I don't know when I woke up from the hit but the sensations are coming back. There is a chill in the surroundings, as if a lot of eyes were on me. My hands are strained and tied to the back. I cannot see except for the sheer darkness of the material. My neck is stiff but I cannot move it, either. Whatever binds my neck is hard and cold, as if a metal. My face muscles hurt and as I tried to speak, I realised there was a ball stuck in my mouth. My legs hurt, that feeling you get when you sit in a place too long and they too are bound by chains. I then realised I am indeed kneeling, for how long I don't know.
Screeeeech the sound of a microphone. It must be right beside me because my ears hurt against the stimuli. "Welcome, masters and mistresses." What kind of an opening sentence is this? It is the least of my worries now, though. I keep trying to untie the ropes but to no avail.
The announcer continues in a very professional voice, "Today we have gathered for an auction" a pause "for our newly acquired slaves." My eyes squint under the intense ray of light that is able to pass through the blindfold. A hand firmly grabs my head and I feel myself being yanked further, as if to expose more of my already naked body.
The sound of the microphone is louder this time being the announcer right behind me. "I have to apologise for the fact that this slave has not been properly trained yet. Mistress Lelia had thought it inappropriate to auction such an untrained uncivilised slave who had not even learnt to please its master, which is the only purpose in a slave's life. This is why we would start with half of the usual bidding amount. Any masters and mistresses interested can come up and try him out as of this moment, until the actual bidding starts in exactly an hour now." His hand releases my head and he walks away from me to the place he had previously stood.
I hear faint footsteps and whispers over the underlying music. There are the occasional laughs or shrills. I cannot make out the words but they sound to be having fun. Of course, why would people rich enough to buy their own personal space not have fun while looking for exactly that? The smell of delicious food wafted in the air. It was not strong, but aromatic, just like how those extremely deer unbelievably small servings of food would smell.
So, this is it. A million dollars worth of debt and I will live the life of a pet, maybe even more degrading than that of a dog or a cat. And what he said makes it worse. It is quite ironic that even in this state, I don't seem to have much worth either. Maybe not even one of their so-called masters and mistresses of freaks might not even take an interest in me. Then, I guess they will go the traditional way: sell all my organs, blood and plasma until they have harvested as much as they could out of me, until I'm nothing but skin.
My thoughts are interrupted by the fingers grazing my stomach. I immediately tensed up. How did I not hear the footsteps? The fingers are almost dancing on my stomach, pleasantly feeling the outline of my abs.
"My my, master Ivanya, you are already touching it?" It is a mocking voice, coated by a teasing tone, presumably from a guy, judged by the coarseness of it. The male whose fingers are still on my abs is completely immersed in them, enjoying himself. I, on the other hand, am abhored. Another homosexual guy touching me the way a woman would makes me feel like a whore. But then again, doesn't a whore have her own life after the time with her customers.
"Don't you already have more than enough? And you don't even have to buy them." He continues. The mocking is completely gone. It surprisingly sounds more like he is teasing a dear old friend.
"Are you jealous?" not a question, but a calm statement. He has one of those unique voices that are always low and you can never know what they are thinking from it. The other intruding one must have been surprised because he is not able to come up with a quick snarky comment. And so, the guy whose hands are still on my abs continues. "Do you want this?" 'This' of course mean slave, also being a human yet don't seem to have much value around here. I have already known of this but that feeling of hurt still comes over me when I hear it come from him.
"I am taking this. Lelia owes me one and the others, well, they don't seem to have any interest in it at all." I'm not sure if I heard it right, but there was a sense of lust in his words. Another pair of footsteps. "Master Ivanya" a pause. "Will this one be the compensation?" It is the announcer's voice without the microphone. "Yes, remove the blindfolds." the so-called Master Ivanya asks, his voice full of authority.
And just like that, from a mask that covered half of his face, a pair of deep blue eyes were staring into mine. His eyes hold mine in a state of trance until I finally look away because of their intensity. This results in a chuckle from him. His lips are curled up, he is smiling, a genuine smile at what seems to be my baffled and somewhat embarrassed expression. His face moves closer to mine so that his face is oppositely aligned to mine and his breath is on my neck. "Will you be good if I have the restraints removed?" His voice is full of stern sweetness. I have no choice but to nod, believing I could still save even the smallest bit of dignity without them. He gives the instructions to the announcer who proceeds to undo the restraints.
