Collateral Damage Pt 01 1

Although we normally holiday much closer to home the city was lovely and exotic and Leia loved the open-air street markets. In addition to being a valued business associate Saad was also a good friend and tonight he was the perfect host, welcoming us into his home. The wine was flowing freely, especially for my wife Leia, who was giggling at everything and was more than a bit tipsy. We were still at the dinner table when Saad's steward rushed in.

"I am most sorry to disturb you, Master. The man from the bank is in the neighborhood tonight and he is doing a collateral check. Apparently when you talked to him before he said you were too busy."

"I've been traveling," Saad replied curtly. "I plan to pay off that loan when the ship arrives and the gold due me is transferred to the bank on Monday. No matter. Show him whatever he needs to see and let him be on his way."

"He wants to see the slave girl," the Steward replied.

"Bring her in! I want to see the slave girl!" Leia said, clapping her hands with glee.

The Steward's eyes narrowed. He had been filling my tipsy wife's glass all night and clearly there was no love lost between them. My wife, while lovely, can be very demanding of servants or anyone she sees as being "beneath her."

Ignoring my wife the Steward turned to Saad and continued. "There is the problem, Master. When we refinanced the mortgage last month we put the flaxen haired slave up as collateral. The banker needs to see her and verify we have physical possession of the goods we claim."

"Yes, well, then show him the girl, and let him be on his way," Saad said, his voice betraying his mounting impatience.

"Yes!" Lea said, her voice bubbling over with drunken excitement. "Bring the little slave slut in here. Bring her now, or she gets the whip!" she added, bursting into giggles at the thought.

"I cannot, my master. Your brother took the girl with him. He said..."

"He did WHAT?" Saad thundered. "That girl is part of the loan, and must remain in my possession until repayment on Monday. If the bank calls that loan they will call the others, and the other banks will join them. My business will be in knots for months!"

"Yes, I am sorry sir. I do not know what to do."

Leia held her wine glass up. The Steward looked a quite annoyed at her indifference to the crisis, but quickly recovered, bowed, and refilled my giggling wife's glass.

"Does it have to be that girl?" I asked. "You have many slave girls, my friend."

"What is her description on the banker's ledger receipt?" Saad asked. "Does the banker have her registration papers?"

"No, Sir. We have an official registration number, but she is not registered yet. The ledger merely states she is "natural blonde with flaxen hair, plain, 28, registration QR6350, slave brand on her right hip."

"She's branded on the BUTT?" Leia said, nearly blowing the wine out of her nose with her shrill giggle. "Yes, brand the little sluts, brand them all! All slave girls should be whipped, and branded, so they know their place."

My wife Leia is a woman of refinement and taste, as befits the daughter of a wealthy merchant. However like many beautiful free women she has both a hatred of slave girls and a morbid fascination with the institution of female slavery.

Leia was so cruel to our female slaves and so quick to use the whip that we now have only males in my house. Now she walks for hours in the slave markets, talking to the girls, asking them what it is like to be a slave. Her questions are demeaning and humiliating but she forces the wretched girls to answer. "What does it feel like to stand naked on the auction block? Which is more painful, a branding or a whipping? How many strange men have you have pleasured with your mouth? Leia's curiosity is insatiable!

Leia is also very vain and despite her hatred and contempt of female slaves like most free women she constantly compares herself to them. "I am more beautiful than that little bitch!" she'll sneer contemptuously as she sips her wine at the auction. "Men are stupid, and they are bidding on her because she's naked and on a slave block."

"Yes, surely you would bring more, if you were on the block," I said, agreeing with her. My answer always makes her blush. More than once she has asked me what she might fetch at the market. I tell her she is priceless, which pleases her, but does not. "Yes, but what is my PRICE?" she asks, pressing me for an answer.

Often when we make love Leia dresses herself in rags and serves me as a slave slut in our bedroom. She said she does it to please me, and to keep me from turning to a slave slut. But although she would deny it I know it also pleases her.

"Can I see the slave?" Leia asked, not realizing that the girl not being there was the crux of the discussion. "I want to talk to her!"

