Collar Me Ch 02 1

Chapter 2: Sale

I struggled to my senses, still throbbing in my loins. I was lying on my right side, sweat gluing naked skin to smooth oak flooring. The spotlight was hot and glinting, warming the steel collar that encircled my neck.

As I became increasingly aware of my surroundings, I heard the auctioneer ask:

"Are you back with us? Then get up and show our patrons what they are bidding on."

Oh god, being stripped had gotten me so wound up I'd orgasmed from just the touch of steel closing about my throat. I'd had enough. I didn't want to get up, and I wasn't ready to go through with the rest of this. I groaned and rolled face down. The weight of my arms locked behind my back squashed my breasts into the floor, and I closed my eyes, trying to gulp some air and regroup.

"It's too late for that," he hissed. "Bidding is only at 1500 and we're not going to settle for that." With that, he hooked the toe of his boot under my hip and heaved, shoving me back up onto my side. I scrunched my neck around to look up at him. Stretching above me, he radiated power, but with none of the inquiry or invitation of before. Now it was pure impatience. "Up."

I pulled my knees in and wriggled upright. I felt like the Danish "little mermaid" statue, sitting nude with my legs curled under me, but I'd never imagined a mermaid in bondage. As I rolled up, I heard a voice from the darkness, a warm baritone, say "1600."

"I guess that was enough of a show to generate some interest. Let's see how much more we can get." "Now, Up."

I tried to lever myself up into a kneeling position; I got half way, teetered there for a moment, and then flopped back down. Geez, it's hard to get up with your hands locked behind your back. Once more, I heaved and rolled up onto my knees. The move felt as sexy as a flopping hippo, but I heard several more bids. I looked around to see who was bidding on me. I could see maybe 10 tables in the front row, each with several seated figures but they were still masked by the glaring light that made sparkles in the tear droplets in my eyes.

I straightened up, tossed my head to sling a lock of hair back over my shoulder, looked at the black-clad auctioneer, and then stood as gracefully as I could. I rocked backwards, placed my left foot in front of me, and rose smoothly. I stretched up through my spine to the crown of my head and down through my arms to the tips of my fingers, presenting to the crowd my body and my confidence, none of which I actually felt. I had a flash of deja vu looking around the stage, although it had only been a few minutes since I had been standing in this position—but that was after my dress had been ripped off and before I wore the collar; the collar that now marked me as merchandise. I shuddered.

This had been my fantasy, one I had just barely had the courage to carry out. Now that it was an inescapable reality, I wished I'd been a coward.

I smiled toward the auctioneer, keeping my gaze on the raw black silk covering his chest, slid my right foot a few inches to the side, cocked my hip, and faced the dark room.

"2300" "2400" "2500" spattered out another round of bids.

"That's more like it, but surely this woman is worth more than 2500?" He stepped to my left side and whispered "show them what they're buying."

I looked down at my feet, my toenails shimmery red, glinting white in the spotlight, and allowed my body to respond to unheard music. A tiny pulse from the balls of my feet, up my ankles and calves, growing as it flowed through my thighs, rolling my hips, waist and breasts, and finally up through the collar enclosing my neck. Working my body erased my torpor. I danced unmoving, allowing muscles to flex and flow.

Sharp calls carried a flurry of new bids. I gazed blankly about, but tried to block the voices to focus on the internal music; to feel sexy and sexual and to accept where and what I was. I was on sale as a sex toy. No, not a sex toy—a rubber fuck doll is a sex toy. I was on sale as a sex

slave

. I shivered and my breath caught as I remembered the litany I had recited: "All that I am belongs to my master, to serve the pleasure of his senses."

I heard more voices, not quite registering the bids, but then a loud "3600" spat out like a gunshot, daring anyone to risk challenging it. It seemed to work, as all talk died away. No new number launched itself from the crowd. I broke from my trance and looked around. That whip-crack voice had come from off to the right—faces were staring that way and I followed their glance to see whose voice it was; who might be my master for the night.