"Woah, you are already taking him?" The intruder interrupts yet again. He had finally recovered from stuttering shock. Now that I can see him, blond and playful, he was definitely teasing the guy about becoming my master. And I was right. Ivanya doesn't mind it at all. His easy smile still lingers on his lips. "Well, I would have let you play with it, but you see, my hands are itching and my resistance is going thin." He says this with such ease that it shook me to the core. What does he mean? He won't beat me up like in those r rated bdsm books and movies, right?
Before the blonde can utter another word, the announcer announces the restraints are all removed. I wiggle my wrists and stand up, to stretch the muscles that had been compressed for so long. I don't know how it is possible but I suddenly feel colder. A shiver runs through my body, as if my primal instincts are warning me of fatal danger. Ivanya's intense blue eyes are unreadable, like the spread of the ocean.
His frame towers over my face for a second. In a split moment, there is a loud slap and a sharp piercing in my right cheek. Former uninterested members are now gathering to see the show. The burn is hot and it stings so much I feel tears start to form in my eyes. It surely took me by surprise but the hit hurts so much more than the punches I usually get from shark loans and thugs.
"Kneel" the sweetness is gone, replaced by what could only be described as fury. His smile is still intact but it is more of a predator's smile, the foreshadow of the satisfaction he knows it has yet to come. Fear takes hold of me and instantly, I am on my knees. I don't want to die so soon. "Good. Follow me." He states expressionlessly. I am quite confused but I dare not show it for fear of another slap. Seeing my hesitation, "You do know how dogs walk, right?" His tone is sarcastic, and his face very serious.
I am surprised and ashamed. Naked, my butthole for all to see, with a collar round my neck, I put my hands on the concrete floor and slowly, crawl behind him, past the eyes of jewel-clad rich elites. When he opens the exit doors, my eyes are once again blinded by the bright sunlight, having come from a dark opaque room.
A black car with darkened windows is already waiting, the chauffeur holding an open door for him. He enters, his lithe body effortlessly sliding into it. As I climb into the car, he reminds me again. "Kneel on the floor." The inside is quite spacious and the floor itself seems to be cushioned with something soft. "Heatherlace and pull up the blinds." He addresses the chauffeur's questioning eyes in the rearview mirror.
I have quite consciously taken a place as furthest away from him as possible in the enclosed space, hoping he doesn't notice it. He does, unfortunately. "Come here." He signals to his hand. I have no choice but to crawl over to him. When my head is right under his palm, he playfully tousles my overgrown hair. But when I moved my head up to see his face, his hand firmly holds my head in its place, keeping it down. He sighs. "You really do not know how to act, do you?" I don't even know what to say. Before the shark loans caught me, I didn't even know this existed. All of this stuff.
He sighs again. His hand softens and his fingers gently caresses my hair. "Don't worry. I will teach you." He stops thinking "or I can always have you sold to a brothel." He laughs at his own cruel joke. Only, I tense up knowing if he wishes, he can do that with just a flicker of his hands. The hand from my hair reaches down to my shoulder. His hand lays there as if for support, "You have to understand I love making cruel and inconsiderate jokes and have my subs stress out from them." He explains in a genuine tone. His other hand lifts my chin up and his blue eyes are also genuine or so they make me think. I'm speechless and could only nod.
"You do know you can speak, right?" he starts, trying to make a conversation. I, on the other hand, have no idea what to say or how to address him. He seems like someone who'd be angered by a slight fallacy in words. He also has a way with his hands and they hurt so much.
"What's your name?" he asks, his eyes completely focused on my face.
"William" the words rush out of my mouth. "William Turner" Turner is my mother's maiden name. I never knew what my father's name is until he showed up on my doorstep with a mountain of debts.
"Umm, I have never been fond of long names. I'll just call you Will." He smiles satisfactorily to himself. Is that a nickname? I don't quite understand why he'd want to call me by a nickname. Is it the fact that he's sitting on the chair and I'm kneeling on the floor that allows him to do whatever he wants, even with my name or is this just the start?
"What's wrong? He questions thoughtfully. "You don't like it?"
"No, I don't mind. It's just no one had ever called me "Will" before."
"Then, I'm glad it's my own private nickname for you." He continued, "Call me master." It is a statement, an order to be obeyed.
As much as it's hard to see another person (human being) as my master, the word rolls out of my mouth. "Master"
He seems to think again. "You have a rebellious streak in you. You don't really see me as your master, do you? He asks suggestively, as if reading my thoughts.
