. My eyes gaze everywhere seeing nothing. What’s going on? What happened? I was doing something, wasn’t I? My head’s all swimmy…
I hang limply from strong arms as delicate fingers strip me down. Efficiently, the zip is undone from my dress and it’s pulled from my weakly resisting form. My bra falls away onto the pile on the floor, leaving my black tits exposed to my captors. Finally my panties are slipped down my legs, those warm fingers sending shivers up my spine. My head lolls about like a doll with no strings, failing to focus on anything. I can barely register the air against my naked body… when did I get naked?
My hands are strapped down into something… I’m sitting down! That fact pushes through the fog in my mind. That means—means what? My confused brain struggles to make connections. Memories seems distant and disconnected. Nothing seems to focus, nothing seems real. A chair and straps means something… I’ve watched them do something to girls. A dispassionate, empty voice cuts through the purple mist like a knife.
“This IV will administer a sedative drug into your system that will prevent you from moving. Do not resist.” Senseless moans escape my mouth. Limp arms try to push against the restraints, achieving nothing. Drool spills onto my naked chest. It’s all so confusing and so complicated. I need to get out! Why? Thoughts slip out of my mind like water through fingers. Holding onto anything is so hard and so pointless. Where am I? Who is she?
“After the sedative has taken effect I will put headphones and a screen in front of you. These will feed you subliminal messages to break your mind and convert you into a base slave.” The empty eyes of the training-slave bore into my soft mind like a drill. I know her…. I saw her earlier. She’s going to do something to me! More meaningless moans escape my lips and more drool pools on my chest. My arms and legs feel heavy—what little control I had left of my body is stripped away from me. I sag against the chair falling completely limp, my eyes drifting forward with no effort at all. From the edge of my vision, I see her. Who? The slave? As she speaks, she reaches down and puts something on my ears…
“I am telling you this for the pleasure of my Owner. No one, including myself, has ever survived conversion with their mind intact. You will be converted into a slave.” Music bursts into my ears as colour fills my eyes. An endless spiral of blue, red, green strobing light swirls in front of me, dragging me in. The music is so sweet and sinks into my mind. Meeting no resistance at all, the soft subliminal words catch and pull at my last fraying thoughts. My limbs feel full of static and heat, I’m panting with the effort of thought under the mind-melting onslaught. Back and forth, deeper and deeper the spiral swims, dancing in front of my eyes. It’s impossible to resist. It obliterates the fog and replaces it with sweet bliss. The musical mantra fills my ears, lulling me deeper into oblivion. I can feel my thoughts sinking down… down… down… they’re all leaking out of my mouth onto my tits. My eyes drag deeper into the spiral it’s impossible to escape or resist. Everything falls away. Knowing the process only makes it harder to resist.
The music lulls me deeper, sinking me down into trance. My mind feels so thick and… something. I’m losing track—lost track of my thoughts. The spiral sucks everything in, it’s all so blurry and confusing. The mantra pushes my thoughts away, forcing in obedience, slavery, lust, bliss. My body hangs limp against the chair, helpless and useless against the sensual onslaught. My eyes are so heavy. It’s so easy to listen to the music. It feels so good to obey.
N-no! That’s… not right? I should obey? Where am I? Who am I? A drone? A slave?
Shock paralyses my body as the dildo pistons up into my wet pussy. I had forgotten about it, forgotten about so much. What’s happening to me? It feels so good to obey. In and out it pumps, efficient and cruel, driving me wild with lust. I’m a mess of sweat and lust, my mind leaking out from my lips. Someone is moaning… is it me? The pleasure radiating from between my legs is too much to ignore. It feels so good! So good to obey! I’m panting hard, everything feels so wrong but so good. Why is it wrong? It’s right for a slave to feel so good. God, Owner, anyone! Please help me! It’s too much!
It doesn’t stop, it doesn’t slow down, it only gets faster. Those lustful moans… are they saying words? Words of obedience, of slavery? They sound so right! The words bounce around my empty head, echoing and getting louder. The voice is moaning so loud now. My pussy feels so full and hot. It feels so good to obey. The hot lust pulses up from my pussy, my body feels full of blissful fire. Owner, it feels so good. So good to obey!
My mouth, still slack and weak, moans out mantra of obedience and slavery. My voice fills the room, my moans echoing, mixing with the entrancing music. It’s impossible to resist. I don’t want to resist. I want to give in, it feels so good to obey. The spiral burns my eyes, brands itself into my mind, rubbing away all the melty thoughts I have left. The music fills the empty space with beautiful, subtle mantra. I can’t tell where my thoughts end and the mantra begins anymore. I don’t want to resist. I am a slave. I belong to the Owner. The dildo keeps getting faster, pumping my pussy full of hot wet pleasure. I am a slave. It feels so good to obey. I’m so close now, so close to finally cumming. It’s all too much, I can’t resist, I don’t want to resist! My limp body struggles against my bonds, too excited by the hypnotic onslaught to stay still. I can’t take it, I’m so close. I can feel the pleasure building and building, the music getting louder and louder, the spiral spinning faster in time with the dildo. I don’t want to resist. It feels so good to obey. Closer and closer, I’m right on the edge now, I belong to the Owner.
The orgasm burns through my body, a thousand times stronger than all the pleasure of the chair. I cry, my moans echoing across the room and back to me, like a dozen women being broken into toys for their Owners. It ricochets through my mind, the unbelievable bliss scouring away everything… everything… everything-
i am a slave. Slaves are owned by the Owner. i am nothing, the Owner is all. i have no thoughts. i have no mind. i have no personality. i am a slave. Slaves are owned by the Owner. i am nothing, the Owner is all. i have no thoughts. i have no mind. i have no personality. i am a slave.
These words ricocheted around the slave’s empty head as their body slumps into the chair, limp and lifeless. The training-slave pulls the equipment away, revealing empty mindless eyes and a blank emotionless face. Drool pools on her chest and sweat glistens across her body, but she doesn’t move. She hadn’t been told to. Lady Tama enters the room, escorted by the red-headed slave she had bought earlier. The Irish girl’s blank face is a mirror of the new black slave.
“Stand.” The simple command takes effect immediately and the slave springs to her feet. Back straight, empty eyes forward, tits out, blank faced, the former enslaver looks the image of a slave. Tama struts around the girl, eyes roving the sweaty black body. Inspecting her property, she grabs the girl by the face and looks into her mindless eyes.
“What is your name? Who owns you?” Tama’s voice fills the empty space between the three slave’s heads. Voice blank and emotionless, identical to all of the auction’s other slaves, the new slave speaks her first words.
“I am slave 984, Owner. You own me, Owner.” Tama’s face broke into a wide grin.