"Kneel" said the auctioneer, the dark man with hard almond eyes. "You should be on your knees to accept your final bid and be sold." I flicked a glance toward his face and slipped hurriedly to my knees. He was hard to challenge when I wore a dress; wearing only his collar I couldn't even meet his eyes.

"Surely something this lovely should sell for more than 3600? Look how quickly she obeys and how sensuously she moves. Imagine how responsive she will be in your arms."

"3700" came from the middle of the room, in a voice that was deep, but echoed high in its owner's nasal cavity. I peered into the dark to see this new voice—a big man in a dark suit. I blinked and tried to force my vision into the shadows to see what he looked like, when another voice cut in "3800." This was the baritone I'd heard earlier—the man who liked how I curled my legs. Perhaps he was envisaging how I might curl them around him?

I flashed my gaze back toward the baritone voice. The most likely spot seemed a table with three men and one woman. Who?

"3900" barked the man in the dark suit. I didn't like his voice. I didn't want that sharp tongue in my mouth. I didn't like the violence in Mr. Gunshot's voice either. I twisted toward Mr. Baritone and flexed my belly, allowing a wriggle of muscle to roll up my torso, willing him to bid again. Please I thought out to him, buy me.

Nothing.

"Are there really no more bids?"

Silence, except for the clinking of a glass.

"Very well, then. This girl is a bargain, but.... Going...."

I was about to be bought by Mr. Raspy-tongue Suit. Shit. I didn't want him. I had to get another bid out of Mr. Baritone. I moved slightly; a dip of the shoulder, a sexy pout.

"Going..."

Gods, no. Up on my knees with a twist of the hips and an intense gaze toward Mr. Baritone: oh, please, buy me. Buy me, buy me, buy me. Buy me!

"And....Go..."

"4,000" broke in the baritone voice.

Relief flashed at the sound of that voice, as did heat between my legs. In my fantasy scenarios, I'd never understood being sold—the instant judgment, the fear and desire. In my imaginings, my buyer was like a Greek statue; a faceless body with a hard cock; no sour breath or nasal grunting in my ear as he pumped me. Even for my Senior Prom, I hadn't needed so badly to be chosen by the right guy, to be good merchandise.

"I have a bid for 4,000; certainly someone can go to 4,100?"

I shrank back onto my knees, let my shoulders sag lightly, and swiveled my head toward the middle of the room. I didn't want to make eye contact with Mr. Sour Suit, to encourage him. I dropped my head so that I could just see him vaguely through my eyelashes. I wanted to disappear, and gagged back a chuckle as I realized how hard it is to be a Ninja when you're kneeling naked with your tits swinging in the spotlight. I murmured silently "don't bid, I'm not worth it. I'm not that good a fuck. Please."

Long milliseconds passed in silence, and my stomach roiled. Would Mr. Suit bid again? I was sure that if he did, I was doomed. Oh Please.

The black gaze of the auctioneer beat upon me, and I could swear he was reading my mind, even my slight gag.

"Are you sure you don't want to bid again, I can't squeeze even 4050 from you?" spoke the auctioneer to the room. I hated him, with his arrogant smile—you have a good bid you bastard, just let it slide.

A pause, and I could see Mr. Suit twist to face over toward Mr. Baritone. Then he laughed, roughly, and said, "Nah, she's not worth it."

Not worth it? I reared up and glared daggers! Not worth it? How dare he?

Then he laughed again and snorted, "She looks offended! You think you're worth 4,000 for just a night? Get real."

I was still glaring at him when the auctioneer declared, "Then with no further bids... Sold, to the gentleman at Table 2." I spun back to my left to see a figure rise—Mr. Baritone. No not Mr. Baritone;

my Master

.

I slumped back down onto my knees as the reality of that sunk in—I had been sold and was owned. Now I would serve. "All that I am..."