Cara and I had sentenced ourselves to ten days of slave training, to be exhibited as naked slaves to potential buyers, then sold at auction to spend fifteen days as purchased sex slave.
Cara was understandably overwhelmed and panicky about the whole ordeal, but as long as I was there by her side, she was willing to go through with it. Despite the fact that she and I had only just met, she had developed some sort of powerful emotional bond with me and she felt safer knowing that I'd be by her side.
When we arrived at the Vineyard, two smartly-dressed security guards escorted us to the office of Ashley Witter. The security guards were female; however, they were all tall, imposing, and athletic looking. I got a good look at them after we were in Ms. Witter's office. They were both angular, had high cheekbones and oval faces. One might even had called them attractive if not for the grim and steely-eyed looks on their faces.
Ms. Witter had an assistant who told Cara and I to sit. And then she gave us more documents to sign. I didn't read mine thoroughly, however in essence, the documents said that of my own free will, I agreed to be locked up at the Vineyard for ten days. The legal documents I signed proclaimed that I was being voluntarily incarcerated. And after the auction I agreed to be sexually objectified, abused and punished by my purchaser, whomever they might be.
I'm not sure if it was legally enforceable, but it said that I volunteered to be incarcerated and abused by whomever bought me at auction. Ms. Witter gathered up the signed documents and placed them in the top drawer of her desk. Having gotten the legal necessities out of the way, she said, "And now your clothes, dears. Please take everything off."
Perhaps Cara noticed my flash of anxiety when we were ordered to strip. Yes, there was a problem, it suddenly occurred to me that I saw nothing in writing about us being sold together. Ten days from now Cara might well be on her own; I would not be able to comfort her, but it was too late to do anything about it. I put the thought aside and continued to strip myself naked without a pause.
The security guards flanked Cara; their body language unmistakable. Either Cara stripped voluntarily, or the tall, imposing women would rip Cara's clothes off anyway. So, under the steely gaze of Ms. Witter, her assistant and two security guards Cara and I stripped naked together.
Cara's hands trembled as she bared her body. She tried to cover herself with her hands, an understandable impulse, and was admonished in no uncertain terms to keep her hands at her sides.
"Slaves do not attempt to conceal their nudity," Ms. Witter explained, "Do that again and I'll have the guards lock your wrists behind your back."
Cara was struggling to obey the order, so I took her hands in mine to show that I sympathized. Her face was a mask of frustration and embarrassment, but by squeezing my hands she managed to keep her own hands away from her breasts and her crotch.
It was the first time I'd ever seen Cara stark naked; I was awed by her physical beauty. She had an impressively slender waist and a lithe, athletic figure. Her skin was flawless, and her blush of embarrassment was complemented by her soft pouting lips and long eyelashes as she refused to meet the gazes of the other women in the room.
She had the graceful body of a dancer, slender yet firm with lean muscle. Her breasts weren't impressively large, but they were high, firm and nicely rounded, with nipples and areolae showing pleasing shades of pink. All her pubic hair had been shaved off, or possibly waxed, I couldn't tell which. At any rate, her vulva was completely smooth, her adorable pubic lips utterly exposed.
"I see," Ms. Witter said, smiling, then frowning as she looked over at Cara and me holding hands.
Ms. Witter got up from her desk, stood in front of Cara, gently lifted her chin and proclaimed, "The way you blush is adorable, dear, however, I'm afraid slaves aren't allowed to be modest. You'll have to be conditioned to accept your exposure." She nodded to the security guards still flanking Cara.
"You must accustom yourself to being naked," one of the guards confirmed. "Nudity is so much more suitable for being bound or punished. Young lady prisoners have no need of clothes."
Ms. Witter and her assistant looked at each other and the assistant asked, "The display room?"
"Yes, dear," Ms. Witter replied, "that's exactly what I was thinking."
* * *
Cara and I ended up in a room with wooden posts, pedestals and benches that were equipped with leather straps, buckles and chains for binding naked females and making them helpless. There were also a series of whips and riding crops hanging upon one of the walls. It was a conspicuous reminder of what slaves could expect if they failed to behave.
Cara and I were led over to two of the pedestals and ordered to straddle them, feet on each side. I was bound first, in the most pornographic way possible; leather straps buckled tightly around my ankles and my legs spread far apart.
"According to your files, both of you have taken years of ballet lessons, so you should both be quite flexible," Ms. Witter said, and then she proceeded to put our flexibility to the test.
I had approximately twelve years of ballet training, which I suppose was fortunate. Otherwise the extreme split that I had been forced into would likely have caused me to pull a groin muscle or even dislocate something. As it was, I was left sitting on the pedestal with my legs spread so wide I was almost doing a dancer's split.
Ms. Witter and her assistant proceeded to bind Cara in the same way. Her wrists were bound behind her to some sort of metal ring embedded in the back of the pedestal. Our bonds were then adjusted to force our legs even further apart. Cara and I cried out in genuine distress as our inner thigh muscles were strained to the limit.
When Ms. Witter was done with her devious work, both Cara and I had our wrists bound behind out backs, our thighs were spread wide and our vulvas were obscene exposed. Only our naked buttocks rested on the pedestal as our legs were pulled wickedly up and apart. It was something like the splits a ballerina would do. My pink slit was left blatantly on display for anyone who happened to walk into the room.
As a BDSM model, I'd been exposed naked in front of strangers before. Cara had no such experience to prepare for such blatant exposure, and she looked at Ms. Witter with pleading eyes and a deep blush of embarrassment on her face.
"This will help you to adjust, dear," Ms. Witter assured Cara, "The way you're bound will prevent you covering yourself or easing your position on the pedestal. I'll leave you like this for six or seven hours. I'll visit you from time to time, of course.