Again the men ignored her. "Can we substitute another girl? Surely we have another slave bitch in the house with flaxen hair!"

"Yes, Saad, we have six. But two are not natural blondes and they have different registration numbers."

"This is a disaster!" Saad said. "My friends, I am sorry I must cut our dinner short. I must deal with this now."

"But how?" the Steward asked.

"I have flaxen hair," Leia said, burping a bit as she sipped her wine.

This time the two men did not ignore her. They simply stared at her. Leia, delighted to be the center of attention, giggled as she took another sip of her wine.

"She doesn't have a registration number," the Steward observed.

"Yes, but we can say it hasn't been applied yet," Saad replied.

The Steward nodded. I watched dumbfounded. Leia giggled and squealed with delight as the two men hatched the plan and the Steward took Leia from the room.

The banker was officious and unlike Saad not particularly charming, but at Saad's insistence he agreed to join us at table for dessert.

One of the serving girls had just put the delicious pastries on the table when a large man came in and removed a beautifully painted decorative vase that was gracing an exquisitely hand carved mahogany end table decorating the wall a few feet from where we were enjoying dinner. As soon as the flowers disappeared through the doorway Leia emerged from the same passage, half carried into the room by the chief Steward who was holding her by the the scruff of her neck. I was not sure what had transpired between them in the few minutes since she had left but it was clear that their relationship had changed dramatically. No longer obsequious and groveling, he pushed her along roughly, as if she had been delaying him too long and his patience was at an end.

Leia looked quite different too - her face was flushed, her eyes were wide, and she was panting. I could see her breasts rise and fall, and even see her ribs strain against her skin, for unlike when she had left the room Leia was now entirely naked.

Leia had been stripped of everything: not only her clothing but also her earrings and wedding band. It was a cold night and I knew the beautifully carved mosaic tile floor must have felt like ice on her bare feet, but the Steward, gripping her neck tightly as she stumbled forward, did not care. One hand held Leia's neck, the other a wicked looking slave whip, about three feet in length, which split into three nasty looking leather tongues at the business end.

Releasing his grip on her as they reached the end table he cracked the whip in the air. The sound was so loud I nearly dropped my dessert spoon.

Leia shuddered, but quickly scampered up onto the mahogany end table, kneeling on all fours. The Steward tapped her naked bottom with the whip, and she obediently raised it high. Moving around her he lifted her chin up using the business end of the whip. She was now naked on all fours, kneeling on the table only a few feet from where we were dining and looking like nothing so much as a show dog at attention. Her pose offered us a perfect profile of her naked form, and it showed off her small but nicely shaped breasts and her beautifully rounded bottom to perfection. Her lovely flaxen hair, no longer pinned up in an elegant coif, hung loosely around her shoulders.

The table was about three feet high, dark wood and shaped in a half, flush against the wall, with ornately carved legs. The table was about a meter long, and not particularly deep, but it offered a wonderful decorative perch for books, flowers, or now, my naked slave girl wife.

Examining her naked bottom more closely I saw why Leia had responded so quickly to the crack of the whip. Curving around her round bottom and onto her thigh were three very thin red lines, which matched perfectly with the leather tongues on the Steward's whip. Apparently the household's newest slave had failed to please.

I couldn't take my eyes off her, and I was not alone in my interest. However even as they ogled her Saad and the banker continued to discuss exchange rates as if the naked woman kneeling a few feet away from them on the table was of no great concern. The stark contrast between Leia, hyperventilating and sweating through a horrifying panic attack, and the cool indifference of the banker and his creditor seemed quite impossible to reconcile. It wasn't until I looked away and allowed my eyes to wander around the lovely dining room that I resolved of the paradox.

The room was bathed in a soft warm glow that reflected off the golden walls. The chairs were beautifully carved as well, large, dark, and manly with red cushions that offered the perfect accent to the red tapestries on the wall. The tile work was exquisite and clearly the work of master artisans. All of the accent pieces were perfect: the large and ornate vases, the carvings in the columns, the golden candlesticks that decorated the niches.

I looked at Leia, on all fours, crouched on the table that a few minutes before had held a beautifully painted ceramic vase. Leia had literally taken the place of the decorative pot. No longer a person, she was merely a possession, collateral for a business loan and an accent piece put on display to showcase her master's wealth and good taste.

I looked over to the banker, his eyes roaming freely over the naked curves of her lovely bottom and heaving breasts. She was a thing to him, an object to be used, an item in his ledger.

Her panic and his gross indifference to her now made perfect sense. Leia had understood the dynamics of the situation better than I: she was no longer my wife, or a guest in Saad's home. She was livestock that could be bought and sold.

The Steward came in, and prodding Leia's naked bottom with a short whip bade her to assume the next pose: still on the small table, but facing us now, squatting, with the back of her hands resting on the front of her knees and her legs spread wider than her shoulders.

"Heel's up!" the Steward ordered, tapping Leia's foot with the whip. "Up on your toes."

Leia complied, shifting all her weight onto the balls of her feet.

It was an awkward pose and difficult to hold, and I doubt Leia could have held it for more than a few minutes if she did not have the cold tiles of the wall to absorb some of her weight. Still I could see the strain as her nipples hardened from the chill of the air and the freezing cold tile pressed against her spine. Her breasts bobbled delightfully as her weight shifted from the wall to her left foot, then to her right foot, as she struggled to keep her heels off the table and avoid the Steward's whip.

Although the position was exquisitely uncomfortable for Leia it offered a visual delight to the men appraising her naked body. Crouched down with her legs splayed wide, her entire sex was fully visible. Indeed, looking down I could even see her bottom hole, which because of the strain of her pose was stretched wide and opened for business.

In the soft golden glow of the room Leia's pussy looked truly remarkable: light blonde peach fuzz decorated the mound, the same shade of gold as the hair that adorned her head. The banker noted this was good, as such symmetry bought a better price when the girl was placed on the block.

"If they do not open the currency markets widely enough, the traders will shift to gold," the banker said, staring directly at Leia's golden fleece.

"The markets are open," Saad chuckled, pointing at my wife's crotch.

"Yes, but they must be opened WIDE, my friend, and made transparent, so you can see everything, inside of them. It may be difficult for the markets to hold that pose," he added, as Leia shifted her weight and slid a bit further down, causing her legs to split wider. "However the buyers must see all that can be seen."

These double entendres at my blushing wife's expense continued for several minutes.

Markets must be made nimble, like a frog, and be ready to hop.

Markets must give succor to investors from their sweet round breasts.

Markets must glisten with excitement.

I thought the last comment was a reference to the beads of sweat running down Leia's neck, because although she was clearly quite cold she was also sweating bullets as the men ogled her naked body. However when I looked closely between her legs I saw the wetness of her womanly dew glistening in the candlelight. I wondered what was more shameful; her arousal or having the men joke about her juicing herself as she squatted before them with her legs spread wide.

So uncomfortable was Leia's pose that she seemed almost relieved when the banker rose and opened his ledger to begin his physical inspection of the goods.

The banker stood directly in front of Leia. She was on a table about three-foot high, but was squatting with her legs spread, so he looked down on her slightly. Opening his brown leather portfolio, he ran his finger down the page until he found her entry in his accounting ledger, which looked very much like a spreadsheet. He looked at the entry, then looked up at her, turning his head slightly to the side as if he wasn't entirely pleased with what he was seeing.

"Hands on your head, slave," the Steward snapped, poking Leia in the side with the slave whip. She immediately complied, locking her fingers behind her head.

Leia shuddered as the Steward cracked the whip in the air. "I said TOP of your head," the Steward said, reprimanding her. Leia instantly obeyed, lacing her fingers into the lovely blonde hair on the very top of her head. There seemed to be little difference in the pose to me, but I did notice that the new pose lifted her arms and breasts slightly, and exposed a bit more of her underarms. Around such slight differences are the craft of selling of pleasure slaves built.

The banker began his exam by taking her left breast in his right hand, weighing it for a moment, then squeezing it, the way one might squeeze an orange or a melon at the marketplace. He stroked her nipple, pulling on it slightly to expand it to its maximum length.

He cupped Leia's chin, turning her head slightly as he moved her face to the left, then to the right. "The ledger says she is plain," he noted, "she is worth much more than her book value."

"Since we were dealing with a bank loan we were conservative in our estimates," Saad said. "You're right; she will bring much more on the block."

Leia was hyperventilating, but when Saad said the words "on the block" she breathed in sharply, struggling for oxygen. Although it might have been a slip of the tongue, Saad had used the word "WILL bring" rather than "would bring", as if her auction was already a foregone conclusion.

As he spoke the banker ran his hands over her flanks, back, and belly, enjoying the softness of her naked skin as he looked for flaws or blemishes. The red welts on the bottom looked fresh and painful, but they seemed of no concern to the banker.

"I appreciate your honesty, but you should take more care in such things," the banker noted. "If she were to be sold for more than her book value, the bank would receive 25 percent of the profits. Undervaluing a girl such as this one creates a tremendous business incentive for the bank to foreclose."

Reaching inside of her mouth the banker checked her teeth, then rolled back her upper lip, pressing the top of the lip against her nose so Leia's upper teeth were fully visible.

"Where is her registration number?" the banker said, letting Leia's lip fall back so he could double check his ledger.

"We have not prepared her registration papers yet," Saad explained. "But the number has been set aside for her use."

"Where is her slave brand?" the banker said, tapping the ledger. "My ledger says she is branded, on her left cheek," he said, squeezing Leia's naked fanny to show the exact place he had in mind. I looked over his shoulder at the ledger indicating the mark that was required: a horizontal line with a dot below it and three curved lines coming out of the top of it. It was the symbol for a slave:

عبد

"I delayed her branding, as my blacksmith was busy," Saad said. "We will have it done when we register her."

Leia gasped as the banker reached between her legs with his right hand and wormed his long finger into her widely splayed sex. "This is unacceptable," the banker said flatly. "Without a registration number, or registration papers, you could substitute another girl. I cannot believe you gave us a registration number for a girl who is not registered. That is totally improper."

"Be reasonable, my friend," Saad said. "I am going to repay the loan on Monday. What will it matter then?"

"It matters now. We must resolve this tonight."

"It is late. Surely this can wait until next week," Saad protested.

"It cannot. We will take her to the slave market and register her tonight. I will get a copy of the paperwork from the slave trader, and put it in her file."

"I do not wish to have this girl registered."

"Fine. Then you are in default of your loan terms, and I will take her with me and have her sold. I will make a tidy profit on her and we will be done with this foolishness."

"No!" Saad said. "She must not be sold."

"Then I will take her with me to the market, where she will be registered, and branded," the banker said flatly.

Saad looked to me. I didn't know what to say. Neither alternative was acceptable, but registration was certainly better than the auction block.

As the two men debated Leia's fate I was treated to the most amazing tableau. The banker was facing Saad, and was looking away from Leia, but his right hand was still between her legs, cupping her sex. His middle finger was in her pussy, moving, twisting, twirling, exploring. His thumb massaged her exposed clitoris, causing her to gasp with pleasure. Occasionally his hand would jut forward and his pinky would tickle and probe her exposed anus, causing her to whimper in shameful distress.

The banker's absent-minded but methodical probing of her pussy was not without purpose. Pleasure sluts are often "pussy graded" in such a way, with their responsiveness being noted in their paperwork and pointed out by the auctioneer as a positive selling feature.

It was the most erotic site I had ever seen. Leia, squatting, jerking up and down on the banker's hand like a puppet on a pole, her breasts bopping, gasping for air as she listened to the men argue about whether she should be registered or sold.

"Her paperwork is not in order. If this is a fraud, or even if it is not, I am well within my rights to call the police and have her put to market. She will be on the auction block within the hour and the bank will make a tidy profit off of her."

I looked at Leia, squatting naked with her legs spread, her fingers twisted in her hair, gasping and whimpering with shame as she wiggled on the banker's twisting and teasing fingers. The choice was clear: registration or sale. If we tried to explain, the police would be summoned and Leia would be sold.